The Fall of the White Knights

[macko123456]

Okay, I haven't submitted anything to this forum before so . . . could I have some feedback please? :lol:

 

I

Allies and Rivals

“The White Knights have always been seen as something of a blight. Though their loyalty is unquestionable, their methods are not. Such a closeness with technology lends itself well to vulnerability and a deficit of simple, Imperial values. After the incident on Deltha, I had all the evidence I needed to launch my investigation. In my eyes, it was long overdue.”

 

- Inquisitor Josephine Orrick

Aurora III rose over the planet Ulis every twenty-nine hours, bathing its nearward side in rays of concentrated radiation. It was a harsh star, thrashing in its death throes and merciless to the worlds unlucky enough to be orbiting it. There were twelve of these, most of them gas giants with huge plumes of nitrogen extending from behind them, blown out by Aurora’s fury. Only one occupied the habitable zone, between two and three hundred million miles from the system’s core. Ulis had been under Imperial rule for thousands of years, and it had seen many changes in that time. Its savage tribes had been subdued and exterminated, its indigenous wildlife hunted to extinction. Giant manors and estates had taken the place of forests and jungles, and entire continents had been reduced to little more than endless seas of fields. It had flourished, and the population had blossomed. Then the Warp storm came, and changed everything. Contact with the Astronomican was lost in a matter of hours. The supply ships stopped coming, as did all word from the rest of the galaxy. By the time the wrath of the Etherium had passed, Ulis was a shell of its former self. The cities either fell into civil war or were abandoned by citizens searching vainly for a better life elsewhere. That made it a prime target for the Tau Empire.

 

“Sir,” Gyrus said, closing the log file and turning to the Sergeant, “I think I’ve learned it. The cowardly xenos have swept in and taken control of a defenceless world. It’s nothing we haven’t seen before.” Piraeus smiled, taking the auspex from him and setting it down on a table.

 

“Knowledge is power, brother. Knowledge and . . .”

 

“Faith,” Gyrus finished; it was their Chapter motto. “I’m aware of that, sir.”

 

“Good, because I expect you and the rest of the squad to be fully briefed and ready for insertion to the surface when the time comes.” The two of them were standing in Gyrus’ quarters on the Last Hope Of The Weary, a medium-sized cruiser playing host to the Chapter’s Second Company. The ship was around three hundred metres long, styled to resemble a gothic cathedral. It had a domed bridge, supported by flying buttresses and flanked by tapering spires. The prow, which came to a sharp point, had two intake grilles set into it to support suborbital operations. Gyrus’ room had a row of windows looking out into space. They gave a brilliant view of Ulis, rotating slowly and glowing in Aurora’s light. “Anyway,” Piraeus went on, “Company Captain Harlus wants to see you in the control room as soon as possible.”

 

“Why, sir?”

 

“I don’t know. You’ll have to find out for yourself.”

 

“Understood. Thanks for coming down.” Piraeus extended a hand. Gyrus shook it firmly, the Sergeant patting him on the shoulder.

 

“I wanted to congratulate you on being promoted from the Third Company. You’re the White Knights’ rising star . . . but this comes with a warning, Marine. People in my unit do as they’re told.” Gyrus frowned.

 

“I don’t know what you mean.”

 

“You went directly against orders on Deltha.” There was a pause.

 

“Sir, I saved thirty men.”

 

“Be that as it may, rules are rules. You would not have been demoted if you had failed to disobey your seniors.” Gyrus shook his head.

 

“I won’t accept that.”

 

“You’ll have to.” Neither of them said anything for a few seconds. “The control room,” Piraeus ordered. “Now.”

 

“I’ll be right up.” He turned and left, the door automatically sliding shut behind him. Gyrus tutted to himself and crossed the room to where a strange, wardrobe-like contraption was built into the wall. He reached inside it and pulled out a bundle of wires, plugging them in to the sockets at the base of his neck. Every soldier wore a skin layer known as the Black Carapace, fitted during their initiation into the Space Marines. The organic, fibrous alloy was injected into the torso and formed a shell around the body. Apothecaries would then cut sections away for the nervous interface. Gyrus shivered involuntarily as the Weary’s onboard computers linked themselves to his brain, merging the two systems. As soon as they were calibrated, the components of his armour slid out from their compartments and slotted into place, forming a ceramite casing around his limbs and chest. The needles and spikes inside the plates sank into his back, directly into his solid-fused spinal column. He stiffened while the helmet fell over his eyes, locking into place with a thud. A blink activated the heads-up display, readouts on his left and right showing his pulses, his metabolic rate and his adrenaline level. The power bar was empty and flashing red; the massive, hulking backpack had not yet been attached. Issuing commands to the suit with nothing more than thoughts, he opened the slats on his back so it could be affixed to him. A pair of robotic arms guided the cold-fusion reactor down and locked it in. There was a moment’s silence as the whirring machinery receded. Gyrus raised a finger to his ear, where he found a button for the radio. “Captain Harlus, do you hear me?”

 

“Right here, Gyrus,” a voice replied, metallic in tone and echoing around inside his visor.

 

“I’m on my way to you.”

 

“Excellent. I look forward to your arrival.” Wearing his armour, Gyrus was seven feet tall and extremely difficult to kill. Intravenous feeds were ready to pump him full of chemicals should he take a hit, and could boost his strength temporarily. He walked over to the door, every step accompanied by a deep clunk. The corridor outside was well-lit, leading away in both directions. He turned towards the engines, passing a couple of Marines on his journey. Most of them wore only tunics while aboard, but he had a special appointment. A short way down the passage was a lift. He called it and waited patiently. Eventually, the shutters slid open, revealing a crewman with a box in his arms. Gyrus stepped aside for him and then took his place, selecting the control room from the list of destinations. The compartment shook as it climbed the palatial tower towards the glass dome at the top. Its journey only lasted thirty seconds, and he emerged into the cool, air-conditioned control room. In the sky to his left was Aurora, eye-wateringly bright. All the workers wore helmets, and Gyrus’ filters adjusted automatically, reducing the image contrast and enhancing darkened surfaces. Harlus was nowhere to be seen.

 

“Sir,” he said, “Where are you?”

 

“I’m in the chapel, Gyrus.” There was an archway in the wall on the far side; he wove his way between the desks and control panels and went through. The chamber was cold, with flat metal walls and no windows. On the roof was a giant mosaic of the Emperor, reaching out to Holy Terra and taking it in the palm of his hand. Harlus also wore his armour, coloured white like Gyrus’ but with a gold trim instead of blue. A power sword was slung by his belt, humming quietly. Hearing the Marine approaching, he glanced over his shoulder. “Ah, you’re here. Pray with me.”

