7
Rigel Hauser stood in the entrance way to the triage tent, the sagging tarp that served as a door laying heavy on his shoulder. His finger nails dug into the wood of the support beam and a thin trickle of blood squirmed its way out of his thumb. His eyes were narrowed, bleary and bloodshot, his teeth clenched so firm his gums turned white. The Space Marine casually turned away from the grisly death of one of the Guard and sauntered his way towards Hauser. Rigel knew this was the man, no, not a man, the demi-god that had plucked him from the field of battle. The boy side stepped to avoid being crushed under foot, the giant armour plates of the Astartes whirring and clacking. As the behemoth ducked under the frame of the entrance, the power plant upon his back gusted out a searing plume of heated gas which set the nearest men to coughing. Then the hulk was gone. Hauser released his fingers from their wooden prison and moved into the stinking dimness of the medicae facility, his nostrils crinkling at the powerful stench of dying men. He came upon the closest surgery bench and the limp corpse upon it, blood pooling at the edges of the plastic wrapping he had been laid upon. The Medicae officer was pale faced, weary and stripping elbow length gloves from his hands, the soldiery that had held their comrade down were in various stages of grief. One weeped, two stared on with grim, tight lipped faces while the fourth spat in rage.
"Kaiser verdammten Bastarde..."
Hauser flicked his gaze around to this trooper, a weasel faced scraper. The young officer stalked about the table and came to stand before the vocal Guardsman.
"Gothic or nothing, Guardsman-" his eyes flickered down to the mans stained jacket "..Hect."
"Warum verdammt noc-" his words were cut off by the harsh sound of flesh on flesh that rang out amongst the forlorn faces inhabiting the triage centre. Hausers slap snapped Hects head to the side and the officer had drawn his las-pistol before Hect could react.
"Gothic or nothing, Hect, because we are citizens of the Imperium fighting the Imperiums immortal foes. We are not gunning down the knuckle dragging barbarians of the Kerig Range, we are killing men who we once served alongside. They do not deserve to be spoken of in Kolstratish."
Hect flickered his eyes down to the pistol and back up to the boys face, judging on what he would do next. His tongue flickered against his bottom lip before he settled for rubbing his jaw and kicking the surgery table.
"I wasn't talking about the turn coats, I was talking about that bastard Space Marine."
Hauser cocked his head, his eyes spinning from face to face that presented themselves to him, men crowding in to hear the exchange. The Lieutenant lowered his pistol but kept it in his hand.
"Explain yourself, Guardsman Hect!"
The boys voice did waver and he was on the cusp of it breaking into the dull tones of manhood, but none of the soldiers laughed. They had learned very quickly in the barracks that despite Hauser's youth, he was a task master.
"We've been holding off for six months, six blood-pissing months. Killing our best friends, our family. Seeing thousands of men cut down like animals! Then the Fabricator-General seeks aid from [I]them[/I]..."
Hects face contorted in rage and he all but spasmed.
"They swoop down, as if we need saving, as if we can't fight! We are the Fighting Fifth, Emperor damn it! Then that bastard swaggers in here and all but snorts at our dead, men we've braved the terror outside for half a year! They lose one Space Marine to our countless dead and he sneers at our men and calls them cowards as though we owe them? No...they Aren't the Angels of [I]my[/I]Emperor."
The bitterness was infectious and it rallied the beaten and battered soldiers in the tent, growls of support rang around the plasteel beams of the tents roof. Hauser knew he should chew this soldier out and put paid to any further insubordination but in his heart, he felt the icy shard of resentment for their supposed saviours. He turned his eyes to look from Hects face, so full of hate and anger, to the pallid, stained flesh of the dead man on the table. He turned from Hect and leant forward, to better see what the man clutched in his death grip. Upon inspection, it was his Guardsman's primer and it caused a sharp twitch within Hausers chest. With a grimace, he reached out and snatched the dead mans ident tags from around his neck and without another word he spun on his heels and marched from the triage station, pistol still in his hand.
Remus Tyrax stepped from the ordnance lift as it ground into it's housing upon the battlement, his prestigious bulk clearing a path through the clustering Guardsmen that had assembled, eager to see if they were being relieved. They recoiled from the two Astartes that prowled forward, revulsion, curiosity and intimidation thundering inside their minds. Captain Tyrax picked out his target within seconds and altered his course along the Hive's curtain wall, Gerhet slipping like a shark in his wake. The Fabricator-General turned towards the giant parting the soldiers before him like the ice breakers in the far north and with a undetectable burst of binary relayed orders to his Skirtarii. The gene-bulked enforcers stomped forward and formed a rank before the Fabricator-General's entourage, shouldering their powerful weapons but keeping them primed. The Space Marine stopped, his armoured form stationary several paces from his body guards guns, but the mans cold grey eyes fixed his bionic ones with a stern glare.
"I welcome thee, O' protector of Mankind, to humble Kolstrom Quintus, may the Omnissiah grant you-"
The Space Marine cut his hand forward in the air, cutting off the flow of clipped High Gothic.
"Do not speak the words of Terra if you are only going to butcher them."
