[Mark 76.24.05]

- Last significant enemy contact reported eight hours ago. All orbital plates' secured, orbital dominion over Ra'Chaal 3 achieved. Elevator bases numerated 5 and 6 yet to be struck and cleansed. Army groups deploying out beyond elevator continent on annihilation detail.

| 375th Expedition Fleet forces casualty reports. (Read more) |

| Battle damage assessments. (Read more) |

| Dawn Stalker's casualty reports. (Insufficient Clearance.)

ALERT

/Entry attempt noted in log, notifying stationed Ordo Chronos Inquisitor

- Xeno fleet retreating back to home world (true designate 375-13). Expedition fleet elements and accompanying Dawn Stalkers strike vessels dispatched to far system edge prosecuting search and destroy missions. Estimate minimal enemy contact.

/Proposed regroup at [Mark. 120.00.00]

· XIth Legion Astartes Vanguard regrouping and resupplying. Awaiting further orders from Praetor Vaurion,

/Incoming transmission…ext- Praetor Officium/ "Mission objectives stand. Take the orbital elevators and attend to the Xenos. We shall see this battle through to the end Dawn Stalkers. Steel yourselves brothers, it's a dirty job but someone has to do it."

; Censure motion upon Kattegan 12th Super heavy armor division postponed for review.

; Legion honors and auxiliary accolades awaiting final review and dispensation

; Praetor Vaurion and Mistress Read to meet with Master Astropath at [Mark 80.00.00] sharp.

/:::::/

Thought for the day,

"Sometimes the enemy of my enemy. Is just another enemy."

- Excerpt from the Gladius Imperialis.

There is a memorial on Terra,

Not a grand kilometer spanning mural of honor rolls, nor an entire moon dedicated to the glory of the Eleventh. But those who look upon it and know, never forget.

I have seen it three times. A simple thing, that broad white marble obelisk on a halved pyramid of the same carved stone. Each etched with the names of the fallen. Tall but nothing compared to the ancient hive spires. Topped by a rising sun made of metal salvaged from the armor of the warriors slain during Master Antinous's strike on the crown road. The first dawn raid of our not yet christened brotherhood, the battle that raised us in favor amongst the newborn Legions.

It is the only marker on the throne world in remembrance of our Legion. It does not grace a chamber in the Palace itself. Far removed from such splendor and glory just as we are. Out in the wilds on the road to the Eternity Gate, just as the men it honors are. Battling the forces of superstition and darkness beyond the safety of our heartlands, bringing the kind glowing light of the Imperial truth to the farthest reaches of the galaxy.

It is not a grand thing but it is enough for us. For we know as long as the sun of our birth world shines on that monument and the Imperium of man, our legend will be remembered.

And the name of Tyr Rameus, Captain of the Thirty Fourth heavy support company Tenth Echelon Eleventh Legion Astartes shall live on in that immortality.

"The Emperor knows his name."

Captain Arminger said those words to me as if he sensed my thoughts while I looked out of the bombed out corner of the alien skyscraper we were setting up as a command post. Army officers and adjutants swarmed the lower levels deploying comm equipment, maps, and cogitators. Setting up barracks for their men and the officers, sequestering mess halls, armories, briefing rooms and strategiums while we Astartes made ourselves at home in the higher levels.

I could see the mass grave from here.

The place where we had buried our brothers who had fallen and set aside spaces for those yet to on this world. As we always did.

"Aye," I told the Captain, "And his name is Legion. He'll speak it with pride."

So would our Primarch when he was returned to his sons.

For Rameus had proven himself a credit to our Legion and promise. We could only hope to die with half as much honor and pride.

I turned away from the jagged blackened edges shifting my crested helm to my other armored hand, my just replaced black cloak fluttering in the wind. No need to worry about snipers. We had gunships stationed overhead and Astartes scouts in all of the best vantage points already in this canyon of hive spires with the rest of the Vanguard loitering below amidst the thousands upon thousands of Imperial Army personnel and war machines.

A pair of servitors trundled around cleaning this small room where we decided the Legion officers could take rest. Arminger stood in the far corner his jump pack unattached at his bronze boots, arms held up as one of the lobotomized servants patched the soft gaps in his armor. Beside the two of them another tended our weapons on a fallen stone pillar. The assault captain's power ax and combat shield and my own claws gently laid out for maintenance.

