Chapter 16

(A/N: Please note: I have edited Chapters 14 and 15. I even added an Iron Hands perspective to 15's end. You are welcome, but please let me know on how to improve and I shall do so if I can. Here is Chapter 16.

+++Thought for the day: 'We don't negotiate with terrorists' does sadly tend to happen to prevent further casualties, unless certain special forces are involved. Then it's a bloodbath for the terrorists.+++ )

September 2519

UI/RF Asteroid Redoubt Freedom's Refuge

Omega-Theta System

UEG Space

"Quatrus, Primaris: Noted. Please make all due haste towards Rendezvous Point as possible. Primaris is now almost there. Over." Iulius said on the vox channel for the combined team. He then started voxing the other squads. "Secundus, Tertius: Primaris: How copy?" The Ultramarines squad leader asked.

"Primaris, Secundus," Hehlsbuhrg answered. "We are en-route to your position. This structure is inadequately defended. Break. We will be there on short notice. ETA: Zero-three mikes. Over." The Imperial Fist's Sergeant answered.

"Primaris, Tertius." Bragi One-Eye sounded off. "Me and the lads are having some fun. We'll see you when we get there. Over." Bragi reported.

"Primaris copies all: Primaris: Out." He said and then sighed. Terra-damned Space Wolves! Always so damn... Gah! He had long-ago learned to discipline himself. The Space Wolves served the Emperor as Executioners, though not many knew this. The World Eaters were their rivals on combat terms. However, he had never heard of Space Wolves and World Eaters fighting each other... well... perhaps a few rumors here and there. Maybe even a bar fight? No. The World Eaters had been on the fringes before the war with Horus began, he remembered. The Wolves had been en-route to Prospero. Unfortunately, they lost not a few to the Warp before and after certain events occurred distorting the Astronimican.

His squad was now approaching the rendezvous point. Well... one of. The admin center was accessible from four different directions. The plan was to surround it and offer whatever was left of the rebels inside one chance to surrender. If not: they died. Normally, they'd take prisoners if it was just civilized and disciplined Legions like the Ultramarines or the Imperial Fists. But, the Iron Hands and the Space Wolves were involved. They couldn't afford another war between Astartes, especially those loyal to the Emperor.

He turned his head as his squad took up positions a mere four meters from one entrance to the Admin section. A survey of the damage revealed nothing but dead rebels, hallways painted in blood and filled with bullet-holes. (nothing that threatened an exposure to the vacuum), the air now smelled of a complex and disgusting mixture of blood, bolter-fire, and for some reason: gas. He had heard that the Machine Assault rifles used in this time period were gas operated. That, and the current used model fired six hundred rounds a minute with a hundred rounds per clip. Interesting. Almost as half as good as a bolter. He lightly patted his firearm. Nothing beats bolters. Save heavy ones... cannons... his smile turned upside down. Dammit, good moment ruined.

XXX

"Oi, Rod?" A voice asked on the com-channel on Rod's head-seat. It was a heavy-accented Spanish-Scotch voice.

"Yeah, Rory?" Rodriguez-now Acting Commander of the remnant of the United Insurrectionist/Resistance Forces- asked, helping set additional traps. So far, they had put up laser-mines on the hallways in Admin, now being fortified into a makeshift fortress. Every old office that either served as quarters for now-dead commanders in what was left of the outfit was now booby-trapped. Every goddamned hall-or-doorway was now trapped with trip-wired frag grenades and LOTUS mines, and what have you. if they were going to fight and die, better for those bastards to suffer some maiming before it all went down. At least they would die as martyrs... while giving the enemy something to remember them by that was a hell of a lot worse than an STD!

"We're seeing a bunch of those pendejos outside. They're four meters out and they've taken defensive positions." Rory reported.

"Have they tried anything?" Rodriguez asked.

"No. Nada." Rory answered. Rodriguez frowned, activating the last mine. He went back to the Command Center and looked at the footage feed. Crying was heard from what few women and children were holed up here. Whatever comfort their moms or friends ended in vain. At least their end would be quick... or so it was hoped.

He checked footage. Hangar bay was unoccupied, but it looked fruitless to get anyone over here, they'd be slaughtered. He was hoping to send a message to them. All of a sudden: his footage flickered. He blinked. What the fuck? It resumed playing. He looked at footage of other areas: There was another group: similar armor, somewhat similar tactics that was advancing from the 'west', with another group advancing from the 'north' with one last group that looked incredibly and disgustingly different than the others. Same kind of armor, but different tactics. What the fuck was this? Some kind of cyborg raid of freaks? That one wild group looked like they literally bathed in blood and had been laughing as they slew friends and comrades with no hint of remorse or compassion.

