Armorum Fidei Chapter 10

Captain Toran leaned back in his chair and sighed as he rubbed his temples. His head was aching and no amount of massage seemed to help. His coarse fingers caught on the edge of his augmetic eye and pulled at the bone it was riveted to, making him scowl. He was sorely tempted to pick up the vexing book in front of him and throw it at the wall but he clamped down on that impulse. The latest iteration of the Codex Imperialis was not to be treated lightly.

Seek solace Toran looked about his billet, a standard issue officer's room, with all the usual accruements but a few extras all his own. His artificer armour was erected on a stand, gleaming in the light as a pair of servitors lurked in the shadows, ready to help him don it when required. The Sword of Thiel rested in a golden Reliquary, the noble blade as pristine as the day he had first held it. Toran didn't hold with the legends of holy radiance said to surround it, but it was a remarkable blade and had never failed him and so he honoured its dauntless spirit. One other thing in the room stood out, an easel bearing a truly terrible painting of a sunset. Toran had recently tried to expand his skills in the fields of artistry and had been surprised to discover that he stank as a painter. He had been considering throwing it into a trash compactor, but he had not ascended to the Astartes by giving up on a challenge and persisted with his efforts.

The thought made him return to the book, the cause of his recent interest. The Codex Imperialis was a comprehensive revision of the nigh-mythical Codex Astartes, updating, expanding and revising much of its treasured lore. Unthinkable Heresy a few scant years ago, but the Primarch Roboute Guilliman had done it anyway and absolutely nobody was going to argue the point with him. The new lore insisted Space Marines be more than mere soldiers, demanding they apply their transhuman abilities to all fields, hence the painting. Toran had absorbed as much of it as he could, and found some of the changes pleasing, many of the strategies were innovative in a way he thought he could have developed himself. Other passages dealt with new tactical units: Intercessors, Inceptors, Hellblasters, Rievers and more, detailing how they were to fit in with existing archetypes of Space Marines.

These alone would have shaken the Imperium to its core but the book went on. Copious passages expounded the proper organisation and administration of government, along with vicious commentary on the importance of anti-corruption watchdogs that would doubtless cause a stir. Yet more sections spoke of trade affairs, justice systems and technological progress, realms Toran had no experience with and barely followed the reasoning of. The part that concerned him was the integration of Primaris and Firstborn, passages he had scoured over and over, looking for solutions and found no solace in. If there was an answer to Third's issues it wasn't in here.

Disappointed Toran closed the book and looked at a Hololith on his desk. He drummed his fingers for a moment, then decided to clear his mind by running an exercise. He pressed a few runes and images appeared, no ground battle but a complicated swirl of orbital vectors and fleet deployments. A tiny recreation of Greater Tectum, and the legendary battle fought there mere weeks before. Toran had fought in the heart of it and he watched keenly as it replayed in the display.

A sudden knock at the door made him jump and he called, "Furion, come in!"

To his surprise the Marine who entered wasn't Furion but in fact Matheus. The Veteran Sergeant was in armour but his head was exposed and he frowned, "Sorry to interrupt, Brother-Captain, but can I have a word in private?"

"Of course," Toran replied in surprise, "Take a seat."

Matheus pulled up a chair and sat down, he flexed his gauntlets then looked at the Hololith and remarked, "The Great Refusal?"

Toran nodded, "I'm trying to understand our gene-father's mind. I was there and yet I barely followed his strategies. In hindsight it looks so obvious, but when I start at the beginning I cannot envisage how he could assemble effective formations out of the tattered remnants he had to work with. It was like he picked up a box of screws and wires, shook it and pulled out a functioning bolter."

"He is a Primarch," Matheus ventured, "Perhaps we're not supposed to understand how his mind works."

"Possibly, but that's not why you came…"

Matheus grimaced and admitted, "I'm reluctant to bring news you won't like to hear, Captain."

Toran however leaned forward and said, "Matheus, you can speak freely. You know I prefer informal truths to proper lies. Between us you can speak as a Brother."

Matheus relented, "Polarus has officially submitted his name for Master of Sanctity."

Toran's face grew still as he said, "I see…"

"We can't allow this to happen."

Toran snapped, "It is not up to us, it is Phalros' decision to make."

"If Polarus become High Chaplain he will be a disaster. He's arrogant, self-conceited and glory hungry, worse he holds our traditions in contempt. A bad combination for our spiritual leader."

Toran exhaled slowly and said, "I wish I could disagree with you, but I can't. Strange, once we fought to end deviant practices, now we are the ones defending our traditions from an iconoclast, the irony is not lost on me. Still I doubt he could be any worse than Samect. At least Polarus won't fall prey to Emperor-Worship."

"No, he'll make all new mistakes," Matheus argued, "We must stop him."

"I'm open to suggestions," Toran snorted.

Matheus paused then and mused, "What if we convinced Furion to step up?"

"Furion?" Toran started in surprise.

"He's respected and admired by all, he practically built the Chaplaincy single-handed, Furion would be a High Chaplain all would respect."

Toran shook his head and said, "I can't see that happening, you have no idea how hard it was to convince Furion to take up a skull-helm. Master of Sanctity, he'd never accept that title. Samect himself threw Furion into the cold as an apprentice, to take up the mantle of that cur would be the greatest insult."

"But…" Matheus protested.

"Suggest it to him and be ready to have your jaw broken," Toran rebuked.

