The Muster of the Storm Eagles
A holographic sphere rotated serenely at the centre of the Eternal Storm's strategium. While it was a greenish-blue due to the holographic projectors, Thorondor knew that its true colour was reddish-orange. Various locations of the planet were highlighted. In most cases, the locations highlighted were of strategic value or enemy weak points. At that particular moment however, the sites being displayed were for the various industry about to be introduced to the planet's inhabitants, along with potential military and administrative installations for Imperial presence.
Following his return from the reunion on the Imperator Somnium, Thorondor and his Legion had encountered a system ruled by a human civilisation. Fortunately, they had been willing to embrace their brothers from the Imperium and join the fold. The past months had been spent preparing them for the transition.
While Thorondor was glad that no human blood would be spilled in this instance, he and his warriors were restless, anxious to move on. But they still had to wait until the system was certified compliant. While Thorondor oversaw the transition; lending his formidable charisma, knowledge and presence to smooth things over, his warriors were kept busy hours on end with endless combat drills to maintain their battle readiness.
During one such drill, at the eager behest of their men, Asghar and Gwaine duelled each other. The Astartes were treated to an incredible spectacle of two different combat styles clashing with each other. The former Legion Master favoured his trusted sword while the Lightning Rider wielded the traditional glaive of the Tempestan Storm Riders; but the duel went far beyond simply their weapon of choice. Asghar was a methodical warrior; his every movement and blow calculated and measured, made smooth and fluid by decades of combat experience. Gwaine, by contrast, fought with free-flowing movements that seemed almost random and reckless to the untrained eye; like a whirling dervish. The deadly whirls of Gwaine's glaive were thrown back by the precise skill of Asghar's swordsmanship, who in turn found himself unable to penetrate the storm-like defences of Gwaine's skill with his weapon.
Outside the practice cages, all the other Astartes watched the two greatest warriors within their Legion - other than their Primarch - duel; making admiring comments and analysing the combat prowess being displayed, hoping to incorporate some of it into their own repertoire. There were gasps as Asghar somehow parried and dodged a series of deadly strikes from Gwaine that would have killed any Astartes, and murmurs of appreciation as Gwaine was thrown back by a single precise blow from Asghar. It was almost as though the two warriors were fighting to kill. Both of them were powerful and skillful warriors.
However, there was a slight gap between the two of them; so slight that for the most part it was unnoticeable. It lay between the physical abilities between the two warriors. Gwaine was a skilled warrior, far more skilled than even true Astartes. But no matter how hard he trained, his physical abilities: his strength, his speed, his quickness; all already enhanced far beyond mortals due to the gene-hancements that he had received, could never match those who have received the gene-seed. Against most, his skill more than made up for that difference.
Against Asghar, it wasn't enough.
Asghar's own superlative fighting skills combined with the physical gifts of a true Astartes gave the former Legion Master the edge he needed to best the Lightning Rider.
Catching the glaive by the haft with his free hand, Asghar used his superior strength to shoulder Gwaine off his feet and pinned him down with his own weapon. Gwaine tried to struggle free, but found the tip of Asghar's sword at his throat.
"I believe it's my win, Gwaine," said Asghar, smiling as sweat poured down his face.
"Looks like I'm still no match for you," answered Gwaine evenly, ceasing his struggles.
Asghar rose to his feet and offered Gwaine his hand. "That was a good match; you almost had me a few times."
Just for an instant, Asghar thought he saw a flicker of resentment in Gwaine's eyes, but then the Lightning Rider blinked and took Asghar's hand, allowing the First Captain to help him up.
Outside the cages, the other watching Astartes were applauding the two warriors. Asghar and Gwaine both acknowledge them with a small bow of their heads.
"I hope you lot finally learned something about fighting," declared Asghar, causing a small rumble of amusement from the gathered Astartes. "Now back to your training, all of you."
As the other Astartes dispersed, Asghar and Gwaine settled themselves down on a nearby bench, wiping themselves dry, taking a moment to cool down.
"So, are you going to tell me what happened on the Imperator Somnium?" asked Asghar casually.
Gwaine sighed. "I stayed aboard the Firiel the whole time, Asghar. I don't know what happened; the only thing Thor told me was that there was a reunion of the Primarchs."
"Lord Thorondor," corrected Asghar automatically, staring hard at Gwaine. "So you're saying the Emperor, beloved by all, summoned all the Primarchs from their respective campaigns...just for a reunion?"
"Who knows?" answered Gwaine, shrugging. "Can any of us, even the Primarchs, claim to understand the Emperor's motives? Maybe he told them some profound secret that could change the whole galaxy and had them all sworn to secrecy?"
