"The First Curse, is when death becomes an afterthought."
"Commander?"
"Lock weapons and prepare to fire," I ordered, my eyes fixed on the tech adept. Nothing in my voice betraying anything but a lethal resolve.
"A, ah…" Egli stuttered in confusion looking back and forth between his data screen and my green iron gaze. More steam hissed like a tired sigh from the many turbines beneath the grated catwalks. The vapors finding their way up to the dark ceiling above.
"Egli," I spoke low and dangerously, my bloody bronze armor rumbling as I leaned in close. "We cannot let that Thunderhawk get onboard. Do you understand?"
The Martian looked to the still warm corpse of his fellow off to my left. The one I had executed when he refused to follow orders. Weighing his options Egli sighed and unhitched his rebreather. More green light illuminating the dark stubble on his face. "No… I don't understand… But point defenses are offline. The gun crews ran."
The other red robed adept on my right spoke, "We have control over the dorsal bombardment cannons."
"Can you hit a craft that small?" I inquired, those guns were meant to rain fire on things the size of a hive city. Not a gnat like a Thunderhawk.
"No. But we could set a timed fuse on the cannon round. If we had time and crew available. Or preferably, target larger debris and catch it in the explosion," The Enginseer offered.
I nodded, then gave command, "Get to work."
Egli sighed and ran a hand back over his sweaty hair kept trapped by the red sash on his forehead. But his fingers did not yet move with purpose. An intermittent red glow lit his face from something on his station.
"My lord… The fifteenth, they're hailing us." He told me, the words creaking along with his mortal nerves.
Bile rose in my throat, burning wrath filled my lungs. I steeled my resolve. I couldn't take any chances, "Ignore them. Status on the cannon?"
"Targets identified… Primus target locked," The distant Enginseer replied, "Coming to bear now."
I drew breath to sound the distant legionnaires' doom. At the same moment the ship-wide intercomm came online.
"Commander Centermerius! Respond immediately! Vox alpha one!"
"Master Bruis?" I asked the empty air our Diaconus' voice erupted from. Then remembering my helmet wasn't on my head. I looked back at Egli. He glanced at his data station then back to me, shrugging. I caught his meaning.
Donning my helmet once again I commanded, "Keep tracking the Thunderhawk,"
"Sir? Master Bruis?" I said into the comm line I quickly opened in confirmation and question,
Bruis began, "I assume the ship almost snapping in half was your doing?"
My lips pursed for a moment in concern, "Indeed sir."
"Hmph, fine work saving our hides then,"
Daringly I interrupted him, "Where is Lord Vaurion Master?"
"…Indisposed. But he's unharmed. The command deck is secure, as is most of the rest of this barge. I need you back on the embarkation deck. Our good Captain Khonsu seems to have re-materialized. Escort him to the bridge."
I froze,
Dare I waste time and try to explain why that was the worst thing we could do? Dare I dishonor and ignore Master Bruis by just destroying the approaching psykers? Rank had its privileges when it came to hastily made, and dangerous decisions. But that may only go so far…
My hands curled with the sound of distressing fibers inside of the twin lightning claws. Trying to discern which of the seemingly equally gut wrenching choices I should make.
Master Bruis voxed again, "Acknowledge Commander."
I shut off the vox and looked to Egli, forming the first syllables of an order.
"It's too late," The Enginseer said, "There's nothing else we can hit and catch the Thunderhawk with…"
His eyes begged for forgiveness before they shut and he bowed his head. I turned away, it was my own indecision that let the fifteenth escape the guns. And my enemies were drawing near.
I voxed Master Bruis,
"Right away sir…"
I bid the young Enginseer to follow me. His compatriot, some Mechanicum survivors drawn out from the deep bowls of engineering and the reinforcements of a trio of twenty man tactical squads set to work starting on repairs and fortifying the area respectively. While my Chosen and I began the trek back to the embarkation deck. Egli pointed out a transit conveyor he said would take us closer much faster, so we boarded the metal cage.
Our party numbered some thirty warriors, myself and the Enginseer Egli whom I had dragged along with us. He stood leaning into his dead master's cog-axe on my left. Looking up to me for an explanation. One not given immediately. We spent the jittery descent in silence for the most part.
Trapped in this carriage. Trapped in this ship. Trapped in this storm.
With no way out that I saw.
Not that I pictured our superiors outside of the tenth Echelon would have had any other ideas about what to do, baring the Emperor himself. It was a pressing weight to be put upon the shoulders of the youngest Vanguard Commander of the Dawn Stalkers. Tension clawed at the back of my mind with every breath.
I doubt any of these warriors had heard me nearly command the deaths of our incoming cousins. I would need their help to save this ship.
"Brothers,"
A collective jolt went through the men around me. Directing their wandering unfocused minds to the sound of my vox gnarled voice.
"We all know why we are here," I mused,
""We go where the Emperor wills," A voice called out from the wall of helmets.
"Indeed," I replied, "But I am speaking specifically. Why we are marooned in this blasted storm."
No one had a response for that,
The next word out was spat from my mouth in venomous ire, "Psykers. Witch minds and Warp meddlers… They are why we are here… One wrought this storm into existence… And another failed to halt it."
My Chosen looked between themselves once again but no one spoke. But I knew, they understood who I was referring to.
"Yes, His majesty's fifteenth Legione Astartes," I said, low and lethal as if I was referring to a wretched Xeno. "Come to tell us how to do the task set into our very blood. Come to caution us into waiting and letting them use their… Gifts, instead of good honest adamantium and bolt guns against the thrice damnable alien."
I allowed a moment to process my logic.
It wasn't logic it was Truth!
