The Poriphon War

[Harlan Skorus]

Thank you for noticing! It was a (perhaps clumsy) attempt to try and convey that the fights in question were not halting chess matches, but more like one fluid and continuous moment. I didn't want to use the classical 'action = short sentences' thing because I thought it would come across as too stuttering, but maybe what I tried to implement wasn't as clever as I thought. Live and learn!

 

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169.993.M41: Colonel Sammander Garlon; Fort Carancus, Heral, Poriphon System.

 

The incessant rain hadn't stopped in weeks. They'd fallen back, one step at a time, to the summit of the highest hill on the damn planet, and they'd still bloody drown before the damned Scrits got to them at this rate. The water dripped into his eyes, crawled down his face. Damn this world, Garlon thought. Damn it to hell. I'll die here, the same planet where I was born years ago, and I'll be lost to the bloody rain and the bloody aliens.

 

They'd lost too many soldiers in the retreat from the second line, he knew. The collapse of the eastern line left the others exposed, and their defences had been undone, the Scrits chasing down those fleeing as they struggled up the hill to the Fort. The Knights Vindicant's counter-attack was the only reason they still had enough bodies to mount an offence, the Space Marines charging into the advancing horde, but even that had come at a heavy price. You'd think they were invincible at a glance, striding down the hill like gods to cut a bloody wedge into the horde. But even the Astartes could be killed, many of them falling beneath the wave of onrushing Scrits beside the men and women of his regiment. He didn't know exactly how many had died between the stalling actions and the heroic counter-attack, but at a guess there must have only been a hundred left in the Fort. And that was before the attacks of the last week.

 

As he walked the walls of Fort Carancus, Garlon stopped to talk with the weary, the wounded. Emperor above, the wounded. They'd poured in, more of those that made it back to the Fort carrying injuries than not. The medical bay had filled almost instantly, and the mess hall too once it had been re-purposed. Many of the wounded men and women now sat outside, leaning against the walls, barricades, the few vehicles that they'd saved, shivering and crying in the rain. He passed the gunner woman and was met with a blank stare and a bandaged ankle. A limp salute an monotone answer confirmed what he'd already learned from the others. They're already dead. The bastards are giving up.

 

Trent dogged his footsteps, the two of them stomping through the puddles gathering on the parade grounds. At least his blank stare was nothing new, the last thing left to be touched by the enemy that assailed them. Garlon passed a Leman Russ and it's crew sheltering beside it, unnerved by it's silence. He'd been a soldier for over forty years now and fought on more worlds than he could count, and though he'd seen the pale stares and pained expressions before, he'd always been able to draw on the rumble of tanks to comfort him. It was what they were, the warp-damned Heralic Mechanised Legion. What was a mechanised legion with no mechanics and no legion? He kicked a rock in frustration. They were Heralic, Scrits be damned.

 

As they approached the far end of the parade ground, Garlon eyed the Astartes through the static of the raindrops. They looked somehow more solemn than before, great statues standing in a silent vigil. Captain Baeloc stood issuing orders to the squad, sending them away with a nod as Garlon drew near. He was wearing his helmet now, golden plates and green laurel, eyes like chips of ice. The Captain had distributed what forces he had throughout the fort, making sure they were visible to the guardsmen. Garlon was thankful for it, and what little morale it held through the combined regiments that had squeezed into the fort.

 

“Captain Baeloc. How are your men?”

 

“MY BROTHERS ARE READY TO DIE IN SERVICE TO THE EMPEROR, COLONEL. AS ALWAYS.” Garlon could almost laugh at the bluntness of it.

 

“Your losses...”

 

“HEAVY, COLONEL.” The Captain saved him the effort of finding a diplomatic way to put it. "EIGHTY-FOUR OF MY BROTHERS YET STAND. BROTHER-CAPTAIN JARAXES IS AMONG THE FALLEN."

 

“I'm sorry to hear that... he was a good commander.” Garlon hoped the plaudit didn't sound too hollow. He'd seen enough of Jaraxes to know he had been a terrifying warrior; but the more volatile Captain had been a nightmare to work alongside, arrogant and overbearing. What he wouldn't give for a few more like Jaraxes right now.

 

"HE WAS, AND A POWERFUL WARRIOR. HE DIED WITH A PRAYER ON HIS LIPS AND A XENOS THROAT CRUSHED IN HIS HAND, I AM SURE. MIGHT ALL OUR DEATHS BE AS WORTHY. BUT ENOUGH COLONEL. I HAVE A QUESTION, IF I MAY."

