Iron Within, Iron Without

[Valdenaar]

I have decided to post some of my earlier works here on B&C and see what the response is. Hope you enjoy it and feedback, no matter how critical is welcome. I will be posting a few short stories soon but I'm a little preoccupied presently.

 

This is the first two chapters.

 

Well here it goes.

 

ONE

 

One-Seven-Three Eleven as it was known by the men and women of the 173rd Expeditionary Fleet, that being because it was the Eleventh world to be encountered by the 173rd, was an unimpressive world when compared to others they had seen.

A world of fields and open plains with only sixteen major cities planet-wide it had been discovered two weeks previous and to the joy of all, they had found it was inhabited by a splinter of humanity.

Following the protocols the Emperor had laid down at the start of the crusade over two centuries ago, the Master of the Fleet, Tomos Shukala, contacted the controlling government, telling them that Terra the birthworld of the human race had risen from the darkness of Old Night stronger than ever under the Emperor of Mankind.

He told them that the Emperor and his Imperium sought to reunite the Human race under one banner so that they may enter a new golden age of prosperity and dominance over the entire galaxy.

Ambassadors were sent down to try and reach compliance and for days the discussions went on, the Imperial Ambassadors seeking a way to get the inhabitants of what the natives called Foraxa to join the Imperium. Then after what was reported as a successful day in the negotiations, the ambassadors were killed by the Foraxans.

Such actions did not go unpunished and the group of ships accompanying the 173rd, ships with grey hulls decorated with yellow and black chevrons manoeuvred into low orbit in response.

Moments after achieving geosynchronous orbit the ships began to deploy their landing craft, firing drop pods from their tubes and launching Stormbird assault craft from their colossal hangers.

The Iron Warriors began their assault without warning.

 

Walking the trenches and listening to the whine of artillery, Varas Antaro looked at every Iron Warrior he passed and nodded to all who looked his way. Many turned and saluted him as he passed by and Antaro couldn’t help but feel proud to command such a force of men.

Overall he command a Grand Company, a thousand Men strong and he knew that he was favoured greatly to be allowed such a large command, and he had never squandered his men’s lives because of it. They weren’t just his men they were also his brothers and he commanded them with pride, dedicated to them as they were to him.

‘Varas this is Noveris. Are your positions ready?’ said the voice of the Legion’s First Captain over the vox.

‘Aye, Elekis. We are ready for Lord Peturabo’s orders. What about your own?’

Noveris chuckled, ‘My men were ready the second they landed. We’ll begin momentarily. Iron Within.’

‘Iron Without.’ said Antaro, finishing the Legion’s battlecry before cutting the channel.

Over the lip of the trench the planetary capital of the Foraxans loomed and for days the defenders on the walls and the Iron Warriors and their Imperial Army reserves in the trenches had exchanged fire. Sections of trench had been pounded by artillery but the Iron Warriors had simply rebuilt them with an inhuman speed. Their superhuman abilities and talent for siege warfare meaning the destroyed sections of trench were soon dug and fortified again within hours despite horrendous damage.

In return the walls of the city had been pounded by the Iron Warriors’ accurate and powerful artillery, whole kilometre long stretches reduced to little more than rubble, held only by bloody, battered and demoralised conscript soldiers.

It had been two weeks since their landing on One-Seven-Three Eleven and all across the planet the cities had fallen to the Imperials in short order, one of the four Iron Warriors Grand Companies present having led Army assaults on most of them but the capital, Aol, was built like a fortress and so it was that Peturabo, the Iron Warriors Primarch had chosen to focus his own efforts on cracking it.

The Iron Warriors boasted there wasn’t a fortress built that could stand against them when they were led by their Primarch. When Peturabo looked at a fortress, he studied its every detail, took everything he knew into account and ultimately produced the perfect plan to take it.

Antaro aspired to achieve his master’s knowledge of siege warfare but knew that he would never even come close and resigned himself to learning as much as he could before the fateful day arrived.

Continuing to walk down the trench, Antaro headed in the direction of his command dugout, where his command squad would be waiting for him and he soon arrived, his Grand Company’s veteran standard bearer waiting for him with the company standard held almost horizontally so it didn’t appear over the lip of the trench.

Poan Lonasta was a grizzled veteran and his body boasted a number of bionics to replace what he had lost in his many battles. Indeed Lonasta was more machine now than man but he was still a great warrior and would defend the standard with a fury quite uncommon even in the ranks of the Astartes.

‘Your inspections turn up anything?’ said the veteran, his voice empty and mechanical through the voice synthesizer that covered the lower half of his horrendously scarred face.

‘The Eighteenth are ready as we always are. Let those bastards try and stop us.’ said Antaro with a little joy, happy to be attacking the fortress at long last and the veteran gave him a stern look because of it.

‘They may be our enemy, Brother-Captain but they are still Humans. We should only take joy from the slaying of alien’s and mutants, never our own kind.’

Antaro often looked to Lonasta for guidance and in many ways he acted as a mentor to the young Iron Warriors Captain despite the differences in rank.

‘My apologies. I am pleased to be assaulting the fortress. Not those who defend it. It is always a sad occasion when a world refuses compliance.’ Antaro’s apology was sincere and Lonasta knew it.

