In the Eyes of Men
by FalconWind
Chapter Nine
"Visitation"
The command deck of the /Redoubtable/ was noticably busier. All the stations were manned, and the officers and crew were on alert status. Finally, they were actually doing something that they were used to.
The bridge was buzzing with activity, but it was a professional, efficient buzz.
"Captain, open hanger doors 1 through 4. Have Alpha Squadron escort the Thunderhawks in. Standard retrieval procedures," ordered Admiral Tokugawa.
"Yes, Admiral," replied Captain Ross as he turned to relay the orders.
General Harrington and Colonel Kamerov stood towards the back of the compartment, well out of the bridge crew's way.
"Sir," said Kamerov, "are you certain it's a good idea to let them on board? I mean, they are bound to have a psyker."
"Don't worry Alexi, we were told to pick them up, and we're going to pick them up. There's no arguing," responded the general. "Besides, it's a little late now."
"Still, the idea of space marines on board is... unsettling," he said, shifting his weight visibly.
"Would it help if you picked the 'greeting party'?"
Kamerov managed a grin. "Not much, sir. But it would help."
Harrington nodded. "I suppose you'll use Conrad then?"
He cracked a smile, and spun on his heel, heading towards the turbolift.
Harrington just shook his head and smirked. Straining his eyes, he could now see a series of stars move across the bridge's forward bulkhead. The stars were highlighted, and the image zoomed in, and was enhanced.
And just as Harrington had thought, they were indeed the Thunderhawks.
Only...
He walked up to stand next to the admiral. "Matsu, those are..."
"Yes," he said nodding, "far too old to be that of the Adeptus Astartes," he said grimly.
Harrington chuckled humourlessly. "Or at least of the Adeptus Astartes of today. If I had to guess, I'd say those are pre-heresy."
"Are you certain?"
"I know my antiques, Matsu," he reminded him.
Tokugawa sighed. "Captain Ross, put Point Defense Guns on stand-by, please."
Captain Ross was confused, but only showed it for a split-second. "Yes, sir. Weapon Station, PD Guns on stand-by," he ordered.
He approached the two officers. "Sir," said Ross quietly, "we aren't going to blow them up, are we?"
Tokugawa clasped his hands behind his back. "Only if they flinch, Captain. Only if they flinch."
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In the personnel section of the ship was where all the men were housed. They lived in conditions, on many occasions, compared to canned fish. Though, this was usually just an exaggerated belly-ache.
The heavy metal door slid open with the scrape of years and the hiss of pneumatics. Colonel Kamerov stepped in and surveyed the area.
The compartment had barren metal walls, and arranged in rows were bunk beds. This particular compartment, wedged between a heat-exchanger, and a generator, was only large enough for 50 troopers. Right now, it only held 10.
The ten men, were enlisted, and while he was an officer, they didn't bother to salute or stand at attention. Familiarity allowed this breach of protocol. They did, however, stop what they were doing. Which was actually nothing at all.
Kamerov thought they looked pathetic.
"Thank heavens! A visitor!" yelled one of them.
"Please, kind sir, word of the outside world!" yelled another.
"Boredom is not a plague, stop acting like it is," said Kamerov, frowning.
"You haven't experienced it here, sir," said Corporal Plank, a lanky caucasian man with short croped hair, and a cronic lopsided grin.
"I've got a mission for you boys. Where's Sergeant Major Conrad?" he asked looking around him.
"Where else?" he said pointing to a lump under a bedsheet.
"I swear that man is nocturnal," commented Kamerov as he walked over. He kicked the bed. "Get up Sergeant!"
"MMMmmm.... go away."
Kamerov sighed. "I need your unit for a special mission."
"MMmmmm... but Dad, every mission is special," he groaned sleepily.
"Dammit, we don't have time for this! Now, get the hell up!" yelled the colonel. He grabbed the blanket and yanked it away. Underneath, was a Sergeant Conrad, already dressed in Storm Trooper uniform, complete with utility belt, gasmask, and helmet.
"Surprise!"
Kamerov just blinked. The rest of them however, started laughing hysterically. Kamerov, who usually didn't go for jokes at his expense, had to surpress a laugh. It passed quickly for him
"Alright, alright," he said trying to reimpose relative order. Then again, it wasn't like the Roving Guns were all that orderly to begin with. "Sergeant, this mission is extremely important."
"Aren't they all?"
Kamerov gave the non-commissioned officer a stern look.
"Sorry, sir. Didn't know you meant it." He gestured the rest of the team over.
Kamerov sometimes wished Conrad didn't take warfare so lightly. "Your mission is to greet our 'guests' in the main hanger. And, if necessary, to take them out.""
Conrad nodded. "Who are they?"
"Space Marines."
An uncomfortable silence fell over the usually unruly bunch.
