Tergum Cultro Chapter 8
The Ogryns came barrelling out of the darkness of the tunnel, shouting in brute rage and ignorant to everything save the urge to smash and destroy. They were crude parodies of the noble Astartes form, with none of the skill or precision but what they lacked in grace they more than made up for in size and power. They charged like oncoming freight trains with plasteel plates and bucket helms making a terrible clatter as they lumbered into battle. Without the supporting fire of the Skittari there was no of stopping them and the mystery of their abandonment would have to wait for another time. For now IXth squad could only try to survive the next few minutes.
The Ogryns charged into combat swinging their brutal weapons and Ophelion found himself standing directly in the path of one as it rumbled towards him. He reacted instinctively reaching out to grab a rebel by the front of his black robes and threw him bodily into the spinning siege drills as they descended. The high pitched shrieks were mercifully short lived as the blades tore through the heretic and sprayed blood and bone everywhere. The red mist obscured the Ogryn's vision for a moment and while it rubbed its eyes with a hairy elbow Ophelian dived out of its path. Halis let rip with his bolter at an Ogryn's head but the bolts deflected off its thick bucket helmet, doing little more than stunning the beast. It roared in primitive anger and tried to grab the marine with a clanking pincer but Halis dropped and dived between its legs to roll free behind it.
Meanwhile Furion was letting loose with great blasts from his Heavy Flamer, creating wide swathes of fire. The crowds of rebels were inundated in flames, burning them away. The few survivors fell beating at flames on their coats, their skin charring and hair aflame. Few lived more than a moment and the rest were crippled by pain and burns, unable to intervene. At the very least IXth squad wouldn't have to worry about them, unfortunately the Ogyrns were among them and the respite was brief.
Persion blasted away at one of the beast's knees, trying to make fall over, but his bolts ricocheted off a plasteel plate drilled into its shin bones. It came about and lashed out with a pair of gigantic shears where its hands should have been and caught the Marine by the pauldron. Persion struggled and kicked out but could not break free, the Ogryn increased the pressure inexorably as the shoulder pad crumpled in its grip and the ceramite cracked. With a terrible shriek the pauldron tore free and Persion fell back missing the entire shoulder pad, he had escaped death but the affront to his armour's spirit was grievous indeed. The Ogryn was left grasping the shorn plate stupidly looking about for the rest of its prize as Persion dodged behind it.
Meanwhile Jediah ran straight another Ogryn and stabbed his combat blade into its thigh. Blood ran freely but the great beast's thick muscles were like tree trunks and it did not fall. Its rudimentary brain finally registered pain and it looked down at him, then it swung a siege drill right into his chest. Jediah's armour was ripped and gouged by the spinning blades, sending razor sharp shrapnel flying everywhere as the breastplate was carved to pieces. Jediah flung himself backwards to escape the tearing frenzy and fell heavily to the ground. His armour had saved his life but the chestplate was a shredded mess of jagged splinters and ruptured power conduits. The Ogryn stepped forwards heavily and loomed over the fallen marine, aiming to finish him off but Toran saw his Brother's distress and leapt to his defence.
As it reached out he slapped down with his chainsword catching the Ogryn on the arm, the spinning teeth ripped aside the leather and cut into the flesh below. A red swathe of torn skin and muscle was gashed into the arm but so thick was the bone beneath that the limb remained intact. The Ogryn screamed as its primitive mind registered fresh pain, reflexively swinging around in a backhanded slap that caught the Sergeant across the chest. Toran was lifted off his feet by the force of the impact and thrown away to hit a pile of sandbags and ruptured them with his weight, spraying fine grit into the crowds of rebels beyond the flames. He lay for a heartbeat, stunned by the impact. He had fought Orks and Traitors before but never had he been so effortlessly overpowered, never had he fought a foe who shrugged off his blows like they were nothing. Toran realised then that the battle was turning against the Space Marines, they simply could not bring enough damage to bear against the Ogryns before they would be shredded. Toran's mind frantically reviewed passages from the Codex but could find no orthodox doctrine that could change this outcome. So he resorted to unorthodox ones.
Toran yelled, "Furion: Decimation protocol! Squad engage void seals!" Instantly the whole squad sealed their respirators and set pressure seals to maximum, turning their armour into vacuum proof spacesuits. Furion heard the order and twisted the control of his Heavy Flamer, setting it to maximum spread. A squeeze of the trigger and the Promethium came out not as a finely controlled plume but a blazing sheet of flames. A wave of fire washed out from Furion's position as he swung the end to and fro, dousing the area in an inferno of crackling flames. The surviving rebels were drowned in liquid fire, their lives ended in a vision of hell. The Astartes too were doused in fire and Toran heard his armour scream as the flames washed over him. His skin cooked within his plate as fantastic heat built up, trying to slide through the gaps in his ceramite where only fibre bundle sheaths protected him. He felt like he was being cooked alive, his body basting in the fires and in the corner of his eye he saw his purity flash to ashes under the kiss of the inferno. The pain was staggering but his sealed his armour was designed to withstand the temperatures of the void and the flames had no way to reach the Marine inside. Proof against the scorching heat of stars and the absolute cold of space the power armour stood firm, leaving him a burning statue amidst a scene of hell.