 

“Yes sir,” Gyrus replied, kneeling beside the Second Company Captain and resting his head on his hands. The visor darkened even further, a scrip flashing past his eyes. He muttered the words under his breath as they appeared: “O most holy Emperor, saviour of mankind and preserver of the Imperium, we implore You to forgive us our failings and make us stronger as the sun rises in the morning. In the same way You taught freedom and morality, we are bringing the Imperium’s light to the far reaches of the galaxy, be it through peace or war. Keep us safe and let the White Knights endure through even the toughest of times. Knowledge and power be with us all.” They straightened up, Harlus smiling.

 

“That was well said, Gyrus.”

 

“Thank you, sir.”

 

“I’ve been talking to the Chapter Master about the situation developing on Ulis. He believes that direct intervention is required. It is a pity, but I can see no other way.” Gyrus frowned.

 

“How is that a pity? I’ve been itching to taste combat since Deltha.” Harlus sighed.

 

“Gyrus . . . I like you. The Master likes you. Even the others in your squad say they’re lucky to be serving with you. But we’re taking a risk here.”

 

“I don’t follow.”

 

“No-one other than Piraeus has a problem with what you did on Deltha. Going against the Third Company Captain’s orders and advancing even when you knew you were placing yourself in danger was selfless and insolent in equal measure.”

 

“Where is this going, sir? I have training to do if we’re going down there.”

 

“We’ve called the White Council, Gyrus. This is serious.” He stiffened. The White Council, formed of three representatives from each Company, was the Knights’ decision-making body. They voted on key issues facing the Chapter.

 

“Over me?”

 

“No. That’s the real problem.” He crossed to the door and swung it shut. “I’ve been contacted by an Inquisition ship. They’re investigating our presence on Ulis. The Emperor, praise be to him, has seen fit to grant us an affinity for technology. That puts us in bad standing with them.” Gyrus formed his hands into fists and punched them together.

 

“Let them come. We’re pure.”

 

“I know that as well as anyone here, brother . . . but they’ve declared whole worlds excommunicate traitoris. They pose a significant threat to us. The Council has been convened to debate what to do.” He smiled inside the helmet.

 

“We shall stand as one against bureaucracy.”

 

“Not quite.” Harlus laid a hand on Gyrus’ armoured shoulderpad. “They want to have you removed for interrogation. You are to be made into an example of what happens to men who commit the crime of insubordination.”

 

“I won’t stand for this,” he growled.

 

“Neither will I. You need the opportunity to make your voice heard. I can stand up for you, but only for so long before they start blaming me instead.”

 

“So you’re bringing me to the meeting.”

 

“You’re coming yourself.” There was a pause, then Gyrus realised what he was getting at. The three speakers were the Company Captain, a Sergeant and a Marine who had distinguished himself from his fellows.

 

“Just give me the chance to prove I can do it.”

 

“I already have.” He pointed at the floor. “Ulis.”

 

“What of it?”

 

“Piraeus will be leading the ground assault. As a member of his squad, I expect you to follow him. You’re a Chapter Veteran now, Gyrus. That means you have access to special wargear and equipment. I’m happy to help you ready up.”

 

“I can do it on my own, sir.”

 

“Excellent. Visit the Stock Officer by the loading bays. He’ll fill you in. I’m glad you came to see me, Marine. Your case is most disturbing.” Gyrus nodded.

 

“Knowledge and faith be with you.”

[Yaj]

This looks promising.

 

Three questions -

 

Are they willing to go beyond Adeptus Mechanicus guidelines?

 

Will they experiment in making new tech?

 

Will they use xenos tech?

 

Look forward to seeing more.

[macko123456]

You gave three questions, and I shall give three answers (and an update).

 

1. Perhaps. It's not ridiculous, let's leave it at that.

2. New tech's pretty much out of the question, I'm afraid. They don't have the know-how.

3. Whether or not they use zeno tech is pretty much the main point of the storyline.

 

Anyway, more.

 

Gyrus strode into the requisitions room confidently, his backpack barely fitting through the door. Like most of the Weary’s interior, it was sparsely decorated and featureless. The lighting came from two glowing strips on the ceiling, and there was a whirring fan unit in the corner. Stock Officer Hammond sat behind a desk at the other end, busily sorting through some papers. Behind him was a metal grille, with rows of bolters and pistols on the far side. Hearing Gyrus’ heavy, mechanic footsteps, he pocketed his pen and looked up.

 

“Ah, Gyrus. I heard about your promotion.”

 

“On your feet, Hammond. Have you forgotten protocol?”

 

“Sorry.” He hurriedly stood and saluted. “How are you today?”

 

“Fine. I’m here to pick up a new power sword.”

 

“I’ll check you have clearance.” He retrieved his data-slate from the desk and entered a code. There was a pause, and then it bleeped. “Yep, you’re on the list. We picked some up on Deltha, actually . . . but I’m sure you of all people already know it.”

 

“Don’t take that tone with me, Hammond. You’re on thin ice as it is.”

 

“What? Why?” The Officer was as scared as Gyrus had ever seen him. The Marine was almost touching the roof, and the chalice symbol on his breastplate was glowing ominously. He stepped forward, his armour grating and hissing as it moved with him.

 

“You didn’t greet me correctly.”

 

“I wasn’t aware that was a punishable offence.”

 

“It will be.”

 

“Gyrus!” Someone called, and he turned to see another soldier standing behind him. He was old and slightly haggard, with a wiry beard and an implanted eye. The lines on his face spoke of centuries of battle, and his voice hinted at frailty and age. Although he wore no suit, only a tunic over his Black Carapace, he easily commanded authority.

 

“Chaplain Aurelius,” Gyrus replied.

 

“I came to get this damn retina fixed.”

 

“Hammond was failing to treat me with the respect a Second Company Marine deserves.”

 

“Come now, Gyrus. Insulting your subordinates will get you nowhere.” He took Gyrus by the arm and led him over to the corner. “I heard about your predicament from Harlus.”

 

“I am sorry, Chaplain. I find myself with no friends here.”

 

“A White Knight does not have friends. Only . . .”

 

“Allies and rivals.” Aurelius nodded slowly.

 

“I fear you are making none of the first and many of the latter. You would not do well to alienate your companions, most of all Stock Officer Hammond. He supplies you with anything you need.” He reached up and removed the eye, machinery whirring and clicking as small shutters slid down over the optical sensor to emulate blinking and keep it clean. The nerve-like structure at the back retracted so he wouldn’t accidentally snap it off. “Old I may be, but I can still think on my feet.”

 

“What did you mean by too many?”

 

“Your relationship with Piraeus is tenuous. As your Sergeant, he has a moral and legal obligation to protect you. I wouldn’t want him to be persecuted should you die.”

 

“Is that so? We are encouraged by the Lexicon to argue.”

 

“The Lexicon also states that Piraeus is responsible for your safety.”

