Armorum Fidei Chapter 30

Pride of Lujan rocked as it roared over the landscape towards the next fight. In formation the rest of the Storm Heralds advanced, weapons loaded and ready to bring ruin to all who stood against them. The combined forces of Third and Sixth companies had suffered losses but they were not unmanned, for the sake of their slain Brothers they would meet the aliens again and this time it would be humanity that prevailed, so Toran swore to himself.

He stood with his head and shoulders protruding from a hatch on the Land Raider's top, casting his eyes over the racing vehicles. He knew all his Brothers were as eager as he to engage and they would not be disappointed. The Train-city of Ferthen was a dot on the horizon, and beyond a dark stain revealed the alien's presence. It would be tight but Toran was sure they would reach the civilians first, then together mortals and Transhumans would make the Psybrids pay.

His vox squawked as Furion called, "Polarus should have landed by now."

"The gunships set down without any interference," Toran affirmed, "They sweep the Train-city as we speak, looking for signs of treachery."

"Polarus didn't think to report his progress?"

"I wouldn't expect him to, unless he finds something untoward. Let him have room to manoeuvre, to ride him constantly would only aggravate him."

Furion sounded less sure as he said, "I would have preferred to have someone we trusted more to recon the Train-city."

"We can't be undermining each other," Toran argued, "We are seeking to overcome our differences, not reinforce them. We don't want another civil war in the Chapter."

"If Polarus becomes Master of Sanctity then that is a certainty," Furion muttered.

"You know about that?" Toran started.

"I am not blind," Furion snorted, "I see how he postures and I will not have such a one as him become our spiritual head."

"It may be unavoidable, unless you think you could do…"

"Finish that sentence and I'll beat the snot out of you, Captain or not," Furion growled.

Toran grinned under his helm at the gruff rebuke, and switched vox-channels to declare, "Brothers, we are about to engage the Psybrids once more. I know you yearn to avenge the blood we have lost but remember our mission is to defend the Train-city, it is our responsibility to stand between the innocent and the vileness that lurks between the stars, duty before vengeance."

Raynek voxed back, "I think there's plenty of chances for both today."

Lorath chimed in, "Aye, we'll be up to our eyeballs in aliens when they strike. The best defence…"

"Is a good offence?" Raynek interrupted.

"I was going to say the best defence is to slaughter every last one of the bastards," Lorath retorted.

Chuckles arose at the proclamation and Toran looked ahead, waiting for the range to close. As he watched the Train-city swelled into a blot, chased by an alien horde and his trigger finger itched in eagerness to start shooting. Despite his words he was tempted to throw his marines straight at the Xeno army but knew it was foolish pride speaking. They had to unite with the civilians and make a stand together, more than the fate of one Train-city was in the balance, the future of his Chapter rested in this moment. If Polarus was fated to become Master of Sanctity then they must convince him humanity was worthy of saving, Toran didn't like to think of the consequences otherwise.

It was then he frowned and peered at the Train-city. His autosenses reacted smoothly, magnifying his vision and revealing an arrowhead of gunships taking off. That wasn't right, Polarus was supposed to be securing the artillery and ensuring the Storm Heralds weren't blundering into another trap. Toran couldn't conceive of any reason why the Chaplain would abandon his post, he wouldn't flee and even Polarus wouldn't be foolish enough to attack the Xenos horde without support.

Toran changed vox-channels and called, "Third Captain to Polarus, what are you doing?"

Polarus' gruff voice replied, "Captain I have discovered signs of treachery within Ferthen. As we suspected this Train-city is tainted by the alien. Fighting has broken out inside, the turncoats are trying to sabotage key defences."

Toran was confused and barked, "Then secure them, take your squads back and purge the corrupted!"

"There isn't time," Polarus growled, "The Xenos horde will reach Ferthen before the defences can be restored. This Train-city is doomed, do not try to save it, there is no point."

Toran was stunned by the idea of giving up without a fight and snarled, "We cannot allow that Train-city to fall into alien claws!"

Polarus stated coldly, "I do not intend to."