 

“By all means, Captain.”

 

Baeloc looked over to the landing pads, where the shuttles Garlon had confiscated before the Tyranid's arrival sat, waiting. "YOU AND YOUR MEN HAVE A MEANS OF ESCAPE, COLONEL. YOU WOULD NOT MAKE IT PAST THE BIO-SHIPS IN ORBIT, BUT YOUR MEN WOULD NOT KNOW THAT. YET NONE OF THEM HAVE TRIED TO FLEE. I HAVE SEEN MEN DEFY THE COMMISSARIAT BEFORE IN MOMENTS OF FEAR. WHY NOT NOW, IN THE FACE OF CERTAIN DEATH?"

 

Garlon allowed himself a smirk as he followed the Captain's gaze over to the shuttles. “I told them the shuttles were out of fuel.” He left out that it had been High Commissar Bernart's idea.

 

"AND ARE THEY?"

 

“Yes. Well, mostly. Went to the tanks. I kept about enough back to carry what's left of the regiments off-world, but like you said, we're stuck here now.”

 

"AND NONE OF YOUR SOLDIERS THOUGHT TO EVEN TRY? YOU DID NOT THINK TO TRY?"

 

“A few did try. High Commissar Bernart saw to them personally. For the most part, those that were fresh recruits don't know any better than to question their superiors. The veterans I brought with me when I was given the command, well, they know better than to go against me.” He looked back across the parade ground at the ragtag group of soldiers that had once made up four separate regiments. Seven or eight hundred souls trapped in their tiny corner of the planet, the last of the three hundred and fifty billion that had once inhabited the planet. “Like you said when you arrived here, Captain Baeloc. The Hive Fleet needed to be stopped. Couldn't have the poor bastards upping and leaving on me, now. It'd be unfair to do the same to them.”

 

"YOUR SOLDIERS WILL FOLLOW YOU TO THE DEATH, COLONEL."

 

“They would. They will.”

 

"YOU ARE AS TRUE A SERVANT OF THE EMPEROR AS A GUARDSMAN CAN BE, COLONEL."

 

Garlon was taken aback by the uncharacteristic compliment, if slightly backhanded, and let the silence hang over them for a few moments. It was interrupted by the sound of explosions and gunfire, panicked shouts filling the air. The fort's garrison looked to one another, and sprinted for the walls. Garlon swore. Baeloc was already moving. "WITH ME, COLONEL! WE WILL PURGE THE XENOS TOGETHER." Garlon had to jog to keep up with the Captain's long gait, screaming orders at his men as he went. He heard Baeloc talking, issuing orders to Captain Thylis over his vox unit.

 

As they reached the stairs at the wall, Baeloc broke into a run, bounding up the stairs. There was no way Garlon could keep up with that, but he tried. The Captain was already walking among the defenders as he and Trent reached the top of the wall, bolt pistol in hand, red arcs leaping from his power sword. Garlon reached for his storm bolter, slung behind his back, and looked over the parapet. The Scrits were throwing themselves at the fort again, charging into the defender's fire. Garlon's stomach sank as he saw how many there were. Even with the fort's automated defences, they didn't have enough men left.

 

They were at the base of the wall now, scrabbling at the parapet, climbing over the corpses of the dead to throw themselves at the defenders. Garlon drew his long knife from it's sheath, flicking a switch and hearing the energy fields hum into life. He stabbed down as the first head appeared, driving the knife through the Scrit's skull to kill it instantly. Twisting and wrenching, he pulled his blade free as a second appeared. All along the wall now, men were wrestling with the aliens, stabbing at them with knives, bayonets, whatever else came to hand. A trio of Space Marines, positioned in a nearby tower, provided covering fire with heavy bolters, roaring defiance. Inch by inch, the defenders pushed the Scrits back, regaining their firing positions at the wall.

 

Garlon was already gone, moving on to the next section of the wall. A Scrit reached the top of the wall, leaping at him; it was thrown to the floor, half it's body burnt away, steam rising from the nozzle of Trent's meltagun. Garlon charged onwards into the fray, stabbing and shooting, yelling encouragement and insults in equal measure. His blood was up now. Troops began to rally around him, given new vigour with every curse, every kill. Charging forward, they cleared the western walls, throwing the Scrits back.