Asghar glared at Gwaine, spotting the little quirk on the corners of the Lightning Rider's mouth. "Now you're just teasing me."
Gwaine chuckled. "Maybe the Emperor just misses his sons."
"This is the Master of Mankind; he would never do something as frivolous as that," stated Asghar.
"So you claim to know the Emperor's mind, Legion Master?"
"Of course not...I'm just saying that –"
"What? That you can anticipate what the Emperor would or would not do?"
"Stop putting words in my mouth, Gwaine."
Gwaine chuckled again and Asghar joined in ruefully after a moment.
"Anyway, the whole point is that I don't know what happened exactly on the Imperator Somnium beyond what Thor...Lord Thorondor told me," said Gwaine after a moment. "I'm fine with that, and you should be too."
"Knowledge is power," quoted Asghar, ignoring the exasperated eyeroll from Gwaine. "The more we know, the better prepared we are to face anything."
"You sound like the Thousand Sons," grumbled Gwaine. "There are some things we're just not meant to know."
"That's something I cannot accept."
Gwaine snorted. "A nosy bastard like you? Of course not."
Asghar laughed a little at that; he was so used to being called that by Gwaine that he thought nothing of it. Their conversation then moved on to more official matters: the next sector the Expedition was headed to, updates of the other companies' progress and more mundane subjects until they were interrupted by an officer informing them that the Primarch had requested their presence in his quarters.
II II II
They found Thorondor lounging on one of the couches, dressed in a simple blue tunic and black pants; looking far shabbier than the serfs and officers around him.
"Asghar, Gwaine," greeted the Primarch, looking up at them.
"My lord," returned Asghar, bowing his head while Gwaine did the same.
Thorondor handed a data-slate for Asghar and Gwaine to go through before leaning back to speak.
"We've received word from Azan," the Primarch began. "The Second Company is reinforcing the Eleventh Legion on a world called Tyron. They're fighting Orks...too many for Azan's company to handle alone, and the Eleventh Legion has suffered severe casualties. Captains Shin, Wira, Adalgrim and Gunnar are leading their companies to reinforce Azan. But from the numbers he gave us...I'd say they'd still be severely outnumbered."
A serf shuffled up and handed Asghar and Gwaine each a data-slate with the information.
"Ten million...and that's just the forces that Azan and the Eleventh company are engaged with," commented Asghar.
Gwaine nodded. "The xenos numbers are likely greater. If they are, my lord, then even with the Fifth, Eighth, Ninth and Twelfth Companies, liberating the world would be very difficult."
Thorondor's smile widened a fraction. "Very difficult, you say? Well, then perhaps we should muster the Storm Eagles."
"All of us, my lord?" asked Asghar.
"I've checked the status of the other companies," answered Thorondor. "Most of them have finished with their present campaigns. We will be able to muster our full strength soon. Word has also been sent to any other Legion available."
Both Asghar and Gwaine couldn't quite hide the excitement growing within them. The Second Legion had not fought at full strength since their very first campaign upon being reunited with their Primarch. Thorondor's widening smile gave away his own excitement at the thought. To see the various Companies, the other Captains and battle-brothers after being apart for so long...it was glorious. That they would be reuniting to fight a ferocious xenos force that greatly outnumbered them was almost unimportant, inconsequential even.
All that mattered was that the Second Legion would be gathering in its entirety for the first time in decades.
"My lord," began Asghar, as a matter of formality. "If you would please give the order?"
Thorondor nodded. "The order is given, Asghar; muster the Storm Eagles."
II II II
The lands around Tyron Prime had been turned into a blasted wasteland strewn with Ork corpses. Some bore the marks of bolter-fire; their corpses blown open from where the bullets had exploded. A few bore the burns from las-fire; their green flesh nearly blackened from concentrated fire. Some had clearly been ripped apart by chain-swords or energised weapons. Most, however, had been reduced to charred husks.
Most armies – human or xenos – would be demoralized by the sight of so many of their own dead. But the Orks were not like most armies; they simply stepped over their dead and charged at their enemies, howling their heads off like an army of big, green, alien berserkers.
Lances of weaponised energy greeted them, incinerating vast swathes of the xenos into ashes. The machines that fired the weapon had been built in the image of Man, but they towered over the battlefield like the ancient Titans from the myths of Terra.
It was for these mythical beings that the mighty Titans of Mars have been named. Their legs and torsos were mighty fortresses, and they were armed with mightiest armaments ever conceived by the genius of Mankind. The mightiest of them, an Imperator-class Titan, loomed over the battlefield, the tallest thing the world of Tyron had ever seen. Two smaller, but still massive Warlord-class Titans flanked their greater brother, lending their own devastating firepower to the cause. Packs of the smaller Warhound-class Titans roamed the battlefield; not as destructive as their larger kin, but their greater mobility allowed them to reinforce areas of the defences that showed any signs of weakening.
