Greetings all. I am, for those who don't know me personally, proud to announce the birth of my first child, born April 5th, at 2111. Logan Arthur Luke XXXX. I'm not going to go quite so far as to tell you my last name :P… He was born 4.14kgs, or 9 pounds 2 in Imperial, and 55cm long (22inches). Everything is good, and he is the picture perfect image of health.
Save for an unfortunate likeness to me.
My family and I give thanks to God for his safe arrival, and his and his mother's health. Thank you for those of you who have given your support and well-wishing, it's been appreciated in what has been a busy time. I will not apologise for the tardiness. I have bigger priorities. I hope you can all appreciate that there are other things going on. But I will try my hardest to be more timely.
Solomon Islands. Again. Bleh. Didn't we just finish fixing that one!
Oh, and, to all… there are two stories going on at the same time here. Two parallel plot threads. But, fear not, there is method in my madness.
88888888888888888888
888888888888888888888
liljimmyurine: You are perceptive. It may or may not go where you think, given that I don't know what you are thinking. But I do believe you're on the right track.
The Sithspawn: Thank you. I thought it was pretty good, myself. And I've always liked La Forge as a character. He's a pretty decent, down to earth type of bloke, with a decent sense of humour and no-nonsense attitude. I hope to include more of him.
Smithklein: Thank you on your congratulations. It's pretty cool. New incentive to get home at the end of a day's work. And there will be plenty more Federation-Imperium disgust, and it will doubtlessly work both ways. (Hint: Watch an episode of Star Trek, any series. Spot the security fck-ups. There are so many, it's a running joke between me and my wife.)
Malac645: In all honesty, I am steeling myself to write that chapter. Marines are vicious and ruthless in a way that the Federation just would not, almost could not, comprehend. Cardassians have nothing on marines.
LegacyZero: I like congratulations. They are a source of warm fuzzies. The table will lose power. How much will depend on how long it's used for.
Cooldude: Your enthusiasm is refreshing. Your requests for an update are here satisfied.
Shinova: 'Wonderous'? Cheers. I am flattered. Techno-mysticism is a new concept to the Federation, and it will not sit well with them. The Deathbringers may be more pragmatic than most, but they are still Imperial.
The Mad Mad Reviewer: Well expressed. Warhammer is one of the darkest sci-fi universes out there, because it warps and twists our perception of everything we know. Sometimes though, it can come out with some surprising elements of black humour. This, I think was one such moment I just couldn't let go.
Dominus Anaetheron: Casualties when engaging the Federation are always high for the Dominion. However, the Dominion just doesn't care. Plain and simply doesn't give a poo. The Jem'Hadar are just solids after all… I am not a saint. Maybe later… but not just yet.
Duken: Trillions. I'm not actually sure what the next level up from trillions is. If I knew, I may have used that. But I don't… so I didn't. And sorry. This chapter is 40k… but there is method to the madness.
Somos: Give my regards to your mother, and tell her to get off your back and leave you alone. And come to church. We are missing you already.
Shepherds-we-shall-be: I honour your legions, as you honour those of Lycurgas. I will not disgrace you with inaccuracies, and if I do, I shall pay appropriate penance to Nadgazad.
Grayangle: La Forge is nothing if not intelligent. I doubt he'd be foolish enough to say something like that out loud. However, with Bortalus about, he'll have to be careful if he even THINKS it too loud. He'll scan it, and read nothing, because all the energy readings would come in a form that the Federation would not be scanning for. And teething… yes, well… it's safe to say that his mother shares a similar affliction after our vigorous… interaction…
Norsehound: If you, as a Tau player, captured that Table, I would be honour-bound to retrieve it, whatever the cost. Power like that should not be in the hands of non-humans.
Chaos-Mauler: I haven't actually read Blood-Quest, although I am familiar with it, in generalities. If the beacons were given, then the Enterprise would have to go first, and stop and fire beacons out, as they are designed to work outside of a ship's hull. This way, the Table can just stay on the Enterprise while it powers about at maximum warp. Imperial warp drives work faster (although differently) to Federation ones.