 

“Then it contradicts itself.”

 

“Unfortunately so, because we could use a little clarity on this of all issues. In your place, I would take my advice. I am only trying to help.”

 

“Thank you, Chaplain, but I can look after myself.”

 

“Can you? The Inquisition are coming, and they will not hesitate to string you up and use you as a scapegoat. There are many among our glorious Chapter’s lower levels who argue that you deserve it for what you did.” Gyrus frowned.

 

“Do you share their views?”

 

“I am afraid so. Third Company Captain Jarfur has filed an official complaint.”

 

“I shall meet him in a duel, then, to show him what I am worth. I refused to be assassinated by paperwork. Since when did the White Knights stoop so low?”

 

“It’s despicable, I know. I may agree with him, but I share your discontent.”

 

“Will you speak with him and arrange it?”

 

“No, I will not. Matters as serious as these are left for the Chapter Master himself. If the White Knight fails to see your side, it will be brought up at the next Council . . . making your performance on Ulis all the more important.”

 

“I anticipate it eagerly.”

 

“So you should. Now, speak to Hammond – and do try to be nice this time.”

 

“Your warning is appreciated, Chaplain.”

 

“Then heed it. I will wait here.” Gyrus walked over to the desk and smiled, subconsciously relaxing his armour’s grip so he appeared more at ease. Hammond looked confused.

 

“You’re back.”

 

“I still need that sword.”

 

“Of course. Follow me.” He stood and unlocked a hatch in the grille, swinging it open. They went through into the cramped compartment, the Stock Officer pulling open a drawer to reveal a row of blades. They were each two feet long, the advanced systems built into the hilt buzzing as if waiting to taste xeno blood. Gyrus picked one up and ran a finger along the edge, inspecting the glaive and finding a freshly-scratched line in the white ceramite.

 

“This one is good. What is it called?”

 

“Maelstrom.”

 

“There aren’t many swords that can cut suits without their power fields activated. I suppose this is why everyone wants to be in the Second Company.”

 

“You can take it.”

 

“I intend to.” He slid the weapon into the sheath at his belt and they returned to the requisitions room. Aurelius was cleaning the implant with a cloth.

 

“Can I help you with that?” Hammond asked.

 

“Yes. I need it serviced. The blasted thing’s been cutting out.” Gyrus patted him on the shoulder, and he glanced up. “You’re back. Did you get what you wanted?”

 

“I have tasks to do, if you don’t mind.”

 

“Of course not. Just . . . Gyrus, try not to talk to Jarfur.”

 

“Why wouldn’t I? He has made his intentions clear.”

 

“Exactly. This is out of your hands. And besides, all outgoing transmissions from the ship are monitored. Piraeus won’t take it lightly.”

 

“He knows about this?”

 

“They’re friends.” Gyrus grinned.

 

“I should have guessed.”

[macko123456]

Gyrus was woken by the inbuilt chronometer in his helmet. He had slept standing, in case Piraeus or Harlus decided to bring the mission forward and wanted him to prepare in as short a time as possible. Everything in his bedchamber was bathed in a warm glow from Aurora, which was just rising over Ulis. The planet’s cracked and splintered surface shimmered as the weak atmosphere did its best to block the radiation. In his head, he likened it to a giant beast shrugging of the arrows of its assailants. The world was majestic and beautiful, but he had no time for such things. He made his way to the weapon locker and pulled it open, taking the bolt pistol that hung within. The heavy, cumbersome gun was nothing more than a toy to him, and he slung it by his waist. He checked his heads-up display and realised he was a few minutes late. The joints of his legs automatically slackened, allowing him to jog out of the room and along the corridor to the lift. The Weary did not have a full-size hangar, only a row of drop pod bays built into her pockmarked flank. Several launchers were concealed by an overhang, which was shaped to resemble the nave of some giant cathedral. It protruded gracefully from the ship’s hull, a row of windows cut into the end so the operators could aim by sight if they had to. The compartment shuddered to a halt and he stepped out into the firing control room. At the far wall, ten metres away, was a rack of computers with attendants working at them. On either side of the chamber sat three pods, each one tapering to a point at the top. Their access flaps stood open, and the Marines of his squad were preparing to depart. Piraeus was deep in conversation with the men at the consoles.

 

“Greetings,” he said, and they all turned to examine him. “I am brother Gyrus, recently promoted from the Third Company and attached to your squad. I believe I am replacing Fornax.”

 

“He fell to the Eldar on Deltha,” one of the soldiers remarked. “Turns out there was someone you couldn’t save.” Gyrus snarled and stepped towards him ominously, but Piraeus quickly blocked him with an arm.

 

“I’m trying to ensure we have a clear landing zone. If you distract me, it might doom us all. Lucius, I recommend you back off. He is here to fight the Tau, not his own Chapter.”

 

“It is my honour to fight with you,” Gyrus added, trying to make up for the disagreement.

 

“Honour?” Lucius exclaimed. “I served with Jarfur for almost fifty years before making it to the Second Company, and you get promoted for defying him! Where’s the honour in that?”

 

“What about the Marines I saved?”

 

“That doesn’t change the facts. You don’t deserve to be going into battle alongside us.”

 

“Enough!” Piraeus roared. Gyrus knew he had commanded men for most of his life, and he had a lot of experience under his belt. He was certain his new squadmates were thinking the same; none of them dared speak. “If I had been given the decision to make, things would be different. Unfortunately, these orders don’t come from me. They’re from Second Company Captain Harlus. Rest assured, I am planning to discuss this with him when I see him. Until then, I expect you to treat Gyrus with the respect with which you’d treat me.”

 

“Sir,” Lucius said, “What about . . .”

 

“Do you hear me, soldier?”

 

“Yes sir.”

 

“Good. We’re leaving in a minute or so. Just leave him alone.” While the rest of them continued checking their weapons and armour, Gyrus leaned against the side of the pod and cast his mind back to what the Chaplain had told him. Despite holding him in contempt, Piraeus was obviously very level-headed. He wondered if following his lead would get him in good standing with his companions. Lucius had obviously come to the same conclusion, because he crossed to him and extended a hand.

 

“My apologies, Gyrus. Surely you can understand my frustration?” Gyrus shook it warmly.

 

“I do. But I had to save those men.”

 

“Of course you did, and I’m sure they’re thankful for it.”

 

“What are you doing?” One of their companions hissed. “Don’t talk to him!”

 

“Ridiculous,” Lucius scorned. “Someone has to. The bottom line is that people would have died if Gyrus hadn’t broken rank. I don’t care if he took someone else’s position in the Second Company. Why should I? That’s how the White Knights work.”