‘Indeed it is. Now let’s be ready. It would not do well for the captain not to lead the charge.’ all round them the Iron Warriors began setting up ladders for the charge over the top and moments later the powerful voice of Peturabo himself boomed over the vox, ‘This is Peturabo. Artillery open fire. Assault units stand by.’

On the Primarchs order the guns of the Iron Warriors and Imperial Army opened fire as one, and the battered walls of Aol were engulfed in earth shaking explosions, the defenders on the ramparts decimated as high-explosive shells tore great chunks from the walls’ structure.

The noise was deafening and Antaro took his helmet from his belt and put it on, locking it with his gorget he was now completely isolated within his suit of Mark IV power armour.

Thankfully the Iron Warriors had access to the lasted mark of the armour which offered greater protection than those before it. But perhaps the greatest feature of any power armour suit was the fact that it marked them out as Astartes, the Emperor’s genetically modified super warriors, and in his time Antaro had seen many enemies run from the sight of an eight foot tall giant in power armour.

Flexing the joints of his newly issued armour as he watched the explosions that engulfed the Foraxan defences, Antaro wondered of these enemies would stand and fight.

He had his doubts they would. In the opening skirmishes he had saw they were driven on into the jaws of death by men carrying wicked cattle-prod like weapons, who were not adverse to hitting their own men with them to maintain the battle line. They fulfilled a similar purpose to the Imperial Army’s Commissariat who were often found threatening cowardly soldiers at gunpoint to return to battle.

Otherwise they were shot or taken for later punishment.

If the leader was executed the men would run.

As the bombardment continued, Antaro told Lonasta to raise the standard and as it was raised a cheer went up from all who could see it. Iron coloured ceramite gauntlets punching the air as the battle-brothers caught sight of their beloved standard.

After what his helmet’s chronometer told him was fifteen minutes of straight and continuous bombardment the fire of the Imperial guns at last began to abate. It was then the vox crackled again, ‘Peturabo to First and Eighteenth Companies, begin your assaults!’

Antaro didn’t need to repeat Peturabo’s command and instead ran up the ladder with a roar, bolter in one hand, he drew his powered sword as he reached the top and saw as the smoke cleared that whole sections of Aol’s walls were gone, now little more than piles of rubble and twisted metal. What defenders were left saw the Astartes rising from the trenches and without second thought opened fire. More out of desperation than bravery.

Leading the charge of his Iron Warriors across the stretch of ground between the trenches and the walls of Aol, Antaro roared a battlecry and sprinted for the closest breach, which still lay undefended.

Despite the size of the force and particularly the size of the warriors the Iron Warriors quickly covered the ground and were pouring into the breaches faster than the Foraxans could ever have predicted.

Entering the breach and charging over a hill of rubble, Antaro fired a burst from his bolter and cut down three Foraxan soldiers before they could even react. The rest of the defending soldiers hesitated at the sight of such a sudden assault and that was ultimately what caused their deaths.

Following their Captain closely, Iron Warriors poured over the rubble hill in the breach and mowed down those soldiers guarding it with withering fire. Men screamed as they came face to face with the giants for the first time and Antaro fired another shot which hit one of the cattle-prod wielders square in the chest, blowing a fist sized hole in him.

The street they were in was a ruin from an Imperial shell that had overshot the wall and as the Iron Warriors entered the Foraxans launched a desperate counter-attack, soldiers charged from the burning buildings with their pitiful las and autorifles blazing only to be slaughtered by the disciplined Astartes, whose skills with blades and guns were both unparalleled.

With his bayonet attached, a soldier charged Antaro screaming in both terror and fury and the young Iron Warriors captain deflected the attack with his power sword before executing a counter-stroke that cut a deep wound in the soldier’s chest.

More men came, hoarded into battle by their leaders with the cattle-prods and the Iron Warriors kept up their assault, more and more coming through the breach to reinforce their brothers and with over a hundred Astartes warriors behind him, Antaro looked to the nearby gatehouse.

It was his objective and he would take it. He had sworn before Peturabo after receiving his orders earlier that day that he would open the gates for the Army or die trying.

He had no intention of dying.

At the fore of his ever advancing men, Antaro slashed left and right at Foraxan soldiers with his sword and blasted those out of reach with explosive death, soon turning the streets that ran behind the walls into bloodbaths as Foraxan soldiers were pushed into the fray only to be slaughtered by the fury of the Astartes.

Whole platoons were wiped out in instants and though they took the occasional loss the Iron Warriors continued on, through the Foraxan enemy with a ferocity almost savage.

Astartes warriors were created for battle, taken only from the hardiest of peoples as adolescents, the genetic modifications working mainly on those of that age group; they were turned into killing machines incapable of feeling fear and resistant to all but the most debilitating and horrendous of injuries.

The Foraxans had never faced such an opponent before, one who could wipe out whole platoons in seconds, one who could take dozens of lasbolts before losing a step, one who attacked with a fury born of rigorous and painful training regimes that killed the weak and the strong alike, leaving only the best of the best.

The Iron Warriors smashed the Foraxan defenders and continued to push forward, always running into another counter-attack which too fell beneath the blade of a chainsword of the deadly fire of a bolter.

Antaro decapitated a screaming soldier before swinging his empty bolter into another’s skull, smashing it with a sickening crunch. Beside him, Lonasta still held the standard high, even as he cut through Foraxan soldiers with his chainsword. By now the Iron Warriors’ armour began to turn crimson and the sight of their comrades’ blood streaking the armour of the Astartes Warriors did little to the morale of the Foraxans who screamed at their officers, begging for the order to retreat from the hell they had been ordered into.