 

The deafening roar made him flinch. Time seemed to slow as Garlon looked around, spotting the knot of men and aliens at the front gate. The biggest Scrit he'd seen was standing amongst the wreckage of the gate. It's head alone was as big as he was, the creature itself nothing but twenty feet of claws and talons, surrounded by a retinue of other large beasts. Smaller creatures weaved between them, men backing away as they cut through the defenders. Commissar Bernart was trying to rally the men there, hacking about him with his chainsword, but they were outnumbered and outfought.

 

“HERAL AND THE EMPEROR!” was the cry as Garlon charged across the courtyard, Trent and a handful of screaming infantry at his back. Lasguns cracked, the larger creatures shrugging it off while the smaller ones melted away, and then the two lines collided.

[Harlan Skorus]

Loud action moment/quiet drama moment! This is the first of the bits I never got around to writing, so this was all done in the last few days (as opposed to all of the previous bits, which were all just edits of previously written stuff). As such it might be a bit rough.

 

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175.993.M41: Corporal Zeke Favre; Unbowed, System Fringe, Poriphon System.

 

The ship creaked and moaned as Favre leaned back against the bulkhead, the cool metal soothing his skin. The air around him was hot and stuffy, lots of bodies packed into cramped spaces. He'd never been on a ship before. He'd never been off planet before. It reminded him of home, a lot. Jarl would have liked it.

 

The cargo bay was currently home to around five hundred men and women, Favre knew. It seemed like more, all their shouts echoing in the still air, cramped together between piles of equipment and the few vehicles that had been recovered from the fort. He wished they'd stop with all the shouting. Some were trying to sleep, but even most of those still ended up screaming. He closed his eyes, hoping that his head was as tired as his body felt. It wasn't, but he was tired of counting the various groups dotted around the cavernous space, so he kept his eyes shut, and tried not to think about every shot he'd made in the last few months.

 

A soft kick drew him from his reverie, causing Favre to open his eyes. He peered up at Sergeant Mavonel, a shadow against the pale light of the bay. Mavonel looked down at him, before slouching to a seat by Favre's side. There were dark lines across Mavonel's face, his shoulders not as broad as they used to be, his face less round. They sat in silence for a few seconds, drinking in the uneasy ambience of the room.

 

“You're thinner than you used to be, Sergeant Mavonel.”

 

“Thanks, Fav. Great to see you too.”

 

Mavonel laughed, but it didn't sound like a happy laugh. No-one around them seemed happy, with lots of the shouts and cries sounding frantic. The wrong type of excitement. It all sounded tense, like they'd spend three days in space and not realised yet that they were out of the war. No-one had made any noise for the first day, until the boredom set in. Everyone got noisy when they got bored.

 

Favre was happy to be bored. It meant they were alive, at least. They had lived, they had fought and survived. It seemed like they wouldn't for the longest time, when Favre had sat on the top of the gatehouse sniping the big Scrits. There were thousands of them, stretching into the distance until he couldn't see the end of them, an angry sea of crimson and lilac. But without warning the skies had come alight, and the spaceships had come to rescue them, and they had survived.

 

“How old are you, Fav?”

 

“Sixteen, Sergeant Mavonel.”

 

Mavonel blew air out through pursed lips. “Sixteen. Bloody sixteen.” More air, like he was trying to put out candles. “You don't need to keep calling me Sergeant, y'know.”

 

“But you are a Sergeant.”

 

Mavonel winced.

 

“How's Rax, Sergeant Mavonel?”

 

Mavonel could only stare straight ahead, to the makeshift bed where Marric stood over Rax, head bowed. Bloody bandages covered the wounded guardsman, his chest rising and sinking so softly, barely visible. Marric had been crying, Favre knew. He'd seen it, not that it would have mattered if he hadn't. The gleaming eyes and puffy red cheeks would have given it away.

 

“I'm sorry about Rax, Sergeant.”

 

Mavonel shuddered, then clapped a big hand on Favre's shoulder, making him jump. The surprise felt familiar.

 

“You ain't the one that killed him, Fav. No need to be sorry.”

 

No, thought Favre. I didn't kill him.

 

In the near distance the shouting grew louder, more intense. Favre watched in sullen silence as a crowd came together over by the battered cockpit of what might have been a Sentinel. Everyone was standing up and craning their necks to catch a glimpse of what was going on, so all Favre could see was the crowd, but he could hear some yelling encouragement to the two fighting, and more yelling to get them to stop. In the middle of all the commotion, none of the other survivors noticed Rax shudder and die. As Marric wandered off with a blank look to his face, Favre stood and pulled a blanket over Rax's body, before returning to sit by a glassy eyed Mavonel.