That Swedish guy: The table is not from Ikea. And Federation type five phasers (as used on Mk II shuttles) up to type 12 phasers (as seen in ST:VOY, fitted to Interpid-class ships) can't penetrate the armoured hulls of Hirogen ships. Think of the problems they'd have with Imperial craft.
Khartoum: I seriously admire your cognitive abilities. Seriously. Save the wormhole chokepoint. I'm not sure how that'd pan out with the Sword alone. The cycle rate on its weapon systems may be too slow to prevent the Dominion vessels from exiting en masse.
Tyrion77: You are correct about warp travel. But short this trip is not. It'd be like trying to travel from Fenris to Earth without the astronomicon. Achievable. But slow.
Verystrangest: Courage makes us what we are. Without it, we are nothing but dirt chugging around, making more dirt, then dying. Hold fast to your principles. Compromise on them, and you wont be able to meet the gaze of the man in the mirror. Trust me on that one…
Phew… that took a while. Now, one and all, let us begin again…
888888888888888888888888888888888888888888
888888888888888888888888888888888888888888
88888888888888888888888888888888888888888
The darkness, so soothing.
The pain, comforting by its constancy.
The throbbing, pulsating agony of it all.
So enduring, so… so…
So… what?
Rational thought began to blossom. The veil of silken pain rose, and the world came roaring back into unpleasant focus.
The gleaming white of an apothecarion. White robed technicians and apothecaries hurrying every which way.
Faded to black.
Sound again, lights, frantic movement, voices tinny and distant.
"Adrenaline, double-dose, stat."
"In. No response."
"Quadruple."
"Movement in secondary left ventricle. Very faint."
"Repeat."
"Secondary moving… it's arrhythmic."
"Inject the adrenaline straight into the primary, double."
Faded to black.
What was life? Randomised strings of amino-acids and trypto-peptides held together by the molecular equivalent of electrical tape and wishful thinking? The urge to procreate. To persist. The ability to consume energy, in a variety of forms. Response to stimulus. By all those measurements, he was already dead.
"300 milligrams of adenosine triphosphate."
"Received."
"Again."
"Nothing."
"Again, Emperor damn it."
Faded to black.
Others in the apothecarion. More voices. Larger presences.
"…not responding to treatment. Extensive injuries to all major organ groups, and furthe…"
A flare of pain reminded him that he wasn't quite as detached from himself as he might like to be.
"…exhausted all options for restoration to standard combat fitness. Neural pathways are viable, and should be compatib…"
Faded to black.
Silence. For the first time since the return of semi-consciousness, silence.
And smell. Not the sterile-pure, disinfected tang of the apothecarion. But another… incense, maybe? And soft, warm lighting. Candle-light, his pummelled, stressed subconscious supplied.
In contrast to the lighting, he was cold. His back was cold. Gratitude for being able to feel his back, and indeed anything other than pain, flooded his mind. The Emperor himself must have a hand in this. As if on cue, he heard low, resonant chanting.
It roused his soul, bespoke of stirring acts, of valour, and of the sombre duty that was the burden and privilege of the Astartes. He heard it approach, heard it get louder around him. It was like the coming of destiny, like the herald of the Emperor, and he accepted it with a warm, willing heart.
"…blessed be those who give their all, for even a man with nothing can still offer his life. And lo, there upon…"
Faded to black.
He didn't hear the last part of the rites. The phrase that, whole, was spoken thus 'And lo, there upon the dais, before your altar most high, doth lie a hero. True and honourable be he. And he yet does live. And, to your glory, such is his faith in you, that even in death he will continue to serve.'
8888888888888
"Shields holding at 64 percent. Gladius reports another flight coming in."
The world shook again as a salvo of electrically charged particles slammed into the aft shields.
"58 percent."
