Armorum Fidei Chapter 24

The Storm Heralds were rearmed and ready for battle and Toran knew his squads were eager for the next engagement. Three times had they struck the Psybrid armies and three times they had thrown them into disarray. Train-cities had been saved and alien fiends culled from the galaxy, a good showing by any measure. Casualties had been light so far, a few deaths and less than a dozen sent into healing comas, many of whom were already up and on their feet. Toran had every reason to be confident they would again break the Xenos and yet he was troubled.

As Pride of Lujan drove he opened a private vox-link to Chaplain Furion and called, "Furion, how fare the squads?"

"Eager for war and expectant of victory," the Chaplain replied from his Rhino.

"Victory yes," Toran mused, "But for how long can we expect to win?"

"You do not think we shall triumph?"

"Today yes, tomorrow certainly but beyond that… I am not sure. We are but two hundred against a planetary invasion, they outnumber us to a hysterical degree."

Furion retorted, "We are always outnumbered, that is normal. Yet we have made them bleed."

"Exactly my point," Toran countered, "The aliens know we defy them, but they continue with their strategy of attacking Train-cities, without deviation. They should be bearing down on us en masse, if they had the smallest lick of sense."

Furion snorted, "The alien's ways are foul and incomprehensible to honest men. Do not expect rational strategy from a Psybrid anymore than you would an Eldar."

But Toran sighed, "But we've faced them before and they used the same tactics, breaking defences and enslaving all within. Scooping up victims and sailing off with their prizes… except this time they brought a massive army and do not retreat. Why, what reason would they have to change strategy? I do not know and that vexes me. Something is going on here that I do not see. If I do not know their ultimate objective I cannot thwart them."

Furion pondered, "Is there any sign that our Strike Cruiser got out of jamming range and sent an Astropathic distress cry?"

"None," Toran confessed, "They may have made it out in time, or they may not. We have no way to know and can only proceed from the assumption that we fight alone."

"Then what will you do?" Furion prompted.

"The only thing we can do, keep fighting and defend the civilians to our last breath."

Their discourse was interrupted by a call from the aerial forces, Chaplain Polarus calling, "Enemy in sight, the enemy force is significantly larger this time."

Toran switched vox-channels to proclaim, "Once more into the breach Brothers, once more into the fires of war. Same tactical deployment as before, hit hard and drive into the heart of them. Polarus, make your pass then defend the Train-city of Kinora from being overrun."

"That is a worthless objective," Polarus snapped, "We should…"

"I am not arguing with you in the face of the enemy," Toran growled, "You have your mission, carry it out."

Toran snapped off the link with a grimace. Polarus' manner was growing tiresome, always advocating for wanton destruction without any thought of collateral damage. If the Chaplain had his way the Storm Heralds would have left the Train-cities to flounder, while the Space Marines slaughtered Xenos. Toran prided himself on being a commander who was open to his Marine's ideas but he would not countenance such a course. To leave the innocent to die while glorifying themselves in battle was anathema to every principle he had ever fought for. He had seen what happened when Space Marines judged their worth to be greater than the people's and he would be damned before he let such thinking take root in his Company.

Via his helm's link he watched the Thunderhawks and Overloads race off, commencing their initial run. They swooped down on an immense horde of aliens, pressing hard against the Train-city of Kinora. Unlike before the vast construction appeared unbreached and its earthshakers fired arcing shells to explode amid the vast flock surrounding its rear. For once the Storm Heralds had arrived in good time. Sill Toran wasn't about to let them fight alone and waited as the aerial forces peeled off to garrison the Train-city, then it was his turn.

"Get ready for a jolt," Toran called as Pride of Lujan raced towards the foe.

"That was a jolt? I thought we ran over a pebble last time," the Aggressors snorted.

Toran grinned under his helm and secured his arms to the interior of the Land Raider as it roared into battle, weapons blazing. The entire line of Storm Heralds charged into the fray, blowing apart the nearest ranks of aliens with thunderous retorts and then crashed into the burning mass. Toran was slammed back and forth as Pride of Lujan smashed into the wall of alien flesh, bones snapping loudly under its tracks as it chewed its way forward. He waited for the front hatch to slam down and then followed the Aggressors out, drawing the Sword of Thiel and seeing the line of blue blasting away at point-blank range.

