Sedreth walked up the open ramp with apothecary Justinian. Back on his ship. It felt good to be home. Justinian and his colleagues had done their best for him and he had to admit a certain level of surprise; he had half-expected summary execution once they realised who he was, and he had seriously doubted that the Emperor would intervene on his behalf again. Still, Phoenix looked good.
She looked equally good once he was inside, the familiar corridors gleaming. Someone had replaced the aquilas in the main processional. He smiled to himself, admitting that it looked right.
The two of them walked towards the lift and found Janey, talking with a big Blood Angels Terminator who looked vaguely familiar. They turned at the approach and Janey ran to him, smiling.
"Hi, Mr Morgan. What do you think?" She gestured the length of the processional.
"I like it. It's how she used to look."
Janey's smile got wider. She turned to the big Terminator, who Sedreth noted had an artificial arm, his left, from the elbow. "Mr Morgan, this is brother-astartes Rachiel."
The man inclined his head and offered a wrist to wrist grip. "You fight well, Morgan Sedreth."
"You were the Terminator who held our right flank from the 'stealers. You had lightning claws," he said, accepting the warriors' handshake.
Rachiel nodded. "I am obliged to re-train. Brother-captain Matthias says that I will have to settle for Thunder Hammer and Storm Shield; my new arm will not allow me to fight with lightning claws to the standard required for the First Company. Still, brother-sergeant Falco swears by the combination; he has me working out daily." He grimaced. "It was that or an assault cannon and I always preferred close combat."
"I noticed," replied Sedreth drily. "Your armour looks good though. I am surprised that even Terminator armour stood up to that number of 'stealers."
A voice came from behind him. "It nearly didn't. We had to rebuild more Terminator suits than we have in centuries. But the menace was destroyed utterly, and valuable information gained."
He turned to see Quinn and Falco with their surviving squad-mates. Falco smiled briefly. "We thought a formal introduction was a good idea. Falco, sergeant, First Company, Blood Angels. You've met brother-astartes Rachiel already. And I'm sure you recognise brother-astartes Vatiel."
The Blood Angels were all slightly shorter than he, he noticed, shaking hands with the sergeant and heavy weapons Terminator.
"We owe you our lives, Morgan Sedreth," said Quinn, after introducing his own squad survivors, Mercier and Desial.
He shook his head. "You owe me nothing. Without the Blood Angels, in fact without the personal intervention of the Blood Angel, I would have died a hundred centuries ago on Murder."
Desial looked interested; so did the others. "You actually met the Primarch?"
He nodded. "You know about Murder? I don't know how much your archives tell you, but the whole campaign was a bloody foul-up from the start. First, the intelligence was wrong – as usual." This got several cynical smiles. He went on, "Then of course, because it was supposed to be a cakewalk, neither of the Primarchs were there. So Eidolon was in charge, and he wanted a quick and glorious campaign, so he authorised a wider dispersal than normal. Stupid bastard. The atmospherics caused secondary scattering; the planet had massive electrical storms all the time. So our initial drop, ten centuries of astartes from each Legion, left us too widely scattered for mutual support. Again, the storms prevented any effective orbital support, so we were forced to fight on the ground.
"Which would have been fine, against most opponents. Against the megarachnid, it was a massacre. My own century was hit from all sides within half an hour of landing; about a thousand of the things swarmed our position in the middle of a storm. We couldn't get fire support from above, and we couldn't drop anything to pick us up, and we couldn't hold. The captain, August Martek, ordered us to fight our way out and we cut through to fall back on the nearest unit, which was your 43rd. We lost sixty-two men out of ninety-three fighting our way to the Ninth, only to find that their case wasn't much better than ours."
"They were under attack too?" asked Quinn.
"Yes. Luckily, they'd had a bit more warning than us, and they'd managed to set up their heavy weapons squads properly. So they were just about able to hold their line, and we just filled in the gaps. We held the position for several days, taking casualties, but it looked like we'd be fine, especially when reinforcements dropped, from both Legions. We thought, with more than two hundred space marines, we could hold against almost anything. We thought wrongly. Three days later the middle of the position caved in; the things had tunnelled underneath us and they just boiled out like a flood, hundreds of them. The 43rd's captain, Burrell, had no option; he called down a strike on our position. It was the only chance to seal the hole and prevent us all being wiped out. Our assault squads engaged the new force; they knew the strike was inbound, but it was the only thing they could do to stop us being overrun. Fifty men, dead in half a second. But the strike was precise; someone did a good job. I never found out which ship it was. And the hole was molten rock and we somehow managed to re-form a perimeter.
