Nothing But a List of Names to Mark His Ascension
Chapter 25: Preparation for the End
Note: I do not own Warhammer 40,000 or Dawn of War, I am simply writing a different perspective to the events portrayed.
Perhaps for the last time, the Armageddon orbited Typhon. The returning trip had taken a day, and it was as though the currents of the Warp pushed the strike cruiser to its new mooring. The Shadow of the Warp had been nearly nonexistent. When asked, the astropaths said it was as though the Hive Mind was turning a blind eye to them, and that they were insignificant. Regardless of the reasons, the Blood Ravens accepted this as the Emperor's blessing that had allowed them to reach Typhon on such short notice. In high orbit, they met with multiple troop ships from the Imperial Guard that carried every man that could be spared from Meridian.
"I will expect you guardsmen to follow us in." said Aramus.
The man on the viewscreen smiled and said, "Naturally, they will. The sector is at stake and you Astartes are throwing your whole lot in. We can't miss out on this." The man was around forty years old, slim but strong. He wore the uniform of the 85th Vendoland well, and it seemed like he was accustomed to the battlefield from the way he carried himself.
"You do us honor General Castille. Simply await our orders, and send everyone. This may very well be a one way mission."
"The Emperor points and we obey, Commander. Castille out." The Guard general cut the link and Aramus turned to Gordian. The Apothecary was finishing the final surface scan, and comparing it with results gleaned from the astronomic array.
"Have you done it Apothecary?" Aramus asked.
"Yes Commander. I have quite a bit for you." Gordian replied.
"Speak then, time is short." Aramus said curtly.
"It is, scans from the Armageddon report that the main Hive Ship is descending on the planet to feed. I am printing readouts from the astronomic array as well. These readouts will determine the best places to deliver the bio-toxin that I have created. Also, as a minor note, the tech-adept we recovered on Typhon has been returned to the subsector fleet."
"Is that all?"
"No. It also seems that the Hive Ship has sent the majority of its forces to the southern continent. This leaves the area marked by the astronomic array poorly defended. I can find no reason for this behavior aside for a large amount of thermal energy emanating from a particular location in that area. There is nothing notable there."
"A strange twist of fate. Thank the Emperor." Said Aramus.
"Indeed Commander. Also, there is an astropathic message waiting for you. I had it recorded and brought here."
"Who is it from?" asked Aramus.
"It was sent almost a week ago by Captain Angelos. It is . . . well, listen for yourself." He walked over to a command console and pressed a few keys. Moments later, the soothing voice of Gabriel Angelos filled the bridge.
"Commander." Said Angelos, "I have disheartening news. The Litany of Fury has been completely immersed in the Shadow of the Warp caused by the tyranid fleet. Our navigators and librarians are dying and this astropath is sacrificing his life to send this message. It is unlikely that we will ever emerge from the Warp alive. If this is to be our fate however, we die with pride, for the Hive Fleet is spending its precious energy to combat us. It is up to you now Commander. You are the only hope for our recruiting worlds. I know that none will find you wanting. In the name of the Great Father and the Emperor, I, Gabriel Angelos, Captain of the Blood Ravens 3rd Company, do make this final statement. As a final note, tell Captain Thule, should he ever wake, that the secrets of Cyrene will die with me."
Aramus' expression turned sullen as the recording ended. He looked at Gordian and said, "Then it is as I had suspected, we are alone."
"Never alone Commander, the Emperor will always be beside us."
Aramus smiled at that. It was certainly true; the Emperor had never failed Aramus throughout what he was now calling the Aurelian Crusade. He wondered now if the Emperor planned to have him survive. The 4th Company had less than half its strength mustered. The odds were certainly against them, but Aramus would fight either way. The honor of the Chapter and Aramus' own honor called for it. He could not back away now.
Ocella Lyon knelt behind the familiar pew in the chapel. Unlike most of the other times, he now wore his power armor, and took care not to scuff the stone floor of the holy room. He looked up at the icon of the Emperor that was affixed above the altar and offered words of prayer. He prayed for the safety of his Battle-Brothers like always, and also took time to pray for the guardsmen that would no doubt be joining them. As he said the prayers however, he felt uneasy. He had seen the reports; Tarkus had passed them to the whole squad. Even with a large amount of the defenses elsewhere, the Blood Ravens would still be facing a foe without number and without fear. If the toxin failed to work, all would be lost. Before he could let the feeling of hopelessness take him, he immersed himself in prayer. The Emperor would not forsake them, today or ever. They would not be found wanting in his eyes.
In the armory, Nikephoros cleaned his weapons in preparation for the coming fight. Laid out before him on a soft cloth mat was his flamer and bolter, each broken down into their component parts. He took each piece and gently rubbed it with a rag dipped in sacred machine oil. Martellus had told him that this oil would appease the machine spirits, as well as provide a blessing from the Omnissiah. Nikephoros had taken this to heart. There was nothing worse than having a weapon malfunction in the middle of battle, even more so when the weapon was a flamer.
