The Eleventh Legion
The Storm Eagles were made up of twelve Companies, each containing approximately two and a half thousand Astartes. Such numbers were usually more than enough to turn the tide of any battle in favour of Imperial forces; as a result, each Company was attached to a separate expedition, to be called upon when needed. Only against the deadliest of enemies do the Companies of the Second Legion come together, increasing their fighting power a thousandfold, like during the Kalaborn campaign.
The First Company, made up of the most accomplished heroes and veteran warriors of the Legion, had the honour of accompanying the Primarch along with the Legion's elite, the Storm Riders.
The Second Company was made up of warriors no less accomplished than those of the First, whose only main edge over the warriors of the Second was their seniority. Captain Azan of the Second Company had served the Emperor and the Second Legion for nearly as long as Asghar. Like most of the Terrans in the Storm Eagles, he had been born in the Yndonesic Bloc on Terra; as evidenced by his dark brown skin and weather-beaten appearance. His dark hair was tied back into a ponytail, and a neatly trimmed moustache and goatee surrounded a hard mouth that was unused to smiling. His dark eyes were as hard as the ceramite armour he wore into battle.
Unlike Asghar, who was relatively relaxed and easy-going, Azan was stern and strict, unyielding, a grim and taciturn man; expecting nothing but the best from himself and by extension, his company. The Emperor, the Storm Lord, the Imperium and humanity deserved nothing less than their best; that was the creed Azan drilled into his men. While far less approachable than Asghar, Gwaine or indeed, even the Primarch, Azan was ultimately an honourable man, and was widely respected within his Legion and amongst the other Legions.
The flagship of the Second Company was the Storm Hold, named after the major fortress city of Tempestas. She was the second biggest ship within the Legion after the Eternal Storm. Smaller vessels sailed in formation around her as the 97th Expedition explored the void, searching for worlds to bring into the Imperium.
Captain Azan stood just behind command throne of the Storm Hold. The seat of power within the ship was occupied by Admiral Nadim; a seasoned officer despite his relative youth. While Azan commanded the Second Company, Nadim's word on the fleet's affairs was law. It was an arrangement that suited both of them well.
The Second Company and the 97th Expedition had been exploring sector after sector for several months, finding very little of note; a few abandoned worlds, nothing more. Azan's strict regiment kept his men busy, but the restlessness stemming from months of inaction was creeping in; Azan himself felt it.
A junior officer handed Admiral Nadim a data-slate and respectfully took a step back. After a quick survey, the Admiral turned to the silent Astartes standing behind the command throne.
"Scout ships report nothing of note," stated Nadim. "Looks like another empty sector."
Azan nodded. "On to the next one then?"
"I'll give orders for the preparations."
"I'll be in my quarters, Admiral," said Azan in his quiet voice. "Let me know of the estimates to the next sector."
"Of course, Captain."
Azan turned and left; knowing that Nadim; or at least, his officers, would have to update the charted sector for Imperial records as well as chart the fleet's Warp jump to their next destination. It wasn't really his business, but it was good to know, if only to appreciate the hard work done by the ship crew in order to keep the Great Crusade going.
They hardly ever got recognised for the vital function they perform.
Azan spent the time in his quarters going through reports from the other Companies in their latest exploits. He took note of the joint efforts of the First, Sixth, Seventh and Ninth Companies alongside the Luna Wolves and the Wolves of Fenris in the liberation of Kalaborn; and the Storm Lord's brief departure with the Storm Riders to accompany the Blood Angels.
Though he was not a man given to such an emotion; Azan still felt a twinge of envy. Asghar and Gwaine were very fortunate; having the honour of accompanying the Storm Lord (most of the time).
An hour, then two passed as Azan continued to read the reports when he finally received a message from the bridge, urgently requesting his presence.
II II II
When Azan returned, Admiral Nadim informed him of the situation.
"Captain, we've just received an astropathic message from the Sixty-Sixth Expedition. They've just brought a human civilisation to Compliance but are now under attack by a sudden xenos invasion. They request aid from any nearby Imperial forces."
Azan nodded. "How far away are they?"
"Estimates say three weeks by Warp jump, Captain."
"Can we make it sooner, Admiral?"
"We can try, Captain."
