Iron Wardens Mission 1: Chapter 1

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-- Note --

A short while ago I began recruiting for an RP on B&C. We have moved it off-site, and this is the first chapter, the initla product of that RPG. It's a long one, but good fun.

 

--Mission 1: Beachhead. Chapter 1: Opening Stages--

Aridian IV had been under siege for two years. Three years prior to that, the System Magistrate had turned his back on the grace of the Immortal Emperor and seized the star system, rich in resources, for himself. The Imperial Guard had finally responded, supported by the Imperial Navy, and had quickly found itself mired in a long, tiresome siege. Aridian IV was a Forge World, and supplied by the systems bounteous resources, it continued to churn out tanks and war materiel endlessly, counterbalancing the Emperor's hammer.

 

Eventually the Imperial Guard tired of the situation. A call was put out to the Space Marines, and the Iron Wardens responded. The 4th company was dispatched aboard their Strike Cruiser, Righteous Destruction. They arrived to end the siege the only way they knew how. By destroying the treasonous heretics who began it in the first place.

 

-Briefing Meeting, Righteous Destruction

Captain Thuke Victus was speaking, "A weak point in the siege wall has been identified. It sits on the south-eastern corner of the bastion, surrounded on three sides by deep ravines, and on the fourth by the bastion wall itself, making it impossible to reach from the land. The Imperial Guard have tried to land troops, but the air defense turrets have repelled them with heavy casualties. A tactical analysis reveals that Thunderhawk Gunships would suffer the same fate. Our recourse is Drop Pods.

 

"We will use a two-pronged assault. I will lead the frontal attack on the Bastions main gate, where the Guard have been fighting for two years. At the same time a splinter group will land via drop pod to assault the south-east corner, removing the air defense guns and allowing the Guard, as well as Iron Warden reserves, to land and crush the Bastion from the weak side."

 

Captain Victus calmly surveyed the assembled Marines, his cold gaze picking out two veteran sergeants. "Second and Fifth squads will land, penetrate the defensive network, and disable the air turrets. Eighth and Ninth Squads will land as reserves, along with the Vindicator Thundering Glory and Brother Cairo, Ironclad Dreadnought.

 

"With shell and bolt, we will purge!"

A hundred voices echoed, "We will purge!"

 

"With sword and fist, we will cleanse!"

A hudred voices echoed again, "We will cleanse!"

 

"As children of our Emperor, and with our own power and glory, we will show these heathens the greater power and glory of the Immortal Emperor!" Captain Victus' voice crescendoed into a roar.

A hundred voices roared back, "In the name of the Emperor!"

 

"Brothers, to battle!"

 

-A short time later-

Sergeant Orthus stood in the armoury, surveying the vast array of weapons. Every weapon on the massive strike cruiser that could be carried into war was stored reverently in or on these walls, in an area designated for that weapons owner. Places for dozens of personalized bolters, chainswords, and combat blades could be seen among the heavy weapons, thunder hammers, and other martial accoutrements. Many of the weapon positions were empty, their owners having them for combat drill or, as would be the case now, preparing them for battle.

 

Orthus tenderly, and with great reverence, removed an ancient looking power-sword from his own weapons. The blade had been left to him by 5th squads previous sergeant, now entombed in a Dreadnought and no longer having need of it. After a moment of reflection the power sword was strapped around the sergeants power armour. With his bolter already slung by a strap over one shoulder, Orthus left the armoury, glossy black helmet tucked under one arm. His squad would be assembled now at the Drop pod that would carry them to battle.

 

-Sleeping Quarters-

Brother Gilbert, armour donned but head bared, kneels before the small shrine in his sleeping cell, the bare walls and spartan furnishings lending to the still tranquility of his mind as he prays to his ancestors: proud Dorn, the mighty Emperor of Mankind, and all the brothers of his Chapter who came before. He makes the sign of the Aquila and raises a prayer-parchment to the altar, holding one end in the flame of a candle. For the briefest of moments, the flame seems to burn a pure, almost holy white as if pleased with the spirit of the offering. Placing the smoldering parchment on a small plate, he turns to his purpose.

 

Reverently, Gilbert draws a long, double-edged, sigilled blade from a sheath on his leg and holds it before him, taking in its history and deadly beauty. Gifted to him by Scout Sergeant Alerion upon his rise to the ranks of the Brother-Marines, the blade has drawn much blood over the last eighty-seven years. He carefully reaches for the plate and anoints the blade with the sacred ashes, both to dull its sheen and to bless its weapon spirit. He reaches to his cheek, where lies a pronounced scar and closes his eyes, drawing the blade across it once more. Now sated with prayer and blood, he returns the treasured blade to its resting place and rises, helmet in hand and bolter slung, striding to meet his brothers as they wade once again into war.

