Battles of the Space Marines: Brother Hector

[Son of Carnelian]

Brother-Sergeant Hector leaned on his side as he advanced further into the chapel. That last shot had taken more out of him than he originally thought. Blood seeped out between the cracks and holes in his armor and slipped down his side. His beautiful jet-black armor wore streaks of crimson blood, which ironically matched the red stripe painted on his shoulder signifying his place in the Raven Guard’s third company. Hector slumped to the floor of the chapel and leaned against a massive organ fixed to the back wall.

 

He spat blood onto the ground and thought back on the events of the night. The plan had been simple, a standard execution of the tactics of the Raven Guard. Slip in at night, disrupt the traitors’ line, then disappear into the night and wait for extraction. Captain Rather has assigned the sergeant and the rest of the squad to advance straight into the enemy’s position along the main street of the hive city. The two other squads involved in the assault would go first though, flanking the traitorous guardsmen and ensuring that, while Hector’s squad would bear the enemy’s full attention, there would be no unknown threats to the squad’s safety.

 

But the other squads had been ambushed. Unbeknownst to the Raven Guard, the traitors on this world did not fight alone, for they had enlisted the help of the Alpha Legion in their rebellion. More likely, the Alpha Legion had enlisted the guardsmen. Hector cursed the legion as he thought on it. He remembered his first briefing as a member of the scout company on the Alpha Legion and he remembered feeling a flicker of fear in one of his two hearts. An enemy that could seep out of the very cracks of the Imperium was far more dangerous than any blood-crazed berserker or sorcery-fueled madman, Hector remembered thinking. The Raven Guard excelled because they kept the enemy guessing until it was too late. The Alpha Legion did the same thing, abet in a different manner. If you saw massed Alpha Legion forces, Hector recalled, it was because they had already somehow ensured their victory in the coming battle. Sabotage, deception, and misdirection were their watchwords.

 

Now, with his ancient armor marred by his blessed blood, Hector heaved himself up straighter against the organ and examined his weapon. Resting in his right hand was a bolter, the sacred weapon of all space marines. Finely crafted by artisans, the massive weapon more resembled a small rocket launcher than a traditional gun. Engravings ran all down both sides of the weapon, the names of its previous carriers etched forever into its metalwork. After he perished, Hector knew his name would join the rest. Another memory. Another soldier lost in the eternal war.

 

“A-are you a-alright?”

 

Hector brought his bolter up at the questioning figure. A small girl stood a few feet from him. No older than twelve standard Terra years, she trembled in the presence of the massive black figure before her. Brother Hector lowered his weapon and sighed. The fact that his augmented senses had not heard her approach troubled him greatly. It meant that he was in a worse state then he thought. He swallowed more blood welling under his tongue and looked back to the girl.

 

“Nay, little one. I am not well. My secondary heard has been ruptured and my glands are not cauterizing my wounds as quickly as they should. Coupling that with the fact that all of my squad’s battle-brothers, some of whom I served with for over 200 years, just perished before my eyes in an insidious trap laid by the vilest of traitors, and my state clearly becomes one who is about to face his death. So no, I am not alright.”

 

The little girl stared blankly at the seated warrior for a moment and then spoke.

 

“Mommy always played me music when I had a bad day. She isn’t here, but I can play for you, if you want.”

 

Hector grunted dismissively and began counting his remaining bolter shells. Six. Six shots to put down every Alpha Legionnaire that came through those chapel doors. Six rounds to slow down the advance of the traitors. Six bolts to secure the area and hope for evacuation. Of course, this assumed that Hector survived long enough to—

 

Music.

 

Music unlike any he had ever heard. The organ let out sad, sighing notes that ground their way into Hector’s bones. His armor provided no defense against the mournful sounds of the instrument. The little girl commanded the keys as Hector’s captain had commanded him, knowing the limits and strengths of all. A measured pace, without showmanship or ego. Hector had heard music. Loud, joyful parades of glory for freeing worlds. Bright hymns of praise dedicated to the space marines. But nothing so humble, so sorrowful, so innocent. Suddenly he recognized the song.

 

It was death.

 

Bereft of all ego, all honors. Stripped of skill and finery and meaning and reason. Hector noted a shift within him as more blood flowed out. He had tried fighting, tried contesting the will of death, but this place beside this girl and the organ would be his grave. The music filled him, consumed him, and released him. Only in death does duty end, Hector thought.

 

But his duty had not yet been done. The door of the chapel collapsed as a full contingent of ten Alpha Legionaries burst into the building. Hector sprang up and placed his body over the girl’s as bolter fire began to rain from down the aisle towards them.

 

“I’m sorry! They must have heard the music!”

 

“Don’t apologize. And don’t stop playing.”

 

Hector whipped around and fired the first of his shots at the leftmost traitor. The bolter round soared across the floor and pierced the armor’s weak throat area. Dropping to his knees, the traitor gurgled and gasped, drowning in his own blood. Another note sounded as Hector fired again, steadily advancing towards the members of the Alpha Legion. This time his shell bounced off of the traitor’s chest plate and ricocheted off past where Hector could see. Firing another round, Hector roared as his shot found its mark, shattering the faceplate of his enemy’s armor and turning his helmet into a container for his detonated brain. Another note played in time with death.

