Sons of Orpheus

[Gree]

This is a short story I wrote about the Praetors of Orpheus. I was rather bored and was throwing around some concepts.

 

EDIT: the various short story threads have now been merged into one as of Jan.2010.

 

My name is Varion. Varion Nicanor.

 

I am a child of Orpheus.

 

Or to be more accurate, I am a Praetor of Orpheus, a gene-son of Roboute Guilliman, and a warrior of his Imperial Majesty's Astartes.

 

And now my Company comes to Yaltoi.

 

The planet hangs in space as a blue-gray orb. Yaltoi is a backwater world lying at the edge of the Ultima Segmentum. It's a small world whose main product is mining promethium from the coastal underground deposits. It is a planet that is bloodied by the greenskins. It is also under the protection of my Chapter. Our ship, the strike cruiser Arclight, and the Imperial Navy, have been hunting a group of ork raiders for three weeks through the outer reaches of space. We have tracked them here to Yaltoi, a little blue-gray fleck of life in the Lord-Emperor's vast sea of stars.

 

The orks landed and began to rampage over the cites of Yaltoi. Tens of thousands die before the Arclight and and Navy arrive in the system. Aboard our ship the Third Company prepares for war, swearing vengeance on the xenos filth that defiles a world under the protection of the chapter. Our destination in Yaltoi Port, a city of four hundred thousand. It is the capital of the world, and the one place were the greenskin invaders converge, like flies drawn to a corpse. The greenskins come to annihilate it completely, we will not let them. We will break them or die trying.

 

I sit now, in my drop pod. I ignore the background noise as we enter the stratosphere. I have done drops many, many times over my century and a half of life. Eventually such operations become second nature to Astartes. We learn to ignore the pressures that would kill or cripple a normal man.

 

It's what makes us more than human. Astartes do not complain of hardship. We are beyond that.

 

My brothers sit near me, in a circle around the pod, locked within their restraint-thrones. Our power packs have already been locked into our armor, giving life to the false servo-muscles that lie beneath our ceramite war plate. The hum of our armor is drowned out by the screaming of the pod.

 

Lukias sits next to me, clad in Mark IV plate, a relic of the Chapter. It's painted white, scrolls depicting his personal heraldry hang from his left shoulder guard. On his right shoulder, like all Praetors, there is the starburst shield of the Chapter. He is my rock, my strong right hand. Ceranus, hard-bitten proud Ceranus, is to me left, he checks his bolter one last time. I cannot count on a finer shot in the squad. Daecus is next to him in his polished Mark VI plate. He is always at the forefront, gun roaring, acting to inspire. He will be a Chaplain one day. Apion checks his flamer. He is the most recent to join the squad. Morovian's bulk strains at the restraints as Severus and Dakias observe the chronometer. Save for Lukias and Daecus, all are clad in Mark VII Imperator plate.

 

That is the Second Squad of the Third Company. My squad. My brothers.

 

But there are two missing. Kreatus and Balion. Slain by the witch-Eldar on Morphean three weeks before. I slaughtered their killer but the damage was done. They go with our father now and the Emperor. I conducted the mourning rites aboard the Arclight myself.

 

But now is not the time for such things. I remove fear and doubt from my mind. Now is the time to kill.

 

We land.

 

 

***

 

The doors popped open and Sergeant Varion Nicanor of the Praetors of Orpheus exited the drop pod. His ceramite boots hit the landing door as it dropped to the ground. His footsteps rang harshly off the metal as he trained his bolter around, his entire body readied for combat. All around him the rest of Second Squad embarked out, weapons at ready to open fire.

 

But they did not come out in a combat zone.

 

Nicanor looks around. There is no enemy. Before him were dozens upon dozens of civilians moving across a large bridge that is suspended over a broad, fast-flowing river that is choked black with pollution. They are civilians from all sorts of life, habbers, factory workers, city workers and preachers.

 

Arteus in his briefing sermon aboard the strike cruiser had already outlined the Praetors mission. They were to be dropped hot into the vanguard of the ork advance and stop them cold in order to give the PDF and Guard time. It was a simple mission, one Nicanor had performed many times before. But now we saw no greenskins, only a wide plaza of cold gray buildings and residential habs.

 

''Brother-Sergeant,'' Lukias speaks. ''This is not our destination'.' he speaks the obvious.

 

Ceranus looks up at the pod. ''A malfunction in the machine spirit?'' he suggests.

 

It seems like the most likely thing that has happened. Apion softly groans in frustration.

 

''Looks like we will have to walk then.'' he comments.

 

''No, please no.'' Ceranus sighs in frustration. His impatience is obvious.

 

''Maybe.'' Nicanor activated his vox, trying to reach his Captain, a burst of interference fills his helm, no luck there.

 

''Communications are down, can anyone else contact the Captain?'' Nicanor asks.

 

Everyone tries, they get no answer.

 

''Probably radiation interference'' Lukias notes.

 

''A bad omen, I don't like this.'' Daecus comments.

 

''No, no omens, just duty.'' Nicanor replies.

 

''Brother-Sergeant.'' Lukias interrupts him.

 

''Yes?'' Nicanor asked.

 

''The civilians.'' Lukias points.

 

The Imperial civilians had noticed them.

 

Dozens upon dozens of people, in swirling crowds come towards the Astartes of Second Squad. Nicanor's visor locks on the lead, figure, a haggered-looking woman before he banished the targeting icon quickly. This entire situation was not what he was expecting at all and it frustrated him.

 

''Do you smell that?'' Ceranus said over the private vox-channel as the people neared.

 

''Is that-'' Lukias began.

 

''-Fear.'' finished Apion.

 

''Disgusting stench.'' Daecus comments.

 

Nicanor breaths it in their his armor's olfactory filters, he alters his air intake, tasting the stench of fear. Soured breath, nervous cold sweat. It is an alien stench one that he is unfamiliar with. It is a stench that he hates immediately.

 

Is this what we protect? He wonders. Fear is something alien, he is aware of it as a concept, but the thought of experiencing it completely foreign to him.

 

Their cause of distress is obvious, the orks have driven these people back. In the rear of the crowds Nicanor can see the forms of local PDF troopers trying to direct the civilians across the bridge. They are refugees driven out of their homes by war. And now the Emperor's Angels have come. Their fear is forgotten momentarily as they rush the Astartes. Dozens of them crowd around the Praetors as they close ranks, forming a sea of humanity around eight white mountains.

 

Hands reach out, scraping at war plate. Voices rise up, pleading for salvation, to go forth and slay the orks. Nicanor hears the pleas and begging sobs near him. After a few seconds he realizes they are pleading to take them away from the war-shrouded city.

 

''What do we do?'' Apion asked.

 

''I am going to batter my way out, I am not wasting time like this'' Ceranus said.

 

''No!'' Nicanor says suddenly over his private vox network. ''We do nothing of the sort'.' he commands.

 

''Then what?'' Ceranus says. He is irritable, annoyed by this delay. Nicanor can hear the tone in his voice thickening in frustration. He can sympathize to an extent. He is a warrior, not an object to be pawed and pleaded at by crying and panicked mortals who cannot even have the guts to defend their own homes. While Nicanor had no doubt he can slaughter his way through the crowd with ease he loathed to resort to such methods. He doubts that Captain Arteus will be very amused to know that his drop started with his proud Astartes warriors slaughterings crying Imperial citizens.

 

Then something registers on his helm's audio sensors. It is a loud, throaty growl. All of the Praetors are familiar with it. It is the sound of a Chimera engine on full throttle. He has heard that sound a hundred times before on dozens of battlefields, both in the hands of Guard allies and in the hands of traitors.

 

Three Chimeras come out around a street corner. They stop a dozen meters from the crowd and PDF troopers in the uniforms of the city Guard file out, armed with shock mauls and crowd control shields. They begin to lay into the civilians.

 

''That brother.'' Lukias says.

 

***

 

Kallor sat in the cupola of the Chimera, hands folded over his lap, fingers tapping in nervousness as he started distantly into the side chronometer. Across from him Corporal Ramsen checked his shock maul one last time before the chronometer ticked. He regarded his superior hesitantly. Captain Kallor was nervous as hell. Ramsen was not surprised He was noble born, with a handsome profile and tanned skin, the product of Yaltoi's finest families. Due to his family's position he had purchased a commission in the PDF, a cozy spot in a mechanized unit. The 9th Yaltoi mostly a group of reservists.

 

Ramsen was a reservist, but not like the rest of his comrades. He was one of the few men who had something approaching to actual combat experience, having engaged in firefights with armed smugglers a few years ago when he was with the 45th City Watch group. It was a dammed sight more than his fellows had seen, but Ramsen hesitated to call himself a veteran. After all, fighting poorly-armed criminals was different than facing a horde of bloodthirsty orks. As such he had the dubious honor of being the captain's aide.

 

The rune at the end of the Chimera flashed green and the ramp dropped.

 

''Let's go people!'' Ramsen shouted as the PDF squad filed out smartly, shock mauls readied.

 

As the PDF began to forcibly shove the crowd in front of them to the bridge Ramsen noticed with shock the huge white armored shapes in front of him. He blinked once to confirm what he was seeing was indeed real.

 

It was.

 

''A-Astartes'' stuttered Kallor briefly in shock before he straightened up, mustering every bit of nobility he had.

 

Ramsen was inclined to agree. Astartes, warriors of the Emperor, the Angels of Death were right in front of him. It was an immense honor simply to see one in the flesh. A thought passed through him. Maybe he could even get to talk to one! It excited him. He had dreamed of meeting once ever since he was a boy going to mass, looking at the marble statues of Astartes on the Church walls. And now it seemed the boyhood dream had come true.

 

Then the Astartes came striding forward, eight figures breaking through the dispersing sea of humanity to stand before Captain Kallor and himself. They were huge figures. Ramsen counted himself as a tall man but even he was dwarfed by these beings. Most of them were head and shoulders taller than he was and twice as board. Their armor was a polished white, with blue trim on the shoulder guards. Across their chests where emblazoned azure double-headed eagles. On each shoulder guard was the icon of a shield. The lead figure wore a red helmet with a blue stripe down the middle. He was obviously an officer of some kind. He had a sheathed sword at his side, a silver-hilted weapon in a jet black scabbard. In his hands was a ornate bolter decorated with the same symbol on his shoulder guard. He glanced down at Kallor, armor servos whirring faintly as he did so.

 

It was the Captain who spoke first

 

''Greetings sir-'' he began.

 

“No.'' the voice of the Marine rumbled, deep and artificial from a vox unit. Kallor was stunned.

 

''No 'sir', I am Sergeant Nicanor.'' he pointed to his gauntlet. Ramsen peered at it. In High Gothic he could see the inscription for 'Nicanor'.

 

Kallor recovered quickly. ''My apologies Sergeant Nicanor.'' he recovered smoothly, his aristocratic tact taking over. ''We did not expect you to be so far behind our lines.'' he stopped and glanced at Nicanor briefly.

 

''Come to think of it Sergeant why are you here?'' the Captain asked quizzically.

 

One of the Marines made to go forward like he was going to speak but the red-helmed sergeant held up a hand. Nicanor looked back at Kallor.

 

''A malfunction in our drop pod, nothing more.'' he looked at the Chimeras. His eye lenses were green, Ramsen noted, and curiously frightening.

 

''We require transportation.'' Nicanor indicated the vehicles.

 

''Our Chimeras?'' Kallor's face was screwed up in confusion. ''But there are protocols.'' he said.

 

''I have little care for the protocols, if you have any complaints you may file them to my commander'' Nicanor replied, walking past Kallor. Ramsen could hear a faint series of clicks, like private vox channels begin activated. He suspected the Marines were sharing some private communication.

 

''Wait.'' Kallor hurried up next to the Astartes, his frame looking ridiculously small next to the Marine Sergeant. ''I-''

 

He never got to finish his sentence.

 

Something screamed through the air and a Chimera ruptured and exploded. Flames billowed upwards as shrapnel and bits of metal flew everywhere. The civilians screamed and stampeded across the bridge in complete terror. Ramsen looked around, trying to figure out what had happened.

 

Slowly he glanced out and saw green shapes coming out of nearby alleyways and vents. Hulking muscular green figures clad in rags and bits of crude armor. Their bodies were slathered in some sort of private camouflage and they wore thick goggles over their faces. They carried hunks of metal that loosely resembled weapons. One held a smoking rocket launcher. Ramsen had never seen them in the flesh before, but he knew what they were.

 

Orks.

 

''Ork infiltrators.'' one of the Marines said behind him. Nicanor turned to Kallor.

 

''Mortal, get your men behind us along with the civilians, do not get in our way.'' he said curtly. Kallor barley had time to mutter a question before the Astartes squad swept off in an assault formation.

 

There was a few dozen orks coming out to encircle the Imperials. Ramsen wondered how the hell they had penetrated so deep behind the Imperial forces. Surely they could not have gotten that far in? He had never fought orks, only heard stories, but from what he heard sneaking about was not their forte. Going by their camouflage ti seemed like they were some sort of scout or infiltrator, but that prospect was ridiculous.

 

Orks sneaking about? Ha!

 

Ramsen's thoughts were interrupted by the bark of bolters as the Astartes opened fire. Greenskin bodies exploded as shells found their mark. The Astartes moved out in an assault pattern, their bolters set on a four-round bursts. An Astartes with a flamer sent gouts of fire into the surrounding xenos, smoking them out of their cover. It was a terrifying thing to watch, yet awesome tp sheer martial might of the Astartes. Orks were ruthlessly and efficiently cut down in a hail of bolter fire or gouts of flame. Ork bullets whizzed around the street as the xenos returned fire, a pair of troopers fell, clutching at their wounds. Bullets pinged off the war plate of the Astartes.

 

A hulking xenos with a two handed cleaver rushed out of the promethium flames, fire licking from it's racks. It bellowed a deep warbling warcry and brought it weapon around in a tight arc at one of the Astartes. The Marine shot it in the head before the blow connected, sending the corpse sprawling back.

 

In less than thirty seconds it was over.

 

The Astartes moved among the Orks, kicking corpses as they went and shooting any that moved in the head. A Marine with a flamer set about burning corpses as they went about their grim business of finishing off the notoriously resilient greenskins with grim purpose. Nicanor walked over to Kallor, bolter lowered.

 

He glanced at Kallor's rank stripes. ''Captain, There seems to be an ork infestation behind our lines, we will be borrowing your Chimeras now.'' he said, in a voice that brooked no argument.

 

Kallor took in a breath''Sergeant Nicanor I-'' a burst of static interrupted him. Kallor checked his vox-bead at his uniform collar. Hurriedly he spoke into it, his face growing pale as he did so. Ramsen figured it was probably not good news at all. Kallor looked up at Nicanor who was already turning around.

 

''Sergeant, a group of orks has attacked the station Alpha-Eight two miles north of here.'' Kallor pointed into the distance, pointing out the tall series of buildings. Antenna stretched out from the rooftops as the buildings towered over the other warehouses in the district.

 

''And what is that?'' Nicanor asked.

 

''It's the power center for the city defense guns and communications, if the orks take that out the PDF and Guard units are going to be thrown into anarchy, there will be nothing, the central vox channels will be gone along with our automated wall defense guns.'' Kallor said hurriedly.

 

''My unit and your men are the nearest ones, everyone else to my knowledge is tied up with orks. Please, I need you to take the place back.'' Kallor said, his face drawn with panic and fear.

 

Nicanor gazed at him for a moment before turning to to Ramsen.

 

''You will come with my squad and guide us.'' he growled out. He looked back at Kallor.

