Siege

Outside, Cyrus and Denmor were joined by Vaenor. A group of fifty scouts had assembled near the walls. The initiates were bruised, cut, and scarred. The Crusade had been a crucible for the Scouts, and the blooding they had received today would be just another step towards becoming true battle brothers. But all that would be for nothing if the Imperial Guard overran their position.

"Initiates," said Cyrus. "Our duty now is to perform point defence for the 2nd Company. You are to break into your squads and position yourselves along the outer wall. You will provide fire support for Commander Boreale's main force. The Chapter Serfs will man the air defence towers to keep the skies clear, so focus on marking ground opposition. Target any officer brave enough to show his face. Any questions before we deploy?"

A scout with a face covered in diagonal scars stepped forward. "Yes, initiate Ademus?" said Cyrus.

"Captain Hethforn has not returned, my Captain. Will the Fortress last without his men?"

"It will last as long as it needs to, Ademus," Cyrus said. "However, we know that General Stubbs' forces contain a number of Baneblade weapon platforms. Our forces engaged one such tank spearheading the Guard's initial assault. Do not underestimate their power. Should you locate one, ensure the vehicle is identified and relay its location through your vox channels. We're on the defensive, so I do not want to see any foolhardy actions. Follow your Sergeants, and keep your heads down. Knowledge is power, initiates."

"Guard it well." the initiates finished. Cyrus nodded and dismissed the company. Ariston approached Cyrus. The tall, dark skinned Sergeant had served alongside Cyrus for years, and he was often accepted as Cyrus's second opinion. Ariston smiled wearily as he approached.

"Nice scar, Brother Captain. You'll need cybernetics if you want to keep your face together."

"I'm fine, Ariston. It will have to be dealt with later. Have you any reports from the other Sergeants? It looks like most of the company made it back."

Ariston shrugged. "Our initiates returned, surely, but not without scars. They're tired and they're concerned. Honestly, so am I, Cyrus. Do you have a plan?"

"I'm working on it," said Cyrus. "Have the sergeants maintain vox communications at all times. I want a direct link to my Channel. If the battle goes ill, I want the Company pulled back at once."

Ariston nodded, "Understood, Brother Captain. You can rely on me. Good luck, Cyrus."

"To you as well, Ariston" said Cyrus. "Initiates, come."

"Captain, is your wound severe?" asked Vaenor, noticing the mass of scar tissue that had developed around the left side of Cyrus' face. "Should I send for an Apothecary?"

"It is fine Vaenor. I do not require assistance." he said. "What happened here before we arrived?"

"You mean when you sent me away from the fight? Well, I got one anyways. Stormtroopers launched a deep strike behind our lines. Chaplain Gren ordered the charge. Seven brothers were killed before we reached them."

"How?" asked Denmor. "What befell our brothers?" He was genuinely concerned. Something powerful enough to slay seven brothers in a matter of seconds was a serious matter.

"They must have put something in their lasguns, Captain," said Vaenor. "Their shots were far larger than normal, and they punched through ceramite with ease. We kept charging them, and they fell in close combat, but the approach was a slaughter."

Cyrus frowned. "I had a similar encounter outside the wall. The Imperial Guard are adapting, it seems. If only they would focus on the true enemy. Be on your guard, nonetheless, initiates."

Dusk was beginning to settle over the Lands of Solitude. Outside the walls, the 252nd Kauravan Conservator Regiment had set up camp. The night was quiet, save for the hum of engines powering the perimeter lights. The Guard had pulled back upon facing an entire company of Astartes. The Space Marines had likewise chosen not to push forward. After the chaos of the day, it seemed both armies had settled for a direct confrontation. Until then, all that the Guard could do was to wait for the morning.

From the tree line, two figures watched. The first spoke, her voice tinged by an unearthly quality. "See how these primitives continue down the path of self destruction, Khailes. When humanity is without enemies, they turn on themselves with the same ferocity as Orks. How ones such as these were able to defeat us is beyond even my visions."