The second Marine came to stand beside his Captain and although the rending claws upon the giant weapon he carried were still sheathed, the Fabricator-General noted the influx of energy that suggested the weapon was still activated. This situation would need to be handled carefully.
"...I apologise my lord, I merely sought to offer thanks for your timely response to our struggle. "
Remus let the words shatter on his armour, he cast his gaze around the assembled members of Kazon Hive's esteemed upper echelon. He noted the fluted mitre of a priest and couldn't help the grunt that escaped his lips. His eyes settled upon the Skitarii blocking his path and he sized them up, he knew Gerhet was spoiling for a fight behind him. They wouldn't be able to take these Mechanicum super soldiers in a stand up fight on their own so Tyrax dismissed that idea.
"Spare your apologies. Your men are weak, their courage is lacking and you must reinstall their fighting spirit or you will all die."
Silence met the Space Marines words. Not one man on the wall top that heard could comprehend what had been said. These were supposed to the be the Holy Angels of the Emperor, the sacred protectors of mankind. There were stories told of these angelic warriors descending on flames to banish the darkness and its minions and raise up the children of the Imperium in songs of praise and love, they were legends come to life.
"I see it is not just the Soldiery that is ill prepared."
That seemed the spark some life upon the wall top and the Ministorum priest bustled his way forward through the assembled men but made sure to stand behind the armoured wall of the Skitarii bodyguard.
"O' Guardian of Man, speak not these unkind words! You were made with His love, with His will, it is your duty to give that unto us, the mortal children of Him on Holy Terra! I speak the words of Sebastian Thor-"
A cough of impatience cut caused the Priest to stutter. Tyrax raised a pointed brow at the man, his patrician features tilting slightly, his chin bared to the priest.
"Save it, [I]Priest[/I]. I care not for the scribbles of mad men. I care only for the ability of these men to fight."
Tyrax cast his eyes out of the wall with a quick turn of his cheek. He nodded, almost imperceptibly to himself and sub-vocalised the Gerhet, his voice barely even a whisper.
"Pass orders to Claudius and Saul, man the walls and prepare to repel invaders."
He heard Gerhet salute, his fist crashing into his plastron before turning to descend the wall.
The Fabricator-General made to speak once more but Tyrax raised a hand.
"I am here to see that the Emperor's investment in this planet and it's resources are well founded and not in vain. It is up to you, the men of this world, to secure that opinion for me. For now, prepare to receive the next assault."
He turned his back on the Skitarii, he knew it was a gamble but part of him just didn't care. He had more pressing concerns, like the rumbling tanks that ground over the battleground towards the walls, the hulks in red plasteel stalking behind them.
Then he was faced with a something entirely unexpected. A youth, barely the height of his utility belt stood side on, a pistol pointed at his unarmoured head. Remus noted the officers stripes and the commendation medal upon his breast and his mind flickered through its memory banks to recall the faceless officer he'd plucked from the sucking mud of the war zone. Tyrax furrowed his brow in what passed for an annoyed expression on his stretched, in human features.
"Yes?"
The response seemed to set the Lieutenant on the back foot for a moment and it was all the Malevolent Captain needed. His armoured glove darted forward, fingers encircling the boys wrist in a vice tight grip and wrenching the pistol aside. The beam that discharged from the gun seared a line of bubbling flesh from the side of Remus' scalp.
"Explain to me why I should not pull your arm from your shoulder and bludgeon you to death with it, [i]lick[/i]."
The Guard officer struggled, he fought, scratching and punching at the fist that held him fast. Remus positioned his other hand, extending his fingers so if he needed to, one simple jab to the boys exposed sternum would pulp his internal organs. Through tear stained eyes that fixed the Marines face with a sneer, the officer spoke.
"I demand you fight."
It was Remus' turn to display a fraction of shock, his brow uncrossed and he loosened his grip upon the boys wrist.
"Explain."
The officer tore his hand free and clutched it with the other, the bitterness in his voice like a hard slap to the Space Marines cheek.
"We have fought and died for every inch of our home that has been taken from us. We have paid the Emperors tithe ten fold in the last six months than ever before in our history. We, the men of Kolstrom have killed our brothers, sons and fathers. Our friends and comrades. We, the men of Kolstrom, though we have found fear in our hearts, have killed [i]Space Marines[/i]."
Tyrax straightened his back and fixed his killing gaze upon the boys face, his cheek twitching. He let the officer continue.
"We have fought and died with the Emperors name upon our lips all this time...all I have seen you...Angels of Death do is...run away."
Tyrax bared his teeth, a guttural snarl escaping his lips that caused the men around to flinch. He curled his armoured fingers into fists and it took all his resolve to swallow down the venom that filled his hearts. Instead he allowed his iron will to reinsert itself as the dominant factor of his mind and levelled his eyes upon the officer.
"Tactical retreat, Lieutenant. Now prepare your men to repel invaders. Never point a gun at me again."
Remus marched past the Guardsman, casually brushing him aside with his armoured knuckles and stepping onto the loading lift. He fixed his eyes upon the small yellow dot that was his helm, far below between the rumbling Lance of Perdition. He allowed a small smile to crest upon his lips, lips that hadn't formed such a gesture in no less than fifteen years.
It seemed that not all of the men of Kolstrom were cowards.