The enemy approached,
"The Warp cannot be tamed," I continued, "Those who wield it can neither be trusted nor relied on. Ever have we Dawn Stalkers waged war without any supernatural means. Yet the moment we ally ourselves with ones of that rotten ilk. Almost four thousand brothers either die or disappear beyond hope of deliverance in who only knows what hellscape..."
A new tinge of rage hung in the air as the heart behind my diatribe took root. Weapons rustled under shifting grips.
"Beyond that, I have empirical reasons to believe a pack of traitors approaches our battle barge… Blast, it feels like a lifetime already,"
I drew breath to calm myself, "As the Warp took the Xenos in the power plant… It also took Sergeant Vallo…"
Egli found his voice, "Commander? The Warp took someone?"
"Indeed little Martian," I said, "It did not abduct his person. It stole the fifteenth sergeant's mind with violence and treachery. The psyker killed several of our brothers. And nearly killed me, before I slew him… And now a far more powerful witch approaches our ship. So, brothers, do you understand?"
"M-my lord," Egli managed to stutter, "Isn't that making several leaps on logic? You don't know, if the…"
He was silenced by the voice of a chosen, "There are no 'Ifs'"
The sergeant then raised his heavy bolter and noisily racked a fresh round from the ammo pack across his shoulders into the weapon. The red Mark two visor turned to me. The same vitriol pumping hard in their veins as well.
"We are with you Commander. What are your orders?"
They arrayed themselves behind the many crates and in the sunken access crawlways like trenches, both still stained with Orkish blood. Some of my chosen even making barricades from the heavily armored corpses of the Nobs. All poised and ready to strike from the shadows like our ancestors before us.
Egli positioned himself behind a data station near the outer defense lines, pretending to work while keenly focused on the killing ground. Further afield Apothecaries tended to the few wounded left beneath the Stormbirds. Some of their effort spent on the mortal crew as the number of wounded Space Marines needing aid grew smaller and smaller. Those injured Astartes taking up position within the ranks of another hundred battle brothers guarding the hallways heading deeper into the now unknown ground of the bowels ship.
I ordered them all to take cover and conceal themselves from sight. They did not protest, perhaps thinking I was preparing for another wave of Orks. None stopping to consider the fact we were all looking out the shielded bay doors to the Thunderhawk slowly growing from a pinprick of light into the familiar shape of the dropship.
I stood alone, to draw the witches' wrath should it come to violence.
Still, there was a mighty struggle brewing in the back of my mind. This was not about retaliation. Such as the kind that fell in the wake of Sergeant Vallo's betrayal. I knew even the most hard wrought of legions could not excuse the fact that this preemptive measure would be tantamount to murder.
The battered craft touched down some ten meters ahead of me, scorch marks and puckered metal covering almost every centimeter of the Thunderhawk's unpainted frame. The roar of its engines died down into a pitiful whine. I could not see any movement through the tinted blast panes of the cockpit so there I stood counting the hard pounding beats of my hearts waiting and willing myself to remain focused and calm.
Finally with a crack of hissing air and moaning pistons the ramp began to lower. I was poised light on my feet, flexing my arms and bracing for anything.
New sounds emerged from the dropship into the amber light around us. Boots striking metal, the dull scrap of armor being dragged behind them and the subtle clinks of a thousand pieces of metal coming across deck plates. I saw the chainmail cloak of Captain Khonsu's as he backed down the ramp, hunched over with his hands beneath the arms of another Astartes he was dragging. The injured soldier left a long trail of blood behind.
Khonsu stumbled and fell as his feet hit our armored deck. Hands flying backwards, failing to stop his fall but quickly lifting his bulk as he shifted onto hands and knees to face me.
The psychic cowl seemed to be intact from what I saw, but I couldn't speak for its operational integrity. Khonsu's eyes had streaks of red trailing down them as did his nostrils and the corners of his mouth. The drying crimson running across his dusky skin into his black shaggy beard. The facial hair longer than I last saw, more than could be accounted for barely half a week. He quickly laid one hand onto the chest plate of his comrade on the left.
"Please," The Astartes begged, then turned to demands, "Get a Medicae!"
I went into a fighting stance, claws low and loose at my side, "Throw down your weapon!"
My order echoed over the noiseless void. I eyed the volkite charger on his hip but quickly refocused back to the librarian's yellow like eyes. Those becoming the centerpiece of a mask of confusion as he spied the many bolters aimed to kill.
"What?" Khonsu called, "Commander what are you doing!?"
"Throw it down or die!" I demanded again. Not that I believed the pistol was the weapon Khonsu would select to kill us. Yet his relinquishing it would show some state of mind.
Yet the librarian refused to comply.
He began to raise his hands.
I tensed, hardening my soul to give the order. To once again have to retaliate for the breaking of our code of brotherhood by traitorous scum.
"Skius stand down!"
Master Bruis screamed out his own command.
My blood went cold. Heavy thuds of Mk II boots drew closer and a familiar silhouette grew beside my own. With it came the heavier footsteps of at least four Terminators from what I could estimate.
I readied to use that gathered air in my lungs to try and speak as Bruis's deep black armor appeared on my peripherals. But the Diaconus' power mace jabbed into my wounded side and pushed me a step away. I sucked down the hiss of pain and laid my palm onto the injury I had not yet bound.
Master Bruis carried on, walking straight over to Captain Khonsu and offering his right hand to help the psyker to his feet. He looked just as surprised as I felt being hoisted up from his knees. Bruis looked down to the other grey clad Astartes.
Shaking his head, Khonsu almost whispered. "He was the last… And now he is gone. Master Bruis may I…"
"You may not," The Diaconus answered and denied, seeing only one request that could be made. "Our Apothecaries need all the space on the carrion chain available for our own legion. We'll put the corpse in the Thunderhawk and attend to it if we survive."