Khailes glanced at his companion. "How ironic it is then, that their supposed task to rid this sector of Chaos goes unfulfilled, cast aside in favor of petty rivalry. Why have you come here, Farseer? The interests of Mon Keigh are not worth the time we waste here. Let the children have their war. What could you hope to learn from primitives, Caerys?"

Caerys spoke. "The humans below are of no concern, Khailes, the future is. The Space Marines, these Blood Ravens. I have seen them in my visions. The sons and daughters of Ulthwé shall meet these warriors again."

Khailes glanced to Caerys, his face hidden behind his mask. It did little to hide his thoughts from her. "You are worried, my friend. Speak your mind."

He sighed. "Farseer Taldeer shared your visions, Caerys. Now she lies dead at the hands of these same barbarians. I do not wish you to suffer the same fate."

"Our direction is yet unclear, Exarch," she said. "We shall only observe, for now, perhaps in time we shall find clarity in this mist."

"Of course, Farseer, should you need me, we shall be watching." Exarch Khailes slinked back into the shadows of the tree line, vanishing without a sound. Caerys stared over the battlefield. Below, someone held the answers to her visions. The twisting strands of fate would unravel to her, revealing her purpose for being here.

General Stubbs walked through the camp. The soldiers had lit large bonfires, and were either settling down for the night or readying for watch duties. The men saluted as he passed, their eyes lighting up when he looked at them. That was Stubbs' strength, his ability to inspire with his presence. Only a fool led from the front, but Stubbs understood the value of knowing his men. Stubbs was a General, he didn't need to waste time interacting with the foot soldiers. But it was the gesture that counted. He cared, and they cared back.

The camp ran for miles. They were inspecting the vehicle park. Over a thousand tanks, transports and artillery pieces were arranged in neat rows stretching the back length of the encampment. Danalt droned on about the day's casualty reports as Stubbs walked the length of an artillery battery. Most of the tank crews stayed with their vehicles, running the engines to keep warm and using the radiators as makeshift ovens. Their usually wary faces brightened as he walked by. One group appeared completely stunned by his appearance. They hastily snapped off salutes, which he returned. He smiled as they broke into excited conversation after he had passed. The smallest gestures yielded the greatest results, sometimes.

They had reached the end of the first battery. Thirty more stretched out down the line. The engineer corps were working through the night repairing hull damage, refueling tanks, and reloading ammunition. This close to the fortress, the supplies had to be delivered by ground convoys. The Blood Raven's anti air systems had ripped their Stormtrooper teams apart before they had a chance to do much damage. This limited the speed at which Stubbs could operate. The 252nd would have to fight hand to hand if more supplies didn't arrive on time.

Danalt continued to read over the lists as a scribe passed them to him. "And 12th Battalion suffered forty percent losses sir. All fatal, no injured. Our advance was swift, but costly."

"And the survivors? What do they say?"

"The same thing sir. Most of them were too shell shocked to speak much, but those that do looked like they had seen the Eye of Terror. They say it was a slaughter."

"No doubt it was, Commissar," muttered Stubbs. Cold wind blew through the camp. Stubbs pulled his greatcoat around him to muster some warmth from the fur lined uniform. "We should find somewhere warmer, I think."

"Did you hear? Stubbs is walking around the camp!"

"Why would he do something like that? He's a General, you're a junior private."

"I know that, but what if he comes by? What if he talks to us?"

"There are a couple hundred thousand people here, Winters. he odds are a little stacked against you."

The rest of the platoon laughed. Winters shrunk, embarrassed. They were gathered around one of the large communal fire pits. Despite the swampy ground, it got surprisingly cold at night from the winds sweeping down over the steppes. Winters couldn't imagine why anyone would want to live up here. Then again, nobody really did, and the Space Marines probably liked the privacy.

"Still," said Winters, attracting a groan from the others, "supposing he did come by. What would you do if you saw him?"

Corporal Feryd raised a hand. "Listen Winters, how about this? If he comes by, I'll ask him straight up if he has a thunderhammer for a cock. And I'll give you thirty thrones on top."

There was a loud "ooooh" amongst the troops, and more than a few smirks. "And if he doesn't come by?" said Winters.