Those orders never came as commanders too were mowed down by bolter fire.

On the ramparts the remaining defenders began to fire down at the Iron Warriors in the streets below in a vain attempt to help their comrades but totally unfazed by the sudden attack from above, Iron Warriors began to return fire and with cool and calm precision they reaped a terrible toll on the wall soldiers within moments.

Leaping the last enemy barricade of disused crates and furniture, Antaro kicked out and caught a Foraxan on the chin, pulverizing his skull. Landing amongst the enemy the Iron Warrior lashed out with his sword and cut a bloody swath through all who stood before him until he reached the entrance to the gatehouse. Kicking the flimsy wooden door into splinters Antaro’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, revealing the stairwell.

‘Arrowhead Squad, with me! Garnath Squad take the other tower! Lonasta I leave the street battle to you.’ he ordered over the vox before entering the darkness.

‘Affirmative, sir.’ replied Garnath’s Sergeant Morled and Lonasta simultaneously as he heard Arrowhead Squad enter the tower behind him and leading the charge up the stairwell, Antaro fought his way through frightened soldiers, now resisting only because there was no way to escape.

Backhanding a soldier with such force that he was thrown from the stairs, Antaro heard the officers at top of the tower shouting for their men to prepare for assault, and not wishing to disappoint, he ran the last steps and burst into the top of the tower with a burst from his bolter shredding the prepared defenders.

Panic ensued as the brothers of Arrowhead Squad arrived and the Foraxan soldiers screamed to their gods for deliverance from the wrath of the Astartes. Even as men fell to their knees and begged for mercy the Iron Warriors killed, their capacity for mercy eradicated the second the assault had begun.

It took the Iron Warriors thirty seconds to take the tower from the terrified defenders. Looking across to the other tower, Antaro saw muzzle flashes that could only be from bolters.

‘Sergeant Morled. Report, what’s your status?’ the channel on Morled’s end was a mess of bolter fire and the roars of men and chainswords along with screams of utter terror and pain.

The combat in the other tower ceased before Morled replied, ‘Tower clear. Awaiting further orders.’

‘Excellent work. Tell your squad I commend their efficiency. Now let’s unlock the gate.’ Antaro pointed to the gate control console and one of Arrowhead Squad’s Astartes began manipulating the controls, raising the portcullis while in the other tower Garnath Squad’s man opened the actual gates, opening the city of Aol to more attackers.

At the sight of the gates opening the tanks of the Imperial Army roared into life and sped towards the city, their formation led by a squadron of Iron Warriors tanks, their silver hulls gleaming in the sunlight and flames of the city, which fast raised high into the sky.

 

Lonasta tore one of the enemy leaders apart with his roaring chainsword before parrying a low slash made by an officer wielding a cavalry sabre. The sabre, though a cousin to power weapons like the sword wielded by Antaro was still crude by Imperial standards and the adamantine teeth of Lonasta’s chainsword broke the sabre in two.

Before the officer could even register what had happened, Lonasta flicked his sword into the man’s gut, tearing through flak jacket and the flesh beneath with ease.

As the officer collapsed he looked up at Lonasta’s helmet visor and whether it was fear of resignation, Lonasta never knew but the man stared at the glowing red eye lenses of the veteran’s helmet as his last breath left him in a ragged gasp.

‘Rest, lost brother.’ he said before rejoining his brother Astartes in the advance.

By now the Iron Warriors pushed into the city and Lonasta and his group currently fought their way through a market, blasting apart overturned stalls and crates full of wares that the Foraxans used as cover. Still carrying the standard in his left hand, the Foraxans tried desperately to kill Lonasta and take the Eighteenth’s standard, and although he bore a number of wounds and damage to his bionics he had not slowed and still led the assault from the fore.

‘The gates are open Lonasta. Our armour is on its way.’ said the voice of Antaro over the vox and Lonasta nodded in acknowledgement, knowing that he had no need to actually reply to Antaro.

A nearby wall suddenly blew outwards, showering the Iron Warriors in rubble and dust and before whatever caused it could potentially rush from the breach, a squad of Iron Warriors opened up their bolters into the clouds of dust.

Something moved in the cloud despite their devastating fire and before the Iron Warriors could fire again a host of armoured warriors charged from the swirling dust wielding maces that crackled with power.

One of the warriors of Firelance squad didn’t even see his killer before the man swung his mace high and into the warrior’s helmet, which caved in under the blow, crushing even the hardened skull of an Astartes.

The sudden attack caught them by surprise and another three members of Firelance quickly fell to the mace wielding warriors.

These men, unlike the standard Foraxan infantry wore navy battle armour, similar in many ways to that worn by the Astartes, though far less advanced and nowhere as powerful. However they wielded their weapons with a skill quite uncommon and the Iron Warriors faced a tough opponent for the first time on Foraxa, instead of the weak soldiery.

Evading a mace swing meant to hit him in the chest, Lonasta slashed his sword across his attacker’s side, and the primitive form of power armour buckled under the teeth of his blade, allowing his chainsword to tear at unprotected flesh beneath, the wound however wasn’t deep and only drove the enemy warrior on.

Roaring with animalistic fury the warrior swung his mace wildly, his strikes totally random and fuelled by fury and one came close to striking Lonasta’s right arm, the edge of the mace impacting on his armoured forearm.

