Armorum Fidei Chapter 18

Pride of Lujan rumbled as it dashed across the landscape. Churned algae sprayed from the rear as heavy tracks ripped the sodden earth apart. The ride was jostling and uncomfortable but Toran was long accustomed to that and he rode with his helm stuck out the top hatch as they progressed towards the next fight. In a broad sweep to either side the vehicles of Third and Sixth Companies rode, driving at top speed towards their destination. Rhinos and Repulsors, the former on tracks and the Repulsors on hammering grav-fields, carrying the squads to war. Invader ATV's and Outrider bikes rode at the fore, probing for threats while high above Overlords and Thunderhawks flew top cover. The flanks were secured by the Predators, Resolute Defiance and Remembrance of Tealat, covered by Stalker anti-air just in case something made it through their aerial support. There was even a lone Impulsor, the open-topped vehicle seemingly vulnerable but with a squad of Hellblasters riding in the back it was more than capable of defending itself. Triumph of Progress brought up the rear, sans Raynek's showboating, the Astraeus was their most potent weapon but it chewed through ammo like there was no tomorrow and Toran had learned to keep it in reserve.

For hours the Psybrids had sent harassing parties against the Space Marines, spoiling attacks and minor feints. All had been rebuffed and Toran had been forced to call in supply runs twice from their base, Thunderhawk transporters dropping fuel and ammo into the midst of battle. It was a classic softening up of his forces for a major assault and Toran had led the Companies through each engagement, but had begun to suspect a darker pattern in the waves of attackers. Sure enough vox-cries began to filter in that the Train-cities were under attack and he realised the aliens were trying to tie the Storm Heralds down with meaningless engagements while they struck elsewhere. Toran responded instantly, commanding his squads to mount up and drive for the nearest Train-city, disdaining the swirling aliens left in his wake.

Toran glanced down and called, "Ready to fight Sergeant?"

"Eager for the fray Brother-Captain," Aggressor Sergeant Herir replied from the Land Raider's interior, "Our guns haven't drunk nearly enough blood this day!"

"I'm glad you're on my side, I'd hate to face your fury in the field," Toran quipped evoking a dark chuckle from the Aggressors. Technically it was a violation of the Codex Imperialis to let Primaris ride a Land Raider but Toran had weighed the matter with due diligence and elected to ignore it; the relevant passage would probably be revised in a week or two anyway. He cast his eye further afield and saw the rest of the formation driving on, barrelling across the land with deadly intent. Dark clouds spilled over the horizon and the crack of thunder signalled a battle raging, they were mere minutes away from combat.

Toran switched to a Sergeant's level vox-channel and called to Matheus, "Brothers, I see the enemy ahead."

"At last," Matheus replied, "The true foe reveals itself."

Assault-Sergeant Lorath cut in, "We're tired of culling dregs, we want real foes. I have sworn an oath of moment to slay a Psybrid before this war is over."

"First you must find one," Toran cautioned, "You know the Xenos are a craven breed, ever ready to send slaves to do their fighting for them. They lurk at the back and do not risk their minuscule numbers."

"Then I'll just have to kill everything in my way until I find one!" Lorath cackled.

Herir laughed without rancour, "You dream, there's no way you can keep up with us!"

Toran was heartened by the eager spirit and commented, "Matheus, you were right. The fires of war were exactly what we needed to get over our differences."

"I'd advise caution," Matheus warned, "The cracks are deep and this war is far from over."

Lorath snorted, "The line Brothers are holding their own, but I'd keep a closer eye on Polarus."

Toran glanced upwards, knowing the Primaris Chaplain rode in the aerial forces with a reserve of Tacticals and Intercessors from Sixth. It had seemed prudent to keep a fast-moving echelon and the fiery Chaplain was perfect to lead it. Toran had reasoned keeping Polarus at the sharp end of battle would temper his ire and make best use of his skills. Speaking of which…

Toran switched channels again and called, "Chaplain Polarus, the enemy is in visual range. Take your aircraft and soften them up for our thrust, the honour of claiming first blood falls to you."

"Finally," Polarus voxed back, "I'll show you how it is done."