Conrad, for once, had no witty reply. "How many?" he asked, now deadly serious.
Kamerov shrugged. "I'm not sure, but as many as a dozen Thunderhawks can hold."
Conrad's face grew even more grim, though one could not tell behind the mask. "And you expect me and my men to beat those kind of odds?"
"Not really, no. But you're our best chance. We're not expecting a fight, but just in case, you will be there to keep them at bay while we jettison the section."
"You can do that?" asked Private Milson, a rather pudgy explosives specialist.
"Yes," Kamerov answered quickly. He turned back to Sergeant Conrad. "You can use an many men as you like, but as you and I both know, sometimes less is more."
He nodded. "I guess I better pray for a peaceful first encounter then."
"Pray to who?" Kamerov asked on a whim.
Conrad chuckled. "Good point. I'll just cross my fingers then." I stood up off the bunk. "Okay, men, we've got a mission to do."
They needed no further persuading to start throwing on their fatigues and strapping on their gear. They seemed to all subconsciouslly agree that the dark grey uniforms were appropriate for fighting inside a tin can.
Kamerov could never get over the way the Roving Guns went from a unruly bunch of school kids to a professional, serious, and efficient Storm Trooper unit in a blink of an eye.
"Colonel, I'd like permission to recruit Captain Ferson's unit. But I'd like to retain command of the operation," said Conrad.
Kamerov nodded. "Granted, but he won't like that."
The eye behind the gasmask's lense winked. "I know."
Before he knew it the group was ready to leave, and they started filing out the door. Conrad saluted and went to join them.
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"Captain, we're receiving a transmission from the lead Thunderhawk. He's asking for whoever is in charge," reported the communications officer.
General Harrington and Admiral Tokugawa exchanged glances. Did they mean in charge of the fleet, or in charge of the endeavor.
The admiral gestured for Harrington to 'be his guest'.
Harrington stepped forward, which wasn't really necessary. He nodded to the comm. officer, who opened the channel. "This is General James Harrington, commander of the Minos Corva Defense Force. To whom am I speaking?"
There was a brief pause. "My name is Horandrin. I am the leader of this group."
"Might I have your rank?" he inquired.
There was another pause. "Librarian."
Harrington chuckled dryly. "You mean, 'Sorceror', don't you?"
A pause. "And if I do?"
Harrington shrugged. Then rolling his eyes, realized there was no visual communication happening. "It is of little consequence, really. We have been ordered to pick you up, and render assistance. We shall do so."
This time there was a fairly long pause.
The general mused that he had thoroughly surprised the man on the other end. But then, could the general be so sure that the voice belonged to a what could still be considered a man? Chaos did strange and terrible things.
"Very well," the voice said, "I am Horandrin, Sorceror of the Thousand Sons Legion. A mysterious entity told me that you would be here."
"A mysterious being has also been directing our fleet, as well. We owe a great debt to him, and it must be repayed in full. We will render assistance regardless of who you are, because we have been told to do so. But that does not mean that we are lambs to the slaughter. We will defend ourselves," warned Harrington.
"I understand. We do not wish to fight. I give you my word."
"Thank you," said Harrington just before the channel closed. "Inform them to land first, then we will give the go ahead to proceed with the others."
"Hmm... the word of a Chaos Sorceror," Tokugawa commented, "and of the Thousand Sons, no less."
Harrington was well aware of the legion's reputation. "We don't have to trust him, only the fact that we would not be lead to our deaths so senselessly."
The admiral grumbled.
"Besides, our back-up plan will work, don't worry."
"Either way, we will be in harms way, it seems."
"We do have to greet them. I'm running the show, and you're the admiral of the fleet."
The admiral grumbled.
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Conrad and his unit, plus twenty others from Captain Ferson's unit, entered the cavernous hanger. Conrad quickly became aware of how preciously little cover there was. The hanger was largely vacant, though several craft stood off to the side. He decided that was where he would make his stand should things get messy.
Colonel Kamerov had told them that General Harrington and Admiral Tokugawa were coming down as well, despite Conrad's own objections. He didn't like having to worry about two flag officers' lives if everything fell apart. And it wasn't just because of their high rank, those two were the backbone of their whole insane quest.
The defense of the hanger now proved harder than he realized. The hanger, in actuallity, as a huge airlock. Vehicles could pass in and out only when the outer doors were open, and thus the hanger was a complete vacuum. That being said, the only way that Conrad could have set-up beforehand would be if the entire team was wearing space suits; something they didn't have time for.
Thus they now rushed the hanger just as the Thunderhawk had set down. The massive doors closed, and the bay repressurized instantly after with the rush of air.
He ordered the bulk of his forces to take cover behind spacecraft and anything else they could find. His own team would be the ones out in the open.
