Captain Rao, 3rd Company Tlelemundus Legion (Imperial Guard) leaned back against the ruins of the wall and considered his death. The mechanics of the event did not concern him. He had faced death in so many forms that the details were of no consequence. D etails. He sat still and tried to collect his thoughts. Turned them back fourteen hours.
The wardroom aboard the barge was crowded, all officers being present as the briefing was given and the drop-schedule drawn up. The briefing was short and to the point: Colonel Hugo delivered it with vigour, in crisp, professional tones. Rao suspected tha t the presence of the three marine officers had inspired the colonel to the extra zeal. "Irregularities in the submission of planetary tithes from one of the feudal lords on Vauxhault II were reported by the Adeptus Administratum six months ago. When informed, the planetary governor (Hugo paused to consider the pronunciation) Vercinthlortlax the Ninth, pleaded to be allowed to deal with the situation alone. The case, however, was referred to investigation by an Inquisition circuit ship, as this planet, although a feudal world, is of strategic importance to the Emperor." Rao smiled to himself . Strategic importance... and one of the only sources of jigga weed the Apothecary knew of. The colonel's voice brought his attention back to the briefing. "That ship was destroyed on landing. A Local Insurrection has been declared." The Governor, Rao knew, had since pleaded twice more for the Imperium to allow him to deal with the situation himself, but had been overruled by the inquisition. Probably skimmi ng some of the weed off for himself, Rao thought. This assault force had been assembled and the drop planned. Two companies of Guards reinforced by half a company of Sons of Malachite marines, including two terminator squads. Once this was made known to t he Governor, he had put his full, though "limited", resources at the disposal of the Emperor, and had even had a navigation beam constructed to aid the drop ships in their flight. "May the Emperor's Will be your only beacon." With that, the brief had ended.
Around him, the shattered remains of the imperial force prepared the last of their meagre defences against the final cultist onslaught. The setting sun lit the dust and the smoke until the sky seemed to be on fire. As he watched, one of the marines, Broth er-Sergeant Gaitan, supervised the repositioning of the remains of the dreadnought. The marine's armour was dented, the paint flaked and blistered where a flamer had caressed him. Once again, Rao felt a sense of wonder at the marines' ability. Gaitan's le ft arm terminated in a new stump. He had lost the forearm earlier when the creature he had faced had consumed the hand and the bolter it had held. Somehow, Gaitan had still managed to pull the trigger, and had survived. The guard troopers under his superv ision were exhausted, many also carried wounds, but the tireless urging of the marine, his arm ending in a medipack sealant, gave them enough strength to finally haul the torso out of the muddied crater and onto the makeshift barricade. Once there, an Ad eptus Mechanicus acolyte (scarcely more than a boy, Rao noted) immediately began to weld it into place, the glow of the plasma torch casting disturbing shadows in the diminishing light.. It seemed almost ironic that the armour that had failed to protect t he pilot would now try to steal a few precious moments for his brethren. Rao let himself sink a little lower to take the weight off his thigh and considered the situation again.
Straight forward pacification assault. Hardly anything to trouble the mighty marines with, Rao thought. He noticed that the marine officers stood apart from the guardsmen, and paid almost no heed to them. Almost as if disdaining them, he thought. Damn the ir insufferable arrogance! He had never fought alongside marines before, but had almost grown up on tales of their exploits, on their legendary bravery and insane fighting ability. None had impressed him. He had led men of his own, seen their courage. Wou ld lead, fight and die with them. What was so special about the Marines? Most of these stories had come from Captain Mallor, the man Rao had replaced. In Mallor's youth he had fought many times alongside Marines. "Angels of Death" he had called them. Deat h was right. Mallor had died when the deployment he was in was deserted by marines from the Star Leopards chapter who had attacked an overwhelmingly stronger force to avenge an insult rather than guard the relief convoy. Honour, thought Rao. The Golden Ar mour. The Golden, Flawed Armour.
The reality of the marines was something of a disappointment. "Greetings, Captain Rao. May I introduce Abbot-Lieutenant Dysan." It was not a question. Dysan, Rao noted, was a scarred veteran of about sixty or seventy years (terran standard) which made him barely middle aged. Much of the scarring on his face appeared to be ritualistic, and his hair was shaved in a short mohican. He was a heavy set man with dark skin. Nothing special. No halo. No mystic frenzy in his eyes. Nothing in his eyes. He smiled, th e imperial smile, with his mouth only: Rao decided that he didn't care for the man. Something in him felt vindicated. He stood observing the drop zone holomaps quietly, offering only occasional comments. "Your deployment register states that your terminators will teleport down, rather than ride with the ...er.. normal squads, Lieutenant Dysan. Why is this?" The marine merely looked up, and an orderly, a man wearing a terminator honour badge on a thin chai n around his neck, answered for him.