To the left and the right Tacticals, Intercessors and Devastators let rip, scything down foes at point blank range. Bolters roared, flamers hissed, plasma seared and over their head the vehicles fired continuously, raining down destruction. Toran's hearts surged as his Brothers made a wasteland of alien corpses and advanced into the heart of the enemy, blowing apart everything in sight. They made good progress in the first thirty seconds, but then the Xenos did something unexpected.

The line of lesser foes fell to the righteous fire of the Imperials but as they did so they revealed another foe. Towering beings seemingly made of grey stone, with blunt, featureless heads and heavy cannons where their right arms should be. Nephilim, a score of them waiting for the Space Marines to close. Toran saw their heavy cannons rising and knew well the destructive power they boasted, enough to reduce power armour to atoms with a single shot. The Storm Heralds were fully engaged, there was no room to dodge and it would take too long to cut down the aliens with concentrated fire.

With barely a second to react Toran yelled, "Bastion manoeuvre, pattern seven!" Instantly the squads responded, diving aside as the vehicles drove forward. Engines roared as they shot past, inches from driving over their infantry but touching none. They hurtled past and then swung sideways, presenting a wall of plasteel and Adamantium to the foe. Barely had a few seconds passed but it was enough, for a moment later the Nephilim fired. Actinic blasts shot forth and smote the machines most cruelly, rocking them back on their tracks and making them ring like bells. Toran saw Pride of Lujan shudder and the unmistakable sound of a sponson ripping free echoed loud. It was a terrible thing to hear but the noble steed's Machine Spirit endured, its hull seared black but unviolated. By such selfless valour was the infantry spared and vengeance was at hand.

"Take them!" Toran roared and the squads advanced, pouring through the gaps between machines. Intercessors and Assault Marines shot into the sky, raining down fire on the Nephilim, riddling them with bolt rounds. Flamers doused aliens head to toe in burning promethium and missiles struck dead centre to blow them to ash. The Hellblaster's fire was most impressive, blazing motes of Plasma incinerating grey flesh and reducing them to charred pillars, left to smoke where they stood. In moments the Storm Heralds had eradicated the Nephilim and Toran slapped one hand on Pride of Lujan's scorched hull, intoning, "Noble steed, I thank you for your sacrifice. Your wounds shall be…"

He was cut off as the tank rocked and a shadow eclipsed the sky. He glanced up and saw a gangly creature crouched on the Land Raider's roof, elongated limbs and cobra-head cowl declaring to one and all its true nature. A Psybrid, in the flesh and it was looking at Toran. Long whips extruded from its wrists and it swung downward, trying to catch the Captain off guard and kill him. Toran was in a bad position, pinned between two vehicles and without the high ground he was unable to strike back. Still he held the Sword of Thiel reflexively over his head, parrying the attack before it landed. What happened next amazed him.

The whips struck the length of metal and as they did so conflicting energy fields clashed, falling apart as coherence was lost. For the first time in his life the Sword of Thiel faltered, its disruption fields shorting out. That lethal cutting edge, wrought by archeosciences lost to history, had never failed before, never been found wanting but whatever power was in the Xeno's whips proved its bane. The energy field flickered and died, leaving Toran grasping a mere piece of sharpened Adamantium in his hands.

Surprise nearly unmade him as the Xenos drew back and struck again but transhuman reflexes came to his aid and he ducked, letting the whips pass an inch over his helm. He threw himself aside as the Psybrid jumped down, intending to crush him under its bulk. Toran spun about and jabbed, trying to catch it off balance but the tip of his sword merely skittered off its flank. That shouldn't have happened, the Sword of Thiel should have carved the alien in twain but without a disruption field it was lacking, a blunt instrument for the task.

The Psybrid hissed some threatening retort and then advanced on him. Toran had no space to dodge, pinned between two vehicles as he was. All he could do was retreat, waving his inert sword through the air as he tried to fend off a deadly blow. The whips tore the air apart, a lashing frenzy of lethal blows that should have diced him. Only the pure adamantium length of his sword kept death at bay, the sword's magnificent workmanship withstanding the onslaught but with every blow the internal generator squealed in dismay, overloading from the touch of the whips. To Toran's horror a small wisp of smoke arose from the crossguard, the relic weapon in danger of burning out under the touch of the alien.

