Paths of the Damned - WH40K

[gunldesnapper]

Mayabird

Also, I was under the impression that with WH40k, everything was canon, including the stuff that contradicts the other stuff, due to in-universe issues with gathering and maintaining information. So, do 'errors' really matter?

I think the errors do matter, the more information Stavo has on the background of 40k the better his writing in the world setting will be......and its awesome already. Im glad he started this one back up.

[Stravo]

So here is another chapter. Sorry this took longer than expected there was just so much I wanted to touch on here and again had to excise a ton of material and it is still one of the longer chapters. In the end I decided to just dump as much expoisition into this as possible so I could focus on some more combat and set up some relationships here as well as get things grounded for new subplots and such. I expect to have another one up sooner rather than later. Again, I am always curious about the depiction of the universe and how well it fits with canon. I'm glad people are enjoying this and hopefully in the next chapter our spotlight falls on Brother Godric in combat.

I'm curious as to whether the space marines may be too familiar with each other. The way I figure it in my head there's a combination of these guys fighting together for so long and becoming really close and the fact that it is implied that these guys are sort of like misfits. Astartes that - by their standards - are not your norm. Whether it's a combination of their PTS at battling Tyranids all the time and just Mordred's knack for picking out diamonds in the rough they may not be your standard stodgy warrior monks like I suspect they may be portrayed in the fluff. Anyway that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

I haven't forgotten about our noble(?) inquisitor but for now this is what the story is focussed on. He will make a return quite soon.




Chapter 16: Assessments and Observations


Vigilance Eternus 1 Week Ago


The small library assembled in the bowels of the battle barge was tucked away from sight and hard to find. It was precisely how Caspian wanted it. He sat at a large oak desk stained with inks and paints and its precise dimensions were almost impossible to discern buried beneath the piles of scrolls, tomes and piles of dataslates.

He quietly whispered to himself as a finger slowly glided from word to word on the parchment paper of a particularly large tome that was propped up by a stand comprised of two open skeletal hands held up as if in prayer. Caspian found that words burned themselves brightly into his memories when he actually read the words aloud as opposed to reading them silently. For a librarian it could be an annoying habit when others wanted to research or pray in silence.

Again, Caspian could not be bothered with what others thought.

Maybe that’s why I ended up here? He mused. A librarian to an aberrant company that was frowned upon by some of the luminaries of his own Chapter. A 14th Company? This was an affront to the Codex and from an Ultramarine company no less.

The doors to his private sanctum slowly opened but Caspian did not pause in his reading. He could feel the presence and the emotional turmoil roiling just beneath the surface but he knew that he must not say the first words. Instead his fingers continued moving along the text as he whispered the page’s contents with religious fervor.

“Tell me, how does a Librarian with such a wide breadth of combat experience such as you sit with your back to the door?”

Caspian paused and looked up from his book and saw the shadow cast on the wall in front of his desk by the guttering candlelight of the burners near the entrance.

“I felt you coming down the hall.” He replied simply.

“A good assassin can imitate someone’s presence.” Mordred sternly replied.

Caspian smiled coldly and slowly turned in his chair to face his Captain.

“I would know the difference.” He answered.

Mordred stood imposing like a great statue of the legendary captains of old, arms crossed against his massive chest and smirked.

“Would you talk that way to me if I were just your superior officer?”

Caspian pursed his lips in thought then nodded.

“I would speak thus to Chapter Master Calgar himself.”

Mordred chuckled darkly.

“Then you have not met Calgar, my friend.”

“I am told however, that you did.”

Mordred walked slowly along one of the shelves and ran a hand along the old wooden frame, his eyes dancing along the spines of each of the books with a practiced precision.

“I met him on MacCragge years ago when I petitioned for the formation of the company.”

Caspian nodded sagely and sat back slightly in the gargantuan leather chair that dwarfed even his frame. It creaked comfortably as he shifted his weight.

“I can imagine it was not an easy meeting of the minds?”

Mordred shook his head absently as he paused at one book and gently pulled it off the shelf. The leather binding was worn and frayed at the edges and he gingerly flipped it open.

“That, my old friend, would be an understatement.”

“Most men would not have even hazarded the attempt.” Caspian noted his eyes not leaving Mordred as the captain scanned the book.

“I am not most men.” His reply would have alarmed most with the appearance of naked hubris but Caspian knew better. This was a statement of a man who had set his mind on a singular mission and objective and as such he was not acting as most men, Astartes or not, would. His goal was a holy mission to him above and beyond any other priority.

“So they say. Some would even suggest you were the Primarch reborn.” Caspian chided.

Mordred’s eyes were the only thing that moved, slowly glaring up from the open book at the one eyes librarian.

“Can I have one conversation with you that does not involve First Sergeant Jericho? I feel that he is always with us when we speak.”

Caspian smirked darkly.

“That boy-”

“I am dying.” Mordred cut off the inevitable tirade that was about to stream forth. The simple statement belied the emotion behind the words that hit Caspian like a thunder hammer.

Caspian’s mouth remained opened for a moment then shut audibly and it was his turn to glare at his captain.

“He spoke to you then?” He asked quietly.

“Vicarus was…gentle.” Mordred played out the last word in his mouth while he tried to find a neutral expression.

Caspian shook his head ruefully.

“I told him that I should have been to one to speak to you about this.”

“He is my doctor.” Mordred observed.

“He is not your oldest friend.” Caspian countered simply.

A ghost of a smile passed Mordred’s lips and he returned his attention to the book. He began to read aloud the words that were on the ancient fragile yellowed page

“No matter how fast light travels it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it. “ Mordred glanced up at the one eyed librarian. “Seems like a dark omen that this is what caught my eye?” he ventured.

Caspian cocked his head for a moment considering his words.

“I prefer another passage from that tome - The hero is the one who kindles a great light in the world, who sets up blazing torches in the dark streets of life for men to see by. The saint is the man who walks through the dark paths of the world, himself a light.”

Mordred chuckled softly.

“You are making that up.”

Caspian shook his head and nodded to the book “see page 452, second stanza.”

Mordred didn’t bother to look for the citation.

“Woe the librarian who does not know his own collection. You never know when you need to awe your captain with a bit of trivia.” Caspian shrugged.

Mordred closed the book softly.

“I like your selection far better than my own.”

“I am a far more versed in the classics. I am certain were I to quote tactica you would have me at a disadvantage.”

“You are being too kind.”

Caspian leaned forward on his desk and rested his hands on the edges of the crafted wood. His single eye examined his captain with a gleam from the candlelight reflecting off his pupil.

“What do you want?” Caspian asked.

Mordred looked puzzled, it was a carefully contrived expression.

“I came here to visit an old friend. We will be touching down amongst the greenskins in a week if the astropaths are as skilled as I hope and I thought it would be good to have this moment between us before battle takes our attention.”

Caspian smiled darkly.

“Don’t lie to me. I am a psyker for the love of the Emperor you can’t lie to me.”

Mordred walked over to the table crossing the distance between the shelves and Caspian in a few long even strides. As he walked he spoke.

“I view my current situation as a gift.”

“Gift?” Caspian asked puzzled by the statement.

“You see, many of my fellow captains live out their lives in service to the Emperor but do not know when and how they will die. Whether it is by a stray round from some Tau firewarrior’s railgun or a bloody chainaxe to the throat or even to the slashing mandibles of some foul Tyranid creature we all tend to die bloody, violent and usually random deaths. There is no planning for our ends. I, on the other hand, am gifted with the unique opportunity to know that I am dying and thus can make amends or plan for the betterment of my company.”

“Indeed.” Caspian replied neutrally cautiously eyeing his captain.

“After I am gone I want you to stay.” Mordred asked seriously.

“No.” Caspian replied without hesitation.

Mordred leaned forward on the opposite side of Caspian’s desk so his eyes were level with the librarian’s.

“Jericho will need your counsel. I want you to be to him what you are to me.”

“Never.” Caspian hissed. “Never in a million years. That boy can never be you, he never was anything like you. Why can you not see that?!” Caspian exclaimed exasperated and slammed his mighty fist against the table with a resounding thump.

“I am not asking you to do it for me or for Jericho. I am asking you to do it for the Company. It needs you. When I am gone I want to make sure this grand experiment is not dismantled piece by piece by Tigurius and his sycophants.”

Caspian was about to respond when he processed all of Mordred’s statement.

“Tigurius? What does he have to do with this?” He asked pointedly.

“He is planning to form a Tyrannic Company for the First. He wants it to be comprised of the veterans and anyone else he deems can best combat the Tyranid menace. The first company would be reborn with a purpose.”

“But..that’s what you..good lord have you crossed him?” Caspian asked with growing concern. He knew Tigurius well. He was like a force of nature and his hatred for the Tyranid was as deep and burning as any in the 14th.

Mordred said nothing for a long moment.

“One does not cross the Chapter’s chief librarian and not feel his sting at some point or another. Tigurius is watching us closely. Any sign of weakness and I am sure he will force Calgar’s hand and we will be absorbed into the first company.”

“But Mordred wouldn’t that be ideal? The codex violation alone is a stigma we are carrying that – ”

“Without me.” Mordred added.

Caspian sat back slowly into his monstrous leather chair with an audible creak.

“Tigurius was quite clear what would happen to me when this company is absorbed. Training the 10th company’s scouts on anti-Tyranid combat tactics…if I’m lucky. My price for beating the man to the punch.” Mordred continued.

