MY DEAR FRIENDS, MY BUDDY CAFFINATED-PINECONE drew Marsh Silas and Barlocke! Go to your browser, type in: Barlocke and Marsh by Caffinated-Pinecone' and it should come up! LOOK. NOW. ALSO ANNOUNCEMENT BELOW.


Chapter 31


Marsh Silas walked between Captain Thule and Endymion and felt quite dwarfed by the two Space Marines. Neither of them spoke to him or to one another, nor cast a glance in his direction. As they marched, they merely gazed ahead. All the platoon sergeant could do was mimic their apparent stoicism and attempt to represent the Astra Militarum to the best of his abilities in this conference.

The trio arrived on the eastern side of the interior camp to a bastion protected by a ring of bunkers, Firestorm Redoubts, and networks of trenches. Automated Astra Militarum defense turrets scanned the skies and the ground around them. However, there were many defense turrets Marsh Silas had never seen before. These automated turrets bore the colors and emblem of the Imperial Fists; they were low to the ground and entrenched deeply, exposing only a fraction of their armor. And there were many Space Marines around, some standing by campfires, others organizing their squads and moving out to the frontline, and some preparing their wargear for nighttime operations.

In the center of this ring of defenses was a Command Rhino painted in the stark shades of the White Consuls' colors. On either side of the main body was a blue eagle's head, representative of their badge, and various purity seals and Aquila markings in the same shade towards the bow. Mounted on the rear was a rotating radar dish with several antennae attached to the right side. It was also equipped with Twin-Linked, pintle-mounted Storm Bolters by the right upper hatch, a searchlight by the left hatch, smoke launchers on the sides, and a remotely operated Hunter-Killer Missile Launcher pod on its left side. Extra armor plating on the front and sides made the APC appear very bulky.

Over the lowered rear hatch was a large canopy of mesh camouflage netting mounted on metal poles. Various tables were erected around it where Imperial Guard Technical Sergeants were working at Vox-stations and Cogitators. General Battye and some of his staff were present, dressed in their field uniforms instead of their resplendent dress uniforms which were often reserved for ceremonies or headquarters details.

The General himself was talking to a White Consul who had jagged scars webbing across the right side of his face, a red bionic eyepiece over his left eye, and a sheen of brown hair on his head. Marsh Silas could only assume this was Captain Evander. His armor was adorned with various seals and badges of his Chapter. A Power Sword, seated in a sheath attached to his right side, bore an elegant, golden hilt. The crossguard took the shape of the Imperial Aquila and the pommel was carved into an eagle's head in the same fashion as his Chapter's emblem.

Beside him was an equally impressive, slightly older, Imperial Fist. He was bald and the misshapen, browned skin on the back of his head indicated some kind of laser or plasma damage from a battle long past. His strong face was heavily scarred and lined, as if he was chiseled from the stone face of a mountain. In his right hand, he clasped a fairly average looking Astartes Mark-III pattern Bolt Pistol, although the furniture of the weapon was quite scratched and worn. Purity seals were attached to either side of the short heat guard, just forward of the area above the magazine well. Instead of carrying a Power Sword, he wore a yellow Astartes-pattern Power Fist on his left hand. It was massive, nearly thrice the size of Carstensen's Power Fist. Already, some of the paint was shorn off by repeated blows against the enemy. On his chestplate, he wore two rows of gold, silver, bronze, and iron medals that took the shape of a gauntleted fist thrusting upwards.

When Captain Thule and Endymion stopped at the periphery of the conference, Marsh halted as well. Seeing not only Space Marines but a hoard of superior officers made him feel even more self-conscious of his humble rank.

The Imperial Fist noticed the Blood Ravens and their human companion waiting nearby. While Captain Evander and General Battye continued to talk, he ventured towards them.

"Captain Galen," Thule greeted, bowing his head.

"Force Commander Thule," the Imperial Fist replied. "It is good you have arrived. Pressing matters have arisen over the blocking positions of the Traitor's ilk up the road."

Galen suddenly turned his attention to Marsh Silas, but only for a moment. "Why have you brought an Imperial Guardsman?" he asked, looking back up at Thule.

"This is Senior Staff Sergeant Cross, platoon sergeant to the 1st Platoon of the 1st Company of the 1333rd Cadian Regiment."

Grunting, Galen approached Marsh Silas and towered over him. The Cadian did his best not to tremble in awe of the being before him. He bowed his head ceremoniously. He wished he was wearing his low-peaked NCO cap or at least his helmet, which he could have removed in a respectful gesture.

"These medals on your shoulder plate, they bear the same insignia Sergeants wear within the Adeptus Astartes."

"Sir, this decoration is known as the Winged Skull, awarded to those Imperial Guardsmen who have displayed leadership in the face of great challenges and led their troops to victory."

"And you wear two," Galen stated. Marsh glanced at the medals pinned to his pauldron, remembering the Raid on Kasr Fortis and the Hinterland Patrol he conducted with Bloody Platoon months ago. Unsure of what to say, he bowed his head respectfully once again.

"Staff Sergeant Cross distinguished himself today by crossing swords with two Traitor Marines and coming out the victor," Thule said.

"Truly, a tremendous feat indeed," Galen said. Marsh quickly lifted his head.

"I only survived because the Space Marines of the noble Blood Ravens assisted me with supporting fire from afar. If not for them, I would not be standing here before you this evening, sir. My feat belongs just as much to the Blood Ravens."

