Chapter 26
Above the Jobani Residential District,
Terra Nova, Terra Nova System.
Apothecary Zo'stan diligently observed his battle brothers within the trembling drop pod. The relentless barrage from ground-based batteries and the force of atmospheric entry shook the pod violently. He remained ever watchful, fulfilling his duty of monitoring the health of his comrades in arms. He prepared himself for the possibility that a traitor battery round might breach the pod's armored hull, causing harm to one of his sworn charges. As he surveyed them, he noticed the absence of fear. Neither in the movements of the green, black, and gold armored sentinels, nor in the physiological data relayed by their suits to his Diagnostor helmet.
The seasoned marine shifted his focus to his Narthecium, a vital tool that held greater significance to him than a bolter did to any other brother, or a lasgun to a common Guardsman. It was through this tool that the future of their chapter, the Salamanders, and Vulkan's genetic legacy were preserved. The Narthecium had undergone numerous modifications, as was customary for equipment used by the Salamanders. Notably, it now housed additional stasis tubes, allowing for the recovery and preservation of more geneseed amidst the heat of battle. This modification served as a bitter reminder of the lessons learned during the Badab War.
It was precisely this brutal conflict that brought them to their current situation, descending into the atmosphere of a world besieged by a treacherous governor. They fought alongside other forces, including their cousin chapters, the Crimson Fists and the Black Templars.
During the Badab War, the Second Company had repeatedly proven their worth on the battlefield against the renegades. However, each victory came at a heavy cost, as only a conflict between Astartes could demand. Subsequently, they were deployed to Armageddon, further depleting their ranks. The significant losses necessitated the replenishment of the Second Company's numbers.
To ensure the Company remained combat effective and worthy of the Chapter, Captain Ka 'las Agen decided to request replacement troops from the reserve companies. The Chapter Master granted his request on the condition that a "training campaign" would be carried out. This would allow the new initiates to be properly integrated into the company's structure by fighting alongside experienced veterans from the Badab War and other battlefields. The fires of war would forge them together, just like a forge mends broken steel.
In order to prevent the inexperienced recruits from risking their lives due to inexperience and eagerness, many officers and specialists from the Second Company were assigned to watch over them. The Apothecary was no exception, surrounded by brothers from both the reserve chapters and a true veteran who had fought alongside him on Sharprais. The reserve squads provided several individuals such as Gel'av, Wo'han, Xav'iaer, Fwe'go, I'del, Ke'jav, O'caz, Ka'nec, and Keo'mal. The only one with true battle experience was Ko'van, the sergeant of the tactical squad accompanying the Apothecary. He had been in service for nearly one hundred and fifty years, while Zo'stan had almost twice that experience.
Suddenly, a powerful tremor shook the surroundings, accompanied by a terrifying rumble that resembled the imminent eruption of one of Nocturne's numerous volcanoes. This tremor was so intense that even the mighty Space Marines, clad in their formidable ceramite armor, couldn't help but tremble. As the drop pod's outer plating echoed with a rushing scream, a deafening silence followed, broken only by the pod's descent through the dense atmosphere and the panting sounds of maneuvering thrusters adjusting its trajectory.
"Brother Apothecary," Brother Gel'av's voice broke the silence, the Tactical Marine having recently joined from the Fifth Company. A chain of salamander teeth adorned his right pauldron, untouched by any signs of battle. "The Planetary Defense Forces have ceased their fire."
"I am aware of that, battle brother, and you are correct," the Apothecary responded calmly, while his sergeant shot a disapproving glare at the new marine for stating the obvious. However, the Apothecary was more understanding, having witnessed countless initiates making similar mistakes during his time in the Apothecarion, shouldering the non-combat duties of his brethren during their absence for field research. "Our brothers must have already arrived and secured the stronghold."
"Indeed, there are few planetary defense forces that can withstand the might of a third of a Chapter's battle company," Ko'van chimed in, his combi-flamer, a hybrid weapon combining a bolter and a flamer, resting at his side. His left kneepad bore the mark of his rank, painted black, while a small amulet depicting the hammer and anvil of the Promethean Cult hung from his armored waist. "The Captain led the charge with a Land Raider Redeemer in the vanguard. No doubt he purged the traitors from their bunkers with righteous fire."
"Excellent," the Apothecary nodded approvingly. "By eliminating these defenses, we ensure that Terra Nova will be fully secured upon its return to the Imperium, without any compromises to its defense."
In any event, it was intended to function as a rendezvous point for their forces, the Adepta Sororitas, and their Inquisitorial support. It would also serve as a rallying point for the Salamanders in case they were scattered by Warp sorcery or other dark magic. Prior to boarding the drop pod, all members of his squad had been required to memorize the street map of the local area, ensuring that they could find their way there regardless of the distance.
With determination, he released his restraints and prepared his bolt pistol and chainsword. He turned towards the imposing armored door ramp, accompanied by Battle Brother Wo'han and his flamer, as well as two other marines stationed at each of the six doors. The sergeant stood opposite him.
"Prepare yourselves," the Apothecary said solemnly as the door hissed open. He shouted the first words of the Salamander's battle chant as loudly as he could. "Into the fires of battle..."
"...UNTO THE ANVIL OF WAR!" the squad responded with a thunderous roar. As the ramps descended, the squad leapt forward, with Mac'am leading the charge, his chainsword roaring...
...only to find themselves on a vast expanse of green grass. It was nighttime, yet his eyes could see with perfect clarity that the land stretched flat until the horizon, devoid of any signs of civilization. It was a pristine and untouched landscape, untouched by the hand of Man, without even a single dwelling on its immaculate surface. Mac'am observed unfamiliar animals going about their natural routines, grazing and walking amidst the tall grasses, drinking from rainwater ponds and a small river to the north. With the aid of Lyman's Ear, he blocked out the sound of the gentle breeze rustling through the meadow and instead heard the melodic chirping of birds, without the distant hum of engines for miles... For the first time in his centuries-long battle experience, Mac'am felt genuine surprise and disorientation. The heart rate readings of his fellow Astartes spiked momentarily before returning to their normal resting pace, indicating that they too were taken aback, though their silence spoke volumes.
"It seems that something went awry during our descent," Battle Brother Wo'han remarked, his voice betraying a hint of astonishment beneath his helm adorned with symbols of the forge. "We must be at least a hundred miles off course from the designated landing zone."