“Bastard.”

“I would not be so hard on him.” Mordred shrugged. “So. You see now why I need Jericho to succeed?”

Caspian was pensive for a long moment, bringing his long fingers into a steeple and resting them to his lips and closing his eye. Mordred said nothing. He knew this was not a battle that was going to be won in one encounter. Caspian was too formidable a foe to be swayed by simple emotion. But all he needed was an opening, a small crack to which he could gain leverage and like any great wall he would wear it down to nothing with enough persistence and strength.

“I hate him.” He stated gravely opening his eye.

“I’m not asking you to love him.”

“I despise his antics, his so called flair for the dramatic. That boy is the antithesis of everything you mean to me.” Caspian explained simply. Mordred was slightly taken aback by the honesty. “Why you love him confounds me to my very soul.”

“Love can be like that Caspian. I know you’ve never experienced it but it can be.”

“You should not love him. You should not love any of us.” Caspian cautioned.

“I know what the Codex says.”

“It is what every military tactica on leadership would tell you all to way to the mythical Sun Tzu.”

“Do not avoid your answer.” Mordred pressed.

“I have no answer.” Caspian replied after a pregnant silence. He slowly picked up an electro stylus and gently depressed it to activate it. “but I will have one for you.”

“Before I die?” Mordred asked pointedly.

Caspian looked up at his captain.

“Yes.”

Mordred nodded with satisfaction. He had his opening. Now all he had to was work on it. He knew better than try to capitalize on this now and quietly backed away and walked to the door.

“Mordred.”

He glanced back at the librarian.

“You are wrong, you know.”

“I am often wrong about a great many things. But illuminate me.”

Caspian looked uncomfortable for a brief moment.

“I know about love.” He replied quietly and fully turned his attention to the dataslate on which he wrote.

Mordred thought of replying but knew it would only irritate the man. Instead he nodded and stepped out of the library and back into the bowels of his ship. The doors closed with a soft knock and left Caspian alone with his thoughts.





TYRIAL NOW


Mordred fumed silently as Apothecary Vicarus ran an auspex wand over his chest and torso. Caspian stood behind him watching intently. The trio were standing behind a cluster of supplies and wreckage that had been quickly assembled like a makeshift barricade. It served as a perfect little shelter from prying eyes as Vicarus tended to his captain.

“This is taking too long.” Mordred warned.

“Allow me to attend to you, Captain. You will do no good to your men if you have an episode in the middle of an Ork counterattack.” Vicarus responded calmly as he checked the status on the wand.

“Or if you keel over in front of these guardsmen. The veil of our invulnerability must not be lifted even for a moment.” Caspian added.

The thunderous cacophony of the battery of Basilisk cannons unleashing a torrent of fire and steel rain on the enemy beyond drowned out Mordred’s response but Caspian did not need his psyker talents to tell him the general intent of the response.

“And where in the Emperor’s name is the chapter’s banner? Jericho knows my combat procedures. The banner is unfurled at the earliest opportunity to announce to our enemy who they are facing and provide a rallying point for the leading elements of the spear tip and follow on forces. Where is it?” Mordred demanded coldly. Caspian knew this was Mordred’s way of handling the dreaded helplessness that must have been clawing at him as he was tended to like some sick child while his company was about to enter such a dangerous phase of battle.

“I will attend to our banner.” Caspian replied smartly then leaned over to the Apothecary, the massive bulk of his terminator armor nearly dwarfing the lean figure of the white armored surgeon. “and you get out captain on the firing line as soon as possible. He needs to be seen.”

“Do I tell you how to catalogue your books and shape the powers of the Warp?” Vicarus replied hotly as he ran a different device along Mordred’s arms. “Then do not presume to tell me my duties, good librarian. You do your job and I shall do mine.”

“Point taken.” Caspian replied and glanced up at Mordred before turning on his heel to stride out to the battle field beyond. Mordred watched him depart and noted the frenzied labors of the Imperial guardsmen who were quickly forming up details to recover weapons and power packs while others diligently began digging their way back into the trenches and fortifications that had nearly been overwhelmed by the Ork assault.

Burning wreckage from blasted tanks and ruined Ork truks were being pulled out as quickly as possible or simply shunted to the side. The space marine assault had granted them a small measure of breathing room as Orks regrouped and recovered but it would not last long and the erstwhile Cadians were making the most of it while it lasted.

“How much longer?” Mordred asked while his eyes danced over the gathering of his men. Jericho had formed a neat perimeter for the landers. The battle was in a lull but he could feel it turning now, the drumming that had all but died down when their drop pod assault began was returning and the shouted war chants grew in intensity and fury. There was growing sense of an impending plunge ahead for them and he was stuck behind random detritus of the battle.

“Do you trust him?” Vicarus asked his captain as he consulted the readings on a scrolling dataslate.

“Who?” Mordred asked distracted.

“First Sergeant Jericho.”

“With my life.”

Vicarus looked up at his captain and smiled softly.

“Then trust him to do what needs to be done and trust in me that I know what I am doing is for your health and thus the best for this company.”

Mordred frowned then nodded slowly.

“Very well, Vicarus. Do what must be done.” He replied with a heavy sigh that caused his massive chest to heave up and down.

“Hold still and this will soon be over.” Vicarus replied as he removed a needler from his medpack and applied it to Mordred’s bull thick neck.





“Would you look at that.” Sejanus wondered aloud as he watched the space marines deploying with such discipline and precision that it was like seeing automatons performing a prearranged dance. No movement was wasted, every step was measured and purposeful.

The marines had cleared a wide swath of land from the Ork assault, stretching back to the rear echelons of the primary encampment. Just a short while ago the ground was covered with rampaging Orks now those Orks were either dead and bleeding into the soil itself or retreated to the safety of the primordial forest before them.

Several marines were walking down the perimeter they secured in their initial assault and calmly placing flashing beacons into the packed earth. A whispered prayer to the machine spirit of the device and a respectful pinging of the beacon’s activation rune set it in motion and soon a network of beacons was active and sending a strong signal to the battle barge in low geosynchronous orbit above them that would guide in the follow on forces. A final prayer was spoken for protection and unhindered guidance to be provided to the Thunderhawks and other landers that would undoubtedly be on their way.

“What?” Logray asked sharply. He was busy making sure his men were working as hard and as fast as possible to clear bodies and debris from their fighting line. The Orks were coming back. They could clearly hear the drums and the raucous shouts and war chants that were growing in intensity and thus proximity.

“The Astartes. They’re incredible.”

“Last time I checked, Sergeant, you were in the Cadian military and your men are in need of your leadership.”

“Sorry sir, it’s just that I’ve never seen them up close like this before, let alone fighting with them.” Sejanus explained.

“The Blood Angels fought with us on that mess on Durangel.” Logray pointed out.

Sejanus frowned.

“We only got to see what they left behind. Here they will actually be fighting alongside.”

“Be that as it may sergeant, get those loafers over on our left to move more earth. Those fucking Orks will be on us soon.”

“Aye sir.”

“And Sejanus, don’t get caught up in space marine love. A lot of what they do can be ascribed to propaganda. After all thanks to vid tracks and recruiting pamphlets to the rest of the Imperium we Cadians eat razor wire and piss promethium all the while tearing the heart out of Chaos forces before lunch.”

“But, Lieu. Don’t we?” Sejanus asked with a big grin.

“Get your worthless ass out on my left, sarge.” Logray mock snarled.

“Aye Aye.” Sejanus hurried over to the left all the while keeping an eye out for the tree line beyond knowing all too well that any moment the Orks would be upon them.

“You two! Hustle up!” Sejanus shouted down to a pair of guardsmen nervously shuffling in the trench line.

“Aye sarge!”

“Wiezebaski, is that spade in motion or are you too busy jerking off?” Sejanus continued as he trotted down the line.

“Sorry sarge!”

“Mullins, good work lad get that heavy bolter a bit further back.”

He heard dull roar like distant thunder and he spared a glance up skyward. Thick clouds were beginning to roll in from the East and the heavy summer sun that threatened to make the field bake was slowly blotted out. He saw some contrails spinning away into the upper portions of the dimming sky.

He knew that the 502nd’s air support was currently busy dealing with Ork air incursions from the South. One particular beast, the Cloudkillah, was equally adept at strafing their position as it was at launching bombs from a distance. The Witches Brew had their hands full with that one.

“You be careful, luv.” He whispered as his mind wondered if Dianna was safe.




“Not as bad as I imagined.” Commissar Lazar noted as he watched General Jinn review dataslate that contained a rough estimate of casualties from a quick head count of the troops.

“But worse than I like.” Jinn concluded with a frown. He did not like to see his men dead. Not for what he was beginning to suspect was a fool’s errand for Inquisitor Malagaunt. “We’re going to be leaving too many of our boys on this field.”

“We knew the risks.”

Jinn fixed Lazar with a stern gaze.

“Did we, Commissar? Did we indeed? An entire Waagh coming down on us and our noble inquisitor is nowhere to be found. My main concern is making sure we make it out of this death trap relatively intact.”

“At the very least we have our noble Ultramarines on the right.”

Jinn regarded the space marines as they prepared for battle. He admired them for their ethos and grace but he envied them as well. What would it be like to command men without fear? Maybe it was altogether human to be afraid. Still, it was a luxury he himself did not have. He commanded men. They were Cadians and trained from birth to make war on the enemies of mankind but they were still human and as such subject to human frailties.