Bondsman-Captain Phillips clutched his command chair as the Leonidas was struck again. He thanked the Emperor that the Tyranids were firing at extreme range. But prayed that the Gladius would get its warp engines back online. And quickly.
"Helm, right 85 degrees, 15 degrees down angle. I want us between the…"
Another blast of… something… shook the ship. Phillips continued his order.
"I want us between the Gladius and the nearest waves. We need that ship intact."
"Right 85, down 15, aye sir."
"All ahead flank."
The strike cruiser's over-powered engines blazed bright as the power output went to 110 percent of rated maximum. A double impact made the internal lights flicker briefly.
"That hurt us, sir. Void shields down to 27 percent."
"Status of dorsal lances?"
"Charging, sir. Ready to fire in eight, seven, six, five…"
"Fire at lead bioship, target its engines."
"…two, one."
The dorsal lances, with a 270 degree forward field of fire, were able to fire to the starboard rear of the Deathbringer ship. The coruscating blue energy blasts blazed right through the bioship's psi-field, and cored it spectacularly, a wide hole visible straight through the ship's centre-line. It slowed, but didn't stop, or deviate in course. It just continued moving, inertia carrying the dead ship off into space, leaking fluid into the vacuum.
"Target destroyed, four ships remaining, sir."
On the forward viewscreen, the Gladius' image flickered briefly before solidifying again. Phillips saw it, and smiled to himself. The Dark Templar ship's shields were back online. That should give them the required cover to get their warp engines functioning ag-.
Another blast made the Deathbringer strike cruiser vibrate like a tuning fork.
"Shields at 18 percent, sir. Coverage integrity compromising."
"Time to shield reset?"
"Fifteen seconds."
Fifteen seconds, the time taken to utter two medium length sentences. The time it took for an Olympic-grade sprinter to run 140 metres. Time taken to chew a small mouthful of a 'fun-size' chocolate bar. But that fifteen seconds can stretch unbelievably when you are under fire, and your life is hanging on something arriving… In fifteen seconds.
"Left 70, up 10, maintain flank. We need all the distance we can get."
The further they pulled away from the bio-ships, the further the weapons fired at them would have to travel before they impacted with the strike cruiser. Silence. No one moved, nor breathed, nor made any sound at all. Only the sputtering blue glow of the Gladius' engines ahead of them indicated that time was passing at all. The rising-pitch triple chime that announced reactivation of the Leonidas' shields was music to the ears.
Almost simultaneously, the white-trimmed green on black shape of the Triarius slid in front and above them, gliding in with deceptive ease from left to right. Its starboard weapons arrays spoke, and a multi-coloured salvo of ordnance flew towards the Deathbringer ship, then sailed over them.
"Direct hit sir, one of the bio-ships is peeling off."
The whole engagement had so far taken less than five minutes. Three bio-ships had been destroyed, but the recovery of the Thunderhawks had taken the Leonidas twice as long as the Dark Templar ships. Twice as many birds, twice the time to roost. To make matters that much tighter, the Leonidas had been running interference for the Gladius, which was frantically trying to get its warp engines operational. The running battles the Templar ship had been fighting with the Hive Fleet for weeks had not left the strike cruiser in good shape.
Brother-Captain Lysander came striding onto the Leonidas' bridge, red cloak trailing behind him. His voice belied none of the concern that one would expect in the situation.
"Glad we're still in one piece. Good work, Bondsman-Captain. What is the status of the others?"
The strike cruiser vibrated a little again as a long-range shot ricocheted off the top of the shields, before careening off into space.
"Triarius is fully operational, and is providing medium range fire support from its starboard broadside. We are holding several thousand kilometres off the Gladius, to our port bow. They're pushing their sublight engines as hard as they will go, but their warp drives are still down, and their weapons are below full strength. Even when the engines come online, I'm not sure that their ship will survive a warp jump."
The big, black-armoured marine officer sat in his command chair, and pressed a handful of buttons in sequence on the chair's left arm, looked briefly at the viewscreen and, then depressed a few more, gauntleted fingers scurrying rapidly over the keys.