"Very well," Khonsu nodded,
Bruis turned around, headed to me where I stood hunched like a wounded bear pacing back and forth, "The Terminators will escort you Captain-Librarian."
A simple commandment soon carried out as the four hulking warriors parted to make a path for the Librarian between the squad. Khonsu departed, his head held low in grief. Master Bruis pointed the index and middle finger of his left hand at two of my chosen nearby and then to the dead legionnaire.
And then he turned to me.
Suddenly I felt like a sheep caught in the hungry eyes of a Fenrisian troll. As the force of black ceramite loomed before me,
"Master," I tried to speak,
He shouted directly into my face visor to visor, "Do not take me for a fool Commander!"
"The pysker,"
"May yet prove to be of use. If the Praetor decides…" He let out a breath and dimmed the volume of his voice, "We stand in all things as one, Captain. Now fall in."
So I did.
Knowing I had overstepped into shame. The Diaconus spoke for the Legion. And I was about to be found severely wanting.
We rode the transit car in silence, our little group. Burgeoning topics set to the side while we moved. All visors locked hard on the doors, even as our minds and eyes flicked about at the queer noises coming from the deep workings of the ship we passed through. Noises like scrapping claws, and unknown howls. Things separate from our warriors by only a thin sheet of steel. Our trans-human will knowing they were nothing.
Assuming they were nothing.
Machine spirits in our armors were roused into a frenzy of warning klaxons with danger readouts popping up on our HUDs. A harsh wave of radiation greeted us at the end of this little journey when the doors retreated into their housings.
The bronze colossus, Terminator Sergeant Naylor and two seventh company veterans stood sentinel to receive us. The veteran's grenade launcher eased back to rest, its radiological munitions having cooked the Orks in their own skins on the landing before us. It would be several hours before the dangerous half-lives began to decay.
Naylor slung his massive club back on his shoulder, with a half bow of respect in as much movement his armor permitted. "Hail Master Bruis. Hail Commander."
His reply was a curt nod, and a hand signal to follow from our Diaconus as we quickly passed through the lane of slaughter and stepped foot onto the bridge.
And what a charnel house it had become.
Many throw that word about when they describe the aftermath of our wars. It is a phrase well used for a reason. Ork, Astartes and many Humans had been butchered beneath the baroque arching high ceiling of dark metals. Each wall carved with murals meant to celebrate the history of the ship and the brave men and women of the Navy who had so long dutifully crusaded across the stars. Of whom a great deal had their lives now cut so terribly short by the Orkish invaders.
Corpses in many states of ruin littered the banks of cogitators and control screens here in the brains of the Brimming Rays. Fountains of sparks still sputtered up as energy still tried to flow in those things damaged by the fighting. Light smoke floated out of the Navigator's chambers who had been purged by the veterans. Black and crimson blood stained thick adamantium slabs which shielded what would have been the always awe striking view ports nearly to the top.
Proud Sergeant Ryder stood looking at the new struggle to control the damaged systems of our vessel. The golden sun of our standard looking over a battle that for once I wished it had not seen. And from another distant entry portal Captain Arminger, combat shield and battle ax to hand came upon the chaotic mess. A brace of battered assault marines at his side.
As quickly as one alarm was silenced by a menial another screeched to life. Fallen weapons were being collected and assessed by veteran brothers for their usability. The destroyer guns having been forced into melee after failing to stop the approaching Xenos one last time.
Which was when Praetor Vaurion had entered the fray.
He fought in the style of Dimachaerus. Dual wielding two single edged, one handed backswords with brutal, deadly skill. Our leader proving first hand to the Orks why he was still held as one of the best swordsmen in the legion.
Hulking bodies were split asunder by his unwavering strikes. Neatly decapitated as their weapons were cut from thick hands. One of the Praetor's weapons was left standing up to the gilded handguard cage in the back of the Warboss itself having ended its' ugly passion for the glory that consumed all its hateful kind. The giant armored alien had both its arms severed with its red chin guard pushed down by the creature's jaw hanging by a single thread of meat at the feet of Mistress Read's command throne.
Where Vaurion had fallen to his knees, holding Arteme's limp lifeless body across his lap.
He cradled her head and silver hair in his right palm, his other bronze gauntlet lay across the deep bloody belly wound that had slain her.
"Hail Praetorian," I said in greeting.
Markus Vaurion raised his bloodied left hand for a moment, "Good day Skius," He said nearly mute with grief. He felt the keen sting of this tragedy dearly as well, that I knew. Even more than I in my simply injured pride, with one of Vaurion's oldest friends lying dead in his arms.
Not wishing to intrude I looked over to Master Bruis. Our visors met for a brief moment but he quickly moved away to shout across the bridge. "I want a full diagnostic and sitrep now!"
Egli moved into the mess to try and oblige the Diaconus. I stepped back to the side of Sergeant Naylor. The kanabo club planted head first on the floor level with my helmet crest.
"It is good to see you brother Commander,"
"And you Sergeant," I replied, "How faired the orbital boardings?"
"Well sir," The same tone of defeat in Vaurion's voice had spread to him, "No casualties among my men. But we were forced to abandon those divvied thirty we left to hold the orbitals. I am uncertain of their safety."
"Many things are uncertain now Sergeant,"
"Such as the state of our guest, sir?... Say the word and I'll have him Skius."
His informality was welcome, "The line shall begin behind me Medrad."
Khonsu stared far away into nothingness at the bloody armored viewports. Lost deep in the world of his mind. Pondering what, I could readily guess. Some things that needed to be brought into the light before we could proceed. I called out to our hallowed ally.