"Then they came again, and again and again, wearing us down with sheer weight of numbers. We held for three weeks, getting reinforced every so often, but it was never enough. The last day, we knew we were done; there were about two dozen of us left by then, more than half of us wounded. Ammunition was mostly gone and we'd been scavenging from the dead for a week or so. Captain Burrell was dead. Captain Martek too. Our comms were down and it was simply, take as many as you can with you."
The circle of faces were thoughtful, spellbound as they imagined the endless assault.
"I was back to back with Cadris, our flamer marine, although he was using a bolter by then 'cos he was out of promethium – had been for days. I remember Baxter was back to back with a Blood Angel sergeant named Grier about ten yards from us; they swore honour brotherhood on the way up a few weeks later. There was no sort of organisation; we were kind of grouped around the standards which captain Burrell had driven into the rock, trying to support each other as best we could. Basically we were dead; they were massed for another assault, waiting for the storm. That's when they liked to come. And the sky darkened and the rains and lightings started, and they came, hundreds of them, all chittering to each other. We opened up with targeted shots; we'd learned how best to take them down over the weeks; until they were at fifty metres or so, then just let loose with everything we had. Which wasn't enough. They hit our line and it was hand to hand, and against those things that wasn't fun. Even you might not like that, Rachiel. I thought we were all dead, and then he just dropped from the sky, like nothing I'd ever seen. His wings were glowing with static arcs of electricity; he must have dropped straight through a storm that would have destroyed a Thunderhawk. They didn't expect that. Still, it was only one more enemy, they must have thought.
"They were wrong. I fought nearly two hundred years of the Great Crusade, and I'd seen Primarchs in action before, I'd even seen Sanguinius in combat before, but not like that, nor that close to. He was like an avatar of destruction that day, just a whirlwind of power and brutality, where before he'd been clinical and detached. I think that he was genuinely furious; we'd lost hundreds of warriors after all. It was incredible. He smashed his way through their charge leaving a trail of megarachnid corpses and literally pulled marines free of the things. It didn't last long and they broke."
He smiled, remembering. "Anyway, I looked round and it appeared that I was senior – junior sergeant; everyone senior to me was dead – and I came to attention and tried to give a sitrep. He just shrugged and told me not to bother, but to form the survivors up and make sure they were alright; he had to go and help another unit in trouble. So I did that while he flew off and we all looked at each other, and Grier grabbed his company banner, and Cadris grabbed ours, and we all headed off into that jungle in the direction he'd gone. Twenty of us, running full tilt through the trees and plants and killing anything that moved on the way. Eventually, I don't know, not more than a few minutes it must have been, we came out on a clearing and there he was, engaged with something huge, bigger than a carnifex and twice as ugly. We could see banners waving up ahead and the things seemed to have not noticed us, so we formed a proper firing line, then opened up together into their flank. Grier and Baxter had heavy bolters, salvaged from our devastators, and they stood side by side and just annihilated anything within forty metres. The rest of us formed a double wedge and advanced with those two in the middle. A real, disciplined advance, no back to back desperation stuff. Between us and the Angel and the fifty or so marines still holding out, it was a bad day to be a megarachnid. They lost hundreds; the corpses were metres deep."
"When it was over he walked over and his face was like thunder. You don't want a Primarch mad at you, take it from me. But he looked at us for a long time without saying anything, and then he just nodded. And he said, "Good. You honour your brothers and your Legions."
"And he promoted Grier to acting-captain right there and told him to take charge of the Blood Angels left – it was your 60th company and they'd taken sixty-two percent dead including their commander. And he told me to take charge of the surviving Emperor's Children, which I did, about twenty of us, and we all went off, about sixty of us in total, complete with walking wounded, and followed him to the next unit, about ten klicks away, drawing the xenos to us like honey all the way. That was a strong-point, so once we were there we stayed for a few days and were brought back up strength with reinforcements from other units which had taken too many casualties to stay coherent. By that time Firebird had arrived along with Fulgrim and the Phoenix Guard – the elite Terminators of the Legion. He was almost more angry than Sanguinius had been; he tore Eidolon and Vespasian off a strip or several, then the two Primarchs got down to serious business. You can imagine what that was like. One Primarch on his own is nearly unstoppable; two is devastation incarnate, and I mean that quite seriously. The megarachnid had been winning before Sanguinius arrived; within two weeks of the Primarchs getting down and dirty alongside their Legions they were broken. We went in with the final assault; by personal order of both Primarchs the units that had been in the first drop were given the honour of leading it, with both Sanguinius and Fulgrim right there alongside us. We would have followed them anywhere after that." He grimaced. "We did."
There was a long silence, then Mercier spoke. "What happened to your friend, Baxter?"
"He transferred from my squad to one of the century's devastator squads. Dropped and died on Isstvan III. His name's on the memorial plaque in the chapel. Cadris and me were squad-mates for millennia; he died about fifteen years ago."