Azan turned to the choir-master of the Astrotelepaths. "Inform them their message has been received, and the Storm Eagles will come. Tell them to hold the line for as long as possible."
As the choir-master hurried away, Azan turned back to Admiral Nadim. "Do we know the strength of the Sixty-Sixth expedition?"
Admiral Nadim had already produced a data-slate bearing the relevant information. As he read off the Expedition's strength, Azan took in the information silently, until he heard one that surprised him.
"You say that they have anAstartes Legion attached to them?"
Nadim checked the data-slate and nodded.
"Which Legion?" asked Azan, his brow furrowing.
"The Eleventh, Captain."
Amongst the Astartes Legions, the Eleventh Legion was one of the more mysterious. However, unlike the Thousands Sons, who seemed to enjoy shrouding themselves in a veil of mystery, the reason for the Eleventh Legion's own mystery was simply because very few other Legions had ever worked alongside them. As far as Azan knew, only three had; the Raven Guard, the Dusk Raiders and, much to everyone's surprise, the War Hounds. What few reports on the Legion's character described them as insular, slow to trust but reliable allies, but their combat doctrine was a jealously guarded secret. The Raven Guard and Dusk Raiders knew virtually nothing of their way of battle despite having worked with them; the War Hounds simply didn't care.
"How many companies of the Eleventh are attached to the Expedition?" asked Azan.
Admiral Nadim searched for the information, and to Azan's surprise, the Admiral's eyebrows rose a fraction. Nadim blinked several times and was silent for a moment, clearly confirming the numbers he was seeing.
"Admiral?" pressed Azan.
"It says here...the entire Legion, Captain," answered Nadim slowly.
Azan stared.
With the Great Crusade spreading out to all parts of the galaxy, many of the Legions had divided their forces in order to meet the needs of the Imperium's conquest. The Storm Eagles, the Space Wolves, the Blood Angels, the Imperial Fists and the Ultramarines were among the Legions to function that way.
Some of the smaller Legions though, tended to operate as a whole, such as the Thousand Sons and clearly the Eleventh Legion too, though Azan had no idea what their numbers were.
In any case, for an Expedition accompanied by an entire Legion of Astartes to request aid did not bode well.
"Admiral, get us there as soon as possible," said Azan.
Nadim gave the sign of the Aquila and nodded.
II II II
The Ork horde stretched out like an emerald sea as far as the eye could see, moving forward in a haphazard manner, but clearly hell-bent on reaching their goal.
While he would gladly face any odds in the name of the Emperor, Mika Vukona, Legion Master of the Eleventh, wished dearly that the Orks' destination was far, far away; preferably on the other side of the galaxy, instead of the makeshift fortifications where he and his entire Legion were entrenched.
His forces numbered five-thousand Astartes; a force that was usually more than enough to take a system and win several wars.
The Orks numbered ten million.
At least.
Usually, Legion Master Vukona wouldn't have been troubled by the odds, because he and his men would usually be supported by the Imperial Army detachments along with the Titans of the Mechanicum. However, the large bulk of those detachments, as well the entire Legio Titanica attached, were now floating debris in orbit around the planet known as Tyron, along with the entire Sixty-Sixth expedition.
The situation was dire enough that Vukona found small beads of sweat rolling down his face despite the cooling systems of his power armour.
The only good thing about the whole situation was that Vukona's forces were entrenched in a good defensive position, and had managed to rescue a small portion of the Imperial Army forces, along with a few of their mechanised attachment; namely the invaluable Basilisk Artillery tanks and a precious few Leman Russ tanks. Also, there was the local populations' own forces, whose total numbers were five times the Astartes force, but their technology was the equivalent of the civilisations of Terra's Second Millenium, during the periods known as the World Wars.
Idly, Vukona wondered what the humans from those days would have called all the wars that had followed in the last twenty-eight or so thousand years that had passed since. He shook the thought; it didn't matter for the moment; all that mattered that despite the backward technology of the locals, their total numbers were brought to roughly thirty thousand.
Thirty thousand against ten million.
It was exactly the sort of battle that Vukona hated.