Always with the little digs, Toran remonstrated to himself, but at least the Chaplain was engaged with his task. Overhead the Overlords and Thunderhawks dove, bringing their fury to bear. Toran could see the foe now, a swarm of dark bodies covering the land. A wild cavalcade of shapes and species, varied in form and girth. Claws and tentacles and hands clutching resinous rifles, Toran had seen more continuity in hordes of Chaos cultists than this lot. A host this size surely must have a few Psybrids in tow, the insidious masters lurking in the midst of their slaves, but he could spy none from this distance. The fiends were attacking a fleeing Train-city, clawing up its rear to slither their way inside. The Train-city of Berult was beleaguered and falling, but it yet fought on. Fire raged from within and shooting echoed loudly, the people were not defeated and the Storm Heralds were just in time to intervene.

From on high flurries of missiles streaked forth, launched from diving wings. Explosions erupted amid the foe, throwing alien corpses high in showers of limbs and blood as the aircraft shot overhead. Heavy bolters thundered as they dashed by, tearing deep furrows into the host and laying low more alien horrors in their wake. Hundreds died in the initial assault but the horde massed many times more and they had no will left to flee. The nearest broke off their attack and turned to face the Space Marines charging towards them, bringing up hundreds of small arms and heavier weapons.

Toran watched the horde growing as they closed at top speed, seeing their aerial forces banking about for another pass. Battle was mere moments away and he called, "Strike pattern Urila five-one. Bike squads will tear us an opening, then we drive a spear into the heart of them! Polarus, one more pass then head for Berult and land your strike teams, engage the aliens already inside and relieve the defenders."

"The bulk of the enemy is outside," Polarus snapped on a separate command-link.

But Furion's overrode the privacy link to rebuke, "The Emperor decreed we shall be the protectors and defenders of Mankind, the bulwark against heretics, aliens and mutants. You have been commanded to draw the Xenos away from our civilian charges, make safe the city and vouchsafe His mortal servants. That is your assigned objective, Chaplain or not you will obey orders."

"As you order," Polarus growled sullenly, "I will babysit the mortals."

Toran put Polarus from his mind as the gunships made another swift path and then turned to land on the Train-city. The horde was bleeding and burnt yet still mighty enough to give a decent fight, but the Space Marines hadn't become the supreme warriors in the galaxy by fighting decently. Primaris bike squads peeled away, bolters hammering and assault cannons roaring from new-model quadbikes. The front wall of the horde disappeared into red mist as torrents of rounds smote them, leaving a bleeding crater in the black mass of enemies. Then the bikers peeled off as the heavier vehicles charged forward.

A blazing wall of Ceramite rolled over the land, charging inexorably into the fray. As the machines drove forward they opened fire, blazing from sponson and turret. Heavy bolters let rip, lascannons flared, Accelerator cannons boomed and even the Stalkers lowered their las-talons to fire at the ground. Those who could fired from open hatches, adding their weight to the barrage. Toran spied the Hellblasters standing upright on the Impulsor's back, their plasma rifles shooting impressive volleys without cease. Primaris and Firstborn, facing a common foe as one and Toran was heartened to see their spirits.

The aliens reeled from the onslaught but they were not undone. Whickering thorns riposted, aided by the heavier blasts of energy weapons. Toran saw a Rhino take a glancing blow to the side and its tracks disintegrated, sending it into a wild spin. A Repulsor had its turret blown clean off and even Triumph of Progress took hits, saved only by flaring void shields. The volley was intense and Toran was forced to duck into the Land Raider and slam the hatch closed, lest his head be taken off by a stray round. It was a timely save for a moment later a tremendous impact shook the Land Raider, rattling everyone inside. Toran held his breath for an instant but the valiant Machine spirit held true and the tank rolled on, with dauntless courage and unbreakable fortitude.

Darkness closed in and all he could see was the backs of the Aggressors, but visual feeds in his helm let him follow the battle. The Storm Heralds were moments away from contact and he braced himself for the impact to come. A heartbeat later the Pride of Lujan slammed to a halt, smashing its bulk into a wall of foes. Toran was rattled to and fro by the violence of the collision and he heard the familiar sound of bones breaking under the heavy tracks. It made him grin, knowing the aliens were learning the hard way that nothing could stop a Space Marine charge and he jerked about as the tank ground onwards, killing more with its massive bulk.