He lifted the weapon as he reassembled it. He made sure the piping for the promethium was untangled and that the pilot light was not bent or clogged. Finally, he checked the canister attachment for any nicks or dents. Satisfied that it was in proper condition, he placed the weapon aside before moving to his bolter. He went through the same routine. He inserted the firing pin carefully, and made sure the trigger mechanism was smooth. Once the weapon was prepared as well, he set it aside, and placed his ammo and combat knife on the mat.
He confirmed that his magazines were flawless. If one's lip was dented when it was placed in the bolter, it could cause a massive malfunction. Then he took one bolt from each magazine and carved "kill the alien" on it as a blessing. As he lifted his combat knife for inspection and maintenance, Nikephoros heard the door to the armory open. He stood to look at the door, and saw Nathaniel Augustine walk into the long room, face nearly obscured by the low lighting.
"You." Said Nikephoros. His tone equated to that of a man looking at a bug on his leg.
"Brother." Said Augustine. It was not much of a greeting, but it did not seem like a veiled insult to Nikephoros. The blond assault marine moved to a bench next to Nikephoros and placed his weapons on it, unfolding his own matt and tools.
Nikephoros watched Augustine perform the same tasks that he had done minutes before. The assault marine looked at his weapons as though they were tools though, and not like partners, as Nikephoros himself did. To Augustine, the weapons were merely a path to victory. That did not mean that he did not take care of them though. Like Nikephoros, his maintenance was thorough, but it lacked the personal affections that Nikephoros gave his weapons. One thing that sparked Nikephoros' interest was Augustine's combat knife, a thick double edged blade that seemed very familiar to him.
"That combat blade," said Nikephoros, breaking the silence, "where did you get it?"
Augustine silently removed the gauntlet on his left hand and showed the faded scar tissue on the palm and back to Nikephoros, who chuckled a bit.
"You thief." He said.
"I was sure that it was a gift." Said Augustine, a slight smile on his face. "Would you like it back?"
"I'd not care to have the same scar." Said Nikephoros. He took his own combat knife and placed it down in front of Augustine. It was thin and single edged, almost stiletto like. "I guess this must be yours."
Augustine examined the blade for a moment before nodding. "It is. I assumed it was simply lost on Calderis."
"I could not leave a weapon behind, it would be a waste of good steel." Said Nikephoros. He smiled, the scars on his face stretching.
Did he still hate Augustine? He did not know anymore. Perhaps he was becoming more of an Astartes. Such grudges were beyond them. He did still find him a bit irritating though. That callous nature could get on the nerves. Naturally, Nikephoros was not as idealistic as Lyon, Emperor be praised, but he had heard rumors that Augustine had advocated sending guardsmen into the maw of the tyranids to distract them. He was not sure if these rumors were true, as they were possibly Draco related, Emperor rest his soul, but he was still uneasy around Augustine.
"Brother Nikephoros." Started Augustine. "I feel that we should attempt to quell the bad blood that has been between us. Our final battle looms, and though I hold no thoughts of friendship for you, I feel it is best to go into battle as Brothers."
"That is noble, Brother Augustine. I believe I can agree to that on one condition."
"What would that be?" asked Augustine.
"A rematch in the practices cages upon our return, with our original knives. I'll beat you yet."
"Very well Brother. But I will not make it easy on you."
Nikephoros held out his hand, and after a pause, Augustine took it. They were not friends, but if they were to die on Typhon today, they would die side by side as Brothers.
Merrick awoke with a groan as the Commissar walked through the billets, banging on the bunks with her bolt pistol. She shouted out in her shrill, commanding voice for the guard to "get their asses out of bed before she personally threw them out an airlock." Merrick slowly got to his feet and began dressing, wondering how the Commissar could handle the smell. Perhaps though, he underestimated women. The 85th was a single gender regiment, so there were no female troopers. Commissar Elle Connor was the first exposure to a female in the combat divisions of the Guard he had ever had. He looked at Remer, who was climbing out of the bunk next to him, with a taunting grin on his face.
"Gonna ask her again Remer?" he joked as he finished putting on his fatigues and began to put on his carapace armor.
"Frak you Sarge, that's not an experience I want to remember." Remer replied.
"That's Sergeant Major, Remer." Said Merrick. He always brought up that particular question whenever he and Remer caught sight of the Commissar. The first day the squad had been formed, they were met by the new company Commissar, who happened to be Connor. Remer, in his infinite stupidity, asked her if she was seeing anyone. Merrick was really glad that Connor was fairly lenient, and only did half the things she threatened to do, otherwise he would have lost a good grenadier that day. He was lucky to get off with latrine duty for the next four years. Luckier than Alek at least, he had gotten a few lashes for stumbling while he should have been saluting.
Once dressed, the Company gathered outside the billets in one of the troop ship's large common rooms. It stank of cheap liquor and shit, and the floors and walls were covered in grime. On one side of the large room, the techpriests had wheeled in a large projector screen, and the other side had a projector mounted on the wall. The rest of the room was filled with chairs facing the screen.
"Think we are going to watch some holovids Sarge?" Vornas asked Hurst, who was adjusting his helmet chin strap. "I certainly love Gaunt's Ghosts."