"And the others you mentioned?"
"Vespasian is dead, killed just before the Heresy. He was a decent commander and an honourable man. I like to think he would have refused to join it."
"And the other one, Eidolon?"
"I'm surprised you don't know the name. Eidolon was Lord Commander of the Children during the Heresy and since; he's one of the scumbags who planned the virus-bombing of Isstvan III with Horus. He's a daemon prince these days. Has a planet of his own somewhere in the Eye. He hated me for receiving this." He touched the pinion round his neck. "And the feeling is entirely mutual; I always despised the arse-licking bastard. I don't know what the Emperor has planned for me, but I'll take a great deal of satisfaction in killing him if I do get the chance."
"Do not lose yourself to hatred," came a soft voice. Chaplain Caliel had come upon them unnoticed. "Hatred without discipline leads to ruin, Sedreth, as you know all to well."
Sedreth nodded. "I know. I don't hate the chaos legions, not the rank and file anyway. They made the same mistake I did; I pity them, really. But the plotters; the ones who made it all happen, Erebus, Kor Phaeron, Eidolon, Typhon, Abaddon, Maloghurst, Khârn, the advisers who led their Primarchs to ruin and their brothers with them..."
"You don't hate the Primarchs themselves?" Desial sounded surprised.
"No, not really. They were caught in a plot of the chaos powers; the plotters I named, they embraced those same powers in secret long before the rebellion happened. They led us all to damnation. And were rewarded for it. I'd take a great deal of pleasure in ending their existences." He gave a cynical chuckle, "Which, let's be honest, is a rather more attainable concept than beating a daemon Primarch anyway."
The Blood Angels looked at each other. It was Caliel who spoke. "A man should always have an attainable dream. I rather doubt that anyone will fault yours." He winked gravely, a slow drop of his left eyelid without any other change of expression.
Janey started to giggle; even the hard-bitten Rachiel smiled.
Caliel smiled briefly. "Anyway, whatever your ambition in regard to killing traitors, Sedreth, you can't do anything about it standing in a corridor. You – and you too, brothers – should be training. Which means, astartes Sedreth, that you should be fitting yourself with a new set of armour, no? I believe the armoury you use is this way?" He turned without waiting for a reply and led them off down the corridor.
Quinn nodded. "The chaplain is correct. Come." He followed the black-armoured chaplain, the rest of them falling in beside him.
Sedreth looked down at Janey as she squeezed his hand. "I missed you, Mr Morgan."
"And I you, Janey. Didn't you manage to repair my armour, then?"
She shook her head. "No. The chest-plate was just scrap and the rest wasn't much better. Even tech-captain Vivane said it was too badly damaged. You'll have to use another suit. But the techmarines can do the proper adjustments, so I don't have to."
He nodded. It was a pity; his armour had been a familiar companion for a hundred centuries, a last connection to the world he'd lost so long ago. He wasn't sure he'd be comfortable wearing the armour of one of his old comrades, but there were some new, unworn, sets. Maybe one of those.
They all followed Caliel into the main armoury, where the unused suits had been. He stopped abruptly.
The place was full; at least two companies of Blood Angels, no, three companies, plus captains and librarians and apothecaries and chaplains. And the Lord Commander in his golden armour. Sara was standing there too, in glorious purple power armour and black cloak, armed and smiling.
A huge Blood Angels banner hung from the ceiling, beside what he recognised in astonishment as the century's battle-standard from the chapel. A tiny warm hand squeezed his, hard, and he looked down.
The small face grinned happily up at him, alight with mischief and anticipation.
There was sudden bark of command and he looked at the Blood Angels again as they slammed to attention. Dante stepped forward.
"Morgan Sedreth, by my authority and with the agreement of Lord Commander Calgar of the Ultramarines and Lord Commander Mattheus of the Black Templars, it is hereby decreed that you are reinstated to active service as an astartes of the Third Legion."
He blinked in shock, but Dante was continuing.
"In light of the fact that your armour was irreparably damaged during action against the space hulk Heresy of Corruption it is the Blood Angels' pleasure and honour to provide you with new armour. Captain Matthias, if you would?"
Matthias stepped forward and pulled aside a large cloth to reveal... he couldn't believe it. Gleaming under the powerful lights was a huge suit of Indomitus-pattern Terminator armour in Legion colours. The left shoulder-plate bore a massive winged talon, the gold and platinum alloy curving out from the armour almost as if it were about to take flight. He managed to walk forward and salute; the traditional martial salute of the astartes legions.
Dante's voice was quiet, but carried clearly. "You have been tasked by the Emperor, astartes-sergeant Sedreth. This will help make sure you survive long enough to succeed in that task." He gestured to the armour. "There is, however, something missing."