 

The brawl finished as quickly as it had started, the noise dying down and the crowds dispersing again as they lost interest. Someone was being pulled away, his face below his nose a bright red. Hadn't they had enough of fighting yet? Weren't they all tired? Next to Favre, Mavonel gave a loud sigh, shoulders slumping.

 

“Three of us left, Fav.” There was a cruel edge to his voice. “I was a scavvin' butcher. A butcher. Rax was a building labourer. You and Jarl, Emperor, just bloody kids.” Mavonel's voice was rising, eclipsing the dull thrum of the engines. “No bastard's gonna be left to take back our damn planet at this damn scavvin'-”

 

Sergeant Mavonel was on his feet, hurling an ammo crate at the wall before stomping off, his face almost as red as Marric's. Favre waited for the last of the loose rounds to tinkle to their resting places before moving slowly to collect them. Rounds and magazines were arranged neatly back in the crate, meticulously. It took a long time, but Favre didn't want a Commissar to see it. He didn't want to see a Commissar ever again.

[Teetengee]

The line

 

He peered up at Mavonel, the Sergeant...

Reads a little strange. I think it might need a comma after sergeant.

Good stuff though.

[Harlan Skorus]

But I'd have to argue it makes more sense the way it is! It currently reads (to my mind) like "He peered up at Mavonel. The sergeant was a shadow..." except less clumsily. To add an extra comma wouldn't stop it from making sense, but it would disrupt the sentence from it's flow. I think.

[Teetengee]

Ah, because when I see the comma immediately following a name I think it is going to be a classification. Would "he peered up at Sergeant Mavonel, a shadow..." work?

[Harlan Skorus]

Y'know, it absolutely would! Edited in. Thanks!

 

Here's a reward (because I need to write the next part as well and that might take some) - the original stuff that I cut from the end of part 8 (Garlon at the fall of Fort Carancus). I cut it in the end partly because I thought it dragged in on too much, and partly because I just didn't like it, but hey. I have also gone and edited the first post to include links I forgot.

 

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INTERLUDE 3: Showdown in Fort Carancus.

 

“HERAL AND THE EMPEROR!” was the cry as Garlon charged across the courtyard, Trent and a handful of screaming infantry at his back. Lasguns cracked, the larger creatures shrugging it off while the smaller ones melted away. The two lines collided, and Garlon's surroundings turned to the chaos of men fighting, killing and dying.

 

Garlon fought his way through to Bernart, the two veterans standing side by side for a moment, chainsword hacking and knife flicking out at anything that came near. Trent joined them, meltagun blazing, and for a moment it looked like they might force the Scrits back; another moment gone, and the Hive Tyrant leapt into the fray, cutting a bloody swathe through the defenders. Screeches and screams filled his ears as the Tyrant's retinue followed the beat into the fight - now they were hard pressed to prevent being surrounded, the guardsmen not able to stand before the ferocity and strength of the larger creatures.

 

The fighting grew more desperate and savage with every cut. Garlon rushed one of the larger beasts, ducking it's claws, digging his blade deep into it's abdomen. Bernart rushed it from the side, chainsword revving as he swung it at the thing's head, nearly taking it clean off. Garlon turned to face another, but before he could even raise his dagger it was cut down in a hail of bolter fire, a ripple of explosions tearing the Scrits apart. Garlon saw Baeloc and Thylis lead a group of the Astartes directly into the middle of the melee, and his men saw as well. They were too focused to even raise a cheer, but the renewal of violence was sign enough of effect the Space Marines had on the men around them.

 

The press was on him, and Garlon was carried away from his men by the chaotic mess. He turned in time to see the Hive Tyrant lashing out at Bernart, taking one of his arms off as if it were cutting paper. Bernart collapsed, dropping in a crumpled heap. Garlon squeezed off a pair of shots from a bolt pistol he didn't remember picking up, the shells exploding against the alien. It didn't even recoil; just looked at him, like he was some kind of petulant child. And with a scream, it advanced on him.

 

Garlon felt himself backing away, but the beast covered the ground between them in long strides. He raised his knife like a ward as Captain Thylis rushed it from the side, slamming a crackling power fist into it's leg and causing it to stumble as other Space Marines rushed to engage the other creatures surrounding it. He gritted his teeth and moved forward again, but was cut off by one of the other large Scrits; before his could even attempt a blow a crack signalled the discharge of a sniper-las, the thing collapsing with a neat hole spilling purple ichor from it's head. Baeloc was there too now, cutting left and right with his sword, guardsmen forcing their way forward in his wake. “The Hive Tyrant, Brothers! We must destroy it! For the Emperor!”