Next to the broken automatic door in this once impressive suite, one sat on each side the two Diaconus Acolytes were tending to their equipment personally as commanded by the absent Master Bruis. One polishing his power sword and his fellow disassembling a bolt pistol.

Datapads, comm links and a couple of captured synthetic heads littered the space around the small holoprojector on the giant black stone block serving as our round table in the middle of this room. Stray wires and insulation hung from the ceiling letting particles trickle down for the servitors to sweep away. I set my helmet down on this slab absently scratching my freed black hair and pulled one of the data slates over,

I sighed. More reconnaissance reports, scouts of all sorts following the last remaining Knights in this city forge back to their holes. The Xenos were gathering infantry both flesh and synthetic as well as more machines to their sides preparing for siege and guerilla warfare. It was always tiresome cleaning up after a smashing victory, like pulling out the roots of an old tree by hand as I had seen piss poor agri world farmers do.

Arminger lowered his arms and waved away the servitor, "Almost doesn't seem worth the effort." He mused,

I shifted my eyes up to the Captain, "What would that be?"

"Mark three armor brother," Arminger explained, "I heard the Mechanicus have finished prototyping."

"Do you have a mark three suit back on the barge?" I asked.

"No… I was simply talking," He admitted, sinking down on another slab opposite of me laying his bronze vambrance and arm on the block, "Should I go and acquire some yellow paint?"

"For what purpose?"

"None, I suddenly found myself conversing with a dour Fist and wished for the proper visual aid."

"Pragmatism is a trait worthy to be built upon in any Legion."

"I think that is cynicism brother."

"Perhaps, perhaps."

I cast my mind back to those rumors I had heard as well, "Lighter armor they say,"

Arminger cocked his head to the side, "You don't approve?"

"My approval matters not, even though it would be given… What does mighty Alexander always say?"

I knew fully well what our Legion champion was fond of saying, but I wanted this rapport to burgeon. A bit like poking a Squiggoth, but if Arminger gave in to this game I would win.

The Captain growled and answered, "Nimbleness is a greater defense than any iron skin…"

"Which he demonstrated on you first hand."

"I drew first blood."

"And he drew last."

"Bah. I shall have that laurel yet mark my words."

Any warrior could challenge our legion champion for the right to his title and honors, but with the vast distances in between Echelons bouts of that nature were few and far between. And most of the men in Master Antinous's first Echelon had long given up on trying to best the first Sergeant with how many times he had proven himself against all comers or were otherwise uninterested.

But it was good for John to dream.

Once he was done brushing aside my skepticism the assault captain's hand wandered back to his ruined right ear. Scratching at the flesh patch plastered on by one of the apothecaries earlier.

"Mourning your chiseled good looks?" I asked.

While our Legion unbound from the fate of old age like all the others some said that ours had been gifted with eternal youth as well. Only the most hard worn veterans, captains, diaconi, and praetors bore the marks of a long life of violence. The rest of us could keep a youthful appearance for many decades.

Arminger's hand self-consciously fell to his lap, "Well I quote one of those Kattegan shits, 'Chicks dig scars.'"

"What did he mean by that?"

"I suspect it does not apply to any of our get. Though Razak owes me a favor in that regard."

I did not know of whom he spoke, "Who is Razak?"

"One of Master Koras's apprentices," Arminger explained, speaking of our Chief Apothecary, "I saved the whelp's life on two four forty four, twenty nine."

"Where you first bore your thunder bolts," I noted.

That appeared to please Arminger, he grinned beginning this tale,

"Aye, sent off to relieve a sixth Echelon strike force. Master Koras was there in his dutiful wanderings you know. Five hundred Astartes scouring the tundra plains of that world in its million year exile on the edge of the system. A tank battalion surprised them and pushed our brothers back to a bombed out citadel. Cravens flipped a rhino with a ram and pinned our young apothecary inside the rear hatch. I jumped down and killed four exo-suited humans trying to tear Razak's armor off while he stabbed at them with his Narthecium."

Not being privy to the details of that campaign, I was honored John chose to tell me himself, "I am certain he was grateful." I said with a nod.