When an opening presented itself, Lonasta thrust his sword forward with all the strength he had, the resulting blow tore through the armoured chest of the Foraxan warrior and ended his pain fuelled rampage.

Beside him Sergeant Darnath of Firelance Squad finished off the warrior he faced with his chainaxe.

‘Throne, but these are a step up from the common soldiery.’ said the Sergeant as another mace warrior charged him after downing another Iron Warrior.

‘They almost fight like us. Through pain and injury like they were nothing.’ replied Lonasta as he killed another enemy with a pre-emptive decapitating strike.

More of the navy armoured elites charged from the hole in the wall, oblivious to amount of friendly corpses around them.

‘I take that back. They fight in no way like us. They fight purely on berserk fury and rage.’ Lonasta faced two of them now and with a quick flick of the wrist he severed one’s arm at the elbow.

The other warrior saw this as his chance and struck for Lonasta’s head, only for the Astartes warrior’s lightning reflexes to bring his sword up in time to parry. The force of the mace blow smashed the chainsword and adamantine teeth flew in every direction like shrapnel. Now facing a deadly enemy with a shattered weapon, Lonasta threw the wrecked chainsword at the man to distract him before grabbing the powered mace from the severed limb on the ground and swinging it upwards into the warrior’s chin.

With an impact like a thunderclap the mace-warrior’s entire head was torn from his neck and the other warrior with one arm cried out in anguish at his comrade’s death as he launched himself at Lonasta with a wild look in his bloodshot eyes.

He swung the mace into the warrior’s chest and sent the man flying backwards into trio of his fellow warriors, bowling them all over.

‘They fight like Angron’s World Eaters.’ said Darnath as he dispatched another enemy. By now the force of Iron Warriors numbered fifteen men, the other fifteen now lying dead at the hands of the mace wielding elites of the Foraxan Army.

Striking left and right with his newly procured weapon, Lonasta felt angry at the deaths of so many men and let his anger wash over him. Hammering the mace into enemies, he sought to avenge his fallen brethren and fighting back to back with Darnath the pair began to mount a serious number of enemy dead in a circle around them.

‘Even the World Eaters are more civilised in battle than this.’ Lonasta replied as yet more warriors poured into the market, along with the common soldiery.

The XII Legion Astartes, the World Eaters were the finest shock attack force of all the Legions and they were nothing short of feared even by Imperial soldiers. Capable of berserk rages that were horrifying to behold, even their fellow Astartes took care when dealing with them and their Primarch Angron who was little better than a mad slaughterer.

Lonasta had fought alongside them many years ago when they had been known as the War Hounds. That had been before Angron’s discovery and even then they had been savage warriors, but now reports were that the Emperor was going to reprimand the Legion for excessive use of force in its campaigns.

Lonasta wished that he had some World Eaters with him at that moment as mace warriors and soldiers threatened to overrun the Iron Warriors.

‘Lonasta to Antaro. We need support in the market right now. We’re surrounded and have taken heavy losses. The standard is in danger I repeat the standard is in danger.’

 

Hearing the veteran’s call for help over the vox, Antaro broke into a sprint for the market with Arrowhead and Garnath Squads close behind.

He could hear the battle raging and though he knew his duty was to lead the Eighteenth Compamy deeper into the city he couldn’t just leave his friend and the Company standard for the enemy.

All across the city the Iron Warriors had run into fierce resistance from what could only be described as berserker units and even the elite warriors of First Company were struggling to push forward and at the moment the assault on Aol threatened to slow to a crawl.

Hurrying through an alleyway Antaro’s force arrived in the market and raising his sword high he yelled a battlecry as he charged into the fray, cutting and hacking himself a path towards the company standard, which still flew proudly.

The Foraxans had been unprepared for an ambush and the Astartes struck deep, even the elite mace warriors reeled from the sudden shock attack and their force crumpled beneath the weight of the Iron Warriors’ charge.

Soldiers died screaming and the mace warriors roared in frustration as they fell. It was carnage and Antaro felt at home in it. He had grown tired of fighting the cowardly soldiers and militia and now at last he fought an opponent who gave him a challenge.

Killing with every swipe of his sword, Antaro led his men onwards through the best of Foraxa’s soldiers, his only want being to avenge his fallen men.

Standing against the charge the mace warriors fought well and despite them being the enemy, Antaro had respect for them.

One warrior in particular stood even as his comrades were gunned down by Garnath Squad’s bolters and as Antaro swung his sword in an overhead strike the berserker moved faster than Antaro thought he could and shoulder barged him, forcing the captain to stumble.

The warrior was like a shark and the second he scented blood he went for the kill, and threw himself at Antaro with his crackling mace aimed for his chestplate. But Antaro had faced much worse than sharks in his thirty years of service.

As the mace flew in at him, he grabbed the warrior’s wrist and with little effort he twisted it, breaking the armour and wrist beneath it. The berserker went to scream but before a single sound could come from his mouth Antaro decapitated him with a reverse stroke of his sword.

Slowly the market was cleansed of Foraxan warriors, the reinforcements led by Captain Antaro simply too much for even the elite of Foraxa and as the battle came to a close the young captain approached his standard bearer who still held the standard of the Eighteenth high despite his obvious exhaustion. Beside him stood the equally exhausted Sergeant Sejal Darnath.