Toran didn't follow but then he saw the Overlords and Thunderhawks begin to bank about. They were coming about on the Train-city in a steep dive, not a landing vector but an attack run. A cold rush swept through him as he saw Polarus' intent, the Chaplain was commanding his detachments to destroy Ferthen rather than let it fall, killing everyone within by his own hand instead of fighting to defend it. There was no doubt Polarus could do it, a civilian Train-city was no match for Turbolasers and Hellstrike missiles, and the gunships were armed with both.

"He's going to kill the civilians," Toran breathed in dismay.

"He can't," Furion exclaimed aghast, "It goes against every principle we've ever fought for!"

"Polarus, break off your attack run, do not engage!" Toran cried into the vox.

"I do now what must be done now," Polarus intoned, "For the Imperium."

"No!" Toran cried in denial but it was too late. The gunships were locked on and ready for the word and at the Chaplain's order they unleashed hell. Heavy Turbolasers atop spinal mounts discharged searing columns of energy, followed a moment later by volleys of missiles from under wings. The metal walls of Ferthen proved no match for collimated light and the ravaging energy punched through armour plating with ease. Compartments erupted into flames as hundreds were reduced to ash, men and women slain before they even knew they were under attack. Fires erupted along the length of the Train-city, spreading into every nook and cranny and killing hundreds more. Then the missiles came. Spears of explosive ordnance struck the sundered walls and sent superheated death within. Passages were filled with flying shrapnel as waves of fire swept down corridors and into engineering spaces. Dormitories and billets were no shelter, those cowering under their beds screaming as the doors blew off and waves of fire rolled in to incinerate all it found. The death toll rose to thousands as Ferthen burned end to end and then the flames found the boiling Promethium vats.

Toran was rocked back against the edge of the hatch as Ferthen exploded in a massive fireball. The horizon flared like a rising sun, lit brilliant yellow by a cloud of flame that illuminated the heavens. A second later and the ground shook beneath the Land Raider's tracks, making his legs vibrate even through suspension and power armour. He felt a hot wind scour his faceplate, carrying with it the scent of ash and scorched metal along with the death cry of ten thousand souls. Ferthen was gone, there was no denying it, the Train-city had been reduced to flaming wreckage, strewn across kilometres of ground.

Toran felt numb as the realisation swept over him that the Storm Heralds had just culled thousands of innocent souls. It struck at everything he had ever fought for, every drop of blood spent and Brothers lives laid down made meaningless. Matheus had not died for this, and Toran's gaze fixed on the dark blots of gunships soaring proudly towards them, as if they had not just slain innocents like base murderers.

"All halt," Toran ordered coldly, "Gunships… land immediately." The Company halted as ordered and Toran pulled himself out of the hatch and dropped to the ground. Roof hatches opened so Brothers could stare at the flaming pyre that had once been Ferthen and take in the scope of the calamity. Even Lorath gasped, "What is this… he… he…"

Toran could not speak, not without screaming in outrage and marched towards the landing gunships, feeling their downdraft buffeting as he closed. Furion fell in beside him, Crozius in hand as they marched towards an Overlord, from which Intercessors disembarked. They seemed as bewildered as the others, unable to grasp what had just happened. Toran did not hold them accountable though, there was only one soul he blamed for this travesty.

"Don't try to stop me," Toran growled.

"Stop you," Furion hissed, "Captain I intend to hold him down so you can carve his hearts out."

Ahead Polarus strode down the ramp, head held high. He spied Toran closing and called, "This is a bad place for a halt, the Xenos horde is nearby."

"Inside the gunship, now," Toran hissed.

"But the danger…"

"Inside," Toran growled through gritted teeth, "Now."

He strode past Polarus and entered the dark hold, followed by Furion and Polarus. The words about to be exchanged were not for their Brother's ears, no leader should reprimand another in front of the line-warriors. Toran strode to the back of the hold and then, when sure they were alone, whipped his helm off and spat, "What the hell was that?!"

Polarus calmly reached up and removed his own helm, revealing stern features that betrayed not a hint of remorse as he stated, "A necessary sacrifice."