“I disapprove of Captain De La Croix’s tactics.”

“How so?” Lazar asked curiously.

“He means to launch a counter attack.” Jinn replied simply.

“Counter attack?! Does he have any idea what we’re facing here?”

Jinn smiled grimly and clapped his commissar on the shoulder.

“Didn’t you know, Commissar? They’re space marines.”

“Emperor bless them then.” Lazar replied.





“Brother Caspian!”, Jericho called out as he approached at a quick trot.

The librarian turned to calmly regard the first sergeant.

“Yes, first sergeant?”

“You will say my name, one day.” Jericho promised as he reached the towering cyclopean librarian. Jericho wore the standard power armor of an Astartes but it was still small in relation to the tactical dreadnought armor that Caspian wore. Jericho’s armor was adorned with his Tyranid trophies and a series of purity seals that ran down each shoulder poltroon. His bolter was holstered and in his hand he held his preferred weapon, the power sword.

“Do go on with it.” Caspian replied coldly. His thoughts were with Mordred, now secluded out of sight by Apothecary Vicarus. He had been very clear to the young Astartes. At no time must Mordred’s illness become apparent to these guardsmen. This was Company business and it would remain thus. If Mordred was to die let it be as he lived and not sullied by whispered half truths by some back water fools who had never had to face down the challenges that the space marines did every single day. He quickly noticed how his anger was bubbling to the surface and he clamped down upon it. Icy calm was the watchword when you channeled the powers of the warp.

Jericho could not help smiling. He knew it got under the dour librarian’s skin. However this was not a simple matter to discuss.

“We have a small problem.”

“Where is our chapter banner?” Caspian asked neutrally. He could read the boy like an open book.

“How did you-“

“Mordred noticed it and wanted me to investigate. Now I assume you come to me with ill news concerning our banner.” Caspian asked darkly.

“Well, that’s the problem – “ Jericho began.

“Please don’t tell me that the green skins have it.” Caspian interjected dryly.

“No!” Jericho replied in outrage.

“Well?”

“I think I left it on the ship.” He replied with some anger but much to his credit did not avoid looking the glowering Cyclops in the eye.

Caspian shook his head after staring incredulously at him for a long moment.

“How is this possible?” He asked frostily but anger burned in every word.

“I had it in my hands, I packed it personally into my drop pod.” Jericho explained methodically. “At no time did it leave my sight.”

“You are the first sergeant and emperor knows how you might inherit this company one day and you left it on…” Caspian paused as he plucked a surface image from the sergeant’s mind. “Who was with you?” He asked suddenly suspicious.

“Excuse me?” Jericho replied with some confusion at the sudden shift in tone.

“Who was with you when you packed it?” Caspian pressed.

“My squad as usual…and Brother Godric saw me off before heading to his own pod.”

“Godric?” Caspian replied with a half smile dawning on his face.

“What?” Jericho pressed slightly taken aback by the expression on Caspian’s usually grim demeanor.

Caspian looked up at the sky.

“I believe the revered ancient is up to his usual battle field theatrics.”

Jericho frowned.

“And he’s going to do it with my banner.” He griped.

“The company’s banner.” Caspian tersely corrected the first sergeant.

“And just in time too.” Jericho added as he saw the stirring along the tree line and knew that the counter attack they had all been bracing for was beginning to materialize. The Ork attack had been blunted and turned back by the Astartes deep strike but now they were gathering strength again, like a relentless machine the Orks were beginning to gather up strength as the retreating mobs were linking up with fresh troops heading towards the battlefield.

“These Orks must be here in great numbers, they are reforming too quickly. The brutes are usually not this hyper aggressive and fearless if they are not bolstered by a large number of their fellows.” Jericho peered out through the thick smoke of burning trees, ruined vehicles and expended ammunition to try and make out the enemy beyond. Caspian found himself examining the young sergeant with a critical gaze. He watched every move, the squint of his eyes, the distribution of weight on his feet, the way his lips moved as he spoke, the grip on his power sword shifting to an aggressive position.

Damn Mordred for making him reassess Jericho. He was a useless boy, wasn’t he?

“When they reach a critical mass of numbers they will attack and I fear that is immanent.”

“ And what do you suggest we do, first sergeant?” Caspian asked curiously.

Jericho pursed his lips and tapped one hand against his armored thigh as he surveyed the field.

“The Guard can hold the line while we roll up on the right as they cover our left. You see that incline along this ridge?” he identified the geographical features with subtle hand motions. “By advancing right along that ridge line my own right flank is covered and we can also have our jump troops using the ridge as a jump off point for their initial assault. Identify the center of gravity to the Ork horde and strike at it with overwhelming force. With air support and some orbital fire we cut off the Ork spearhead and then my assault marines can wade into them while the rest of our gun line pours bolter fire and cleansing promethium into the greenskins. If we can gain access to the Guard armor I may even coincide it with a counter attack on their exposed right shoulder and drive that whole mess into the river to the west.”

Jericho looked back at Caspian and smiled.

“However it turns out we will be where we need to be – on the offensive. You don’t let the green skin come to you, you go out to them. It takes the wind out of their sails and frankly confuses them.”

Caspian said nothing for a long moment. He had watched with careful reserve how the first sergeant had formulated his attack plan. Pure codex but he recognized the relentless offensive thinking of Mordred. Always attack, never retreat, never probe when you can probe in force, never set up defensive lines when you can be in the enemy’s own defenses. The boy had learned well.

“I concur with your assessment. I will support you when you raise this with the captain.”

Jericho cocked his head slightly.

“You’ll support me?”

“You are the first sergeant.” Caspian observed.

“Sometimes, I do not know what to make of you.”

“Good.”

“First Sergeant.” A cold clipped voice broke into the conversation.

“Yes, Sergeant Hastor.” Jericho replied turning his attention to the grim small framed figure who stood quietly to the side. A long sniper rifle was slung over his shoulder and his armor was covered in a long camo cloak. His ivory hair was combed back into a tight braid that was casually draped over his left shoulder. Hastor had a cold gleam in his eyes and his expression was bland and Jericho could not recall ever seeing the man animated much less surprised.

“My men are going to head out and attempt to identify enemy formations and avenues of attack.”

“Prioritize ferreting out the Nob concentrations and I want to know where the warboss is. A decapitation strike would end this quickly and efficiently.”

“Understood. I took the liberty of equipping us with homing beacons. We will place them at key locations. Mortus so loves his Terminator assaults.”

“And why should I not?” Chaplain Mordecai Mortus boomed as he strode up behind the smaller scout sergeant. “The righteous fury of the Emperor’s wrath is best personified with the armored might of the tactical dreadnought and its crackling power fist. When plasteel and ceramite crack and splinter bone it is like a liturgy of pain that fuels my faith.”

“My faith is in this.” Hastor patted his sniper rifle. “and this” he touched his eyes with a finger. “With the two of us as one there is no one I cannot kill.”

Mortus regarded the sergeant with a humorous expression.

“You can keep your long rifles and your stealthy infiltration. I prefer the honesty of one on one combat with my foe snarling in my face so he can hear my prayers and intonations to the God Emperor of Mankind.”

“You know, Chaplain, it’s easy to prefer one on one combat when you’re encased in the heaviest armor known to Imperium.” Hastor retorted with a smirk.

“Brothers…” Jericho began to interject.

“What is this?” Mordred asked sharply.

The assembled Astartes turned quickly as one and for a moment resembled nothing more than guilty school children caught in the act. The captain strode purposefully to their position and eyed each of them in turn.

“You look like a cadet review. One artillery shell and I could lose my senior staff. Is this what I taught you?” Mordred demanded with a scowl.

Jericho seemed to take it the hardest and Caspian almost laughed bitterly at the hangdog expression on the young first sergeant’s face.

“Chaplain, see to the men at the front. Gird their spirits for the coming assault for the green skin are almost upon us. I can feel it.”

“Of course, my captain.” Mordecai bowed respectfully and quickly exited the gathering but spared the spry grim scout sergeant a mock glare.

“Hastor. I need your men out there immediately. Find their command and control structure and mark it for extermination, You are not to engage unless there is no choice. However harass and kill any outlying forces you feel will not endanger your position. I want them off balance and uncertain of where we are. Make them feel like there are Astartes behind every tree waiting to kill them. Sow fear and confusion and we will reap richly when the time comes.”

“Your word is my command, brother captain.” Hastor replied with a sharp salute and he clasped his cloak around him and motioned for his men to follow. The scouts were like shadows and simply vanished into the underbrush as they crossed the no man’s land, nimbly side stepping the corpses of the dead and entered enemy lines.

Jericho watched Hastor for a moment. He was always so casual with him yet with Mordred there was almost an awe in which the scout regarded him. Jericho had suspected there was a history there as there was with all of Mordred’s senior command staff. There were personal bonds of loyalty between the captain and his men that transcended simple chain of command and mythical Astartes discipline.

He briefly wondered if he could ever command such respect. He watched how effortlessly Mordred assumed his mantle of command and made these Astartes engage without hesitation or reservation.

We cannot afford to lose him.

“Caspian, I want you at the center with our ready reserve. When you see a point that needs reinforcement or a faltering attack I want to see you and your squad there.”