He muttered back, "Little cosmetic surgery is a poor balance for a life debt."

I shrugged, "It's a start at least, I am certain you will need his services at least at one point."

"Circumstances aligning," He dryly agreed.

The occasional sound of footsteps, both Astartes and Human passing in through the broken door had not disturbed us yet. Traffic simply was an accepted thing up in our temporary lofty abode. But this time it was the sound that accompanied these definitely power armored boots that drew both John's and my attention.

The sound of clinking glass.

Black clad Master Bruis emerged through the portal, his power maul dripping purple blood clutched in his left hand. But in the other the Diaconus had his white cloak detached and bundled up like a traveler's sack. From which the curious sound still emanated.

Master Bruis gently laid his cloak on the stone slab and released the four corners, letting the assortment of tall dark glass bottles spill free.

He laid his weapon down beside this mess and quickly began rounding up the vessels rolling away and once this task was done removed his own black helmet.

"I come bearing gifts," He said with a grin setting the armor piece down on the edge of our slab table. "Tried offering some to Pasanius. He was not amused."

Captain Arminger reached out for a bottle, and voiced the question also on my mind, "What manner of gifts?"

"Wine brothers, the finest of potions."

Arminger pulled his selection back, Master Bruis mean while interlaced his fingers then pushed them out cracking every single joint within making me wince. And for the grand finish to his arrival, took the ends of his cloak now part time table cloth and swiftly pulled it free from beneath his pillaged alcohol.

That act was impressive enough to elicit some applause from myself. Arminger stopped staring at the bottle in his hand as the nature of these gifts registered on his mind and he cast his gaze up to Master Bruis along with a raised eyebrow. The Diaconus tossed his cloak over to one of the loitering servitors before returning the expression.

"Don't give me the eyebrow," he chided, "I saw you and your friend Silas on Sixty six, oh four."

Arminger looked back to the bottle and muttered something to himself before uncorking it with his teeth, spiting the stopper aside and taking a hearty pull.

"What happened where?" I asked,

"None of your business…" Arminger growled back,

With that new mystery to ponder I set down my data slate, but I did not reach for any of the alien vintages yet.

"Where did you get these?" I asked the Diaconus.

"Out in the city," Bruis explained, "Some auxiliaries discovered an eatery and decided an Astartes should have first pick."

"Doesn't explain why you…" Suddenly sensing an insolent tone in my words I held my tongue, not wanting to cause any offence. But Master Bruis was all too happy to answer my half-finished question.

In a way I didn't expect.

"It would have just been rude to say no," He said very nonchalantly, but then asked a thing of me after a pause while he sat down, "You do not approve?"

"It is a Xeno thing," I told him.

"Good wine is good wine," Bruis said,

Arminger interjected, "Mediocre wine."

I spoke again, "Xeno wine is Xeno wine, no matter what universals you see."

If it was a thing of courage in our Legion imbibing these things I could understand. But we judged our brothers based on the strengths of the heart that drives their arms in battle. I doubted any of the bottles contents could harm an Astartes physically, but I still felt a deep revulsion.

Master Bruis leaned forward, "Indeed, but here we are slaughtering these creatures by the millions but none of us stop to consider and examine the magnitude of this task?"

I was confused, "What do you mean? There is nothing to consider."

"We are here to wipe out an entire species," Bruis continued, "Send them to the dust of memory to be forgotten by the masses that will follow us… Do you not see the weight of that?"

"Xeno's deaths are no burden on me."

"Why is that? Did they not live and breathe, make wine, sail the stars and create many great and terrible things? Should we not lament their passing just like the Humans we put to the sword?"

"No."

"Why?"

My blood was beginning to simmer, "Because that is not our lot to regret, we are to kill until we are finally killed."

Arminger punched a fist onto the slab, "Hear, hear…"

Bruis huffed, "Indeed. But are you smart enough to know why young Skius?"

"Perhaps…" I admitted, ire growing at being lectured like a neophyte… Or a Kattegan.