Antaro also noticed that Lonasta carried one of the enemies’ powered maces.

‘Took your bloody time sir.’ said Darnath and Lonasta as one and Antaro couldn’t help but grin.

 

Advancing with his Terminator armour clad brethren from First Company, Noveris punched his way through the barricade that blocked the street and seeing the men behind it he shoved his combi-bolter through the hole he had made an opened fire at them’

Their screams as the mass-reactive shells tore them apart told of their utter terror. Such men simply couldn’t face the Astartes. Their minds couldn’t cope with fear the Astartes caused. Eight foot tall warriors, clad in powered armour and who lived for battle, against conscripted soldiers with perhaps a few months basic training and little combat experience.

There really was no contest and Noveris couldn’t help but feel pity for the opponents he faced here on Foraxa. They were herded into battle on the orders of their tyrannical leaders who refused the light of the Emperor and the leadership of Terra.

Worse they had then killed the Imperial ambassadors as a show of their ‘might’ but what they had not counted on was the Emperor’s Astartes and because of their mistakes they would die, and Foraxa would be brought to compliance by force.

After a few seconds of continuous fire he tore through the barricade and smashed an officer of the enemy to a bloody pulp with his power fist. Noveris heard his brothers do the same and soon the street was cleared of obstacles as the barricade was torn down.

Foraxan soldiers retreated from the advancing Terminators, and yet more of the mace wielding elites rushed towards them. As the first warrior came into range, Noveris pulverised his skull with a jab before launching a hook that took down his fellows who ran behind him.

Terminators were not fast movers, their armour making them walking fortresses and with every step Noveris and his veteran Astartes killed hundreds of charging warriors, but nothing could stop their advance, they would not allow it.

Beside Noveris, Brother Caldereib strafed the enemy with fire from his reaper autocannon, the mass of shells hitting the mace warriors like a wall. The effectiveness of Caldereib’s weapon on the tightly packed enemy was not lost on Noveris.

‘All men with autocannons to the fore.’ he roared into the vox, ‘They shall lead the advance on the Foraxan senate house.’

His order was followed immediately and Terminators stepped aside to allow their autocannon wielding brethren past and with fifteen autocannon toting Terminators at the front the First Company elite pressed onwards to the massive domed structure at the end of the street. The mace warriors were being cut down in great waves before they could even use their weapons and steadily the building that housed the Foraxan leadership became bigger as they closed.

‘All Imperial forces in Aol. Be aware that Legio Tempestus Engines are approaching to offer support.’

Noveris grinned beneath his helmet as another warrior came apart under a hail of mass-reactive shells from his combi-bolter. Legio Tempestus’ war Titans were soon going to be in the city. One of their engines was enough to level even the most formidable fortress and as far as he knew the Foraxans had nothing in their arsenal that could kill one of the god-machines.

They were the ultimate siege-breaking machines and had they been ready they would have led the Iron Warriors into Aol, but they had been coming from the Janole a city that was a few day’s journey away even for a Titan. As ever Peturabo had initiated his plans on time, regardless that the Titan’s had been mere hours from arriving.

It was more glory for the Legion so the Iron Warriors didn’t mind.

At the end of the long street, the senate house grounds were now but a few hundred metres away. Green plants could be seen as well as statues of marble and gold, testaments to the wealth and power of the ruling class. Which was in stark contrast to the rather poor state of the city from what Noveris had seen of it, the people lived in poverty and squalor, their surroundings ill-mainted and cramped.

Such divisions between classes existed everywhere in the galaxy, even on blessed Terra and the Iron Warriors homeworld of Olympia but the Imperium at least promised a better life for the poor as well as the wealthy and powerful.

The people of Foraxa had to be liberated. Such injustice could not stand.

Cutting through the last lines of enemy warriors, the Terminators made their push into the senate house grounds, but at the last moment great gates of solid metal slammed closed, blocking the Iron Warriors from their objective.

Noveris roared in frustration and punched the gate with his power fist. Apart from a slight dent the gate was undamaged which did nothing to improve the First Captain’s mood.

‘Noveris to Olympia’s Hammer, we need some of your heavy firepower on a gate.’ he voxed to the Land Raider assault tank which was somewhere down the other end of the street.

‘Understood, sir. We are approaching.’ said the tank’s commander, an old wardog called Harkinn who was older than the century old machine he commanded, the worst effects of old age kept at bay by genetic enhancements. He was also the last non-Astartes tank commander left in the Legion.

With a powerful roar like a beast of war unchained Olympia’s Hammer, accelerated down the street, the First Company brethren parting to allow the polished iron coloured war machine past.

Stopping at the head of the Terminators, the tank’s side mounted twin-linked lascannons charged and with a flash of light discharged, sending four lances of destructive light at the gate.

The centre section of the gate was vaporised by the destructive lasblast and Olympia’s Hammer accelerated and smashed through the gate with a mighty crash. Leading his Astartes in after it, Noveris saw the Land Raider explode, flames and metal fragments sent flying from a ragged hole in the hull.

Smoke clouded even a Astartes warrior’s enhanced vision and as Noveris made his way through he heard the snap-crack reports of lasguns and felt the bolts impact on his armour like pinpricks.

They were in the grounds and now the First had some work to do. Firing his combi-bolter at the soldiers guarding the building’s entrance Noveris felt a hand come to rest on his shoulder and though he turned to face the hand’s owner he knew who it was.