"The Stone Hawks are the anvil on which the other Brother marines, the hammer, will crush the resistance, Captain ...Rao". The man, Brother Giles, had to read his tag before answering. "Our placement needs to be exact. The timing and location of our deplo yment requires a degree of accuracy that is beyond the ability of your Imperial Guards drop ships." Blessings on you and the skimmer you rode in on, Brother, thought Rao.
"And the Guardsmen will be...?"
"Fulfilling a very necessary support function", Dysan finished for him.
"Under your capable command", he added. There was something in his eyes that Rao could not place. A spark. He contained his annoyance. Who in the Emperor's name was in command here? He checked himself. In any force involving marines, the Adeptus Astartes had deployment priority. And they were providing the air support from their own arsenal. But this was almost too much. Vauxhault was the second company's founding system. The men from that company had requested... no, begged to be allowed to avenge this d ishonour. And then the marines had stepped in. Claiming the glory themselves! When his men were just as capable! Rao glared at the marine captain. " I hope we may be of SOME assistance, LEFT-tenant". Dysan only returned his gaze briefly, and then turned his attention back to the holomap. "I'm sure your troops will get more than their share of glory, Captain Rao", he said. His words were prophetic.
One of the Guardsman from what was left of the first assault company walked up, looking over his shoulder at Gaitan frequently. The man's uniform (Coral, Rao remembered his name) was splattered with mud and smelt strongly of cordite. His left sleeve was in rags, having been turned into a bandage that now adorned his scalp. And he was one of the better off. "Well, Sir, the dread's in place". Coral squatted down in front and to the left of Rao, and attempted to wipe some of the grease off his hands. "The one bolter is still functional, but we have no means of firing it. The fire-controls went with the rest of the arm's servos. Or so Gaitan tells me." The awe in the man's voice was plain. "That marine over there," he pointed at one of the wounded marines in the corner, "took on a stealer with only a knife. The thing ripped him almost in half, and would have finished the job if Gaitan hadn't shot it. I got up to him to try and apply a medip ack, and he gets up. Had to hold in his stomach with one arm, but the first thing he asks for is another bolter. I ask him why, and all he says is 'My brothers need me.' Gapu! Amazing! We fight with demons!" The man's eyes held a trace of fear. Only half of that comment was complimentary, Rao thought. The man turned and walked back to where the rest of the assault troops were sitting, cleaning their weapons and preparing themselves for the ordeal that lay ahead.
The assault began four hours later. Rao sat strapped into the command chair in the belly of his drop ship. "All units report in. Secured and ready." One by one, the other drop ships reported. "Secured and ready. Commence." Below them, the underside of the barge opened, and the drop ships started to fall; a metallic rain. The silence of the upper atmosphere. Then the faint scream as the airfoils deployed from beneath the heat shields. Then the turbulence and the roar of the wind.
The atmosphere cutters went in first, dropping straight down the beacon generated from the Governor's fortress and then levelling out on the short flight to the hills beyond. As they approached the rebellious lord's residence, ordnance unfolded from under heat shields like some deadly origami. "Shotgun base, this is shotgun flight. We are commencing our saturation run." Rao, patched into the assault tac-net, heard the transmission. Good luck, he thought. No, marines were piloting the gunships, and marines didn't need luck wished on them. At least, not from Rao. Far below the barge, the hills flashed as cluster and incendiary bombs started their deadly work.
The marine drop ships, five in number and bearing the hastily applied chapter symbols, went next, followed closely by the twenty-three Guard ships. "Captain Rao" The message was preceded by Dysan's call-tone. "We are at three kilometres, and are beginning formation deployment." As lead ship, the marines were responsible for giving final checks. And for clearing the drop zone. "Commence you landing, Abbot-Lieutenant. And good luck." Why did I say that? No time to think now... Rao gave formation deployment orders with authoritative precision. "As soon as we reach the ground, I want a standard outscram. Tac squads nine to fifteen, centre strength. Dreadnoughts to the front. Assault squads one to five immediately behind. Make all jump packs ready. Tac squads sixteen to twenty, left flank. Rough riders six to eight, right flank Whitescars and land raider in support". The drop ship pilots manoeuvred their craft to facilitate rapid deployment. " we fight in the Emperor's name. glory to the legion!" He could hear the battle cries echoing in his ear stud. The confidence, the aggression. The jubilation. The drop ships rang with the sounds of war songs, of victory chants. Less than a third reached the ground.