"Because we cannot permit them to exist. No matter their decent qualities, we know everything in this predatory universe wants to exploit us or see us driven to extinction first. The Imperium, our truth and Humanity face many dangers amongst the stars. And it takes men like us to face them. To render them harmless by making them no longer existent. Whilst some of us choose to understand the full implication of that, everything or nothing. We mustn't allow any alien, mutant, or heretic to run and hide only to come back later stronger than ever. That is the galaxy we live in, we do terrible things like laying Exterminatus at Gladius upon other species because that is the type of deed that needs to be done to preserve humanity."

"Yet still here we sit, with Xeno wine…"

Bruis waved off my objections again, "Fine more for us. Though I suppose your thick headedness is a credit to our training."

I sincerely wanted to end this conversation, and return to the matters at hand. Arminger surprisingly chose to show a diplomatic side of himself and changed the subject, "Did you find some trade on your raid Master Bruis?"

He nodded down to the blood stained power maul. Our Diaconus nodded, "Yes, these auxiliaries continue to both amaze and disappoint me."

Master Bruis paused and looked back over his left shoulder, "It's not your regiment this time Major."

While we were having our grand discussion, the tank commander Major Kenneth had either politely or fearfully kept his distance and let Master Bruis iterate. And Sergeant Vallo beside him had followed this example. Both men had removed their helmets, Vallo carried his while Kenneth did not. Showing the legionnaire had the same swarthy complexion as his captain with a black buzz cut and wide teal eyes and a hawkish face, Kenneth on the other hand had a pale blocky set of features and eyes of the brightest blue with a high and tight corn yellow military haircut.

Vallo smirked and huffed at the Diaconus, "Are you sure you're not psychic Master Bruis?"

He shook his head in denial, "You need not be psychic to have a good sense of timing."

The tanker walked in, correcting his posture as he stood before us,

Kenneth bowed his head and spoke, "My lords,"

"Well met Major," Master Bruis said returning a nod,

"Which regiment are you referring to my lord?" Kenneth asked, "I will personally,"

Our Diaconus stopped him, "No need Major, I have already addressed the situation."

"What situation would that be?" I asked,

Master Bruis reclaimed his weapon, slowly turning the cronzius in his hands, "One rifle platoon came upon a group of Xenos that were trying to surrender."

"Truly?" I asked, this campaign was just becoming full of surprises.

"Indeed, only these idiots were going to accept it."

That small factoid only elicited silence from we gathered Astartes, Bruis continued,

"Only I happened upon the scene and showed them the error of their ways."

That explained his mood a little,

The Diaconus held out his weapon to one of the servitors, "In no uncertain terms making them aware that they had embarrassed themselves, they had dishonored their regiment… But most importantly, they had slightly inconvenienced me."

Without a care for what lay beneath us and a huff of amusement Arminger cast his empty wine bottle out through the window and reached for another, speaking as he did, "Shame they were just a tad late."

I knew exactly what the captain was referring to. Many years ago for almost a decade and a half into our Great Crusade, some of our Legion took groups of Xeno prisoners back to our fortress and Primaris draw world of Todenangst. To set these creatures against our neophytes as part of their final training in merciless fights to the death.

Master Bruis turned back to Arminger, "No it is not brother."

Though I had never been thrown into such a fight, having been forged into a Space Marine upon the soil of Terra. Those bouts were supposed to give our troops a taste of real war that just couldn't be replicated even with live blades and ammunition in battle exercises that still claimed the odd recruit now and again. But the moment Praetor Bendl of the second Echelon brought back a group of Humans for such practices Master Antinous finally heeded the voices of many other Praetors and Diaconi and put a stop to those blood sports.

The argument that if the training methods our legion employed weren't sufficient to move a man's hands to purpose when the time truly came for him to kill or be killed, then it did not matter when he faced his first real foe. It suited us better to find one's steel in the flames of real war, in true service to the Emperor.

Although some other whispers said action was taken so that we would not receive our Lord's wrath when he discovered our actions.

I chose to ignore those whispers.

Kenneth shifted slightly, remembering my motion for censure and the dim prospects for a man under such weight. Even if Master Bruis had rescinded it, for the moment.

"Fear not Major," Bruis said, "Credit where credit is due, your men have begun to redeem themselves in this war."

"Though we should still have a talk with the Lord Commander of you lot…" Arminger muttered into a closed fist.