The large loading door that connected the hanger to the rest of the ship, itself an airlock, opened to reveal the two highest ranking officers onboard.
The pair approached the transport, it's engines winding down. The transport seemed almost surreal, with it's opulent gold trim and almost opalescent blue lacquer.
The two officers strode with confidence, though inside, they were incredibly anxious. Chaos and Imperium Forces had never, ever, before met outside of a battlefield. Not even so much as a civilized exchange of regards before a battle. The hate, fear, and animosity has thrived for centuries, and now, by the order of some unseen force, they were supposed to forget that.
Harrington, of course, hated the huge disadvantage that mere men had against the forces of Chaos. Fighting Traiter Guard was one thing, Chaos Space Marines was a whole different story all together. Pit a single Space Marine of any allegiance against a Guardsman, the marine would win everytime. Perhaps five guardsman would give him trouble. Ten would have a good chance of winning. However, Chaos Space Marines, utilizing magic, and demons, are even more dangerous.
He supposed he should be thankful that they aren't followers of Khorne. Could one consider Tzeentch to be the lesser of many evils? He wasn't a theologian, and indeed, such questions were better answered by Tokugawa, who was much more philosophical. But still, Harrington had heard some interesting theories, all of which were heretical, mind you.
Harrington thought about his well stocked library, which broke so many censorship laws. Filled with books literally saved from the fire. He was certain that if Commissar Branch had taken the time to survey his collection, he would have fainted. This was not to say that he had many books that professed chaos. But when accidently misspelling the word "Emperor" was heresy, it wasn't hard to have a book labeled as such.
He shook his head, he didn't need this distraction now, despite it's relevance.
Sergeant Conrad, arguably the best trooper in the entire division, had his unit close, but slightly behind them.
The Sergeant thumbed his rifle nervously. And stopped when he realized he was flicking the safety on and off. He frowned. He felt like a child taking a final exam. He was well aware that this was make or break time, possibly do or die. He'd never faced a space marine before, let alone a Chaos Space Marine. It was rare that he was nervous before a possible battle. Concerned, always. Alert, of course. But when he WAS nervous, he knew he was probably in trouble.
The ramp of the Thunderhawk hissed loudly as the seal was broken. And with the whir of machinery, the ramp slowly lowered.
"Time to welcome our visitors."
The ramp clanked loudly on the deck, and revealed the massive hulk of a Dreadnought. Instantly, thoughts about the firepower it possessed, it's relative impunity, and how good of an initial boarding tool it would make raced through Harrington's head.
Instantly, the air became charged with alarm, and a heightened sense of dread. If the Dreadnought decided to open fire, they were toast. It was very much like looking down the barrel of a loaded gun, or in this case, a howitzer.
The large cyborg took up most of the width of the craft, but a figure managed to squeeze by and down the ramp.
The Chaos Marine wore a white an blue robe over his armour, and carried a large sword with him. He looked significantly more impressive and regal than the two flag officers, despite the numerous decorations that adorned their uniforms.
They regarded each other, Harrington noticed that he looked as though he'd been in a battle. The sorceror and the officers, the soldiers on each side sized each other up.
The silence was painfully evident, and Harrington had to put a stop to it. "I am General Harrington, leader of this little group," he announced. "This is Admiral Tokugawa, commander of the Fleet."
"I am Horandrin, Sorceror of the Thousand Sons. I am the leader of this... desertion, I suppose you could call it."
"Desertion?" said the admiral out loud, echoing everyone's thoughts. "You're no longer in the service of Tzeentch?" Asked Tokugawa.
Horandrn nodded. "That is correct."
"Forgive me," said Tokugawa, "but your legion's reputation preceeds you. How, exactly, can we trust you?"
"If you cannot trust me, then isn't it pointless to ask me?"
"We need to know. I was simply interested in your opinion on the matter, truthful or otherwise. We must have trust, if we are to be in such close proximity," explained Tokugawa.
"This is true," came a familiar, whispered voice. "In the mean time, you may trust me."
They all turned to look at the dark figure that had suddenly appeared. The appearance was so sudden, and otherwise, so subtle, that it was as if he'd always been there, and that they had simply failed to notice him. The figured was dressed completely in flowing black robes, his face, totally concealed by the shadowy hood so that there may not have been a face at all. "After all, you've been doing so for quite some time."
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Let me take this opportunity to announce Magnus Asblom, who has graciously accepted a position as consultant to this story! He will be indispensable in taking this fic further.
Decker: Tans hide? Hmm, yes I get your meaning. Perhaps it'll become darker later, but who knows. I don't.
sonicfish: Hey, thanks. And I too think plot is more important.
eshinseer: Thanks.
Ivan Alias: Wow, thanks for you great review! I too have always liked fics where bad guys are not so black and white.