 

''We are taking your ride.'' with that the Sergeant turned around, Ramsen hurried after him as the Astartes filed into the Chimera, leaning over heavily to fit in the troopspace, he scurried in, trapped between two white-armored giants as the door closed.

 

''Let's drive.''

 

***

 

Nicanor had seen Kallor's type before, rich brats securing military positions through their parents influence. That would have never happened on Orpheus. The world had prospered under the strict rule of the Praetors in accordance to the ancient ideals of Guilliman. Self-sacrifice, honor and loyalty were expected by all citizens. You reached your rank by hard work and skill, not by nepotism and bribery. Nicanor had smelt Kallor's sweat and feat when the orks attacked and when he had received the news. The Astartes Sergeant shook his head silently.

 

Is this the PDF of this world? He thought Nicanor had fought alongside real Guardsmen, Cadian Shock and Vostroyans, those were honorable men of steel that the Astartes could proudly call allies. These backwater PDF were sheep by comparison.

 

Ceranus had argued that they proceed on to the rest of the company. Nicanor had been expecting that from him. He knew his brother too well.

 

''Brother,'' he had said over a private vox channel as the Praetors boarded the Chimera. ''We don't have to do this, we should not do it.'' he continued firmly.

 

''I don't want to hear complaints about this, the station in the lynchpin to the Guard defense here'' he had said in response.

 

''Then let the Guard and PDF stand for themselves.''

 

''The Guard are stretched thin helping the rest of the city and I don't expected the Yaltoi PDF to do much of anything.'' Nicanor explained.

 

''But this is clearly a waste-''

 

''I thought I said I wanted no more talk about this,'' Nicanor said again, his voice quiet but sharp and full of authority. ''Ceranus I want three days of fasting and penitence when we return to the strike cruiser in penance for insubordination'.'

 

His brother bowed his helmeted head slightly, servos whirling. ''My apologies Brother-Sergeant.''

 

The City Watch trooper that had followed after them was seated between him and Apion. It occurred faintly to Nicanor that he did not know the man's name at all. But that was not something he particularly cared to know about, he himself did not even know the PDF officer's name either.

 

''Poor luck Apion.'' Daecus voxed over the channel.

 

''Are you jealous?'' Apion retorted. There was a short guffaw at the end of the line.

 

''Um.....'' the mortal looked about.

 

''I am Ramsen,'' he offered. ''Corporal Ramsen, Sergeant Nicanor, I'm afraid I didn't quite catch the names of everyone else. I-uh, don't know much about Astartes protocol.'' he commented.

 

Nicanor studied the man. He was clearly trying to stay casual as possible for some reason.

 

''Astartes protocol is quite simple mortal'' Ceranus said, emphasizing the last bit as he leaned in close, green visor staring into the man's brown eyes.

 

''Very simple, don't get in our way'' he told the mortal. Lukias caught Ceranus in the shoulder guard lightly and turned to Ramsen.

 

''Just cooperate and you will hopefully live to see the day'' Lukias continued.

 

''I see'' the mortal nodded hesitantly. ''I'm afraid I don't know your names still-''

 

''-Apion'' the young Astartes said. ''My name is Apion of the Praetors of Orpheus'' he said. Even though the distortion of his helmet vox he sounded amused.

 

''Lukias'' Lukias nodded briefly in Ramsen's direction.

 

One by one all of the Praetors, including Ceranus, gave their names, although Ceranus was the last of them all to give his name, and only with a certain resignation.

 

''I see,'' Ramsen was clearly not though. He looked at Nicanor who stared back. ''You clearly are not used to a Chimera I can see.''

 

It was true, the Praetors were forced to almost bend over as far as they could in their power armor to accommodate the cramped conditions of the Chimera transport bay. Ramsen himself was practically squashed between Nicanor and Apion, almost having to turn sideways to fit between the power-armored bulk of the Astartes.

 

Nicanor shifted his position a bit.

 

''You could say that.'' he said.

 

''A Rhino is still better.'' muttered Morovian.

 

**

 

After a few minutes of travel through the chaotic streets of Yaltoi Port, the Chimera finally came to a stop. The hatch fell down and Nicanor had not been more relived to exit the Chimera. The vehicle was serviceable enough but he far preferred a Rhino for his use. He was third out, right after Apion and Ramsen.

 

The main building rose up several buildings, the gates in front broken by some sort of explosive. A pair of PDF guards lay dead on the ground, throats slit by some sort of knife. Ramsen wondered how the orks somehow managed to be so subtle considering what he had heard in stories before. Oh well, he shrugged, you can't always believe everything.

 

Nicanor studied the corpses for a moment before turning to his squad. Their was a faint click and Ramsen assumed he opened a private channel of some sort to the rest of the Praetors, apparently issuing assault orders for his team.

 

Then he turned to Ramsen.

 

''Corporal Ramsen,'' the war-giant's voice was cold and indifferent. ''I suggest you stay here and keep the engines running.''

 

''No.'' Ramsen replied, surprised at what he said.

 

''Oh?'' Nicanor's voice sounded almost...........amused at this.

 

''This is my city...... my world.'' Ramsen stated out slowly, feeling trepidation built up in his gut. He had never imagined he would be disagreed with a space marine.

 

''I want to fight for it, just as much as you do.'' he finished, watching the marine. He studied the blank helmet, wondering if Nicanor would get angry, or simply just ignore him.

 

After a few seconds the sergeant replied.

 

''Fine,'' he looked away from Ramsen. ''We are going in a Codex Astartes urban assault pattern, all you need to know is stay behind us and do not get in our way, is that clear?'' he asked.

 

''Crystal.'' Ramsen saluted as he followed the Praetors in.

 

**

 

Nicanor nominated Apion to take point while he and Morovian came right behind. With the rest of the Squad behind them. Apion kicked down the broken remnants of a door and headed in, flamer readied as he swept around inside a wide broken entrance lobby. As Nicanor entered he noted the butchered bodies of PDF guards and strewn furniture, judging from the sorchmarks and the smell of blood the firefight here could not have occurred too long ago. Nicanor listed and picked up the grunting sounds of orks in the distance as they spread out rampaging, all thoughts of stealth now gone. He signaled Second Squad to continue.

 

Contact was made a few moments later.

 

Several orks came rounding around a hallway, brawny arms full of pilfered Imperial weapons bloodied trophies. Apion's flamer responded, setting the first ork kommando's alight in a bright configuration of promethium. The xenos roared as the flames consumed them;

 

Other orks took positions in alcoves and behind upturned tables, firing their weapons at the advancing Astartes. Runes flashed across Nicanor's visor as his armor register the impacts and locked in to the malformed faces of the orks behind their cover. His bolter spoke three times.

 

Then something roared and dropped through the ceiling. Nicanor only caught it's movements at the last minute as huge cleaver came down upon his shoulder guard, driving through the ceramite plate halfway. Pain briefly hit his nerves before his armor began to pump combat stimms. He reached up, one armored gauntlet searching for the ork's throat. The xenos was smaller than many of it's kind, but still bigger than any man. It's ugly face hawked saliva at his visor even as Nicanor punched it in the chest, sending it flying back.

 

As it attempted to rise the Sergeant shot it in the head, blowing it's bloodied corpse back.

 

''For Guilliman! Purge the xeno-freaks!'' he roared, turning his vox-caster on maximum.

 

''For Guilliman!'' his squad answered.

 

***

 

Combat with the orks was not what he expected. This was not the glorious tales of the Angels of Death that the preachers set out. It was harsh, loud and ugly. There was the smell of ork blood mixed in with the hate-filled battlecries of the Praetors and the ever-present roar of the bolters. Ramsen added shots wherever he could, but he was careful not to get out form behind the armored bulk of the Astartes. Orks attempted to ambush them in the corridors, firing at the Astartes with crude bolters or charging with cleavers. The Praetors cut them down with relentless waves of bolter fire or with combat blades. The entire floor was littered with corpses torn apart by ork blades and gunfire. They were all in the uniform of the Yaltoi PDF.

 

During a brief lull in the fighting Ramsen stopped at the bloodied body of an officer and noted an ornate sword at his side. It was a gold-chased saber with intricate circuitry covering the hilt and pommel. Ramsen studied it for a moment before realizing what it was.

 

A power weapon. He had heard of them but had not seen one. Hesitantly he took it out from the officer's sash, feeling rather guilty about doing so, but the sword was going to be better at close quarters than he combat knife. Briefly he thought if the Astartes might have wanted it but he dismissed the notion, the sword did not look like it would fit effectively in their bulky gauntlets.

 

''Sorry.'' he said to the officer's corpse, his sense of personal safety overriding his same at looting.

 

Up ahead he heard footsteps and saw the Astartes moving again. Swearing briefly under his breath he ran after them.

 

***

 

After three straight minutes of combat Second Squad came to the rear stations.

 

It was a huge room, thirty meters long and twenty wide. Rows of plasma conductors and hydro-energy regulators stood in massive stacks row by row along with enginerium consoles. This is were the orbital and communications system was powered. Any stray shot hitting these walls would set off an explosion and cut off the power.

 

In other words no guns.

 

''Blades only from here on.'' Nicanor ordered.

 

Apion grumbled as he stowed away his flamer. Then as one, the entire Second Squad drew their blades. Each was a silver-hilted monomolecular gladius. The blades glinted in the artificial lighting of the room.

 

Nicanor did not draw a gladius. Instead he drew a long-bladed sword from his mag-link at his belt. It was a broadsword with the hilt fashioned into a silver cross. With a single press of the power stud, the blade's silver length was sheathed in crackling blue energy. Nicanor looked upon the sword with relish.

 

Time to die trash.

 

Green forms charged at them around engines, the greenskins using the cover to hide their approach until they pounced out. It was a good tactic, distinctly usual of them. However it did them no good. The Praetors auto-senses easily picked up their breathing and smells. The first ork that came at Nicanor, cleaver raised for a swing. It's technique was crude, but based more off brute strength than any real aim. Nicanor's power sword cut through the blade at the hilt and traveled onward to meet the ork's neck, beheading the surprised alien.

 

The Praetors dove into the coming orks, gladius's flashing. Nicanor's power sword led the charge, blade severing heads and limbs with equal ease as orkish cleavers and chainblades carved furrows into his brothers' armor. But in the end it was a forgone conclusion. As his power sword hacked down the last ork Nicanor grimaced briefly before shifting his arm again, feeling a small spike of pain from were an ork blade has partially collapsed the joint, drawing in a deep wound. He transferred his blade to his other arm as he brothers finished off the wounded orks.

 

Then he realized there was something wrong.

 

He heard a pig-like snorting, somewhere in the deeper engine rows. He quietly cursed. They had missed one and it had gotten deeper into the plasma reactors. He strode rapidly down one corridor in time to hear a sudden sharp scream.

 

It was the mortal.

 

***

 

When the orks came out, bellowing their warbling bestial warcries, Ramsen was content to stay back and let the Astartes handle it. He watched as they drew shining combat blades and their Sergeant whip out a blazing power sword. Except his sword was larger, a broadsword compared to the saber that Ramsen had pilfered.

 

Watching them cleave into the orks was just as impressive a sight as them mowing down the aliens. The Praetors fought with cold, calculated skill, a counterpoint to the brute charge of the greenskins. It was a forgone conclusion.

 

And the, in the distance Ramsen saw a shape

 

It was hard to see, Ramsen missed it on first look. But looking deeper in he saw that it was some sort of ork moving rapidly away from the battle for some reason. Ramsen cursed. That can't possible be good, looking about he saw the Astartes sill engaged with the screaming jade aliens.

 

He leapt through a small gap in the engines and moved as stealthy as he could, drawing on all his childhood experiences of playing in the local junkyards and backally houses. Ahead be saw brief flashes of green flesh and garish camouflage. Behind him the sounds of battle started to grow quieter. The Astartes war-cries began to grow dimmer and dimmer along with the alien screams of war. He briefly tripped and bit back a curse, hoping the ork had not heard it.

 

Ahead he stepped around a corner, watching the back of an ork peer over a large set of hydro-exchangers connected to a plasma engine. It wore some sort of large-lensed goggle set over it's head and it wore a variety of strange devices and xenotech bits. Looking closer he saw the ork tinkering with some sort of blinking device. After several tense seconds Ramsen realized it was some sort of xenos bomb.

 

It's going to blow this place and kill us all, Ramsen thought with horror. It was chortling as it worked, laughing in some alien tongue.

 

This could not happen, he thought, he would not allow it to happen.

 

His hands reached towards his power saber and he held it awkwardly, he did not want to risk a las-shot so close to the bomb and hydro exchangers. It would have to be with a blade, he thought, cursing the face he had little experience with swords. Still how hard could it be? Turn on the power stud and swing.

 

He pressed the stud and ran, lighting appearing on the power sword as he swing the blade with two hands towards the greenskin. The ork saboteur heard him come and began to whirl around, one arm lashing out. The saber flashed down, severing the arm at the elbow. Black blood trickled from the burning stump.. The ork saboteur stumbled back, caught off guard.

 

That's it you xenos freak, this is my city, my world, Ramsen thought triumphantly. He raised the blade again for another strike.

 

That's when the ork stabbed him through the chest.

 

He had made a mistake. He gotten too confident, fighting the ork with a weapon he was unfamiliar with. Ramsen's blade fell from his nerveless hands with a sudden shock and he screamed as the ork laughed.

 

***

 

Nicanor appeared around the corner, moving as fast as he could, power sword flaring. In front of him was a one-armed ork saboteur clad in various grenades and mechanical devices. Impaled on it's cleaver was the bloodied form of Ramsen. The trooper's mouth was open, blood streaming out in a thin trickle from his mouth, brown eyes bulging out, his arms hung limply by his sides. Nicanor did not hesitate as he dove forward, blade flashing as the ork looked around.

 

The greenskins' head rolled to the floor, the ork's red eyes still wide with surprise under it's goggles.

 

The ork's body collapsed to the floor and Nicanor wondered exactly why the trooper had slipped away from the protection of the Praetors, then he saw the unactivated bomb and the sword lying on the ground and then he suddenly understood exactly what happened.

 

He knelt down next to Ramsen, gently trying to extract the cleaver from the ork's grip as best he could. It was a death wound. Nicanor had seen too many men die on different battlefields to know that Ramsen was going to perish within minutes. Behind him Lukias and Ceranus came up, leading the rest of Squad Nicanor. Morovian and Severus spread out to reconnoiter the place for more orks and Ceranus ripped out the blinking xenos bomb from were it was and deactivated it.

 

''That's finished.'' Ceranus said with relish. He turned to look at Ramsen, helmet dipping. ''So fragile.''

 

''Silence Ceranus, the mortal speaks.'' Lukias held up a hand.

 

Ramsen stared at him blankly, eyes slowly blinking.

 

''Nicanor?'' he said hesitantly.

 

''I'm sorry, you are going to see the Emperor soon.'' Nicanor said, unsure of how to comfort a dying mortal. He had no experience. With the Praetors, death was to be expected, comforting his brothers over the deaths of their comrades was not an issue.

 

But this......in this Nicanor felt out of his element. It was not a good feeling.

 

'It's fine....stupid thing, wanted to be a hero.....'' Ramsen smiled.

 

''You will be celebrated. I swear by Guilliman.'' Nicanor assured him, his voice cosign out flat due to his vox-caster.

 

''Your face...........never seen your face.....'' he mumbled off.

 

Nicanor considered it for a second. He had little reason to remove his helm for a mortal not of his chapter. He had little reason to remove his helm for a mortal he had known for less than an hour. There was no logical reason why he should humor him.

 

But yet.............