‘Good work getting here Elekis. Now it’s time we killed the beast.’ Peturabo said, hefting his mighty hammer with a slight grin on his hard face.

 

Led by their Primarch the Iron Warriors annihilated all opposition outside the senate house in minutes and supported further by squads from the Third and Eighteenth Grand Companies, led by Captains Kreko Tesen and Varas Antaro respectively the Astartes of the First breached the Senate House, capturing all one hundred of Foraxa’s ruling class before their mass-suicide could be performed.

Peturabo himself destroyed the basis of Foraxa’s tyranny with his hammer: smashing the crystal case that held the Foraxan constitution and casting the ancient parchment into the flames of a brazier, to the screaming objections of the senators.

Without a word spoken the Iron Warriors led the captured senators from their building and handed them over to commissars of the Imperial Army before leaving the city. Heading back for their camp behind the lines of now abandoned siege works, the Astartes warriors packed their equipment and by dawn the next day they were back aboard their ships in orbit.

 

TWO

 

The Iron Triumph was a colossal vessel. It alone could support a whole Grand Company of Iron Warriors, including their support equipment and supplies and its design was ancient indeed, the Mechanicum of Mars only having found the designs a little over a century ago. It had then taken their best shipyard over twenty years to build it and a further three to ensure it was fit for service.

Designed for planetary assault like most vessels used by the Astartes Legions, the Iron Triumph was still a ship killer, its broadsides amongst the most devastating in the whole Imperium, only surpassed in destructiveness by the Vengeful Spirit, the Warmaster Horus’ flagship.

It was a glorious ship and the Iron Warriors had taken to the ship as their own with little effort, painting its hull in the colour of polished iron. The First Company had the honour of calling the Triumph home and as Antaro stepped onto the embarkation deck he noticed the many victory banners hung from the bulkhead, all proclaiming the great honour the Iron Warriors had won in their time, especially honour won by the First.

Many would say it showed a big ego, but the basis of the Astartes’ entire combat doctrine was the attainment of honour and glory. Onboard the Eighteenth’s ship the decor was the same, with banners and trophies of the Eighteenth Company’s campaigns displayed proudly to all.

Waiting for Antaro was a Legion serf dressed in the silver robes of the Iron Warriors, the visored helmet insignia on the robe’s chest the same as the one on every Iron Warrior’s left shoulder pauldron.

‘Welcome, Brother-Captain. Lord Peturabo wishes to see you at once. Please follow me.’ the Serf then turned and began walking across the deck towards the exit and although Antaro knew where the Iron Lord’s chambers were on the colossal ship he followed anyway.

The entire deck was busy, receiving the returning Iron Warriors and their equipment and as he passed groups of Terminators they banged their fists on their chestplates in a warrior’s salute from the oldest days of the Crusade.

Many Legions now used the sign of the Aquila as a salute to honour the Emperor but the Iron Warriors had never adopted it and their dedication to the Emperor had been questioned because of it. The Imperial Fists especially, the Iron Warriors most direct rivals amongst the Astartes Legions took great pleasure in using that point which served only to widen the resentment between the two.

Leaving the colossal hanger space behind them the Serf and the Captain entered a long corridor, the colour of shining Iron, lined with doors that led off to technicians’ quarters and workshops, the sound of their tools mixed in with the din of the busy deck and the doors opened and closed as red robed Mechanicum technicians went about the business of the day. No doubt they repaired equipment from the battle below thought Antaro, remembering that once he was back aboard the Unrelenting Fury he had to administer a maintenance check to all his own equipment. Something he quite enjoyed.

At the end of the corridor the Serf pressed the call button for the conveyor and the pair waited for a few minutes before it arrived and the reinforced doors slid open.

The Serf selected the command deck as their destination and the conveyor jolted to life and began to ascend up the many decks. Being a command level conveyor it rarely stopped in its journey and in little time at all the car stopped and the doors slid open. As always there was a team of Iron Warriors guarding the conveyor entrance and it was the same in every sensitive area of the ship, the Iron Warriors all too aware that the enemy fought in many different ways and came in many different forms.

Seeing a Company commander step from the conveyor the guards saluted as he passed and Antaro returned it crisply.

Peturabo’s chambers were very close and approaching the doors, two Terminators in ornate armour wielding halberds forged with the greatest love and care stood like statues flanking the door.

‘Enter, Captain. The Master of Olympia awaits you.’ said the Terminator’s in perfect unison, their voices almost exactly the same, though whether this was because of their helmets’ vox grilles he couldn’t say.

The Serf opened the door and gestured for Antaro to enter with a respectful bow and so he walked in, the great armoured door’s sliding shut behind him.

Peturabo’s quarters were far from ostentatious or rich and apart from master frescoes and banners which hung from the high walls it was spartan. In one corner was a colossal bed, big enough for a Primarch to rest comfortably but it looked unused and Antaro wondered whether a Primarch actually required sleep.

An Astartes needed only four hours every day to function effectively and even then that could be pushed. In combat zones Astartes warriors went to sleep but not sleep as a normal human knew it. The warrior would enter a state of half awareness, one side of his brain resting while the other remained active. It was not as fulfilling a rest as normal sleep was but it was one of the reasons the enemies of the Imperium couldn’t stand against them. How can you fight an enemy that never requires rest?