They came in low over the Governor's fortress, the ships riding the navigation beam automatically. With no warning the defence lasers and rail-driven macrocannon mounted on perimeter turrets suddenly opened fire. Screams and shouts filled the tac-net as t he skies suddenly became a slaughter-house. "GAPU!" What the hell was that?" someone shouted as the ship lurched to one side. The pilot was doing everything in his power to avoid the incoming ordnance. He rolled away from one of the lasers, and into the s ights of a macrocannon. There was a flash and a thud, and the cabin lights went out. The first shell had missed. The second only grazed the craft. It tore one of the stabilisers right off, and shredded the port drives. "Crash positions!" The pilot's voice was loud over the intercom. Loud and slightly hysterical. The ship went down, it's glide capabilities almost gone. "get us down safely, Mattekken!" There was no reply. The third shell had hit the flight deck. "Gapu". May the ground be soft.. The ship rol led over and ploughed into the earth. Rao blacked out.
The ship had managed to crash-land about two kilometres from the fortress; This one was lucky. Many were not. Those ships targeted by defence lasers were holed through and through, and bulged and exploded like ripe pods under the force of internal explosi ons.
Rao came to seconds later, put his hand to his head, felt it come away wet and warm. As soon as the drop ship had come to rest, he ordered his command squad out. "Louis, get the rest of them over here, now!" The radio operator, needing no other prompting, immediately started broadcasting the coded "report and reform" signal, whilst the others turned confused faces to the skies.
The drop ships didn't have a chance. They were armoured against heavy and light field weapons, but not even frigates could withstand the firepower the fortress was throwing at them. As Rao watched, ship after ship disappeared in flashes of flame, the roar of the explosion drowning out the cries of the doomed within. The radio picked up snatches from the tac-net. Someone shouting for help. From where? Rao stood mute as tears of frustration rolled down his cheeks He stood, powerless to intervene, fingering his laspistol, saw a couple of the marine ships get down, shielded from one of the lasers by a third that had deliberately manoeuvred itself between the weapon and it's brethren.
Suddenly, turbines screamed overhead, and four arrow-like shapes roared towards the conflict. One of the drop pilots, before he died, had had enough time to call for assistance from the cutters, and they had responded immediately. Rao noted that all the c utters flew with Sons of Malachite colours, an emerald green flecked with black. Let's see the might of the marines now, he thought, not even admitting to himself the hope the ships had generated. It was a hope short lived. As the cutters came in range, racks on the fortress walls slid aside and subjected the incoming craft to a devastating missile barrage from batteries behind the fortress walls. Two exploded at once, the nova-like flash lighting the whole battle field. As he dropped his eyes to avoid t he glare, Rao made out dozens of shapes pouring from the gatehouse, flashes of bolter fire right in front of it. They did not hold his attention.
The other two cutters managed to fire off their missiles, and disabled several of the weapon towers with them before having to break off and circle. Except that they didn't. Rao watched in awe and shock as the two gunships continued straight towards the f ortress. The point ship, covering the other, disintegrated just short of the walls. The other made it to the gatehouse, the pilot jettisoning (and thereby arming) his remaining ordnance as he completed his suicide run. The ship's fuel added to the explosi ons of the bombs, and the gatehouse disappeared in a mushrooming fireball. The blast made Rao's eardrums ring and completely obliterated the gatehouse and much of the surrounding architecture. The diversion allowed several more Guard ships to land safely, four within a kilometre of Rao's command post. It was a moment before Rao could act. "Move out, now! Make for the ridge over there."
Rao took time off from his revelries to note that what someone had generously called the barricade was finished. The drop ship that had torn this homestead to pieces had only left three walls standing, and the fourth had been rebuilt using masonry from th e wrecked barn, the drop ship itself, and whatever else could be found. He saw Dysan talking to a small group of the remaining marines, and most of the guardsmen. All nodded vigorously at something he said. In another corner were those too wounded to figh t. The medic was talking to them. No, not talking. Blessing. Touching their foreheads with something red and wet. Dispensing the small tablets that would dull the senses before the carniflex was used. As Dysan finished, Rao signalled him over.