Another group was cold and calculating, being thorough in its movements, eliminating any and all. Two different tactics: one up close and personal, the other? thorough, but also ranged, using o nly rounds that exploded heads and tore apart bodies. His eyes squinted. "Wait a minute," He muttered. He looked at other footage. Another group was moving up, near the western entrance. These guys were ranged combat users like the ones before. Not slow, or calculating. They way they moved was like it was a fucking siege... which it was! He frowned. All four of these groups wore different colored armor... that looked largely the same. Four groups. Different colors... same armor... different various tactics...

"Vijo de puta!" He swore! Whoever this was- it was a fucking joint op! Not fucking ONI-not even they were this bat-shit loco! Cazzo! Mierda! He tried to think. The blues looked reasonable, judging by how they took prisoners. Everyone else? Not so much. The yellows looked to be much more shoot first, acting like they were sieging the place. The black giants? They were slow, methodical, calculating, thorough, but shot like they were mad as hell. The grays were clearly psycopathic, murderous bastards that would've made certain other factions of the wider Insurrectionist movement blush with shame or pale with fear and piss themselves. All of them wore the same kind of medieval-esque looking power armor. ONI and the wider UNSC didn't use that shit. He'd been former CMA before turning on his pig employers. He'd seen enough colonists struggling under Earthborn-corporate rules and restrictions. These guys didn't look like corporate types... something else. They were some kind of human... and yet... not. Whom were they? Who made these guys? Who trained them? What units were there? So many questions, so many lives lost and so little time.

He then realized something and closed his eyes. Shit. There'd been a mistake on their part."We're being boxed in... and we booby-trapped everything." He sighed to himself, rubbing his face. The blues looked like they were going to wait for the other teams to be in position, then either negotiate or kill them all. There was going to be one hell of a mess. 'Maybe', Rodriguez thought to himself, 'I should've stayed with the CMA and or just never joined the movement.'

Rodriguez then started to call his section leaders... no-not 'section'... 'group' leaders. Mostly ten or fifteen guys each or others that didn't see shit that were now taking up arms for the first time. He was going to inform them of his decision. They had boxed themselves in... and if these guys were smart... they'd either leave... or they'd use the traps to kill them. That, or the traps wouldn't even put a dent in their armor. Who knows? Maybe they might leave and blow the station... with the Innies on it? Who could tell?

XXX

"Primaris, Secundus: we are dealing rebels from Quatrus's sector. Break." The Imperial Fists sergeant followed. Merely ten seconds later after he heard the sounds of bolter fire and the faint sounds of human screams. "Primaris, Secundus: all rebels from Quatrus sector are now KIA. I say again: EKIA. Over." The Imperial Fists squad leader reported.

"Secundus, Quatrus: Our thanks, Praetorians of Terra. Quatrus out." The leader of the orphaned Iron Hands on this asteroid answered. Iulius smiled. Well, least someone was getting along these days.

"Quatrus, Secundus: Always 'happy' to help out our brothers deal with traitors. Over and Out." The Imperial Fists answered. Iulius blinked as he turned to his second. Did that Imperial Fist just joke? Those bastards were usually so dour and grim. That, and somewhat reserved like Dorn. He couldn't help but wonder what happened to Dorn and Gulliman? Or Lion'El Jonson and Jaghatai Khan? He sighed. So many questions that may never be answered until after he died.

Just then, the station's intercom system crackled to life. "To the guys besieging our base, we'd like to talk." The voice from the speakers said. It sounded like Terran Hispanic mixed with Itahlian. Not necessarily an odd combination. He was from Roma itself. Captain Leonidas was from the old Olympian Hegemony back on Terra, back when the Great Crusade raged. "There's been enough bloodshed, order your guys to stop killing. We want to talk." The man pleaded, trying to hold on to whatever was left of his dignity. "I have control of all the cameras on the station, and I can activate the code for the generator to self-destruct and kill us all. Either way: this ends. We just want to talk." The rebel spokesman, possibly the leader, announced.