"In all my years of warfare, I have never witnessed a drop pod veer so far from its intended path," the Tactical Sergeant began, his tone filled with disbelief. "It defies all logic. The Pyre Of Glory should have adjusted our trajectory during orbital descent."
"And therein lies the problem, sergeant," the Apothecary interjected, his gaze fixed upon the sky as he searched for the familiar silhouette of the Salamander's battle barge and the radiant glow of its colossal plasma engines. Yet, no matter how hard he strained his eyes, he could not locate the point of origin for their drop pod's descent. "The Pyre Of Glory is no longer present, but... by the Emperor's throne, that's Battlefleet Scolaris! They are meant to be in Segmentum Pacificus!"
"Then we must contact the Lord Admiral and explain the Situation" Wo'han said
The Salamanders stared in mounting disbelief as the mighty fleet of Battlefleet Scolaris drifted overhead, its guns and lances glowing with stored energy yet conspicuously inactive.
"This sorcery defies reason," growled Ko'van. "How can we have been transported so far from Nocturne, yet those ships remain unchanged?"
"Brother Apothecary, your wisdom in matters mystical..." Wo'han prompted.
Zo'stan took a breath, mentally sifting through volumes of lore. "Some warp phenomenon has cleaved us from our travels. But this realm feels...stable, untainted. I sense no predations of the Immaterium."
He activated his Auspex, scanning for warp signatures or anomalies, but found nothing amiss. "We must establish contact with Battlefleet Scolaris. Their Lord Admiral doubtless faces the same dilemma - stranded and cut off from the Imperium."
Ko'van nodded. "Signal flares it is then. Once we have their attention, we can rendezvous and compare notes. Together perhaps our Tech-priests can devise a means to return us home."
"Then let us begin," Zo'stan said. "Brother Wo'han, prepare illuminates to gain their notice. We must move with urgency if we are to solve this warp-riddle and complete our mission to Armageddon."
As Wo'han unpacked flares from the lander, Zo' stan murmured a private prayer. The Salamanders were well-versed in navigating adversity, but stranded beyond the light of the Astronomican boded ill.
Still, where there was duty, there was purpose. And where there were Astartes, there was always hope.
"Brother-Sergeant, Brother-Apothecary," Brother Gel'av spoke once again. "The composition of the atmosphere here is different from what we expected. There is less carbon dioxide and more nitrogen than there should be. We must be far away from any major settlement."
"Could it be that the ground fire caused the machine spirit to deviate from its anticipated course?" Brother I'del pondered. Even among the Salamanders, I'del possessed exceptional knowledge of the forge and technical matters. There had been discussions about sending him to Mars for training as a Techmarine. "The defenders' fire was intense. If that's the case, then..."
"Forgive me for interrupting, brother, but look," O'caz interjected, extending his arm and pointing towards the skies near the horizon.
In the distant northwest skies, a shooting star could be seen - another drop pod descending through the atmosphere. At such a great distance, their vox would have little chance of contacting whoever it was or determining their chapter. However, the fact that all forces being deployed to the planet's surface were loyalists meant that whoever it was, they were likely in the same situation as the Salamander squad. Together, they would have a better chance of being discovered by their allies or finding a means of transportation to return to the battlefield with minimal delay.
"Excellent observation, brother," the Apothecary responded, a slight smile visible behind his helm. "It appears that we are not alone here, wherever we may be."
He then turned his attention back to the drop pod, the tallest structure for miles around, and noticed that its green paint blended in with the surrounding long grasses. It reminded him of the lessons learned from the Badab War, where even Space Marines had to utilize camouflage to survive the deadly conflicts that arose when two chapters clashed. They were compelled to employ the rarely used section of the Codex Astartes that allowed for such tactics.
Ko'van nodded thoughtfully. "You make a wise observation, Brother Gel'av. Judging from the atmospheric composition, we must be far indeed from any Imperial worlds."
"And yet not so far as to escape the attentions of fate," rumbled Zo'stan "Fate has seen fit to place us here, and fate has guided that distant pod to this place as well. Who knows what purpose we might serve, or what knowledge we might gain, by meeting our unknown brothers."
He turned back to the descending flare of light. "The pod moves fast – they shall land within the hour. Brothers, let us make ready to greet them, and share what knowledge we have gleaned thus far. Perhaps together our tech-priests can devise some solution, or uncover clues we missed alone."
Ko'van nodded. "Brother O'caz, Gel'av – scout ahead and ensure the landing site is secure. The rest of you, assist me in concealing our craft amidst the tall grasses. Haste and stealth shall serve us well today."
As the squad set to work masking their craft, Mac'am folded his arms in thought. The Apothecarion taught that in times of crisis, insight could come from unexpected sources. And in this strange land, allies were worth their weight in promethium.
The questioning, the learning – it had only just begun. But wherever the road led, duty called the Salamanders to walk it together.
And it was indeed a march, long and uneventful, yet along his journey, he encountered creatures unlike any he had ever witnessed in his many years of loyal service. In the distance, his eyes beheld a herd of colossal grey titans, surpassing even the size of a warrior donned in Terminator armor. These magnificent beings possessed robust muscular legs, wide ears, and a single elongated prehensile nose, several feet in length, which they utilized to snort water and tear apart grass for sustenance. Their trumpeting calls echoed through the air as they communicated with one another, and their immense tusks rivaled the length of his own arm. They presented themselves as formidable adversaries, a true test of strength for any initiate, although not quite comparable to the mighty salamanders of Nocturne, from whom his chapter and the preceding legion derived their name.
Furthermore, there existed another variant of grey creature, concealed beneath the waters of a flooded river that they traversed with ease. This particular creature resembled a bovine, possessing a pair of colossal fangs on its lower jaw, a plump fatty body, and small beady eyes. It could be considered a relative of the long-nosed creatures that preferred the drier land and had the ability to reach the tops of trees. However, regardless of their relation, both species seemed to maintain a safe distance or pay little heed as they passed by. These creatures exhibited remarkable musculature and lacked the distinctive colors commonly associated with poisonous creatures throughout the galaxy. This prompted him to make a mental note, intending to further investigate their potential utility for the Imperium once the compliance of Terra Nova was achieved. If they could thrive in an almost aquatic environment effortlessly and subsist on flowers, they could serve as a valuable food source for countless worlds, supplementing the ever-adaptable grox. There was no shame in an Apothecary discovering such a seemingly simple revelation, for their Primarch had emerged from the humblest of villages and origins, yet accomplished extraordinary feats in service to the God Emperor's vision of the Imperium.