"I need help here!" Toran cried.

"We're heavily engaged on all sides, can't break free!" came the call of Sergeant Matheus.

"I'll draw him to you…"

Suddenly the Psybrid went low, sweeping its whips laterally at Toran's knees, trying to dismember him. Toran couldn't block both sides and so was forced to jump over them, but as he did so he was left vulnerable. A foot caught him in the midriff and sent him flying backwards, hitting the muddy ground and smearing his red cloak with algae. He rolled to the side and tried to rise but the three-toed foot landed on his breastplate and pinned him down. Toran looked up and saw the Psybrid loom over him, whips rising for the killing stroke as it hissed an evil battlecry. Toran was trapped, unable to fight but despite that he was not afraid, for he did not fight alone.

"Fear the light of the Emperor!" A harsh cry rang and a golden rod was thrust into his field of vision. Toran jerked his head aside an instant before Storm-Heart erupted into flaring light. The Crozius' arcane stutter-field discharged in a blazing corona of energy, light, electromagnetics and pounding noise. The relic weapon discharged its fury inches from the Psybrid's face and blinded it, searing its vision and hammering ears with concussive noise. Toran was nearly blinded too, his autosenses fritzing and crackling as they struggled to overcome the torrent of stunning might. Yet through the harsh blaze he saw the Psybrid tense and then leap high, bounding ten metres into the air to escape. It soared over the nearby vehicles and disappeared into the surging mass of foes.

Toran shook his head vigorously until his vision cleared then looked up to see Chaplain Furion standing over him, holding Storm-Heart aloft in defiance. The Captain hastily rose to his feet and breathed, "My thanks, you saved my life."

"You'd do the same for any of us," Furion replied warmly, "Now shall we finish this fight?"

"Indeed," Toran breathed as he flicked the Sword of Thiel's generator on and off, trying to relight it, "I think we…"

Suddenly the vox broke into harsh wails and a voice cut through, "Polarus here, come in, come in anybody. This is an emergency!"

Toran spun about to face the Train-City of Kinora as he called, "Chaplain, have the Psybrids broken inside?"

"They didn't have to," Polarus snarled, "They already owned it, everybody inside is subverted."

"What?!" Toran exclaimed.

"The train-city fell before we ever got here!" Polarus barked, "It's a trap!"

Toran's eyes widened as he saw the artillery barrels atop the city cease firing and swing about. He realised then that they had only been firing at the periphery of the alien horde, not its heart. Now a full battery of artillery was coming to bear on the Storm Heralds, all the firepower of the Train-city pointed right at his Brothers. It was like looking down the barrel of a loaded bolter, waiting for the trigger to be pulled.

"Fall-back!" Toran cried, "All squads disengage and withdraw!" It was too late. With a flat crump the artillery spoke, all the cannons firing as one. Shells soared high and then arched down, landing amid the embattled Storm Heralds. Toran was picked up and flung aside by an explosion that went off at his feet. His Iron Halo burst into life, encasing his body in a refractory field but still his bones rattled and teeth nearly shook out of his gums. Flames licked his greaves bare of colour and his cloak caught alight, burning into flaming tatters that smoked his rear black. He hit the ground hard and felt a genhanced bone break in his collar but the pain was nothing compared to his Brothers.

He looked up and found Space Marines strewn everywhere, bleeding and broken upon the ground. Many were missing limbs and the rest rolled in confusion, separated from their squads and left wherever they had landed. Worse were the machines, smoking hulls dented and breached in many places. The Predator Rememberance of Tealat must have taken a direct hit, its engine exploding into shrapnel that peppered nearby Rhinos and its turret laying upside down ten metres away. The noble machine was a flaming ruin, left to belch thick clouds of ash as its crew's corpses roasted in the wreck.

The Storm Heralds were battered and bruised and yet Toran knew worse was to come. Even now the Artillery would be reloading and the aliens amassing for another thrust. He could hear them, gathering for one last rush that would sweep over the dazed Space Marines and finish them off. Toran had seconds to react and surged to his feet crying, "To arms Brothers, get on your damned feet and fight! Stand up now or we're done for!"