While capable of doing so, the Eleventh Legion did not favour open battles of attrition; such things were the province of the more savage Legions such as the Space Wolves, or the War Hounds. Instead, the Eleventh preferred more subtle tactics, or as some of the more honour-conscious Legions would call it, cowardly tactics. Ambushes, hit-and-run, sabotage and even the occasional assassination; these were the favoured tactics of the Eleventh. They preferred to strike from the shadows without giving the enemy an opportunity to strike back, breaking their spirit and morale, breaking their will to fight back.
However, against mindless, battle-crazed beasts like the Orks, Vukona had to admit that such tactics were not feasible; especially when the beasts came together to form a sea of green; giving no particular weak points the Eleventh Legion could exploit; at least not without suffering crippling casualties in return.
In most cases, Vukona would have ordered a retreat, preferably off-world in order to reassess the situation and his tactics. But with the entire fleet destroyed, that was no longer an option. But in this particular situation, even if the fleet had survived, Vukona still could not, would not, have ordered a retreat.
The reason lay behind his entrenched forces.
The largest city of Tyron, called Tyron Prime, was home to millions, and was now hosting the millions of refugees fleeing the Ork invasion. The planet had just been certified compliant, and Vukona would not abandon it. Unfortunately, the Eleventh Legion was too small to defend the entire planet and the Ork forces too large. So Vukona had chosen to defend its major city, which was also the most defensible, leaving the other cities to fend for themselves. Once, if, they managed to break the Ork attack here, then the Eleventh Legion would set out to liberate the rest of the planet from the savage xenos.
And as he watched the Orks charged like an approaching tide, Vukona thought that it was a very big if.
Te Rangi, his second in command voxed him.
"Legion Master, all the artillery units are set and the gunners report that xenos are now within range."
"Noted, have them aim for the xenos armoured units," answered Vukona. "They may fire when ready."
"Acknowledged."
Moments later, the Basilisk tanks and the local artillery unites opened fire, aiming for the ramshackle collection of Ork armoured vehicles. Some exploded upon impact, others missed – hitting the Ork warriors instead, sending them flying – while some of the bigger and sturdier Ork combat walkers simply shrugged off the missiles.
Identifying them through the lenses of his visor, Vukona voxed Te Rangi. "Captain, Earthshaker rounds at these coordinates."
"Yes, sir."
Vukona voxed the coordinates, and moments later, the Basilisk tanks fired accordingly. A massive explosion erupted where the Earthshaker rounds hit; destroying Ork infantry and vehicles alike in a fiery inferno.
And still the xenos marched on, howling their war songs.
Vukona smiled grimly; it was going to be a long battle. The Orks never stop until they were beaten or victorious.
II II II
The twin suns of Tyron rose and set, but the battle never ceased. The Orks continued to scramble up the makeshift fortifications where they were blasted apart by the human forces. But the xenos simply stepped over their dead and came on. The pile of Ork corpses before the fortress grew until the aliens simply used them as ramparts to reach their enemy.
Mika Vukona and his warriors continued fight on; their superhuman bodies allowing them to match the Ork's tireless assault. The Emperor had elevated them above mortal men for such a purpose. Their mortal counterparts however, had no such gifts and despite their valiant efforts, their weariness caused them to waver, giving the Orks weak points to strike at.
With the Imperial Army and local soldiery being overwhelmed, Vukona had to send out his warriors to reinforce their flagging lines, which in turn resulted in his own warriors being stretched out. The warriors of the Eleventh Legion began to take significant casualties as the Orks started to gain ground.
Still, the Astartes of the Imperium fought fiercely, forcing the Orks to earn every inch of ground even as the xenos forced them to abandon the fortress and retreat to Tyron Prime. The Orks would not relent, hounding the rear of the retreat.
Night fell again, but still there was no respite. The darkness was lit by constant bolter fire and lasguns, punctuated by blasts from tanks. The night vision provided by his helmet visor allowed Vukona to see xenos corpses strewn about like a gory, green and red carpet. But there were also far too many human corpses mingled in with the xenos, and to his fury, he also saw far too many Astartes lying among the dead; their gene-seeds still unharvested given the continous battle. There was no official tally of the dead, but Vukona knew that this war would see the worst casualties the Eleventh Legion had ever taken.
Reports streaming in by vox told him that the left flank of the retreat was being heavily assaulted, just as the Orks surged at the rear forces again.