The Salamanders marched on in silence, observing their strange new surroundings with cautious wonder.
Ahead, a massive herd of the towering grey beasts wandered the long grass. Their muscular legs easily shouldered titanic bulk, while trunk-like snouts snatched up foliage. Curious, the beasts approached - but sensing the Marines' martial aura, kept a respectful distance.
"Fascinating," rumbled Zo'stan "I've witnessed no creature of such colossal size, save certain xenos monstrosities. And what grace of movement! To think such heavy masses can drift so effortlessly."
His battle-brothers nodded solemn agreement. On Nocturne, the greatest beasts were vulcanic drakes no larger than a Land Raider. These gentle giants dwarfed even a Dreadnought.
A flash of colour caught Ko'van's eye - stark black and white striped hindquarters vanishing into tall grass. "There - what manner of creature shows such obvious pigment?"
The Apothecary's sight followed, picking out clusters of similar beasts mingling with the greys. Some sported jet manes, others patterns of camouflaging dots. All moved as one vast mobile herd.
"These are prey species, I suspect," ventured Zo'stan. "Their warning colours advertise speed over size. Truly a testament to the adaptability of life."
A thunderous bellow turned their gazes north. On the river's edge a colossal black bull challenged silvery companions, tossing its crowned head. In the shallows something far stranger splashed - armoured flanks and bovine features, but with tusks like pale daggers.
"Behold, an aquatic variant!" the Apothecary gestured keenly. "Its form suggests close relation to the land species, yet evolution has equipped it for an amphibious lifestyle. Remarkable."
Ko'van gazed out over theSea of grass and wondering beasts. "This place is a world unto itself, in biodiversity if not size. A strange contrast to the ashy deserts we know."
Zo'stan nodded solemn agreement. Truly, in this strange land were wonders to ignite even an Astartes' sense of curiosity and awe. Xav'iaer informed the group, standing tall in front of a towering hill, his gaze shifting from the handheld scanner to his belt where he secured it, and then raising his bolter to a resting position. "According to my auspex, the drop pod's transponder signal is detected over this ridge. They seem to belong to the Crimson Fists."
"Then let us extend our greetings to our brethren and hope that they have had better luck in finding their way to the battlefield," responded the Apothecary, with a nod of agreement from the Tactical Sergeant.
With Zo'stan leading the way once again, his bolter lowered...
...instead of encountering the red-handed marines from their allied chapter, they were met with a fully deployed drop pod armed with assault cannons in place of passenger harnesses. It was an automated platform designed to provide heavy weapons support to marines deploying into heavily fortified areas. The pod continuously scanned the surroundings for potential threats, oblivious to the presence of the Salamander squad.
The Apothecary's voice amplifier in his helmet conveyed his sigh, tinged with a hint of anger. His brothers were engaged in battle against the traitors, possibly miles away, suffering wounds and even death due to his absence. He could have easily treated their injuries and extracted their progenoid glands, but now they were at risk of being lost.
" the Deathstorm pod is fully stocked with ammunition," reported Sergeant Ko'van, returning to the white-armored physician. He surveyed the area, searching for familiar landmarks on the maps that could guide them towards the battlefield. The rest of the squad entered the access codes provided by the Company Captain before the drop, allowing them to withdraw only ten percent of the pod's ammunition, just as their chapter's agreement with their allies dictated. These codes were meant to facilitate mutual resupply in case of isolation from their own forces. Ko'van nodded slowly. "This land plays strange tricks on warp-torn senses. But where duty calls us, there the Emperor guides."
He turned to Zo'stan. "Apothecary - what wisdom do your instincts offer? Our brothers doubtless face trials in our absence. How might we rejoin them with expedition?"
Zo'stan knelt, pressing gauntleted fingers deep into the loamy soil. His enhanced senses drank in its subtle scents and mineral traces. After a moment, he rose.
"The aetheric tides flow northwards. With discipline and endurance, a Astartes' feet can read such subtle signs. If we push our endurance to its utmost, by my reckoning three days' march shall bring us to the battle's backwinds, where wounded may yet be retrieved."
Ko'van nodded crisply. "Then let supplies be taken and the march commence with all haste. Our brothers have battled long without our blades - we must make up for lost time."
The squad loaded heavy packs with ammunition and purified water from the Deathstorm's stores. Then with purposeful strides they set off into the long grass, placing each footfall with care to avoid disturbing the peaceful herds.
Zo'stan broke into a loping run, long-legged stride eating the miles. His brothers paced him easily, grim purpose in every motion. The trail north lay long, but where duty called the Salamanders would answer.
At such velocities, it didn't take them long to cover the distance towards their destination, even as the terrain became rougher and the hills steeper, and the soil drier, darker, and harder. The sound of their swift and heavy footsteps reverberated through the hills like a stampede. After a mere few minutes, the advanced sensory systems integrated into his helmet detected the unmistakable sound of gunfire - sporadic bursts mixed with the distinct noise of a heavy stubber and the thunderous roar of a heavy cannon. Despite the chaos, he couldn't help but smile, for he knew that it meant he was finally on the right path, drawing closer to the brothers he had vowed to heal and protect, nearing the place where he may have to fulfill his solemn duty of delivering the Emperor's Mercy to an injured comrade.
With each step and passing second, he inched closer, and as they ascended and descended another hill, he caught his first glimpse of the village... and it became immediately apparent that it hardly deserved the title. This settlement couldn't have existed for more than a few years, likely a result of the traitorous governor's purges against loyalists, aiming to solidify his own rule. Even the smallest and poorest villages on Terra Nova were a bit less developed than this one. Many of the structures were dilapidated wooden or concrete buildings, surrounded by meager crop fields and partially functioning irrigation channels and makeshift shelters, all lacking basic engineering principles and the amenities found in Imperial settlements, except for the most underdeveloped worlds - clean water, electricity, waste management, all seemingly absent.