 

“He’s right,” Piraeus agreed, glancing over. “Our Chapter is founded on the principles of unity and co-operation. We’ll get nowhere by squabbling like this. I don’t like Gyrus any more than the rest of us, but I won’t stand in his way.” He left his post and crossed the room, beckoning to the pod. “We’re leaving now. Time for prayers.” As one, the squad hung their heads and darkened their visors. The Sergeant waited a moment, then began. “O most holy Emperor, we pray for You to guide us in our endeavours. We are spreading Your light and the light of the Imperium to the far reaches of the galaxy, and with Your blessing, the foul taint of xenos shall be utterly exterminated. As we go into battle today to further our cause, we wish for You to protect us and shield us from evil. Knowledge and faith be with us all.”

[Taranis]

I find it an excellent start of a longer story. I get the same feel about it as I got when I read the story by James Swallow. Well written and exciting, but with an aftertaste. Most BA players dislike Mr. Swallow for him decimating the BA through a single rogue Inquisitor. I know it probably is you own DIY chapter but surprisingly many people dislike space marine honour/abilities/motives being "sallied".

Still I find it a good story and would like to hear more of the White Knights. :D

 

Edit: replied this to you first post, just didn't got it posted. Looking very good. You are already much further away from Mr. Swallow. Keep going please.

[macko123456]

Thanks for all the praise! I hardly thought it'd live up to the excellent writing quality on this site :P

 

More. This is the first fight scene in the book, so I'd like someone to tell me what the combat is like . . .

 

The interior of the pod shook ominously, Tau anti-aircraft fire from the planet’s surface glancing off its flanks. There were no windows, and the space was cramped and overheated. They sat in a ring around the navigation core, facing outwards. The flaps on the sides had been pulled up and secured, clattering and shaking violently. The small, bullet-shaped vessel was passing through Ulis’ lower atmosphere. A cone of fire had formed around the base, flames licking up its flanks and scorching the ceramite. Piraeus had a screen in front of him and was reading from it.

 

“ETA twenty seconds! Get ready, Marines!” The air was filled with the humming of power swords and the click-clack of bolters. There was a whirring sound and wind suddenly rushed past them; the pod had depressurised. Gyrus locked his armour in preparation for the impact. “We have a heavy enemy presence on the ground. We’re inserting to the mansion of a leading Ulian politician to bolster Imperial Guard forces. The Tau have dug in and reinforced their position. That means we’re prioritising melee combat.” As they broke into clear air, the pod began to shake more violently, the rattling becoming louder. Their suits’ internal gyroscopes struggled to compensate, keeping them steady. Gyrus closed his eyes, preparing for their landing. It came without warning, a moment of white noise followed by an eerie silence. Before he knew it, the shutters were down and they were in the open. “With me, brothers!” Piraeus cried.

 

“For the White Knights!” he echoed, standing and drawing Maelstrom from its sheath. Gunfire was all around them, bolts of blue light flashing past. A couple of them glanced harmlessly off his armour, scorching paint. Where they hit the ground, the strange substance splashed through the short grass, dissolving it rapidly. It was coming from a fortification by the hedgerow at the far end. The automated bolter at the top of the pod opened fire, sending a stream of explosive rounds towards the shooters. A wall of dust was thrown into the air, allowing them to advance. The ragged line of Marines moved up across the field, into pistol range. Gyrus’ helmet marked his targets with flashing strobes and he aimed down the barrel of his gun as he advanced. Two of the Tau dropped instantly, chests blow open by the high-velocity rounds. Blood arched through the air as he calmly switched his aim and removed a group of their comrades, each one falling limply to the earth. A thin blue tracer line appeared above him, finding its mark. It was followed by a deep booming sound, and the drop pod exploded with a dull crump, pieces of wreckage showering outwards, trailing smoke and sparks. Their cover faded and a shot ricocheted off his breastplate, deflected downwards. A warning sign flashed in the corner of his display, indicating a potential rupture in the suit. He ignored it, cutting down a few more of the aliens. Suddenly, his vision was blocked by a white flare.

 

“Activate thermal sensors!” Piraeus ordered, somewhere on his right. He turned it on with a thought, a small cluster of heat signatures materialising on the other side of the hedge. Two of them were dispatched within seconds, his display switching their colour to a dirty gray. He was nearing their position and stowed the pistol, powering Maelstrom up in preparation. There was a waist-level trench dug into the ground, and the Tau defenders were firing from it.

 

“I am the Emperor’s wrath made manifest!” His voice was magnified tenfold by the vox speakers in his shoulders, ringing out across the battlefield. The aliens faltered, on the verge of breaking, and then he saw one of them drawing its combat knife.

 

“To battle, my friends!” it bellowed, charging towards him. The weapon found its mark on his armoured stomach, sliding off uselessly. He reached down to the xenos’ level and closed his left hand on its skull, crushing it mercilessly. Another one fired its rifle from short range, clipping his arm and knocking him off-balance. The armour whirred and clicked, bringing him upright. He flooded his veins with adrenaline and threw Maelstrom towards it. The vengeful blade passed straight through and buried itself in the enemy behind. He turned just in time for the butt of a gun to smack into his visor. The thermal filter flickered and deactivated; he could see nothing through the smoke. Shapes moved with alarming speed in front of him, darting this way and that. He walked towards them, crushing corpses under his armoured feet. A Tau warrior burst from the mist, armed with a pistol. His suit shrugged the pulse blasts off and he swiped the scum asunder with his fist. A pair of them came behind, closing on him. The first raised his knife, but Gyrus caught its arm and tore it off. As it recoiled in agony, the Marine wielded the bloody limb like a club, bludgeoning its companion and then prising the knife from the tight fingers and plunging it into the alien’s neck. He left the injured Tau where it was, going to retrieve his sword. It was still protruding from a discarded piece of splintered armour; the wearer was lying on the ground a few metres away.

 

“Please,” it begged, in broken Gothic. “Don’t kill me!” Gyrus smiled to himself as he beheaded it, wondering how much time his opponents had spent preparing for their arrival. Guns had been polished, plates cleaned and boots scuffed just so they could look smarter in death. He returned to the armless alien, raising Maelstrom to strike it down. He need not have bothered, however, for a bolter round slammed into its head before the blow fell. Lucius dropped into the trench, covered from head to toe in bloodstains. His right shoulderpad bore a nasty gash, exposing the wiring within. Gyrus could tell from the pulsing veins in his forehead that he had activated the suit’s trauma systems.

 

“Well fought,” he said, panting a little. “Taking that mansion will be easy.” The smoke began to fade, bringing the full scale of the devastation to light. The hedgerow was littered with bodies, and blood had pooled on the ground in several places. Long trails of the hot cyan liquid were running down the field towards their smoking drop pod, soaking gradually into the grass and colouring it a deep blue. The air was filled with the smell of munitions and the stench of acid from exposed intestines. Gyrus nodded to Lucius.