Matheus sagged in his armour and groaned, "Then we are truly up crap-creek without a paddle."

Toran agreed, "A feeling I've been having for a while now. These changes are so fast, so sudden. The Primaris, new strategies, a new Imperium. I was used to being the radical one in the Chapter, the innovator, but I am left behind by the tide of change."

Matheus sighed, "There is talk among the ranks that the days of the Firstborn are numbered. Some worry we may live to see the end of our line, to be replaced wholly by the Primaris paradigm."

Toran admitted, "A thought that haunts my nights. If the new generation are all they are supposed to be, then perhaps our extinction is inevitable."

"Surely not," Matheus countered.

"It gets worse," Toran lamented, "The Primarch will not linger, he already plans to drive deep into Segmentum Tempestus, leaving the Storm Heralds behind. I never grasped how his presence fires and inspires, to have him among us has been the greatest days of my life. Never have our actions been so significant, and yet we can't expect him to stay. He will leave and not look back, a few more months and he will be gone, never to return. Our lives will be dull and our glories diminished, our best days may well be behind us."

"If you're all at sea, then what hope is there for the rest of us?" Matheus groaned, "Surely there must be something you can do."

Toran glanced at the Sword of Thiel and confessed, "I may not be the leader the Chapter needs, I never was. Look at that relic, an unbroken legacy, passed hand to hand from the Primarch himself. Five millennia of tradition and I broke it, I allowed the Sword to be taken from me at our trial, I broke the chain. A shame nobody dares comment upon."

Matheus however grinned, "But I heard the Lord Guilliman asked for it back, for a practice swing, so you could argue the legacy began anew. Nobody but you has touched it since, a fresh chain and a new legacy. As we will forge new glories in the days to come."

Toran was given pause and mused, "I… I hadn't thought of it that way. Our greatest days may yet lie ahead."

Matheus smiled broader and quipped, "Look at that, Furion isn't the only one who can snap you out of your brooding."

"I do not brood!" Toran retorted.

"You brood a little," Matheus joked.

"Maybe a little," Toran admitted, "You're a good Marine Matheus, a worthy sergeant, I am sorry you didn't get made Captain."

"Ah, I'm nothing but fisherman's son," Matheus scoffed, "No claims to glory, no legendary kills. I wasn't even there when the Primarch's Own offed Vorshaan. My chances were scant anyway."

Toran knew a deflection when he heard one and stated, "You've fought from Segmentum Tempestus to Solar. Faced Orks and Traitors and Tyranids, you stood right by my side through the civil war. You deserved to be made Captain and if I have any say in the matter you will someday."

Matheus snorted, "Only if Firstborn prove we can keep up. Speaking of which, how are the reviews?"

"Poor," Toran confessed, "I cannot see anything we could have done differently."

"I have a notion, may I?" Matheus pressed, leaning forward.

Toran gestured to the Hololith and Matheus fiddled with the controls. After a moment their recent exercises came up and the Sergeant flipped between moments, looking for something. He played a few scenes out then played them again and said, "There, do you see it?"

"I don't…" Toran said but paused, "Wait… That's your squad, you advanced without fire support. Those intercessors were supporting the Hellblasters, but your need was greater. And here, look the Inceptors were falling back but received no cover from our Devastators, who were trying to suppress Sixth for Lorath's assault. The Firstborn are fighting with the Firstborn, and Primaris with Primaris, but not supporting each other. How did I miss this?"

"No reason you should," Matheus replied, "We all should cover each other without needing orders. A Company would have done so instinctively, without a Captain sitting on their shoulders."

"That's no excuse," Toran berated himself, "I was looking at the parts and not the whole. Each squad is exemplary on its own, but not fighting as Company, we acted as two separate forces. I should have caught this."

"So we have found the flaw," Matheus mused, "What are we going to do about it, you can't micromanage every single shot in the heat of battle. Squads need to act with initiative and support each other fluidly."

"We must teach them to trust each other," Toran concluded, "Forge links between squads of both types, make them one in spirit."

Matheus sniffed, "If you ask me what we need is a hard battle."

Toran blinked, "The Great Refusal wasn't enough?"

"You were on the bridge, fighting a naval battle, whereas most of us were stuck below decks, waiting for something to happen. One boarding action does not a Company forge. No, what we need is a gruelling war, something to burn off our differences and make us work together. We need to spill blood and share losses, common suffering, to make us one."

Toran snorted, "There's no shortage of that, the Indomitus Crusade leaves in three months, taking the cream of local fleets and armies with it. Battlefleet Karyl is gutted, the Guard drained dry; it will be up to the Storm Heralds to hold the line."

"Can't come soon enough," Matheus agreed, "Maybe we'll catch a break and an Ork's bullet will deal with Polarus for us."

"You just wished death on a Brother," Toran scowled, "But the danger will be very real. One thousand Space Marines left to defend the Saint Karyl Trail, with no prospect of support. We will face overwhelming dangers, terrible foes and countless perils. Death is likely and pain a certainty."

Matheus grinned as he declared, "So worries of our greatest glories being behind us were unfounded. These Primaris will see that we've barely begun to fight!"

Toran laughed at that and was relieved. They both knew the challenges ahead, but were confident that they would be overcome. War was an environment they both understood, but neither of them had any idea of how close it drew and how soon it would sweep over them.