Armorum Fidei Chapter 2
Captain Toran was not happy as he strode down the ramp of his Land Raider. The Pride of Lujan had been disabled early in the fight, immobilised by hyper-kinetic rounds that struck with astonishing accuracy. The Captain had been reduced to directing the battle from afar, trying to steer his squads to victory without standing beside them, it hadn't worked. He'd been forced to watch furious volleys tear his Company apart before they could reach melee range. Those few who had made it into close combat had been outnumbered and swiftly overwhelmed. They'd given a good account of themselves but the result was indisputable: Third Company had lost this exercise and Sixth had won.
Toran examined his squads as they regrouped, many of them bearing lurid paint marks and deep scoring to their plate. Their vehicles idled, chugging engines spewing exhaust into the cold air of Suna. Algae stained boots and track plates, churned up in the swirling conflict, but none gave that any heed. Toran shared the low mood of his Marines, losing was never easy but he was sure his Firstborn Brothers would understand this was a lesson to be accepted with grace. His Primaris brethren he was not so sure of, they were new to the Company and the Chapter, faces he had met only weeks earlier and had yet to forge bonds with. Even the sight was strange, for his entire life Companies had comprised Tactical, Assault and Devastator Marines, now he had to contend with unfamiliar names like Hellblaster, Inceptor, Intercessors and Aggressors. Units he had never led in the field and did not understand how to deploy to best effect.
As if summoned by his thoughts there was a heavy crump behind and he made way as three Aggressors stomped out of the Pride of Lujan. Their heavy bulk reminded him of Centurion armour, but more sleek and streamlined, boltstorm gauntlets and frag launchers over their shoulders more compact than heavy bolters and krak missile tubes. The trio moved away and Toran reflected that had he the chance to put them in the line the result might have been different, a fact Raynek of the sixth must have known. No wonder the Land Raider had drawn firepower, a tactical lesson he tucked away for later.
"Captain Toran to Strike Cruisers Hundred Centuries and Cold Vengeance. Exercise terminated, collect orbital surveillance and relay to base camp for tactical analysis. Bless Machine Spirits to record a fresh exercise within the hour," Toran voxed then he removed his helm. Toran was a scarred warrior, with a determined set to his jaw. His right eyesocket was filled with an augmetic implant and his cheeks were marked by deep scars. His plate was ornate and gilded, with golden ranks chains over his chest and a long red cloak hanging to his knees. At his hip rested a Relic longsword, the legendary Sword of Thiel, and he bore it with easy familiarity.
"You seem troubled," came a deep voice. Toran turned and found himself confronted by his old friend and mentor, Chaplain Furion. Furion was Firstborn but tall as a Primaris, his black plate modified Mark III armour, fitted for his size. His helm was removed, revealing patrician features and he bore a Rosarius on a long chain around his neck. He carried a Crozius shaped like an eagle, with spread wings and lightning bolts for claws, Storm-Heart a treasured relic with a storied history.
"Losing is never easy," Toran sighed, "Yet I feel I made a mistake placing Pride of Lujan at the front, we were too obvious a target."
"This is a training exercise, a time for mistakes to be made and learned from," Furion countered, "Next time we will do better."
Toran lamented, "I didn't deploy our new squads properly. These revised tactical paradigms are challenging to grasp."
"We did not learn the Codex Astartes in a day, we should not berate ourselves for not gasping the Codex Imperialis in less time. That is why we are on this planet, to learn the new protocols."
Toran paused, as if waiting for something, and Furion frowned as he probed, "You have more to say?"
"I…" Toran mused, "I found myself pausing for Novak to make an insolent remark, or Persion to scoff at protocols. Strange how their words ring in my ears, even when they are light-years away."
"A hundred years of comradeship will do that, but we must forebear. Novak competes in the Feast of Blades, with our new Standard Bearer Smyth standing vigil. Persion, Jediah and Memnos are off playing diplomats, Emperor save the dignitaries they encounter and Arvael is attending a sequestered Librarian congress."
Toran snorted, "A Librarian congress, I struggle to imagine anything duller. Arvael must be bored to tears, debating dusty old books and dreary points of philosophy."
Furion's lip twitched as he remarked, "I'm sure he'll find something to amuse himself. We must keep busy too. Come, let us walk together and inspect the Company."