“As always.”

“The follow on forces are coming in but I fear we will be under attack when that happens and as such it will be a hot LZ. The priority is simple. Hold the LZ. We need it clear of enemies until we can land the follow on forces. Once we have our assault squads and devastators I plan to push the control zone forward. Jericho, I want you to keep the pressure on these Ork scum. Push do not hold. Always forward never standing still. Retreat is unthinkable.”

“By the Emperor it shall be done.” Jericho vowed solemnly.

“You have your standing orders. Now remember you are the Emperor’s own Adeptus Astartes. We were born for this and if we die it is in the service of He who is above us all and there is never any shame in that. Better to die in service of the Emperor than live for yourself.” Mordred spoke and looked each of his men in the eye.

“Courage and Honor.” Caspian replied.

“And Jericho, where in the Emperor’s name is our banner?” Mordred asked darkly.

Jericho began to open his mouth to explain when Caspian interjected.

“It is being taken care of.”

Before Mordred could reply Jericho glanced back sharply as he heard the first shouts of alarm from the Cadian lines.

“Here they come!”

Jericho smiled eagerly.

“And so we dance.” He breathed.

The Orks broke from the tree line in a horde of screaming snarling rage, choppas flashing dangerously and a murderous intent in their loping gait. The battle was joined once again.

[Ruadhan2300]

please sir...can I have some more? *holds up a bowl* @.@

[Chris OFarrell]

'ERE WE GO, 'ERE WE GO, 'ERE WE GOOOOO! ORKS! ORKS! ORKS! ORKS!

Awesome work Stravo! I really like your take on the Marines, still very clearly Astartes, yes with face of humanity on them. Some 40K writers don't get this and write them as little more then killing machines without personality, but you've done a great job here.

[Zachg56]

Very well done Stravo, I'm liking as to where this is going.

About your Marines being too familiar, I highly doubt that they are, considering the fact that they are essentially brothers, and have lived long enough to know each others quirks and what not. I'd be more surprised if they weren't so familiar.

[PainRack]

To Stravo: You are the only author who writes Space Marines that I can love, both on the battlefield and off.

[Stravo]

To Stravo: You are the only author who writes Space Marines that I can love, both on the battlefield and off.

Seriously, that is an awesome compliment. Thanks so much. The SM play such a central role in this story and if they are badly depicted it will take the whole story down.

[PainRack]

To Stravo: You are the only author who writes Space Marines that I can love, both on the battlefield and off.

Seriously, that is an awesome compliment. Thanks so much. The SM play such a central role in this story and if they are badly depicted it will take the whole story down.

No, thank you.

You have the ability to protray Space Marines as both the ubermensch and soldiers, something authors seem utterly unable to do when describing them in battle. On the character front, you showed us their nobility and grace, the knightly nature of the UltraMarines, portraying them as real characters as opposed to stereotyped caricatures, even when caught in nasty situations . Yet, they are also humanised in such a manner that they don't become too alien. Somehow, you caught the right mixture of nobility that make Space Marines alien to us, yet relevant to us and interesting via their humanity, something no other author was able to do except in various shorts.

[Shroom Man 777]

Goddamn that's awesome! Those Space Marine commanding officers were very cool, and I love the witty bantering but serious and cocky but professional dynamic they've got there. Man, what awesome Space Marines.

I also LOVE the Apothecary. That's a great depiction, of a truly superhuman surgeon. The part describing his exploits was totally sweet, man. As a nuers, I totally dig it. Seriously. Space Marine Triage!

(Man, the way you write this isn't like how normal Space Marine writers write it, but the way you do it? It works! Works even better then normal!)

[Erra]

As someone who's only experience in WH40K is playing Dawn of War II, I don't know a whole lot about the universe and fluff but I FREAKING LOVE THIS STORY. Your writing is superb and I am very much invested in the outcome of all your characters.

WORDS FOR THE WORD GOD
PUNCTUATION MARKS FOR HIS GRAMMAR THRONE

[Stravo]

'Ere we go. Another entry in the story and I think I'm going to stick to the flashback motif I have had going on for the earlier chapter. It allows me to do some interesting things with back story and foreshadowing.

This might be the longest chapter yet just because I hate breaking up the battles in to tiny chunks and there was so much to say and I wanted to thank the fans who have had the patience to wait between chapters with a little more material this time. As always critiques of the setting and such are very welcome as I don't think of myself as an expert of the setting just a HUGE fan.

Hope you like the latest entry.




Chapter 17: To the Banner


The roar of bolter fire almost drowned out the horrid shout of Waagh from the oncoming titanic horde of Orks as they charged towards the Imperial lines with reckless abandon and jeering glee.

Disciplined Space Marines stood in small clusters of fire teams pouring murderous fusillades into the capering wave of choppas and slugga armed mobs that were screaming for their blood or worse. Spent casings clattered to the ground or pinged off the armored shins of the Astartes, their blood red optics glowed in the staccato blasts of light from the muzzles of their weapons.

On the flank of the Space Marine lines the Cadian 502nd that had been bloody and battered during a full day of the Ork onslaught would not allow themselves to seem weakened by their ordeal and instead shouted as one and torrents of pale red las gun fire lanced out in scything waves into the emerald horde that advanced in a numberless screaming mob wracked in psychotic xenos zeal.

General Jinn rushed up to the very front of his trench line and drew an ornate power weapon. The hilt was encrusted with gems and worked in beautiful gold and silver inlay depicting Cadian and Imperial iconography. His officers immediately recognized it as the ceremonial weapon given to all generals when entrusted with command of a Cadian company. Its presence immediately told them two things. A general did not bring the weapon into combat unless he expected victory, should a general die or lose the weapon it was a grievous blow to his honor and frankly he should not live to tell the tale. Jinn was making it clear to his men that he was ready to stand and die in this battle. It also served as an additional incentive for his company. It was already a tragedy to lose your general but to also lose his ceremonial weapon left the company without honor and it was unlikely another general would want them for allowing both their general and his weapon to fall.

Jinn held the weapon up high and it crackled with hungry purpose, purple tendrils of destructive energy danced up the gleaming blade. He had decided in this desperate hour that he could not command from his bunker or other fortified location as was Cadian doctrine but that here at this awful moment for his men and his army he must stand with them at the front.

“Stand to you men!” Jinn shouted and his Cadians all snapped to attention, las rifles at the ready. Half of them quickly and agilely leapt up out of the trenches and took up firing positions behind the men still in the trenches. He looked up and down the dual lines emotionlessly and then dropped the weapon down to point the blade towards the incoming horde, ignoring the trembling of the packed earth beneath his feet as the orks approached without pause despite the horrific volleys of fire.

“At the ready!”

The Cadians, drilled to these orders from the moment they could hold a weapon, as one brought their las rifles up in one clean motion and buried the butt into this chins and fingers rested on the triggers. Power packs began humming as the charges built up.

“Choose your targets!”

The Cadians’ eyes narrowed down the sights of their rifles and chose one of the slobbering mob that thundered over the lip of their first abandoned trench line. Several deep reports ripped through the body of Orks as booby traps and mines hastily placed by the Cadian officers and their enginseers were tripped.

“For the honor of Cadia and the Imperium!” Jinn dropped his sword down in one smooth chopping motion.

“FIRST RANK FIRE!!!” he bellowed in a voice far too large to come from a man.

The Cadians lined up in the trenches fired in one unified volley savagely holding down the triggers far longer than usual and letting off a double volley torrent of las fire. Their rifles were not designed for such use and the power packs gave off warning tones that warbled up and down the firing line before they finally relented in their fire.

As the las beams died down Jinn did not hesitate and lifted his sword quickly again and dropped it down swiftly in a chopping motion as he shouted “SECOND RANK FIRE!”

The troopers standing up on the back lip of the trenches leaned in and fired just as the last volley of las fire from the first rank died down sending another coruscating torrent of pale red fire into the center mass of every Ork that the Cadian shock troopers could target. The results were as devastating to the forward momentum of the ork advance as Jinn had hoped. Many of the boyz were cast aside by the weight of fire, limbs and flash burned viscera showered the battlefield in an obscene rain.

The second rank finally stopped their volley and quickly tended to their buzzing las rifles as power packs desperately struggled to refill the power reservoirs for the las emitters. It would take precious moments for the rugged weapons to be able to fire again. Moments that if they had all fired at once would not have left the Cadians nearly defenseless against the oncoming onslaught of orks however the ranked fire system took this delay into account. Half of the units could fire a sustained torrent of las fire and while their rifles cycled and cooled the second rank would then take up firing during the lull.

The goal was simple. The rate of fire would be increased but the steady torrent of deadly volleys would not cease. It created the impact of a near continuous volley of fire from the Cadian las weapons that would tear through any determined enemy and Jinn noted with a grim smile that it was having its intended effect as he raised his weapon again and his first rank quickly brought their rifled up as the second rank finished the cycling procedure on their overtaxed power cells.

“FIRST RANK FIRE!!!”

The Cadian first rank fired a long torrent of las fire again as the vanguard of the Orks crested the second abandoned trench line and yet more booby trapped explosives were triggered. Behind the ranked Cadians the heavy weapons teams kicked into action. Heavy bolters chattered loudly and sent angry crimson tracer fire zipping over the Imperial heads moments later las cannon fire lanced out in measured bursts and finally the sharp long report of autocannon fire rounded out the volley liquefying the unfortunate orks that were impacted by the horrific cyclic fire and explosive shells.