 

-Drop Pod Bay-

Brother Mathias assembled with his battle brothers as one of the youngest and most inexperienced he stood apart from the squad, watching and mirroring them attend their wargear as a child watches and copies its parents and siblings.

 

The knowledge of cleaning bolter and blade was already deep within him, hammered home by a beast of a scout sergeant during his time with the tenth, still he couldn't help but feel in awe of his battle brothers. His hope was to impress them, to be forged as one of them in the coming battles and take his place in the squad, a place earned rather than one taken due to a previous casualty.

 

Ahaseurus waits near the drop-pod, carefully cleaning his bolter. He intones the Litanies of Maintenance, slowly, murmured as low as any other prayer: he breathes the words over the machine as if they would bring it life, holding it close to his face, eyes focussed reverently on this most divine of machines.

 

He pauses. The spirit is assauged, perhaps. With no less reverence, he places it into his lap: then, hands freed, he lifts another old relic- a mark six helmet, the beak a little snubber than most, reverently forshortened for a mark eight-style gorget.

 

Placing the helmet around his head, his world is dark, some paltry light tinted through the helmet's lenses. With a click, it locks in place, the world springing into colour again- in fact, more colours than before, preysight divining all traces of heat in some red-beneath-red.

 

Ahaseurus smiles as his colleagues glowed in infrared, and quietly thanks the Emperor for the opportunity to pursue that most holy of human endevours- to make His war against the alien, the mutant, and the heretic.

 

Borther Erasmus grinned as he revved his new chainsword; he reminded himself that he must be more careful with this one lest he draw the ire of the Chapter's Techmarines. Polishing his beloved boltgun--unlike the chainsword, the same one he has had since he was a Scout--he noted that one of the Aquilas was beginning to get marred beyond polish's help; he would have to repair or replace it later. His smile only grew wider as he hung grenades and explosives from his belt. This mission promised great destruction, and Erasmus would be ready for any foe to come his way.

 

Anticipation hung heavily in the air as Vorian made his way from the armoury towards the launch bay. All around him people moved with a purpose and dedication to duty that made his chest swell with pride. Fellow marines, chapter serfs, the Imperial Navy crewmen, all completing their assigned tasks ready for the forthcoming drop.

 

The war many miles below his feet would soon be over now. For years the men and women of the Imperial Guard had died in a futile effort to defeat the city walls he and his brother Astartes would break in hours. Such sacrifice hung heavily on Vorian, it always had, it probably, and he hoped, always would. This was the way of the Imperium, something he had had to sadly accepted long ago, but still he vowed silently to himself to exact a private vengeance upon the traitorous forces in the city for the tens of thousands of men and women who had died in the last two years. No mercy would be shown this day for these were the worse kind of enemy. They were not xenos creatures that knew no better, they were humans that had turned upon their own kind, and worse, upon the Emperor himself. For this they would all die.

 

Entering the launch bay he donned his helm and gave a final check to his his weapons and equipment. Satisfied he slowly walked towards the rest of his squad.

 

"My brothers!" Sergeant Orthus declared, entering the launch bay and seeing his squad assembled. "This day promises great glory, for the Iron Wardens, for Dorn, and for the Emperor!" He paused to allow his message to take root. Some members of his squad were young, relatively new. Others had more experience. All would hear the message.

 

"Our task is to open the way! We must break the air defenses of the heretics to allow the faithful to purge the city, and the planet! We drop as the very vengeance of our Immortal Emperor himself, as though he, in his resplendent glory, were arriving this day on Aridian!

 

"But our Emperor sits on Holy Terra, on his Golden Throne. Our Primarch, the mighty Dorn, is not here either. And so it falls to us to be the Emperor's Justice, the angels of death, falling from heaven to meet out judgement and justice in equal measure upon the traitors!

 

"Let us be swift, let us be fierce, and above all, let us be death!"

 

Beating armoured fist to breastplate, Brother Gilbert joined his brothers in a mighty roar that resounded through the hallowed halls of the ship, lending fervor to allies and chiming the inevitable doom of the heathen scum on the planet below. Death would they be, indeed.

 

"With Dorn's spirit in us, we will make this a swift and decisive endign to this campaign brothers." commented Brother Arienis as he lovingly checked over his customised bolter, ensuring its psirit would be reeady and willing to help serve him in slaying the foes he will face alongside fifth squad. The bolter was slimmer than the other bolters used by his brothers, originating from an older mark, the scope's light glowed against his Mk VI Corvus helmet as he peered down it. Traitors who turned form the emperors holy light will soon be within the glass circle he was peering down. They would all die swiftly under his judgement.