 

Thylis was suspended in the air now, blood leaking from his shattered breastplate, the talons having punched through and out the back of his armour. Still, the Captain raised a plasma pistol, bolts of searing blue light burning into the beast's face. It roared, throwing the Captain aside, the bulky Captain flying over Garlon's head to lie behind him with a thud.

 

Garlon ran forward as Baeloc danced through the flurry of blows launched by the Hive Tyrant. A Marine hammered a chainaxe into the head of the alien between Garlon and his prize, and he dived to the floor by the guardsman's body, fumbling at the dead man's belt. The melta bomb came away in his hand as the shadow fell over him. He looked up, straight into the leering face of the Hive Tyrant. Try as he might to stand, Garlon's legs failed to respond, and he crouched there in front of the beast, unable to move. It leaned back, one of it's arms raising a bloody claw above him.

 

The shriek made him clutch at his ears as it fell back, it's face bubbling. Peering up, vision blurry, he could just about make out Trent supporting High Commissar Bernant, who stood holding Trent's meltagun in his one remaining hand, deathly pale, back straight. That tough old son of a bitch just wouldn't quit. But the Hive Tyrant wasn't done, raising itself unsteadily, face a bubbling mess. It stomped past Garlon, suddenly forgotten, towards Bernart and Trent. Sammander Garlon looked up, and smiled.

[Harlan Skorus]

In this edition, I discover that speech-writing is hard.

 

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175.993.M41: Gunnery Private Elisa Cassidy; Unbowed, System Fringe, Poriphon System.

 

Cassidy sat alone of the scarred and pitted hull of a Chimera. It was the only way to get a little bit of space to herself in the cramped bay, full of those who had survived the months of fighting. It seemed so busy, but even the few hundred of them that had survived... so many were missing. Thousands. Looking around the hall, she didn't recognise any of the others by name. She'd never seen any of the survivors of the squad on the second line since the retreat. Her tank crew had vanished as well, and the others in her battery. Cassidy sat alone, a silent observer, lost in thought.

 

All around her were groups of soldiers, all carrying the marks of war. Her own ankle still throbbed, swollen and sore. She hadn't been able to stand for the final few days at Fort Carancus, having to prop herself up on an empty munitions crate to fire over the wall. Cassidy remembered the elation as the Thunderhawks had returned, cannons blazing and booming. She remembered the panic as the survivors tried to retreat to the shuttle, the terror as she though she was being left behind, unable to stand and crawling towards the last of the shuttles. She remembered crying with relief as a bearded man had ducked out of the second to last vessel, hauling her onto the ship moments before the last of them retreated. She'd been too overcome with everything to even find out.

 

The retreat for Heral had a comforting kind of boredom to it. The hundreds of survivors, wounded and ready alike had been corralled into one shuttle bay of the Unbowed. The bay was vast, but between the hundreds of Heralic guardsmen and the scores of battered vehicles that had been recovered, the space had soon filled. Commissars now stalked their way through the muted clusters of guardsmen, on edge after scuffles that had broken out earlier in the day. Even they seemed tired, fires dimmed a little by the recent events.

 

Dammit, Lian. She could have done with some cheap Mayr right now. Her eyes stung from the thought of it.

 

Her mind strayed to the Unbowed. The cruiser had been in the fight as long as they had, had fought in the skies over Heral to give refugees time to escape as the first of the Scrit fleet reached the planet. Her sister ship, the Imperatous, had fallen early in the conflict. Some of the Heralic had been trading tales of minor heroism with the armsmen that watched over them, remembering fallen friends. The Unbowed had taken it's own beatings, lost enough of it's own crew. But it had come back, when by all rights it should have retreated to a shipyard for repairs. One navy ship, one Astartes Strike Cruiser. All that had saved them from an inevitable destruction.

 

A commotion by one of the entrances joining the bay to the venerable ship drew her attention. A hum of excitement filled the air, a few ragged cheers breaking out as a grey-haired figure and his retinue made his way slowly through the crowd. The bulky Colonel strode through the cloud, a steely shadow on his jaw, hauling himself onto the central tank of the row against the far wall as curious soldiers crowded around it's base. Within a few moments a few of his aides had also clambered up, the regimental banner of the 212^th hanging behind him in the still air, those of the other three regiments represented dipped beneath it. Cassidy waited on her perch as a quiet expectancy slowly drew over the crowd.