"I agree with the Guardsman," Endymion said quietly.

"Quiet yourself," Thule said sharply. "Cross, tell Galen what you have told me."

Marsh Silas recounted his and Bloody Platoon's adventure at the great battle of the hills, how they delved into the deepest mountain, and discovered Drusus waiting for them. He reiterated the Warpsmith's dying words, his blood running cold remembering the pleasure he seemed to draw from seeing the Shock Troopers standing in revulsion of his acts. As he spoke, several other Imperial Fists, including a squad of Scouts and even a Chaplain, joined the Captain.

The platoon sergeant looked up at Galen sorrowfully. "It is a foolish thing, methinks, to accept the words of a Traitor and one so evil. But that night we returned to our base at Army's Meadow along the western sea, I had a dream. I saw…everything. Sabinus, suspended from chains, his soul being torn asunder, Drusus…laughing."

He did his best not to tremble. Galen betrayed no emotion, gazing into the platoon sergeant stoically. His eyes were such a golden shade of amber it seemed like they were afire. The cold wind that played with Marsh's blonde mop of hair didn't seem to bother the Imperial Fist at all.

Swallowing hard, he sank to one knee and bowed his head. "I once thought this was but a mere dream. But now, before you, I understand. I am no prophet, no priest, but I believe…I have to believe, the Emperor made me his messenger for this one task. Our Lord wished that Sabinus, one of the noble Sons of Dorn, would not be forgotten by this Imperium, an Imperium that owes him everything for his sacrifice. If the Emperor has ensured my survival for this long, it was to tell one of Sabinus's Battle-Brothers of his fate, so he may forever be remembered."

Marsh Silas remained bowed and kept his eyes shut. He let the words hang above his head like a cloud. There was nothing else the Guardsman could think to do. But it felt right.

"Rise."

Captain Galen regarded Marsh Silas for a few moments without any emotion. "I believe you, young one. I hear the truth in your voice and see it in your eyes. I thank you, Silas Cross of Cadia, for bringing to me this news. Sabinus was my Battle-Brother and more than that, my friend. Though it leaves a wound in the heart to know he died alone and in great agony, I take solace that he laid down his life for the great cause of defending the Emperor's Imperium. Sometimes, a warrior may perish on the battlefield. Another, of disease in the Apothecarion. And some merely disappear, their fates unknown. Every death, every drop of blood shed in the Emperor's name serves the great cause."

He fastened his Bolt Pistol to the greaves of his Power Armor and then reached up to his chest. Plucking one of the golden medals from his chest, he held up in front of the Staff Sergeant. "In the order of decorations of my Chapter, this award is known as the Golden Fist. It is awarded for steadfast conviction and courage in the name of Emperor, Imperium, and the Imperial Fists. Any Battle-Brother who distinguishes himself to a degree meriting an award of Golden Fist is held in the highest regard in the eyes of the Imperial Fists and all our Successors."

Galen reached forward and slipped the clasp of the medal's golden ribbon onto a webbing strap across Marsh's breastplate. It was right over his heart. Eyes wide, Marsh gazed down at the award. Slowly, he touched the medal, feeling the cold metal against his fingertips and the bumps of the imprints and engravings on the front.

With tears in his eyes, Marsh Silas looked up at Galen. "This day, in the eyes of my Battle-Brothers and in the name of the Primarch Rogal Dorn, I declare you a true friend and companion to the Imperial Fists, forever and for all time." The Captain placed his fist over his heart and bowed his head. All the other Imperial Fists gestured likewise.

Poor Marsh Silas, ashamed to lose control of his emotions, quickly swiped at the tears rolling down his cheeks.

"I shall wear it not only with honor but in the name of your Battle-Brother Sabinus. I will carry his name with me until the day I must give up my life," he said, his voice choked and heavy. Just as he was about to fall to his knee, Galen reached out and took hold of his arm.

"From this day on, you shall bow to no Imperial Fist."

Unreal, unthinkable, impossible. Was it a dream? A mirage? Another of Barlocke's tricks? I think not, old friend. A blessing, then! A blessing from the Emperor Himself bequeathed by those carried His blood in their veins! They saw fit not only to reward him but to catalogue his name. To be remembered by the bravest, the strongest, the greatest of the Imperium's warriors was the sweetest gift of all. A generosity a lowly sort like him did not deserve.

Everything he thought to say was lost in his throat as he worked very hard to hold back his tears. He could hardly look Captain Galen, Captain Thule, or any of the other Astartes in the eyes without fear of making an even greater fool of himself.

"We all thank you for bringing word of our Battle-Brother," said the Chaplain, striding forward in his black, golden-trimmed Power Armor. Huge gold skulls decorated his greaves and he wore a skull atop his Fusion Pack which was adorned with a spiked halo. His face was concealed by his helmet, a snow-white skull with two small, burning red eyes in the sockets. In his right hand he carried an instrument with a long, leatherbound shaft with an Aquila as the pommel. The shaft led into a massive, long-winged Aquila with each head on either side of the gold shaft. At the very top was a fist in the shape of the Chapter's emblem. Everything he wore was covered in purity seals and holy parchment.

He lowered himself a little to peer at Marsh Silas. "You speak humbly and wisely for a mortal of such low stature."