However, amidst the desolation, there was a nucleus of a small settlement within what appeared to be a refugee camp. Amongst the brick and plaster buildings, he spotted familiar sights. The scene was not entirely bleak. Amidst the refugee camp, there existed a small settlement with brick and plaster buildings, resembling a true village. The houses were small and squat, with two stories and balconies adorned with tables, chairs, and potted ferns. They were a thousand times superior to the shacks nearby. In the center of the settlement stood a large, stout building that appeared to be a food distribution center or store, connecting the rural settlements to the primary cities' food processing facilities. Nearby, there was a well-built small chapel, similar to the ones deployed by missionaries from the Ecclesiarchy when introducing the Imperial Creed to a new world.
However, instead of the Aquila, a small cross adorned its bell tower. The settlement's last and largest structure was a simple wooden building with two floors, serving as a communal meeting area or Administratum office. It was the place where the settlement could be properly governed, their records tracked, and their criminals and malcontents stored safely away from the masses until the arrival of the Emperor's justice and their transfer to a more permanent holding facility. Unfortunately, the streets were stained with blood and littered with bodies.
And in the streets, there was bloodshed and lifeless bodies scattered. Despite the obstructed view caused by the crops in the irrigation ditches, it was impossible to conceal the sights and sounds of the ongoing battle. The infrared light pierced through the air, reaching the photolenses of his helmet, and transformed into a clear thermal image of the battlefield, instantly accessible with a mere thought.
The two opposing sides seemed oblivious to their presence, completely engrossed in their fight for survival. Zo'stan slowed his pace from a sprint to a walk, ensuring that the sound of their approach wouldn't prematurely reveal their presence. Peering through the dense vegetation, he attempted to discern the identities of the warring factions. It was not uncommon for treacherous units to turn against each other, forsaking their allegiance to the Master of Mankind, in a desperate bid to gain favor from their new leader amidst the chaos of rebellion. They hoped to secure the best equipment and rewards for their betrayal. However, it was equally possible that these combatants were loyalists, valiantly defending their homes from the forces of the usurper, praying for salvation in their darkest hour. Unspoken but understood, Zo'stan and his fellow battle-brothers knew the grave consequences of engaging in battle without first identifying friend from foe. To harm those who should be allies and aid those who should be enemies would lead to damnation, tarnishing the honor of a loyal and courageous Guardsman dedicated to his duty.
"Brother-Sergeant," the Apothecary's voice resonated, its volume matching the immense stature of an Astartes and the capabilities of his vox grill. He scanned the surroundings, searching for any indication of a regimental standard or the familiar wings of the Imperial Aquila, the everlasting symbol of the Emperor's dominion. "Can you determine the allegiance of these forces? Are they friend or foe?"
"I am unable to recognize them or their equipment," responded the Tactical Sergeant. "They carry no banners with them and have little identifying imagery upon their uniforms. Their weapons are of an unfamiliar manufacture as well, and not a standard that I have ever seen before. Too primitive to be Xeno work, but too well manufactured to have been hastily assembled by militiamen."
Brother Gel'av nodded in agreement, "It's clear that the Traitor Governor has been planning his rebellion for some time. He must have amassed a significant amount of weaponry to fuel his revolt."
Ko'van interjected, "But why didn't he have any orbital craft? That would have been his best chance to stop our invasion. Even the Orks could have secured orbital control with so few monitors to protect the world."
Mac'am analyzed the situation, zooming in on the vision feed to get a closer look at the firefight. He raised his bolter and chainsword to readiness once more, "The Governor's hand must have been forced before he was fully prepared."
As he observed the battle, it was evident that the two factions were vastly different from each other. The attackers were well-equipped with proper uniforms and camouflage patterns, carrying rapidly firing autoguns and driving a tank of an unfamiliar design. They were supported by hastily armed civilian vehicles carrying heavy stubbers. On the other hand, the defenders were poorly equipped, with only half of them wearing proper uniforms and the rest being a militia comprised of the local settlement's populace. Despite their lack of discipline but having the immense fury and determination that only a man in defense of clan and home could. But despite this great determination, they were being systematically overwhelmed, their opponent's armor blowing them out of cover with every blast of its high explosive ammunition.
As he observed, the turret of the machine turned towards a nearby building, its barrel aimed at a floor occupied by militiamen. A loud explosion followed, accompanied by smoke and debris as the balcony collapsed, and the men were thrown into disarray. The emblem on the uniform of one of the militiamen caught his attention, depicting an eagle with white wings, holding a spear and shield, surrounded by rings of black, red, and green. This was enough for him to take action.
"Brothers!" exclaimed Zo'stan, standing tall and activating his chainsword with a single armored finger. "The defenders bear the Aquila on their shoulders and remain loyal to Holy Terra! We shall assist them in the name of the Emperor! Brother-Sergeant, disable their armor! Everyone else, follow me! For the Chapter!"
"FOR THE CHAPTER!" his fellow Salamanders shouted as they charged through the muddy irrigation ditches. The white Aquilas appeared on his helmet's display, indicating the friendly militiamen, while green diamonds, representing the traitors, appeared with targeting reticules. The glyph for armored vehicles also appeared, along with a number indicating 35 in total. a square box and a rounded rectangle inside, the ancient rune for armored vehicles, appeared alongside and over the vehicle.
All attention was immediately drawn to the Astartes as their thunderous battle cry echoed through the air and the ground shook beneath the stomping of their boots. The Apothecary observed as both traitors and loyalists alike were taken aback by their sudden appearance, succumbing to the overwhelming terror that transhuman beings instilled. However, this did not deter the Apothecary and his fellow warriors.
As the first round of bolter fire erupted, the number 35 swiftly diminished to 33. The bolt tore through a traitor's body, exiting through his back and piercing the man behind him, resulting in a gruesome explosion of gore and shrapnel against the nearby wall. The instinctual drive to survive and a surge of adrenaline propelled their enemies into action, but even their efforts were in vain.
Within a matter of seconds, a dozen more foes fell before they could even react. The Salamanders' gunfire remained deadly accurate, whether they were on the move or charging forward. With each step, they closed in on their targets, making them easier to hit. Meanwhile, the primitive weapons of their adversaries merely sparked and shattered upon impact with the Astartes' ceramite armor, failing to even chip the deep green paint of their heraldic colors. Witnessing the futility of their attacks, men fled in fear.
