Firezone Theta, Armageddon, 4 185.000.M42
"So..." The Inquisitor looked over the green-painted Ogryns, in concert with the perfectly-disguised Callidus at their head. Still he was remarkably amazed at the capabilities of polymorphine. "I assume you all know what you're here to do, right?" The sound of Basilisk and Medusa barrages partially drowned out what he said, the noise muffled in his ears by the helmet he wore.
"DAS RIGHT, BOSS! WE'Z GONNA GET IN ALL SNEAKY LIKE AND USE DA CHOPPAZ AND SHOOTAZ TA SEND DAT GROT WHO CALLS 'IMSELF A WARBOSS BACK TO 'IS CLAN IN PIECES!" The disguised assassin responded at the top of her voice. "DAT'S RIGHT, INNIT, BOYZ?" A loud rumbling roar of Ogryns with Ripper Guns and other potent 'Orkified' weapons responded.
"Alright, you guys take the Venat- I mean, you guys take the 'Trukk' with you. Send back a report when you get the chance."
"FOR DA EMPRAH!" The group gathered together in their vehicle and drove off, leaving the millennial with General Kurov and Captain Mulceber.
"Do you honestly believe this will work?" The general raised a hand to his mustache in befuddlement.
"Honestly, I have no idea." He sighed. "If it works, well... Gains for us. If it doesn't, they'll have at least died doing the right thing - following orders that make at least a shred of sense. Anyways... Captain Mulceber, there any chance I could borrow you for a second?"
The Salamander gave a nod, following the millennial as he moved into a different room. "Alright... I need your help."
"Help from an Astartes? What sort?"
"Alright, here's the deal. Emperor told me to do this whole Crusade thing. I'm guessing you've seen the note. Basically, I have enough gene-seed for around twenty-nine, thirty chapters or so, but I haven't the slightest idea how to use it - or generally how to make a Space Marine chapter."
"We have enough trained individuals within the companies stationed here to assist you with the implantation process, certainly - even with regards to the manufacturing of wargear for them, we can assist."
"Well..." He drove off, continuing in his monologue. "I kinda need an organizational structure - you know, break them in and stuff. Could the Salamanders help out with that? Once this fight's over, I admittedly sorta want to get things started with the planting of these new chapters. From what I've heard, Armageddon makes good mechanized and armored units."
"The people here are battle-hardened, yes." The Salamander nodded. "Perhaps they deserve a reward for their efforts in preservation of the Imperium."
An explosion erupted some distance away. The two power-armored individuals stepped outside, watching a Basilisk firing away into a swarm of green insect-like creatures that covered a hilltop of runs over a mile off in the distance. The loud cry of "WAAAGH!" rang across the landscape, and many a guardsman shivered in their boots as they readied themselves in formation, lasguns at the ready. When the horde of initial Slugga Boys came within range, the beams of light flashed forth, singing the flesh from the Orks as they fell to the mass of energy that pulled away their outer layers of green skin.
"Fuck..." The millennial growled. "How'd they attack so soon?"
"I suppose they think they have fresh meat." General Kurov responded, eying the power gloves he wore as the beautifully ornate thunder hammer of the charcoal-black Astartes crackled into action. Soon blasts from the Volkite Serpenta would unleash themselves upon the hulking greenskins as the forces engaged themselves with the brunt of the Ork assault.
Kurov would grasp an Ork's head in his hand, crumpling it within his hand as the Salamander bludgeoned a Nob with his mighty weapon, crude metal armor rended asunder by the potent power of the energy field surrounding the head of the massive master-crafted mallet. A blade of glistening metal punched forward from the side of the millennial's gauntlet, plunging forward towards the face of a Shoota Boy and bisecting his cranium.
Though the line was roughly held, Guardsmen were dying, overwhelmed by hordes of an endless green tide. A Basilisk fired off another potent round of artillery into the horde before the greenskins gathered en masse around its tracks and flipped the machine over with their maddening strength, crushing the crew underneath the welded metal of their open-topped vehicle. At range, less ordnance was being lobbed towards the horde, allowing it to gain ever-increasing strength.
"DO WE HAVE FUCKING TANKS?" The elder human turned to the Salamander, looking for whatever sort of opening he could get. As though an answer to his request, a Hydra flak tank began to unleash its quad autocannons into the mass of xenos, downing them swiftly with the potency of explosive shells. This gave the pseudo-Inquisitor an opportunity to fall back, the others following his motion back to a line of trenches within the firebase, a place where heavier emplacements and Tarantula turrets had been previously installed by the Imperial Guard forces, in preparation for slow and certain advancement further towards the Ork presence on the world. Taking a step back over the trenches, the general called forth a group of heavily armored guardsmen - Kasrkin units, he called them - to the forefront. A hail of grenades flew into the Ork-filled trenches as flame weapons began to mercilessly char the flesh of the aliens.
"YES!" The Sergeant screamed. "BURN IN THE FIRES OF INFERNO! FLAAAAAAME!" He certainly seemed to be enjoying himself, the formed choke-point drowning the lines in the dirt with the smoldering remains of Ork bodies. From their new position, the Guardsmen were able to keep Orks from getting around the sides even as the heavy bolter fire of the Tarantulas continued to be unleashed upon the targets before them. The rabid xenos continued to crawl over the bodies of their dead fellows, soon falling once more and building a wall of flesh that further barricaded the pathway. Soon the offensive seemed to somewhat cease, something seemed to speak in the back of the millennial's mind that they were hardly finished - not by a long shot.