"Cross is a pursuant of knowledge, Chaplain Anato," Captain Thule said.

"Brother-Captain," Endymion said quietly. "Surely, you don't insist on bringing this human to the briefing."

"Perhaps, there is just as much insight to be gained from speaking to a soldier as a general," Thule said. "Even if there isn't, I have agreed to teach him. If he must learn, let him do so in the presence of the Astartes. I vouch and sponsor him. Let us go."

And just like that, a disbelieving Marsh Silas found himself guided to the meeting behind held between the commanders of the local Space Marine Chapters and the Astra Militarum officers leading Battlegroup Sonnen. He never felt so small yet conspicuous in his life.

Under the camouflage netting, dozens upon dozens of Space Marines as well as Astra Militarum and Adeptus Administratum officers formed a semicircle around the rear of the Command Rhino. Captain Evander was standing at the bottom of the ramp with General Battye close beside him. Some of the other Regimental Commanders were present, including Colonel Isaev.

When Marsh Silas saw him, he immediately grew even more self-conscious. He was the only enlisted man present and he didn't want to embarrass his commanding officer. But it was Battye who noticed him first. The General came strutting from the Rhino and towered over him.

"You!" he hissed. "What are you doing in the company of the Space Marines?" Before Marsh Silas could answer, Battye looked up at Thule. "I apologize for the transgressions of this Guardsman, Captain Thule. He should not have been galivanting around and harassing your noble selves. I will see to it this shot is summarily executed for his acts!"

Marsh's heart froze for only a moment. Thule held up his hand.

"You shall do no such thing, General. This Guardsman has just been decorated by the Imperial Fists for services rendered to their Chapter, and he is my guest."

Battye, wide-eyed, looked down at Marsh's chest. Upon seeing the glittering golden medal, his jaw dropped. Quickly, the General recovered, clearing his throat and standing up straight.

"Oh, yes, of course," he said, red in the face. "Colonel Isaev, I believe this is one of your men, yes?"

Isaev stepped forward, looking a little wary.

"Yes, this Senior Staff Sergeant Silas Cross. He has recently been decorated with the Obscuras Honorifica for his acts regarding the campaign to clear out the hinterland to the west of Kasr Sonnen. He is a Hero of the Imperium."

Many heads turned in his direction. Marsh, blushing very hard, just looked down at his boots. But he knew that wouldn't reflect well on himself, his regiment, or Cadia, so he forced himself to look up and stand at attention.

Captain Evander took notice and nodded.

"So, it is you we have to thank for our secure left flank and the host of reinforcements we've received from the west?"

"No, sir!" Marsh replied. "All thanks must go to Lieutenant Hyram, my immediate superior, for it was he who led the reconnaissance training mission which discovered the movements o' the foul heretics. He bravely decided to keep us in the field to hunt down the enemy which ultimately led to their destruction."

Of course, this was a half-truth. Marsh did not feel comfortable at all lying to so many Astartes but that was the story Hyram articulated to Isaev to finally get him to see reason. To protect their ulterior motives of getting out into the country to track the enemy down to their base camps was more important than the truth at this point.

Evander nodded, folding his arms across his chest.

"Very well," he said, punctuating the discussion. He looked up and surveyed the crowd around him. "Warriors of the Adeptus Astartes and the Astra Militarum, hear me. My Scouts bring grave tidings. The Iron Warriors have erected a spire on a series of ridgebacks to the north. These spires are armed with numerous anti-air defenses. A major key to our success has been our ability to obtain air superiority over the enemy's positions. Without it, I fear we may not be able to advance without unacceptable causalities in the days ahead. What's more, it commands the all-weather roads which have been keys to bringing in reinforcements. We cannot allow the Iron Warriors to bombard our supply lines. Therefore, Force Commander Thule, I propose a joint operation between Chapter and Militarum forces to eliminate the tower."

The plan was laid out. Evander would lead a joint force of Blood Ravens, White Consuls, Knights Unyielding, Imperial Fists, and Marine Exemplars to link up with the Scouts who were currently observing the enemy's tower. General Battye would intensify the nightly artillery barrage and launch several diversionary actions against the Iron Warriors' lines while the Space Marines would assault the tower. Explosives would be planted at vulnerable locations within the structure and detonated. The Imperial Guardsmen who would accompany them would serve in blocking positions to prevent any possible forces from the Lost and the Damn warband present with the Iron Warriors to counterattack.

One by one, Space Marines began volunteering for the mission. Each one uttered the words of their Chapter or pledged their lives to the success of the operation. They were knightly and courtly. It was as if this endeavor was not a tactical endeavor but instead an act of rites the Astartes humbly requested to be in.

Captain Galen volunteered to act as Evander's second. In a show of brotherly and courtly display, Evander offered to step down as the commander of the mission in lieu of an older, more experienced officer as well as from one of the Primarch's sons. But Galen refused, conceding to Evander's abilities as a warrior and a leader.

Thule placed Endymion in command of two Tactical Squads of Blood Ravens. The Knights Unyielding contributed a squad of Assault Marines under the command of a Sergeant Santoro. He cut a dashing look with elegant, swept back blonde hair which was as golden as the Aquilas that decorated his orange and teal Power Armor. A Devastator Squad from the Marines Exemplar, led by a scarred and broad-faced Sergeant named Corvin, would bring heavier weapons. Galen and Chaplain Anato would bring a 10-man squad of Imperial Fists Scouts for tactical flexibility. Evander would personally command a Tactical Squad of White Consuls. Meanwhile, the Angels of Vigilance would be standing by with a squadron of Land Speeders in case the assault force was discovered and needed fast attack support.