 

As the cheering died down Vorian looked around the bay one last time. If this was to be his last sight of the Imperium then it was a good one. Boarding the drop pod ahead of his brothers he buckled himself into position. Righteous vengeance was just an atmosphere away. In mere moments the brutal reality of Astartes verse human would begin. The only outcome could be pure carnage.

 

The battle-cries before a mission always left a pleasant taste in Erasmus' mouth, and he licked his lips, savoring it. As he clambered into the drop-pod, he noted an Assault squad in the pod next to his squads, and his licking became a bite as he fought back a wave of jealousy. We'll see who carries the day, brothers, he thought as a silent challenge to himself to outperform the Assault squad.

 

Ahaseurus lowers his arm, still smiling from his sergeant's words. Not a passionate man by nature, there's still the fire of zeal there- and a good speech from a great man is all it takes to remind Ahaseurus it's there.

 

Ahaseurus steps forward, cradling Hymnsinger like a dying brother, climbing into the drop pod and settling in beside Vorian with a quiet nod.

 

With the cheer dieing in his throat Mathias silently prayed to Dorn for safety and a swift end to the emperors enemies.

 

He climbed aboard the drop pod taking the seat next to Erasmus, the older warrior looked stern and brave, Mathias noted he would have to work hard to earn his respect and that of the rest of the squad.

 

A challenge and test of bravery Mathias was secretly relishing.

 

Sergeant Orthus settled himself into the drop pod's harness, clamping the restraint for the plummet to the planet surface. He was the last of the 5th squad to board, and sat facing the hatch to the ship. One of the Chapter Serfs sealed the hatch and pulled the release.

 

With a jolt the drop pod left the stirke cruiser it was anchored to. Within the dark confines of the pod, all was silent, until the dull roar of he atmosphere began to sound around the pod.

 

"Brothers," Orthus said, speaking through the helmet comms, "Our task is to eliminate the air defense guns. There are dozens at the landing zone, but they are controlled from two central hubs. Our objective is to hold or to destroy the secondary hub until after our thunderhawk reinforcements have landed. Once our support is on the ground we will breach the walls of the bastion. Your displays will be marked -- the objective will appear red."

 

The pod began to rumble more ferociously now. The retro thrust was beginning to kick in. Minutes later the pod began to rumble and crash as it entered range of the defense array.

 

"Brothers! Form a defense around the pod! We will group and assess the situation before we advance! Be prepared! We go to battle in the name of the Emperor!"

 

Orthus' whole body tensed. The impact was immenent.

 

Silently mouthing a prayer to give him and his brothers the iron will to be victorius, Arienis looked up at Brother Gilbert who was sitting opposite him. Arienis smiled as he tensed for the impact, who was going to score more traitors down their sights, him or Gilbert? There was no bitterness between the rivalry Arienis had between his fellow sharpshooter, it was simply a sign of the close bonds the marines within the chapter had. It swelled his heart to think that in the uncertainties of warfare, he could rely upon his brothers.

 

Mathias gritted his teeth and tensed in preparation for the landing. he hated drop pods, so much could go wrong and whole scores of the emperors finest could die without even earning honour in glorious combat.

 

He shook those thoughts from his head and readied himself for battle, he closed his eyes and waited for the imminent jolt to pass through him, when the hatches blow and the harness releases he would charge the enemy. Battle was moments away, so close he could taste it.

 

With a motion that was so slight that it would go unnoticed unless looked for, Gilbert worked his wrist from side to side, holding tight to the grip of his bolter, to make sure the calibration of his augmetic eye's weapon-link had not faltered. He smiled at the memory.

 

'With what passed for pride upon his mostly metallic face, the ancient Techmarine was making the final adjustments to Gilbert's newly replaced right eye, the first destroyed by a counter-sniper's lasbeam. Throughout the process, Gilbert had fidgeted nervously, distraught that his talent, his art, had been lost in a gamble with cruel fate. As the old smith completed his work, he powered on the device and spoke for the first time since they had begun the procedure. "You seem distressed, brother. Worry not. Word of thy skills has reached me through voice of good Alerion and he would have you returned to him fully healed. I could no more rob thee of thy artifice than strip mine own circuitry. Proceed, and see what I have wrought."

 

With a flash of static, the eye came to life. Gilbert followed the Techmarine's instructions and switched through various modes that simulated the autosenses of his helmet. Infrared, night vision, image magnification. Then, the old smith produced a bolter and handed it to Gilbert. He relished the joy at being reunited it after so long with the medicae and as he hefted its weight, he was filled with elation. "Yes, brother. I have linked thy sight to thy weapon. While it rests in thy hand, two shalt be one." '

 

Still smiling beneath the visor of his impassive Mark IV helmet, Gilbert returned his thoughts to the situation at hand. He had been given another chance to deal death for the glory of the Imperium and he would not spend it lightly.

 

End Chapter 1