"Tertius, Primaris: Inquisitive: Did that whoreson just threaten to kill us all? Over." Bragi asked with a scoff over the strike force's vox channel so all would hear. Iulius chuckled a little. "Primaris to all squads: Yes, that fool just did threaten us." Iulius affirmed with a sigh, shaking his head. This idiot was asking for trouble. Arrogant bastard.

"Primaris, Quatrus: We are now en-route to our objective. Over." The Iron Hands sergeant reported.

"Primaris, Tertius: Same here, Son of Gulliman. We're moving to ours. Besides: nothing much for us to kill right now. Over." Bragi One-Eye affirmed.

"Primaris, Secundus: We have reached our objective and are now setting up position to attack on your order. Over." Hehlsbuhrg ordered.

"Primaris, Tertius: You can give the order, we'll join you as soon as we arrive." Bragi said more as an order. Fenrisian bastard should stick to protocol. Then again, the Space Wolves were a bit anti-authoritarian- despite being loyal to the Emperor and to the Wolf King.

"Tertius, Primaris: Negative. He wishes to parlay? Then parlay we shall." Iulius answered, shrugging.

"Primaris, Quatrus: Acting Commander, I believe that is illogical and ill-advised. Break. We are close to taking them all out in a matter of say-four minutes, perhaps less." The Iron Hands sergeant protested with no small amount of anger in his mechanical tone.

"Primaris, Secundus: I concur with Quatrus. Negotiating with this filth would be ill-advised. We are the 'Angels of Death', not 'Angels of Mercy'." Hehlsbuhrg agreed with his Iron Hands counter-part.

"All squads, Primaris: Rules of Engagement were quite clear for this mission: If the enemy leaders want to surrender and negotiate, we shall. Break: I let you all operate on your own (subserviant) ROEs as I saw fit. Break. However: we do this by the overall book. Over." Iulius commanded.

He heard Bragi grunt under his breath right as a new voice came onto the Vox channel.

"Fug you, you sea-colored shite!" A voice roared in unmistakable Fenrisian on the vox channel. It wasn't Bragi. There was full silence on the vox channel as Iulius closed his eyes, knowing it was one of the Bloodclaws.

"To whomever shouted that comment: I will let this slide due to fraternity between our Legions as we are all brothers stranded here. I'll let your elders deal with you later. My order still stands and that is final. As the Emperor wills it. Primaris out." Iulius ordered in a tired voice. Terra-damn Bloodclaws! Too eager for their own good. An Ultramarines Scout would act in much better discipline and keep his trap shut! He then used his vox's external speakers.

"Am I speaking to the leader or an equerry of the rebel faction occupying this installation?" Iulius asked aloud. He looked ahead to see his men were aiming at the rebels ahead of them, whom aimed back with Machine Assault rifles, shot guns, pistols, and what have you. All inferior to the superior fire arms of Astartes and the wider Imperium.

"I'm the leader of what remains of the United Insurrectionst/ Resistance Forces of Freedom's Refuge. So yeah: I'm in charge." The station's intercom speakers sighed, his shrug being heard.

"I am Gunnery Sergeant Gaius Iulius of the United Space Command's United Earth Space Corps' Raiders." He said, using what historical knowledge he knew of this time period(along with some fictional exaggeration). Yes, he had to admit it: he was lying like a Terran snake.

"Alright, Gunny." The leader said with unease and no small amount of suspicion. "How about you call off your dogs and we don't blow us all into space?" The leader threatened with smiling gall over the station's intercom. Iulius laughed, something akin to a coal engine coughing. He knew the truth.

"How about we do indeed leave-and then blow your station from outside: with you alone in the void along with your mother-less bastards?" Iulius countered.

"Listen here, Julius-fucking-Caesar: I'm not lying to you: you killed our comrades and our women! You bastards are psyopathic schizophrenics that fight like fucking demons than men!" The leader roared at him.

"Oh?" Iulius said, tilting his head before continuing. "Then tell that to all the families you've orphaned, all the civilians you tossed into the void from those merchant and passenger vessels. Their numbers lie in the mere thousands, perhaps tens of thousands by your and your faction alone. Multiply that by other factions, 'your brothers, and the numbers turn into millions- perhaps more. Compared to today? I'd say your losses would be a very small drop in a very large bucket." Iulius said with no hint of empathy towards them. "And last I checked: Your women fought as well." He added. "Not only that: but you act and fight like children as well." He taunted. "Honestly: for all of your faction's combined strength and intelligence, for all of your intelligence amongst the criminal network that is the Insurrectionist movement: how in the hell haven't you bastards even considered trying a strike against Earth's command structure? How in the hell haven't you taken out their command structure in all the decades you've fought? Are you actually fighters of a resistance? Or are you actually nothing more than stupid cowards that run and hide because of taxation?" Iulius taunted.