 

***

 

Ramsen felt little pain now.

 

Were their was once white hot pain from the ork blade, he felt little now. He had heard stories about dying feeling peaceful, or something like that. But he had never but any stock into it. He coughed up some extra blood. In front of him the crimson-painted helm disengaged from the neck seals with a hiss. The helm was lifted, revealing pale, broad features with an aquiline nose and a noble jaw structure. The face had gray-blue eyes and short dark hair cropped close to the skull. Two gleaming silver studs were set into the left brow.

 

The helm was set to the side gentle and the eyes blinked. They looked at him with a sort of alien curiosity, as if fear and pain held little meaning for him. They were much like a child's, Ramsen realized. It was like looking into the face of an angel with a child's eyes.

 

''So that's what you look like..........''

 

Ramsen smiled as the angel's face faded away.

 

***

 

Outside the central Yaltoi power station the towering form of Nicanor strode out, helm secured on once more. Behind him Lukias, Apion and Ceranus filed out. The rest of his squad was finishing up their patrol of the surrounding area. In front of the building were a pair of freshly parked Chimeras. Groups of PDF men rushed out, lasguns at ready. From one of the Chimeras stepped out the form of Captain Kallor who walked over to the Sergeant.

 

''Sergeant Nicanor,'' he said. ''I'm afraid I arrived too late with reinforcements, the civilians too longer than anticipated.'' he explained.

 

Nicanor cared little for the Captain's explanations. He looked down.

 

''What is your name?'' he asked.

 

Kallor blinked. ''Pardon me?''

 

''I never caught your name.'' Nicanor informed him.

 

''I am Argitus Kallor of the most noble house of Kallor, heir to the lands of Fara-'' he began.

 

''I don't care,'' Nicanor interrupted him rudely. ''Captain Kallor, Corporal Ramsen is dead.'' he said flatly.

 

''A pity then, he was a fairly good man, but replaceable all the same.'' Kallor shrugged.

 

''He saved my squad and this entire city by extension. He is a hero. The Chapter owes him a debt. I will be mentioning him with the highest of praises in my report to Captain Arteus'' Nicanor spoke, his helm dipping down in a whine of servos.

 

''I suggest you do the same with your superiors.'' without waiting for a reply Nicanor walked off into the distance.

 

''Lukias, bring the rest of the squad up.'' he looked out.

 

''We have a war to win.''

[Ufthak]

Hey Gree!

 

Well, for something which sprang from boredom it's a very fine story! Really enjoyed reading it :) I especially liked how you split it into the "Übermensch"-Marine and "Mortal"-storylines. I love how you describe the marines and how their psyche is different from mortals' (especially when the dying Ramsen analyses the sergeant's look).

The only crit I have is that I find it strange that the entire defence system of a city is dependent on one single power source, which apparently is also easy to find and to attack. To have everything depend on one small factor seems a bit risky...wouldn't there be lots of secondary generators and auxilliary systems?

 

In any case, very good story! Hope to hear more from you in future :)

 

--Ufthak--

 

P.S.: When the marines speak of "the father and the emperor" then who is "the father"? Is it Guilliman, Orpheus, or God?

[Dosjetka]

or God?

God? There is no God! There is only the Emperor! :huh:

[Ufthak]

Exactly, which is why it seemed strange to me...

[Gree]

Well, for something which sprang from boredom it's a very fine story! Really enjoyed reading it :P I especially liked how you split it into the "Übermensch"-Marine and "Mortal"-storylines. I love how you describe the marines and how their psyche is different from mortals' (especially when the dying Ramsen analyses the sergeant's look).

 

Thanks for the review. I wanted to create something more than just mindless bolter action.

 

The only crit I have is that I find it strange that the entire defence system of a city is dependent on one single power source, which apparently is also easy to find and to attack. To have everything depend on one small factor seems a bit risky...wouldn't there be lots of secondary generators and auxilliary systems?

 

It's a backwater world with some pretty old systems. It's that that advanced compared to say Ultramar or a hive world.

 

P.S.: When the marines speak of "the father and the emperor" then who is "the father"? Is it Guilliman, Orpheus, or God?

 

It's Guilliman.

[Ufthak]

My pleasure, goddit, and goddit :)

Any more planned? Sequels? With the same characters?

I'd definitely read it, I liked the marine squad - nice characters!

[Captain Juan Juarez]

The thing that stands out immediately is that each paragraph is composed of tiny sentances which can, and does, make it read in a very monotone and shopping list-esque type way.

[Walter Payton]

Lovely. I really like Nicanor as a character.

 

I was thinking of writing an IA for these guys, actually. Of course, if you have your own plans for such an undertaking, you can have dibs on the idea.

[Gree]

My pleasure, goddit, and goddit :)

Any more planned? Sequels? With the same characters?

I'd definitely read it, I liked the marine squad - nice characters!

 

Yeah, I am already writing about the next one.

 

The thing that stands out immediately is that each paragraph is composed of tiny sentances which can, and does, make it read in a very monotone and shopping list-esque type way.

 

I actually had these in seperate sentances that I pulled together into paragraphs. I felt that looked better. But thanks for the review. I'm still playing around with the format.

 

Lovely. I really like Nicanor as a character.

 

Yes, I tried to write him as rather naive with human interaction. I wanted him to be inhuman and aloof, but not totally alien. Just almost childlike in his interaction.

 

I was thinking of writing an IA for these guys, actually. Of course, if you have your own plans for such an undertaking, you can have dibs on the idea.

 

I was thinking of doing it and I drew up a list of ideas, but I don't think I will be putting through the idea. I already have some IA's of my own and getting them reviewed seems to be a slow process. However I would love to contribute ideas to you.

[Walter Payton]

I was thinking of writing an IA for these guys, actually. Of course, if you have your own plans for such an undertaking, you can have dibs on the idea.

 

I was thinking of doing it and I drew up a list of ideas, but I don't think I will be putting through the idea. I already have some IA's of my own and getting them reviewed seems to be a slow process. However I would love to contribute ideas to you.

 

Well, it's still very WIP, so it won't be happening for a while, so feel free to start your own.

[Captain Juan Juarez]

The thing that stands out immediately is that each paragraph is composed of tiny sentances which can, and does, make it read in a very monotone and shopping list-esque type way.

 

I actually had these in seperate sentances that I pulled together into paragraphs. I felt that looked better. But thanks for the review. I'm still playing around with the format.

 

The comma and semi-colon are your friend here.. I mean no disrespect to your work, but I find it hard to read in its current format - but then my own literary style can leave alot to be desired too.

[Gree]

The thing that stands out immediately is that each paragraph is composed of tiny sentances which can, and does, make it read in a very monotone and shopping list-esque type way.

 

I actually had these in seperate sentances that I pulled together into paragraphs. I felt that looked better. But thanks for the review. I'm still playing around with the format.

 

The comma and semi-colon are your friend here.. I mean no disrespect to your work, but I find it hard to read in its current format - but then my own literary style can leave alot to be desired too.

 

I'm sorry but I have no idea of how to apply that.

[Gree]

Author's Notes: This is a sequel to Measure of a Man. Reviews are welcomed.

 

I am Varion Nicanor.

 

Child of Orpheus. Son of Guilliman

 

Now I come to Gallat. A world two weeks away by warp travel from Yaltoi. Scarcely hours after the victory-pyres at that world the Third Company received a message from the Mechanicus at Gallat. The world was is a manufactorum world, it's not a true forge world but a world that boasted several Mechanicus bases on the surface. The world was engulfed by rebellion. Dozens of cults had erupted all over the world and the Arbites struggled to contain the cults along with the PDF and the agents of the Ordo Hereticus. Regiments of Vostroyan Imperial Guard had also been brought into restore order. It seemed to be going well.

 

That was until a symbol had been discovered.

 

It had been a small thing, discovered on a single body after the Arbites stormed an underground cult-base. A single green tattoo, found on the body of a high-ranking cultist leader. The tattoo was that of a multi-headed hydra.

 

The Alpha Legion.

 

If the XX Legion was truly present on this world then the Praetors of Guilliman were required to deal with them. The Mechanicus were unsettled by news of Traitor Legion activity and made appeals to the Chapter. We are close allies of the Mechanicus. A relationship we do not bother to disguise. Some of our brother Astartes disdain us for it, but I care little. We embrace the technologies of humanity as a boon, not superstition.

 

If the misbegotten sons of Alpharius are here on this world then I relish the chance to fight them. All of the Praetors know of the treachery. We know of how Guilliman generously tried to give aid to his brother, and yet was denied in Alpharius's arrogance. That same pride led Alpharius to cast his lot with the gods of Chaos.

 

His sons are a stain upon the honor of the Astartes. We will rectify that mistake.

 

However when we land on this world we find no Traitors. Or perhaps it would be better to say we find no traitor Astartes, for treacherous souls are found aplenty here. We land, purging centers of cult activity, redeploying and striking at the cultists as they launch assaults on the mag-rails and factories.

 

But no Alpha Legion.

 

Now Captain Atreus had received word from Mechanicus research base Beta-6. They have been detecting cult activity in the Varnus townships and there is reports of sedation among their serf-workers. Magos Carnus requests that we come and put the fear of the Emperor into the rebels. Atreus briefs my squad, knowing we are still understrength, and gives us this mission. It is an easy one and I know it. On one level I feel almost insulted at killing deluded cultists while my lord hunts for the enemy Astartes. But I know of my chapter's commitment to the Mechanicus.

 

I obey.

 

***

 

The Blade of Orpheus screamed through the howling snowstorm, thrusters burning as it centered in on it's destination. Deep in the heart of the vehicle Varion Nicanor sat, his power pack removed. Coming straight from the Thunderhawk where cables snaking into his power armor.

 

It felt lighter without his power pack. It was not an unpleasant feeling, merely a strange one. He had experienced it many times before when traveling by Thunderhawk, but each time it felt new and unfamiliar despite that.

 

Around him the rest of his squad was silently preparing their weapons or talking quietly amongst themselves. Their helmets were off, showing the bare features of each Astartes to the world. Lukias's classically handsome features were still as he polished his combat knife. Ceranus's broad, scarred features were creased deep in thought as he added another purity seal. Daecus's face was hawkish and predatory, his white teeth showing as he joked quietly with Apion's youthful smile. Morovian's scalp was completely shaved, with a omega tattoo on his forehead. Severus's features were tight and emotionless, while Dakias finished field-stripping his bolter once more.

 

However there was one occupant whose' face was still obscured.

 

Chaplain Iapetos sat, his face masked by the white skull-helm he wore. His armor was black and polished. One shoulder and arm was painted white and blue. Attached to his shoulder guards were purity scripts fixed by red wax seals. Passages from the Codex Astartes were carved into his chestplate. The Chaplain's war-plate was ancient, truly ancient. Others before him had worn it for millenia, all the way back to the days of the Horus Heresy. It was ornate and beautifully forged. Impressive and fearsome at the same time.

 

His crozius was at his side. At the haft was the name of the weapon. Purgator.

 

The weapon was as much a chapter relic as a tool of war. It had been wielded by the earliest Chaplain of the Ultramarines Legion against the Word Bearers on Calth and by the Praetors when they had first been formed in the aftermath of the Scouring. It felt good to have the Chaplain here. Nicanor knew Iapetos well. He had fought alongside the Chaplain before and trusted his squad under the faith and leadership of his brother. He had little worried about the mission coming up.

 

Up ahead, in the cockpit was Techmarine Aeton. As the Second Squad had been sent to Beta-8 having one of the chapter's tech-adepts come along had been a natural choice to accompany them when they met the Mechanicus.

 

Something came over the vox-com

 

''Brother-Sergeant, Brother-Chaplain, there is something strange up ahead that the Thunderhawk's sensors have detected.'' the voice of Aeton is controlled, emotionless.

 

Nicanor presses a rune, disconnecting his power cables. His power pack slides in and connects. Instantly the false-muscles of his suit tighten up and link with him. Beside him, Chaplain Iapetos did the same action.

 

''Something wrong Brother-Sergeant?'' Ceranus asks.

 

''We'll see.'' Nicanor nodded and followed the Chaplain to the main cockpit.

 

The Thunderhawk's cockpit swiftly becomes crowded as Nicanor and Iapetos take their place next to Techmarine Aeton and pilot Menos. The cockpit is a confusing mess of sensors, data-screen, runes and controls. Aeton did not have his servo-harness on, looking curiously incomplete without it.

 

Aeton turns to him, his crimson helmet nodding as he points to the sensors. Nicanor nodded and read the lines of sensory data as a set of schematics were brought up.

 

''A Rhino.'' Iapetos said, his voice deep and cold, like the snowstorm outside.

 

''It's broken down, our sensors indicate weapons damage.'' Aeton says. His voice is cold and mechanical, but in a different way. There is no warmth, but no biting edge like with Iapetos. Only an utter absence of feeling.

 

''What is a Rhino doing out here?'' Nicanor asked.

 

''It must be the Magos's Rhino, only the Magos possesses a Rhino at Beta-8. The rest of the base utilizes local trucks or Chimeras.'' Aeton answered.

 

''If it is out here then something is wrong at the base, when have we last contacted the base?'' Iapetos asked.

 

''Eleven hours ago, we departed three hours ago, I was about to contact them when we detected the Rhino.'' Aeton answered.

 

''Then we should not, something is wrong, terribly wrong, do we detect any life forms?'' Nicanor asked.

 

''One,'' Aeton indicated the screen. ''Just one.''

 

Nicanor studied it for movement before turning to Menos. The pilot was not clad in power armor, but a flight-suit with cables connecting into the Thunderhawk paneling itself. His right eye was a bionic replacement.

 

''Take us down.'' he commanded.

 

***

 

Nicanor stepped outside, his helmet on. Although he did not need it in the cold. His gene-boosted Astartes body could handle the cold without any real trouble. But it paid to take precautions regardless. Next to him came the form of Aeton, servo-harness on once more. Next to him was Lukias, also fully clad in armor. The Thunderhawk had set down twenty meters from the Rhino. With his visor and gene-boosted vision Nicanor could see the symbol of the Cult Mechanicus on one side. Even through the coat of snow Nicanor could detect the abrasion and marks of weapons damage.

 

''It looks bad Brother-Sergant,'' Lukias siad. ''You must hate this sight eh Aeton?'' he commented.

 

''You are correct.'' Aeton replied curtly.

 

''As expected,'' Lukias muttered, looking over the Rhino. ''What do you think sir?''

 

''Lasguns?'' Nicanor offered.

 

''Lasguns, definitely, along with a grenade or two, someone was running away from soldiers.'' Lukias summarized. ''The question is.....who?''

 

''We are about to find out.''

 

Aeton arrived there first as he inspected the Rhino briefly. Quickly he tried to side doors, only to find them locked. Then Lukias inspected the rear landing ramp. It was also locked. Aeton mentioned them back. Muttering a prayer of forgiveness to the machine spirit, Aeton's servo arms tore off the locked door with two swift twists. Nicanor stepped in, bolt pistol at ready. The familiar troop bay was empty with no signs of life. Nicanor crossed to the driving compartment and opened up the door.

 

Something stared at him, shivering in the cold. It was a female face within a red hood. A pistol pointed at him briefly, shaking so much that Nicanor doubted that she would be able to hit him at all. He stepped inside.

 

He paused for a moment, unsure what to say. Finally, after a few seconds he spoke, his vox-assisted voice resounding in the innards of the Rhino.

 

''I am Nicanor, Son of Guilliman, come with me.''