They reached the ridge, the site of a homestead into which one of the drop ships had crashed. Rao lifted the viewing lens to his eyes. What he saw chilled him. The ground between the fortress and his present position was littered with the wreckage of the ships. Black smoke marked the final resting place of at least half his force! Figures that crawled like ants to his naked eyes suddenly jumped into focus. Guardsmen lying dead or wounded. Flashes caught his attention to the east, and he swung the lens. T he marine squads had made it down, and were now engaging the forces that had poured from the castle. "God Above Protect Us!". Whatever else was out there, genestealers were among them. He watched as two marines fired together, bringing down one of the hel lish creatures. A second later they were both dead, ripped apart by four more of the things that leapt from the smoke. Behind and around him, he was aware of the remains of his force forming up, but his eyes never left the marines. "Broadcast the retreat and reform signal on the marine personal tac-net, Louis", was his only comment. Each marine had a personal radio built into his helmet. He watched as the stealers, and other creatures, leapt from the smoke. Watched one of the office rs eviscerate a stealer with his chainsword and then turn without pause to down another with his bolter. Saw a marine throw down his jammed or empty weapon and leap onto the back of one of the fearsome creatures armed only with a knife. Saw three other ma rines form a ragged shield wall to protect... to protect a band of retreating guardsmen! Watched their sacrifice and the deaths of four more stealers give his men time to get away. Or were they even aware of the guards? "Captain Dysan will not retreat, Sir", the radio man informed him. "He requests assistance from the Guard, but understands if you are unwilling to provide it". That bastard, Rao smiled. His orders flowed with quick precision, eyes appraising the remnants of his men.
"Louis, order the dreadnought straight to the marines. Assault squads! All troops to replenish squads one and two, and follow the dread. All tactical squads replenish squads eight, nine, ten and eleven. Eight and nine, left flank. ten and eleven, right. A ll remaining troops, centre. Reinforce." Men scrabbled to obey his orders. Rao loosened his powersword in it's sheath, and gave the command. "For the glory of Tlelemundus, and in the Emperor's name! ATTACK!"
The rest was a confusing collage in his mind. The guard attacked just as the marines were about to be overrun. The four remaining rough riders got there first, and were killed almost immediately by the genestealers and bands of crazed planetary troops. Bu t they distracted the attention of the stealers away from the marines, and onto the dreadnought. The dread opened up with its storm bolters, mowing down stealers and cultists alike. Even the stealers were unable to breach the armour of the war machine, a task that was fulfilled by three simultaneous lascannon blasts from out of the smoke. "Eight squad, disable those heavy weapons! Assault squads, attack!" Rao drew his blade and ran forward. Something reared up in front of him, and he brought the blade rou nd in an underhand chop that carried it right through the wounded stealer. He turned in time to drop into a reverse lunge, impaling the charging cultist on the point of his blade, giving it the professional twist that insures a fatal wound. Pain exploded in his leg, and he fell, but rose, and seeing the man that had fired at him, dropped him with his laspistol. And now before him was one of the stealers. It looked straight at him and then leapt, teeth gleaming, the powerful claws snapping. Not even Termin ator armour was proof against them. Rao did not have time to be afraid, only to act. Parry the right claw, duck under, continue the parry down, into the leg, roll away. He rose, the leg of the stealer lying where it had fallen, the creature writhing on th e ground. One of the claws had caught his arm and opened a gash from shoulder to elbow. Rao shot it four times before it lay still.
Dysan walked slowly up, eyes everywhere. "You called?" The voice was flat, emotionless. The eyes were pools of fire. "Sit with me a while, Lieutenant. You look like you could use the rest. I would go as far as to say that you look like I feel." "My hate sustains me."
Rao shrugged.
"Hate? Of what? The universe? Fate? The Governor?"
"Of everything that opposes the will of the Master of Mankind."
Rao made a vague gesture around the camp. "We'll die here soon, Dysan. Will your hate see you to the afterlife? Why not try and break out?" Rao knew that this was impossible, knew that the marine knew it too. But he wanted to try to understand the man he had come to respect. "The Emperor's will is a fire that will consume all that oppose him. I am the fuel for that fire. As are you. Our deaths are as inevitable as the coming dawn. We would gain nothing by flight except more dishonour." "Fire? If you mean that it'll get skrack-hot around here soon..."
Rao waited for a few seconds. Not even a smile. Anyway...
"Our lives are forfeit whatever we do. We have failed. Our deaths tarnish the honour of our homeworlds," he said, trying to phrase things differently. "No, Rao." Rao was taken aback by the familiarity but let it pass.