"Well, we'll just have to trust to the Emperor then, wont we…"
A console beeped, and the officer manning it spoke up.
"Sirs, the Gladius is powering its warp engines. Their power output is not rising smoothly."
Lysander shared a look with Phillips, then the marine nodded. But it was Phillips that gave the orders.
"Helm, match course to the Gladius, and bring the warp engines to standby. Comms, signal the Triarius, and inform them of our jump. All hands, this is the ship-captain. Brace for combat warp initiation."
Low toned, dirge-like sirens rang through the ship, and personnel scurried to their jump harnesses. Receiving impacts while initiating the jump to warp could send the ship bucking and shaking like a whipped rhinodon. Lysander looked up in time to see the Gladius light one warp engine, then watch another sputter it's way into radiance, then the ship seemed to stretch into infinity in an instant, then vanish. Phillips had the last word.
"Now."
And the ship accelerated almost breathtakingly, sailing past the Triarius, which glowed with a series of shield impacts, and headlong towards the infinite-crossover.
888888888888888888888
The black peeled back.
And red replaced it.
A pulsating, ominous, discordant, warning red.
And the pain.
Movement and pain.
The whole universe was shaking.
Faded to black.
8888888888888888888
Kedron sighed, and let his head hang into his hand as the Gladius' engines finally caught, and the ship lurched and shuddered its way past the infinite-crossover. The Dark Templars had taken another beating. But they had survived. Again.
And their mission was intact, thanks to the arrival of marine reinforcements. Ichar could still be saved. Lysander, blessed-be-his-name, has assured him that there was method in the madness. There was a reason for the withdrawal, he had said. They'd be back, and the loss of so many brothers would not have been in vain. By the Emperor, how much did Kedron want to believe that?
But, although he would not admit it, the brother-optio was shaken. He had come the closest to death that he had ever been. Had felt its fetid breath upon his face, stared into its beady eyes and held his nerve only by the Emperor-be-praised timing of the napalm and thermobaric weapons that had cleared the perimeter.
The cohort was a wreck. The Gladius was a wreck. Both the cohort and the Gladius, however, were both functioning. How much so had to be determined. His brother marines still sat in the thunderhawk. They might have been waiting for his orders, and in a way they were. But that wasn't why they were still sitting in their transport, silent and unmoving.
Kedron stood, and walked to the nose of the thunderhawk, and pulled the ramp release lever. The hydraulic whine seemed to stir movement, and glazed eyes locked onto the brother-optio.
"Those of you who are wounded, report to the apothecarion for treatment. Those who are not, and those who have the time while awaiting the apothecaries ministrations, offer thanks to the Emperor for our salvation, prayers to Him for the souls of the fallen, and ask for resolve of Him that we might see our unfinished task complete. Brother Gaius, you have command, in my absence. I will be on the bridge if anything is required of me."
The sounds of movement that followed Kedron out of the gunship were reassuring to him. They would prevail. They were marines. It was what they did.
88888888888888888888
Revinius smiled as the Leonidas jumped to warp.
"Bring us onto a parallel course, and engage the warp drives. I don't particularly wish to continue this dance with the Devourer without our dancing partners."
A flurry of orders whipped across the strike cruiser's bridge, and the ship swung hard-a-port, before igniting its engines and roaring into the warp on the point of a cobalt blue spear of engine signature.
The fold back to realspace at the other end of the short warp jump was simultaneously anticlimactic and spectacular. The change from the everblack of the immaterium to the starfield of reality was instant, with the galaxy just winking into existence. One second it wasn't there, the next it was.
More impressive, however, were the assembled ships of the Imperial Navy. The three strike cruisers decidedly modest next to the enormity of the navy's capital ships.
"Brother-Centurion, the Leonidas is hailing us."
"On screen."
The ships-on-starfield image shifted to the bridge of the Deathbringer ship, with the brother-captain sitting relaxed on his command chair. Revinius started the conversation.