 

“These xenos are pathetic. I want a challenge.”

 

“You’ll get one,” Piraeus interrupted, from a few metres away. He was sitting on a treestump and cleaning his power sword. “We’re to meet up with Guard elements on the ground and lead the assault with them as cover.” He tutted. “I don’t like lowering myself to their level. They fight like dogs.” Gyrus crossed to him, sheathing Maelstrom and reloading his pistol.

 

“It’s for the good of the Chapter, sir.”

 

“I’m impressed with you, Gyrus. I give credit where it’s due, and you’ve earned a lot today. There’s still a long way to go, though. I’ll be watching you carefully.”

 

“Chaplain Aurelius said I had to earn myself a place at the White Council.”

 

“What he didn’t mention is that I’m the Sergeant attending from the Second Company. On combat records alone, I have a choice between two Marines . . . you and Lucius.” Gyrus glanced at the other soldier, who had looked up, and then back to Piraeus.

 

“In that case, let me fight him to prove I am better.”

 

“No. I want to see how you perform later on before I make my decision.” He raised his voice. “Squad! We’re moving out! I want everyone ready to go in two minutes!”

[luckymutt]

Not bad. Keep up the build but we could use more backfill on Gyrus actions in the last fight.

[macko123456]

Backfill? What do you mean? :huh:

 

More of the story: Time for a nice, long update. Enjoy!

 

The mansion was a large, luxurious house with a sweeping lawn and a gravel drive. It had two wings, extending like slumped shoulders on either side of the main block. In the middle was a tower, though the crest was missing and the pillars were splintered and cracked. At the end of the path leading up to the main doors was a checkpoint taken from the Tau and garrisoned by Imperial Guard of the 31st Ulian Battalion. The shadow from the building just extended to it, Aurora shining brightly over the rooftops and chimneys. Some kind of alien standard flew from the spire, a series of small holes cut from it where bullets had whipped through the fabric. The main entrance was bolted shut and securely defended from the other side.

 

“Sir,” one of the Guardsmen said to Piraeus, as the Marine squad emerged from the treeline and joined them at the gate. “We’ve been occupying this spot for three hours, and they haven’t budged.” The Sergeant straightened up and surveyed the scene.

 

“What’s your name?”

 

“Corporal York, sir. There’s a sniper on the top floor.” As if on cue, a dot appeared on Piraeus’ ceramite temple and a shot rang out. He recoiled with the force, unharmed save for a scratch along the side of the helmet. Wary of the Tau’s range, he crouched once more.

 

“Did you send anyone in to clear them out?”

 

“A group of four men breached the garage door, but we lost contact. I don’t know if they’re still alive. At the very least, they gave us a way in.” Piraeus turned to Gyrus.

 

“I want you to mark the targets for us.”

 

“Yes sir,” Gyrus replied, standing and scanning the ruined façade. The visor automatically detected movement and heat readings, placing strobes over them. When any one object was strobed four times, it acquired a lock. He was down again before the sniper had a chance to aim properly, ducking under its field of fire. “I’ve got seven hostiles identified.” The Sergeant opened a wide radio channel, speaking to all his men.

 

“Activate synch fields.” The synch field, one of the White Knights’ most trusted gadgets, projected one soldier’s markers onto the others’ views, so they could cover each other and ensure they weren’t outflanked. The Marines nodded one by one, indicating that the filters were working properly. “Okay,” Piraeus said, “We’re going in on the right. I want Gyrus and Lucius to head over there and see if they can find us some cover from the Tau guns. That means boxes, barrels, anything you can get your hands on.”

 

“Sir,” Gyrus complained, shuffling over to him, “Are you sure sending us both is a good idea?” The Sergeant regarded him coldly.

 

“Do as I say, or I will have you removed from this Company.”

 

“With all due respect, would it not be better for us to go individually?”

 

“No, it would not. We’re wasting time here, Gyrus. Get it done . . . now.”

 

“As you wish, sir. Knowledge and faith.” He and Lucius headed off along the narrow track, protected by the stone wall on their left. It led into a small gully and ran alongside a brook for a short way, then climbed around the edge of the estate. At the end was a large, open area with the wing a few metres away on the other side. As promised, the door to the garage stood wide open. There were two Imperial bodies lying there, twisted into impossible shapes by the force of the Tau weaponry. Lucius pointed to them.

 

“Their armour is weak and their guns are paltry. Only a poor commander of men would send his troops into a fight knowing they would be defeated.”

 

“And Piraeus?” Gyrus prompted. “What does that make him?”

 

“The Emperor is my shield, brother. Our failure will be nothing to the might of the Imperium. Mankind’s mighty war machine rolls on undeterred by xenos or heresy.”

 

“The Lexicon,” he said, recognising the quote. “Chapter seventeen, line forty-three.”

 

“I hardly think the source is relevant. It is true no matter whose lips utter it.” He covered his brow with a hand, checking for routes they could use. Gyrus activated his resolution zoom, examining the corpses carefully.

 

“They were killed by single shots. This is that sniper’s work.”

 

“Any fool could have told me that,” Lucius said, dismissively.

 

“Yes, but it would take a clever man to properly analyse the situation. His rounds can’t penetrate our suits. We need no cover.” There was a pause.

 

“You’re right. I’ll get back to Piraeus and tell him.”

 

“I can go myself, Lucius.”

 

“You think reporting to our Sergeant will win you favour?” He scoffed and departed, leaving Gyrus alone. It took a few minutes for the others to arrive, and they took up position behind the wall. Piraeus had unsheathed his power sword once more and was inspecting it, making sure it was working properly. Seeing Gyrus watching, he held the hilt out to him and pointed to it.

 

“One of those foul xenos shot it. I don’t know what’s wrong.” The field was switching on and off randomly, small arcs of light crackling down the blade and sparking off Piraeus’ armour. The humming sound was quieter than usual. Gyrus took it from him and inspected it, then unlocked the generator access panel with a code and balanced the output levels.

 

“That should work fine.”

 

“What did you do?”

 

“Rerouted some fuel from the electronics to the emitters. It’ll be slightly less effective, but far less likely to go down in the middle of a battle.” If Piraeus was impressed, he didn’t let it show.

 

“Fine. Let me take a look at what we’re facing here.” Gyrus leaned over to Lucius.

 

“See? I don’t need to keep updating our Sergeant to earn respect.”

 

“Knowledge of machines speaks of senility, brother,” Lucius reminded him. “As the Lexicon says, we are the Emperor’s hand, not His mind. It is not our job to repair weapons, only to use them. We are a tool for Him.” Gyrus nodded.

 

“You’ve read it well, haven’t you?”

 

“I dedicated years of my life to studying it. Such a mighty tome should not be ignored.”