"Our failure is the tarnish on the honour of our homeworlds. Our deaths are the cloth that will erase the stain."
"Tell that to the men who are about to die, Dysan."
Dysan turned and walked back to his wounded troops, stopping to collect a large sealed box from the wreck of the drop ship. "I already have."
The battlefield was chaos. Smoke hid the sun, and the gloom was lit by flashes of lasfire. The screams of the wounded, punctuated by the harsh crack of bolters, grenade explosions. Rao fought, not knowing where, not knowing how. Reflexes on automatic. Fir e, roll, cut, turn, cut, duck, fire. Time passed, maybe seconds, maybe hours. Across the field...Dysan! Rao ran, his leg and arm on fire, seeing smoke through his tears. And Dysan. Seeing him, screaming, swinging the huge chainsword around like a whip, cu tting, stabbing, oblivious to his wounds, to the odds. Fighting to keep genestealers off the body of one of his troops. It was a losing fight, and Dysan knew it. Yet still he fought. In that instant, through the pain and the exhaustion, Rao knew he would not let him die alone. He charged to the side of the Abbot-Lieutenant, his powersword decapitating one of the beasts as he shot another that Dysan had wounded, and then they were back to back. Watching the smoke, waiting.
"Is the battle glorious enough for you?" Dysan shouted. The marine was almost singing, mouthing chants and dancing, delirious from pain and fatigue. His helmet distorted his question.
"What?"
"You wanted glory. Is this enough?" Rao grimaced. Gapu, he thought. The world turns.
"Where are the terminators?"
"When we realised what had happened, they teleported in front of the castle gate house, the better to slow the cultists long enough for us to regroup." He paused to sight on something in the smoke and fired twice. Something screamed.
"The Emperor was strong in them. We still live."
"WHAT? Then what, gapu, convinced that cutter pilot to crash there?"
"The last marine, Brother Giles, asked for the pilot to drop his weapons on him. He reported that he could not hold them. He did not want to fail us. They were battle brothers. The pilot would not let him die alone."
What are we fighting with? Rao looked away in amazement. Demons.
"Come. The stealers have retreated. We must prepare for their return."
The two men walked into the smoke to find the rest of the survivors, and to lead them to the farm. Dysan shot everything that still moved once in the head.
Rao saw Dyson again an hour later. They met to discuss the final defence. The arrival of the Guard had routed the cultists, but at heavy cost.
"So, what do we have at our disposal?, Dysan?" Rao knew the answer, but waited for the reply.
"Seven brothers able to fight, eight including Gaitan. Four more wounded, but not desiring the Emperor's peace." Rao winced at the memory, the medic raising the carniflex, the snap of the bolt.
"What will they do?"
"Two will operate the drop ship's turret autocannon. One will reload."
"The cannon is working?"
"Praise the skills of the Adeptus Mechanicus", by which Dysan meant the boy in the yard. Rao smiled.
"Okay. Six of your marines are assault equipped." The assault marines had survived by using their jump packs to slow their fall after jumping from their stricken craft three hundred metres above the ground. Armed with chainswords and bolt pistols, they had fared better against the stealers than the tactical troops.
"Let's put them together with the remnants of my assault squads in the centre of the compound. Let them plug the gaps."
"There will be many, though none in our resolve."
"And so we face Skrack knows how many stealers, and even more of those cultists with what? Eight marines and twenty-seven guardsmen."
"And the Emperor's Will, Captain. Let us not forget the Emperor's Will".
Rao was tired and angry.
"I'm sure that will be of great benefit to us, Dysan. Thirty-seven men AND THE EMPEROR'S WILL! I can hear the cultists trembling."
"Better than JUST thirty-seven men, Captain." Dysan's eyes said nothing. Rao burst out laughing. It was the closest to humour the marine would ever come.
He smiled at the man in armour, and reached out to clasp his shoulder.
"Come, my friend. Your one remaining wounded marine has a job to do that we must prepare him for."
"All the remaining charges have already been placed. When they are detonated, nothing within a hundred metres of here will live."
Rao remembered the boxes the marines had been carrying from the drop ship. Fuel cells?
"Then we will guard him until we fall, Dysan. And let the Emperor have the final say."
"In his wisdom, I am content".
Rao recognised the Liturgy of the Lost
"And my contentment is my salvation."
Dysan turned to go to his troops, to lead them in the Last Rites.
"Perhaps we will meet again, Captain."
"Good luck, Marine".
Maybe hours passed. Maybe minutes.