"Tell us Psyker," I almost hissed, "What transpired on the Xeno home world?"
He drifted out of this fugue "I… am unsure."
"Marvelous," I thought.
Master Bruis came a few steps closer to the foreign space marine, "There is no shame in admitting defeat Librarian. We can guess the Xeno warlocks made a mockery of your talents."
Khonsu's eyes found his boots again, "Yes… Yes they did."
I called out again, throwing my words out like dead blow hammer strikes, "So what. Happened?"
"…I tried. By both our lost fathers I tried."
Master Bruis spoke again, "Leave them out of this, they are not here. If you have nothing to say then don't say anything at all."
"You do not know what it was like," Khonsu rebuttled,
"I can guess," The Diaconus said, sweeping his left arm and the plasma pistol in it to the little battlefield and the marines stock still amidst it, "Fine then, keep your,"
The librarian finally chose to answer, "I was searching for signs on the planet. But some of the nascent pyskers were aboard their spaceships. They knew where we were. They knew… I did not think them that proficient. The First Curse was boarded at the same time the aliens began their grand scheme of madness upon Ra'Chaal prime. We could not stop them. One of their battleships overloaded its Warp core right off our bow. And then… And then…"
As he trailed away again, the shame of failure flowed back into my chest. The legion had known loss in the past. We were prepared to accept defeat, but not by these means.
Not like this,
My voice echoed over through the air, "I knew we should have struck the home world first."
"Hold Commander," Master Bruis tried to command.
I stabbed one accusatory index talon at the Diaconus, "None of this would have happened if they hadn't changed our time tested means! Identify, strike, and tear out the heart!"
A tiny shred of surprise cut through my rage as Captain Arminger gave voice in my support, "Skius is right. We should have never listened to the fifteenth."
Medrad rumbled his own approval of these sentiments, "Then for the sake of our honor, I move we rid ourselves of these witches with haste."
"No!"
Lord Vaurion's shout in command was powerfully short and succinct. Crushing under the weight of authority with which he had led the Tenth Echelon for fifty years. Not the hollow chords that haunted his earlier inflection.
"If we had attacked Ra'Chaal prime," He said, some weariness coming back. "We would all be dead. At least now some of the tenth echelon remain."
Captain Arminger let out an explosive huff of air, anger burned hot and heavy in his chest. "To do what? Huh?! We are stranded. Lost to the whims of cosmic grox-shite in the bloody Warp!"
"Silence!" Vaurion called out again before his tone mellowed and heart returned to mourning, "Where is that diagnostic Bruis?"
Our Diaconus moved to loom behind Egli. The little red clad Martian diligently scrolling through information on his data-slate while he worked on two separate control stations with his servo arms.
Egli spoke, both artificial and still human extremities continuing to fly, "Well I don't think I need to really say things are not well."
"Elaborate Adept," Bruis commanded.
"Long time wasting version it is then. Not like I need to,"
The Diaconus laid one of his massive hands on Egli's left shoulder opposite the third arm of metal, "I like details."
"Well through intermittent reports from quartermasters, boatswain squadron leaders, crew chiefs and whoever's bothered filing any more reports as our blessed machine spirit is being supremely uncooperative," Egli said in what his elders no doubt would have considered a blasphemous tone. "Structural integrity at forty four percent. Weapons arrays are at forty five percent readiness in physical state mainly to the port side, and dorsal hard points. However weapon crews are seventy percent unaccounted for at this moment."
Egli turned to face the cogitator banks, "Praise be the Gellar field appears to be holding. But what sensors I can tap aren't showing anything but scrap metal, gas clouds and error scripts."
The little adept studied his data pad again, "Can't even find the bloody planet below us."
Sergeant Naylor's disbelief was too much to contain, "The planet is gone?"
"It's gone. We're gone. Take your pick," Egli said before giving one of the cogitators a solid smack with his balled right fist, "I'd ask the Navigators but somebody,"
"Enough," Bruis chided before lifting his hand, "Take heart and stand to brothers. We are yet to meet eternity and death. We may not be certain of our physical place, but we know no matter where we roam we carry the Emperor's word. And you shall conduct yourselves in dignity with that knowledge. There is yet time,"
I still lambast myself for losing my composure but the directionless void I stared into offered little in the way of solace. I had not pictured what would be the end of my service as a Space Marine. Age would not take me, nor any ordinary sickness. I could only hope whatever end befell me would be gloriously quick.
And long after I finally stood before my Primarch and fought at his side.
Nothing like this.
"Time to float away into the abyss until the stars wink out and heat death takes us I assume?"
Tilting his head like the ears beneath the black helm did not hear my words Master Bruis counseled, "Choose your next words wisely Captain,"
"You do not know any more than I!" Came my answer back at him like a rocket.
Not two heart beats later one of the Praetor's swords landed at my boots.
As quickly as my rage came over me it disappeared like I had been slapped across the face. I stare inquisitively at the single edged blade.
Lord Vaurion gently laid Arteme's corpse on the ground and came to his feet. Unclipping his own jet black fur cloak to shroud her unmoving figure with a final soft sigh.
"She spent most of her life breathing artificial atmospheres," Our praetor said, rearing up to his full height, "From Pluto's cold halls across half a dozen ships. Told me once that planetary atmospheres just felt too clogged and heavy. Never felt as if she could breathe… I'm glad Arteme was here on our…"
He paused, reconsidering some words coming forth, "Her own ship and home when the end came."
"Lord Vaurion," Master Bruis spoke. Hoping to break the Praetor out of this mysterious stupor.