Toran nodded in agreement and set off, leaving Pride of Lujan's drivers to reset the Machine Spirit that had simulated damage. He toured the regrouping Company, giving consolation to squads that had been beaten and sharing praises with units that had performed well. Conversations with the Primaris were stilted but Toran made an effort to make them feel included. As always he was proud to lead noble Space Marines, of any variety, each and every one of them a hero in his eyes. He knew many held him as an exemplar of the Chapter, but he knew his litany of victories was entirely down to the Marines he led. They were the heroes, not him, and he was determined to prove worthy of the trust they placed in him.
He passed two Predator Annihilator tanks, Resolute Defiance and Remembrance of Tealat, but then found himself confronted by a Tactical squad and Assault squad, comparing dents and scrapes in their armour. They were at the edge of the camp and beyond them was a pile of crumbling ruins, a fallen city, slowly sinking under the soil as time ground it down to nothing.
"Brother-Sergeant Matheus, Brother-Sergeant Lorath," Toran called, "Are you ready for another round?"
"Brother-Captain!" the sergeants chorused as the Initiates made the sign of the Aquila, "We were just arguing who claimed greater laurels."
"Aye, you two were the only squads to make it into close combat with Sixth Company. You deserve praise for that alone."
Matheus was a veteran Marine, steady and unflappable and he sniffed, "We gave a good account of ourselves, had we more numbers we could have swung the day."
But Lorath, ever curt and short-tempered, snapped, "We'd have torn the bastards to shreds, had they not sucker-punched us at the outset. They got lucky."
"I applaud your zeal," Furion replied, "But have care, Sixth Company are honoured Brothers, I will not have you calling fellow Storm Heralds 'bastards'."
"Even Jediah?" Lorath snorted.
Toran chucked, "If Jediah hears you speak so, Furion's ire is the least of your troubles."
Matheus cut in, "Captain, this was a loss but I do not believe we have reason to be shamed. Your strategy was sound in principle; it merely fell foul of unforeseen circumstances."
"You don't need to sugar-coat it," Toran sighed, "I was outthought and outfought. Still, valuable information was revealed. In-depth analysis will come later but give me your first impressions."
Matheus looked thoughtful as he answered, "They have a solid base of Tactical and Intercessors, and Raynek knows how to use them. Their Outrider bikes and Invader ATVs proved tough, but your deft manoeuvring with Inceptor jump-troops stalemated them. The Hellblaster's supporting fire was essential; I would place them in the speartip next time. Rhino tanks acted as expected, but the Repulsor's firepower was… surprising."
"But short-lived," Lorath argued, "All those guns chew through ammo like a starving man does a crust of bread. In prolonged battles they'll be reduced to throwing rocks. Overlord gunships may look impressive, but our three Stalker anti-air drove them off with ease."
Toran nodded and then pressed, "And what went wrong?"
"The Astraeus," Matheus stated bluntly.
All eyes slid across the horizon, flat and level to form perfect Tank country, to where Sixth Company was regrouping. Among the Rhinos and Repulsors floated a massive tank, covered in thick armour and sponson weapons, but with two massive macro-accelerator cannons fitted to a turret mount. As big as a Baneblade yet floating on a cushion of anti-grav and shimmering under the umbrella of a void-shield. Named Triumph of Progress, a new design as radical as it was powerful, and Toran wasn't sure whether to be envious of its firepower or outraged at the flagrant invention involved.
"We'd have whooped the Sixth, had they not the Triumph," Lorath muttered.
"True," Toran allowed, "I presumed Pride of Lujan's blessed plate would endure long enough to deliver our Aggressors, but those macro-accelerators immobilised a Land Raider with a single volley, from well outside our weapon's range. Captain Cyvo of the Second practically drooled when he saw first saw an Astraeus. We must find a way to counter that threat before we leave Suna."
Matheus eyed Lorath and commented, "Shame we don't have some Terminators with us."
"Don't say that too loud," Lorath muttered, "The last thing Sergeant Orath needs is more reason to gloat."
"Captain," Furion interrupted, "We have guests." Toran looked over and saw two figures approaching. Both wore the new Mark X armour and marched with confident strides. One was proud and commanding, with a boltstorm gauntlet on one hand and a short power blade on his hip. Raynek, newly-appointed Captain of Sixth Company. The other was in black, with a skull-helm and a Crozius of his own. Primaris Chaplain Polarus, a counterpart to Furion, but far less agreeable. Toran had exchanged few words but found him smug, superior and dismissive of Firstborn in every regard.
Toran stepped forward to meet them and called, "Hail Brother-Captain, Brother-Chaplain. May I congratulate the Sixth on a fine victory."
The pair stopped just short of him and Raynek replied, "The Cog favoured us, but it was hard-won. I wasn't projecting any of your units would reach our line."