“SECOND RANK FIRE!!” Jinn ordered getting into an even rhythmic cadence. A highly organized company fielding well maintained las rifles could continue this pace all day. However these Orks were no fools. They were doing everything in their power to close the distance. In any event he could see the follow on forces starting to falter, many of them stumbling backwards or coming to a halt as they realized how thinned out their mob had become in just a few steps and he could feel the ebb and flow of their wild exuberance deflated by the ugly deaths going on around them, Orks were fearless bastards up to a point. Jinn was hoping they were reaching that point.

However the warboss would not allow something as unorky as casualties become a factor in his mad rush to get stuck in with his boyz and the next wave was already roaring WAAGH and bursting out from the tree line accompanied by the deep roar of debased engines. Tall pine trees groaned and swayed in submission as half a dozen battle wagons rumbled into view packed with Ork boys jeering on the faltering front lines and in some instances pelting them with loose armor plate and other debris. The battlewagons were an obnoxious collection of armor plating, pipes, conduits, wires, that were haphazardly welded, bolted or tied onto a barely visible Imperial war machine at its center such as two chimera chassis cabled together like pack animals or a Leman Russ tank groaning under the weight of a tower of steel and ferocrete. No battlewagon was exactly alike but each ramshackle blasphemous corruption of Imperial technology was a testament to Ork ingenuity in the ways of war.

Following the battle wagons was a wall of walking armored cans, in some instances these were clearly made out of chemical waste barrels and drums, boasting rocket launchers, flame throwers and the infamous grotzooka that began launching a dizzying array of screaming grots desperately clutching bombs with lit fuses that impacted with loud explosive effect and a simultaneous scream of anguish as they landed into the packed earth around the Cadian and Astartes lines.

Jostling the smaller Killa Kans were the more massive Ork dreadnoughts, loudspeakers bolted onto their armored heads blared a mindless stream of invectives and shouts for action and death while buzz saws roared menacingly from many of the nonsensical appendages that hung from the main body in odd angles. One dreadnought leading the charge had a grot hanging off the side harnessed in a complicated contraption with a paint roller hurriedly slapping on globs of red paint.

The Cadians continued their torrents of fire but at the sight of their mechanized host behind them the boyz were emboldened and roared with renewed purpose and picked up the pace towards the Imperial lines almost within choppa range of their foe at last.

Jinn raised his power sword again but paused as a loud roar boomed directly overhead and a dozen space marines passed over the troops’ heads and landed with dancer like precision into the front ranks of the Orks that were closest to the weak point where the Cadian and Astartes lines linked up. Chainswords roared to life and cut into the first of the hulking brutes and eviscerated them with brutal efficiency.

The leader of the assault squad bore a beaked helmet, painted bright white indicating his status as a veteran and wielded dual lighting claws that crackled with dangerous power. He spun on one leg severing an Ork’s head while slashing down with the other hand taking another’s leg off neatly at the knee. Blood sprayed like fountains around him but not a drop seemed to touch the warrior as he continued his spinning arc and flayed the ork boyz closest to him with several measured swipes of his arms. He paused to bring the lightning claws up in a provocative pose as the Nob leader of the mob growled his challenge and batted the wounded boyz around him to clear the space.

“Youz as good as dead marine boy. This here is our world.” It spat venomously at the agile figure.

“This world is the Emperor’s! Like vermin you just pollute it and so must be cleansed.” The warrior replied evenly.

“Ahhhh, just Cleanse this!” The Nob roared and swung a wicked barbed axe out in a wide sweeping strike meant to gut the space marine. The sergeant pirouetted with ease and let the hungry blade pass within inches of his ceramic plated belly. He swept in tightly, dual blades flashing and pierced the Nob’s chest and belly.

It grunted loudly and looked down at the power claws dug deeply within its muscled frame. The stricken Nob looked back up into the glowing red optics of the white helmet.

The nob spat a thick red glob of bloody spit onto the immaculate white snout of the helmet before the marine sergeant jerked hard backwards with both arms and took the nob apart in a violent bust of blood and viscera.

The mob gathered around the now dead nob were visibly shaken by the holocaust made out of their leader but then they heard the shouts of encouragement from the lads around them, some cheering them on “You gonna take that from the blue boy?!” “Weze all knew Gronk was a pansy!” and other shouts cut through the moment of uncertainly and the survivors of Gronk’s mob hurled themselves at the assault marines with reckless abandon.

Jinn lost sight of the swirling mess of choppas and marine chain swords when his attention was drawn to the shout of alarm from his left flank. An Ork trukk, more kind to describe it as a junk heap with three wheels (the fourth looked to all intents and purposes like an officer’s map table with the corners crudely lopped off) suddenly burst into view and six enormous shapes leapt out and landed on the earth with an audible thump. Loud clanking accompanied by belching steam and black smoke followed and Jinn knew what they were seeing.

“Look alive you apes! Meganobz on the flank. Bring them down before they close the distance!” Commissar Lazarr shouted while empathically jabbing his power fist in the direction of the figures that were now lining up in a disorderly line and were slowly building up steam as they approached, each footfall like the hammer stroke of some blacksmith from a feral world banging on an anvil.

The meganobz raised their arms with a loud clank and hiss of steam and a shower of shoota fire and rockets slashed into the front trench line fired from their arm mounted weapons more for their own amusement than intent to kill.

“We’re comin’ for ya humies!” The leader taunted.

“Weze make a right bright red mess of ya!” another cackled with delight as las fire that bounced or lanced off their massive armored plates illuminated their wicked green leering faces. The Meganobz approach was terrifying as the armored suits clanked and wheezed, powered claws snapped menacingly, one was obviously in need of some lubrication and gave off a spine chilling long metallic screech every time it opened and closed.

Big black clouds of smoke and steam belched out from the power plants mounted on their backs creating an acrid pall. Grots scuttled like insects along the backs of the armored behemoths tinkering with the equipment and in some cases actually hammering circuits into place with blackened mallets as they coaxed the suits to perform for their masters.

“Bring them down!” Jinn ordered and turned to his heavy weapons teams behind them. “You hear me bring them down, now!” He dreaded to think what would happen when those behemoths hit the flank with enough momentum behind them and Emperor help them all they were starting to run.

The heavy bolters chattered hard to the left and tracers swung towards the meganobz but each bolter round merely smacked loudly off the armored plates and served to amuse their attackers as they drew closer. The Ork mobz that managed to reach this close to the battle began smacking their choppas into the ground in a primitive drum beat providing them with a cadence to measure their run against as the meganobz approached the Cadian lines like an accelerating freight train.

Jinn grit his teeth and prepared to meet the charge, power weapon at the ready as his body guard of carapace armored troopers materialized around him in a tight phalanx.




Captain Mordred de la Croix stood proudly at the front of his assembled spearhead as bolter rounds whizzed by him on their way to slay another foul xenos enemy of the Imperium of Man. He raised his power sword high and spoke in a loud clear voice, helmet off and face fully exposed to his men so they could see the intensity in his eyes and the zeal on etched on his face.

“ADEPTUS ASTARTES OF THE ULTRAMARINES - WHO ARE WE?”

The front ranks raised their bolters to their shoulders and shouted through the vox speakers in their helmets, volume cranked up to maximum.

“WE ARE THE 14th COMPANY, BROTHER CAPTAIN!”

“WHAT IS OUR CREED?” Mordred demanded needing no vox unit to be heard across the battlefield while he whipped his head to and fro to examine his men.

“MACRAGGE!” the troops roared.

“NEVER AGAIN!” the Officers responded with a boom.

“MACRAGGE!”

“NEVER AGAIN!”

And with each bellowed shout of the 14th company’s creed the troops fired off rapid fire fashion their bolters. The Officers followed suit when it was their turn.

“MACRAGGE!” Bolters snapped as one in a double tap burst from the fire teams.

“NEVER AGAIN!” Pistols and bolters shots from the sergeants and officers completed the creed.

Mordred kept the Creed up and he watched out of the periphery of his vision that the Cadians were following suit in their own fashion. It was refreshing to fight along side Imperial troops who could hold their own. He was angry however that his banner was not over head inspiring his men. Where in the emperor’s name was it?

His eyes quickly narrowed on one of the Ork battle wagons making dangerous head way towards them, bolter shots were harmlessly falling off its ridiculous armored hide like rain and big shootas welded on to various locations along the top of the massive tower of the wagon blasted perilously close to their lines. Judging from the power of the shots Mordred had no illusions as to what would happen should one of these Ork rounds strike his power armored men.

“Jericho! Hold this firing line.” Mordred shouted as he began moving towards the looming behemoth. Jericho did his best to not show the sudden alarm on his face as he watched Mordred break ahead of the lines.

“Brother Captain!” Jericho began.

“And put your damned helmet on!” Mordred cut him off as he broke into a run and reached into his belt to unclip a melta bomb.

“Damnit!” Jericho cursed.

Mordred heard their jibes now as he drew closer. The orks being carried into battle within the bowels of the tortured war machine had drawn notice of him and were alerting others to his approach, in particular the heavy gunners along the top of the tower of ferocrete and mangled ceramic plate that leaned precariously left then right depending on what direction the massive battle wagon was driving. Why the mangled mess of a tower had not collapsed on the drive up to the battle field was a mystery to the determined space marine captain as he danced left then right, avoiding the shots zinging down on him. Compacted earth erupted up in small clouds as the misshapen high powered rounds missed.