Feryd grinned slyly at him. "Then you have to run through the women's battalion naked. With Commissar Danalt after you."

Winters gulped. Danalt might have been a rather somber figure, but as a Commissar, he wasn't to be trifled with. Feryd just smiled and slapped him on the back. "Ah, I'm just fooling you, lad, no need to worry. No Commissar, just you, your equipment, and twelve hundred screaming lasses."

"Deal."

The night dragged on. Winters grew increasingly nervous, glancing around more and more frequently, watching everyone that passed by. Feryd lay back against his backpack, counting his thrones with greatly exaggerated emphasis. "The clocks ticking, Winters. It's supposed to be very cold tonight."

A few rows of tents over, a large group of guardsmen had broken out some instruments and were playing an energetic tune. The sounds of their laughter was carried on the wind, spreading through the camp. More groups picked up on the song, and all around, the Kauravans broke into loud, off key singing.

"Oh flower of Tristam,

when will we see

your like again,

that fought and died for,

your wee bit field and fen

and stood against him

(Against Who!)

Foul traitors army

(Bastards!)

And sent him homewards

(Fuck off!)

tae die again"

A loud cheer broke out among the troops. Caught up in the moment, it was easy to forget the trials of the day, and the coming battle. Some of the troops began to dance little jigs to the music, savoring the moment while they could.
One or two troops tried to jump the fire pit, with predictable results. The last one made it over, however, and the platoon started clapping and chanting the soldiers name.

"Well done indeed!" said a voice. Out of the darkness a pair of figures approached the campfire. The first was the heavyset Danalt, followed closely behind by General Vance Stubbs. "Oh, don't stop because of me. Any more jumps like that and you could scale the walls of the monastery.

Winters couldn't keep the stupid grin from growing across his face. He looked over to Feryd, now pale, and tapped his money pouch. Stubbs looked down at Winters. "Is something funny, private?" he asked.

"No, no sir," said Winters, struggling to hold back a snigger. "It's just, I think that the corporal here has something to ask you."

Elsewhere, the steady drone of a landspeeder's engines filled Kerax's ears. Hethforn had taken their reconnaissance squadron out for hours. They had barely gathered a dozen survivors, most of them too heavily injured to stand on their own. He slowed his speeder to a halt, hovering beside the four other vehicles. Kerax hauled himself up over the roll cage.

"Captain, we have swept this area clean. Most of these brothers were dead long before we got here. Those we did find won't last much longer if we do not return now."

Hethforn's face was aged and withered, but his eyes blazed with fire as he stared at Kerax. "No Sergeant, we are not yet finished. Keep searching. No brother I can save today will be left behind. I would do the same for you, were you in such a position. I never abandon my men."

"Understood sir."

"Then move out!" The landspeeders rocketed off across the wilderness once again, the only traces of their passing being the waving grass in their wake.

Lieutenant Daas sat on the turret of the Baneblade. Commander Hernann had given him a cup of coffee, but he hadn't touched it, and it had gone cold. He hadn't touched anything, or spoken to anyone, since that afternoon. He just sat atop the tank, playing over the events of the day in his head. Why did it have to happen?

He made no motion as the General, the legendary Stubbs pierced his self isolation. Rennek knew what he was here for. Why else would the man come to visit him?

"Your Commander tells me that you haven't eaten anything, officer," said the General. "May I come up?"

Rennek shivered, but he nodded slowly. Stubbs smiled, climbing the Baneblade's hull. The General sat down beside him, and took a something from his coat pocket. He broke off a piece of chocolate and offered it to Rennek. Rennek paused, but he took the piece in a quivering hand. "So," Stubbs began. "I want to know what is troubling you, Lieutenant."

Rennek's voice shook. "I told them to stop. I told them that this could end. I didn't want to kill them. Why would I want to kill them?"

"Did they say anything, son?" Stubbs said. He knew, thought Rennek.

"They did," said Rennek, tilting his head to look at Stubbs. "The one in the dreadnought, he spoke to me. The others stayed silent. I told them to end it. I... I told them. But, they don't feel the same. They don't care about us."