"But their representation of the Jantine Patricians is wholly inaccurate!" said Alek, walking alongside the larger grenadier. "They carried the mark V Cadian pattern lasgun, not Mark VII Bakka."
"Don't sweat the small stuff Alek." Said Vornas. "It's a good show, and from the talks I've had with some of the women in the munitorium historical department, it's well researched."
"How much talking were you actually doing?" muttered Alek, cursing his own luck.
The seventy eight men that remained of the 4th grenadier company took their seats as the already dim lights in the room went out. Techpriests scurried around, and soon a map appeared on the screen. Merrick recognized the features of Typhon from his time at the communications array. He had made a habit of studying maps. You never knew when it could come in handy.
"Shut up!" shouted Connor, and the room quickly quieted. The company had quickly learned it was best not to piss her off. When they were suitably quiet, Captain Lars Uther walked in front of the screen, a pointer in hand. He wore the carapace armor well, and towered over the fairly diminutive Connor. His unscarred face beamed with enthusiasm.
"Glad you could join me gentlemen. I was thinking Connor and I would have to make the assault on our own." He aimed his pointer at the screen as red circles began marking locations. "Our mission today, is to assist our Blood Raven allies on any task they deem necessary. It seems they have a weapon to kill these Emperor damned things for good. We need to make sure they have sufficient support. The entire regiment is going down. Here is how deployments are going to go. . ."
This was it, thought Merrick. It was now or never. This one, they had to win.
The screaming stopped for the first time in almost two cycles. Draoi stood uneasily, waiting. The heat was nearly unbearable and every Eldar in the chamber was quite ready to leave, but the success of the ceremony had to be confirmed first. Slowly, the iron doors swung open and the wave of hot air hit Draoi and the others. Unbearable at first, the heat become agonizing. He looked at the open door quickly. The light from inside nearly burned his retinas. The ground shook as the molten giant stepped out of the room. Forty feet tall, with skin of steel and blood of magma, it left Draoi speechless. It looked down at them as its weapon formed in its left hand, a long spear of black metal, fire running across its length. This was one of the many forms of the Wailing Doom. Its right hand dripped continuously with the bright red blood of the hero Eldanesh, struck down by the Bloody Handed God at the beginning of the War in Heaven.
"DO YOU SMELL THAT?" the giant said, its voice echoing in the heads of every Eldar present. "MORE BODIES TO BURN, MORE WALKING SACRIFICES TO KHAINE. FOLLOW ME MORTALS, AND WE SHALL KILL THEM ALL."
The mighty Avatar of Kaela Mensha Khaine strode out of the chamber, leaving molten footprints behind. Draoi quickly followed. Where the Avatar walked, the Eldar followed, eager to spill the blood of their enemies. With their god himself leading them, victory was assured.
The bridge of the Armageddon was bustling with chapter serfs, all preparing for the imminent drop. In the rear of the bridge, Gordian spoke to Harkon before the younger apothecary went to join the drop.
"Harkon, be sure to take care of the gene seed quickly. The spores in the atmosphere will make them go bad much quicker."
"I will be quick Apothecary." Said Harkon.
"Good. You have learned a lot. You are more than ready to be the 4th Company Apothecary."
"What do you mean, Apothecary? You are not going to die here."
"Of course not. By the way, you may call me Gordian now. Emperor be with you Harkon, Apothecary of the Blood Ravens."
"May he and the Unknown Primarch be with you as well, Gordian." Harkon replied.
"I will be supporting you from Thunderhawk II, Commander." Said Martellus. "My tarantula turrets and fire support should take some of the heat off of you."
"As expected from you Techmarine." Said Aramus. "We will be counting on you." He turned to the Strike Force, assembled in the drop pod bays. Mercutio, Borian, Magnus and Captain Thule would remain behind on the Armageddon, and were not gathered. The rest of the marines would join the first wave. If the resistance was too great, the others would join them to overwhelm the tyranid defenses.
"Brothers," started Aramus. "I would like to say a few words."
"That is your right as Commander." Said Thaddeus. "It would be unseemly for you to not speak at all."
"These thirty-one days have been tumultuous times for our Chapter. You marines put yourselves behind my banner, that of an outsider, and fought against foes that would leave ordinary men quaking in fear. For this I praise you. Even when your Captain seemed lost, you never faltered. You fought with all your might, and those that died, died with honor and tenacity that will be forever remembered in the histories of our great Chapter. In the eyes of the Emperor, and of the Unknown Primarch, you have not been found wanting. Come with me now, loyal Blood Ravens, my brothers. In the name of the Great Father and the Emperor, victory here, or glorious death, not one step back."
The assembled marines let out a cheer, with shouts of "For the Emperor!" and "Onward to glory!" running back and forth across their ranks. Then they piled into the drop pods and rocketed down towards the surface of Typhon, where their final struggle would await them.
Author's Note: Its almost time for our final battle. Its been a long time, nearly four months writing this. You readers have been with me every step of the way, and that is why you are the best. You could spend your time reading something else, but you spend it going through a giant story like this. I'll tell you now though, this isn't over. Not even close. By my best estimates, this story will continue for another year. I hope you will follow it to the very end.