Swearing, Vukona had Te Rangi lead the counter attack against the flanking assault, while Vukona hoisted up his bolter gun and led his forces against the rear assault.
It was the harshest battle fought yet; huge mechanised Orks as big as Dreadnoughts led the charge, their armour shrugging off the bolter fire and lasguns that greeted them; tanks made in mockery of the celebrated Leman Russ tanks supported the charge, lending heavy fire that saw the deaths of both human and Ork forces alike with their indiscriminate fire; Orks with jump-packs soared the night sky as the sought to target the centre of the rear forces and worst of all, in the distance, Vukona could make out two gigantic beasts, as big as Titans, lumbering towards them.
It was an unusually coordinated attack by the Orks, and Vukona found himself wondering, as he had done countless times during the battle, if the Orks were truly mindless savages as was often thought. But he cast aside such thoughts as he rallied his forces.
Most mortals would flee in the face of such a fierce assault, especially at the sight of the two monsters that making their way towards them; indeed many of the Imperial and local soldiery would have fled if it had not been for presence of their posthuman champions. Vukona and his warriors splendidly responded to the xenos attack.
The Dreadnoughts, housing the crippled remains of the honoured heroes of the Eleventh Legion strode forward to meet the huge mechanised Orks head on; their massive fists effortless shattering through the xenos armour while tactical squads lent heir support by showering the enemy with heavy bolter fire; the true Leman Russ tanks traded firepower with their Ork counterparts, their human crew emboldened by the support of Astartes squads firing missiles upon the xenos contraptions; the Orks on jump-packs found themselves greeted by the assault squads of the Eleventh Legion, who soared up with jump-packs of their own to engage them. With the Ork charge stalled, the Imperial Army and local forces were able to turn the Basilisk Artillery tanks as well as the local artillery units around to shell the two approaching monsters, forcing the beasts to turn around, roaring in pain and panic as they sought to escape the shells.
Despite that, the xenos pressed their assault; the mechanised giant Orks managed to bring down several Dreadnoughts, tearing at the powerful armour to fatally cripple the mighty war machines; the Ork tanks managed to destroy a large bulk of the Imperial Leman Russ tanks though they suffered heavy casualties in turn; the Orks soaring the skies on jump-packs recklessly met the Astartes assault marines head on, using their sheer numbers to drag the Space Marines down to the ground for a fatal crash and though they had driven off the Orks' gigantic monsters, the artillery units were vulnerable to the Ork aerial assault as many managed to get past the Astartes assault squads, resulting in many being destroyed before the Astartes tactical squads and mortal soldiers managed to drive them off.
Despite heavy casualties, the human forces prevailed and the xenos finally retreated.
After days of unceasing battle, the sudden peace seemed to ring in Vukona's ears. He quickly reorganised his forces in case the Orks made another assault.
"Legion Master, the xenos have stopped," came Te Rangi's voice over the vox.
"I know," answered Vukona. "Proceed with the retreat, but keep an eye out. I find this sudden lull disturbing."
"Yes, sir."
Despite Vukona's misgivings, the retreat continued unmolested; when dawn neared, the human forces found themselves behind the relative safety of the city walls. Despite their mortal counterpart's exhaustion, Vukona wasted no time in reorganising the city's defences, certain that another attack wave was coming soon.
When the sun rose, he would be proven right.
Orks could be seen standing upon the hills surrounding the city, marching steadily down the slopes, chanting their war songs, their numbers making the ground itself tremble. Their war machines rumbled through their ranks and monstrous beasts (even more monstrous than the Orks) roared in the distance.
Many of the soldiers, both local and Imperial Army, went pale at the sight; some even soiled themselves. Vukona and the remaining warriors of the Eleventh Legion stared on grimly; they were the Emperor's chosen, they were beyond fear, but there was denying the dread that was gripping their twin hearts. Vukona's highly enhanced mind was already running through various scenarios, but he could not see any way to come out of this victorious; the only faint ray of hope humanity still had on Tyron was to hold out and hope for aid from Imperial forces that may have heeded the distress call they sent out before the battle started.
It was faint hope, but it was all they had.
Vukona made up his mind and gave his order. "Battle stations, everyone."