Caspian frowned heavily as he watched the display with great unease. Back in his prime this was par for the course. But now?

“Did you clear him for that kind of action?” Caspian growled down at apothecary Vicarus who smirked as he regarded the cyclopean librarian.

“Whether I did or not does not matter does it? He’s Captain Mordred de la Croix and this is his profession. He is doing what he was born to do.”

Caspian glowered at the near insolent tone but there was no arguing with the logic.

Mordred grunted with effort as he nearly lost his footing on a tight spinning move to avoid another volley of fire. An enormous…bath tub..landed not more than a hands span away from him with a mighty splat into the earth and there was laughter above him. He tried his best not to be distracted by the variety of the ammunition that Orks could resort to.

“Hey! Hey! Look ya grot lovers! He’s totin’ a melta watchamacllit. Stop mucking about and kill ‘em!” someone shouted in annoyance. Ah, Ork officers. Quite the observant lot.

A missile corkscrewed above him and impacted against the tower sending a shower of splintered armor plate and several unfortunate gretchin showering down on him. Mordred did not need to glance back to know the source of the fire. He clearly heard Jericho shouting for another round.

“Give the Captain covering fire, Brothers! For the Primarch and Macragge!”

Mordred smiled in spite of himself and ducked down as more bullets whizzed by him kicking up more dirt and debris, some of it pinged off his armor like a warning bell. He could see his target. One of the oversized wheels of the wagon spinning through the dirt with awful intend, conduits and wired hung down from a nest of debris hung snugly above the axle rod.

A few more steps and…no.

The first coughing spasms caught him in mid-stride and Mordred doubled over from surprise and pain as razors scrawled their way across his lungs. He stumbled and lost his footing hitting the ground like bomb sending clods of earth through the air and some of it jamming into the neck joint of his armor.

He could not hear the roar of laughter from the assembled ork mobs packed tightly into the tower section of the battle wagon, arms and legs jutting out at odd angles from any opening available. The jeers and expletives came loud and fierce but there was no shame only anger at his weakness.

“Are you failing me like this already?” he muttered in a daze as he struggled to bring himself to his feet. He heard the loud coughing of a tortured imperial engine and the ground beneath him shuddered and rumbled like thunder.

His eyes could barely focus on the gargantuan wheel that was looming into view.

“Dat’s it, boyz. Give ‘em a good squish!” a Nob cackled from high above the stricken space marine captain. The Orks had decided to simply turn their beast of a transport slightly and run him down like an insect beneath their massive armored wheels.

Mordred shook his head violently to clear it, clutching the melta bomb close to his chest and prepared to turn the arming mechanism.

“Not a smart play was it, Sergeant?” he heard a gruff voice quietly whisper in his left ear. Mordred shook his head slowly. “No, it wasn’t first Sergeant Cadmus. You taught me better than this.” He replied without thinking. First Sergeant Cadmus had been his commander in the Valiant First Company. Cadmus had taken him under his wing and closely instructed the head strong sergeant of the First Company’s assault squad. Cadmus always smoked an obnoxious cigar – quite a rare weakness among the Astartes let alone a First Sergeant in the First Company but it was so like Cadmus to be different than what you would expect.

It didn’t occur to Mordred at the moment that Cadmus was long dead, slain back to back with his battle brothers in Terminator armor at the lowest levels of Macragge’s mighty south polar fortresses during the Tyranid invasion.

Mordred carefully measured the spacing in the struts supporting the massive wheel that was coming his way like the drumbeat of doom, the earth now churning under his knees and threatening to send him sprawling. He saw the overhanging cables and conduits leading up into the bowels of the battle wagon. Perfect.

“What did I tell you I would do for you?” Cadmus asked tersely.

Mordred nodded with a dazed half smile.

“The Ultramarines taught me how to fight. You would teach me how to think.” He replied with a wistful whisper.

“Tell me, sergeant de la Croix, what are the only two possibilities that could come from facing down an armored vehicle with no support and just your own ordinance?” Cadmus demanded in his parade ground shout.

Mordred straightened as the shadow of the wheel covered him like an eclipse and the earth churned up under him ready to carry him underneath the grinding armored treads. His senses were sharp as a monomolecular blade and his body was light as air. He was a razor.

A loud roar overcame the churning rumble of the wagon and the jeers of his Ork foe and he could feel the heavy impact of a bulk landing behind him. Two strong arms wrapped themselves around Mordred’s midsection and a calm voice filtered through a vox interrupted his reverie.

“I have you, brother Captain.”

“Death or glory!” Mordred shouted in response to Cadmus’ inquiry and he savagely twisted the meltabomb’s arming pin and flung it up into the conduits and cables hanging like vines in a twisted jungle above the wheel, the force of the wheel’s own movement carried the bomb deep up out of sight into the wheel well.. His legs left earth and Mordred was carried away into the sky and for a moment he felt free. The earth shrunk away and there was the azure of the sky and the thickening clouds were the only thing in his field of vision.

The Meltabomb’s detonation was cataclysmic deep in the recesses of the wagon and the fires wafted up like a geyser into the troop bays of the leaning tower of ferocrete and ceramic plate. Orks screamed in surprise and agony as many were burnt alive pressed against the mesh cages and walls of their once secure holds. The concussion caught them as the jump pack’s engines whined with the strain of the extra weight struggling to take them higher.

Both Mordred and his savior were swatted away like Macragge bloat flies in a stiff summer breeze and they landed unceremoniously into the packed earth meters away from the crippled Ork battle wagon. Mordred instantly sat up straight and inspected his handy work. Thick black smoke poured out of the wagon and the surviving Orks were emergency disembarking in their own manner – some were simply leaping off the upper most portions of the burning tower – some comically flapping their arms in vain hopes of slowing the descent, others were rappelling down in a haphazard fashion using chains, ropes and the barbed wire that had moments before been ringing the outer shell of the tower. One Ork was fastening a flotation device around his waist and preparing to jump while simultaneously furiously blowing into the inner tube.

“Captain!” Jericho breathlessly exclaimed as he knelt down beside Mordred. A tactical squad quickly formed a ring around him, bolters at the ready.

Mordred glanced up at his young First Sergeant.

“Continue suppressive fire, and focus on the Orks disembarking. All this was for nothing if the survivors can regroup and attack.” Mordred ordered sharply and rose to his feet.

“Of course Captain!” Jericho replied and nodded to his men.

“And many thanks, Brother sergeant Vulko. As always you are precisely where I need you.” Mordred continued and offered a hand to the assault marine sergeant who had been on the ground next to him. It was awkward to get off the ground with a jump pack strapped to your back, Mordred was intimately familiar with that feeling.

Vulko gladly took the offered hand and rose to his feet as well, an ugly red splotch of blood and bile stained his usual immaculate white beaked helm.

“Always a pleasure, Captain though I find it rather unusual for our captain to be making unsupported assaults on transports. Where was our first sergeant?” Vulko asked as he removed his helmet. His eyes were an odd pair, one cold blue and the other a pure milky white his once blonde hair now mostly iron grey was tightly pulled back in a severe crew cut. Vulko was not bulky like most of his battle brothers but had more of a lithe dancer’s body – at least as lithe as a 9 foot tall Astartes could be.

“I was doing my duty, our captain broke protocol.” Jericho countered.

“You’re supposed to anticipate, improvise, adapt.” Vulko replied with a raised eyebrow.

“Are we going to be arguing, children, or killing xeno scum?” Mordred interrupted.

“I kill for the Emperor and my captain.” Vulko replied with a cold smile and slipped his helmet back on. “And Jericho…do keep up.” He activated his jump pack and leapt to the sky.

Jericho muttered something unintelligible while shaking his head as he regarded the blue armored figure sailing back into the fray with his men.

“First Sergeant, we have a problem.” Mordred noted dryly.

“Sir?” Jericho glanced back into the battle and froze. A mass of Orks was breaking from the tree line and barreling towards them. The numbers swelling against them was more than troubling now.

“Where in the Emperor’s name are our follow on forces?” Jericho muttered.

A loud long scream of retro rockets firing erupted above them and a crimson streak of fire and metal blasted into view and plowed directly through the tall leaning tower of the crippled battle wagon creating a cloud of vaporized metal, ferocrete and Ork limbs. The drop pod continued on its path undeterred as the tower collapsed upon itself and the battle wagon finally died, its machine spirit no longer able to handle the abuse and torture.

The drop pod impacted into the mass of oncoming Orks sending boyz flying through the air screaming in surprise and glee. The pod was silent for a moment, its metal hide hissing and popping then the explosive bolts on the doors exploded like bolter fire and the doors snapped open like metal petals on a flower, they crushed some unfortunate Orks who found themselves too close to the pod.

A loud thunderous series of blasts that sounded like ripping paper followed the opening of the pod and a half dozen orks were violently lifted off their feet and liquidated by a torrent of high velocity rounds. The hammer like blows of metal impacting on metal followed and out of the smoking drop pod loomed the massive shape of Brother Godric, Ironclad Dreadnought of the 14th company assault cannon smoking and spinning up for the next volley of fire.