Standing before a great observation window, still clad in his polished armour stood Peturabo, his long yellow and black chevron cape serving to make his appearance regal, like a true son of the Emperor should look like, not like Fulgrim of the Emperor’s children whose armour was lined with gold and jewels and Sanguinius of the Blood Angels who wore armour of pure gold with blood red rubies on nearly every surface.

No, such men were more concerned with how they looked, unlike Peturabo who chose a spartan way. His armour was of the finest quality but not decorated and as the Iron Lord turned to face him Antaro saw his harsh yet also handsome face, sporting a shaven scalp, which made his already tough appearance even more intimidating to behold, Peturabo was a true son of Olympia and many Iron Warriors, Antaro included modelled their appearance on the Primarch.

‘Welcome, Varas. Are you well?’ asked Peturabo.

‘I am my lord, though my Company suffered some casualties in the assault.’ he answered, his tone perfect in the presence of his lord.

‘The Emperor knows their names. I will tell the Master of Recruits to prepare his finest for elevation to the Eighteenth.’

Antaro bowed, ‘I thank you my lord. You honour me.’

Peturabo smiled, something he only did in the company of his Legion, ‘You honour me, Varas. The counter-attack was unexpected yet you led your Company straight through it.

‘Yours and your men’s tenacity is commended.’

Antaro was filled with warmth to know that Peturabo commended his Company’s skill in battle. Such honours were rarely given out personally by the Iron Lord in such a way. Usually a quick message was the way of going about it.

‘I cannot take all the credit, my lord. My standard bearer, Honoured-Brother Lonasta performed far above his station. I would ask you honour him, for his determination surely kept our attack from stalling.’

‘Of course. I shall see the Honoured-Brother is rewarded. But I'm afraid I have not called you here just to praise the skill of you or your men.’

Antaro felt a little less proud with that statement of fact but he still rid upon a high regardless.

‘What is it you want of me?’ he asked.

‘Come stand with me and watch the ships.’ Peturabo said and Antaro did as he was asked and walked up to the observation window and looked out at the ships of the 173rd Expedition Fleet which hung above Foraxa.

‘Is it not satisfying to know you have brought a whole planet to its knees? We destroyed the Foraxans without mercy and now their world will become one with the Imperium.’

‘It is a glorious thing to behold my lord. In time these people will forget about the tyranny of the past and look forward to a bright future with the Imperium.’ Antaro had conquered many worlds in his time and never once did he not see it as a service to the Emperor.

‘Yes but who will guard it?’ asked the Iron Lord.

Seeing where the conversation was going, Antaro still chose the simple and safe answer, ‘The Imperial Army until a Planetary Defence Force is established.’

Peturabo understood his choice in answer and nodded without looking at him.

‘While I wished that were fully true, it never is. Already orders have come from the Warmaster, we are to dispatch more men to recently conquered worlds. Yet again we are told to break our Legion to act as guards while the others continue on at full strength. It vexes me greatly Varas let me tell you.’

Antaro perfectly understood and in truth he too felt anger because of it. Other Legions of Astartes fought great wars against the mightiest of stellar empires, whether they be xenos or otherwise but where they gained honour and glory at alarming speed the Iron Warriors slowly were being turned from a Legion of warriors into a Legion of guards.

Of the thirty thousand Astartes of the Iron Warriors, nearly ten thousand acted as guards on worlds across the Imperium, their days filled with tedium and anger at being denied a place in the Crusade. Indeed whole Grand Companies had effectively been disbanded to provide enough men and while an Astartes warrior would do his duty without question they still were humiliated by it.

In many ways the other Legions mocked the Iron Warriors because of their declining role in the Great Crusade, only the Luna Wolves of Horus Lupercal seeming to refrain from such actions.

Suddenly Antaro had a bad feeling.

‘My lord, forgive me if I speak too plainly but are you going to ask me to break up my Company?’

Peturabo couldn’t look at him and Antaro didn’t need the Iron Lord to speak to know the answer.

‘If you ask it my lord I shall do as I am asked without question.’ he said and Peturabo at last looked at him.

‘I am sorry Varas. You are one of my finest officers and it pains me to send more of my sons away on what is Army duty, but I must fulfil the decree laid down or our whole Legion’s loyalty will be suspect. And I will not give Dorn and his Fists the satisfaction.’

Antaro saw the look of anguish and silent rage upon Peturabo’s face. It was not fair that the Iron Warriors alone were singled out for such duties, why not the numerous sons of Guilliman who were the largest Legion of them all by far or the Imperial Fists who were said to be the finest siege masters in the Imperium, one of the reasons behind the rivalry between the Iron Warriors and the sons of Dorn.

It had long been believed in the Legion that Dorn had used his better relationship with the Emperor to see Peturabo’s Legion used in such a way, the Master of Oylmpia not having such a close relationship despite being a loving son.

Now though that love turned ever more sour by the day and Peturabo and the Emperor, towards the Emperor’s last days of participating in the Great Crusade had not been on speaking terms.

Despite this animosity between their masters the Iron Warriors kept loyal to both, but as time went on the veterans were now beginning to resent the breakdown in the same way as Peturabo. Antaro was not yet one of those veterans but now he was faced with the dispersal of his beloved Grand Company he couldn’t help but feel the anger rise up.

‘There is a way we can save the Eighteenth however.’ said Peturabo and Antaro looked into his lord’s steely eyes, ‘Tell me Varas. How many men have you lost on Foraxa in total?’