The Space Marines endured the inferno but the Ogryns fared far worse, swathed in fire that burned their leathers and melted the plasteel of their armour to their skin. They roared in agony and beat at their own flesh, trying to put the flames out but now their implants worked against them. Long shears and siege drills were no use against fire and they tore and rent their own flesh as they sought to beat the flames into submission. One of them tripped over a burning corpse and fell headlong to the ground, sprawling helplessly in the scalding dust as it thrashed about. Novak leapt from the ground and landed with his boots spread across its shoulders, he raised his rapier with a flourish then drove the tip between the brute's vertebrae and severed its spine. Another Ogryn was blundering about, flailing its fists at anything that moved. It caught a blazing rebel with one siege drill and in a heartbeat decapitated the Heretics with the spinning heads. Persion ran straight at the beast and ducked underneath a wildly swing fist as he brought up his Combi-melta. A twitch of the finger and the underslung melta fired, punching a beam of sub-fusion energy into its guts. A blast meant to punch through tank armour met flesh and bone and vaporised it instantly, boring through the Ogyrn and leaving a hole large enough to push a hand through. The Ogryn collapsed with a soft sigh, its life ended before its head touched the ground.
The last Ogryn was running in little circles, trying to see a way out, but Toran charged at it from behind and swept his weapon low. His chainsword ripping at the back of its legs, tearing out a hamstring as thick as a steel cable. The brute fell to the ground without the use of its leg and Toran swung his blade high before bringing it down hard on the apex of the neck. The roaring chainteeth diced through the skin and muscle, then caught on bone. Toran's weapon was nearly torn from his grip but he held on and pushed harder, cheweing through the thick appendage until he at last beheaded the last Ogryn. Finally silence fell, save for the crackling of smouldering fabrics and the fatty sizzle of roasting bodies.
In the flaming wasteland of the battlefield IXth squad came together, Jediah limping from his wounds as they surveyed their pyrrhic victory. Nobody felt like cheering as they took in the carnage, the victory too hard won for them to feel jubilant about. Their plate was scorched and blemished, the colours of the Chapter marred by soot. Toran switched to external air and breathed in the victorious ashes and fumes of roasted flesh, normally a cause for celebration but this day it felt like a defeat. Toran was keenly aware of how close they had come to failure, a possibility no Astartes could ever accept. Only quick thinking and reckless bravado had carried them through and a willingness to blatently ignore the teachings of the Codex.
Daite seemed to be thinking the same thing for he looked sidelong at Toran and remarked, "Sergeant, the Codex Astartes is most definitive about Decimation protocols. Specifically that they are never to be used when Brothers are standing in the middle of the target zone."
Toran breathed in a gasp of smoky air through his respirator and said, "Sometimes one must violate the letter of the Codex to be true to its spirit."
Persion's scepticism was obvious in his voice as he commented, "That is an unorthodox way of thinking."
"The Codex's doctrines are perfect but this situation is not," replied Toran, "It is up to us to find ways to make the doctrines fit."
"As much as I enjoy a philosophical debate I have to ask: why did the Skitarii abandon us?" Novak commented.
Toran replied wearily, "That I do not know, but we still have a mission to complete. Persion check on the Servitors and tell me if Castabore at least left us the Seismic charge."
Persion jogged over to the sewer entrance and called, "They are still here, all the charge is untouched."
"Good," said Toran as he checked a chronometer, "Get it over here and see to the placement of the seismic charges We have less than ten minutes until the First Captain starts his assault and I want to be far from here when that wall comes down."
Toran stood guard with Halis as Furion drew a fresh flamer tank from the Servitor train and the rest of the squad placed the demolition device in the tunnel beyond the gate. IXth squad were the foremost demolition experts in the Chapter and the deed did not take long, after only a few minutes the Marines ran out and together they headed towards the sewer exit.
Toran led the way but Daite was the first to ask, "Sergeant, where are we going?"
Toran was stunned by the thought, his mission objectives were complete and he had no standing orders mandating any action. For the first time since his ascension to being a Space Marine he was free to choose his own course. It was a strange sensation, dizzying and even a little heady, he was struck by a vision of a life without the prescription of orders, commands and endless tradition: a life of Freedom. Toran stamped down on the heretical thought with a surge of self-loathing, to question one's place in the Emperor's design was the beginning of heresy. It was the first step on the road to Chaos, the same path the hated Traitor Legions had walked and Toran would never allow the yearning for freedom to contaminate the purity of his mind.
He may have no orders but he still had his duty and only in death does duty end. Toran snarled, "There are mysteries here that need solving, form up, we are going to wring some answers out of Magos Castabore."