XXX

"Cock-sucking piece of shit!" Rodriguez barked into the mike. "You come here to our home and you talk shit in it too?! Fuck you! And the pigs of the UNSC!" He yelled so loud, his voice cracked like a child entering puberty. This shit-talking inhuman...Fuck! He had been stalling for time as one of the few technicians left tried to see if he could kick-start the remote-self-destruct charges they had put in the generator room. Unfortunately... things weren't going to plan as the tech kept swearing silently.

Outside, his remaining Insurrectionist brothers clutched their weapons ready for a last stand.

"Sheepdogs, actually." The 'Gunny' known as 'Iulius' spoke to him simply over the intercom, his voice clearly heard.

Rodriguez looked at him incredulously. "What?" He asked.

"Pigs are fat pieces of meat used as livestock," Iulius said aloud as the acting commander watched him. He couldn't mistake the leader as a trooper as he stood alone, his massive gun aimed at the deck. "The UNSC's armed forces are more akin to 'sheepdogs' in my opinion." Iulius said and then continued. "Oh, and by the way: That trouble you're having activating the self-destruct sequence for your generator?" The massive inhuman monster laughed. "We planned for that," Iulius revealed showing his proverbial hands. Rodriguez and the technician, a trusted friend and a long-time member of the movement looked at eachother right as something caught his eye on the array of camera feeds. He looked at the one for the hangar bay. His eyes widened in horror as he stood up, swearing in horror. He saw people and unsecured ships, not to mention Pelicans, get blasted off into space as controls for the doors were already overridden.

"Santo Mierda!" The tech behind him shouted in shock and horror, clutching his mouth. His face paled. The odor of piss was smelled throughout the air. The guards outside came in asking. One look at the footage for the hangar revealed why. Panic started to come through.

That monster's voice came through. "Don't bother with the self-destruct sequence. While we've been making our way to you: our own technicians were hacking into your station's systems, locking your own access out. In essence: we can blow your station from our own ship none the wiser right after we leave." Iulius smugly gloated-that Terran bastard!

Ranting in Spanish, one of the guards stormed out, briefly forgetting about the laser-mines they put on the wall. Only for it to explode as his foot stepped through it in his confounding anger. The shrapnel struck his neck, eyes, face, and his leg. He died with a brief scream. Thus began a great panic as men and women stood up and started running for no other reason than panic and confusion, setting off the mines and traps before anyone could stop them.

After a minute or so of chaos, the Admin center was full of screaming dead or dying men and women with children crying even more.

XXX

"Unbelievable: they really are undisciplined children." Iulius scoffed in disbelief at what just happened. He now could hear the cries of actual children... those idiots!

"Primaris to all squads: Advance but only kill the adults that are dying or attack you! I say again: all squads advance but only kill the adults that are dying or attack you!" Iulius roared, walking through. His squad now advanced. Bolterfire echoed, killing those that dared to raise their guns with bloodied-shredded fingers. Those on the floor had their heads smashed by careless boots. By now, all squads had reached their objectives and now advanced. For once, the Space Wolves and Iron Hands didn't kill civilians and actually followed their strike leader's orders. Not always did they do this, even back home during the Heresy... or rather, the Great Crusade before it. The Heresy wasn't known to most Astartes at the time. Some of them had been en-route to Istvaan, others not so much. Some had even fought during some of the hardest engagements of the war against Horus.

As they cleared the Admin center, the smell of blood, gunpowder, and smoke became greatly concentrated in the vicinity. He noticed the Bloodclaws were grinning wickedly at the carnage they had wrought against the heretics... that and the rebels' own stupidity. It was stupidity in a sense... but also a strange form of justice. Some merely threw down their weapons and gave up. Others died fighting for a brief moment during the confusion with precise shots.