"As for the contribution of the Imperial Guard," Evander said to General Battye, "we require a platoon-sized complement of competent Veterans with experience in long-range maneuvers and scouting."

Battye glanced at Colonel Isaev, and the Colonel looked at Marsh Silas. Many heads swiveled towards him, then. The platoon sergeant felt very small, indeed.

###

"I'm so happy for you but I was hoping to catch a little sleep, not lead the men on a raid," Hyram hissed from behind Marsh Silas.

"I didn't volunteer us for this but we should be honored," he whispered back. "I'm proud to be on this mission."

"I am proud but the men need rest. We all do."

"Don't listen to him, my love," Carstensen said. "I'm proud of you."

Bloody Platoon was working its way up a tight, jagged path which cut through a rocky slope. Everyone was moving slowly and carefully, fearful of slipping on gravel or a loose patch of earth. Already, a few soldiers rolled their ankles and Honeycutt was forced to wrap them. A testament to their warrior spirits, they decided to keep going no matter how severe their limp.

The Adeptus Astartes were spread out among the platoon, moving methodically up the slope. Even those who carried Missile Launchers and Heavy Bolters traversed the incline with ease. Their Scouts were especially swift and put the Cadian Scout Sergeants to shame.

That put Marsh in mind of Isenhour. He had decided to come along at some point. The Scout Sergeant was at the head of the column along with Marsh Silas as they were the only two Guardsmen who possessed night vision goggles. Isenhour hadn't said one word throughout the entire march, defaulting to hand signals and gestures instead.

Part of Marsh Silas thought he came along because his skillset matched the nature of the mission. But part of him suspected Isenhour was here to observe him. If he was, he hadn't made that quite apparent yet.

As they marched, he could see the enemy spire looming in the darkness. No lights glittered on it but it was an impenetrable, tall, black mass. In the low-light of his Nighteye Goggles, he could make out the spikes on its buttresses and trim, the white skull heraldry of the Iron Warriors, and the many gun batteries of anti-air guns and artillery. This was far more robust than the flak towers of the Kasrs; it was a veritable fortress.

When they came to the top of the ridge, Marsh was confronted with the sight of the Scouts from the Imperial Fists kneeling in a semicircle. Even with his night vision goggles, he couldn't see anything to their immediate front besides some rocks and bushes. Just as he was about to move up, the bushes started to move. Slithering out were another ten Scouts, these ones from the White Consuls. Instead of wearing the traditional colors of their Chapter, their Scout Armor was mottled and dappled with grays, greens, white, and khaki colors to better blend in with the surrounding landscape. Some wore hoods and others advanced goggles

"Sir, we've made the rendezvous," Marsh whispered to Hyram.

Hyram hurried passed him to meet with the Astartes officers. Marsh and Carstensen were right behind him.

"…there appears to be some kind of ritual taking place at the foot of the spire," a White Consul Scout said to Captain Evander. "Strange lights and some manner of warlock, or perhaps a Warpsmith. Sergeant Ursinus remained to observe."

"Very well, Janus. Rejoin his command while we prepare for the assault. Be ready. Sergeant Aetius, I humbly ask the Imperial Fists Scouts to join them."

"It shall be done, Captain."

"Captain, I'm going too, there needs to be a Militarum liaison if the teams are splitting up," Isenhour grunted. Out of all the Guardsmen present, he was the only one who did not seem impressed with the Adeptus Astartes. Everyone else was following them dutifully and obeying their commands without question. Isenhour did not really seem to notice them.

"Sir," Marsh said, walking forward. "I would like to go as well."

Evander turned around and regarded Marsh Silas frankly. After a moment of thought, he nodded.

"What are you doing?" Hyram asked him, taking the platoon sergeant by his arm.

"It's…personal, sir. I have to prove something to myself."

In the dull green of his night vision goggles, Hyram appeared angry. His lips were pressed into a thin line and his jaw muscles were tense. He rarely registered that kind of frustration in such a way. But just as Marsh prepared to feel the full weight of an oncoming lecture, Carstensen took the Lieutenant's hand away.

"Let him go. I trust him."

"I need him here, he has the Nighteye Goggles. And he's just going to get himself killed, that other reconnaissance mission was dangerous enough."

"If he can make it back from that, he can make it through anything," she said. Carstensen reached out in the dark and touched Marsh on the cheek. "Go, my love. If there is something you must sort, then sort it." But then she snatched his chestpiece collar. "But come back, yes?"

"Yes, darling," he replied.

Isenhour suddenly stepped into the conversation and handed Hyram his own set of goggles and his personal helmet mount.

"Take these, sir," he growled. Hyram swiped them from the Scout Sergeant's grasp and fixed them to his helmet mount.