"What?" squeaked an Imperial Army officer nearby. "You intend to fight that?" He pointed at the approaching horde.
"You'd rather surrender? You're welcome to try," answered Vukona. "Let me know how that goes."
There was a rumble of grim laughter from the nearby Astartes as the officer flushed and muttered something unintelligible and (to Vukona) unimportant.
As the city's forces mobilised to face the attack, Vukona knew that even with the Astartes and Imperial Army, they simply did not have the firepower necessary to deal with such a large threat; the local military technology was too low. Not for the first time, Vukona wished for an Imperator Titan or two; the mighty war machines of the Mechanicum would greatly even the odds, or at least several dozen of the smaller variants. As it was, they could only hold off the Ork attack for a day or two at best, if the beasts only fielded land-based war machines.
If they had air forces...
As though determined to stamp out even that miniscule ray of hope, Vukona saw dark figures soaring over the horizon towards the city. As his visor magnified his vision, Vukona swore as he saw several ramshackled, but clearly war-capable Ork aircrafts. He quickly barked out orders for the flak cannon units to prepare themselves, knowing that it would hardly do any good.
The Ork aircrafts exploded into fiery clouds.
Vukona stared for a moment, wondering what on earth had happened when he saw a sight that lifted his spirits.
Thunderhawks descended, firing as they swooped over the Ork ranks. Stormbirds followed in their wake, landing just beyond the walls of the city. Astartes in deep ocean-blue power armour with storm-grey shoulder plates disembarked, firing heavy weapons upon the Orks. Imperial Army transport ships landed with them, unloading heavy weapons squads, who quickly used the cover provided by the Astartes to set up, quickly forming a perimeter.
Vukona had never fought alongside them before, but he recognised the colours and the legendary emblem of the Thunder Warriors that the newly arrived Astartes bore on their power armour.
The Second Legion; the Storm Eagles.
The tech-priests that came with the Storm Eagles quickly set up a smaller second fortified wall behind which the Legion continued their lightning-quick deployment. Better yet, Vukona saw Mechanicum transports bearing building-sized containers that without a doubt bore Titans.
Hope flared as the defenders cheered their allies.
As Vukona watched the rapid deployment admiringly, he noticed a Stormbird entering the city's airspace. A quick mental calculation confirmed that it was headed towards the temporary command post he had set up on the city walls. It came to a stop, hovering just before the wall, its rear facing the command post with its doorway open. Eight Astartes clad in the colours of the Storm Eagles leaped from the Stormbird onto the wall, after which the vessel swiftly took off.
One of the Storm Eagles, his rank marked by the grey crest on his helmet stepped forward.
"Who is in command here?" he asked, his voice rendered into a harsh growl by the vox-grille.
"I am," answered Vukona, removing his helm as he stepped forward. "Mika Vukona, Legion Master of the Eleventh."
The other Space Marine studied him for a brief moment before nodding. He removed his helm, revealing a grim weathered face with dark eyes and a neat goatee.
"Azan, Captain of the Storm Eagles' Second Company."
"Well met, Captain," said Vukona. "Your arrival is most timely; as you can see, the xenos have us backed into a corner."
Azan nodded. "The Fifth, Eighth, Ninth and Twelfth Companies of my Legion are en route. Word has also been sent to my Primarch; fear not, the Second Legion will stand alongside the Eleventh."
Vukona smiled grimly. "We fear nothing, Captain, but I thank you. This battle has drained us severely."
Pausing to consider his options, the Legion Master spoke again. "Is extraction possible? Could we get the non-combatant populace off-world?"
"Right now? No. Our fleet is severely outnumbered by the xenos; we managed to take them by surprise to enable our deployment, but we won't be able to evacuate civilians; the fleet has to retreat to safety."
Vukona nodded. "Then we will be their aegis. Tell us where you need us, Captain. My warriors and I are at your disposal."
"Your men have fought well; take some time to rest, my Company will take it from here –"
"With all due respect Captain, we've been fighting the xenos with the odds stacked against us. My brothers and I are not about to stop to catch our breath now that the odds are even again."
The corners of Azan's mouth quirked slightly into what could possibly be a wry smile.
"Very well, Legion Master; we will bring down the Emperor's wrath upon the alien filth together."