Disciples of Ruin

[Nemesor]

The Red Templars had lost sight of their enemy. Between vicious silica storms and the craggy terrain of the alien world, the Pirates did not find it difficult to slip away from their Astartes pursuers. The world had never been visited by the Imperium, as far as anyone could tell, merely catalogued by passing probes. Wildlife was sparse, plants even moreso. The entire world was a cold ball of dust and rock. The perfect place for pirates to hide - and perhaps even make their base.

 

Sadly, however, the Red Templars strike force; that pursued the pirates after their raid on the refuelling station at Coladis, had not found a single sign of a base, or their quarry - traitor Astartes. Encounters had been brief, fire exchanged, but always the enemy retreated, disappearing into the ugly landscape. The Red Templars commander, Captain Garvin, had deployed the entire strike force in a scouring of the planet, searching for the hole the renegades had crawled into.

 

Brother Sion of the Second Tactical squad was reflecting on these facts as he and his brothers picked their way through the bottom of a deep ravine, light was low, despite noon having only passed minutes before, and dust whipped around their mighty armoured forms. Even with their helmets' auto-senses, conditions were not ideal for a hunt such as the one they were currently on. Around their feet the ground was littered with jagged rock fragments and mounds of dust. It was a truly dull and miserable scene, and secretly Sion lamented his role in the mission. For three days he and his squad had trawled through a maze of criss-crossing canyons, day-and-night, while above landspeeders and scouts swept across the broken landscape.

 

No ships had left the planet, but no sign of the pirates had been found in two days, and the most recent sighting was but a glimpse lasting a mere moment before the servo-skull observer was destroyed. Sion was an Astartes - a super-warrior. He was designed and trained for lightning strikes, not hopeless manhunts. With their strike force numbering barely over a hundred Astartes, they didn't have the manpower to effectively conduct this search. Captain Garvin had requested Imperial Guard reinforcements to help conduct the search and contain the renegades, but the Guard apparently had no ships to spare.

 

Sion looked at his two comrades on the search team, Brother Dillan, and Brother Myquel. He wondered if they too were contemplating the futile idiocy of their situation. Attempting to perform a service to the Imperium and working in a role they were never intended to operate in - and the Imperium could spare no aid in return. Typical of the bureaucracy and inefficiency of the Imperium, Sion thought; having seen many such failures to act in the past, and their often-catastrophic results.

 

Sion's inner grumblings were interrupted by the crackle of a vox transmission, the voice loud and clear, but untinted by anger or distress, despite the dire news he had to report:

 

"This is Captain Garvin to all units. Enemy engagement at landing-zone, proceed with counter-attack pattern Epsilon."

[Nemesor]

Not long after this message, the roar of gunfire could be heard from high above on the plateau where the strike force had set down their transports. Sion looked to Dillan and Miquel in turn, both of whom nodded to him. He returned the gesture, and they all slung their bolters over their shoulders - freeing their hands to begin the climb out of the ravine. For normal men the task would be impossible to all but the most accomplished climbers. For the Red Templars, however, it was simply an exercise in patience. They had climbed far more dangerous verticals than these during their tenure as members of the Tenth Company. Their superhuman strength, bolstered by the mechanisms of their mighty power armour, gave them speed and grip that most could not muster in such a climb. In the space of a short few minutes they had ascended the almost eighty meters to the top of the ravine. Emerging on the surface, they readied their boltguns again, and set off at a thunderous pace towards the landing site.

 

Their route was as direct as the harsh terrain would allow, bounding over crags and rents in the dust-caked ground, going around only the steepest of inclines. In the distance Sion could see other patrols pounding across the landscape with just as much purpose. After weeks of mostly-fruitless searching, the Astartes were called into action. At last, they would face their treacherous foe in combat. Their true calling was drawing them in.

 

The plateau had been fitted with prefab ramps by Techmarine Lyson and his servitors, to make moving in and out of the landing zone more practical for the space marine forces. Sadly this also meant the traitor Astartes could reach the site without difficulty. Sion's squad slowed down as they reached the bottom of the ramp, waiting for two other patrol groups to reach them. Sion nodded to them as they slowed to a halt. One of their number was Brother-Sergeant Tiloch - his armour instantly recognisable for his crackling power axe and the distinctive Mk. V helmet he wore that was conspicuously free of bonding studs - betraying its restoration in recent centuries. They were now nine in total, and Brother Ghurn was armed with a meltagun. It was enough to make a move onto the plateau viable. Sergeant Tiloch stepped to the front and his voice crackled in on the vox.

 

"With me, move softly." His voice was calm, betraying no hint of emotion - only communicating his instructions. Sion and the others dropped into a low stance, steadily making their way up the ramp. Tiloch signalled to halt, and crept over thevery edge of the ramp, to observe what was happening beyond. Gun fire and the sound of metal on metal were ripping through the air now, Sion was anxious to rise from their concealment and enter the fray. He turned to look at his battle-brothers. Some of them were likewise looking around, hunched and readied to rise at a moment's notice. The moment of tension was pierced by a mighty roar, distorted and metallic as it emerged from the grille of his helmet. Tilochus had leapt to his feet, signalling his squad to follow him into the area. As one, their voices bellowed a battle-cry that had signaled doom to the foes of mankind for over ten thousand years.

 

"FOR THE EMPEROR!"