Sedreth looked at him, puzzled, for a moment then understood. He took the chain from around his neck and slipped the ruby and feather from it. The pinion attached to the front left corner of the legion shoulder-plate as if it had been there always.
A tech-marine captain stepped forward and touched the right shoulder-plate where the Crux Terminatus was inlaid in stone and jewels. "I am not sure if you know, sergeant, that all Terminator suits, since the Heresy, have contained a fragment of the Emperor's own armour. Thus, all Terminators carry the Emperor Himself into battle with them."
Sedreth nodded. "I was aware of it. I shall carry both the Emperor and the Angel into battle beside me. And the enemies of humanity shall tremble." He smiled slightly, and turned back to Dante.
"Lord Commander, if I may address the Ninth Astartes?"
Dante nodded and he stepped to face the front ranks. "A hundred centuries ago, I fought alongside your brothers on Murder. Then I betrayed all my oaths and loyalties, following my Primarch into damnation. It is an easy step to take, astartes, to follow a beloved commander rather than take the hard choice to do what is right instead of what is expedient. The Blood Angels paid a terrible price for that betrayal, above all other Legions save only the Iron Hands. To lose forever your Primarch, your genefather, is a loss you two lineages alone of the Emperor's loyal astartes know. Yet, this gives you additional protection from the powers of chaos, for they remain in your hearts, steeling you against the ruinous powers that brought about their deaths."
He paused for a moment to let his words sink in, then continued. "Brothers, I was lucky. I got a second chance, to be an astartes again. To serve my Emperor. And I pity my brethren who remain in thrall to chaos. I am the last of the Emperor's Children. For, whether they embraced their new service eagerly or reluctantly, the remaining warriors who call themselves by that name are no children of our Emperor. Those who have fallen from their true allegiance are the enemy of everything you hold dear. Pity them their folly. But do not refrain from killing them; they will show you no mercy.
"I doubt we will meet again in this life. That is not a matter of regret; to die in His service is a relief that I never expected. May the Emperor and the Angel be at your shoulders always, Blood Angels. It was an honour to fight beside you once more."
Dante stepped forward.
"What is your duty?"
The answering roar echoed along corridors until the ship itself seemed to ring as nearly four hundred voices bellowed the catechism. He saw Sara's eyes suspiciously moist as the Blood Angels praised their Emperor.
Vivane and Esceriel stood watching as the ship swung away. The Third Company captain looked at his brother.
"A Terminator suit?"
Vivane smiled slightly. "It was already there, badly damaged. Actually it was salvaged from the ruins of four Terminator armours, none of which was viable on its own. We gained several spares for our repair manufactories. Not to mention some valuable information on the design of the older armour marks."
"Oh? But we have some of those ourselves."
"Indeed we do. But over the centuries they have been repaired and adjusted many many times. Some of the original suit functions were married to more modern marks, and this was not always as successful as it might have been. We were able to use the, effectively brand-new, sets of armour in their armoury to formulate new standard pattern templates for components. That will extend the life of some hallowed suits of armour by a thousand years or more. And we were able to clear some of our archive inventory of older pattern lance crystals while gaining invaluable design information on that strike destroyer. The automation of its systems borders on genius."
Esceriel smiled at the tech-captain's enthusiasm. He knew the Adeptus Mechanicus was infamously reluctant to release information it did not absolutely have to, even if that information would be valuable to other branches of the Imperium. Vivane obviously enjoyed being able to steal a march on the tech-priests for a change. "The ship is at full ability then?"
"Yes. The first pirate to run into that ship will regret it. Very briefly. It would be a match for any STC-pattern strike cruiser; the only weakness is the shortage of personnel in the event it is successfully boarded. But Sedreth is a match for a couple of squads of space marines on his own, now. And they have the favour of the Emperor and the Angel."
"They will be safe enough until they do what they must. I wonder what it is."
"Whatever it is, I pray the Emperor's Grace is with them. They will need it."
The two marines watched the rapidly diminishing dot, then turned away from the observation port and went back to their duties.
a/n this sort of ends book one. I'll continue to post book two as part of the same story, but the next chapter will start after a gap of a couple of years as our heroes try to find out what exactly the Emperor has tasked them with. New characters will be introduced; some will live, some will die, and some familiar ones are protected by canon, to which I continue to attempt to be true. Not being experienced in such things, I admit to having skipped Janey's introduction to the realities of puberty; I really wasn't sure how to write that up from her point of view - or anyone else's.
Thankyou for all the kind comments. I'm currently writing chapter twenty-six, of I expect around thirty-five to forty. I hope you all find it worth sticking with this, in the end. (I've already written the epilogue hehe)