Vaurion locked his eyes on my crimson visor, hard as a striking hawk before a rat. "If you think the situation is truly hopeless." He pointed to the weapon before me, "I have no need of you. Pick up that sword. Salvage your honor and remove yourself from this ship."
And at that moment I knew I had been right all along.
For all the hope placed on me. Oenomaus's chosen successor. The youngest captain and Vanguard leader in the Dawn Stalker's history. What a fool I had made of myself. Proving all who begrudged my appointment right.
I was not worthy.
"Forgive me Praetor," I said with my head hung low, heavy with shame. "I did not intend…"
"You shall find forgiveness in whatever comes next Captain," Vaurion answered curtly, the iron backdrop ringing hard in his voice, "Now Khonsu…"
The Librarian raised a mailed glove and wiped away some of the blood and grime on his forehead.
He did not answer.
Praetor Vaurion called the man's name and rank again, "Captain Khonsu?"
And the psyker fell to his knees.
Fingers tightened around the well-worn grips of our weapons. Khonsu fought to keep a piercing scream contained within his chest as nails of pain burrowed into his mind. His iron staff shook as Khonsu struggled to support his own bulk with both hands.
"We… We… Move…" He choked out between ragged breaths. More alarm klaxons began to sound off in the bridge.
The Brimming Rays was rocked to its bones. Astartes stumbled seeking lost balance.
And a flash frame of this exact moment frozen in preternatural light flicked away at the corner of my eyes with a fae whisper from the winds of the Warpstorm outside.
Tricks of the senses I told myself, we had weathered the storm so far. No need to be troubled by any more esoteric conundrums than necessary.
As if sheer stubbornness could hold off the unimaginable crawling into our once perfect reality.
Egli grunted in pain linked with some minor machine spirit. Then raising an arm to shield his eyes as something mechanical loosed a stream of sparks at his face. After another muttered curse he looked back between his now clear instruments, "Promethium blood of the Machine God… This, this is impossible."
Captain Khonsu gave a wretched hacking cough, "No. It has come to pass… We have returned."
Master Bruis turned back to the enginseer, hoping he would have a more mundane answer, "Explain Adept."
Egli dropped his face mask, his lips trembled as he gathered wits, "Reading, three planets in proximity."
"That cannot be," Captain Arminger said, "Have we launched to a different star system?"
Egli brought the ship's sensors to bear, "There's a sizable number of ships in lower orbit. Ork profiles… Under fire from a planetary defense grid. And, and confirmed Ra'Chaal warships… Scans confirm old tactical reads of the system… No, we're still here… But…" He paused to nervously swallow, "I'm detecting both of the other Terra grade planets in… Catastrophically close orbit to three seven five, thirteen."
I called out, "What do you mean catastrophically close?"
"I mean that all three planets will collide and destroy each other inside of… Six hours."
Vaurion was right.
If we had attacked en masses, there was no blade, no bolter nor anything in our arsenal that could have stopped something with the ethereal power to suddenly overwrite billions of years of celestial movements. I was struck with a peculiar sense of how small we were compared to such powers. It had never been a concern of mine that our bloodline did not carry any power over the psychic fields. But if there were other enemies such as the Ra'Chaal in the galaxy then I knew not how we Dawn Stalkers could fight them.
And that is a strange feeling to a Space Marine. To not know how to fight.
But some of my brothers viewed our predicament rather differently.
"Well, all's well that ends well," Master Bruis said, laying his power maul back on a bronze trimmed pauldron. "Fire up the engines and let's be off."
Lord Vaurion raised a hand, gesturing for silence, "Enginseer. Get me a tactical scan of the primary world."
The Praetor turned to address Captain Khonsu, "Where are the witch minds' conjuring this sorcery?"
Slowly the librarian hauled himself up on his staff, "My lord, I agree with Master Bruis… We,"
Vaurion closed on Khonsu and with a swift open palmed strike to the chest knocked the Librarian down again on his back.
The sharp crack of ceramite from the unexpected blow rang hard on our senses.
"You know where they are," Vaurion snarled down, stabbing an index finger as well in condemnation, "Or you would not have come bleating back to better men."
Khonsu coughed into a fist, anger now plain as day on his face, "I have stomached the ridicule of thick headed brutes like you for years Dawn Stalker. And I resent your assumptions."
Vaurion silenced him, "You found us."
"Almost by accident." The Librarian retorted.
"Then your honor should be glad of that favorable accident. We still have Xenos to slay."
"Why? They have set their own doom into motion. They need no assistance from ourselves. Let them hurl themselves into oblivion and take this storm and the Orks with them."
"Who's to say the storm will be gone with the Ra'Chaal? If our foes can conjure that," Vaurion pointed backwards out the viewports, and the planets far out of their places of antiquity, "Then who's to say some can't move themselves elsewhere?"
Finding some fire in his gut Khonsu answered, "…I say so. Because if I, one who is actually somewhat learned in these arts doesn't have an answer. How would such a suicidal fool as yourself know?"
"Because I hail not from a small legion of thinkers and minders," Vaurion growled like a bear, "Words flecking from the tongue of a coward so strapped in his ways he cannot think as his enemy does. And to know your enemy is to defeat your enemy. So do not deign to tell me what you don't think is possible Captain."
Khonsu paused, perusing his knowledge. "…It isn't impossible. If,"
"There are no ifs. We take it as a certainty, the Xenos have means offworld."
But the stubborn Librarian repeated himself, "Even if they can, what makes you think that the psykers are still on the planet? Or why would they not slip away on a ship?"