"Brother."
"Brother. How did you pull out of that one?"
"Unscathed. We're ready to go back in as soon as we receive the word."
Lysander looked thoughtful, almost pensive.
"And the 5th?"
Revinius shook his head.
"We can do this without them. They need the break. Lucinius had them running at a very high operational tempo."
Lysander nodded slowly. But didn't appear satisfied.
"Ok, they're your marines. But I'll run with it on one condition."
Revinius raised his eyebrow.
"Oh, will you now? And what condition might that be?"
Lysander's relaxed expression evaporated and he leaned forward intently.
"The condition that YOU be the one to tell that to the 5th."
888888888888888
As Kedron walked onto the bridge the comms officer addressed him.
"Sir, Brother-Centurion Revinius requests permission to come aboard."
Kedron looked sharply at the man as he rounded a console and sat at the chair on the bridge. The question was more than slightly confusing to him.
"Of course he can come aboard."
"Response away, sir."
Kedron sat down, and looked at the ship's commander.
"How are we holding up?"
"Poorly, sir. The warp drives are holding together by barely more than good intentions, the weapons are barely worthy of the name, and our shields are more theoretical than actual. At least we aren't getting any worse."
Kedron couldn't help but notice a crewman staring at him.
"Is there a problem, crewman?"
The man nearly jumped out of his skin, and raised his gaze to the Dark Templar's face.
"Uh, no, sir."
The marine followed where the man's eyes had been looking. To the place where his right arm had been.
Ah.
"Inform me when the Brother-Centurion's transport docks, and keep me appraised of developments. I'll be at the apothecarion."
He would need to have what was left of his right arm measured for fitting with a replacement. If the apothecaries could spare the time…
88888888888888888
Revinius was musing. He'd been doing a lot of that recently. It almost seemed like a standard reaction, these days.
When had things become complicated, philosophical and moralistic? He was a space marine. He got orders. He went and killed things in the Emperor's name.
What was bothering him?
Of course, he knew the answer to his own questions, even as he asked them. He had responsibilities now. His decisions affected more lives than just his own. Of course, to an extent, they always had, since he became a marine. But now it was different.
His decisions were no longer mechanical ones. No longer where to fire his bolter, whether to duck or step back, slash or stab. Now, he sent men to do his bidding, and they trusted in his judgement to keep them effective, and, if necessary, to see that their sacrifice was not in vain. And that weight of responsibility brought with it a weight of thought, a weight of cognisance, that could be difficult to bear.
To be effective, you had to acknowledge the needs of your soldiers. To do that, you had to understand those needs, and empathise with those needs, and not just because you shared them. Self-sacrifice could come easily. Far more easily than acknowledging the sacrifice of others as it was happening. And to do that required connection with a man's deeper humanity that so many marine chapters tried to suppress. And that humanity carried with it a burden of conscience that was… disquieting.
Revinius' reverie was interrupted by the jolt of the thunderhawk touching down aboard the Gladius.
88888888888888888888888888888
Kedron watched as the brother-centurion slowly descended the ramp and walked towards him. His armour still gleamed, and the shadows of dents were all that showed of the years of fighting the man had endured.
Kedron respected Revinius greatly. Few were the marines who did not respect their senior officers. Revinius, one of the most physically imposing of the Dark Templars and a giant of a man, was not one of the exceptions. The younger marine spoke first, bracing to attention as he did so.
"Brother-Centurion, welcome to the Gladius. We greet you in…"
Revinius interrupted the formalities, holding up and open hand, although without rebuke.
"Brother. Please. Spare me."
Kedron stopped mid sentence, and tilted his head fractionally to the left.
"As you wish, sir."
"There are a couple of things we need to discuss. And Lucinius' chambers are the place they should be discussed."
Revinius turned to his right, and headed for the door to the thunderhawk bay. Kedron looked momentarily puzzled, then moved to follow him.
The idea that he should query the man as to why the perfectly empty shuttle bay could be used never even crossed his mind.