‘Of one thousand we lost two hundred and nineteen men overall, both wounded and killed in the whole campaign though my apothecaries say that thirty of the injured will recover fully. We lost quite a few taking down the Harbour city of Jatul. The defenders detonated tunnels beneath the streets when they knew they’d lost. The rest and majority of them were lost in Aol.’

‘I see.’ Peturabo stroked his chin with a gauntleted hand, ‘Those new recruits will need time to adjust to being full Astartes, they will need to see some action, and those wounded men would be no good as guards.’

Antaro understood and smiled, ‘Yes my lord. New battle-brothers and those fresh from the apothecarion would not make good guards.’

[Steelavenger]

Thats a good opening, if its going to be a story, maybe split the first post up into chapters as its a bit much to read in one blow, other wise really good!

[antique_nova]

not bad, but there needs to be more of a space marine feeling and i forgot halfway that it was during the HH. lol, silly me. anyway the start could use a touch up, because it's abit plain, maybe me. but have another read yourself and write down your first reactions and work from that.

thanks

antique_nova

[Lysimachus]

I like this very much, it's well written and flows nicely. There are a few grammatical errors, not many at all but probably worth giving it a proof read.

The only thing I'd suggest is to do with presentation. A problem in a lot of pieces is that they are solid blocks of text with no paragraph structure, making them very hard to read all the way through. You've avoided that, but seem to have gone too far the other way and almost every sentence is put on a new line. Unfortunately, this causes the same problem as the definition of the paragraphs is lost (hence steelavengers point above).

 

For example,

 

One-Seven-Three Eleven as it was known by the men and women of the 173rd Expeditionary Fleet, that being because it was the Eleventh world to be encountered by the 173rd, was an unimpressive world when compared to others they had seen.

A world of fields and open plains with only sixteen major cities planet-wide it had been discovered two weeks previous and to the joy of all, they had found it was inhabited by a splinter of humanity.

Following the protocols the Emperor had laid down at the start of the crusade over two centuries ago, the Master of the Fleet, Tomos Shukala, contacted the controlling government, telling them that Terra the birthworld of the human race had risen from the darkness of Old Night stronger than ever under the Emperor of Mankind.

He told them that the Emperor and his Imperium sought to reunite the Human race under one banner so that they may enter a new golden age of prosperity and dominance over the entire galaxy.

Ambassadors were sent down to try and reach compliance and for days the discussions went on, the Imperial Ambassadors seeking a way to get the inhabitants of what the natives called Foraxa to join the Imperium. Then after what was reported as a successful day in the negotiations, the ambassadors were killed by the Foraxans.

Such actions did not go unpunished and the group of ships accompanying the 173rd, ships with grey hulls decorated with yellow and black chevrons manoeuvred into low orbit in response.

Moments after achieving geosynchronous orbit the ships began to deploy their landing craft, firing drop pods from their tubes and launching Stormbird assault craft from their colossal hangers.

The Iron Warriors began their assault without warning.

 

This section would probably look better and be easier to read if you got rid of all the new lines after every sentence and just organized it into one or maybe two paragraphs:

 

One-Seven-Three Eleven as it was known by the men and women of the 173rd Expeditionary Fleet, that being because it was the Eleventh world to be encountered by the 173rd, was an unimpressive world when compared to others they had seen. A world of fields and open plains with only sixteen major cities planet-wide it had been discovered two weeks previous and to the joy of all, they had found it was inhabited by a splinter of humanity. Following the protocols the Emperor had laid down at the start of the crusade over two centuries ago, the Master of the Fleet, Tomos Shukala, contacted the controlling government, telling them that Terra the birthworld of the human race had risen from the darkness of Old Night stronger than ever under the Emperor of Mankind. He told them that the Emperor and his Imperium sought to reunite the Human race under one banner so that they may enter a new golden age of prosperity and dominance over the entire galaxy.

 

Ambassadors were sent down to try and reach compliance and for days the discussions went on, the Imperial Ambassadors seeking a way to get the inhabitants of what the natives called Foraxa to join the Imperium. Then after what was reported as a successful day in the negotiations, the ambassadors were killed by the Foraxans. Such actions did not go unpunished and the group of ships accompanying the 173rd, ships with grey hulls decorated with yellow and black chevrons manoeuvred into low orbit in response. Moments after achieving geosynchronous orbit the ships began to deploy their landing craft, firing drop pods from their tubes and launching Stormbird assault craft from their colossal hangers. The Iron Warriors began their assault without warning.

 

 

...like so (obvoiusly, all this doesn't apply where you've got people having a conversation, etc!). Anyway, just my personal view, hope it might be of some help! Good stuff, keep going!

 

Lysimachus

[antique_nova]

i thought that too, but forgot to comment on it! story has potential i say....

[Messanger of Death]

The story flowed nicely and the little bits of extra background information was a great addition. The lack of spelling-errors really put it up higher than alot of other fan-fiction that I've read. I will echo the comments that the lay out needs to be worked on. I am looking forward to reading more about the Iron Warriors and the 18th Grand Company.

 

Messanger

[Valdenaar]

Thank's for your comments guys. I will try to post the next chapter when I get time and I will make sure it's laid out better too.

[Jamafore]

A very nice read. It is nice to get background information on the Iron Warriors for once. Please keep writing.