Slowly he stepped back, still staring at the mass of bodies, some of which were nothing but the hands of dead Guardsmen who found themselves crushed by the pile. A grimace crossed his face as he turned away, trying hard to think about something to take his mind off the sight of freshly dead humans. Dalia stepped down from a gun emplacement, turning towards him and placing a pulsing hand upon the shoulder of his armor. "We're safe for now."
"Ugh..." He gave a bit of a disgusted look, a tidbit of bile having surfaced to the back of his throat. "I just... don't like seeing good men die, that's all."
"Casualties are merely an inevitability, Inquisitor." She frowned, distraught in a way as well. "Still, I suppose I can understand your rationale."
"You don't know the half of it..." He looked over as a woman garbed in white and red armor did her best to extricate the bodies of the deceased from the pile. "Back in the day, the bodies of the dead were treated with unparalleled reverence. Special cemeteries were spared just for them. Nowadays it seems life's so cheap, it's easier to just dump a body in a shallow dirt grave and say 'that's that.' No respect for their service at all. Wouldn't shock me either if veterans got few if any benefits."
"The Imperium consistently wages war against its foes, Inquisitor. No time can be given to dead men - they are in the presence of the Emperor now. Your chances of changing Imperial burial practices are second to none." General Kurov perked in.
"We dispose of the bodies of the fallen within the mightiest of volcanoes upon the surface of our world." Mulceber responded. "Treated properly in death as they were in life."
"Seems like a damn straight cremation process you've got going on there." A macabre chuckle came from the defrosted man's throat as he turned away. "Is there any way to get some air support? Maybe even start the planting of these Space Marines? I already have a name in mind for these guys..."
"I will see what we can do. We have the resources to construct rather simple sets of power armor for their use, based upon the Heresy-type armor. Such is simple to build and simple to replace, excellent for a newly forged chapter lacking easy access to the Aquila or Corvus armors from the Mechanicus upon Mars." He rested the depowered Thunder Hammer upon the ground, pondering over what resources were available for use in constructing such suits.
"Heresy-type armor? Um... The hell is that?"
"Well," Mulceber began, "I assume you've noticed that not every Space Marine wears what necessarily is the same type of armor. For example, some have a more beak-shaped helmet. Others have a raised 'collar' around their neck to protect the joint from penetration. Still others have older, more valuable types of plate long since unseen to the majority of the Imperium. The 'Heresy' armor is named such for its' inception during the Horus Heresy - a simple, easy to build, easy to maintain suit of armor. Though cruder in many regards to the Maximus armor it was meant to supplement, the Heresy armor was certainly one of the keys to the heretics' defeat. Many Salamanders utilize components from Heresy suits, out of respect for their reliability." He motioned to the right shoulder plate of his armor. "My suit utilizes a plate from an ancient set of Mark 5 armor for the right pauldron. I further engraved and gilded it to make it reflect with the rest of the plate."
"No advancement... I almost want to say 'if it ain't broke, don't fix it,' but I'm not sure what to say considering how those panels must've been around for millennia."
"Any suits of Heresy armor more than likely are relics, though some chapters produce and utilize them due to their simplicity." He nodded, his glowing red eyes giving an almost alien stare. "Laminated armor from derelict vehicles within the motor pool should prove useful base components."
Before the millennial could respond, a message came up, one routed through the viewpiece of his armor. "BOSS, WE'Z MADE IT IN. DEY'Z GOT NO IDEA WHAT WE GETTIN' READY FOR 'EM."
"Good, keep infiltrating in-"
"WE'Z DO GOTS A PROBLEM."
A hand raised to the faceplate of the Ignatus-pattern power armor. "...what?"
"DA BOYZ'VE GOT A RIGHT AN' PROPPA FIGHT GOIN' WIT' DESE GROTS. YOU'S WANT ME TA STRAIGHTEN DEM OUT?"
"I'd... rather not see you getting in the way of an Ogryn pummeling stuff." He sighed, recollecting how ridiculously easy to lead about they were - Derm Defra came to mind. Perhaps the Ogyn would one day cross paths with him again. Until then, one could only wonder what the results would be.
"BOSS... HE'Z COMIN!"
The sound from the feed immediately cut out - no signal was received from the disguised Callidus as he paced back and forth, waiting to find out some sort of outcome. Still he twitched, others watching nervously to determine whether or not his gamble would pay off.
"...target has been eliminated. On our way to extraction."
He breathed a sigh of relief, leaning back against the wall of a tent and soon knocking it over thanks to the force of his suit. Several Guardsmen writhed underneath the fallen tarp of their temporary quarters.
"Thank God... We did it..."
General Kurov stepped towards him, vulnerable position he was in. "I... I'm not quite sure what to think. Certainly the Emperor is with you if such a plan successfully worked, and yet it was implausible..."
"Well... We did fight differently back in my day. Figured I might as well try the craziest things in the book. Now, anyone able to get get me some samples of Ork tissue? I have an idea."
What use the idea would be in this campaign was scarsely understood, even by him, but in due time...
In due time, the gains would be made.