 

***

 

Valeria sat within the Praetor's Thunderhawk, hugging the heater close to her, her breath coming out as white mist in front of her. She was in some sort of briefing area in the Thunderhawk. In front of her three armored giants stood. She recognized their heraldry of course. The starburst shield on their should guards were known to every Mechanicus Adept in this sector. The legacy of the Praetors of Orpheus was a long one and well appreciated by the Mechanicus.

 

It was an almost a cruel joke to see these Astartes after what she had experienced. But she was glad to see them. She had heard that the Praetors were on Gallat from Magos Carnus, but she had never expected to see them in person. When she had driven that Rhino to escape from the cultists she had expected to die in the snowstorm, Not to be intercepted by the Praetors. It was intimidating to say the least. She knew the Praetors were sworn allies of the Mechanicus and had worked closely with them in the past, but she had never met an Astartes before. She was human enough to feel intimidated. However one was a Techmarine, and thus was a fellow initiate of the Machine God, his presence comforted her more.

 

''Hello.'' she started hesitantly, rather unsure how to happen.

 

''What is your name?'' the one in white armor asked her.

 

''Cas Valeria'' she answered. She was not one of the more advanced tech-priests. She had just started on her holy augmentations. Unlike her master who was far more blessed than she with the gaze of the Omnissiah. Thus she had emotions. Right now she felt a sudden rude shock at the Praetor's bluntness.

 

''I am a Tech-Adept to Magos Rael Carnus of the Beta-8 Research base.'' he continued. She looked up at them.

 

''Please, you have to come and retake the base'' she choked out, hugging the heating unit closer. She still felt cold to her bones. Her own thermal robe was unprepared for the particularly freezing snowstorm out there.

 

''Retake?' the skull-helmed Astartes said. ''What do you mean?'' he continued. The Astartes sounded almost......surprised.

 

''The cultists, six hours ago they came, infiltrating through the lower ducts, taking the Skitarii off guard. They were led by Chaos Astartes. Omnisaiah help me, green giants with snakes on their shoulder guards. It was the XX Legion. They slaughtered everything'' she explained, his voice choked with pain.

 

She saw the skull-helmed giant glance at the other two briefly.

 

''Continue'' he said in a cold clipped tone.

 

''We had thought that the cultist activity was confined to the Varnus districts. We had never expected them to be so bold as to strike at us directly. But then again we never thought they had Chaos Marines leading them.'' she chuckled bitterly.

 

She took a breath again. ''Magos Carnus told me to get escape, to get help, the cultists had jammed the communications somehow. He gave me the codes to his Rhino and sent me off. They came for him, I know it.'' she continued, remembering what had so recently happened.

 

''The Magos?'' asked the white and blue armored one.

 

''My master..........my master calculated a ninety-six point eight chance they were here for the logic engines. They continued encrypted information, protected by firewalls.'' she took another deep breath. ''My master was the only one who knew the codes, they would have had to extract the information from him in order to get past the logic engine firewalls.''

 

''So they are still there?'' the central marine asked.

 

''Yes.........He's he's-'' her voice broke. ''We have to rescue him, and kill the heretics.'' she said, her voice hard.

 

She heard a series of almost silent clicking sounds as the Astartes opened up private vox-channels, conversing with themselves. Finally the central one stepped forward.

 

''What is the strength of the enemy?'' he asked.

 

''We detected five Astartes and over a hundred cultists.'' she said, trying to recall the information from the brief, panicked instructions her Master sent her on. The Astartes were silent, absorbing this information.

 

Then the skull-helmed one spoke up. ''If what you say is true then we face five Astartes and over a hundred cultists. Judging from combat assessments of the Legion's followers, they will be highly trained and well-armed. In addition we have the base defenses-''

 

''I can disable them!'' she interrupted eagerly. She then quailed as she realized what she just did. ''I mean I know the cods to disable the targeting servitors, you come come in unmolested.'' he said the last part almost quiet;y, afraid that the skull-helmed one would do something.

 

But he did nothing as the white one stepped forward. ''We don't have the luxury of time them, we must move as fast as possible, we will send a message to our Captain to bring reinforcements but we must move and assault the place, you will be responsible for bringing us in while we confront the bastard sons of Alpharius.'' hatred filled his vox as he spoke those last words.

 

''I will.'' she said with relish. Anything for a chance at vengeance. Then she realized something.

 

''What are your names?''

 

***

 

''You are coming with me.'' Nicanor told Valeria.

 

After introducing themselves to the young Tech-Adept he had contacted Atreus. The Captain was satisfied that the Alpha Legion had been found and was preparing his owns force's Thunderhawks. However he ordered them into an immediate assault.

 

''The Magos's information,'' he had said. ''Must not fall into enemy hands, regardless of the cost.''

 

And so Nicanor had prepared his squad for the assault. Lukias led his brothers with their weapons preparations while Iapetos read outloud passages from the Liber Orpheus, chronicling the battles of their Primarch, Roboute Guilliman.

 

As for the girl he had taken her aside and made his concerns known.

 

''You are coming with me.'' he said bluntly. He figured he might as well get the information out soon.

 

''Excuse me?'' she asked in a surprised tone. Nicanor was not exactly skilled at reading human emotion. But even he could see she was annoyed.

 

''Did you not hear me correctly?'' he asked her again, calmly.

 

''No, no. I heard you correctly, I just don't see why. I am not a fighter. I just have this hellpistol for defense.'' she showed him the weapon. It was a Kantrael MK8hellpistol, ornately detailed with High Gothic inscriptions.

 

''Where did you get that?'' he asked.

 

''I took it from the Armory before I left. My master's personal bodyguards wielded weapons like these'' Valeria explained. Nicanor studied the weapon and nodded.

 

''Good, at least you will be armed then when we depart-'' he started again.

 

''Why do I have to go?'' she asked in an almost....... panicked tone. She clearly did not want to leave the Thunderhawk. It was a sentiment Nicanor was unable to identify with. Why would anyone not want to bring death to the faithless traitors of mankind?

 

''I mean I've already provided the codes to shut down the anti-air defense, you don't need me anymore.'' she continued.

 

''Wrong,'' he rumbled. ''You know the base's layout. We need a guide to figure out where the Magos is being held captive.'' he leaned forward, almost bending over as his faceplate stared at her.

 

She gave a short yelp and stumbled back on the floor. Nicanor reached out with one great white gauntlet.

 

''My apologies. My intention was not to frighten you.'' he stated calmly.

 

''Oh no,'' Valeria huffed, grasping the gauntlet and pulling herself up. Nicanor barely felt the woman tugging up. ''It's just the first time I have ever meant an Astartes. I've heard so much about you.'' she looked up at him.

 

'I suppose I'm nervous then, a weakness of the flesh my Master would say.'' she commented.

 

''Surprise is not a weakness.'' Nicanor responded.

 

''I suppose your right, you must try new things right?'' Valeria chuckled a bit.

 

Nicanor had no answer for that.

 

After a few moments of awkward silence passed Valeria spoke again.

 

''You will protect me right? You and your brothers?'' she asked hopefully.

 

''Of course.''

 

***

 

Nicanor came to the main deck of the Thunderhawk, all of his squad brothers had their heads bowed to Chaplain Iapetos. Aeton was still in the cockpit piloting the course and entering the codes to turn aside the base's aerial defenses.

 

Lukias looked up at him. ''We are ready for our oaths sir.'' he said.

 

''Such a small thing they brought in.'' said Daecus to Ceranus.

 

''Hardly our most worthy ally, I suspect her age to be less than thirty.'' he replied.

 

''Too young or too early for the more advanced bionics?'' Daecus asked.

 

''Too early,'' Ceranus agreed. '' I don't mean to sound petulant, but it's annoying to escort such a mouse.''

 

''She is the first off-world tech-adept I have met'' Apion commented softly. ''I don't think so badly of her''

 

''Yes, you are the one to speak with your great knowledge of the Mechanicus.'' snorted Daecus sarcasticly.

 

''Enough,'' Nicanor said. ''We will take your oaths.''

 

Iapetos rose and took out a small vial of oils from his belt. Unscrewing the top he started the Oaths.

 

''I, Chaplain of the Emperor ask you, who are you?'' he began, his skull mask frozen in a rictus grin.

 

''We are the Sons of Orpheus.'' Squad Nicanor responded, their voices powerful and deep.

 

''Who is your father?'' The Chaplain asked, anointing the forehead of each Marine with the holy oils.

 

''Roboute Guilliman is our father.'' they intoned together.

 

''What teaches us?''

 

''The Codex Astartes.''

 

''Who guides us?''

 

''Guilliman and his father.''

 

''Who do we fight for?'' Iapetos boomed.

 

''The Emperor on Terra.''

 

''Who do we serve?'' Iapetos intoned.

 

''Our Lord-Emperor.'' the squad responded.

 

The Oaths continued on for another three minutes as the Thunderhawk howled through the air. Oaths of loyalty were sworn and renewed along with oaths and promises of vengeance against the vile traitor-kin of the Praetors.

 

***

 

Valeria ran out of the Thunderhawk after the Astartes as the ramp dropped into the snow. Up ahead, the Astartes called Lukias and Dakias took point and fanned out, bolters tracking back and forth as they searched the area for threats.

 

There was none.

 

Nearby she moved up to the Astartes named Morovian. Nicanor had essentially told her to stick to the hulking Astartes brother for her own safety. Morovian barely spoke except to tell her simply to stay behind him. The Chaplain was there too, clutching his crozius, as well as the Techmarine, in full war-harness and wielding a cog-toothed power axe.

 

They had landed in front of one of the rear access points that Valeria had identified. Nicanor had elected against landing on the landing pads, in case of a booby trap of some sort. Here he reasoned it would be safer.

 

The building in front of here was just as she remembered it, rising up dozens of feet into the air. It was a collection of insulated domes and buildings in as high valley that overlooked the Vardus communes below. It was like some sort of castle lording it over the peasants below. She shivered as the freezing winds bit into her bones even through her thick insulated red cloak. She glanced around, the Astartes appeared to not even notice the cold. In front of her, half-obscured by snow, was a pair of blast doors marked by the cog-skull symbol of the Mechanicus and a series of warnings in Low Gothic. Aeton moved quickly to the doors, his armor creating a series of soft whining noises and clicks.

 

Two servo arms extended from his back and a data-thief jutted out. Aeton removed the side panel and plunged in the data-thief, inter-linking with the door's machine spirit. Aeton briefly shuddered as his neural implants linked him in.

 

After a few moments the doors opened and the Techmarine withdrew the data-thief. He stepped to the side as Apion and Dakias moved past, taking point at a short clipped order from Nicanor, the rest of the squad filed in.

 

''This is where it begins, stay close to me.'' Morovian said to her, turning his grill-mouthed helm towards her briefly. She nodded quickly and clutched her hellpistol in one shivering hand as she hurried in with the Astartes into the warmth of the base.

 

The doors closed inches behind her, barely missing the hem of her red robe. Ahead of her the Astartes moved quickly and with a ground eating stride that forced Valeria to virtually run in order to properly keep up.

 

They encountered the first cultists a few moments later.

 

***

 

The central data chamber was a wide circular platform, hosted above dozens of feet of data stacks and plasma regulators. A system of pillars and stairs criss-crossed and connected the central platform to the exit hallways. In the center Magos Carnus lay strapped and bound to the observation chair, his combat implants and servo arms ripped out. The hood of his red robe was thrown back, exposing his gleaming chrome skull and augmetic face.

 

Zerathras of the Alpha Legion watched in disappointment as Brother Malathrax extended writhing silver data-plugs from his gauntlets and into the rear neural links of the Magos, linking his mind with the Mechanicus priest's own.

 

''He is fighting, this is the fifth time.'' Malathrax said, his voice low and buzzing like a broken servitor. The Alpha Legionary was a former Techmarine infected with some sort of variant of the Obliterator virus, his unusual abilities made him invaluable for this mission.

 

Zerathras had led his warrior-brethren to his world ten years ago and spent a long time fostering the local Chaos cults into a force to be reckoned with. After ten years of planning all his work was about to pay off. Zerathras was a tall Chaos Marine, clad in blue-green scale-like power armor. One shoulder guard bore the multi-headed hydra of the Alpha Legion, the rest of his armor was bare of insginia. His helm was off, exposing his shaved tanned features and cold calculating eyes.

 

Malathraz was clad in blue armor with a silver sheen. Snake-like cables ran across his form, writhing and pulsing as if they were alive. His helm was finished into a gleaming blank faceplate with a multitude of circuitry in the back of his skull. Nearby, Borc, the swordsman, paced back and forth, his skull-trophies jangling across his broad power-armored chest. His horned helm swung back and forth as he made his impatience known. Taes, clad in his skull-faced helm, held his plasma gun reverently. Finally the daemonancer Raetirn was kneeling, keeping to himself, his blue-green armor covered in writhing Chaos runes.

 

One of the doors opened and a man clad in heavy flak armor entered. It was Tomas, the closest thing that the cultists had to a leader. The Alpha Legion encouraged flexible structure in their warriors, allowing their full abilities of innovation and adaptability to come into play. But Tomas was the closet to a permanent leader.

 

''Speak.'' Zerathras said.

 

''Sir, we have been breached, a team of loyalist Astartes had moved in and obliterated sentry team four.'' Tomas said.

 

Zerathras's interest was peaked. ''How so?''

 

''We've spotted the female tech-priest that managed to escape, I thought her damaged Rhino would get stranded in the storm and she would die.'' Tomas said, sucking in his breath.

 

''Evidently she did not, can you identify the chapter?'' Zerathas asked.

 

''Yes sir, it is the Praetors of Orpheus, Second Founding according to our files.'' Tomas said.

 

''The lapdogs of Guilliman.''the Alpha Legionary mused. Millennia past Zerathras had witnessed the acts that drove the Alpha Legion from the Imperium. He had always held a dislike for the blindly indoctrinated followers of Guilliman. Now he would get a chance to slay their descendents

 

''Sir, it was my incompetence that allowed the female tech-priest to escape.'' Tomas said, bowing his head.

 

If Zerathras was a Word Bearer he would have slain the cultist outright for his failure. But he was a more intelligent sort of Astartes. In the Alpha Legion failures were to be studied and remedied. That was the way of Alpharius.

 

''We will ruminate on your failure later Tomas, prepare the rest of your teams and launch an ambush,'' Zerathras turned his head to Raetirn. ''Brother prepare your charges, we have a surprise for the Praetors.'' he said, pulling on his serpent helm as he did so.

 

***

 

Nicanor's power sword was wet with the blood of the Alpha Legion dupes. A las-blast scorched his chestplate, but did little harm. Beside him Lukias fired off a burst from his bolter, blowing the cultist apart. For the most part the cultists were not screaming fanatics, but professional looking soldiers clad in flak armor and wielding lasguns. Looking them over they were trained to the highest Guard standards and well-led.

 

The Praetors went brought them like a knife through hot butter.

 

''They are cowards,'' Ceranus sneered. ''For sending their dupes to fight instead of themselves. Alpha Legion scum.'' he snarled.

 

''They don't deserve to call themselves Astartes.'' added Dakias. The Praetor spotted the form of a cultist fleeing around the corner.

 

''Anyone want that?'' he asked.

 

''I'm on it.'' Daecus said, running around the corner. A moment later three shots signaled the end of resistance in that corridor.

 

Nearby chaplain Iapetos stalked the corridors, crozius wet with the blood of cultists.

 

''Alpha trash! Come and Face me!'' he shouted, turning his vox-signal up to maximum.

 

Suddenly something ripped through a nearby wall. Nicanor's lenses polarized the blast even as he identified it as a melta blast. Quickly he realized a meltagun-armed cultist must have been hiding behind one of the walls. Clever.