 

“Men and women of the Heralic Mechanised. What the hell can I say? We made it, although many didn't. They died in service to a higher cause, gave their lives by the hundreds so that millions could escape. It's a bitter pill, I know. I've been there before. But we will push on, and we have all their names on our lips as we fight back. But first, we need to step back, regroup, rearm and reorganise. It isn't pretty.” Garlon stopped cleared his throat, and Cassidy got the distinct impression that the veteran soldier wasn't comfortable with what he was doing.

 

“With our rates of attrition being as they are, I have come to the decision to fold the 70^th, 111^th and 203^rd into the 212^th Armoured Infantry. If you haven't already, you'll be receiving your new assignments and units within the next few days.” The announcement was greeted with an empty silence. Slowly, mutterings started creeping into the assembly, but Garlon silenced them with a wave of his hand.

 

“Not an easy choice. You've all got your own ways, I get it. But we need to make one more sacrifice before we can get back in the fight, and that's just how it is.” The mutters had faded away, replaced with sullen looks. “Now, I do happen to have some damn good news to go with it. We just got word from Lord-Admiral Rathenburg of the Gloriosa Maximus. Battlefleet Barus will be in system by this time tomorrow, with enough ships and men to end this fight once and for all.” And just like that, the miserable looks had faded away, as those around Cassidy looked at each other with disbelieving eyes. Reinforcements? Here? They could not just survive, but they could win? Some started cheering, some stared clapping each other on the back with congratulatory grins. It was like they'd completely missed the part where they'd lost thousands of their friends and fellows.

 

It took some time, but eventually order was restored, and Garlon continued. “When I first looked at you lot, I saw a bunch of untrained idiots. What the hell did I know, huh? You're more than men and women now.. You're soldiers. Heroes, I'll say. If those Scrits could talk, they'd curse your damned names in stories to scare their scav-ugly kids into a scav-ugly sleep. Of course, I don't plan to give them that pleasure. It's our planet they have, our home. We've come far, lost more than we can count, but we've got one more fight to go before you can get the rest you deserve. We've got a fleet at our backs now. We've got thousands more bodies, thousands more guns. We've got belief, dammit. We took on the worst they could throw at us, and Emperor-hold-me-back we're gonna go straight back for more! We've got a warp-damned scav-load more to fight for than them! They've got our home, and they're about to find out just how that makes the two-one-two feel! Are you with me? Are you mean bastards with me?”

[deathspectersgt7]

Hip Hip Hor- what? What do you mean we are going back?

[Teetengee]

Good stuff

Also, some proofreading:

Second paragraph, last two sentences, first you say "out the the" when it probably should be "out of the." Then "find out." ....? find out who he was?

4th large paragraph: "Some of the Heralic had been," doesn't need the comma.

Last paragraph: "eventually ordered was restored" should probably be "eventually order was restored."

[Harlan Skorus]

Well... sorta!

 

(And thanks Tentengee! I will edit them in.)

 

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178.993.M41: Colonel Sammander Garlon; Gloriosa Maximus, System Fringe, Poriphon System.

 

The shuttle glided to a halt, setting itself down snugly between two Fury Interceptors. Garlon sat in silence, opposite the brooding figure of High Commissar Bernart, one dark sleeve hanging empty at his side. Trent, bored as ever, sat next to him with his meltagun resting across his lap. Garlon had told him it was unnecessary, but Trent had just shrugged absent-mindedly. They were on the flagship of Battlefleet Barus, the Emperor-class Gloriosa Maximus. It was unlikely that they'd need to try and cut their way through the hull. Still, Trent and his gun carried some undefinable reassurance after the months they'd had.

 

As they stepped off the ship, they were greeted by a row of petty officers, saluting and looking smart in their dress uniforms. Garlon suddenly became very aware that he'd not changed out of the soiled fatigues he'd been wearing all through the fighting on Heral. Pah. Not like he was here to impress the damn Navy. Garlon returned the salute to the officers as one of the pretty boys stepped forward. “Flag-Lieutenant Harker, second-in-command to Lord Admiral Rathenburg. The Lord Admiral wishes me to extent his warmest welcome to you, Colonel Garlon, and invites you to join him at your earliest convenience.”

 

These men certainly didn't look like they'd just fought off a Hive Fleet. “Thank you, Flag-Lieutenant. I'll not keep the Lord Admiral waiting. Lead the way.”