 

“When you’re finished,” Piraeus muttered. “Gyrus, boasting to him does not help your case. And Lucius, dismissing your companion’s skills so lightly is naïve. Fortunately for you two, I am not judging you on your interaction with others but your performance in battle. We’re ready to go, and you’re on point.” Gyrus took Maelstrom out, reciting a prayer to the Emperor in his head.

 

“With me, Lucius. For now, we are not rivals but angels of destruction.”

 

“For the White Knights,” Lucius agreed, and they ran over the clearing towards the mansion. A shot from the sniper whizzed past angrily, the blue liquid splashing over the ground on their right. Another came a second later, hitting Gyrus’ knee but doing very little damage. They were soon at the door, bursting into the room to find three Tau waiting for them. Lucius instantly shot one of them in the head, while Gyrus slid into a dive. A .75 calibre round from his squadmate’s pistol roared over his head, taking the second one down, as he straightened up and cut the one remaining alien in two. The torso and legs fell to the cobbled floor heavily, blood draining from them. They took stock of their situation, reloading and waiting for the rest of the Marines. Suddenly, there was a tinkling sound. They looked down to see a small grenade sitting there.

 

“Pulse grenade!” Gyrus shouted, but it was too late. The device exploded, and his entire world went white. His visor automatically darkened, trying to minimise the damage. It was powerless to block the effects entirely, merely allowing him to make out strange figures swimming through the fog. He hefted his gun and the weapon barked, spraying explosive rounds towards the aliens rushing towards them. A spray of blood splattered over his legs as a corpse slammed down hard in front of him, falling on its arm and breaking it.

 

“Face the judgement of your doom!” Lucius bellowed, his own sword sweeping through the air. It whined as it cut through armour, flesh and bone with ease, disembowelling a couple of hapless xenos. Gyrus twiddled the dial on Maelstrom’s hilt, increasing the power to the field. As he had hoped, the shimmering energy blazed a path through the dust. There was something flitting past, identifiable by nothing more than a pair of shoulder lights and a helmet retina. It was a stealthsuit with its cloak activated.

 

“Lucius!” he warned. “There!” The Tau inside had locked his target and thumbed the trigger, sending a volley of blue pulses towards the Marine. Lucius recoiled as the energy splashed off his chest, slowly dissolving the ceramite. Gyrus steadied his aim and let a shot off, hitting the xenos in the leg. The cannon’s four barrels came to a halt with a hiss and it rotated to face him. He fired once more, but the gun was empty. Growling, he threw it away and charged. The alien saw him coming and opened up again, countless bolts flashing across the room between them. It was like a beam of light linked the two, Gyrus leaning forwards against the force and struggling to advance. Glyphs and signals were blinking all over his visor as his suit tried to cope. “I . . . am . . . His will!” he cried, increasing his blood adrenaline level to ten percent and draining his storage banks. It was just enough to push him onwards and he plunged his sword into the Tau’s chest. The cloak failed, exposing the curved, orange plates of the armour. He pushed it in up to the hilt, placed his cumbersome boot on his enemy’s thigh and ripped it out once more in a wide arc. Blood and gore drew a long line along the ceiling, dripping down onto his helmet. Silence fell, broken only by their breathing and the grinding of their suits. Gyrus’ breastplate was cracked and fractured, and his every move felt like he was wading through fire. His fused ribcage was split up the side, and his internal organs were exposed to the Black Carapace that held them in place.

 

“Gyrus,” Piraeus said, joining them. “What happened to you?”

 

“He saved me,” Lucius answered, before Gyrus could speak.

 

“Can you walk?” the Sergeant asked.

 

“I think so,” Gyrus groaned. “There will be more of them. The sniper’s still here, and they’re bound to have dug in.” Piraeus nodded.

 

“We’re at full strength, apart from you two.”

 

“I can fight.”

 

“You’re not going anywhere.”

 

“Sir, I know I can do it. Just give me a chance.” None of them said anything.

 

“Alright,” Piraeus said, leaning out of the door and beckoning to the remaining Marines. They came over in a group, making the journey without incident. Once they were all safe, he indicated to Gyrus. “This man is hurt. We need to keep him safe.”

 

“I’m fine,” Gyrus insisted. “I don’t need you pandering to me. It’s not dignified.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Definitely.”

 

“If you say so.” He activated his painkiller dispensary, desensitising his nerve endings and numbing his entire frame. The display on his visor gradually returned to normal, the red alerts replaced with green readouts. Piraeus pulled a desk into the open and stood on it. “Seeing as he seems to keen to get himself killed, Gyrus can lead us on this one. They know we’re here, so stealth won’t be so important. That means we can use our reactors.”

 

“Sir,” Lucius said, “Permission to take his place? He’s in no fit shape to fight.”

 

“It’s his call, and he’s already made it. You have three minutes to get ready.” He dropped down and walked over to Gyrus. “I want a word with you. Come with me.” They went through to the pantry, which was cold and smelled of rotten food. Rats scurried across the floor and a few birds were nesting in the rafters. Piraeus removed his helmet, his face scarred and twisted permanently into a grimace. He had several neural implants in his forehead, pulsating in time with his heartbeats and feeding him information from his troops’ sensors. He was gaunt, and Gyrus imagined that he must once have been considered handsome. Any semblance of his past looks was gone, however, hidden behind high cheekbones and a metal chin with slats in it for ventilation. When he opened his mouth, Gyrus could see right down his throat and make out pistons instead of vocal cords. Without the magnifiers, his voice was deep and slightly artificial, as if it was a machine speaking and he was simply feeding it instructions. “Gyrus,” he said, “I’m worried about you.”

 

“Why?”

 

“You’re wounded, and getting the rest of the squad to help you potentially jeopardises their safety.” He reached behind his back, where a data-slate was attached to his suit with mag-clamps. Taking it out and entering a code, he found the appropriate channel and held it up. “I’m synching your status information with the Apothecarium on the Weary. They can advise us.”

 

“I really don’t need . . .”

 

“Be quiet, Gyrus. That’s an order. I many not like you, but I don’t want men dying under my command. I saw those bodies on the way in, realised how futile the Imperial Guard’s struggle is. You know we’re better than they are, and a large part of that is the sanctity of our life. We don’t let each other fall . . . after Deltha, I hope you understand.” Before Gyrus had the chance to reply, their radios crackled. The Sergeant put the call through.

 

“This is Apothecary Narre. I’ve just received an update on Gyrus.”

 

“Understood,” Piraeus acknowledged. “What have you got for us?”

 

“To put it in short, he’s not in a good way. From what I can tell, his primary heart is pushed to its limit. If it fails, his secondary will only last nineteen minutes . . . but that’s just an average. It might be less if he’s under pressure.”

 

“Any recommendations?”