"Necessary!" Furion barked, his patrician features clenched in barely contained anger, "You killed innocents, this is not what the Storm Heralds stand for!"

Polarus sniffed coldly, "You weren't there, you didn't see. The Train-city was doomed, there was no saving it. Subverted within, about to be attacked from without, they were past the point of no return."

"And so you decided to give up without a fight!" Toran yelled.

"I chose to spare them the cruel fate of alien domination," Polarus retorted, "Had I not acted decisively, every life within was doomed to slave under a Xenos' yoke. You could not have prevented that, and would have spent Astartes lives in a futile attempt to save those already dead. Your sentimental Firstborn dogmas would have lost us this war."

"You spit upon our principles," Furion growled, "The Storm Heralds are sworn to defend the weak and the helpless, not butcher them. You chose to save yourself rather than fight, never have I witnessed such base cowardice."

Polarus' face grew stony as he growled, "Do not think you can best me whelp. I see you; I see how far you have fallen. The whole Imperium has become weak and decadent and needs whipping back into shape. I could not have believed it could happen when the Scouring swept across the galaxy, but I emerge into an age of soft hearts and superstitious dogma. None of you has the mettle to make the hard choices. My blood-brother Vuqil would weep to see what has become of humanity, unworthy and degenerate, there is no strength left in men."

Toran's hand fell to the hilt of his sword as he growled, "I thought Lessall and Samect were vile, but you make them look like paragons of virtue."

"Ah, your little civil war, I've read about it," Polarus scoffed, "Another sign of your weakness. Believers against non-believers, as if that makes any difference. You cling to dogma and tradition like a priest does his prayer book, as blinkered in your own way as those zealots were in theirs. You pride yourselves on beating religiosity in your Chapter, but from where I stand the only difference between you two and those Traitors is the colour of your helms."

"You speak dangerous words," Furion growled.

Polarus glanced down at their tight grips on their weapons and sniffed, "So do you intend to kill me? Slaughter me as you did your own kin. Go ahead, I will not resist. Strike me down and prove me right, prove that you are nothing but dogmatic zealots, emotional and ill-disciplined fools."

Toran's hearts screamed at him to draw his sword and carve out both this smug cur's hearts. He'd done it before, killed fellow Storm Heralds. One more, his soul pleaded, kill one more and make the universe clean of this festering condescension. He didn't listen, instead his iron will clamped down on the rash impulse and made him release his sword's hilt. Toran may be a kin-slayer but he had not done it for petty revenge, he had been fighting for a principle and he still was. The Storm Heralds were a martial Brotherhood sworn to defend mankind. Toran would not start another civil war; he couldn't without forsaking everything he believed in.

The Captain lifted his hand and growled, "Polarus, I will not kill you but you should consider yourself disgraced. You have judged the innocent and forsaken every principle we stand for. You may be new to our Chapter but I expect a Chaplain to understand that Space Marines are not above humanity. When we return to the Fortress-Monastery I shall petition Chapter Master Phalros to have you don the Chains of Shame."

Polarus snorted, "And I shall petition Roboute Guilliman himself to have every Firstborn stripped of command in this Chapter and replaced with Primaris, who are not softened by your pathetic dogmas."

Furion growled, "You'll have to get past me first."

Polarus' anger flared but Toran snarled, "Polarus, no matter your beliefs you acted against my orders in the field. For this I deem your command unsound, henceforth Furion will accompany you wherever you go, to make sure you do not stray again."

"At every turn you betray your weakness," Polarus hissed.

"Get out of my sight," Toran barked as his anger spiked.

The Chaplain turned and strode out of the hold, head held high. That he was not admonished was clear, Polarus' pride untarnished and his conviction firm. Furion followed him pace for pace, his grip on Storm-Heart never wavering. Toran watched the arrogant cur depart and knew he should have never trusted Polarus, never let him out of his sight. Polarus was everything Toran feared and more, it had been a mistake to think he would be swayed to the Storm Herald's way of thinking. Anger burning hot Toran's arm shot out and smashed the hold's wall, leaving a dent as deep as a man's head as a sign of the rage burning in his hearts.