"What did the he say, Rennek? What did he tell you?"

Rennek spoke quietly. "He said: 'The Blood Ravens do not surrender, no matter the odds.' Then, they attacked. We lost. It was over so fast. He started pushing against us, bashing the front of the tank. The others, they just tore us apart. We were nothing to them, just another kill. We were nothing. I'm nothing."

Stubbs listened to everything that Rennek had to say. The man was spilling his heart out, whatever was left of it. It was a harsh realization to face. That a man's idols, his protectors, his angels, were not what he hoped. That they were trying to kill him, or that they cared so little for the individual in their quest to protect the collective. It was a sobering realization that Stubbs himself had to come to terms with over the campaign. Even with the might of the Imperium behind them, humanity could still feel alone.

Stubbs took a warm cup of coffee from Danalt and handed it to Rennek. "Drink, lad. You'll need it. You're not alone, Rennek. You never were. Faith matters, yes, but not just to the Emperor. To your friends, your allies, your family. That is where we get our strength. It is easy to get caught up in the big picture, Rennek. But you need to focus on what is important to you. You are fighting for the Imperium, but you are also fighting for what you care about. Never lose sight of that.

Rennek was silent for a while. His face was still ashen, but Stubbs could see a change coming over him. He smiled weakly to the General. "Thank you sir," he said quietly. "We need something to care about, don't we? Lieutenant Rennek Daas is ready to fight for his beliefs."

"That's all I need to hear, soldier. Your commander has seen to your new orders. Speak to him when you've finished that cup. I have an assignment for the Lance of Glory."

An hour passed. The horizon was glowing red, as the inky black sky began to recede for the dawn. Ariston was patrolling the southern barricade when the call came in. Elerion had spotted something. "Have you got an ID on it, Sergeant?" he spoke into his vox bead.

"Affirmative, Brother. It bears the title Lance of Glory." Elerion set down his binoculars and rested on his elbows. "It's the Baneblade that was leading today's assault. It's moving up the eastern length of the Monastery, keeping outside our gun range. My scouts count forty accompanying transports. They're encircling us."

"Damn," hissed Ariston. "Where is Captain Hethforn when he is needed? Don't answer that. I'll report this to the Captain. Keep monitoring its movements."

"Understood, Sergeant Elerion out. May the Emperor guide your footsteps, Brother Ariston."

"Aye, Sergeant." Ariston killed the vox link. "Ademus, contact Captain Deimos, perhaps he can provide fire support against their armour."

"Understood, Sergeant." Ademus jogged towards the guard tower housing the orbital vox relay. Ariston flipped to Captain Cyrus's vox channel.

"Captain, we have identified a Baneblade leading a flanking force along the eastern wall. I've ordered Sergeant Elerion to mark the target the moment it comes into range. Initiate Ademus is communicating coordinates to Captain Deimos should orbital bombardment be required."

"Good work, Sergeant," said Cyrus. "I will inform Command. This changes things. Be prepared to face heavy opposition along our flanks."

"Understood, Captain."

Inside his sniper perch, Cyrus opened the universal vox link. "All units, be advised. We have a Baneblade with armour detachment moving along our eastern flank. Recommend Predator Tank counter deployment to delay their approach."

Commander Boreale's gruff voice broke across the vox. "Belay that order, armour. Maintain your positions within the perimeter and provide cover should we need to fall back."

Typical, thought Cyrus. First, he throws caution to the wind and launches a full scale strike, and now he is too static. It was sloppy. They should be moving to face this problem now, before morning arrived and Stubbs would surely attack.

"If I may be blunt, Commander, your decisions this day have cost us," said Cyrus icily. "We cannot ignore this threat. They are trying to divide our forces, yes, but if we let them run amok, we will suffer in the long run. Right now, our only option is to hold out until a full scale evacuation can be completed."

"Captain, your counsel is noted. Armour, hold your ground and continue with your original mission parameters. There will be no retreat, no excuses." Boreale promptly ended the communication before Cyrus could summon a retort. Cyrus shook his head in disgust and settled back into his perch.