 

But not clever enough.

 

Energy fields crackled around Iapetos as he clutched at his Rosarius. His skull-helm glared as the surprised cultist standing behind the melted wreck of the wall. The Chaplain leveled his plasma pistol and vaporized him as he turned to run.

 

''Hmp, that's it?'' he muttered.

 

Nearby Aeton withdrew his data-thief from a terminal. Nicanor turned to look at him.

 

''What did you get?'' he asked.

 

''The place is infested with some sort of daemonic virus.'' surprisingly Nicanor detected a hint of revulsion in the Tech-Priest's normally ice cold voice. ''The data-corruption centers on the main observation center.'' he indicated.

 

Nicanor turned to Valeria, who was hiding behind behind the bulk of Morovian. He could practically see her terror and nervousness.

 

''Do you know where that is?'' he asked.

 

Scared she could only nod hesitantly. She had not even fired her hellpistol yet. Nicanor felt almost disappointed in her for some strange reason.

 

''Good let's-''

 

''Brother-Sergeant,'' Lukias's voice came over his vox. ''Servitors.''

 

Nicanor whipped his head around. Coming down the hallways were dozens upon dozens of servitors, their metallic arms waving a variety of maintenance tools and improvised weaponry. They walked with a almost feral jerking gait.

 

''Feral,'' Valeria whispered. ''The heretics have done something... something to servitor's programs.''

 

Nicanor looked upon this new foe dispassionately.

 

''It matters not, were are they coming from?'' he asked Valeria.

 

''The servitor bay, that way.'' she pointed..

 

Nicanor nodded. ''Then we will cut off that source there and proceed on, Chaplain Iapetos, Apion, would you do the honors?'' he asked.

 

''With pleasure brother.'' Apion aimed his flamer and aimed a great burst of promethium that tore through the corridor. Flesh was engulfed in blazing promethium and metal limbs fused together in the great blaze.

 

''Praetors of Orpheus, move out.'' Nicanor commanded

 

***

 

They reached the servitor bay three minutes later.

 

Nicanor's sword was once more caked with blood, this time the flat blood and machine oils of the servitors. Every step the Praetors fought their seemed to be an endless tide of servitor slaves. They were very poorly armed and attacked with little skill. It was more of a chore really than an actual fight. Behind them Valeria cowered behind Morovian's bulk.

 

At last they came to the servitor-chamber.

 

It was a massive room, thirty meters wide and many more long. Ranks of servitors were being unloaded from their holding crates and down where they marched jerkily out to the doors. Hundreds more were laying inactive in more crates. Nicanor nodded to Apion and he let his flamer lose on the dormant servitors, roasting countless inactive cybernetic serfs. Chaplain Iapetos strode forward, crozius flashing as he tore into the servitors in front of him. Aeton and Nicanor followed with their own weapons.

 

It was almost an insult, Nicanor thought. These servitors are mindless automatons. They feel no pain or fear, but fight with no skill or strength. He cut them down like a farmer harvesting argi-wheat. He hardly had to work.

 

Then he heard words. Foul words.

 

Several servitors at the end of the crates began to write and moan. Looking closer with his gene-boosted vision Nicanor saw these servitors covered in strange markings, like hastily applied tattoos. Blood and oils burst as the servitors simply began to explode. Within the puddles of gore shapes began to form.

 

He saw skins of shadows and eyes of blood. Smoky, black things appeared. Daemons.

 

''Alpha Legion!'' Apion roared as Nicanor spotted the figure. It was an Astartes, but some sort of twisted parody of the Praetors. It's power armor was a blue-green and covered with twisting snake-like runes. It's helm was horned and from an archaic mark. The Alpha Legionnaire held an old, but well maintained bolter in his hands.

 

Bolters rounds knocked Nicanor back, the rounds blowing out chunks of ceramite. Aeton's bolter came up, spitting rounds, but the Alpha Legionary was already moving away, behind the crates of servitors unloading. Iapetos raced after him, plasma pistol spiting rounds at the Alpha Legionary. But the Chaos Astartes was fast, as each of the superheated plasma bolts missed him by only a few feet, only scorching his armor barely. Instead each shot incinerated stacks of flesh-units.

 

Finally Ceranus made the shot. The finest shot in Second Squad placed a bolter round on the right leg joint of the Chaos Marine, practically blowing the leg off. The Alpha Legionary stumbled and Iapetos took the opportunity to vaporize him with his plasma pistol. The Chaplain's roar of triumph was cut short as a daemon tackled him. Iapetos ripped the daemon off but several more winged daemons advanced through the hail of bolter fire being directed at them.

 

Winged daemons flew up and tore their claws into the reserve power units, igniting a chain reaction that sent entire rows of flesh-units falling down, igniting promethium reserve tanks. Immediately a field of fire cut off the Second Squad from Iapetos.

 

''Chaplain!'' Nicanor activated his vox signal. Nearby Valeria was crying in horror at the sight of the daemons.

 

''I am alive Brother-Sergeant.'' Iapetos composed voice came over the line.

 

''We will dig you out Brother-Chaplain-'' Nicanor began.

 

''No!'' Iapetos voice came over the vox. ''Continue with the mission! That is a direct order.'' he commanded.

 

''Brother-''

 

''Do not argue! Go, we have no time.'' With that Iapetos cut the connection.

 

Nicanor looked ahead. He could not make out the form of Iapetos beneath the wall of burning flesh-units and scrap metal. The insane cackles of daemons filled the air, along with a series of quotations from the Liber Orpheus.

 

''Squad Nicanor, move up on my command, we have work to do.''

 

In the middle of the flames Chaplain Barcus Iapetos raised Purgator and his plasma pistol. Black winged shapes came out shrieking through the inferno and dead hands reached for him. He crushed the limbs with great blows from his crozius.

 

''I am Barcus Iapetos! Son of Orpheus! Warrior of the Emperor! Perish you mongrel stains on human existence!'' the Chaplain roared as he closed in for one final time.

 

***

 

Valeria was quiet. She was not sure quite what she had seen. Those strange, evil shapes that had appeared among the flames chilled her to her very soul. She had thought herself a calm, capable person, but those things.

 

Those things........

 

Those things were utterly wrong and unnatural, just thinking about them made her want to vomit in horror and disgust. She began to retch up uncontrollably. A bit of vomit came on the floor, flecking Morovian's boot as she wrenched over.

 

She heard one of the Astartes give a snort of disgust as Morovian hauled her up.

 

''Are you fine milady?'' Morovian asked. Valeria was shocked out of her warp-induced horror by the very idea that some someone like her would be a ''lady''.

 

''No, not fine,'' she choked out. ''Those things-''

 

''Such weakness this is what we protect?'' said Ceranus disdainfully.

 

''Those things will die.'' said Nicanor, turning to Ceranus. ''I can tell that you all are disquieted over Brother-Chaplain Iapetos's death, do not be. This is our fate, we are born to make war and we are born to die. We will avenge Iapetos.'' he sighed.

 

He then looked at Valeria, lifting her chin up gently as he could. ''I apologize my lady, but I do not have much time to speak with you, we must move quickly, and you must be brave, you must not get in the way of my brothers. Nod if you understand.'' he said, his voice distorted by his vox-grille.

 

Hesitantly, she nodded.

 

''Good.'' Nicanor straightened back up,. ''Ceranus, Apion, Aeton, you take point.''

 

***

 

It was in a large control room he encountered the traitors.

 

Apion led the way, flamer blazing as his autosenses picked up movement, a gout of promethium filled the entrance to the chamber as the young Astartes scanned about for threats. There was a set of human screams, and then silence. Then for a moment, as Ceranus and Aeton entered, they realized that the corpses that Apion had roasted were normal sized humans, albeit blackened and burnt into an almost unrecognizable crisp. Indeed, the only Alpha Legionary was a Chaos Marine standing at the far side of the chamber.

 

It was a silver-armored Marine, who was inserting strange metallic feelers into the skull of a bound Magos at the far side of the chamber. It paid the Praetors no heed as it continued it's work. Nicanor felt his anger rise at the ignorance. He raised his bolter, then something charged through a set of limb-replacement vats. It was an Alpha Legionary armed with a plasma gun, his faceplate carved to resembled some sort of daemonic skull Even as Nicanor's bolter was trained in on him, the Praetor was forced to admit that it was clever finding a way to hide Astartes bulk behind the lab equipment.

 

He barely squeezed the trigger when a bright burst of plasma flared into existence. Aeton was struck by it. The upper half of the Techmarine was simply vaporized in the heat of a small sun as the form of Ceranus was obscured by light and tossed in the lower decks. Behind metallic panels burst the forms of more Astartes. They moved swiftly, firing off brief bursts of bolter fire. Severus's helm exploded from a headshot, his body falling to the ground, his bolter slipping from his nerveless fingers.

 

Two of Squad Nicanor were down in so few moments. It was shocking. But Nicanor had their vengeance. Lukias's bolter blew back the plasma gunner with several shots, blowing away chunks of ceramite from his armor.

 

An Alpha Legionary, wearing a serpent-like helm, dropped from above, his power sword blazing as he cut Dakias from shoulder to hip, the two halves of the Marine fell to the ground smoking. The Champion's next sword stroke tore open Daecus's breastplate, carving a massive wound across his torso. Another Alpha Marine with a chainsword hammered his blade into the chestplate of Apion as he brought his flamer up and was shoulder charged by Morovian who fired off a quick burst first. The Alpha Legionary spun around and sliced the bolter in half with one swift, snake-like lunge.

 

Meanwhile Lukias noticed the plasma gunner recovering and he cursed as he found his bolter empty. He ran forwards, drawing his combat knife and tackled the Alpha Legionary, wrestling the plasma gun out of his grip and sending it spinning across the floor.

 

The Alpha Champion raised his sword for the killing stroke and then leapt to the side as Nicanor's shots went off mark. The Alpha Marine dove forward, blade slicing Nicanor's bolter at the grip as the Praetor drew his own blade and blocked the next swing.

 

The Chaos Champion brought the snake-like helm in, the fanged grille sneering.

 

''For the Emperor.'' the Champion shouted triumphantly as Nicanor snarled in hatred at the blatant mockery. He kicked the Alpha Legionary away but the enemy fighter recovered and launched into a blistering counterattack.

 

Valeria stood paralyzed with shock. The research chamber she knew from her days before was transformed into a battlefield, covered by blackened corpses and bloody bodies. Astartes in white and green wrestled and dueled across the area in a brutal close quarter fight. In the rear the blank-faced monster still stood motionless, ignoring the carnage around him, he was too far away to be affected by any of the fighting as he pushed his feelers deeper into Carnus's skull. The Magos groaned in pain. Valeria gasped with shock and horror. A sick feeling began to grow inside her.

 

She looked at her hands.

 

She knew what she must do.

 

***

 

The Alpha Legionary was unlike any other swordsman save perhaps Captain Atreus and the Chapter Master. Nicanor knew he was good, very good, but compared to this Chaos Marine he was barely holding his own. The Alpha Legionary's sword had a hilt that looked like it was forged from human bone and it flickered with crimson fire. His style was excellent, favoring attack over defense.

 

The power sword scorched his shoulder guard, burning through the tactical symbol as Nicanor blocked another blow. He brought his fist around, punching the Alpha Legionary in the face, but the warrior leapt back and attacked again. His next attack brought Nicanor down back as he raised his sword to defend against another attack, his power sword went spinning to the ground, deactivating in a haze of blue flames as the Alpha Legionary brought his sword about.

 

''For the Emperor.'' the Alpha Legionary repeated.

 

Then their was a las-shot and the Alpha Legionary's head snapped around. Standing several feet away was Valeria, holding her hellpistol with one hand. The Magos's arms slumped in his restraints as his head rolled back. The silver-faced Techmarine, Malathrax, screeched in pain and shock, holding his head as his connection was broken. He staggered back, holding his skull. Distracted for a moment by the loss of their asset, Zerathras was left vulnerable as Nicanor kicked him the stomach, kicking him to the ground.

 

Leaping on Zerathras, Nicanor knocked the sword from the Alpha Legionary's hands and attempted to strangle him, the serpent helm was knocked from his head and the two struggled across the ground, writhing and rolling. The Chaos's marine's bare face was visible to Nicanor, his tanned, deep features snarling at Nicanor. Quickly he spat at the Praetor, his acid saliva messing up the Praetor's visor. Nicanor threw off the Alpha Legionary and tore off his helmet.

 

Zerathras recovered quickly on the ground, keeping his eye on Nicanor and he grasped around for his power sword, his hands found the hilt and he smiled in triumph. He started to press the activation rune when he heard the familiar snap-hiss of a power sword being activated.

 

''Goodbye.'' a voice said as he turned around. Something blue flashed and his head rolled to the ground.

 

Nicanor got up, staring at the battered form of Ceranus. His left arm was a blackened stump from elbow down and his armor was burnt and warped. In one hand he clutched Nicanor's discarded power sword.

 

''Brother.'' Nicanor breathed out.

 

''In the flesh sir.'' Ceranus nodded.

 

They were distracted then by a feminine scream. The silver-faced Chaos marine recovered and leapt at Valeria, ignoring the hellbolts fired at him. Quickly Nicanor grabbed the power sword from Ceranus and leapt forward. The blade flashed and the twin halves of the corrupted chaos marine crashed to the floor in front of Valeria. Nearby Lukias got up, combat knife wet with the black blood of the Alpha Legionary. He turned around to see the chainsword-wielding Alpha Legionary throw Morovian to his feet while a badly wounded Apion reeled back.

 

The Chaos Marine stood, breathing heavily, chainsword caked with Apion's blood as the Praetors began to surround him. His horned helmet darted back and forth as his battered armor wheezed in protest.

 

''Come on you whoresons-'' he began.

 

A plasma gun fired, vaporizing the upper half of the Chaos Marine as Lukias threw away the fallen Alpha Legionary's gun.

 

''My apologies Brother-Sergeant, for using a tainted weapon of the enemy, I will report to the Apothecary for the purity checks.'' Lukias nodded.

 

''Noted Lukias,'' Nicanor breathed, walking over to a trembling Valeria. The Tech-Adept dropped her hellpistol and grabbed Nicanor's gauntlet, crying as she did so.

 

''It was the only way, he was dying'' she sobbed.

 

Unsure of how to handle it, Nicanor simply stood and let her cry on his gauntlet.

 

***

 

We wait for two hours after finshing off the last of the Alpha Legionaries.

 

The rest of Third Company came, led by Captain Atreus himself. They purge the last remaining cultists and daemons from the complex and then begin purging operations into the surrounding Varnus townships. Atreus assures me it will not take long.

 

Aeton, Severus and Dakias are slain. Death is to be expected in the life of an Astartes, but their losses are still shocking. The Captain offered to carve the names in the Hall of Heroes himself, but I disagree. It will be my burden.

 

Iapetos remains alive, as does Daecus. The Chaplain was found by Apothecary Kyros, barely alive and buried among the wreckage. Even now his condition is critical. Kyros does not know if he can make it. Daecus's diagnosis looks more promising. Ceranus has lost an arm and is being rushed to the Apothecarion for a replacement. He is none too happy about it's lost, having to work through his aim again. But he will cope. I know he will.

 

Atreus thanks me, but assigns my squad fleet duties for the duration of the campaign. Part of me wishes to be on the front lines.....but another part simply wants to mourn. It's a very odd feeling, one that I am not comfortable with. We will receive new squad replacements in time, he assures me.

 

As for the the Tech-Priest Valeria, she was taken by a Mechanicus shuttle later in the day. I did not speak to her as she left. I don't think it was needed. I cannot offer her any consolation. I am not trained for it. That is the work of the Tech-Priests to fix and heal her.

