Finis Fide chapter 3

Morning twilight spread across the sky, a band of warm golden haze driving back the blackness of night. The stars were fading as the sun-washed them out, overpowering them with its basking glow. Birds began their morning chorus, filling the air with sweet songs as dew dripped off leaves. The moss underfoot teemed with small insects, scurrying about their business and the smell of moist underbrush filled the air. It promised to be a brilliant day, the kind of day men would shed their coats and work in short sleeves, grumbling about the mounting heat.

In a clearing of the woods the party had halted. The local militia had dropped to the ground and gone to sleep, sure of their safety in the presence of the Space Marines. Indeed two of them were guarding the perimeter, better watchmen than a score of mortals. Yet the rest of the Storm Heralds were kneeling in the underbrush, helms doffed so they could gaze upon the dawn with their own eyes. This was a sacred ritual of their Chapter, born from the ancient history of their homeworld Lujan II, whose slow rotation meant sunlight had special significance unto them.

Sergeant Toran stared upwards, trying to ignore the slight monochrome fuzzing in his vision from his augmetic eye. His left eye was yet organic and it drank in the rich colours of the dawn, basking in the growing light. This was more than mere illumination to the Storm Heralds, it was a metaphor for the Emperor. The way His power drove the perils of night, evil and chaos from the galaxy and it was the Storm Herald's duty to be the instrument of that power.

Toran stared unblinking into the sky until the growing light pained his one eye then he spoke the words of an ancient ritual, "For what will you give your lives?"

Beside him Furion, Novak, Jediah, Halis Paur and Ophelian responded as tradition dictated, "We give our lives for honour."

Again Toran uttered, "What is your honour?"

"Our honour is our duty," came the reply.

"What is your duty?" the litany continued.

"To serve the Emperor's will," they intoned.

"What is the Emperor's will?" the ancient words rang out.

"That we be the champions and defenders of mankind," they uttered.

"How will you defend mankind?" Toran barked.

"With our lives!" the squad roared.

"Thus the circle is complete, as inevitable as the setting and rising of the sun," Toran proclaimed, "For Him on Terra."

The ritual was complete and the Space Marines stood up, brushing off leaves from their kneepads. They made a customary check of their weapons, inspecting their gear and belt pouches. Their power armour had enough supplies and power cells to function for months, but not everything could fit into the pharmacopoeia built into its backpack. Ceramite-clad hands patted down their pouches in moments and Toran was confident all would be in order.

It was then that Halis Paur muttered, "I thought we were trying to put a stop to this ritualistic behaviour."

Toran rolled his eye, knowing Halis was bitter and resentful by nature, and said, "One battle at a time Brother."

Halis shook his head and muttered, "The Chapter would be better off discarding such nonsense and focusing on battle."

Toran scowled as he snapped, "Now you go too far, the Chapter's traditions are not in question. It is the need to spread the worship of the God-Emperor that brings us into disrepute. Sometimes I wonder if you ever partook of our Rites in the Scout-Barracks."

Halis sighed at that, "It irks me, the steps we have to go to. Dealing with the Inquisition is never straightforward."

Toran let it go as he agreed, "I don't like it either, but orders are orders. We are to rendezvous with Inquisitor Canesh and assist her liberation of this world. The Chapter needs this, our relations with the wider Imperium are in dire straits, the goodwill of an Inquisitor would be a valuable asset."

Halis snorted, "We'd be fools to trust an inquisitor, they always have some nefarious agenda in play. I'll be keeping a close eye on her."

"That's what I keep you around for," Toran jested, "Keep an eye on the mortals, I'll go check the perimeter guard."

Toran left them behind as he walked over to the perimeter, passing the slumbering mortals. The locals were sleeping peaceful, sure that the Astartes would safeguard them. Yet Toran noted one exception, the man called Phelps, who had spoken out earlier, was faking sleep. His breathing pattern indicated he was alert, despite the fact that his eyes were almost fully closed. Toran silently approved, he knew all too well rest periods were the most vulnerable time when in the field, the locals would be fools to leave themselves without some form of guard. Thankfully Space Marines were above such concerns, well almost all of them.

Toran spied his two Brothers ahead, their dark blue armour settling well into the shadows of the great trees under which they stood. Brothers Persion and Daite, holding their bolters ready as their autosenses probed the darkness around them. Toran marched briskly up to them, sure that their situational awareness would remain sharp even if he was having a conversation with them, another benefit of the Astartes' genhanced bodies.