 

“Right now, he’s just a sack of organs contained within the Carapace. It’s the only thing keeping him on his feet.” Gyrus was fed up with them discussing him.

 

“Sir,” he said, “I can speak for myself.”

 

“I gave you an order,” Piraeus replied, calmly. “Apothecary, there must be something we can do to help. I don’t want him to leave the fight, and neither does he.”

 

“The backpack reactor will do it. If you channel power from the life support systems to the motorised armour joints, he can function properly. It will lead to a reduction in combat capabilities, however.” Gyrus smiled.

 

“I’m willing to do it.”

 

“Fine,” Piraeus consented, closing the channel. “Fire it up.” Using his mind, Gyrus brought up a menu and selected an option. A consent screen flashed past, and he dismissed it. His suit rumbled as the industrial-grade machinery hanging from his back came online, two plumes of smoke rising from the funnels on each side. The entire pack shook and revved, the core at its centre glowing a rich orange. His limbs were suffused with energy; the reaction was designed to augment and support his metabolism. All the pain instantly dissipated, leaving his senses heightened and his reactions even faster than usual.

 

“I’m good to go,” he announced.

 

“I know,” Piraeus said, “But take care of yourself, alright?” At that moment, a call came in on the high-clearance level. He rolled his eyes and patched in. “Who is this?”

 

“Sergeant Piraeus, this is Company Captain Harlus. You’re coming back to the ship.”

 

“What? Why?”

 

“Inquisitor Orrick has arrived, and the Chapter Master has issued an emergency summons to the White Council. A Thunderhawk is enroute for immediate extraction, ETA ten minutes. I expect you to hold your current positions and ensure you take no casualties in the meantime.”

 

“And the Imperial Guard forces?” Gyrus said.

 

“Who is this?”

 

“Gyrus, sir.”

 

“They are irrelevant. I am sure they understand how important this is.”

 

“Sir, they don’t have enough men to do this on their own. Our force could . . .”

 

“I’m not letting you help, Gyrus, and that’s the end of it. Stay where you are.” The radio went dead. Gyrus drew Maelstrom and inspected it.

 

“Are you going to obey him, Sergeant?”

 

“I’m torn,” Piraeus admitted. “After the incident on Deltha, I’m not sure you’re up to the task. You’re on shaky ground with the Company Captain already.” He paused. “I suppose if I gave the order . . . yes, that’s what we’ll do. If anyone asks, I explicitly told you to follow my lead.”

 

“Thank you, sir. I didn’t expect such generosity.”

 

“This isn’t for you. The White Knights have a reputation for teamwork and philanthropy, and I intend to keep it that way.” Gyrus shrugged.

 

“Still, it’s nice to know you’re on my side in something. Knowledge and faith, brother.”

 

“Knowledge and faith,” Piraeus repeated. “I’ll tell the others.” They returned to the garage, where the rest of the squad were waiting for them. The Marines were debating strategies for taking the rest of the mansion or checking their weapons to make sure they didn’t jam. Members of the White Knights didn’t socialise at all, spending all their free time sparring and endlessly poring over charts and maps. They each had to study the Lexicon for an hour every solar week, and every year would be tested on their knowledge. Anyone who learned the entire tome was instantly put up for promotion. Gyrus knew it back to front, and he guessed the others did to. It would be practically impossible to reach the Second Company without reciting it at some point. “Listen up,” the Sergeant said. “We’re pulling out in ten, which doesn’t give us much time. If the Guard are going to make their push and secure this place, we’ll need to take out that sniper and unblock the doors. Someone else has to clear the lawn so they don’t counterattack.”

 

“I’ll lead the assault on the tower,” Lucius volunteered.

 

“Good. Gyrus can go with you. The rest come with me.” He folded his arms. “I’m counting on you to get this done.”

 

“Will do, sir,” Lucius replied, leading Gyrus through the door and up the stairs to the first floor. The corridor ran to where the wing met the main building and then turned left onto a balcony, overlooking the hall. It then led to the main staircase, and ultimately the spire. They advanced slowly, covering all the angles in case there were xenos waiting for them. Fortunately, the rooms were all empty; the Tau had clearly retreated to the other side of the house. As they approached the atrium, the sound of voices floated up to them. Some were soft and sing-song, clearly alien. The rest were human. The squad followed Lucius around the corner and onto the veranda. A group of Tau stood in the hall, guarding the entrance to the mansion. Hearing the Marines’ reactors, they looked up and reached for their rifles.

 

“To battle, my brother!” Gyrus roared, vaulting over the waist-high railing and landing heavily. Pain blossomed through his torso in waves as his injured ribs broke further, but he ignored it and fought through. The foul xenos raised their weapons but Lucius fired first, cutting one of them down. Gyrus darted forward, grabbing the nearest enemy by the waist and slamming him against the wall. The last one came at him with a short blade, but his companion picked him off. Lucius dropped down as well, just as a couple more aliens arrived from an anteroom. Bizarrely, they were firing over their shoulders at something behind them. A series of pulse blasts moved them down, blue Tau blood splattering over the floor. One of them was still alive, moaning in pain. Gyrus drew Maelstrom and advanced to finish it off, but a round shot past his face as he did so.

 

“Sorry!” someone apologised. A pair of Imperial Guard troopers stood them, battered and bruised. They had torture marks on their faces and ropes around their necks, as if the xenos were preparing to hang them. Each one carried a long-barrelled, orange rifle.

 

“Fools,” Lucius spat, striding over to him, grabbing the weapon and casting it to the ground. “You shouldn’t use their technology. It is below you.”

 

“But we have nothing else,” the man pointed out. “They took our guns.”

 

“The presence of xenos in this galaxy is a blight, not an opportunity. They are nothing more than targets for the guns of the Imperium, cannon fodder to cover our advance. Every rank before us is a shield for those behind, ready and waiting to be butchered. Their weapons are merely pathetic attempts to resist their destiny, which is to die at the hand of the agents of the Emperor.” He indicated the rifle. “You would lower yourself to using this . . . excuse for defiance?”

 

“The Lexicon,” Gyrus said, sparing the Guardsman from having to reply. “Also teaches that Marines should be versatile and adapt to any situation. Remember, brother Lucius, chapter eleven, line thirty-eight.” Lucius nodded uncertainly.

 

“Mankind’s darkest hour stretches the Imperium’s resources further than ever before. All Chapters must find way to improvise and use what supplies they can find. Through these means the taint of heresy and the impurity of xenos shall be purged eternally.”

 

“Now we’ve got that clear,” the soldier said, picking up the gun, “Can we get out of here?”

 

“How dare you address me so insolently!” Lucius roared. “Speak when you’re spoken to.” He stepped forward, the hapless Guardsman cowering and covering his face.