 

As for now, I concentrate on another healing. That of my squad.

[Ufthak]

BRILL.I.ANT.

Let me spell it out: B-R-I-L-L-I-A-N-T !!!!!

 

Wonderful story, I especially loved your portrayal of the heretics - you gave a very, VERY good picture of the Alpha Legion! Stealthy and professional, not mindless (World Eaters), fanatical (Word Bearers) or drugged (Emperor's Children)...true Alpha Legion!

 

Again you included some Astartes psychology, again using Nicanor - that's GREAT!!!

 

Generally speaking, your stories have something very distinctive! You include many things which other people tend to forget about when writing stories - which is superb.

 

Also, you manage to describe things in detail, yet keep the text short without beating about the bush - a very rare gift!

 

 

 

The only major crit I have is that unlike your first story, this time there are many mistakes. I would really recommend you read through the story again and clean them up <_<

 

Other than that: GREAT!

 

 

Keep it up man, I'd really like to hear more of Nicanor and the Praetors ^_^

 

--Ufthak--

[Gree]

Thanks, I went back and did alot of editing, it should be better now.

[Ufthak]

Great :lol: You planning on writing more?

[Gree]

Yes, I do, I'm currently throwing around ideas in my head for the next one.

[Ufthak]

Still the Praetors? Will they be getting reinforcements? They could definitely do with some, what with the squad down to six warriors or so...

 

Would really like to hear more of Nicanor and his boys :D

 

As a praise I would like to add that you are an expert at portraying small-scale action - a squad of marines against another squad, for example. I can really see all you describe in my mind's eye - which is great!

[Gree]

Soon, but not in the next story, the next story takes place on their return to Orpheus Prime, when they stop at a planet to cleanse a world of greenskins.

[Walter Payton]

Good, a couple of grammatical errors though.

 

Keep it up B)

[Darkchild130]

I like this a lot. Very well written. You capture the essence of a codex chapter very well (albeit one with close ties with the mechanicum):)

They are the polar opposites of my boys, which is refreshing to read after thinking about psychotic maniacs for the last couple of weeks! lol

 

Again, I like this lots.

 

Darkchild

[Gree]

Thanks for the personality. I tried to write a Codex Chapter, and one that was quite minor at that. I am a rather big fan of the Ultramarines, but I have no desire to write about them, seeing as they get enough fluff representation already.

[Gree]

I am Varion Nicanor.

 

Son of Guilliman, Servant of the Emperor-Machine

 

After we purged the planet of Gallat from the Alpha Legion , Captain Atreus decreed we are to return to Orpheus to rest and restore our strength. Alas, it is not too be as the Arclight recives a local Fleet signal. Sathis III is an agri-world that the Chapter has sworn to defend. A host of orks has moved to pillage it and the local Imperial Guard have rallied to stop them. We cannot walk away from this fight. Depleted or not, we must move in.

 

We deploy, hunting down orks wherever we can find them, but we cannot lure the main ork warlord, Zarsnik, out. Damn that xenos, it is a clever one for his breed. It is constantly on the move. Atreus makes his plans to pin the beast down and kill it.

 

It is a plan with a good chance of success, but it puts the Praetors of Guilliman in a position we do not want to be. Some of my brethren object, but Atreus's will is adamant. I arm myself with my consecrated wargear.

 

On Orpheus we have a saying.

 

Behead the snake and the body will die.

 

***

 

Lieutenant Yalen wiped away sweat from his brow as he looked into the distance. The forms of the orks were barely identifiable in their own trenches. If a man could look hard enough they could see the forms of great tribal banners, marking out different greenskin factions. Not that Yalen cared of course, there were some things the Cadian did not wish to know. The Lieutenant was not the tallest of men, only at average height for a Cadian. His face was broad and covered with scars. His eyes were the typical blue of the Cadian regiments, peering over his short, stubby nose. He wore the camouflaged fatigues of the Cadian 132nd under gray-black flak armor.

 

''Looks like they are moving up sir'' Corporal West, his aide, said as he lowered the binoculars to survey the greenskins positions. He was the stereotypical Cadian soldier, tall, muscular and blonde. Like the rest of the Cadian 132nd he was clad in the same brown-tan camouflage the regiment wore on the Raden Line.

 

Sathis III was a major agri-world in the sub-sector. One that supplied several surrounding systems, including two hive worlds and a Forge World. It had been a relatively peaceful world up until recently when the Greenskin hordes of Waaggh Zarsnik invaded. Over three hundred thousand orks rampaged over half of the planet until the Imperial Guard arrived. The 179th Army had deployed over twenty regiments to support the local PDF against the greenskin threat, pushing back the hordes into a series of defensible wastes south of the main collectives at the Raden hills.

 

A great series of earthworks and trenches had been dug here, constructed the Munitorum Engineers and labored on by the Guardsmen of the 179th Army. The ground was gritty and hard, as such only shallow trenches could be dug. Instead walls of earth had been raised to compensate. The Cadian 132nd was one of those regiments holding the front line.

 

Yalen's thoughts soured briefly as he recalled the regiment's past. The 132nd was raised on Cadia two years ago and had been decorated with honors at Beta Erdus against a horde of treacherous PDF. It was one of the many, many regiments that Cadia produced, a crack mechanized unit. The current 132nd was merely the latest incarnation of the regiment, the regiment's history stretching back millenia in past incarnations. And now it was in the Eastern Fringe, so far away from Cadia that it was unlikely they would ever return home. It was a fact of life in the Guard that offworld regiments would most likely never see their home worlds again, but Yalen had at least hoped he would return.

 

But he would not, just because Segmentum Command was hungry for Cadian fighting stock. The Cadian regiments, born and bred on a Fortress world to be soldiers were honored across the Imperium for a good reason. Regiments were dispatched as far to the Ultima Segmentum. Within the Army Group their were only two other Cadian regiments beside the 132nd, not counting the attached Kasrkin companies that were permanently assigned to the Cadians. The regiment was surrounded by outsiders.

 

Right now the 132nd was serving beside a unit of those outsiders. The Brimlock 22nd, a group of soldiers raised the the manufactorum world of Brimlock. It was a fresh outfit, with little combat experience, but they had proved to be solid enough men. They were too the south of the trench line.

 

To the north was the 75th Steel Legion. Normally also a mechanized unit they had been assigned to fight in the trenches as a result of manpower shortages. Expert ork fighters from the hives of Armageddon they had earned the Cadians's respect for their intense hatred of the greenskins. A unit of Brimlock armor was stationed nearby, the Brimlock 7th Armored. Unlike their infantry counterparts these tankers were at least veterans of conflicts against the Tau and Hive fleets. The Cadians could count on them.

 

There were of other regiments assigned to Sathis, but only his own regiment concerned Yalen. The twelve companies of the 132nd and their attached companies of Kasrkin had dug in tight, in formations straight out of the Tactica. Yalen himself headed Fourth Platoon of B Company under Major Asher. Fifty Cadians, born fighters all of them, plus several support squads of heavy weapons teams, were under his command. Yalen knew each of the men personally, having been promoted to the rank of Sergeant when Lieutenant Markos was slain against the orks on Farol II.

 

His own status as a lowborn soldier upset some of the noble born officers. He had not had any trouble with Major Asher however. Though a highborn son of the Cadian military nobility, Asher counted Yalen as one of his best men.

 

''Sir,'' Sergeant Gallen looked up. ''Aircraft.'' he pointed at several shapes coming in.

 

''Orks?'' Yalen said with alarm, the Brimlock Hydra batteries were meant to guard this section of the line from ork bombers. Emperor knew how much trouble his unit had from ork strafers.

 

''No sir... I think it's ours.'' Gallen said as one of the aircraft swopped down, several others following with them. They came down far in the rear trenches, away from were B Company was stationed.

 

''Give me that,'' West handed Yalen the binoculars and he peered through them to see the gunship.

 

It was a blue and white vehicle, broad nosed and predatory, almost boxy in shape. On one side was a startburst shield with a white upside down omega symbol incorporated into the side.

 

''Astartes.'' Yalen breathed.

 

***

 

''I don't like this,'' Ceranus had complained over the vox. ''This isn't what we are made for. We should not be bleeding ourselves like this.''

 

Nicanor strode out into the rear trenches as the rest of Squad Nicanor formed up. Outside Lukias stood guard, his Mark IV armor fully repaired. Ceranus flexed his bionic arm, still testing it out. The limb had been freshly fitted a week ago. Apion cradled his flamer, Daecus's purity seals flapped lightly in the breeze. Morovian was still strong and silent.

 

''I have already voiced your problems with this plan to the Captain, he disagrees.'' Nicanor replied through the same link.

 

''I feel your annoyance brother, but Captain Atreus is our liege lord.'' Lukias reminded him. Ceranus grunted in response.

 

In front of Nicanor was Captain Atreus, a breathtaking figure in ornate blue and white artificer armor. His war plate was ancient, millenia old, some pieces dating back to the days of the Horus Heresy. If one scraped away the white paint they could see the blue of Guilliman's Legion. On the breastplate was a large blue double-headed eagle. He wore the relic sword Ventus by his side. The revered power sword was master-forged and dated back to the earliest days of the Great Crusade. Nicanor's own blade was well forged by the Techmarines of Orpheus, but compared to Ventus it was nothing. It was more of an artifact than a blade really.

 

Atreus's helmet was off, carried by a servitor. His patrician, hawkish features were exposed. His profile was classically noble and resembled that of his Primarch, Roboute Guilliman, like so many of his brothers. He wore a crimson cloak over his shoulders.

 

Behind him Brother Alexos unfurled the banner of the Third Company. The great crimson and blue company banner flapped in the wind outside the trench. The banner bore the signal of a helmeted warrior carrying the shield of Orpheus in one hand while standing over the bodies of daemons. It was the personal heraldry of Atreus and a inspiring symbol to Nicanor. His command unit, the Eagles of Orpheus, followed him. The Command Squad sergeant Menader stood resolutely in his Mark IV armor, wearing a blue tabard with his personal heraldry emblazoned on it. Iulun, the company champion, wore an ancient suit of Mark II Crusade armor with a red crest. He carried a power axe forged into the wings of the Imperial Eagle. Brother Veltian carried the plasma gun and Apothecary Kyros completed the rear, resplendent in his white armor.

 

The rest of the Praetors sergeants also came up near Atreus. Praxis, the commander of the First Squad was there, his helmet off, exposing his scarred features. Praxis wore an ancient suit if MKIII armor and carried an ornate power mace. Vatos, the commander of Sixth squad was clad in a more modern suit of Mark VII plate. Behind him came the Devastator sergeants Harkan and Scorpius.

 

Moving out of his command dugout was a tall Guard officer. He was typical Cadian military nobility. His face was stern and patrician, covered with scars won over a long career. The shoulder pips identified the officer as a Colonel. He wore a suit of Kasrkin-class carapace armor, camouflaged in the same grown and tan camouflage the rest of the Cadians wore on this planet. His left arm was encased in a large, boxy power fist. Behind him groups of Guard officers were coming up, most of them attired similarly to their commander. They shared the same pale Cadian features and light hair and blue eyes. All of them looked like born fighters, which is what they were.

 

''I am Colonel Brocken, Commanding Officer of the Cadian 132nd,, This is my second, Major Asher.'' he indicated another Cadian noble in a carapace-lined greatcoat. ''Forgive me but I received little word of Astartes reinforcements.'' he spoke, looking up at Atreus.

 

Atreus's great white gauntlets clanged against his azure eagle as he formed the sign of the Aquila. ''We have just recently arrived from another battlefront.'' his voice was naturally deep, with only a slight Orphean accent.

 

''While I thank you for the reinforcements....... I wonder why my regiment?'' Brocken asked.

 

''I will explain my reasons for coming here soon, however that will take time,'' Atreus looked in the distance. ''And if I am correct the greenskins will be launching an assault soon.''

 

Brocken nodded. ''I see,'' he said softly. ''We will conduct a briefing later, I have to rally my men, How will you help us?'' he asked.

 

''I will detail my squads to your forward companies, give me a list of those who need it and my brethren shall arrive, I shall join you myself.'' Atreus said.

 

''That's acceptable.'' Brocken replied.

 

''Good,'' Atreus looked at his assembled command. ''Fall in.''

 

***

 

Yalen was shouting out orders for Fourth Platoon when a huge shadow dropped into the trench beside him. He whirled around in shock, his blue eyes coming to rest on a great carved double-headed eagle on an Astartes breastplate.

 

''Throne,'' he muttered in shock. He looked up to see the crimson eye lenses of an Astartes helmet. ''I knew you were coming but I never imagined you would be here so soon.'' he said quickly, straightening himself up.

 

Yalen had seen the corrupted brethren of the Astartes in the distance, on raids around Cadia, he had been seen the statues of the preachers in the Cadian churches, but he had never seen one of the Emperor's Angels up close like this.

 

The Astartes's head seemed to dip in acknowledgment in a faint whine of servos. ''My name is Sergeant Nicanor,'' he spoke, his voice deep and rumbling, enhanced by his vox chaster. ''My brothers of Second Squad come with me.'' he indicated behind him.

 

Five more warriors dropped into the trench. All of them were clad in a variety of different armor marks. But they all were in the white and blue heraldry. On each shoulder guard was a starburst shield device. Each was so huge they did not need to use the elevated firing step to see over the trench lip.

 

''I am First Lieutenant Yalen, of the Cadian 132nd, B Company, Fourth Platoon commander.'' he rattled off smartly. ''This may sound stupid, but what is your chapter? The Ultramarines?'' he asked, spying the upside down omega symbol incorporated into starburst shield.

 

''Close,'' Nicanor's voice sounded almost........amused. ''We are the Praetors of Orpheus, honored successors of the Ultramarines. We are not our founding legion, but I thank you for the compliment.''

 

''I see,'' Yalen was taken offguard slightly. He really had no idea how to interact with these warriors. ''I have to tend to my unit.''

 

'' I understand, I will support you.'' Nicanor said simply.

 

''Is that it? Just six warriors?'' Yalen asked, counting up the numbers for the first time.

 

''We have taken losses on campaigns before, we shall refill our ranks when we return to Orpheus Prime. .'' Nicanor commented, walking past Yalen. He stared of into the distance.

 

''Sir, the orks.'' West said, coming up, staring at the Praetors.

 

''No barrage?'' Yalen commented, as he stared off into the distance. The orks were moving, a green tide in the distance. They were already charging.

 

''They must be more bloodthirsty than usual.'' Gallen said.

 

''Alright then,'' Yalen activated his vox-bead. ''All squads! Prepare for engagement.''

 

**

 

''Cadians, interesting breed aren't they?'' Ceranus said over the personal inter-squad vox.

 

The Praetors had spread out int squads, coming near the forward companies of the 132nd. Nicanor's squad had been assigned to support B Company, some three hundred Cadians spread out along the forward trench zone.

 

''Really? A word of praise from you?'' Daecus asked dubiously.

 

''They are more than mere Guardsmen, look at were they live, even we Astartes must respect them.'' Ceranus commented. ''If we are going to be stuck in a grind there are few regiments I would choose over the Cadians.'' he commented.

 

''Still stuck on that aren't you?'' Daecus commented. ''It's the only way to draw the beast out you know.''

 

''I still think we could have played this whole thing better.'' argued Ceranus.

 

''I have never met a regiment of Cadians before, they live on the other side of the galaxy don't they?'' Apion asked, changing the subject. He had no time to Ceranus's moaning.