Toran pulled up beside them and said, "See anything?"

Persion answered for them both, "Nothing, we're the only ones for miles in every direction."

"Good," Toran said, "We don't want to tip our hand. Daite, any sign of our contact?"

Daite replied, "Auspex scanner isn't picking up anything at all."

"And are there any other indications?"

Daite's head turned a fraction of a degree as he spat, "You mean am I having a vision? No, I am not."

That was a thorny issue, the Storm Herald's gene-flaw was strong in Daite, granting him visions at the most random of moments. Toran didn't trust them entirely, but they had been vexingly useful at times, telling him where enemies were coming from, if an objective had been vacated by a foe or when to duck. Once he had even foreseen an airstrike incoming, saving IXth from a most unpleasant bombardment. Yet just as often they were vague and cryptic, odd pronouncements that made no sense until long after the moment had passed.

Toran sighed, "Well let me know if you do and make sure to get some sleep when your watch is ended."

Now Daite did turn his head properly as he spat, "Don't coddle me!"

Toran's eye narrowed at the outburst as he said, "Watch your tone, Initiate. I am your Sergeant, Chaplain Wrethan would have you flogged for rebuking a superior."

Daite sagged as he said, "I offer apologies Sergeant. I merely meant I am not tired, sleep is not required."

Toran lifted an eyebrow as he said, "Are you certain, you know the overuse of the Catalapsean Node triggers more frequent visions."

Daite replied through gritted teeth, "I am aware of my condition, I can manage it. I am a Space Marine, I will not suffer to be treated as less than my kin."

Persion sounded bemused as he said, "You sound like you resent your gifts."

"Gift?" Daite snorted, "The Masters call them that, messages from the Divine Emperor High Chaplain Samect told us. I call them a curse, always being on tenterhooks waiting for unbidden visions to come. Always being watched by my Brothers in case I fall behind… they see me as weak."

Toran was surprised to hear him speak so and said, "Surely you do not think IXth Squad treats you as an invalid. I've seen you rip an Ork's arm off and beat it to death with it."

Daite sighed, "No, you try to include me, but I know you watch me. It was the same in the scout-novices, everybody treating me like a grenade with its pin pulled. Wondering if I will freeze up in battle, I thank the throne it has never happened but all know it could."

Persion sniffed, "Same the visions are so useful, else the Chapter would have sought to eradicate them from our gene-stocks long ago."

Toran concurred, "Was not our First High Chaplain Charael a Visionary, the first one documented in our order. His visions led to the unmasking of a great Heresy in Battlefleet Karyl."

Daite muttered, "I sometimes wish he had not, such history I could well do without. Maybe I wouldn't have to suffer such visions without that."

Toran eyed him and said, "Don't you start talking like Halis, I can't have two of you in the squad."

Lightly Persion quipped, "Halis loves being a misery, it's his favourite pastime. Sometimes I think he and Novak are competing to see who can have the loosest tongue. They are in more trouble with the Chaplains than anyone."

Daite retorted, "You can't talk, how many times has Chaplain Wrethan slapped you down for probing vox-feeds you shouldn't? I've never seen a communication specialist with such a lax attitude to comms protocols."

Persion lifted a hand from his bolter's stock and waved it dismissively as he said, "What I don't know could kill me, so I make sure to know everything. I know what I'm doing, I never do anything warranting more than a slap on the wrist."

"You mean you don't get caught," Toran snorted, "With an attitude like that you'll never make it out of the Reserve Companies, let alone earn a Sergeant's rank."

Persion's tone fell as he spat, "I'm a Trux-born, I'll never make high-rank. The Chapter thinks only native Lujanites are fit for command."

Toran was surprised at the unfamiliar tone of rancour in his voice and was about to press him further but at that moment Daite's auspex chimed. All eyes turned to it as the warrior lifted the tiny device and pointed it upwards, waving it back and forth. The chimes grew louder and faster as the second passed then Daite held it still and proclaimed, "Incoming gunship, coming right at us on an orbital descent track. It will be here in two minutes."

Toran felt a sharp surge of excitement as he turned and yelled, "Alert Brothers, stand ready and awaken the mortals. Look lively, an Inquisitor is coming."