"You can be sure we will do better next time," Toran quipped, heartened by Raynek's humility.
Polarus however sneered, "You still lost."
Toran bristled and said archly, "Our first clash was a novel experience for all, you will find the next encounter to be less one-sided."
Polarus snorted, "I find that doubtful. Your Codex Astartes is moribund dogma, outdated and obsolete. The Primarch's new Codex Imperialis is far superior, Roboute Guilliman's strategic genius is remarkable."
Toran gritted his teeth but from behind Lorath called, "I didn't know you'd met him, as Captain Toran has!" Toran's right hand brushed his left wrist, where six gold studs commemorated encounters with his gene-father. True most of those encounters had seen the Primarch putting the Storm Heralds on trial, or punching Toran into a coma, but he still held them to be singular moments in his life. It felt cheap to be using his gene-father's name to win a petty argument, but it at least shut Polarus up.
Raynek leaned in and asked, "Is it true he masterminded the Great Refusal from the bridge of your ship?"
Toran nodded, "A singular honour for our Chapter. To watch his genius in action was humbling."
Raynek lowered his eyes and said, "What wouldn't I give for a single meeting, to glean insight from his towering intellect."
Toran knew exactly what he meant, Space Marines seemed designed from inception to be led by their Primarch, he had never realised the lack until actually encountering his gene-father. Yet Polarus growled, "I would not care to be the one to explain to him that the Psybrids returned."
That made Toran wince, for the Psybrid menace clung to the Saint Karyl Trail like a canker, the hostile race staging incursions into local space with rapacious hunger. Innately psychic, holding all other races in contempt, mere fodder to be dominated and controlled. The Storm Heralds had clashed with them repeatedly over the past two millennia and Toran himself had battled the Xenos on numerous worlds.
Raynek concurred, "I was shocked to learn the species had survived. They were declared extinct by Roboute Guilliman himself, during the Great Crusade. That they returned to plague mankind is an offence to our gene-father's sensibilities."
"Do not presume to know the Regent's mind," Furion growled, "His intent is not so easily discerned."
But Polarus scoffed, "One does not have to guess to know he wonders how this could be allowed to pass."
Toran regretfully explained, "The Psybrids came out of wilderness space two millennia ago and overran a small corner of the Saint Karyl Trail. Thwarting their assault took everything the Sector could muster, whole armies, Titans, Knights, Space Marines, even combined we could barely hold them at bay. They were beaten back but we lacked the means to dig them out of their nest, not without a full-scale Crusade the High Lords were disinclined to sanction. We fortified the warp-routes, set up watch-posts and alert stations, but ultimately there was nothing to be done save defend the border and keep them contained."
Polarus sneered, "And so abandon worlds along the border. Suna, Odiosis, Trux, all left to suffer. I see the ruins of this city, abandoned by fearful people. They live in their Train-cities, thinking eternally moving will keep them out of the grasp of Xenos claws. You Firstborn are derelict in your duty."
Toran's jaw tightened as he growled, "Do not question our commitment to duty. These people are innocent and we will defend them to the last drop of blood. It is the will of Him on Terra."
Toran's eye narrowed but Raynek butted in, "Chaplain, it is not the Firstborn's fault the Imperium was badly led. Let us not forget Sixth is a Reserve Company, our task is to support and bolster the Battle Companies. We are enjoined to the Storm Heralds by the Primarch's order."
Polarus sniffed, "I suppose someone has to show them how it's done."
Toran interjected, "Perhaps we should focus on today. I suggest we return to starting positions and try the exercise again."
"Agreed," Raynek said, "Next time Sixth Company will not go so easy on you."
"I have some surprises of my own," Toran countered.
The pair promptly turned and marched away. The Firstborn shook their heads and Furion said, "That Polarus is going to be trouble."
Lorath muttered, "He despises everything the Imperium has become, especially we Firstborn."
Matheus mused aloud, "Rumour has it he intends to be the next Master of Sanctity. We haven't had one since Samect's heresy and scuttlebutt has it Polarus petitions to claim the rank."
Lorath snorted, "Maybe Furion should put his name forward, before the smug wretch has the chance."
"Throne no," Furion retorted, "I have enough headaches dealing with you lot every day."
Toran rolled his one eye and said, "We're wasting time. Everybody get back to your tanks and prepare the squads. I have a new approach that may tip the scales. We only have a few weeks to perfect our new strategies and I intend the Third to be experts at mechanised warfare by the time the Crusade moves on."