"They will not have fled yet. And their ships will be no more reliable than ours in this Storm." Vaurion said as he stepped over to the dead Warboss to reclaim his sword. "With the Warp they were corrupted and to the Warp they will turn again I say. Why sacrifice a species on this altar of madness if not to reap some reward another day? And their great climax has yet to reach its zenith.
He struck a finger out to the rogue planets coming slowly into view on the main display, "They will wish to witness the end. Of that I am certain. And whilst the enemies of Humanity are still within our reach we cannot allow them respite. Or worse escape unharried."
His backsword slid home left into the fine leather sheath. "So Brother-Captain put your gift to task and find me those aliens."
The Librarian did not speak. Yet soon bowed his head in acceptance. Khonsu stood to his full height and walked to the center of the bridge. Closing his amber eyes and raising his staff. Both actions conducted in complete silence.
Master Bruis gave a nod and a quick static crackle came from his private vox. Ordering two other Veterans with chem launchers behind the psyker.
Vaurion made towards me.
Quickly I picked up his sword by the blade, my own claws sparking lightly as they met the equally sharp edge squeezing like the beak of a falcon. My eyes were cast down as the Praetor collected and sheathed his second weapon.
"Brothers," He called out, "If any more of you wish to weigh further upon this situation… Do so now."
No one gave voice in protest.
The praetor continued, "This will not be a grand battle of feints and counters. When we find the aliens we will fall upon them in a storm of blades with the thunder of guns… So your preliminary briefing is concluded. Return to your companies and make ready. We attack as soon as we have a location."
There is no tomorrow.
Today the Ra'Chall would die.
Today we would all die.
Something to consider when standing in front of my predecessor Captain Oenomaus' weapon vault with my helmet on the lip of the blue velvet to let,
No. My weapons vault for the second time.
For the last time.
Thoughts of previous glory, battles fought, bled in and ultimately survived were dim. Trying to break through the mire of dread that coated my mind like an industrial sludge. Again I did not picture my end as this. And I did not imagine I would have such an amount of time to chew on the thoughts of it.
A craving for battle wrapped hard around my throat.
The arming servitors were locked in their holding cells. Recharging for their next time to be called, a time that would most likely never come. I thought about returning my claws to their hallowed place in the center of the vault. A more fitting end for the weapons to be burned on the pyre of however this ship was to meet its own demise than be borne by my unworthy hands.
"You look nervous."
I gave a light huff in response to the intruder's familiar voice before turning to face the little Martian in full garb who had quietly entered my barracks while my mind was elsewhere.
"That could be apt Enginseer… Egli."
Dull thuds from my boots echoed into the dark corners as I faced the Enginseer. He bowed curtly, his red hood sliding forward as he did.
His voice sounded calm, strangely calm, "The enemy have been located my lord."
I raised one black eyebrow, Egli caught my unspoken question.
"Comms are down again my lord. Praetor Vaurion said he would brief you in the embarkation deck. Something about strategy Alpha."
"Ah," I mused out loud, "Of course,"
"May I ask? What is strategy Alpha?"
"Unofficially, the strategy to say we don't have a strategy. All-out assault on a single objective with everything the legion has available."
I saw him glance into my armory, "Do you require assistance?" He asked, his voice suspiciously level still.
"You look nervous," I said. Part of me drinking in the irony of that statement.
Egli didn't respond. And his face remained unreadable behind the trappings of the Mechanicum and his face mask. Though I imagined for a moment he swayed involuntarily behind his own troubled thoughts. I bid him closer with a flick of my right talons.
The twin claws caught the weak light of the recessed lamps above. I studied them letting the light dance across my retinas.
If my failure to remain sanguine about our current situation had been such an affront I would not be here to lament it still. I may not have been as worthy as I once believed. But we would need all the weapons we could acquire on this day.
Word of mouth passed from my line officers as I made final checks in the barrack halls painted a bleak picture. Most of the ship's munition reserves had been transferred down to the base on Ra'Chaal three. A goodly portion of the rest had been hit by weapons fire and ransacked by the Ork boarders. Some of our surviving support crew managed to scavenge enough bolter rounds to give the men a full field load. As well as replacing some of their weapons that had been lost or damaged beyond repair, but not all of them. More so, all of our combat vehicles and other heavy weapon platforms had been abandoned in our rush to return to the Rays. And direly missed they would be. With only infantry to be dropping feet first into melee and madness on top of strong enemy fortifications no matter where Captain Khonsu found our prey.
Egli approached,
"Your assessment Egli?" I asked of the lightning claws state, angling them for the Martian to inspect.
He leaned his head forward, "A weapon without peer my lord. Fit for service, for the rest of your life I might say."
That made me laugh, "Even so. I feel the need for a backup. My chainsword there on the right, I would carry it with me this morn."
"As you wish," Elgi intoned, pulling out his data pad to summon the servitors.
I continued, "Ready the remaining ammunition and weapons for transport as well. I would not see my brothers left wanting for better blades if I can help it."
"Of course Commander."
Curious still at his tone I lowered my claws and asked him, "What troubles you Egli?"
He froze in a perfect stillness, brown eyes unfocused in an abyss only he could perceive. Finally letting out a deep sigh before letting his respirator down.
"Somethings hit you when they hit you… I don't want to die," Egli said before pressing a string of commands onto his data pad.
"Your death is not certain Adept," I told him,
"Well it is damn likely now," He said, still almost serene, "You Marines need the Rays to clear a path to the surface. You Marines need us Martians to make the Rays do so… Once engaged. Estimated time till the Ray's is destroyed is twenty minutes, and that is a generous estimate Captain."
I nodded once in reply, "I understand Egli. And I share your sentiment little brother,"
"Do you?" He asked, craning his neck up to meet my eyes. "I thought you weren't predisposed to feelings?"