 

“The doors,” Gyrus reminded him. “We have to tell Piraeus that he’s clear to advance.” He strode over to the entrance and swung the heavy oaken doors aside. Three Tau stood on the other side, firing at the garage to their left. His heavy footsteps alerted them to his presence, but they turned to late. He chose the one closest to hand and picked it up, throwing it bodily into one of its comrades. Sensing a break in the firing, the Marines on the other side of the clearing opened up, the last of Gyrus’ enemies convulsing as he was shredded by explosive rounds. His radio crackled.

 

“Is the main building clear?”

 

“It is, Sergeant. We’re certain of it.”

 

“Take care of that sniper and we’ll come out. We can draw his fire if you need us to.”

 

“Thank you, sir.” Suddenly, an artificially enhanced shout rang out from the top of the staircase, as if through a set of speakers.

 

“Imperial soldiers!” The four of them swivelled round. A Crisis Battlesuit stood there, half as tall again as the Marines. The limbs of the Tau inside did not fit into those of the mech; instead, it curled up in a kind of cockpit. Its broad, armoured shoulders were capped with a helmet, three red lights blinking and finding a lock. As they watched, it raised its gun. Gyrus threw himself into a roll, using a fallen section of the roof for cover. Thinking quickly, Lucius grabbed one of the Guardsmen and used him as a human shield. His friend tried to get in the way, but didn’t react fast enough. Seven pulses scythed through the man’s chest, the sheer force of the rounds ripping it open. The strange blue liquid splashed down his front, dissolving his stomach. He screamed and Lucius threw him aside, sprinting up the stairs. The Battlesuit straightened up, the servos in its legs hissing and whining to support the entire tonne of weight sitting atop them. Its cannon powered up, streaks of light flickering up the sides and gathering in a kind of blue sphere at the end of the barrel. Lucius reached the landing and dropped into a slide, the pulse erupting from the gun and passing over him by no more than an inch. It hit the second Guardsman square in the face, decapitating him instantly. The corpse collapsed limply as Lucius jumped to his feet and scaled the Battlesuit’s back, using the plates as handholds.

 

“Gyrus!” he shouted, “Keep it busy!” Gyrus came over of cover, waving his arms.

 

“Fight a real enemy! Challenge yourself!” The Tau inside either considered him a larger threat or was exceptionally stupid. It switched its aim to him, then recoiled as Lucius grabbed its shoulderpad and ripped it off, trailing wires and cables. The suit’s engines fired, cones of flame washing over the tiled landing, and it rose into the air towards the shattered roof. Gyrus ran towards it but was too slow, watching in frustration is it climbed. Hanging on for his life, Lucius used his free hand to draw his power sword and plunged it deep into the hole he had created, as far as it would go. This gave him something else to hold, and he seized it. The mortally wounded xenos shrieked in pain and altered its trajectory, taking them in a long arc over the lawn. Lucius found his strength fading, glancing down to see if there was anywhere else he could use. All at once, he realised what he could do. Timing his release carefully, he let go of the sword, falling freely alongside the hulking mech. By spreading his arms, he slowed himself down enough to take hold of its leg and began climbing towards the booster outputs. Heat washed over his armour, and warning signs began blinking on his visor. Disregarding them, he took out a grenade, ripped the emergency access hatch off and placed it inside, then relinquished his grip. The sensation of flight was new to him, and he didn’t take to it too quickly. Twisting in midair, he saw the explosion and knew the Tau was dead. Next thing he knew, he had hit the tower, smashing right through it with the force of a bomb and landing in the middle of the hall. Gyrus was sent staggering by the impact, which threw tiles out in all directions and created a large crater in the concrete. Silence fell.

 

“That was a bad idea,” Lucius muttered.

 

“Actually,” Gyrus corrected him, “Look.” The body of the sniper came down a moment later with a sickening crunch. “We can call everyone into the courtyard.”

 

“Hep me up.” He took Lucius’ hand and pulled him upright, inspecting the damage. The Marine’s backpack was warped and twisted, sparks showering from it as the reactor inside desperately tried to keep the systems online. Lucius quickly deactivated it to avoid an overload and detached it from his amour. It fell to the ground with a clang and they walked out into the clearing. A sword protruded from the ground a few metres away; Gyrus pulled it out and handed it over.

 

“We’re coming,” Piraeus said, and the other nine soldiers emerged from the garage, led by the Sergeant. “That was some fine work, you two. I’ll be commending you for this.” They had both expected a decision from him, but his expression gave nothing away. “The Company Captain will be pleased with your performance. Gyrus, I want you to see Apothecary Narre as soon as we get back.” The air filled with the whine of engines and a Thunderhawk troop carrier came down towards them from the clouds, flaring to slow its descent. The ship was bulky and ugly, with a troop compartment slung below the control room and a ramp at the front, like a set of teeth. Mounted atop its raised engine compartment was a giant cannon, ready and waiting patiently to fire. There were three boosters, one at the back of the hull and two where the wings met the fuselage. As they watched, the skids slid down from its underside and it hit the ground with the hiss of hydraulics. The ramp swung open; Second Company Captain Harlus stood there, looking down at them.

 

“Gyrus,” he said, “It seems you’re making a reputation for yourself.” Gyrus strode up to him.

 

“In what way, sir?”

 

“First Deltha, now this. You’re pushing it.”

 

“I gave the order,” Piraeus interrupted, holstering his pistol and folding his arms.

 

“Speaking of pushing it . . . this is most unbecoming, Sergeant. First you have the tenacity to complain about someone in your squad without good reason – at least, none that I can see – and now you’re challenging my orders.”

 

“The mansion is clear. Does it matter what you told me to do?” There was a pause. Harlus smiled, and beckoned for them to take their places in the compartment.

 

“I suppose not. Whether the Chapter Master shares my view is unfortunately unknown.” Gyrus sat beside him, Lucius and Piraeus taking the seats opposite.

 

“Sir,” Lucius said to the Sergeant, “You haven’t come to any conclusions, have you?”

 

“I honestly have no idea,” Piraeus admitted. “You’re both good men. I’m inclined to pick you, though, because you’ve served under me longer. For all I know, Gyrus might just be on better form today than usual. How can I judge?”

 

“In that case, I decline and give my place to him.” The Sergeant frowned.

 

“What? You can’t do that.”

 

“He can,” Harlus told them. “It’s in the Lexicon.”

 

“Chapter five, line one hundred and three,” Lucius agreed. “Any Marine willing to give a comrade a chance to make his voice heard at the White Council has every right to do so, granted his commanding officer gives permission.” He glanced at Piraeus. “Do you?”

 

“I suppose so . . . but it’s not what I intended.”

 

“That’s settled, then,” Harlus said. “Is this verdict acceptable?” Gyrus nodded.

 

“It certainly is.”

 

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