The Major bowed not hearing him, "Thank you sirs,"

But much to the man's surprise Master Bruis continued, "Yet it is still a long road ahead of us, both in this campaign and our Great Crusade. And the Eleventh Legion never forgets our friends nor our enemies."

Kenneth looked like he was sweating, Master Bruis turned back to the slab and took four wine bottles into his hands, "Continue to prove that you have recognized your failings and will be sure to correct them,"

The Diaconus stood and moved in front of the tanker towering over him, "And your efforts shall carry you far, Colonel."

It took a moment for the full weight of Master Bruis's words to hit Kenneth. I saw the exact moment they did. The sharp intake of breath and the quick adjustment of posture before he bowed again even deeper than before.

"I am not worthy my lord," Kenneth said in almost a whisper.

Captain Arminger and I shared an agreeing look about that statement,

"We shall be the judge of that Colonel," Bruis said, "We know promise when we see it. Perhaps even a governorship lays in your future."

I highly doubted that, but it was one tempting treat to dangle in front of Kenneth's nose.

Bruis held out the wine bottles, "Whoever of your command staff drinks the most will receive a promotion as well,"

Kenneth looked confused but received the alien glass and wine with a polite nod of thanks and confirmation. Bruis looked over to Sergeant Vallo, ""Do you have anything else to report?"

The XVth legionnaire crashed a fist to his breast plate, "No my lord,"

"See to their competition brother." Bruis commanded indicating Colonel Kenneth, "And if any of them die please inform me."

"Your will my hands Diaconus."

Kenneth stuttered the start of a question, "Wait, what?"

But was swiftly guided out of the room by the strong arm of Sergeant Vallo as Master Bruis returned to his previous position at our table.

Arminger spoke, "You coddle these,"

He paused choosing which word to spit with venom,

"Soldiers," he decided.

Master Bruis chuckled, "It is my job to know what motivates men Captain. I like to think I am good at it. And more often than not you do need to focus a Human's eyes on the proverbial prize," Then selected a new bottle and looked to me, "So, to business Commander?"

Picking up the data slate I had been viewing I nodded, "No rest for the wicked, perhaps?"

Bruis gave his reply not rising to the bait, "In battle I shall die,"

The next verse flitted through the back of my mind but I did not voice it. Instead I powered on the holo projector and brought up a grid scan of this city forge.

"We still have multiple groups of hostiles at large," I began, reiterating the reconnaissance reports, "I would prefer not committing to any assault while our flanks are not yet secured."

A new thought struck me.

"Two birds…"

Arminger spoke in question, "Commander?"

"Our enemy's machines, they need power do they not?"

"Ask your Techpriest."

I indicated the hologram, "If we cut off their supply of energy…"

Now they saw my intentions. Arminger asked, "What do you have in mind?"

"A few more detailed scans in orbit have revealed this entire world runs on the energy provided from a single massive geothermal power station. And indeed I have spoken to Enginseer Egli. Our enemy is undoubtedly siphoning off power from primary conduits or other stations we have not yet secured. But if we take the main plant and shut it down."

The assault captain was growing excited, "The noose draws closed."

I nodded, "Their backups will not be able to compensate. We can wait them out until their Knights and cannon fodder robots don't even have the strength to move let alone fight. Or, it will significantly turn the tide of attrition in our favor."

Even though I was still Commander and it was my decision to make on our next move it felt like I still needed to covet Master Bruis's approval for my suggested strategies. The Diaconus pondered this course for a moment before making his thoughts known. Thankfully they were favorable.

"It is a sound strategy." He said, tapping the mouth of his wine bottle against his chin,

"Thank you Master." I replied,

"But it will be a tight squeeze down below,"

"Certainly,"

"We won't be able to bring tanks,"

"Presumably,"

"They will have Knights,"

"Undoubtedly,"

"Enough," Arminger burst in ending the wave of holes being poked into my plan. I was thankful yet more astonished. The assault captain stood,

"We are Space Marines," He said, "This is what we do."

Master Bruis broke into a smile, raising up his wine bottle, "Hears to that. Victoria!"

|Mark. 79.59.59|

"Orks,"

Even in the silent sanctuary of the reclusium the name of one of Humanity's most pervasive and notorious foes seemed to echo. The mere mention of the Greenskins would have been sure to send a pause through all the bridge crew who had heard it giving undue reason for anxiety and rumors to start flying amongst the mortal crew of the Brimming Rays.

