Deep within the belly of a starship a pure breed warrior was looking into the face of complete despair and defeat. He had fought vile heretics, daemonic abominations, despicable aliens and many more enemies of mankind, every time he remained triumphant in one way or another. The current battle on the other hand was even for a gene-enhanced transhuman like him impossible to win.
The warrior had changed the battlefield, he adapted his attire to optimize his movement, his weapons for this task were completely new, the prayers to the Emperor of Mankind before starting this endeavour were zealous. And still, he could not see any way to reach his goal.
The alleged enemy was surrounding him and no matter where he struck, it seemed like none of his moves made an impression upon his foe nor did it reduce the threat. Soon he would succumb to this enemy and when that happened, he would fail the task his Chapter Master assigned him.
Brother-Lieutenant Tarkus of the Amber Vipers sighed helplessly as he tried another approach. If he would not make a breakthrough soon, the Crusade Host he oversaw, could not achieve the goal of supplying his chapter with resources and aspirants. All of that just because of this one enemy.
Papers and data slates full of reports, assessments and requests towered above the seated commander. It was easy to get the impression, that one wrong move would topple the towers of files and burry the Space Marine under them.
Back in his time as Sergeant he had also to do many of these tasks, but on a far smaller scale, only for his own squad. Now he was responsible for the whole Crusader Host, which consisted of one Strike Cruiser, one Firestorm Frigate and one run-down Troop Carrier. The personal to keep these ships operable alone was well above the hundred thousand. Adding to that the needs of a Crusader Host, he could not see a way how he could finish all of that on time.
If one was a commander, one had certain privileges. Tarkus had used these to change his room from the previous ascetic cell to a trice as large room. Reason was not any thought of hubris, but the need to accommodate all these reports and still have a place to work on them. Right beside the door stood his armour and weapon rack, beside it was a simple steel framed bed. On the other side of the bed was a small alcove with a shrine dedicated to Him on Terra. The opposite side of the room was lined with bookshelves and trophies of slain enemies. A big and simple iron table stood before the wall opposite of the door, so that he could keep it in view while working on the reports. A cogitator and a small fridge flanked the table, while the wall behind it was loaded with file cabinets and loading units for data crystals.
As he started to work on a report regarding the ammunition expenditure of the vehicles of Tertius cohort, a knock on the heavy iron door stopped him from continuing. The knock was too light to be of one of his brothers, so it could be only one person. "Please enter, Captain Ariat."
Through the door came a tall and bulky man in a simple black Navy uniform with amber highlights. A vicious scar below his right eye destroyed the otherwise attractive face of a dashing naval officer in his late thirties.
With a sharp salute the captain of the ship stopped before Tarkus and said "Greetings Brother-Lieutenant. We received an urgent message from the Astropaths. We have new orders." Captain Ariat handed a piece of parchment to his superior and continued. "It seems like the Living Primarch needs the Amber Vipers once more. I was so free to change our heading accordingly. With good warp tidings, we will arrive at our destination in one week standard time."
Raising an eyebrow Tarkus went through the mission description on the parchment. "How the hell did he knew we were so near of that system? I understand that he keeps track of the Nest, but why of our humble Crusade Host as well? Do you have a guess why he sends us there and not one of his glorious offspring?"
"No sir, I am afraid I have no answer to any of your questions. Also, I do not dare to question or speculate on the will of the last loyal son of our Lord and Saviour, sir." That brought a smirk onto the face of the transhuman warrior. "Don't be so stiff Memet. You sound like a noble man from Ultramar, and you know that I mean that as an insult." "I apologize for that sir, but while I am on duty, I need to be like that to present an example as well as meeting expectations."
The reinforced chair Tarkus sat on creaked as he leaned back, eying the commander of the Eagle's Watcher. "I applaud you for your working moral Captain. I assume that I can reward you with one glass of Amasec after your shift ends?"
"Of course, Brother-Lieutenant. Since I am such a damn good officer, I am sure that you can even reward me with six full glasses… sir."
That answer changed Tarkus's smirk to a full smile and he continued "Then let me enlighten you on the thoughts of our dear Avenging Son. According to this order, we need to find an old Legion bunker from the time of the Great Crusade and secure its contents. Since an Ork Waaagh is currently rampaging through the system, I am sure that he wants to get the content before the Orks reach the bunker and loot it. Because he did order us and not any of our illustrious cousins to do it, it means that in there are weapons no one should know exists, since we are his Black Ops unit. So, we need to do his dirty work once again for him."
"Then I will immediately round up the officers of the Crusade Host and prepare the Strategium, sir."
Turning back to his report about ammunition Tarkus added "Do that and include our contingent of Cerebrii into the summons as well."
"As you wish, sir. But I have a question before I go. Why do you sort through all these reports on your own?"
Puzzled Tarkus looked up. "Who else should do it? I am the commander of this Crusade Host, so it is my responsibility. I do not understand your question."
Memet Ariat nodded to the heaps of reports and answered "Some of the people we rescued from Rawor's Creek. Some of them where Administratum scribes, especially trained for this kind of task. Your task is to keep this Crusade Host running and not to review, sort and file every single report. That is the work of scribes, not of a commander. Should I get you some help, sir?"
In a suddenly nerved gesture, Tarkus brough his big hand to his face and murmured "Get out of here before I lose it. And if you do not get that smug look off your face, you can forget your Amasec!"
At the same time on the planet Ediluin, in a dank and dim lit storehouse a man was on the floor dying. His carapace armour was broken, just like many of his bones. The floor was slick from his blood, which poured from his many wounds, not all from the fight, some also from the interrogation. Before him stood a mountain of a main, clad in wide robes, that could hardly hide his heavy armour beneath. This was his tormentor, the person which would kill him in the next few minutes, but the man on the floor did not care. Defiant he looked into the dark eyes of his adversary.
"Do you even know wh… *cough* who I am?" The answer was a simple "Yes" that sounded like a deep rasp which resonated around the dying man. "I will not answer one of your questions, filthy traitor. I am a *cough* loyal servant of the Emperor. You will not win here." Each word was pressed through blood flecked golden teeth.
The man in the wide robes ignored him at first and watched as the others of his group collected the corpses that lay around them. Finally, he looked into the blood shot eyes of his victim.
"You do not need to tell me the answers. I have my ways to get the information I need even without talking. And my goals have nothing to do with winning but survival, but not that someone like you would understand. And regarding your first question. I know exactly who you are, which is the reason I am doing this. I do not need you to walk on this planet and do as you please. But I hope for you, that the Emperor will welcome you, but I do not think so." And with that a heavy armoured boot crushed the throat of the man on the floor.
With the whine of hydraulics and servos, the killer bowed down and collected a small object from the broken carapace armour of the now dead man. Weighing it in his hand, he thought what to do with it.
Turning to his companions, who were still collecting the corpses, he ordered "Burn everything. Leave no traces."
