Noctem Oritur Chapter 42

In musty grain silo the surviving Storm Heralds converged. This space was most undignified place for a Company to regroup but such considerations were long forgotten now, the place was secure and hidden so today it would serve as an arming chamber. The fighting had taken a brief pause so this was the first opportunity the Company had seen to together since the battle had started. Every brother and scout took the opportunity to restock from ammo crates and replace broken weapons, they were bloodied and scarred but their grim determination was undiminished. In the centre of the space stood Ajax, not speaking to anyone, but the angry growl of his engines made it clear he would rather be in battle.

On piled crates of bolter rounds Captain Toran and his Sergeants were pouring over maps of the Fortress, assessing the situation and updating their strategies. Nimodes was speaking, "Fighting continues on every level but the perimeter is holding. The serfs have drawn a line in the sand and the enemy seems unwilling to cross it, in fact they are pulling back in many places."

Sergeant Mylos spoke up, "That is not right, the Traitors should be pushing forwards not pulling back."

Toran agreed, "Vorshaan will not retreat, so this calm must be the prelude to something new. He is changing tactics, but how?"

Furion proposed, "The only reason to pull back now would be to mass his forces for an overwhelming attack. He must be planning to crush us in one titanic blow."

Mylos countered, "That is a dangerous assumption, we should be cautious of thinking we know the enemy's intentions."

"No, he is right," Nimodes argued, "Their tactical options are limited. Consider that the invaders are against a clock, the Emperor's Storm will arrive in barely over a Terran day, they know they have to break us before it hits or we will have time to retrench and refortify our positions. Time, it all comes down to time."

Mylos rubbed his chin and said, "Then we have a problem. We have bled the enemy by refusing to be tied down but if they come at us all at once they can annihilate us effortlessly."

"Perhaps not," said Furion,"Not we can if we can hold them in a bottleneck, someplace confined, with good firing lines and no possibility of being outflanked."

Toran eyed his Command Sergeant and said, "You are planning something aren't you?"

Furion nodded and replied, "Daite blocked off all the major access ways into the Fortress save for one, the Grand Processional that leads right up to the doors of the Forges. If the enemy plans to come at us in strength there is no other way to move such numbers through the Fortress Monastery."

"Then that is where we shall meet them," declared Toran knowing there was no avoiding the coming battle, "Ready for your squads for inspection and send every serf who can be spared from the line to man the barricades outside the Forges, much will rest upon their supporting fire when we meet the foe."

The Sergeants made the sign of the Aquila and hurried away to assemble their squads but Mylos paused and asked, "You don't really believe we can beat them do you?"

Toran didn't want to answer that question so instead he said, "I believe we have to try, this is the moment upon which the whole war will pivot, if we falter now we lose everything."

Mylos walked away with a shake of his head, leaving Toran to reflect on his words and he knew the Sergeant was right. Their entire strategy rested on keeping the enemy off balance and on their willingness to sacrifice material space in place of the lives of battle brothers. To meet the foe head-on gave them all the advantages, but there were no other options left, the pivotal battle was here and he needed to throw everything he had into it.

Toran waited as the squads formed up into parade lines then he paced forwards. First of all was Nimodes and three score scouts. The youths were looking extremely young and scared, with their shaven heads and raw input sockets sticking out from under their carapace armour. In the normal state of affairs their training, hypno-indoctrination and gene-forging would have been given another decade to mature yet they had been flung into the fiercest of battles regardless. Then there were the initiates standing stiffly in line and Toran could see the battering they had already taken, the weariness in their eyes and the injuries they pretended to ignore. He saw how few of them remained and took a quick head count, including himself there were only thirty-seven Space Marines and most of those looked like they needed a week in the Apothecarion already.

Toran looked at his Marine's bare faces, seeing their strength, their resolution and their determination but what he was not seeing was any expectation that they would live to see the next day. The Captain recognised that not one of his Marines thought they could win this coming battle and he realised that without the confidence of victory there truly was no way to win. He needed to change that, he alone could turn this around and to do that he needed to do something he had desperately wanted to avoid.

Before he could change his mind Toran drew his blade and held it high for all to see as he declared, "This is the Sword of Thiel and you all know it is only borne by the greatest heroes of our Chapter. The names of every Marine who has carried it blazes within the histories. Bearing this sword is an honour, but also a burden for even to touch it is to be marked out for greatness in the eyes of the Chapter."