 

''Correct.'' Nicanor said.

 

''Then why are they on the Eastern Fringe?'' Apion continued.

 

''Cadian blood is in high demand all over the galaxy, it's not unknown for regiments to serve as far away as the Ultima Segmentum.'' Daecus answered.

 

''Valued allies indeed,'' Lukias noted. ''But we must prepare, the greenskins come.'' he indicated.

 

''Apion go find the Major's flamer teams, Morovian, use that missile launcher in unison with the heavy weapon teams, the rest, we stand at the forefront.'' Nicanor commanded.

 

Across the shell-marked field thousands upon thousands of orks stampeded. They were an emerald tsunami of stinking xenos flesh. Dozens of tribal banners waved in the air as ork war cries sounded across no mans land.

 

It was a throaty, deep, alien roar.

 

''WAAAAAGGGGHHHHH!''

 

The Guardsmen ignored it. Yalen activated his vox-bead.

 

''Platoon Command Actual to all squads. Heavy weapon teams, hold fire until six hundred meters, lasguns, open fire at four hundred meters, single shot only, your sergeants will be watching. I do not need any stay shots. Mortars, open fire.'' he rattled off.

 

Clumps of orks exploded as the Cadian mortar teams found their marks. Ignoring their losses the orks continued off, waving their cleavers and firing various large-caliber weaponry into the air as they hollered and roared in excitement. As they reached the designated kill zone, heavy bolters, autocannons and frag missiles unloaded into the orks. Entire mobs disappeared underneath the concentrated Cadian fire, ork war machines were torn to shreds by autocannon rounds and frag missiles sent storms of shrapnel into the ork ranks.

 

But the greenskins still came.

 

They still charged over the butchered bodies of their fellows in great numbers. Despite the concentrated hurricane of Cadian gunfire, the greenskins still continued on with a frenzied bloodlust that carried them into the teeth of hell.

 

Then the lasguns spoke.

 

''Open fire.'' Nicanor commanded.

 

The Astartes bolters joined in.

 

Orks simply exploded, entire heads and limbs blown off in carefully calculated shots. A storm of red las-fire joined the Astartes rounds along with the heavy weapons fire, felling entire mobs of orks as they closed in.

 

The orks fired weapons at the Guard trenches as they ran. It was mostly for the sound and noise rather than any serious attempt to kill the enemy. However several Cadians were felled by the sheer weight of ork gunfire, medics moved up immediately to pull them back to the rear trenches. At fifty meters Nicanor gave the command to switch to full auto. The Guard copied the Astartes and redoubled their fire. Bolters and lasguns at full auto slew entire ranks of orks as they came on. At ten meters Apion rose with Cadian flamer teams and sent gouts of promethium into the greenskins.

 

And then direct contact was made.

 

Thousands upon thousands left the ork trenches to attack the Praetors and the 132nd. Of those only hundreds remained to close with the regiment. Of the orks at B Company's trench, barely a hundred reached their positions.

 

But it was almost enough for the orks to satisfy their bloodlust.

 

***

 

Yalen brought up his hellgun and fired a shot at a cleaver-wielding ork, blowing it's brains out. Another ork came in, it's chainaxe coming down to cleave the hellgun in half. The twin halves fell away as the ork's boot came in, kicking the Lieutenant back. A jolt of pain shot through Yalen's chest. Yalen had no time to draw his chainblade. But he did not need to, a bolter shot a close range exploded the Ork's skull like rotten fruit. Next to the Lieutenant, Nicanor stood over him, one hand grasping an ornate power sword. The blade crackled with blue energy as he hacked his way through the orks.

 

Greenskins came down in the trenches, many of them sporting las wounds or flamer burns. They were clad in various bits of scrap metal that served as armor and garish rags. Others has poorly-applied warpaint smeared over their faces, or metallic piercings. They carried fat-barreled pistols and oversized rusty cleavers.

 

The Cadians, although outmatched, fought well. None of them broke, instead fighting back with knives, lasgun butts, shovels and pistols. Cadians were bred to fight and die for the Imperium, and all of them were well trained in close quarters combat. Of course the Astartes faired better. Each of the Praetors drew large, silver-hilted gladius blades and fought with pure economy of skill. Nicanor himself wielded a power sword that severed ork heads and limbs with every stroke.

 

Nearby Major Asher roared for reinforcements as he fought off a cleaver-wielding ork chieftain with his family's heraldic power saber. The ork's arm fell to the side as Asher beheaded the howling beast with a quick blow. Another ork came up. The Major proceeded to blow it's brains out with his bolt pistol.

 

A hulking ork wielding a huge, double-handed chainaxe came charging in. It wore plates of crude iron over it's massive frame. It towered over even the Astartes. Several more hulking orks followed after it, ready to kill. The smell of the orks was overpowering, and Yalen almost gagged. But he gritted his teeth and drew his chainsword. Nearby Nicanor brought his power sword around, slicing through both wrists of the ork chieftain as it brought up it's chainaxe. The ork's face briefly looked surprised before Nicanor beheaded it.

 

Yalen darted in, his chainsword blocking a cleaver strike from an ork wielding a bull-shaped banner. Nearby Nicanor was involved in a swirling melee with several more hulking orks. The standard bearer brought it's own stubby cleaver around. Jots of pain lanced up Yalen's arm as the ork forced him back with inhuman strength. However the Cadian officer judged the next blow correctly and angled his chainblade to cut off the ork's arm as the wrist. Spittle hit the Cadian officer's face as he hammered the chainsword through the ork's chest two-handed. The hulking greenskin writhed and gasped as the chainblade tore through it's torso and throat in a spray of gore.

 

It's banner slipped and fell to the ground. Yalen barely brought his breath before another ork came screaming in.

 

A blazing sword beheaded the ork as Nicanor appeared by Yalen's side nodding in approval.

 

''A good kill Cadian.'' he said over the din of battle. Yalen had no time to reply as a wound ork began to aim a gun at Nicanor.

 

Yalen shot it in the head with his laspistol.

 

''Another good kill.'' Nicanor grunted.

 

Then there was a whine of servos and a massive hulking shape came behind Yalen and Nicanor. The Cadian officer turned around and his eyes widened in surprise as he took in the massive shape striding over the broad access trenches.

 

''Throne.'' he whispered.

 

It was a Dreadnought. One arm was a crackling power fist, the other was a multi-barrled assault cannon. It's sarcophagus was molded into the image of an Astartes warrior standing over the broken bodies of orks. One side of it's main hull had the starburst shield icon of the Praetors. The other had a set of engravings in High Gothic, Each one listing a famous battle.

 

''KILL THE ORK! DEATH TO THE GREENSKIN! BY GUILLIMAN AND ORPHEUS!'' the Dreadnought blared.

 

 

**

 

Nicanor looked at the bloodstained Colonel in the distance with his officers. Captain Atreus was also present, his white and blue armor stained with blood. None of it his own. Yalen walked up to Nicanor, still glancing at the Dreadnought. Dreadnought Amellius was an honored member of the chapter. Six thousand years old, he was one of the Third's most famous Company Captains in life, and now one of the Chapter's most venerable Ancients. The great war machine remained silent, looking over the battlefield.

 

The orks had been finished off quickly after he had arrived. In all, casualties had been light among the Cadians. As for the Astartes only five battle brothers had been wounded, with no deaths yet. Atreus had already taken the head of the largest chieftain among the ork wave and Colonel Brocken crushed the life of another. The Cadians were now deploying what was referred to as ''slash and burn'' squads, for clean up after the battle. The greenskins could not be allowed to release their spores into the air.

 

Throughout the air the pungent stink of the greenskins and the smell of smoke filled the air.

 

''Throne! That is ripe.'' Yalen coughed, face scrunching up in disgust as the downwind brought the ork-stink in. He glanced at the towering Praetor.

 

''I suppose I should wait for the memo, but could you tell me exactly what you are doing here?'' Yalen asked the hulking form of Nicanor. The Astartes did not even remove his helmet after combat, unlike his Captain.

 

''We are here to persecute the greenskin.'' he answered flatly.

 

''I know that,'' Yalen huffed. ''But why?'' he pressed on.

 

Nicanor turned to stare at him. Yalen felt no feat as those crimson eye lenses scanned up and down.

 

''The Warlord.'' one of the other marines answered for him. It was the one called Apion. The one called Lukias seemed to glare at him.

 

''Apion-'' he started to speak, but Nicanor silenced him with a wave of his hand.

 

''It's fine Lukias,'' Nicanor nodded. ''Yes, we are here to draw out the Greenskin Warlord, we are here to kill the one called Zarsnik.'' he said.

 

Yalen was confused. ''The head honcho? Why haven't you simply dropped in from orbit like you Astartes are meant to do and kill him with a drop assault?'' he asked.

 

''We would, however a variety of factors mitigate that,'' Nicanor explained. ''We have had trouble locating he exact position of Zarsnik for a while now. More however he is a canny ork, more so than usual, he has distributed his banners throughout his own warbands and makes sure he is in the heart of his army at all times, gathering information for a decapitation strike is difficult, our scouts were unable to get past his extensive personal warband.'' Nicanor detailed.

 

''So you are coming here to lure him in?'' Yalen pondered.

 

''Correct,'' Nicanor said. ''My Lord Atreus stands here, with a half company of Praetors. He plants his banner alongside yours. Your regiment has already repulsed several of the ork army's assaults. When you add the Astartes to the mix, fly the banners of the greatest human warriors and make sure your heroes are fully seen by the orks............well that's a target that Zarsnik can't resist.'' he explained.

 

''He want's a piece of us? Right?'' Yalen realized.

 

''Correct, orks are primal, brutal creatures, Zarsnik, canny as he is, cannot resist the idea of fighting the Astartes in direct battle.'' the Astartes called Daecus joined in. ''And you.......you Cadians. This whole position is an ork's dream of fighting and killing.''

 

Yalen was torn. One one hand he was offended at being essentially bait for a ork lord. However another part of him fully appreciated the Astartes logic and was proud to prove the worth of his regiment against the greenskin.

 

''Truth to be told,'' Apion said. ''We need you.''

 

''Somewhat......'' Ceranus muttered.

 

''Oh yes we do'' Apion countered.

 

''You are going to have to explain that to me, because it looks like we need you here.'' Yalen said dryly.

 

''What my brother means,'' Lukias joined the conversation. ''Is that we excel in the lightning strike, the rapid assault.......sitting here is not what we do. Grinding trench warfare works against our nature.''

 

''I get you,'' Yalen chuckled. ''The 132nd are a mechanized outfit, I would be rather in a Chimera following in the Brimlock boys around instead of slogging in the trenches here. Unfortunately Marshal Trenko seems to think that staying put is the best decision.'' he snorted at the last part.

 

'Trenko?'' Apion voxed Nicanor privately.

 

''Vahallan Marshal in charge of the 179th Army.'' Nicanor clarified.

 

''Oh.''

 

**

 

Rallen sat with West as he ended his shift. The corporal brought a set of cards and spread them out on the low set table as the leaned into a dugout. West looked up through the brim of his helmet and brought his cards close in.

 

''Your turn.''

 

Rallen drew and examined his card. He kept his face composed. It was a bad draw but he could handle it. Derjak was not a game he was very good at, but in this dusty craphole their were few better ways to pass the time.

 

''Greetings.'' a voice came. It was a deep voice, flavored slightly by a strange accent.

 

Rallen turned to see the Astartes bulk come in near him. His eyes widened. The Astartes had his helm off, exposing his broad, patrician features. His face was that of a human, thought much larger set. Everything was over-sized, even the teeth. The Astartes had short, close cropped brown hair and gray eyes that blinked.

 

''I am Apion, of the Praetors, forgive me for interrupting, I did not mean to startle you.'' he said.

 

''Oh, no, it's just that it's not everyday an Astartes comes up to you.........Rallen trailed off.

 

''What are you doing here? Don't you have your own little group?'' asked West.

 

Apion shrugged, a curios gesture for a superman in power armor. ''I was always the curious one of my squad, my brothers laugh, but I care little,'' he looked at their cards. ''What game are you playing?''

 

''Dejark, a betting game, one of the variants of poker on Cadia, this is the 132nd's variation,'' Rallen explained. ''We use rankings, Citizen, Priest, Cardinal, Saint, Primarch and finally, the Golden Throne, the rarest card.'' Rallen explained.

 

''Poker?''

 

''We've changed the rules, a lot.''

 

''I see,'' Apion stared at the cards. ''A Primarch you said?'' he asked.

 

''Yes.'' with a quick look at West Rallen handed his Primarch card to Apion. The Astartes took it as gently as he could with his gauntlets, clutching it with his fingertips. It was an almost comical sight. Apion studied the figure in ornate golden armor, one shoulder guard made into a black fist.

 

''Dorn, one of Guilliman's brothers,'' Apion nodded. He gave back the card. ''On Orpheus we don't play with cards, we use stones, and a bowl, we called Kallium.'' he explained.

 

''Kallium? Sounds interesting.'' West commented.

 

''It is.''Apion mused. His vox-link crackled.

 

''Brother Apion, you are required, we are going on a patrol.'' Lukias's voice came over the vox.

 

''Acknowledged.'' Apion voxed in return.

 

''And for the love of the Primarch put your helmet on.''

 

 

**

 

For the next three days the orks came.

 

Waves of orks chieftains led their own tribes and warbands against the Imperial positions. They came like a green tide crashing against the Imperial rock. The Praetors and Cadians led the heart of the defense. Tens of thousands of orks perished over the next three days. After each battle slash and burn squads would be deployed. Occasionally the Astartes would join the squads on each purge mission. But more often they would venture out at night to hunt down ork scavengers.

 

Casualties also rose, six battle brothers had been slain by the orks. Their bodies had been collected and their geneseed removed. Fourteen more had suffered wounds of varying degrees. Some had been forced into a deep healing coma and extracted far to the Imperial rear via Rhino. Others had been patched up by Apothecary Kyros and sent back.

 

Morovian had suffered several deep wounds inflicted by an orkish chieftain and sent back to the rear were he could heal. Apion's left arm had been wounded to the point were he could no longer wield his flamer effectively, instead Daecus took up flamer duties. The rest of Squad Nicanor sported various minor wounds. The armor of the Space Marines was stained dark with dust and ork blood. Their war plate was damaged and scratched by three fierce days of fighting. Ceranus had to get a replacement helmet after his had been heavily damaged in the latest ork assault.

 

Amellius was a god of battle, striding forth alongside the newly widened trenched to take the fight to the orks. His sarcophagus was cratered and damaged by the relentless ork assault, but he stood strong despite that. The Ancient's power fist and assault cannon reaped a massive tally among the greenskins. Amellius became a rallying point for the men of B Company.

 

The Cadians themselves had already also dozens of slain troopers with many more wounded. But they held on. They were Cadians, born and bred and none of them would retreat before the greenskin filth.

 

Cadians did not flee.

 

''They are coming again.'' Yalen said to Major Asher after he saluted. The Major's face was drawn after he finished sipping his recaf. The Cadian noble's uniform was still dirtied by last night's firefight. His ornate power saber and bolt pistol were still holstered.

 

Asher's face was handsome, in a kind of hawkish, patrician way. He had short cut dirty blonde hair and light blue eyes. He was typical Cadian military nobility in both his look and bearing. This was the type of man taught to lead and fight since birth.

 

''Aye, that they are, and if the look of it is correct that is the chieftain.'' Asher said, beckoning over an aide to give him some binoculars.

 

''You are correct Major.'' the deep voice of Nicanor sounded behind them. Yalen glanced briefly at the Astartes Sergeant as he pointed out a distant banner.