Despite the devastating firepower arrayed against them, the Orks still charged on, undaunted. Their seemingly endless number too great for even the Titans to stop, they reached the outer defensive walls built surrounding the city, too near for the mighty cannons of the larger Titans to fire upon, and too close to the defenders of the walls for the Warhound Titans to attack without risking their own allies.
But a different sort of defence awaited the xenos at the make-shift walls.
The Astartes of the Imperium of the Second and Eleventh Legions met the beasts at the makeshift ramparts. Their strength matched the xenos', their skill gave them the edge despite their smaller numbers. The sight of their post-human champions in battle inspired the mortal soldiers to fight harder.
Nearly a month had passed since Azan and his company had reinforced the Eleventh Legion on Tyron. Since then, they had been joined by the Fifth, Eighth, Ninth and Twelfth Companies of the Storm Eagles. The Fifth, Eighth and Twelfth Companies had arrived first and had detected several smaller cities still holding out against the Orks. They had swiftly deployed to reinforce the beleaguered defenders, leaving their fleet to join the Second Company's fleet in a cat-and-mouse void battle against the Ork vessels. The Ninth Company, having arrived last, had swiftly deployed to join the Second Company and the Eleventh Legion at Tyron Prime; the site of one of the heaviest battles raging across the planet.
They had also been joined by another Legion; the Twelfth, also called the War Hounds. The new arrivals had simply sent one vox-message to the defenders on the planet: "We are coming."
No word had been received from them since, although scanners had detected vessels landing in an almost haphazard manner right in the middle of the Ork horde hundreds of leagues away from the nearest friendly force.
Azan and the bulk of the Second Company bore the brunt of the Ork attack on Tyron Prime as they had been doing since they arrived. The Storm Eagles of the Second Company faced the xenos horde with great composure despite the ferocity of the assault, decades of experience and years of instilled discipline allowing them to maintain order and fight as a unified force. Their Captain led from the front, wielding a well-crafted bolter and a roaring chainsword.
Mika Vukona, Legion Master of the Eleventh led the defences on the eastern perimeter. Though his Legion had suffered tremendous casualties, they were reinforced by Astartes that their allies from the Second Legion could spare, along with the elite forces from the Imperial Army. Dark grey power armour of the Eleventh stood alongside the ocean-blue and tempest-grey of the Storm Eagles as the warriors from both Legions fought side by side in almost perfect coordination, supported by their mortal counterparts.
To the west, the perimeter was held by the Ninth Company of the Storm Eagles. Their Captain wielded the traditional weapon of the Storm Riders, an energised glaive. He had eschewed his helm, revealing an ancient, weathered face with flowing white hair and a long white beard. He was a giant even among the Astartes; only the Storm Lord truly towered over him. Despite his immense build, he was not a true Astartes. Like Gwaine, the Lightning Rider, Adalgrim had been too old to receive the gene-seed, and had instead opted for gene-hancement that had enlargened his already massive build and extended his already long lifespan. He was known as 'the Ancient', yet in truth he was younger than many of the Terran Astartes in the Storm Eagles. He was given the moniker by the Tempestans out of respect for his decades of service to Tempestas, and now, the Emperor. Adalgrim was one of the few Tempestans who can recall the Storm Lord's youthful years with great clarity. Indeed, in another life, he had been a mentor to Gwaine and the Primarch himself. His ancient appearance had also earned him the affectionate nickname 'Grandfather' within the Legion.
Despite the gentle title, there was nothing gentle about the way the old warrior fought; he had been one of the most formidable warriors to fight alongside the Storm Lord in the unification war of Tempestas,and his already immense strength and physical abilities had been enhanced to monstrous levels, until he was stronger than the average Astartes. Adalgrim clove through the Orks with almost frightening ease, and his warriors, inspired by their Captain, spurred themselves to greater heights in the battle.
Despite the strength and courage of the defenders and the vast array of firepower available to them, however, the Orks were still a ferocious fighting force with overwhelming numbers. Trampling over their dead, the xenos swarmed the defenders like a relentless tide; casualties were mounting for the defender.
As he cut down Ork after Ork, Azan's mind was already calculating how much longer the defenders could hold; considering their supplies, weariness, morale and casualties. He knew that the reinforcements had to come soon; or else the attempt to prevent the Eleventh Legion's destruction could very well result in the Storm Eagles losing nearly half their strength as a Legion.
Setting his mouth into a grim line, Azan put another bolt into an Ork's head.