88888888888
True awareness was so hard.
Memories kept flooding into the present, overlaying with it. Time swam listlessly.
The siege of Vhozda. Twelve thousand auxilia died before the fortress' guns before the strike cruiser Spatha silenced the siege guns. Three hundred Dark Templars Legionnaires stormed the breach opened by the bombardment and ended in twenty minutes what the guard had not cracked in months.
The surrounds were alternating black, grey, red and bright, dazzling white. Pain and sensation, and figures moving in the foreground. Why couldn't he move?
New Delphi counter-offensive. The countless multitudes of Warlord Tiberaxx the Bold broke and fled when Legate Brutilius lead the 1st, 3rd and 4th cohorts in a night raid into the rebel lines. Never had the heavy flamers of the first cohort caused such panic.
Pain flared, and consciousness of movement was reached, as the world faded to black again. Could he still hear? Or was it memory demanding for focus in the present?
The Inquisitorial Confrontation. Inquisition ships patrolling the space around Nadgazad. The Legate under arrest. All cohorts under watch by soldiers of the Ordo Hereticus. Inquisitors high handedly discussing options such as mind-scrubbing and exterminatus. Penitent crusades. Brother-Centurion Crolinius beaten when he had suggested, politely even, that no fault or crime had been proven of the Dark Templars. The joy when two dozen Deathbringer warships had appeared over Nadgazad and demanded the Inquisition's withdrawal. Inquisitor Wysantos' fury at the realisation that they were outgunned, then his smug satisfaction when more Inquisition ships dropped out of warp.
Words, numbers and readings began to scroll across his vision, interspersed with the still running train of memory.
The tense standoff broken when first Blood Scorpion, then Death Adder ships also arrived, proclaiming their support for the Deathbringers. The heated, threat-laden exchanges, ending only when Master Ragarik and High Commander Wellborn teleported aboard Inquisitor Wysantos' flag-bridge with three squads of terminators each. Threat of imminent destruction leads to sudden peace.
Focus, at last, without pain. Focus, clarity, and freedom of motion. Was this true death? Was this, at last, the rest that the Chaplains had promised him as a reward for so long? Was this peace with Him? A voice spoke, deep, raspy yet resonant, and thrumming with menace, power and authority.
"Caius Lucinius, we honour you, Elder-Centurion, now and until death doth claim you once more."
888888888888888
Kedron followed Revinius into the strike-cruiser's centurion chambers. And couldn't quite shake a mounting feeling of unease. That his superior was tight-lipped on the way in wasn't helping.
'Snap out of it.' Kedron thought to himself.
'This is Revinius, who I have known and served under for years. What is there to worry about.'
But Kedron could feel it coming. Could feel the aura of expectation that was following the two marines through the ship. Could feel it amongst the other marines of what was left of the fifth cohort. Could feel it in his own bones and sinews.
Revinius went and stood behind the desk, then bent down and retrieved a dark bottle from the bottom draw. How Revinius knew to find it there, in Lucinius' desk, was a question that Revinius answered before Kedron could voice it.
"Lucinius and I have known each other for a fair while, and I happen to know that we share a fondness for this."
The Brother-Centurion poured out two glasses of the dark-red liquid, and raised his. Kedron took the tacit invitation, and did the same. Revinius then spoke the words of the toast.
"Lest we forget."
They brought their glasses together, then drank. Kedron got half way through his second sip when the liquid hit him in the face like a medium-weight boxer's cross. He maintained the presence of mind not to spit it out, but his eyes teared up and his nose moved. Revinius chuckled as he put his glass down.
"Lycurgan Bloodwine. Lysander introduced me to it during the Beta Mithrax campaign. Good stuff. Moderately strong. Takes a little getting used to. And the best stuff to use for special occasions."
Kedron nodded, trying to shake the feeling. Revinius' smile dropped.
"Also gives us an excuse for the reason we cry."
Kedron stood up straighter.