With a powerful leap and a fierce cry, the Apothecary launched himself from the muddy ridge that served as the streetside of the irrigation field. His chainsword swung overhead, cleaving a traitor in half from head to hip with a single stroke. The freshly spilled blood sprayed over his half-white armor, forming a pool at his feet. Raising his bolter, he unleashed rapid shots that brought death to every turncloak he laid eyes upon. His gaze then shifted towards Battle Brother Wo'han, perched atop the earthwork with his flamer smoldering softly.
"By FIRE be PURGED, traitor filth!"
And as the mighty flamer unleashed its scorching wrath, it seemed as though a mythical dragon had descended upon the battlefield, spewing forth a torrent of liquid fire that devoured men whole. Their agonizing screams filled the air as their flesh melted away from their charred bones, desperately seeking relief from the unquenchable blaze. Even the steel of their weapons succumbed to the overwhelming heat of the burning promethium, transforming into glowing embers that occasionally erupted with explosive bullets.
Amidst the chaos of smoke and flames, Brother-Sergeant Ko'van emerged, climbing onto the tank's rear and effortlessly tearing off the gunner's hatch. With a swift motion, he extracted the traitorous gunner and hurled him to the ground below, the sickening sound of his back breaking echoing through the air. Ignoring the gunner's writhing pain, the Sergeant turned his combi-flamer towards the vehicle's fighting compartment, unleashing a torrent of fire that engulfed the crew within. Smoke billowed from the barrel bore, transforming into a raging inferno as the ammunition ignited.
And with that, the target counter reached zero.
Zo'stan then turned towards the astonished loyalists, approaching them with his weapon lowered. One of them, who appeared to be an officer of the local Planetary Defense Force based on the distinctive shape and color of his red beret, stepped forward. He found his voice in a language that the Apothecary could not identify, issuing orders that caused his men to finally lower their weapons and gaze in awe at the advancing Space Marines. The Apothecary halted before the officer, who looked up at the towering figure with a mixture of surprise and fear. For a brief moment, silence enveloped them as the Apothecary's imposing shadow loomed over the officer.
Then, laughter erupted, but it was not the Apothecary's. It grew louder with each passing moment, spreading from one man to another, transforming into a joyous cheer. Mac'am smiled as he extended an open hand, which the officer took. The Space Marine shook it gently, mindful of avoiding any accidental harm, before releasing his grip.
"I am Apothecary Zo'stan, representing the Salamander's Second Company," the Apothecary spoke in Low Gothic, his voice hushed to prevent discomfort to the mortal man's sensitive ears. "We have come to assist you in restoring this world to the Emperor's favor."
The officer responded with a flurry of words, none of which the Apothecary understood.
"Do you not comprehend the Gothic language?" he inquired.
Once again, a torrent of words poured forth, even more astonished than before. It was evident that it was meant to be a complete sentence, as indicated by the intonation and rising pitch, but the Apothecary remained oblivious to its meaning. He reached for his helmet's earpiece, using his armored finger to check if any damage had been inflicted on the sensors. However, both his armor and his hand confirmed that no harm had befallen them during the attack.
"Brothers," the Apothecary transmitted over the vox, "can any of you decipher the words they speak? I suspect my helmet may have sustained damage."
"I have no doubt that your armor is undamaged, Brother-Apothecary," Battle Brother Keo'mal assured as he approached him. "I, too, could not comprehend their words."
"Neither could I, brothers," I'del expressed his confusion, gripping his bolter tightly. "Their language does not resemble any known tongue, and the symbols on their signs hold no meaning to me."
"That is highly unusual, brother," Sergeant Ko'van remarked, his surprise evident. "Low Gothic or its variations are spoken across every world in the Imperium. It supersedes local languages."
"Yet it appears that either this part of Terra Nova has not yet adopted it or it has been lost," Brother Fwe'go spoke up, breaking his silence for the first time during the mission. "Regardless of the cause, it seems they cannot comprehend our speech."
"This is concerning," Brother-Sergeant Kovan muttered gravely. "For them to be unfamiliar with the local language suggests that we are far from the central developments on this planet."
The Apothecary let out a sigh. If the Gothic languages and alphabet were absent in this region of Terra Nova, then Sergeant Kovan's observation held true. It didn't matter how it had come to be, but they were undoubtedly on the opposite side of the planet from their intended destination. He had no choice but to resort to the last means of communication available to them, the oldest language of mankind, one that originated over ten thousand years before the Imperium or even the Age of Strife, a language both primitive and effective.
Hand Gestures.
He formed his right hand as if holding a quill and moved it through the air, mimicking the act of writing on an imaginary parchment.
Intrigued and surprised, I'del asked, "Brother, are you certain that this will work? Breaking the language barrier would require hours of effort..."
Without hesitation, the officer reached into his breast pocket and retrieved a small notepad made of bleached white paper and a featherless quill, a plastic tool that used a ball instead of a point.
"It appears that the language barrier is not insurmountable, brother," Battle-Brother Keo'mal responded with a hint of amusement. The Apothecary carefully took the writing instrument and paper, ensuring not to crush either in his grip. He drew the shape of a vox tower and its antenna on the surface, depicting the waves emanating from the tower's peak, before showing the page to the officer.
Then, he tapped a finger against his helmet's cheek, pointing to his eye, and directed the officer's attention to the image on the paper. Instantly, the officer gasped, laughed, and uttered a word that sounded like "ray-dee-oh," pointing towards the central building of the settlement where a small antenna rose from its rear side.
The Apothecary nodded gratefully.
"Brother I'del, I may require your assistance in configuring their transmitter for our purposes." he stated, redirecting his attention towards the central structure of the village. He entrusted the command of the squad to Sergeant Ko'van, who promptly instructed the others to safeguard the village against any potential reinforcements from traitors. "If the device can establish contact with the Captain, we will be able to arrange transportation to the battlefield via Thunderhawk."
"As you wish, Brother-Apothecary," I'del replied, obediently acknowledging the request with a nod. He followed the experienced warrior into the building.