Marsh and Isenhour fell in with the White Consuls. The Scouts formed a double column and advanced quickly. The Scout leading them at the moment was Janus, who had a stubble of brown hair on his head save for a tuft in front which came out over his forehead slightly. He and the Scouts appeared much younger compared to the likes of Thule, Galen, and Evander. Most of them carried large combat knives that were about the size of short swords for a mortal man. Out of the nine Scouts, three of them carried Astartes M40/A1 Pattern Sniper Rifles while two others carried Assault Shotguns. One of them carried a Heavy Bolter and a Bolt Pistol. The rest carried Bolters with various modifications; scopes, extended magazines, and grips and infrared lasers attachments affixed to the rails. All their sidearms bore a sound suppressor similar to the one fixed to his Ripper Pistol. Veteran Scout Sergeant Aetius's squad of the Imperial Fists was armed in a duplicate manner.

"Keep up, Guardsmen," Janus said firmly over his shoulder, his tone tough and cavalier. Despite his attitude, Marsh Silas couldn't help but admire him and the others. They were so different from the Power Armor-clad warriors he'd been fighting alongside. These ones were young, quick, and carried themselves in a rather confident way. The nobility the other Marines bore was lacking here. Perhaps, it was just their youth.

Eventually, they came to a rocky, vegetated knoll near the spire. It sloped to their left, leading towards the enemy camp. Down there, he could see their camp fires and dark pools of energy swirling. Marsh didn't want to look for too long. In front, the spire loomed over his head and dominated the view of the roads and routes all over the area of operations. As he drew closer, he could see the long barrels of many Autocannons protruding from firing ports and fortified balconies wear anti-aircraft guns, their barrels shaped like dragons' maws, pointed skyward.

Below, Iron Warriors patrolled the immediate area and established interconnecting trenches at the base of the tower. While they reinforced their gun positions, they made a series of emaciated slaves who had iron plates and bars bolted to their flesh, do the digging. A number of their demented followers from this band of the Lost of the Damned aided in the work, too. Although, some of their ilk were posted on sentry duty. Some of the Iron Warriors seemed to be involved in a discussion, a ring of them gesturing between their positions and their main camp below. Others stood solemnly and alone, overlooking the distant battleground or observing their surroundings.

Just in front of the spire was the supposed ritual. To the immediate front was their ritual. A cabal of figures wearing priestly, maroon robes and wearing Mechadendrites on their backs consisting of fluid, metallic cords, manipulator arms, optical equipment, and utility tools.

"Blue?" a voice whispered from the hedges and rocks atop the knoll.

"Eagle," Janus hissed.

A Veteran Scout Sergeant crawled out from a hiding spot. He wielded nothing but a Bolt Pistol and a Chainsword.

"Sergeant, we have brought Imperial Fists and two Cadian Scouts. Captain Evander is placing troops here, here, and here," Janus said, showing him a map on the wearable on his wrist.

"A suitable force against the machinations of the Dark Mechanicum," Ursinus replied.

The two squads dispersed among the stones and vegetation. Marsh Silas remained between Isenhour and Janus. It was eerie to hide so close to the enemy and he watched with a mixture of disgust and fear. The Corrupted Tech-Priests were holding up their arms and emitting some kind of techno-noise chant. Marsh Silas could not discern any kind of human speech pattern from it all; to him, it was nothing but static and white noise.

"The Dark Mechanicum," he whispered. "I've never seen such treasonous ilk before, nor have I heard their name before."

"And rightly so, Guardsman," Janus said. "Whatever evils the Iron Warriors spawn, the Dark Mechanicum raise creations far more foul and horrifying. These are those members of the Adeptus Mechanicus who fell in with the great traitor Horus during the Age of Darkness. Now, they multiply and form, spewing their bastardized creations on battlegrounds across the Imperium. The Iron Warriors are masters of siege and machine, so it is no surprise to find emissaries of the Dark Mechanicum present. Make no mistake, they are a determined and crafty foe."

Janus grinned and then looked at the Guardsman confidently. "But as a man can be killed, so too can a machine be broken."

Marsh Silas liked this Scout's confidence immediately and smiled back.

"Prepare to engage," Ursinus ordered over their micro-beads.

Just as they set their sights on the targets, a rift opened in the circle of space between the Traitor Tech-Priests. Cracks appeared in the rocky earth, emitting purplish and sickly green lights. As the grounded shuddered, a commanding look Tech-Priest who was taller than the rest, raised his arms higher. From his palms rose a leatherbound book which the lights seemed to swirl around. Suddenly, the stone gave way and from the crater came the sound of crunching rocks. From this pit rose the top of a silver, hexagonal-shaped turret with a long barrel. Spikes adorned the golden trim and ran along the length of the gun. More purple and green energy swirled around it as it drew further out of the ground.

"By the Emperor! What is this heresy!?" Marsh exclaimed, horrified. The lights of the terrible ritual were reflected in his violet eyes and he felt like his soul was invaded from such a terrible sight! With his terror amalgamated a great rage that the minions of the Dark Mechanicum should raise such a blasphemous entity on the scared soil of Cadia!

"Engage! Engage! Engage!" Ursinus exclaimed.

A fusillade of sniper rifle rounds sliced through the air. All found their marks, cutting down half the congregation. The Tech-Priests turned and were cut down by another volley. Bolters ripped and Marsh and Isenhour's M36's cast red lasbolts through the darkness. The surviving Traitor Tech-Priests collected their unholy tome and began running for the other tower. As they did, the structure rising out of the ground suddenly froze and shattered like a pane of glass. The dark stones sundered, split, and tumbled into a huge pile. Little by little, the remnants of the incomplete turret tumbled into the gaping hole until a great pile of rubble was all that remained. A shockwave of dust as it finally settled washed over the squads.