 

Garlon strode past the crew of the ship, following Harker with Bernart on his right and Trent on his left, the petty officers falling in behind them. They left the shuttle bay and made their way through the labyrinth corridors of the ship for what seemed like miles; past whispering Machine Priests, faces hidden in the shadows of their robes; past patrols of Armsmen, armoured in uniform black and toting heavy shotguns; past various midshipmen and ensigns, hurrying about with dataslates and stern faces. The ship was busy. It felt alive. The air was hot and humid, steam coming off piping and through grills.

 

The Gloriosa Maximus seemed to empty as they climbed towards the bridge. The lower decks seemed more like the vast Hives of Heral that Sammander had grown up in, dark and dirty, teeming with life. Cheap and grim. The higher decks were cleaner, sterile; none of the thousands of basic crew manning the ship were allowed here. The hum of the engines was subdued, to match the murmured conversations of the ship's high and mighty. Garlon suddenly became aware of the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Like I'm a fresh-faced boy soldier again, about to charge into bolter fire.

 

When Bernart and he were finally ushered through a door into a dark square room, his sense of unease was given a face. Three men sat around the side of a circular table, leaving the chair closest to him empty. One of them he recognised; the hulking figure of Indrus Baeloc, his massive helmet placed on the table before him. From the smart dress on the man on the left, and the numerous naval officers that huddled behind him, Garlon presumed he was the Admiral of the Battlefleet. But it was the man straight ahead, the one in the black power armour, who looked at him with a humourless smile on his face. The symbol of the Inquisition hung across his chest, servo skulls bobbing in the air around his head. Another one stood in the shadows at the back of the room, her pretty features stern and humourless.

 

Baeloc looked up. “Colonel Garlon. It is good to see you again.” Garlon nodded a reply as he sat in the empty chair across from the Inquisitor, Baeloc motioning to the other two men sat at the table. “Lord Admiral Rathenburg, of Battlefleet Barus.” Rathenburg waved a hand in greeting. “And Inquisitor Konstanze Allarez, of the Ordo Xenos.” The strange man still followed Garlon with his eyes. Garlon stared back, wary.

 

When Allarez finally spoke, it was in a quiet voice, flat and emotionless. “Brother-Captain Baeloc tells me your regiment fought admirably on Heral, Colonel Garlon. He tells me he has fought alongside no finer guardsmen in all his years of service. High praise indeed, from a member of the Astartes, no less.”

 

The room lapsed back into silence for a moment before Garlon responded. “Brother-Captain Baeloc does me and my regiment a great honour, Inquisitor. We'd be Scrit-feed by now if it weren't for him and his Marines.”

 

“And yet, you are not.”

 

“Some of us, at least.”

 

“Some of you.”

 

Lord Admiral Rathenburg cleared his throat to interrupt. “Colonel Garlon, without you and your men my fleets would have arrived too late. You saved the sector. The Imperium owes you a debt.”

 

“All respect to you and your fleet Lord Admiral, I'm not sure I'd call it saved quite yet. There's a warp-storm's worth of those things still down there to give the boot to first - and that's if they haven't reached any of the other planets yet.”

 

Allarez leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms across his chest, still smiling that Emperor-damned smile of his. “Oh, have you not heard, Colonel? Hive Fleet Vritra is ruined, make no mistake, but the Tyranids do not disappear so easy. Brothers of the Knights Vindicant still hold on Talacra against a Tyranid host. Furthermore, there are reports of Tyranid activity on Ymirica. Likely some stragglers, mindlessly fleeing after our victory here at Heral. You and your remaining men will head there next, along with Brother-Captain Baeloc and myself, to eradicate this threat before it flourishes anew.”

 

Garlon looked at Baeloc. “What about your brothers on Talacra, Captain?”

 

Baeloc shrugged. “If the reports we have are true, the planet is already overrun. We can still save Ymirica, cut the head from the snake before it grows two more. My brothers walk in the Emperor's light and fight with Guilliman's blessing. They can wait.”

 

“Very well. Then what of Heral?”

 

“Heral is lost, Colonel Garlon.” It was the Inquisitor again. “You have what, three hundred men? Four hundred, maybe five hundred fit for battle? Brother-Captain Baeloc has seventy-two. Would that we had Lord Commander Macharius and all his men – but we do not. Even with every soul aboard the ships of Battlefleet Barus, we have but a bare handful against the dark might of the Tyranids. No, our best chance to ruin this menace once and for all is with the one advantage remaining to us. Lord Admiral Rathenburg and Brother-Captain Baeloc are in agreement with me. I have declared Heral subject to Exterminatus Extremis. The Lord Admiral's ships move into position as we speak.”