But Vaurion had either wisely or luckily chosen to have this meeting, put off for so long, in the shroud of silence behind Mistress Read's command throne on the bridge that could have held six landraiders and still had room to spare.

While the grey robbed master astropath had wisely not wasted anytime, neither the bronze armored Praetor nor the aging Shipmistress had any idea what he meant by with that solitary word.

Arteme Read, veteran of the Pluto exploratory and defense battle groups garbed in her finest black dress uniform gilded with many strands of silver ropes and honor marks with her once shining blond hair slowly turning to steel grey, crossed her arms and gazed at the blind folded mutant with her harsh blue eyes.

"By that…"

The Astropath interrupted her, "The Greenskins approach. I had suspected their presence shortly after the invasion began. Listening for warp calls from the great void, I wasn't certain but now I am."

Arteme however was not, and very succinctly asked, "Are you absolutely sure they are coming?"

"Deathly Mistress…I have been trying to meet with your lordships for days…"

Vaurion gave sigh of frustration and ran a hand over his bald head, "Where are they coming from? When will they strike? How many are there? What…"

The Astropath held up his hands, "My Praetor, my friend, I do not know. All I know is that their howls draw closer."

"Do you have an estimate for their arrival at least?" The Astartes asked,

"Could be a week, could be minutes. They are not here yet, and now you know…"

Vaurion nodded, so the man's task was done, "Thank you, return to your post and alert me if you sense any developments,"

The astropath bowed, "Praetor, Mistress."

He turned and left the empty circle. Vaurion and the Shipmistess looked to one another,

"Well… Who'd have thunk Markus?" Arteme began, trying to give the warrior a smile,

He almost returned it, "Not I my dear."

Gesturing towards the control station for the reclusiam the Praetor started back towards his command position on the bridge while Read powered off the sanctuary.

His armor glowed in the bridge light, drawing the attention of all those myriad individuals present. And his rich voice easily fill the bridge to all corners while the Shipmistress ascended to the command throne.

"Comms officer," Vaurion ordered, "Recall the expedition forces. Priority absolute, all ships are to withdraw and rendezvous with the battle barge immediately at our current position. Get me Commander Centermerius and the Auxillia Generals below."

"Assume defensive positions."

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A/N Blah, blah, blah. Quips and way to much effort put into note and such.

Well not gonna waste time with excuses, might let y'all know the plan anyway.

Here on FF where I suspect most people who give a shit are and I consider my primary audience.

So, got to chapter 34 revised and edited on In The Grimm Darkness. (Catch up and maybe leave some new remarks if you feel like.) Plan is to get to chapter 38 I think and then finish the brand brand new chapter, which is currently... Fuck me almost nine hundred words. I was gonna mention something about how hard it is to write dialogue for Space Marines and what not in 40k when things were not currently on a one way trip to destination Fucked. And then I remember I've spent seven months on that one chapter. And when I say spent you know what I mean.

Also because you can't stop me I've been working on a little Destiny oneshot inspired by the campaign. Was gonna finish that and put it out at the same time as this chapter. But then remembered I'm dead inside.

Based Bruis's rant a little off the conversation of Loken and Sinderman or whoever it was in Horus Rising. Thought to have some intelligence dialogue, maybe fumbled, maybe not. I'll let y'all decide.

Speaking of decisions and all terrain segways. I has an idear,

Kind of fishing for interaction. But I would like to start building some rules for this version of XIth legion table top army.

(We'll get to the Primarch time later ye' who now')

But to start, maybe some special rules about not using night fighting. Contrary to most tactics that I seem to see in youtube battlereports. Force no night fighting, if your opponent has a rule that forces night fighting roll off as normal with no modifiers. And maybe bonuses to movement or reserves if it is no night fighting first turn.

Something like that give me ideas, Or some rules/ rites of war/ warlord traits that could apply to, an army led by, Master Antinous. Practically a Chaplain Legion Master, I'll let y'all decide.

You can leave thoughts here or if any of you are spacebattlers I invite you to take this brainstorming session over to that forum where you can publicly share some ideas. It would mean a lot.

So, share if you care, review as you do. I'll see you when I see you.