All around them, bolts cut through the air and a great war cry rose as the Astartes charged the tower.

Ursinus raised his Chainsword and pointed it towards the spire. "Captain Evander has begun the assault! Move in!"

Marsh and Isenhour ran as fast as they could but they couldn't keep up with the Space Marine Scouts. They were so nimble and sprinted at incredible speeds, practically flowing across the terrain. Ahead of them, the enemy's defense works were under intense Heavy Bolter fire. While the Devastator Marines pinned down the traitors protecting the entrance, the Assault and Tactical Marines moved in. They charged across open ground, their Power Armor negating lasbolts and autogun slugs alike.

Instead of sallying out, the Iron Warriors quickly took to their defensive positions. They unleashed a fusillade of Bolter-fire which blunted the lightning advance of the Tactical Marines. Forced to take cover among rock formations, they returned fire and lobbed grenades. Corvin displaced his Devastator Marines, who launched missiles at hardpoints and neutralized heavier guns. Then, they raked the exposed Iron Warriors with Heavy Bolter fire.

After a furious series of grenade assaults, the Astartes resumed their charge. Santoro and his Assault Marines activated their Jump Packs and landed right in the enemy trenches. Chainswords sparked and growled, Power Swords split through Iron Warrior metal. When the Tactical Marines added their weight to the melee, it became a slaughter.

Marsh was rushing to keep up with the Scouts. They were bypassing the trenches to seize the main doors before they shut. Only the Traitor Tech-Priest managed to squeeze through the closing doors while the rest of his retinue was killed behind him. Janus, Ursinus, and Aetius of the Imperial Fists Scouts, were in front. Janus, wielding a Bolt Pistol and his blade, slid through the passage and began shooting. Ursinus, with his Chainsword, leaped over him and cut down a Traitor Marine who operating the door mechanism. Aetius immediately went to the right side of the hall and wiping out a squad of heretics with his Bolter.

Marsh, Isenhour, and the other Scout Marines managed to get through and opened the doors. Endymion sent in his Blood Ravens who stood in front of the Scout Marines to act as a shield wall with their heavier Power Armor. Heretics and Iron Warriors appeared from chambers on either side of the hall or came pounding down the stairs. Some tried to fire from these entries but those who were caught moving were cut down. Bodies tumbled to the smooth, stone floor of the spire.

Stepping back outside to load a full charge pack, Marsh found Captain Evander beside him communicating via his micro-bead.

"…Lieutenant Hyram, pull your men back to our position. Enemy reinforcements are estimated at five minutes. Join Sergeant Corvin at his position. Prepare yourselves."

"Captain Evander, the Dark Mechanicum are on the planet," Sergeant Ursinus said, ducking back out of the hall. "They are using some kind of accursed tome to raise fortifications. They must have used it raise this tower from nothing!"

Endymion, who had also ventured back outside, approached them.

"The tome must be seized from the enemy. We cannot allow them to raise another spire. Captain, I request permission to take one of my squads in pursuit of this warlock."

"With the destruction of this tower, the traitors' token will join it in the ruins. Proceed with the mission."

Endymion's emotions were hidden behind his helmet. He obeyed, heading back inside. Marsh and Isenhour exchanged a glance before slipping back into the spire as well.

The action had subsided as the Iron Warriors were holding back. The Astartes fanned out to the chambers on the flanks. Sergeant Santoro led his men through an entrance on the left and one of Endymion's squads filtered into a room to the right. The other Tactical Marines from the Blood Ravens were standing fast at the bottom of the stairs, their Bolters trained upwards.

It was a strange place, this spire. The stonework was immaculate and smooth, possessing an almost mirror-like sheen. Enormous braziers burned along the walls, their orange light casting flickering glows across the flooring and walls. The walls themselves possessed more definition than the floor, but still possessed an otherworldly softness to them. When Marsh reached out to touch it, it felt like he was running his fingers along glass. It just seemed so fragile. But the eight-pointed stars and the skulls of the Iron Warrors imprinted and carved all over the walls reminded him this was a dangerous place, a dark place. How the heretical priests of the Dark Mechanicum managed to raise this structure from the earth itself baffled and terrified him.

He followed Isenhour to a room near the staircase. Knowing his M36c wouldn't be any use against Power Armor, Marsh defaulted to his Power Sword and Ripper Pistol. Swapping positions, Marsh took the lead while Isenhour took him by the shoulder and held his M36 with one hand. Aside from the occasional reports of a Boltgun, it was becoming eerily quiet. Above them, they could hear the muffled voices of Iron Warriors, no doubt planning to make an assault on the first floor. Grenades detonated every so often; deep, thunderous booms reverberated through the walls and echoed down the corridor.

Marsh opened the door and rushed in. It was some kind of control station, with multiple Coigtator systems lining the walls. It reminded him of the tactica command centrals in Astra Militarum headquarters. There were hololithic projectors, terminals, and radio communication sets, although much of it appeared archaic. Green lights pulsed along the screens and the mechanical whirring of so many technologic engines was different than the steady hum of the machines he was used to.

Just as he was about to say, 'clear,' Marsh heard something. He and Isenhour tensed and swung their weapons to the right side of the room. Rounding a column, they found taller Coigtator with a massive screen. Standing in front of it, with multiple tendril-like cords rising from its Mechadendrites, was purple-robed Heretek. Under one of its mechanical arms was a book; the book.