Eventually, Iulius reached the actual command center after wading through the dead, dying, and orphaned. Two men were in there. Both ashen pale. The first staring outside, the other cradling back and forth-crying like a child. A third sat in a chair with his brains blown out and a Magnum pistol laying on the floor next to him. He recognized the corpse: Jason Rourke, the last remaining commander of this renegade faction. Most of his lieutenants must've been killed. One of the two, Karl Rodriguez (Iulius remembered from certain footage obtained from several victim merchant and passenger ships he had seen), stood with his gun held at the ground, his eyes staring at the carnage that just happened. Not all defenses went to plan. It had all gone to shit at the drop of a hat. All on his watch. He had just seen his glorious last stand turn into a shit-show of stupidity and madness. Iulius almost pitied the poor whoreson. The other man, nothing more than someone of no importance, kept crying for 'mi bebe'. Either his child or a lover. He didn't know and he didn't care. Space Marines could never love as a human would for a wife or lover, something enviable... or not. It depended on one's perspective and the occasion. He cared only for friends, brothers, comrades, civilians, and fathers: both Gene-Seed and the Emperor Himself.

His eyes were drawn to a holographic screen that showed camera feed leading to here. The man rocking back and forth and Rodriguez must've seen some-"

"Damn it... should've had someone clear the hangar bay first before this whole damn thing." He muttered to himself, eyeing the sole Thunderhawk in the hangar bay. More would follow, surely. This one was just for the prisoners to be gained. The plan had called for the hangar bays to be opened thanks to the Iron Priest back onboard the Terran Honor, whom would hack into the space station with no need of physical presence on the station. Then, he would block all access to the station's systems from the rebels and open the hangar bay doors while ensuring that the generator would not self-destruct. During this: all four squads would arrive at the rendezvous point (or rather four of them. They were 'objectives' really). Then, once all squads were in position: they'd attack on four fronts, overwhelming the rebels with brute force until the rebels either surrendered or died. Then again, Space Marines could make mistakes. Horrible ones. Rebels fleeing to the hangar bay and staying there were indeed theorized, but it was hoped that they would run to Astartes killzones with the fleeing rebels captured or dead. Instead... this. Dammit, he was going to be censured for it. Might as well request the Iron Priest board and take anything from the station's databanks. Anything that could help.

"Karl Rodriguez, I presume." Iulius said to him, towering over the mortal man. The man simply stared at him, his ghostly face nodding. He raised his gun to his mouth, but didn't fire when Iulius crushed the man's hand with a quick catch and a simple squeeze. The hand became crushed along with the gun when it dropped to the floor. It didn't go off, thankfully. Rodriguez screamed, clutching his hand. The other man kept rocking back and forth. Poor bastard. Iulius handed him over to a member of his squad for escort back to the Terran Honor.

"Terran Honor, Primaris:" Iulius began. "Station secure. I say again: Station secure. Send in the Iron Priest to download any and all-" Immediately, the screens from where he was at started to change subtly in color... data flowing across it. Never mind that then. A voice interrupted him, a Fenrisian-accented-deeper-than-a-man's Astartes voice.

"Primaris, Mimir: No need, Ultramarine. I'm uploading it to my personal databanks for analysis." The Iron Priest announced, his Fenrisian accent blending with a mechanical tone.

"Primaris, Leonidas," His superior announced in his archaic Olympian accent. "Great work. Have the prisoners and civilians be sent back aboard. We will commence standard clean-up operations and make sure you have Cicero be the one to spray-paint the Aquila this time." Leonidas's grin was heard.

"Aye, sir. Will do. Primaris. Out." Iulius nodded, looking around and started giving the orders. He then turned towards the technician that still rocked back and forth.

"One-Eye" He called in a low tone that ensured none of the children were startled as they were led away to their fate. Bragi One-Eye made a swift walk to his position and looked at the rocking technician. His one good eye looking at the man with no more pity than for a wounded animal. He looked at Iulius, whom nodded. Bragi nodded back and dragged the mentally ill rebel to his feet, guided him to a wall after all of the civilians were out and showed him the Emperor's Mercy. When it was done, the body would be left on the floor.

Once the martial operation and evacuation of civilians and prisoners was done, servitors would arrive to dispose of the bodies and pick up any stray boltgun casings on the floor or elsewhere. Trooper Cicero was left grumbling as he spray-painted a golden aquila over the now-missing (and disposed of) corpse of the technician, the gold paint would then mix with the congealed blood long after the station was abandoned with no discovery being made until a rogue salvage crew would attempt to make it their home and discover to its horror what looked like a massacre with that golden aquila spread from one section of the bulkhead to another in the former admin center. By then, it would be at least four years before the beginning of the Human-Covenant War. More rebel and xenos stations would be found in a similar manner.