II II II
In the void surrounding Tyron, another battle raged.
Small independent fleets of Imperial warships sailed around the huge cluster of ramshackled Ork vessels; diving in an out like small but lethal pods of predatory cetaceans trying to bring down a massive prey.
Admiral Nadim led his fleet, working in concert with the other fleets that had arrived with the other Storm Eagle Companies and the War Hounds, forcing the xenos vessels to turn one way before another fleet would sneak up behind to deal some damage, only to disappear quickly before the xenos could respond.
Despite the month-long battle and the disproportionate amount of casualties they had inflicted on the Orks, the damned beasts hadn't seem to run out of ships at all. Admiral Nadim looked haggard from the lack of sleep, his usually well-pressed uniform discarded on his command throne as he stood only in fatigues, barking out orders as rivulets of sweat poured down his face and torso; he was only kept standing by stimulants and the occasional food-bar that an aide would manage press into his hands from time to time.
"They're taking the bait, Admiral!"
"Their flanks are fully exposed!"
Nadim nodded. "Move in, target those flanks. One pass, and we're turning around."
His officers nodded and proceeded to carry out his commands. Hit-and-run tactics were the only viable option against such numerically overwhelming enemies. The xenos vessels might be crude, but they were more than capable of blasting the severely outnumbered Imperial fleets into oblivion in a straight up battle.
Suddenly, the Storm Hold's emergency klaxons blared, startling everyone on the bridge.
"What the hell is that?" demanded Nadim.
"A small cluster of xenos ships, sir!" responded one of the officers. "They were using one of the debris from their own vessels to hide from our scanners and sneak up and flank us!"
The admiral swore. Due to great casualties the Imperials had inflicted upon the xenos, they had allowed themselves to relax ever so slightly. It never occurred to them that the xenos would try to use some of their own tactics against them.
"Blast our way out through them, there's only a few!" barked Nadim, but then, another officer spoke up.
"Sir, several of the larger xenos vessels are detaching from the main fleet to engage us! They have us trapped between them!"
Gritting his teeth, Admiral Nadim quickly weighed his options. Divide his fleet and fight on two fronts or blast their way through the smaller fleet with the more powerful xenos vessels on their rear. Either one would cause severe casualties for the fleet; it was simply a matter of which one offered better odds for survival.
Making up his mind, Nadim opened his mouth to give out orders when the klaxons blared with renewed intensity.
"What the hell is that?!" roared Nadim.
"We're picking up vessels coming within range, sir! Huge numbers, it looks like –"
"I don't need details; all I need to know if they're friendly or hostile!"
"We're scanning signatures –"
"They're firing!"
Nadim and the entire bridge crew held their breaths as the hololithic displays showed the trajectory of the approaching missiles. The admiral's drew on his extensive experience to mentally plot their path and found cautious hope warring with his more cynical side when he realised that the missiles were not aimed at his fleet, but rather the xenos ships.
Hope won out when lances of energy and void-faring armaments smashed into the smaller group of xenos ships attempting to flank Nadim's fleet, obliterating them within minutes, while several more hit the larger approaching ships from the main Ork fleet, destroying two, and severely damaging the rest.
The admiral ordered for a visual of the newly-arrived fleet and his heart, along with everyone else on the bridge lifted at the sight.
Imperial warships bearing the colours and markings of the Storm Eagles, and lots of it, have arrived. There were even ships bearing the markings of the Sixth Legion with them.
Nadim recognised the behemoth leading the newly-arrived fleet; he had seen the Eternal Storm several times before, but the sight never failed to fill him with awe. Moments later, he received a hail from the very ship that he had been gawking at.
"Admiral Nadim, will you kindly update me of the situation?"
The voice, despite being slightly tainted by voice-static, easily outshone even the magnificence of the Second Legion's flagship. Despite the speaker being physically absent, the magnitude of his presence carried easily in his voice and had Admiral Nadim and everyone else on the bridge kneeling.
"My lord," whispered Nadim, not daring to raise his voice to the Storm Lord. Keeping his voice low, he quickly updated the Primarch of the situation. Once he finished, the Storm Lord spoke again.
"You have done very well, admiral. I will lead the Storm Eagles onto the planet, after which, every single fleet here shall be under your command."
Feeling as though his heart was about to leap through his throat. "My lord, I –"
"This is my will, admiral. You know the situation best; you will have command for the duration of this campaign."
"You honour me, my lord," replied Nadim. He hesitated for a moment before asking, "If I may, how many ships have you brought with you?"
Though he could not see it, the admiral could sense the Storm Lord's famous smile over the vox.
"Our entire Legion is here, admiral."
Admiral Nadim's heart leaped.