The platoon sergeant's finger squeezed the trigger. The traitor nimbly dodged to the side and the bullets tore through the console. It darted for a door in the back, burst through, and pounded down an auxiliary staircase. Marsh broke from Isenhour's grasp and ran after it.

"Wait for the Astartes!"

"I am not afraid!" Marsh roared over his shoulder. In that moment, he felt everything. The horror of watching his brothers-in-arms of the 577th Armored Regiment perish in a wall of flames, the terrible sight of the Iron Warrors' bastion on that very first night, his shame from fleeing out of fear, and watching the enemy turn the tide the following back. It flooded in, not as a vision, but an energy within.

He raced down the steps, taking potshots with his sidearm when he saw the tails of its robe. At the bottom, he burst through a heavy metal door. What Marsh saw there horrified him. Hanging from so many hooks and chains were the dissembled bodies of Loyal Tech-Priests, Enginseers, servitors, and more than a few dissected Imperial Guardsmen. Blood and oil stained the floor, sparking wires flashed everywhere, and a few pitiful survivors, their mechanical limbs severed and their metal torsos cut open, stuttered and moaned. Victims were bolted, stapled, and chained to tables equipped with saws, drills, precision laser beams, and needles.

Amid the hanging bodies, Marsh saw a vile, glowing green eyes approach him. Stepping back, he raised his pistol, expended the last of the magazine, and swung with his Power Sword. A snake-like cord shot out of the dark, illuminated in the white light of flashing sparks. It coiled around his wrist and squeeze, forcing him to drop his weapon. When he raised his sword to cut it, another shot out and captured his arm.

His weapons clattered to the floor and in the same instant he was raised up. Then, he was drawn through the suspended bodies, buffeted on their mangled frames, and brought before the Heretek. It gazed at him curiously, its head nodding to one side and its green, mechanical eyes peered deeply into him.

"Weak is the faith of the Omnissiah," it said in a metallic tone. From its back rose several, whirring drills aimed right at Marsh's skull. "Weaker still, the flesh."

Crack! A lasbolt struck the Heretek in the side. Isenhour came into view and drove his bayonet into the traitor Tech-Priest's abdomen as hard as he could. He fired a long burst, the red lasbolts driving through the metal. But the metal monster's arm snapped downwards, smacking the M36 from his hand. One of the cords left Marsh's wrist, lanced around Isenhour's throat, and lifted him off his feet. It began to squeeze so tightly that the Scout Sergeant's facial color immediately turned.

Marsh hitched his leg up, grabbed his trench knife from the scabbard on his boot, and sliced the other cord. Snatching his Power Sword, he sliced the cord holding Isenhour. Just as he was about to thrust it through the Heretek, it pounced on him. Emitting a shrill, static cry that was loud enough to stun Marsh, he watched in horror as the drills shot towards him. He shut his eyes.

Stomp! Stomp! Stomp! Metallic boots thudded on the floor. Marsh opened his eyes just in time to watch Endymion punt the Heretek so hard that it flew off him and into the wall. The Blood Raven rushed over in a flash, grabbed it by the legs, and smashed the Traitor Tech-Priest against the wall and then the floor. Metal shards flew everywhere from each impact. Then, roaring, he swung the fractured body around and let it fly against the adjacent wall. All that was left was a crushed, broken frame, sputtering and moving erratically. Endymion marched over and crushed the robotic skull underneath his boot.

Marsh went over to Isenhour, who was still gasping for air.

"Fool…you should have…slain the Heretek…" he rasped. "Taken the glory of the kill for yourself."

Marsh stood Isenhour up and put his M36 back into his hands.

"Save it, Scout Sergeant."

He collected his Ripper Pistol and Power Sword. Pushing through the corpses, he found the unholy tome on a small, stone slab atop an operating table. Warily, he gazed at it. Endymion ventured over and looked down at it as well. "Should I not burn it?" Marsh asked him.

"I know not if such a foul totem would be affected by mere flame," the Blood Raven murmured. "If it cannot be destroyed, then it must be locked away for all time. Only a few may be trusted with such a task."

To Marsh's horror and amazement, Endymion picked up the heretical tome. He did not examine it or open its pages. Instead, he produced a case from the largest pouch on his waist with was covered with purity seals. He placed the book inside, locked the case, and then placed it back in the pouch. Without further ceremony, he trudged back to the entrance. "Come, Guardsmen. The charges have been set. We must fly from this place."

Marsh and Isenhour were all too happy to join him.

But once they were back on the ground floor, the sound of battle had returned. The Blood Ravens and other Astartes were steadily withdrawing from the massive stairwell. Iron Warriors and their mortal followers surged down the steps. Although they met a hail of bolts, they still came down, their assault banking on the weight of their superior numbers.

"Silas!"

Marsh turned to see Hyram standing at the entrance, waving frantically. "Come on Silas! Enemy reinforcements are coming! Air support is on the way!"

"Blood Ravens, fall out!" Endymion ordered. The loosed a cloud of grenades at the encroaching enemy and raced for the entrance. Hyram and the White Consul Scout Marines covered them. The burst into the cold night air and the battlefield was alive with tracers and lasbolts. Steadily advancing up the hills and across the ridgebacks were lines of Iron Warriors and their supporting infantry. Rolling the end of their line forwards, they threatened to encircle the spire and pin the assault force against the enemy camp. Marsh watched their hulking frames, illuminated by falling rockets and artillery shells, dart along.