 

''I see it, a scarred cleaver of some sort.'' Asher commented.

 

Across the field the greenskins were roaring in unison. ''WAAAGGGGHHH! BOSS! WAAAAGGGHH ZARSNIK!'' they screamed in their crude bastardization of Imperial Gothic. It hurt Yalen's ears to listen to their glutteral chanting.

 

''This is were we do it then, this is what are you going to do now Praetor?'' Yalen turned to Nicanor. The Astartes glanced at him.

 

''Simple,'' Nicanor stated. ''Kill it.''

 

 

**

 

This time the orks came more forcefully, once again with no barrage, such was their impatience.

 

All along the charging green horde were crude, greenskin transports and warmachines. Great armor-plated trucks and fighting vehicles slowed down to infantry pace to provide mobile barricades for the ork masses behind them. At the heart of the ork army, surrounded by the masses of lesser boyz, were the elite warbands of Zarsnik. These orks were bigger, their skin a shade of green so dark it was almost black. They were better equipped too, with a wide variety of scavenged Imperial weaponry.

 

As they came close Brocken sent out his orders to his company commanders and the Cadians opened fire. Autocannons, and krak missiles tore apart greenskins war machines in flame-wreathed explosions as heavy bolters felled entire mobs. But the orks came on, their war machines opened fire with heavy bore cannon and crude rockets, wreathing the guard lines in great explosions. Thousands of Guardsmen hunkered down, dozens more were slain, their bunkers ruptured.

 

The Ancient Amellion emerged from the rear, up a vehicle access trench, just as the greenskins crossed the lasgun range. Smoothly, the Cadians rose out of their trenches and sent a furious volley into the multitude of orks. The Dreadnought strode forward behind the trenches, his assault cannon spooling as he opened fire. In the distance several crude trucks exploded and orks were cut down as they climbed out of the burning wrecks.

 

The Praetor's Devastator squads added their fire to the Cadian heavy weapons, sending krak missiles into ork walkers as well as blasting apart armored ork infantry with plasma cannons and heavy bolters. Atreus himself directed A Company and Squad Praxis's fire. From the rear, Astartes Whirlwinds and Cadian mortars rained death upon the greenskins.

 

Then as the greenskins came into forty meters, they roared and a set of massive battlewagons charged forth from the horde. Each battlewagon was a heavily armored monster that deflected autocannon fire and missile like. Orks were crushed under the massive wheels of each vehicle. Each battlewagon opened up to reveal a hold full of ork nobles. Each one was a hulking monster, bedecked in crude scale mail and plates of iron. They wielded massive handcannons and two-handed chainblades. Some wielded crackling power claws. At their head was an immense ork, clad in a giant suit of crude black power armor. Half of it's face was augmetic and it wore a pair of massive horns on it's armor.

 

It was Zarsnik, and it was heading right for B Company.

 

**

 

Yalen fired his hellgun at the ork assault parties. Groups of greenskins armed with flamers, wire-cutters and grenades, proceeded the initial assault, trying to cut a way through and soften up the Cadian positions before the ork elite hit.

 

The ork army was badly blooded, that much was true. However it did not seem to stop the largest Warlord on the planet and his own personal wrecking crew from charging right as Asher's positions.

 

Nearby Nicanor and his squad cut down greenskins with cold, clinical volleys. Daecus moved up with his borrowed flamer, joining the Cadian flamer units in roasting the ork gunners as they provided covering fire for the ork nobles.

 

''Here they come.'' grunted Nicanor as his bolter went dry.

 

The first ork chieftain leapt over the low barricade, a massive cleaver in his hands. The blade hacked down two Cadians before a barrage of bolter fire and las-fire blasted it to pieces. Several more hulking orks appeared, with massive guns and blades. They opened fire, gunning down several more Cadians.

 

Nicanor's power sword beheaded a charging, one-eyed ork. Then Major Asher moved up side him, bolt pistol blazing as more orks were muscled their way through. Quickly B Company and Squad Nicanor was embroiled in a brutal close range fight. And the Warlord had not even joined the fight yet.

 

''Nicanor!'' a voice came through the din of battle.

 

The honor sword Ventus hacked down a half-mechanized ork as Captain Atreus joined the battle. Behind him the Eagles followed, weapons at ready as they formed a protective circle around the Captain. Flanking the Eagles were squads Praxis and Amellius.

 

''I see heroes! I see the blood of Orpheus and Cadia!'' Atreus roared as he beheaded another ork chieftain. Meander's power fist tore through another armored ork warrior, coring the greenskin like an apple.

 

The Praetors cut down the orks warriors funneling through the barricaded walls and barbed wire meshes. Seeing the banner of the third fly again Major Asher rallied his Company, power saber blazing as he bellowed out orders. Between the Praetors and the Cadians the orks were driven over the rockrete barricade and back into the shell-marked no man's land. However through the maelstorm of battle the giant figure of Zarsnik loomed. One of the ork warlord's nobles clutched a massive skull banner.

 

''He spots the banner, good, we have him'' Lukias commented, gutting a wounded ork with his knife.

 

''Here they come!'' Atreus raised Ventus to the sky.

 

Nicanor looked up,. Fiery contrails ripped through the atmosphere, screaming as they centered in on the ork horde. Briefly, the greenskins below paused in their assault, casting their beady red eyes to the approaching drop pods.

 

There were a dozen pods. Each one slammed into the ground, crushing greenskins beneath their armored bulk.

 

''Down!'' Atreus voxed.

 

At that prearranged signal the Praetors and Cadians took what cover they could. Each of the drop pod doors opened, revealing rows of assault cannons and Whirlwind missile launchers. These were Deathstorm pods, built not for transportation, but for death. Then they opened fire, the pod's machine spirits accessing the nearby xenos targets. In all, the pods exhausted their payloads in less than a minute, but by the end of that minute hundreds upon hundreds of the orks had been blown to bits.

 

Scarcely after the drop pods had hit home, several more appeared in the skies. Even as the last guns of the Deathstorms fell silent these new arrivals hit the ground with a series of earth-shaking thunderclaps. These were no Deathstorms this time, but transports for the Third Company. Astartes in blue and white power armor exited the cherry-red drop pods, bolters blazing. A half-company of Astartes now deployed in the middle of the gutted ork horde, tearing into the greenskins even as they tried to reorganize.

 

Atreus led the charge towards Zarsnik. The ork warlord was roaring in rage and pain as he tore through the broken and bleeding bodies of his entourage. The ork lord's legendary toughness and thick armor were enough to protect him from the guns of the pods. The last few of the ork's followers gathered around him.

 

''For Orpheus!'' Atreus roared, sword raised.

 

The last battle was surprising short. Amellius confronted a pair of battered ork walkers and crushed the life from them. Ceranus slew the first of the heavily armored ork bodyguards with an expert bolter shot to the head. Two of Squad Praxis were cut down by the super-charged cannons of the orks as they closed.

 

Ventus cut a mega-armored ork bodyguard from shoulder to hip before the greenskin could respond. Atreus slew a second bodyguard within seconds, beheading the snarling ogre-face of the xenos. The Captain's Sunfury plasma pistol spat out a spear of light at Zarsnik, but the ork warlord's form shimmered and warped with an energy field. Nicanor followed behind the Eagles as they tore into the ork bodyguards. Both his and Praxis's squads flanked the Command Squad as Atreus fought to behead the ork warlord. The Sergeant spotted a small knot of orks to the side, firing large-bore guns at the Praetors. Their leader was a hulking, cybernetic ork clutching the skull banner of the ork horde, miraculously intact.

 

''See the banner? Kill it.'' Nicanor commanded. His squadmates followed. Daecus's borrowed flamer sent several orks aflame as the xenos responded. Ceranus stumbled as a pair of shots took him in the knee. Apion fell back, blood streaming from his breastplate. But the orks could not stop the Praetors. Nicanor came in, slicing an ork from shoulder to hip before cutting a large gun in half. Lukias shot the ork point blank before the Sergeant confronted the banner bearer personally.

 

The ork was enormous, it's right arm and leg replaced with mechanized bionics. It carried an energized cleaver. In the other hand it carried the massive skull banner. It's face was striped with crimson war paint. It roared as Nicanor came at it, spittle flying out of it's mouth. The greenskin blocked Nicanor's first strike with it's blade before lashing out with a return blow. Nicanor felt the servos of his power armor whine in protest at the ork's incredible strength. He slipped the blade out of the lock and stabbed the ork through the chest.

 

Blood and oil flowed from the wound as the greenskin gurgled. It's cleaver caught Nicanor on the shoulder, tearing through a shoulder plate to draw a deep wound. Nicanor grunted as it lifted up it's knee, a crude spike coming from a hidden compartment to stab the Sergeant in the gut. Nicanor snarled, before smashing his sword hilt into the greenskin's face, one, twice, thrice. The Greenskin noble fell back, spitting out teeth. It roared, flecks of blood and spittle flying out as it raised it's cleaver again. It was cut off briefly in mid sentence as Lukias shot it. Bolter rounds tore chunks from it's face and torso, yet it still remained alive someone.

 

Then Nicanor took the opportunity to decapitate it.

 

The orkish banner fell to the ground, severed in half by the Sergeant's power sword. Nicanor's power armored boot crushed it into the hot dust of the ground as his squad gunned down the last of the ork warriors.

 

Nearby, Atreus's relic blade countered the massive power claw of the ork warlord. Zarsnik roared as he brought his gun around and blasted Atreus at point blank range, but the Captain's Iron Halo flashed as it took the impact. Atreus pressed in, Ventus flashing as the honor sword tore through the overloaded systems of the ork's force field to rip through. The tip of the blade passed through the thick breastplate and through the ork's side to it's hip.

 

Zarsnik roared in pain, it's eyes flashing with hate. The ork's claw lashed out. Atreus barely had time to withdraw the blade before he countered. Grunting the ork tried to grasp the relic blade with it's hydraulic, energy-coated claws.

 

''BEAST!'' a vox-assisted voice came over the din of battle. A black armored form appeared in the skies, it's form eclipsing the sun briefly before it landed on the ork's back, it's crackling crozius tearing into the ork's back. Behind him streamed the forms of Squad Axios..

 

Chaplain Iapetos was back, having finished his bionic replacement surgery a week before. Servos whined as the Chaplain wrenched Purgator from the ork's back. As Zarsnik whirled around the Chaplain smashed the crozius into the ork's skull. Blood streamed from the ork's armored head as Atreus took the opportunity to drive the blade two handed through the ork warlord's neck and wrenching it down, right through the ork's vital organs.

 

It took about twenty seconds for the warlord to die.

 

***

 

The beast is dead.

 

And with it the rest of the greatest chieftains and warriors in it's elite warbands. Without Zarsnik the lesser chieftains and warbosses under it's command will splinter and fight among themselves. The ork horde is already dead, it's just kicking around in it's death throes now. We spend another month killing ork leaders, destroying ork roks, and ambushing ork warbands until Atreus decrees that the ork horde is weakened enough to leave it to the PDF and Guard. I myself can only feel sorrow as I review the casualty rosters.

 

Two dozen dead. Many more wounded. The grind was not kind to us.

 

I do not mourn my brothers because they died. I mourn those dead for never seeing beautiful Orpheus again. They died for Sathis III, so close to Orpheus. Just to kill a beast.

 

I do not blame my Captain, some thing are necessary. But at times I wonder if we could have done it differently.

 

Enough, I have already promised Lukias and Ceranus I would go over the tac-feeds of the battle later. Now I have more pressing matters. Matters that enlighten me more.

 

I look forward to Orpheus.

[Ufthak]

BRILLIANT!!!

 

Great story as usual, I really can't decide which is the best of the three!!!

I especially liked the part where Apion has the conversation with West and Gallen :unsure:

As I stated in "Hydra", you really manage to pack a massive amount of details into very few words, which is superb!!! When reading the story, I can really see everything in my mind's eye - which is great!

 

I do have a couple of crits though.

The first is that your writing deteriorated over the last two stories, in the sense that I find more and more mistakes. In "Measure of a man", there were practically no mistakes, yet here there are quite a few. I would strongly recommend you read the text again before posting it and blot out the mistakes. It's just such a shame to read such a wonderful story with mistakes in it.

The second is not really a criticism, just a small note. Concerning military and war:

Usually, a regiment is something between 1,000 and 4,000 men strong (though sometimes also 10,000); so twenty regiments really aren't that many men at all. Considering they are required to hold an entire world, and counting in, say, 100,000 PDF troops, it's a bit slim really...you'd expect millions of men to be required (Though, admittedly, the Orks don't seem to be that numerous either...300,000 isn't that much for a WAAAGGHHHH!).

Also, concerning military organisation: usually, a major (like Major Asher) either commands a battalion (made up of 2 or more companies, which in turn are led by captains) or functions as the regiment's executive officer in the absence of a lieutenant-colonel. Though, perhaps Major Asher temporarily took command of B Company because its Captain was slain and there was no immediate replacement.

 

So, usually (loosely based on the US/British systems):

Colonel = regimental CO (Commanding Officer)

Lieutenant-Colonel = regimental XO (Executive Officer, 2nd-in-command)

Major = Battalion Commander (usually 2 or 3 of these in a regiment)

Captain = Company Commander (usually 10-12 of these in a regiment, or 2-6 in a battalion)

1st Lieutenant = Commander of a Companies' Senior Platoon

2nd Lieutenant = Platoon Commanders

First Sergeant/Master Sergeant/Sergeant-Major = senior regimental sergeant

Staff Sergeant = senior platoon sergeant, aide to lieutenant

Sergeant = squad commander

Corporal = assistant squad leader/team leader

 

 

Anyways GREAT work!!! Please do keep it up, really looking forward to reading more about the Praetors!!! ;)

 

One last question, just curious: why are the drop pods red? Aren't the coloure of the Praetors white/blue? Is red the 3rd Company colour?

[Gree]

Thanks for the comments, all sorts of feedback are great.

 

over the last two stories, in the sense that I find more and more mistakes. In "Measure of a man", there were practically no mistakes, yet here there are quite a few. I would strongly recommend you read the text again before posting it and blot out the mistakes. It's just such a shame to read such a wonderful story with mistakes in it.

 

Yes, I tried to go over it a couple of times, but I think it's hard to catch mistakes when I write the story. But I'll go over it again.

 

The second is not really a criticism, just a small note. Concerning military and war:

Usually, a regiment is something between 1,000 and 4,000 men strong (though sometimes also 10,000); so twenty regiments really aren't that many men at all. Considering they are required to hold an entire world, and counting in, say, 100,000 PDF troops, it's a bit slim really...you'd expect millions of men to be required (Though, admittedly, the Orks don't seem to be that numerous either...300,000 isn't that much for a WAAAGGHHHH!).

Also, concerning military organisation: usually, a major (like Major Asher) either commands a battalion (made up of 2 or more companies, which in turn are led by captains) or functions as the regiment's executive officer in the absence of a lieutenant-colonel. Though, perhaps Major Asher temporarily took command of B Company because its Captain was slain and there was no immediate replacement.

 

Here's the thing actually. The Imperial Guard don't use the normal system at all. The Guard Codex notes that regimental sizes differ wildly. For example they name a regiment that numbers 120,000 men and a regiment that numbers a few hundred men. It go on to note that organization differs as well.

 

I am simply taking liberties with the Cadian organization here.

 

One last question, just curious: why are the drop pods red? Aren't the coloure of the Praetors white/blue? Is red the 3rd Company colour?

 

Yes and no. While the Praetors Third Company color is red and they display it with a red left kneepad, the real answer is that the drop pods are heated from re-entry.