Denmor looked uncertainly from his Captain to Vaenor. Cyrus often was blunt with his brothers and his initiates, but he had never seen him talk back to a commanding officer like that. "Why does Boreale ignore you, Captain?" he asked eventually.

Cyrus looked back from the window, resting his elbows on his legs as he hunched over. There was a great sense of tiredness in his teacher. Something weighed heavily on Cyrus's mind.

"I was his teacher once, Denmor," said Cyrus. "Like I now am to you and the others. He was one of my finest students. As an initiate, he showed all the traits of being a perfect Blood Raven: patience, awareness, and the ability to coordinate like a master tactician. His plan of attack today, Steel Rain, is an effective shock weapon. However, it is meant for offensive purposes, to break up enemy formations as they struck against diversionary targets. As a defense, it has limited success. I feel that Boreale wishes to see glory before reason."

"What happened, then?" asked Vaenor. "If he was such a great student as you say, why was he chosen to lead this crusade?"

Cyrus touched his face where the shrapnel had struck him. The wound had congealed, weeping plasma. He would need augmetics after the scarring it had taken. The scouts would all need treatment before this was over. The young hopefuls had looked like a ragged band of miscreants when he had assembled them that afternoon. Some of them had barely a year of service, and already they were earning the injuries reserved for veterans. If they survive, he added, hating himself for thinking that.

"Tartarus happened," he said finally. "Fifteen years ago, Gabriel Angelos led the Blood Ravens' 3rd Company to Tartarus to secure it from the Orks and the Forces of Chaos. The campaign's success made Angelos a legend, and rightly so. He put faith above friendship, and managed to purge the planet in five days. One company did in less than a week what we have failed to do here in a month. It is a great honor to serve under Angelos. More legends have been made under his command than I can think to count. Indrick Boreale was one of them.

"Boreale was a Sergeant there, leading the Devastators. On the second day, the Orks assaulted the capital city. There, Boreale performed the impossible." Cyrus suddenly snapped his head to look at Denmor. "Initiate, what does the Codex tell you about the role of a Devastator?"

Denmor answered immediately. "The Devastator shall unleash his holy fury upon the foe from an entrenched position, supporting the Tactical Marine as he advances."

"Correct. The Devastator squad is not equipped for close combat. That day, Boreale was not given the choice of range. The Orks closed to striking distance, and Boreale was forced to meet them head on. Hundreds of xenos fell to the Sergeant, who boldly stood his ground against the Green Tide. The Devastators were defeated, but Boreale won. Badly wounded, he fought through the Orks, gaining the high ground. He raised the flag, and the signal was sent. The Orks were routed back into the jungles just as he collapsed from his wounds.

"Angelos was impressed with Boreale's bravery in the face of overwhelming odds. However, he felt that the sergeant needed more time and experience before earning a command. I shared the sentiment when they returned from the campaign. However, the Chapter Master must have seen something in Boreale. His promotion was fast tracked, and before long, he was the new Captain of the 2nd Company."

Cyrus shook his head. It was too early, too sudden. His objections had been noted, and ignored. Boreale had used his new position to enforce his ideals on others. He had faced the glory of victory, but never the crush of defeat.

"So you think he was promoted before he was ready, and the victory went to his head." said Vaenor. The scout's perceptiveness surprised Cyrus. Vaenor was a quicker learner than he let on.

"Yes. There is a reason that our Captains are veterans. You do not become a leader through luck. You earn it over a hundred campaigns, learning how to react to any situation, how to read your opponents better than they know themselves. You must know precisely when and where to strike, using necessary force to destroy all opposition. Boreale never learned that, and now we will all pay the price. I will say no more."

In the silence, Denmor pondered Cyrus's tale. It certainly explained his attitude towards their Commander, but he felt there was something else. Something was eating at Cyrus from the inside, no matter how hard he tried to conceal it. But this was no time to be questioning his Captain's reasons, ironic as it was. He simply focused on the task at hand. There was still a battle to be fought.