Finally the front hatch slammed down and Toran cried, "Dismount!" as he drew the Sword of Thiel. The Aggressors stomped forward, boltstorm gauntlets hammering away before they cleared the ramp. Toran was a step behind and he emerged to find a slaughterhouse. Broken and bleeding bodies were piled everywhere, torn and crushed by the weight of the charge. Sundered corpses lay thick upon the ground but more pressed in, seeking to bury the Storm Heralds in alien flesh. The Xenos came at them in a wave of scampering horrors, close and bloody and eager to spill human blood. Thorns pattered off Ceramite, digging into vulnerable joints and slashing out eye-lenses. Here and there a Space Marine went down, falling to the weight of fire and the aliens threatened to overwhelm the humans with a surging tide of hissing nightmares. The Imperials were outgunned and outnumbered, reduced to fighting at point-blank range; precisely the kind of war Space Marines relished above all others.

"Show them your fury Brothers!" Toran roared and the Storm Heralds obeyed. Bolt, flame, missile and las smote the coming foes, harvesting them like wheat before a threshing machine. Flamers doused aliens in burning Promethium, bolters swept back and forth and plasma annihilated all it touched. A horizontal rain of death was sent forth, culling foes at an astonishing rate and every shot was a kill, Transhuman accuracy nigh perfect even when letting loose at full rapid-fire. With furious aggression the Storm Heralds formed a wall of blue, holding back the tide of enemies with continuous shooting while over their heads the vehicles fired, bringing even more firepower to bear. Nothing could stand before the onslaught and a path was opened into the heart of the foe, allowing Toran to shout, "By paired squads: advance. Tear the heart from these monsters!"

Half the squads pressed on, driving for into the mass of enemies. It was an insane move, they were outmatched to a hysterical degree, on the verge of being overwhelmed by sheer numbers but yet they drove forward. Then they planted their feet and took up the weight of fire while their brethren advanced past them. Only Space Marines could have executed such a manoeuvre in the face of such odds, only Astartes had the stamina and coordination to seize the initiative in such conditions and Toran exploited their genic superiority to the utmost as he commanded his Brothers to break all who stood against them. It was glorious, the ultimate test of human superiority, to take the fight to the enemy and break them in their own place of strength. His soul was aflame and his pride for his Marines soared to new heights as they laid low the alien in droves.

Thousands of Xenos were dead already but Toran could not spare time to count their kills, there was only the fight itself and the wall of foes pressing in. Then he saw it, a cowled form slithering through the torrent of ire. He saw bolt rounds touch the silhouette but they passed through without trouble, leaving holes in the robe but killing nothing. Toran spied maggots spilling through the holes, and knew they formed the bulk of this strange and terrible alien. A Slaugth, a rare breed indeed, never had he heard of one falling to the Psybrids but evidently this one had and it was coming to challenge the Space Marines.

Toran gripped his sword tight and considered facing it in single combat, but then disdained the notion. The alien knew no honour and deserved no dignified death. So instead he commanded, "Sergeant Herir, get rid of that thing."

"With pleasure," Herir replied, "By the moons of Mars we'll give it a proper fragging."

The Aggressors broke off and turned to face the fiend, turning all fire upon it. Torrents of rounds cut through without harm but then bulky grenade launchers on their shoulders spat fat rounds high and they landed all around the Slaugth like hail. A moment later the Frag grenades detonated, slamming it with waves of force and shrapnel, ripping it apart in a field of flame. Buffeted on all side there was no escape for the Xenos and it ceased to exist in a plume of fire. Maggots showered into the air and then the Slaugth was no more.

Toran grinned as he saw the tide beginning to turn and cried, "Press on Brothers, leaving no foe standing!"

"No respite, no mercy, no fear!" Furion bellowed from far down the line as his Crozius Storm-Heart unleashed brilliant flashes of concussive force.

Then Lorath cried aloud, "Captain, I can see a Psybrid!"

"Then by all means, have at it!" Toran cried as the joy of combat ran through him.

Assault Marines roared overhead on wings of fire as the Storm Heralds cut into the heart of the horde. Nothing could withstand their onslaught and Toran felt his hearts thrum with exultation as the battle turned in their favour. Yet despite that he was concerned for what was occurring within the Train-city of Berult, he yearned to know how the battle inside fared and worried what Polarus would do when confronted by the civilians.