"If you had been paying attention on the bridge you'd see that is not entirely true."
"Aye," Egli said, taking a few steps towards the vault, "But you're still going down to the planet."
"We are," I affirmed,
"…So this is it then?"
Our last time speaking together?
Probably. I may not have considered the man a friend or real comrade but he had earned my respect, which was something rarer to the Eleventh legion.
Our last day above the ground?
Indeed, but I did not know what else Egli expected to hear from me on that. There were foes still to be hewn while we are able. I did not want to try and reason with him that this was a good death. He was not an Astartes, and I was not of the Mechanicus. We held different things to different hearts. Nor did I want to say there was no other way this disastrous campaign was going to end now. Because I could tell he would not be pleased to hear my thoughts.
And I would end up agreeing with him in either case.
He gave another deep sigh, "It doesn't matter. Sometimes in a machine, one lever throws the sacred gears into reverse away from calamity. One valve shunts catastrophic fury out of the system. … But I am no such sacred instrument. And I have accepted that…"
With a slow reverence Egli pushed back his hood and removed his sweat soaked headband. Smoothing out the worn fabric to gaze upon the black and white Cog-Skull icon of his faith.
He spoke again, "But I will not abandon this ship... In these my darkest, and final hours... You know of our Cult and the Machine God. But this, the Brimming Rays. She is my god. A holy monolith of gears, reactors and all the wondrous marvels of man and machine. She has sheltered and cared for us through many a battle and years of rough treatment by our peasant hands. I love this ship. I could have stayed on the path to be an Arch-Magos of my forge city on Mars. But I fell in love my first day on this barge. Temperamental as she may be, she is my god. I will be with her unto the end… And I could not hope for a better demise I say."
"…In righteous glory, I abide." I murmured.
Faith. Such things we had deemed to remove from Humanity. Faith in things intangible and unproven. But I could see it in Egli's eyes. A belief. Pure and strong
I hoped it would carry him through.
I laid the gauntleted outer edge of my right hand on the Martian's right shoulder, "So be it… Die well Egli,"
Bowing one last time to let him affix my chainsword to my back. I collected my helmet and departed for the trek back to the hangar bays to make ready. And that was the last time I saw the Enginseer.
Sergeant Ryder, stoic as always gave me a solemn nod as I came to the head of my men. The standard bearer and his charge of our legion's banner on my left in front of the other remaining line officers of the large seventh company.
Ours was the largest company left by virtue of the size we had begun this campaign with. Many others had been lost entirely. And there were fewer still which had even half of their fighting strength left. Our last count of all the entire battle ready Astartes at this moment was almost six hundred warriors. The walking wounded volunteered to stay behind in static defenses should the Rays be boarded again. Those beyond the Apothecaries' help had been granted what mercy the healers could bestow…
Six hundred Space Marines. A force with which an entire star system could be conquered, some said. A bold empowering phrase. But still only words. No battle plan survived contact with the enemy. Especially the ones we were about to get back to grips with.
We arrayed ourselves close to the drop pod launch bays. With which we would be making our descent to the surface. Scattered machines, and battle scarred debris painted with blood surrounded the three hundred some to either side of this wide causeway. Our Stormbirds would launch and attempt to conceal themselves in the scrap fields floating in low orbit. To perhaps pick up some survivors should we prevail. It was a dim hope, a distraction which I quickly banished from my troubled mind.
Before me on the opposite side of the metal path stood Captain Arminger. Seventy five of his jump pack equipped warriors at the ready. The Assault Captain had his axe clamped in the palm of his shield hand as he idly itched a deep cut in the ceramite across his chest which had torn free one of the gold thunderbolts previously welded there. My private vox crackled with an alert.
"Greetings Commander," Arminger said with a bitter tone. Directly to me.
"Greetings Captain," I echoed back.
"I see you have decided to join us,"
"So have you John,"
"Aye, that I have. Then we are agreed?"
Perplexed, I asked him. "Agreed on what?"
"…Must I spell it out for you?"
My claws flexed in unease, "If you please…"
"That we will not be, exploring other options about our wyrd this day?"
Ice hit my veins in a rush of anger, seeing the truth of his inflection, "How dare!"
With a lithe nod of acceptance Arminger cut me off before I could properly lambast him, "Peace brother. I thought I might still ask this, before I resign myself. Due to your previous,"
Almost snarling I spat back into the vox, "There is no fate Arminger, there is only our honor and our mission… I know what I said. I regret what I said and you will not speak of these treacherous thoughts of yours again or I will kill you myself."
I might have lunged for the kill if we did not need Arminger so desperately.
There was a worried pause from the Assault Captain, perhaps wondering if I would actually carry out the threatened fratricide. He soon enough spoke openly.
Assuming I wouldn't do it or cowed into submission I could only guess.
"So… Skius, shall we have a wager? Who's to claim the Laurel Mark as first in the breach?"
Sergeant Ryder happily jested, "Whomever also receives the Mark of the Imortalis."
Some of the men laughed. We were not a legion keen on posthumous rewards, if one were to receive the laurel honor. They most likely would earn a grim skull of the Imortalis, marking one who overcame the impossible.
And should not be alive.
I did not share in this levity, staring daggers still at Arminger from behind my red visor. Until from across the industrial mess of the hangar bay some two hundred meters away. The largest lift on the ship eased to a halt with the usual klaxons of safety alarms and a distance muffled thud which claimed my focus.
Instead of the vehicles it was meant to bear on it stood our Terminator Wing. Their sixty remaining brothers ranked in orderly lines behind four figures. The final Diaconus in training. Master Bruis, fully clad armored in midnight black. Captain Khonsu, looking steadily worse with sunken eyes and a dead expression. And finally Praetor Vaurion, his battle plate just as scarred as any of us with a tempest of wrath brewing on his hard facial features.