Hector squeezed the trigger three more times in rapid succession, sending three shots downrange, all at different targets. The first shot found its mark and pierced the midsection of another Alpha Legionnaire, and with it another note sounded out from the organ. The second shot sang past the head of its target and buried itself in the back wall of the church. Finally, Hector’s last shot pounded into the hand of the closest enemy and detonated inside, exploding the entire arm and letting loose a rush of gore from the stub.

 

Six. Six still remained. Hector roared and drew his combat blade from its scabbard as his remaining foes began steeling themselves against Hector’s assault. Hector sprung for the nearest traitor and grabbed his arm. Hector jammed it back, exposing the traitor’s soft mesh armor beneath the arm. He took his knife and made a quick downward slash, nearly freeing the arm from the body. The Legionnaire stumbled back and collapsed as Hector spun to face the next one, keeping pace with the organ and the dance of death.

 

Hector roared as he slammed into the traitor. If he still had his helmet on, he would have followed up with a head butt to stun his foe. Instead, Hector reached over and pulled the traitor in close. Hector rammed his knife into the base of the traitor’s throat and up through his skull. Another note sounded as the blade snapped and broke inside the traitor’s head.

 

Hearing the pounding of bolter shells against his armor from the surviving four Alpha Legion members, Hector rolled across the floor and behind a massive piece of fallen rubble that had obviously fallen from the ceiling. He suddenly became acutely aware of a pounding in his side. The wound from earlier had kept bleeding and had now been made worse by the melee. Chunks of plaster hit his skull as the Alpha Legion laid down suppressing fire.

 

Hector took a look down at his wound. It oozed all over his armor, consecrating it in the holy blood of a Space Marine. He watched as it flowed ever so slowly down his side and onto his grenades strapped to his side. Taking one in hand, Hector pulled the pin and rolled the grenade across the marble floor. It bounced and shook, but found its destination at the foot of the middle traitor. In a flash of incredible light, the remaining traitors were incinerated from the sheer power of the grenade. A final note sounded out over the din of the explosion, a cry of beauty overpowering the roars of fury from Hector’s enemies.

 

The Raven Guard sergeant dragged himself to his feet. His enhanced senses had been dulled, both by the explosion and his continued blood loss. He gently brought himself over the ruin he had hid behind and looked about the devastated chapel. It stood, abet barely. None of the Emperor’s light still touched this place. Whatever holy power had been contained here had fled through the shattered ceiling. He turned to his right and saw the little girl. She had not stopped playing, even at the battle’s highest point. But now, she merely sat there, quaking in fear at the giant who approached her. He could not hear her over the stillness in his ears. He could tell she pleaded, begged, and cried, though. Relapsing his strength, the mighty warrior knelt down and relaxed his figure.

 

Reassuring those in distress stood far outside of Hector’s duties. As a leader of Space Marines, Hector had never known what it was to be afraid, nor had the men under his command. They were death incarnate, the angels of the Emperor’s wrath, yet here he knelt, sick and distraught at his inability to get the little child to cease crying. He opened his mouth to speak, but then found his words failed him as blood gathered at the back of his throat. He fell to his side and vomited crimson.

Suddenly, the girl’s hands were upon him. She grabbed as his face, attempting to shake it. She pulled at the massive shoulder pad on his armor, but to no avail. His hearing returning, he heard the cries of the little girl gradually fading into his skull. Hector sighed and let our one last oath under his breath.

 

“Thank you… for giving me a good death. Many do not get such a chance—“

 

Brother Hector had no time to complete his sentence. He coughed and shook as the last vestiges of his mind went dark and succumbed to warm death. Bereft of all ego, all honors. Stripped of skill and finery and meaning and reason. As he thought, this place beside this girl and the organ would be his grave. The memory of the music filled him, consumed him, and released him. Only in death does duty end, Hector thought.

 

On the surface of a war-torn world, in a universe of unending death, where there can be no peace, one little girl cried at the feet of a black giant, screaming for salvation that would never return.

[Dominicus]

I can"t find anything bad to say about this story. Well-written, good story line, no grammar errors...just simply great. Well done, hopefully we'll see more work from you in the Librarium very soon!

 

- Dom

[Pulse]

Fantastic short story, really well written with good description. Loved it!

 

Only one little fault with the spelling;

 

Hector sighed and let our one last oath under his breath.

 

I really hope to read more of your work!

[Son of Carnelian]

Thanks Dominicus! I wrote it over a few days. I wanted to write a story that even someone who wasn't immeresed in the 40k lore (like I hopelessly am) could appreciate. And thanks for the spelling help, Brother Pulse!

[rickybob]

Wow. I'm sorry but that's all I can say, and all it needs.

[Nuclear Fridge]

Very well written. Anyone can write about big explosions, burning tanks, and mangled foes, but what struck me about this tale was how Hector realised that he knew so very little about what it is to be human, or how to comfort a crying child.

 

I'm looking forward to more!