Toran let that sink for a moment then stated, "Greatness is what I expect from each and every one of you in the coming battle, which is why you shall join me in this honour." He stepped briskly up to the first brother in line and saw it was Sergeant Mylos, Toran looked him in the eye as he held out the blade laterally between them and said, "Lay you hand upon the sword."

"What?!"" exclaimed Mylos, his face a picture of utter shock as he repeated, "But... I... What?!"

"Hold out your hand," commanded the Captain firmly and the Sergeant obeyed by holding his gauntlet out palm up.

Toran pressed the flat of the blade onto Mylos' hand, firmly enough to make sure he felt it but not long enough to give him a sense of its weight or quality. Toran didn't give him time to dwell but moved on to the next brother in the line and the next, repeating the process again and again. He worked his way up one squad then down the next and once he had done all the initiates he passed amongst the scouts, making sure not to leave anyone out. Ajax was a challenge but he stood silently as Toran pressed the blade against his metal fist. Then he moved onto his own squad and Furion was the last to touch the Sword.

Toran stepped back and looked at his mystified Astartes declaring loudly, "You all know this sword has a history but what you do not know is how far back that history goes. This blade belonged to the great hero of the Horus Heresy Aeonid Thiel and it was presented to him by no less than the hand of our Primarch! This blade bears a legacy stretching back to Roboute Guilliman and that inheritance has passed from the hand of one brother to another since our founding, each bearer has become a part of it and now you too share that heritage."

The assembled Marine's faces were caricatures of awe and wonder. Toran spied several of them surreptitiously glancing at their own hands as if expecting to see some aura of divine splendour lingering there, some hint of connection to their long lost gene-sire. Toran felt bemused at how easily his fellow Space Marines could fall into superstitious reverence but today that was a trait he could use, a flaw he could exploit to his own ends.

The Captain stood proudly before them and declared, "Today you are no longer humble initiates, today you have become part of something grander, a brotherhood above and beyond what you have known before. Only the greatest of our heroes have known this burden and now so too do you, you are forevermore guardians of that legacy, inheritors to the glory bestowed upon us by our gene-sire. Henceforth all shall look upon you and know you as the Primarch's Own!"

The Captain had never seen Astartes look prouder or more eager for the fray than the company now stood before him, every one of them energised by the slightest reaffirmation of their relationship to their gene-sire. Toran swallowed his revulsion at his next words and played the role he needed to, he raised his blade high for all to see and crying, "To battle Space Marines and know that none shall stand against you for the Spirit of Roboute Guilliman is with us!"

As one the squads turned and ran from the silo, each marine griping their weapons eagerly and jamming their helms on with unseemly haste. They were filled with righteous zeal and total confidence of victory. They were followed by the lumbering form of Ajax who made the ground shake as he stomped out. Toran watched them go but there was one other who did not leave, it was Furion and he stood with his Captain as the Marines ran past.

Furion waited until they were alone then he said, "That was very well done."

"Don't praise me," spat Toran ashamed at himself, "I just ordered us to our deaths."

Furion cocked his head and asked "What do you mean?"

Toran was still holding the Sword of Thiel and lifted it slightly as he said, "Furion it's a sword, well made true but still just a mundane weapon, there is no aura of divine splendour or holy light playing along its edge. The Traitors are bringing armies to bear and all I have to offer my men are pretty lies to make them think they stand a chance."

"Permission to speak freely," requested Furion and when Toran nodded said, "Captain you have done remarkable things but sometimes I think you do not really understand your brethren. Each and every one of those Astartes feels like he could close the Eye of Terror single-handed right now. Maybe you don't have any divine gifts but never underestimate the power of morale. Those men entered this room defeated in spirit and they leave it already victorious in their hearts, they are ready to fight like the mightiest of Champions."

Toran looked up at his wise brother and asked, "You think we actually have a chance?"

Furion's reply was, "I am not capable of pity but if were then I would be feeling it for anyone who tries to stand against those Marines in this moment."

Toran couldn't help but smile wryly at the comment and felt his own spirit lift as he said, "Come then, let us catch up, we have a war to win."