Medrad pounded his giant Kanabo club into the deck. I called out, "Stand to Legionaires!"
Two near synchronous cracks sounded out as we stamped our heels and moved our armored selves to attention. Bolt guns pointed up to the ceiling with firm hands grasping both grips. No one moved a muscle as the terminators and the others approached.
Master Bruis flanked by his last surviving acolyte moved between the two blocks of warriors. Calling out brothers by name, giving them a firm grasp on the shoulder and a broad smile beneath his black helm.
He called out over the bronze rank and file, an almost song like tone to his words, "It is good to see you my brothers!"
Reinforcing that statement with a stout punch from his empty left hand direct to the Mark of the Vanguard on my own chest. The spike of adrenaline focused me back to the moment.
"You true sons of Terra!" Bruis shouted again moving along. "Wake from your slumbers, the war blast is sounding over Xeno valleys and hills. That keen of violence has awakened a furious storm of vengeance within my heart! One that will grow to wash our enemies as distant thunder! Comfort the enemy have found in the bed of darkness laying in the mire of the Warp… But dawn has come, as it always does. Our foes shall not find us wanting today… Will they brothers?"
"No Master!" Was our answer, shouted in unity.
The Diaconus pointed his mace out into our ranks. "Then draw your swords quickly! While strength has been left ye! To make one bold dash for glory again. Tis on a strange battlefield where our weapons will be wielded. But I tell you there's no heroes more noble then anyone of you I'd have for this endeavor…"
Following in Master Bruis's winding footsteps the terminators, Captain Khonsu, and Praetor Vaurion moved into the gap between the two columns of Space Marines. Coming to a halt once they had filled that emptiness. Together the Legionnaires spun to face our Diaconus with the terminators. Master Bruis walked up a lithe metal stairway ascending to the drop pod's boarding stations. Sergeant Ryder, Captain Arminger and I moved quickly to the new front ranks of our warriors.
Lord Vaurion passed his helm behind him to Sergeant Naylor.
"So come with me brothers. But before our long silent bolt guns now are to howl their loud numbers. Lend me your ears for the Praetorian of the tenth, as Vaurion is leading our legion again!"
Lord Vaurion rose to join our Diaconus, each of his foot falls coming down with the weight of his heavy heart. Master Bruis offered a helping hand out as Vaurion neared the final step, one graciously accepted. Each took the other's left wrist in a firm grasp, Vaurion gave Bruis a grateful grip on the shoulder. Exchanging a murmur of thanks I did not hear before Vaurion turned.
"Brothers," He began strongly.
But when looking out over our ranks his words faltered with emotions, "Forgive me for presuming to take our genesire's place in this moment… For I feel the urge to correct myself…"
He coughed and cleared his throat into a clenched right fist. A little light reflecting off his shaven and sweat covered scalp. "My sons… I have taken the liberty of making some attempts to ensure our records of this campaign may not be lost to the void and dust of ignominy. The tech menials have copied many times our combat logs. Storing many in different parts of our great vessel. And sending more into the void of space in safe black boxes, probes and transmissions for what I hope will be safe keeping for when our Imperium finds what remains of this conflict. And some of your less physically capable brethren have been set to guard our genestocks and the vault that carries them from more alien predations… Wish them strength, for they are tasked with a most important mission."
Vaurion paused for breath. My blood pulsed hard in my veins, like I was carving my way through the enemy at this very moment. As if I could taste the killing rush,
"A mission, that we may be remembered." Vaurion said, "That our legion will recover some of our courageous blood and honored geneseed. And that should any memory be left of us when this day is done, it will be enshrined in the halls of honor… For there is a legend from ancient Terra. A legend of few against many. A legend of struggle. Of sacrifice, and impossible bravery in the face of the impossible. There are many such myths and tales of old, but now… When future warriors stare death in the eyes, they will not think of broken spears, mud and blood in foreign lands long past… They will remember, they will remember the tale of us… And no matter who they shall be. They will weep to have one moment of glory. To have one moment of honor as sweet as the tenth Echelon of his Majesty the Emperor's Eleventh Legion Astartes had in their last moments!"
A cry, hungry as a drowning man gulping air chased our Praetor's echoing words out across the hangar deck. Warriors howled like barbarians, weapons began to beat against their wielder's chests. And their feet stamped and rabid staccato on the adamantium decks. Captain Khonsu remained silent. But I saw him gazing about, and I hoped that something of our brotherhood touched him in this moment.
"And we know!" Vaurion shouted, with a sweeping hand gesture pointing to the glorious sons of the Eleventh. "That as long as the sun shines upon glorious Terra! That as long as our tale is told, we will be remembered! And all of us immortal!"
Master Bruis hammered his mace to the deck three times, his gargantuan and highly trained lungs the only fit to shout over this furious noise, "Give thanks men! Give thanks to our absent Father! And our beloved Emperor! Give thanks for the gift of your life as an Astartes, gladly spent in the service of your Imperium! The Imperium of Man!"
We did so vigorously. My own right hand and the claws upon it held up in a shaking fist. The gale of our voices swept away all doubt, all anger. Even fear.
"Thank you! Thank you!"
Only too eager to continue Master Bruis called again, "And give thanks to your Praetor! For his gift of a Glorious Death!"
Our thanks was given again, as the crescendo of our wordless howl. Nothing was more fit as praise that an Astartes could give.
"Commander Centermerius!" Vaurion shouted out to me.
I had never been more proud to answer back, "My lord!"
"Start the Mark."