The interior of the building was peculiar indeed. Despite Zo'stan's assumption that it was an office of the Administratum, it was evidently a meeting hall instead. The space was filled with chairs, and a stage with a podium stood against the far wall, illuminated by the lights above. On the left wall, there were several tables and a wooden board adorned with various sheets of paper, images, and other items—a message board of sorts. Adjacent to the stage, three doors were situated. Two of them bore wooden signs with unfamiliar symbols. One depicted a man with a peculiar tentacle extending from his back, curving around to his knee—a room, perhaps, designated for inspecting and reporting mutations. The other door displayed a peculiar image of a man and a woman, their heads detached from their bodies and transformed into circular shapes, standing side by side with a dividing line between them—possibly indicating gender segregation for some unknown purpose.
The third door, however, had no markings or indications on its surface or above it. Undeterred, the Apothecary proceeded through the hall, his footsteps resonating loudly against the ceiling and walls. Opening the flimsy door required caution, as he maneuvered his substantial frame through the narrow frame without causing any damage. He had to hunch down and turn sideways to accomplish this.
Upon entering the room, he surveyed his surroundings and discovered a space that was even more peculiar than the meeting hall. The room was sparsely decorated, with cracked plaster adorning the walls, and a dim electro-candle hanging above. It lacked the intricate runes and decorations dedicated to the Omnissiah that would typically fill a proper voxmat. In one corner of the room stood the device itself, a large vox caster, but its appearance was familiar yet different. The displays, dials, and buttons on the front were unlike anything he had ever seen before. Instantly, he realized that even I'del, with his affinity for technology and cogitators, was taken aback by this unexpected sight.
"The device is not what I had anticipated," the Apothecary remarked. "Will you be able to modify it?"
"Perhaps, Brother-Apothecary. It appears to be more... advanced and simple at the same time compared to any vox caster I have encountered," I'del responded as he carefully picked up the main unit, examining it closely. "However, I believe the principle of its operation remains the same. Receiving a vox signal should not pose a challenge. Transmitting beyond a few hundred miles, however, may be impossible without a true techpriest."
"You have my permission to proceed with the modifications, brother. If you succeed, I will personally recommend you to the Master of the Forge."
"Thank you, Brother-Apothecary," I'del replied warmly. He began his work, reciting the High Gothic prayers of the Omnissiah in a hushed tone. With gentle hands, he removed the combat knife from the sheath around his left leg. The blade, nearly as long as an Aspirant's forearm, was inserted into a small opening on the face of the machine. Carefully, he pried it out, followed by delicately sliding the components out of the casing.
And so, he commenced his task with the precision that only a son of Vulkan could possess. All Salamanders, regardless of their future greatness, began their service to the chapter in the grand forges of Nocturne at the tender age of seven. They worked under the watchful eyes of those who would one day become full Space Marines, who served as their mentors. This ensured that every Salamander was well-versed in the art of forging and could maintain their own equipment in the field. It also meant that they possessed technical aptitude and an understanding of such things that could be utilized as needed, as was the case with the Chapter's Techmarines on Armageddon. These skilled craftsmen repaired the planet's most vital infrastructure and restored power to billions of people. The Salamanders' gene-father, Vulkan, was a legendary smith and warrior who created an enormous quantity of mastercrafted weapons, armor, and other equipment. Although his brother Rogal Dorn had superior skill in large-scale construction projects, craftsmanship and engineering were in the Salamanders' blood.
Their gene-father's legacy of fine, precise work still burned strong, giving them a talent for handicrafts, even those that might normally be out of a smith's purview. For instance, I'del's work on the "ray-dee-oh" device that the militiaman had referred to was impressive. Although the internals were familiar to him, in the same way that the internals of a Guardsman and a Space Marine were similar, there were obvious differences. A voxcaster seemed to have a dozen more organs than any Guardsman, just as even the lowliest of Astartes might have a dozen more organs than any Guardsman. here was a discernible power supply, speaker, and a network of wires leading to the front panel instrumentation and antenna array. However, the similarities ended there, as a voxcaster possessed numerous additional components compared to the device before him. It boasted extra amplifiers, backups, auxiliary backups, and various other features that allowed it to function in any environment, be it a dense jungle, scorching desert, or the vacuum of space. Moreover, the device appeared to be only a fraction of the size it should have been, leading the Salamander Apothecary to ponder whether it was a relic from a bygone era on Terra Nova, a device predating the world's assimilation into the Imperium during the Great Crusade. He recalled from historical texts that Terra Nova had a population of two billion and was on the verge of rediscovering atomic technology before Sanguinius arrived, swiftly bringing the world under compliance without any resistance. It had since flourished as a prosperous colony, ideal for establishing new settlements, with its inhabitants being fiercely loyal, hardworking, and devoted to the Imperium and its Emperor.
This was precisely why a significant number of troops had been deployed to reclaim the world and ensure its continued compliance. It posed a question to the descendants of a colony that originated from Terra itself: what did it signify if their ancestral world had been reclaimed?
As the Apothecary pondered the mission's nature in somber silence, I'del meticulously reassembled the components, fitting them snugly into their housing. With a gentle click, the faceplate was returned to its original position, and I'del tested the dials on its front. Suddenly, the machine spirit within roared back to life, emitting a harsh hiss and filling the air with the pulsating sound of a Locator Beacon. This signal would be broadcasted to orbit every thirty seconds, ensuring that the Pyre Of Glory, the Battle Barge of the Salamander's Second Company, could provide additional supplies when needed. With a careful twist, I'del adjusted the dial to the left, nearing its maximum...
...and then he handed the Apothecary a small, box-shaped device, undoubtedly the microphone of a primitive voxcaster.
"We cannot transmit directly on company frequencies without a cryptographic cipher," I'del explained as the Apothecary accepted the device, handling it with utmost care. "However, they will be able to receive our transmission and respond accordingly."
"You have done commendable work, brother," the Apothecary smiled beneath his helm, briefly removing it and tucking it under his arm. The hiss of his battle armor filled the air for a moment as the atmospheric seal was broken and then resealed.
In the reflection on the pale white metal of his helm, the Apothecary caught a glimpse of his own visage. His dark skin and crimson eyes stared back at him, a reminder of the passage of time. Once scarlet, his eyes had gradually darkened over the centuries, much like his skin had lightened. They now resembled smoldering embers, while his skin had taken on the hue of aged parchment. Above his left brow, two service studs proudly displayed his two centuries of dedicated service to the chapter, meticulously crafted from Nocturnean iron. In just two short years, he would earn his third stud, if he managed to survive.