He strode forth out on one of the metallic petals of the open drop pod and raised his clawed arm in salute to his enemy and promptly bathed them in a blossoming plume of blazing promethium that billowed forth from the heavy flamer attached to his close combat weapon. His claw snapped and spun in anticipation as he heard the musical screams of his burning foes. On his back he bore a strange box like attachment and it suddenly burst open with the sound of more explosive bolts detonating.

A pike telescoped upwards bearing a banner. The banner snapped open along a transverse beam that now unfurled opened as well. The chapter banner was finally revealed for all to see. The great blue banner emblazoned with the Ultramarine Omega symbol, a small Roman Numerical 14 in bold white letters stamped in the uppermost left portion of the banner while in the center dominated a beautifully depiction of Macragge, an ornate sword stabbed down from the upper right portion, crossing Macragge and in the bottom left pierced the head of a leering Tyranid Genestealer. Written across the bottom in perfectly scripted High Gothic were the words: MACRAGGE NEVER AGAIN WE SMITE THE DEVOURER IN HIS NAME

As the Orks reacted to the presence of the dreadnought suddenly in their midst, Godric switched on his vox speakers and spoke in a boisterous intonation like a preacher to his flock.

“ASTARTES OF THE 14th COMPANY DO NOT DARE CALL YOURSELVES ULTRAMARINES SHOULD YOU LET THIS BLESSED BANNER FALL!!!!”




THE MOUNTAIN


The deep rhythmic drumbeat that reverberated in the deep bowels of the mountain were unmistakably the sound of heavy munitions and weapon impacts. It was the only sound in the chamber where Inquisitor Ezekiel Malagaunt worked with quiet intensity scrawling silver powdered chalk into the uneven stone floor.

In one hand he held open an ancient tattered tome, crimson stains colored the tattered dog eared pages and the parchment of the pages were wrinkled like the skin of an old weathered man. The ink was barely legible, faded and worn into the pages. Long shadows were cast against the wraith bone walls called up by the light of the small lantern dutifully held by Malagaunt’s servitor, Narcis.

The thing that was once Byblos cocked its head to one side in the mockery of an attentive pose. The Once Byblos had never been human but was using muscle memory and the tattered remnants of the unfortunate psyker’s mind to create a facsimile of human movement and mannerisms. To the practiced eye it was a horrifying display of malevolent and altogether alien intelligence.

“I wonder, Ezekiel…do you feel any shame?”

Malagaunt ignored it as he completed the fifth circle of protection and whispered a prayer to the Emperor to infuse it with power and purpose.

“Those men up there are fighting and dying for you.” Once Byblos leered down at him now, the eyes were chillingly empty of anything remotely resembling the spark of a human soul. Soulless? So many people threw the word around with casual disdain but they could never truly know the meaning until they looked into the eyes of something like the thing that possessed the hapless human psyker. An alien intelligence not even constructed by men, it was truly alien for it had never known life in any way and its own programming, if such an archaic term could be ascribed to its creation, was not done by any race that could be called human.

“Don’t speak of things you don’t understand, foul one. It makes your argument childish and unconvincing.” Malagaunt replied over his shoulder.

“I wonder whether they know how you are using them?”

Malagaunt carefully turned the page to the tome and checked the diagrams he had carefully drawn onto the floor of the chamber that housed the artifact. At the center of the room there was the pedestal that held the loathsome mask of corrupted liquid metal. It pulsed with a sickly light that lent a sick pall to the chamber.

“I am not well versed in human comedy, but it is richly ironic that you have worked so hard to halt the evil machinations of what you so drolly call Chaos but have never stopped to think of your own machinations and what they do to those around you.”

Malagaunt nodded to Narcis who proceeded to spread incense from the smoking gold dispenser that clanked loudly with each measured swing to the four cardinal points of the circles of protection.

“Can we kill it?” Dorian asked eying the skeletal mockery of a man with distaste.

Ivan giggled at the suggestion but he could feel his mind slipping into darker and darker places.

“If you could see what I can see, brute, you would be gouging your eyes out about now.” Ivan sneered.

“Be still.” Cassandra whispered gently touching Ivan’s shoulder. The young twisted psyker visibly relaxed and grew quiet again but his eyes were darting around furtively. Every shadow looming was something so much more to those with the vision to see beyond.

Once Byblos leaned closer to Malagaunt and Dorian tensed with his finger on the trigger to the heavy bolter. Once Byblos smiled the rictus grin of death, skin like parchment pulled back too far revealing teeth that were too long and too pointed to have ever been human in the first place.

“Do you think they regret ever meeting you, Ezekiel, those pawns you claim to care so deeply for?”

Malagaunt looked up into the empty eyes.

“Your shell, you don’t have much time left, do you?” he noted evenly as he saw some of the skin flaking off its cheeks and the increasingly grayish tone of the flesh of the possessed psyker. Black ichor sweat was running from its scalp down the back of its neck and he could see the rags of the guard uniform starting to cling to its torso slick with the sweat.

Despite his bravado however the thing’s words brought unbidden memories.




NINEVEH 3 YEARS EARLIER


Mordred de la Croix sat stoically in his seat as he finished writing onto the dataplate with his electrostylus and looked up at the trio standing on the other side of his massive oaken desk. First Sergeant Jericho stood at attention, eyes fixed forward flanking the group on one side while on the other stood one of the space marines of his company also at attention.

“So. You are the Inquisitors sent by the Ordos at my request.”

“Indeed we are, Captain.” The oldest of the trio replied and gave a sharp salute. He was grim faced and solidly built. A scar ran down his cheek and vanished into the neck guard of his cloak. His eyes were bright and piercing black and his nose was long and angular, twisted slightly to the side probably broken at some point in his life and not properly cared for. He sported a sharply groomed goatee but Mordred could tell it was fashioned to hide his youth.

“I am Inquisitor Ricardo Harken. Ordos Xenos at your service.”

“Inquisitor Genevieve Alsbareth. Ordos Hereticus, a pleasure captain.”

Inquisitor Alsbareth was stunningly beautiful. Long raven hair flowed down and around her oval shaped face and caramel colored skin. The only flaw on her face was a nasty old burn mark on her neck cleverly hidden by the flowing hair. Her cloak parted slightly to reveal a form fitting leather tunic and thigh high boots fitted for long journeys on foot. Her pale green eyes were stormy and hooded as she regarded the space marine captain with a measured gaze.

“Ezekiel Malagaunt, Ordo Malleus.”

The young man smiled pleasantly, unlike many of his ilk he was beautiful, almost angelic and his piercing grey eyes were magnetic. This was a man who was accustomed to power and command yet his open face disarmed you with his easy charm and manner. He wore an armored vest and one hand resting on the head of his thunder hammer that he was currently using as a cane.

Mordred immediately marked him as dangerous. He also felt an odd sense of déjà vu. He almost wanted to ask him if they had met before but he knew better. His memory was flawless, he was Astartes after all.

“Captain de la Croix. I have heard so many things about you in my time traveling through the Segmentum. Your brother Ultramarines have nothing but praise for you and the establishment of this, shall we say unorthodox, company is a testament to the high regard you in which you must be held.” Malagaunt replied with a warm smile.

Mordred watched him for a long moment, the only sound in the room were the regulators on his men’s battle suits gently breathing and the sharp ticks of the time piece in the back corner of his rather Spartan office. The wood framed time piece was a relic, an ancient device gifted to him by the Mechanicum in appreciation for a small favor granted to one of their tech priests in Mordred’s past as a young sergeant.

“Your words are designed to put me at ease, prick at whatever pride I may hold in myself and make me more willing to open up and speak to you. I will not play the game that way and hold myself out like some wanton harlot. Speak plainly, sir. It is the only currency I do not hold cheap when it comes to interactions from outside the brotherhood.”

Malagaunt blinked for a moment, caught off guard by the directness of Mordred’s response and then there was a smile. This was not some warm pleasant mask of a smile like the one previously offered but a respectful yet dangerous grin from one warrior to another. The other two were obviously shocked by the directness of the statement.

“So, your reputation is well deserved then. I will dispense with the pleasantries.” Malagaunt continued and eyed the two stoic giants flanking him. “The Inquisition is intrigued by your request. This should have come from your higher command on Ultramar yet it came by personal courier straight to my superior on Helios Prime. We respect the Adeptus Astartes for all they have done for the Imperium and we recognize what a burden this is for your order, especially as hallowed as the Ultramarines, to request intervention by my Ordos to investigate your suspicions of heresy on your chapter world.” Malagaunt leaned in slightly and lowered his voice for dramatic effect. “We know you like to keep order in your own house. We have heard the whispers of what the Dark Angels do.”

“The Dark Angels do not concern me.” Mordred replied simply. “My own people do. And I myself am intrigued by your presence.”

“Indeed?” Malagaunt replied with a slight raise of an eyebrow,

Mordred held up a data slate.

“Your credentials arrived an hour before you did. My astropaths are quite skilled in data retrieval and speed. You belong to the Ordo Malleus and Ms. Alsbareth to the Ordo Hereticus.”

“I’m not following you, sir.” Alsbareth replied simply.

Mordred nodded and lay the slate back down on his desk.

“The confusion lies in that my request to your order was clear. There is no Chaos taint here. No demons hold sway on my world. My population are good and just people, loyal to the realm of Ultramar and Emperor himself. No heresy flourishes here. This is a matter for the Ordo Xenos.”