"Brother-Centurion. We are marines. Soldiers of the Emperor without peer. We do not cry at those that fell in their duty to Him. We applaud their example, and…"
"Kedron. Stop."
The abrupt tone silenced him with an audible snap as his jaw clamped itself shut.
"We are all that and more. But we are still men. Men who fight alongside each other, and others like us, for a very long time. We, contrary to popular belief, form attachments, for associations, and have feelings, although we try damn hard to suppress them. Every now and then though, things slip through. A particularly close comrade's death. The death of a planet. Loss."
Kedron understood. But not completely.
"I'm not sure I follow what you mean, sir."
"We all suffer. All of us. Even the Emperor himself suffered. We suffer pain, we suffer loss, and we suffer humiliation. And for the most part, we bear that with the stoicism and nonchalance that space marines across the Imperium are known for. But not always. Sometimes we crack, sometimes the weight of the world, and the weight of the hopes of our brothers, and the burden that is our lot becomes to much, and we snap, bend or break."
Kedron listened. The words seemed to speak directly to his heart.
"But now you no longer have that option. You can no longer afford that luxury. Your men, your brothers, and others who accompany us will look to you as an example. From this time forward, the only tears you should shed are those brought on by bloodwine."
Kedron nodded slowly. He saw what was coming next, but it was like standing in a tunnel starring at the lights of an oncoming mag-train.
"With that, I formally grant you field commission to the rank of Brother-Centurion."
Revinius raised his own glass of bloodwine.
"You may want another swig."
Kedron threw his head back and drank deeply, feeling the scalding liquid burn down his throat, and revelling in the pain of his body. Took his mind away…
Revinius' next words, after a considerable silence, were more relaxed, and open.
"You probably should get that arm fixed up. There're some things we should go through before the next phase gets under way."
Kedron shook his head in the negative.
"No, let's hear it. There are other brothers who need the apothecarion more than I."
Revinius looked like he was about to try to overrule the younger officer, but relented. If he'd just promoted the man, he should respect his new rank.
"As you wish. Brother-Captain Lysander has indicated that we are ready to move into the next phase as we speak. The 5th Cohort has done spectacularly. You are all to be congratulated, and will recuperate here, and join us in company with the Navy after we have achieved our objective. You've earned the break."
Kedron's brow knitted together as he thought the elder man's words through.
"You want us to sit here 'recuperating' while you and the Deathbringers fight?"
Revinius nodded.
"Brother, you must be out of your mind to think that I am going to let you and Lysander do all the work."
"No, I am serious. You've done your part. We'll do the rest."
"Likewise, I am serious. We fought over that planet again and again. We fought and bled and died for that. We're going."
"You're cohort is at barely 25 of nominal strength. It'll take a week to get back to combat readiness. We don't have that week."
"Then we'll move with you. I'm sure you can use two extra squads, if nothing else."
"You need the rest and recuperation before..."
"NO".
Kedron roared, as he stood up.
"We would have died down there, our work unfinished. We were THAT close… THAT close to being wiped out. We watched our brothers, en masse, torn limb from limb, in some cases literally. We nearly met our maker, and, more importantly, we had to be pulled out. We were unable to vindicate ourselves against the Devourer, and that knowledge will consume us, turn our anger to hate, and that will cloud our judgement and ruin our ability to think as we fight."
Revinius hesitated. He didn't want the fifth in combat again. Kedron beat him to speech.
"We need to fight through, Revinius. We need to eradicate the shame on our honour that was our retreat. No matter the logic, they beat us. They threw themselves at us again, and again, and until we beat them, and beat them there, they and the spectre of their victory will haunt our every waking moment. It must end here."
The last part of the statement came out almost as a whisper, but it hit the older marine like a bell hammer. Revinius thought long and hard. The silence dragged. Kedron spoke again.
"I will not yield on this, si… Brother. We are going to fight there, with you and Lysander, or not. And, as this is now MY cohort, you can't stop us. We will go back. With you, or without you."
Revinius nodded once more.
"Very well."