"This is Brother-Apothecary Mac'am, representing the Salamanders' Second Company," he began, pausing briefly to await a response before continuing, .
Careful consideration was given to the choice of words in order to prevent the turncloaks from gaining any valuable information. "We kindly request assistance in the form of transportation."
A moment of silence followed.
"Brother-Apothecary, it brings me great pleasure to hear your voice once again," spoke the deep voice of Captain Kel'sin Agen, the esteemed Company Captain himself. He was a veteran of the Badab War and renowned as one of the company's finest swordsmiths. The sound of rolling treads could be heard in the background. "Please enlighten us about your current situation, brother. Speak openly, as we have reason to believe that the traitors are incapable of intercepting our communications."
The Apothecary glanced at I'del, and even though his emotions were concealed behind the impassive metal of his helmet, he could sense the surprise in the Tactical Marine's demeanor.
"Brother-Captain, it seems that we have deviated from our intended course by several hundred miles. As a result, we are unable to locate our objective or any recognizable landmarks that could assist us in determining our position," he began. "We have stumbled upon a small settlement, but we are uncertain of its designation and exact location. We have aided the local militia in repelling renegade forces without sustaining any injuries. However, our encounters with the local population have revealed that they do not speak either High or Low Gothic languages."
"Our situation mirrors yours, Brother-Apothecary," Captain Kel'sin responded, his tone softening. "We suspect that we have not actually arrived on Terra Nova but have somehow been transported to an entirely different world. Brother-Epistolary Lik'al has been unable to establish contact with the astropaths of the Pyre Of Glory, and we have not sighted the Battle Barge in the sky or any vessels belonging to our fellow chapters except for the Battlefleet Scolaris. However, we have also observed numerous drop pods making planetfall in our vicinity, one of which must have been yours, as it appears that the majority of the company is here with me."
"It seems that our forces have been scattered due to the event that brought us to this place, Brother-Captain," dutifully replied to the Apothecary.
Indeed, Brother-Apothecary, and Lik'al believes that the cause is warp sorcery of some kind, perhaps the actions of a black cult on Terra Nova. However, regardless of the cause, it seems that we have been diverted from our original objective and Chapter," the Captain acknowledged before continuing. "I propose convening a council with all ranking officers of the compliance fleet to gain a more accurate understanding of the situation. Unfortunately, we have been unable to establish contact with their commanders due to the presence of an immensely powerful psyker on this world. Their sheer existence is hindering long-distance communication."
Zo'stan remained silent for a moment, contemplating the words of the Brother Captain.
"In any case, our initial objectives are no longer applicable," Captain Agen declared. "Our primary focus now is to regroup our forces and join our allies as soon as possible. Brother-Techmarine Vu'shal has informed me that you are located one hundred and twenty-one miles west of our current position, in a place known to the locals as Aler-nia. We are situated in Oough-aah-n -ah, near the settlement of Ha-wah-soh. I will immediately dispatch a Thunderhawk to your location. They will arrive within a few minutes."
"Thank you, Brother-Captain. I will prepare the men for redeployment."
With that, the Apothecary returned the handheld microphone to its receptacle and placed his helm back on his head. He closed his eyes as he secured it in place, only opening them again when the familiar symbols and glyphs of the photolenses and auto-senses reappeared before him. Then, he turned and walked out, with I'del following closely behind. Both men respectfully lowered their heads as they passed through the doorways, stepping back into the outside world once more.
At that moment, a large crowd of villagers had gathered to witness the imposing Astartes, the Emperor's powerful representative, with their own eyes. They watched in awe as Battle-Brothers Gel'av and O'caz moved the burnt-out tank aside, clearing the road for the flow of traffic. The local militiamen eagerly claimed the weapons and equipment left behind by their defeated enemies. Surrounding them were the rest of the Battle-Brothers, prepared to defend the settlement in case of another assault.
"I have established contact with Captain Agen," the Apothecary announced, his voice transmitted through the squad's short-range vox channel. "A Thunderhawk is on its way for extraction. I will provide further details once we..."
Suddenly, the Apothecary felt a gentle tapping on his side. He turned, but there was nothing there until he looked down and saw a young boy, no older than five, gazing up at him with a mixture of hope and fear. In the child's hand was a small pamphlet, displaying a bright red cross on its surface. Flipping to the next page, the boy revealed an image of two serpents coiled around a rod beneath a pair of wings, the symbol of the Officio Medicae and a relative of the Prime Helix worn by every Apothecary in the Imperium. This ancient symbol represented healing and medicine, a concept deeply ingrained in humanity for countless millennia.
The child then took the Apothecary's hand and pointed towards one of the houses.
"Brothers, find a suitable landing spot for them," the Apothecary spoke softly as he began to walk, allowing the child to lead the way. "It seems I have a task at hand."
"We can designate the other side of the irrigation works as a landing location," Sergeant Ko'van suggested. "We will ensure it is clearly visible."
"Thank you. I will rejoin you shortly," Zo'stan replied as he followed the child, observing their struggle with another one of those round door handles before they managed to open it and beckon him inside.
The Apothecary proceeded to do so, lowering his head once again as he passed through a doorframe that was too short and narrow for anyone in his chapter, except for a Scout or an Initiate, to fit through. Inside, he found a small and modest home with plain walls still displaying the color of the base plaster. However, it was a cherished home, adorned with pictures of family, friends, and distant places, all securely fastened to the walls with deeply hammered nails. The wooden furniture, although simple in appearance, was sturdy and well-built. The Apothecary couldn't help but smile at the realization that the craftsman's art was still thriving on a world far from Terra Nova, even if no one witnessed his expression of joy. The house was uncomplicated, with the room he entered serving as the dining area, connected to a small kitchen at the back. To his right was the main living space, and the staircase on his left led to the sleeping quarters, which the child guided him towards.