“You believe you are dealing with a Genestealer cult, no?” Malagaunt replied directly.

Mordred pursed his lips slightly and his eyes darted ever so subtly to Jericho. The first sergeant turned his head to catch the eye of the servitor at the door. It obediently closed the doors shut with an audible thud.

Malagaunt quietly noted the ease of command and how fluidly the Captain’s men responded to his every whim with but a glance. Despite the rumors he had uncovered before coming here concerning the extreme unorthodoxy of this chapter there was no doubt these Astartes were every bit as disciplined as any other Ultramarines.

“And what if we are?” Mordred asked sitting back in his chair.

“Then I will let you know that we have ferreted out six cults in the last two years. Including one that had even taken hold of the Military Governor of a world surprisingly close to Terra. Embarrassing business that one was but it was handled with extreme discretion by myself and my team.”

Mordred was closely examining the young inquisitor with a piercing gaze as he spoke.

“That is quite an accomplishment for a group of Inquisitors so young in years, no?”

“To put it simply, Captain, we are the best at what we do. We are good because as a team we bring a different set of skills that when combined make us extremely effective at destroying the enemies of mankind.” Harken explained with pride clearly coloring his voice.

“I take it the military governor was..dealt with?”

Malagaunt nodded slowly.

“As it must be when one has failed the Emperor in their duties to such a degree…but out here under the auspices of the Ultramarines it would be handled differently.” Malagaunt carefully added with a polite nod.

“Thank you for letting me know that I would be spared. How kind.” Mordred replied frostily.

“He wouldn’t live past the moment the order was uttered.” Jericho interjected coldly.

Malagaunt’s eyes flashed over to the young first sergeant with a calculating glance. Mordred showed no sign of displeasure save for a tightness around the mouth and Jericho immediately knew he had overstepped and snapped back to attention eyes straight ahead like a statue.

“Threats not withstanding our intention is not to punish but to save. As an Astartes with several centuries of experience you must understand the pressures we are under.” Alsbareth offered.

“You cannot show mercy or you invite disaster.” Mordred offered neutrally.

Malagaunt smiled softly at such a tempting opening but instead he quietly inspected one of the few trophies Mordred allowed himself sitting on his desk. A xeno skull, an opening blasted at the base of the elongated cranium obviously caused by a bolter round at close range.

“I prefer to think of it as prudence in all things, to kill out of simple retribution is folly. I prefer to collect…favors.”

“Favors?” Mordred put an emphasis on the word as if it were an offensive taste in his mouth. He noted that Harken shifted uncomfortably and Alsbareth pursed her lips as if to hold something back.

“My colleague may put too much stress on the matter, my good captain but in the end, when all is said and done, we are all on the same side.” Harken interjected.

“You are widely regarded as one of the foremost experts on the Tyranids. To allow you to fall under inquisitorial scrutiny and perhaps worse would be lamentable to the Imperium as a whole especially in light of the fact that unlike the military governor we were discussing earlier it was your own prudence and alertness that brought us to this point. You simply recognized a threat that was beyond your current capabilities and reached out to a resource that was. Just as any good, loyal and just Imperial citizen would.” Malagaunt continued.

“We always recognize those that serve the Emperor and those that do not. Asking for Inquisitorial assistance is always seen in the most positive light.” Alsbareth added.

“Let us not parse words too carefully, Inquisitors. In the final analysis we Astartes are not currently under your jurisdiction. To use your own words, you are here as a favor.”

Malagaunt nodded sagely.

“I see you take my point well. One good turn deserves another, sir. I pledge our unswerving determination and resolve to see this examination through and when we am done we vow that this world will be clean…and it will be done quietly.”

“Our team is renowned, Captain, throughout the inquisition. Our presence here is an acknowledgement by the Inquisitorial authorities that you will receive the best they have out of respect for your brotherhood and all it has done for the Imperium.” Harken explained.

“And it is an unspoken recognition of how difficult it must have been to make the request in the first place.” Alsbereth smiled and it was as if the room lit up. If Mordred were a mortal man he would most likely have fallen in love at that moment. She moved exquisitely, every motion of her hands was measured and elegant. “We are not fools, Captain De La Croix. We know the esteem in which you and your brethren hold us and so relations must be handled very delicately and we are masters of the delicate situation.”

Mordred said nothing for a long moment. He turned his chair away from the Inquisitors to glance out the ceiling to floor window that opened out into the Spartan parade ground beyond. Below them he noted that Brother Godric was holding battle drills for the new recruits and above them a low screech of jet packs signaled the arrival of his assault squads from their exercises in the mountains. They landed like a flock of predatory birds on the periphery of sprawling complex.

“I expect that this investigation goes quickly?” he asked neutrally.

“It is my experience, Captain, that once the cults are ferreted out they unravel rather quickly especially on regimented worlds such as Astartes chapter planets and principalities.” Harken noted clinically.

“There have been such infestation on other chapter worlds?” Mordred asked curiously. His back was still to the inquisitor.

Malagaunt smiled knowingly.

“As we said we are discrete, Captain and let us say other Astartes chapters have benefitted from that discretion. I assure you this is no deal with the devil.” Malagaunt added.

Mordred slowly turned in his chair to regard the angelic faced inquisitor.

“No. Somehow I think it is far worse…but I have no choice in this matter. My first duty is to my people and my hatred for the xenofilth of the Tyranid knows no bounds.” Mordred rose from his seat and offered a data slate and seal to the Inquisitor.

Malagaunt carefully took them and examined the data slate.

“You have authorization to go where you need to go, interrogate whom you need to interrogate and requisition what you need from our stores but there is one caveat to your authority.”

Malagaunt nodded with a knowing sigh.

“Let me guess. Your Astartes are off limits?” Harken concluded.

Mordred smirked.

“That would go without saying. My men are pure and righteous servants of the Emperor. No, more to the point. When you find the source of this cult you are to inform me and it will be my kill team that burns them out. We will kill them, Inquisitors, down to the last vile organism they will feel the Emperor’s hate through our bolters and flamers.”

“I would not have hesitated for a moment to allow the killing blow to fall to your men.” Alsbareth gently assured him.

“So, just to be clear, we have your full cooperation in this matter and our authority will not be questioned?” Malagaunt pressed.

“With the seal you hold in your hands, Inquisitor, your word is as good as mine on this world.” Mordred leaned in hands splayed on his desk and his eyes narrowed on all three Inquisitors with deathly intensity. He regarded each one carefully before he spoke. “Find them. All of them.”

“You have my word.” Malagaunt promised and bowed respectfully as he started to leave.

“Inquisitor Malagaunt.”

“Yes?”

“I hope we never have to meet again.”

Malagaunt looked pensive for a moment and a shadow crossed his face. Alsbareth was curiously watching him while Harken seemed offended by the statement on its face.

“Hoping is a fool’s errand, Captain. Fate plays her tune and we just dance to it.” Malagaunt replied with a polite shrug. He bowed again and turned on his heel and strode out, seal clasped in his hand and a dark intent in his eyes. Jericho followed him out.

Mordred watched the young man leave then took his seat and stared down at his desk for a long while not moving. Nothing could calm the darkness that had settled in his heart.

[Ghost Rider]

As always, good stuff, Stravo.

The Dreadnaught seals it as just the pushing of a grand battle, but the feeling of the bits of the Cadians and Space Marines in general give an awesome feel overall. And still I enjoy it intertwinned with the Inquistor/Daemon bits.

[White Haven]

Woo, more Paths! Good stuff, but I did notice a couple things that jarred me out of the narrative/universe.

-Overly comprehensible Orks. In some places, Ork speech is very debased and broken, in others it's barely even 'accented' as it were. '“Youz as good as dead marine boy. This here is our world.” It spat venomously at the agile figure.' comes to mind as an example; the bolded portion sounds like an Oxford-educated Ork.

-Ork unit names sound...odd, at least to me, when they're being said by a narrator or an Imperial as opposed to coming from the mouth of an Ork. This is especially true for the wonkier ones, such as Killa Kans. This is a bit more subjective, but the same thing broke me out of the narrative in some of the official fiction.

-'On the flank of the Space Marine lines the Cadian 502nd that had been bloody and battered during a full day of the Ork onslaught would not allow themselves to seem weakened by their ordeal and instead shouted as one and torrents of pale red las gun fire lanced out in scything waves into the emerald horde that advanced in a numberless screaming mob wracked in psychotic xenos zeal.' begs for punctuation. I have the same problem when I write, albeit usually along with an overabundance of commas, so I tend to look out for it when I'm reading others' work in turn. Now if only I could find a way to ship you some of my double helping of commas...

Overall very good stuff as always, though, and a pleasure to read.

[Stravo]

Ah, the run on sentence, my old friend. Have you ever heard the old Klingon proverb that revenge is a dish best served cold? Anyway yeah, it's one of my issues that I constantly battle with. Commas was just not drilled into me in school so they find themselves in my writing inconsistently.

In terms of the units I think my issue is that I've been reading the codexes now so I just use their terms whereas before I was more winging it when the units come on. I'll have to watch that more closely.

[Zachg56]

I have to say, this was very well thought out. Asides from a few things which can be looked over, such as the Oxford Ork, this last chapter was pretty damn good.

FOR THE EMPEROR!!

[Tandrax218]

Woooohooo

great story , loved reading it

Hope u update it soon

keep up the good work !!!!