As Imperial Guardsmen and Space Marines clustered together in the enemy's works at the base of the tower, Marsh uttered a prayer to the Emperor. But this last stand was not to be. Over the hills came a horde of golden Land Speeders. The Angels of Vigilance stormed across the ridgebacks and laid down suppressive fire, halting the enemy's advance. Streams of Assault Cannons and Heavy Bolter rounds laced the enemy's lines. Some flew in close and bathed them with fire from pintle-mounted Heavy Flamers. Golden streams from Multi-Meltas struck individual Iron Warriors and reduced their Power Armor to molten puddles.

And then, Aeronautica Imperialis Vultures and Adeptus Astartes Thunderhawk gunships cut through the air. Missiles and rockets bombarded the grounds, breaking up the Iron Warriors' lines. Some of their weaker-will mortal followers broke ranks and ran. But over that battle din rose a handsome voice. Marsh, crouching behind some sandbags, saw a much larger figure emerge among the Iron Warriors approaching them through the light of so many hedge fires.

"Come now, ye terrors of the Imperium!" a figure in silver Terminator Armor called. "Are you going to let a few flies scare you off!? I assure you all, it is they who shall be afraid!"

The voice was so smooth and crystalline clear even through his amplifier, as if the speaker was only a few meters away. When the Terminator Armor-clad Traitor paused, his retinue did as well. Missiles arced from behind his position and struck a Vulture gunship in the center, splitting it in half. Two Land Speeders were also reduced to fireballs.

"It's the Warsmith Consus!" Janus called.

"Let us stand and fight!" Chaplain Anato yelled.

"Not here, not now!" Captain Evander bellowed. "We shall smite the Traitor in our own time! Fall back to the Thunderhawks!"

They withdrew steadily under fire, stopping to shoot back only at those Iron Warriors who drew too close. Marsh picked his way across the ground, the Scout Marines and the Shock Troopers all mixed up. Ahead of them, soldiers hurried up the ramps of the gunships. Janus, who was beside him, stopped to fire, turned, and then sank to one knee. Hurrying back, Marsh Silas saw blood leaking form his knee. Even though he knew he couldn't carry him, Marsh offered his hand. Janus took it and used Marsh's grasp to stand up. He practically pulled the Guardsman over as he did. Staying near him, he moved towards the nearest was already there, waving madly as he shot. Marsh, keeping a hand on Janus, pushed to the ramp. Taking Janus by the arm, Hyram assisted him into the troop bay, then came back out.

"Is that everyone!?" he yelled over the roar of the engines and the battle din.

"I can't say!" Marsh yelled.

"I'm not setting one foot on that bird until everyone else is!" Hyram declared, marching to the bottom of the ramp. Before Marsh could protest, Hyram pressed the stock of his weapon into his shoulder, and fired one. Out of the darkness came a tracer round. The Lieutenant fell backwards into Marsh. When he sat up, he found a large hole in the right side of the officer's breastplate. Blood leaked out of it. Hyram was wide-eyed and his mouth moved a little, his breathing shallow and labored.

How the battlefield became muted, how the world seemed to lose all clarity. Marsh held his friends and didn't register Captain Evander dragging them back into the Thunderhawk nor the gunship's shuddering as it lifted off. He didn't see the white-armored Apothecary examining the wound or easily removing the plates of Flak Armor. Even the detonating charges within the spire, shattering its base in a gray cloud of shattered stone, was not witnessed by him. As the tower collapsed on its, eventually keeling over and falling onto the ridgebacks, crushing many Traitors underneath, Marsh remained fixated on his friend, bleeding in his arms, his violet eyes growing foggier, foggier, foggier. Someone pulled him away to let the Apothecary work. Marsh sat in Carstensen's arms, their hair fluttering as cold, cold wind filtered through the gunship.


Words: 7,896 | Pages: 20 | Font: Garamond | Font Size: 12 | Line Spacing: 1.5

Announcement & Author's Note: Many apologies for my months of absence. I decided to take a vacation from Marsh Silas to work on other fanfics, original works, and poems on my DeviantArt (now AmbroseVox, go look me up!) But I am happy to announce, with an edited and illustrated Marsh Silas I: An Inquisition soon coming to my DeviantArt, I will be working on Marsh Silas full-time. Now, what does that mean? Well, I'll still be doing some other, small, one-off fanfics on DA as well as the occasional short-prose and poem from time to time. But, I'm pausing work on all other major projects so that I can work on editing the first story and continue updating this one. I have decided to cap this story at 48 chapters, so we've still got 17 chapters to go. I am also giving myself greater leeway with chapters, meaning they can be anywhere from 5,000-8,000 words.

I'm really excited to share the edited story with you on DeviantArt, as it'll be very cleaned up, have some minor changes, have lore and language corrections, and you'll finally be able to experience it in its true prose format, with effective paragraph breakers, embedded dialogue, etc. And we have the wonderful, talented, hardworking, lovely artist Caffinated-Pinecone to thank for that! Thanks to her, I'll finally have a cover I can use to upload the original story. She's already done a little work of Marsh Silas and Barlocke, as I mentioned above, so go show her some love!

Anyway, thank you for your patience and your lovely comments. Stay tuned for the next update.