As he entered the room, he immediately noticed a woman lying on a wide wooden bench, wrapped in blankets with her head resting on a pillow. She appeared unconscious and barely breathing, her forehead covered in perspiration. Apothecary Mac'am approached the bedridden woman, crouching down beside her while the child watched anxiously. From this proximity, his diagnostic helmet provided him with a swift and almost instantaneous assessment of her vital signs. It revealed that without intervention, she would only have a few days left before succumbing to death. However, he took out his narthecium and extended one of the delicate instruments housed within its armored casing - a simple jet injector. This alternative to syringes, which were prone to breakage or damage during battles, he firmly pressed against her exposed arm, extracting a single drop of blood in a reverse manner from its usual function.
In an instant, the diagnostic helmet processed the data: her illness was caused by a parasitic protozoan, a bloodborne disease likely transmitted through insect bites. It seemed to reproduce within the blood itself, utilizing the host's red blood cells as a breeding ground, resulting in a decrease in blood count and other symptoms. Within seconds, an image of the source materialized in the corner of his vision, and he immediately recognized it, as any physician in the entire galaxy would. Plasmodium. A disease from ancient Terra, it had claimed the lives of countless individuals in a bygone era. However, with the Emperor's blessing, the medicine of the Imperium could now conquer any ailment. As an Apothecary, he carried a vast array of pharmaceuticals in the armored vials on his back, rivaling even the most well-equipped medicae temple. His arsenal was potent enough to combat even the most virulent flesh-eating pathogens found only in the darkest and most inhospitable deathworlds. Treating what was once known as "malaria" in the days before the rise of the Imperium would be a simple task. The true challenge lay in administering the correct dosage to prevent organ failure, as these powerful antivirals were rarely used on individuals weaker than a fully developed Astartes, who possessed the resilience to withstand their potent effects.
"I beseech the ability to heal the afflicted, that they may serve the Emperor for yet another day," the Apothecary murmured, recalling a suitable litany. He carefully combined a single droplet of antiviral agent with another droplet of stimulant, aiming to increase their chances of recovery. "Grant me the wisdom to restore balance, that my efforts may not cause harm."
With those words spoken, he once again pressed the tip of the injector against the exposed arm, targeting an artery with precision...
...and a barely audible hiss escaped as the pressurized air forced the contents through the skin and flesh. As he withdrew the injector, a small, red mark of irritated skin remained, a gentle reminder of where the device had made contact.
By the time the clock struck ten, their heart rate increased and with it came the initial signs of awakening - the deep breaths, the fluttering of eyelids, and the faint murmurs of a clouded mind. Mac'am stood up once again, retracting the delicate instrument into the protective casing of his narthecium. He turned to depart as the child, overwhelmed with joy, rushed into their mother's loving embrace, shedding tears of happiness.
However, their cries were not the only sounds that filled the air. They were soon overshadowed by the thunderous roar of engines passing overhead. Like a ghost, the Apothecary silently made his way through the house and back into the open. True to his word, a Thunderhawk was stationed in the nearby field, its embarkation ramp lowered to reveal a group of his fellow battle brothers. These were men from different squads who had been picked up along the way, a full squad of Devastator Marines armed with heavy bolters and a plasma cannon, as well as another complete Assault Squad. Leading his own squad, the Apothecary guided them all aboard the Thunderhawk, forming a long line of warriors.
It was fortunate that his face remained hidden behind his helmet, for his reputation as an unwavering Apothecary would have been compromised had they witnessed the smile that graced his lips.
Orbit above Nova Arcadia
Salamanders flagship Flamewrought, Gloriana class Battleship. Attached to Battlefleet Scolaris
The Scolarisian crusade
Day-4
Chapter Master Tu'Shan of the Salamanders stomped aboard the bridge. Apparently something if the utmost importance had been sensed by the ship's auger arrays.
He marched up to the bridhge, where the Ship's captain, Tal'kon stood, Ty'Shan towering over the unaugmented human.
"Captain, I trust you haven't been disturbed from your rest" Tu'Shan cracked a cheerfull smile as Tal'kon turned
"Milord..." he began "We have begun to track drop pods, with the signature of the 2nd Company, on the ground..."
Tu'Shan arched an eybrow. The second company and it's battle barge Pyre of Glory were supposedly retaking Terra Nova, they had split off from Battlefleet Scolaris with promises of rejoining. And if the 2nd was here, where was the Pyre of Glory?...
"The 2nd were bound for Terra Nova, they weeren't supposed to join the rest of the battlfleet here until much later..." Tu'Shan stroked his jaw contemplatively. "Show me these drop pod signatures, Captain. I would see this anomaly for myself."
At the viewscreen, pulsing markers indicated recovery beacons from Second Company armour deep in Nova Arcadia's atmosphere…it almost seemed as if they had been transported as soon as the pods left the battle barge, but surely the Astartes would have felt it.
There was a beep as the entire fleet began to vox signal him, within moments the faces of Lord Admiral Cardin Vallin, various Imperial Guard offiicers, officers from other Astartes chapters appeared
"Chapter Master" Vallin spoke coolly, "Will you explain what we are seeing?"
Tu'Shan's eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he surveyed the anomalous signals. A space marine of his experience knew well that warp currents flowed with their own strange tides.
"Lord Admiral, brothers - it seems the currents of the Empyrean have washed some allies from their intended shores and deposited them here. Though the precise mechanics elude me, occurrences of this nature are not unheard of."
He glanced to Tal'kon, who shook his head minutely. No, the Pyre of Glory remained at its last known coordinates, and the Second had been en route to Terra Nova via dedicated landers.
"What matters is that Astartes warriors now stand ready to fight at our sides," Tu'Shan continued smoothly. "Captain - dispatch gunships to retrieve our displaced brethren with all haste. Their skills and gene-sons will strengthen our arms against the xenos."
He fixed each commander in turn with a flinty green gaze. "Unless any voice objection to this reinforcement? I think not. The coils of the warp are long and strange - we waste effort questioning where aid comes from, rather than making use of it."
A ripple of grudging agreement passed through the assembled officers. Vallin nodded curtly. "You speak wisdom, Chapter Master. My ships stand ready to support the gunship retrieval."
Tu'Shan grunted approval. "Then let swift flight carry our allies from anomaly into action. Their presence can only aid the righteous cause we further here. The Emperor protects - in ways both expected, and otherwise."
The crimson flares of confirmation lit across multiple screens. Purpose and unity resumed where minor confusion had reigned. All according to the Chapter Master's design.