 

Rathenburg at least had the humanity left to look apologetic. “I am sorry, Colonel. It was your home, but it is lost. Better not to waste any more of your men there.”

 

“Hardly a waste, Lord Admiral. My men saved the sector, you said so yourself. They did not die in vain. They did not die to protect their home world only to have it blown apart, by our own damn side!” Garlon rounded on Baeloc. “And you, Captain, you said to me months ago that Heral could not fall. What happened to that?”

 

Baeloc stood. Garlon became suddenly aware of how big the Space Marines was. “I said that we could now allow Heral to fall – because we had to halt the advance there. We halted it, Colonel. Heral served it's purpose.”

 

Of all the people to speak up for Garlon, it was High Commissar Bernart. “By the Emperor's divine mandate I am the first to judge Colonel Garlon should I think he does his uniform a disservice, but he is right in this. You cannot call this a victory should you sacrifice the most valuable world – the only valuable world – in the sector. The Tyranid fleet is destroyed. Those left on the planet will be stranded, will starve. We can reclaim the planet without losing a single soul.” Thanks be to the Emperor, though Garlon. The bloody Inquisitor is no longer looking at me. He couldn't ever remember being more grateful of the tough old Commissar.”

 

“I am striking a blow against our most insidious enemy, High Commissar.”

 

“You are striking a blow that does not need to be struck, Inquisitor, and you strike us just as hard in the process!” Bernart slammed his one remaining hand down on the table for emphasis, his empty sleeve flapping about to the apparent amusement of the Inquisitor. Baeloc gathered his helmet, looking down on all parties in the room.

 

“You have performed exemplary service in these past few weeks, High Commissar. But do not overstep. The Inquisitor has spoken, and he is correct. The world is lost, your homes now house nothing but ghosts and filth. They must be purged. Inquisitor, Lord Admiral, by your leave. I wish to return to my ship, and my brothers.”

 

The Inquisitor dismissed the Captain with a wave of his hand, and Baeloc stomped out the door without a second glance. Garlon also stood. “You seem to have made your mind up, Inquisitor. Why ask me here, if so? You could have simply ordered me to Ymirica and not have bothered with this... play.”

 

“I could have, Colonel Garlon. My request to the Inquisitorial Lords was filed and approved four hours ago. Did you not hear the engines? We are already moving.” The enigmatic man drummed two fingers on the table whilse Garlon glared at him. His eyes sparkled in the dim room. His voice might have been dead, but his eyes... they were enjoying this, Garlon knew. “But I am always interested in the views of my subordinates. It is not your place to question the actions of the Inquisition any more than it is the High Commissar's. You may both leave.”

[deathspectersgt7]

 Just another reason to hate the Inguisition.

[Harlan Skorus]

Because anyone needed more reasons.

+++

243.993.M41: Specialist Zeke Favre; Maro Fields, Ymirica, Poriphon System.

It was humid inside the aircraft, the men inside sweating profusely as they did their best to not be thrown around as it accelerated forward. Favre clutched his sniper-las like some kind of totem. Across from him, Captain Mavonel sat, grim faced, eyes shut. The others sat staring at the ground. Favre didn't know the other men in the Valkyrie. Mavonel and him. Marric was with his squad in one of the other aircraft. That was all that was left of them.

He felt ill. He'd never ridden in a Valkyrie before, and the way they moved made them feel flimsy, nothing like the solid manner of a Chimera. By the look on more than one face, he wasn't the only one. Favre wished they hadn't been in such a rush. He'd much rather be in a Chimera, even though it was cramped and bumpy. He'd much rather be back on Heral, with Jarl and Rax and Arun and the others. But there wasn't a Heral any more. And there wasn't a Jarl, or a Rax, or an Arun.

As the Valkyrie sped over the landscape, he wondered what Ymirica looked like. He'd only ever seen a small area of Heral. Most of the city was as mysterious to him as the world he was now on. Or over. He'd seen some of Ymirica, when they'd first landed on the planet, before they'd all been bundled into the Valkyrie, but it looked odd. There were no buildings, the roads were just lines of dirt, and the grass was everywhere. Green, with a blueish tinge, rather than the dry brown nyeroot that grew between the cracks in the pavements on Heral. You could see the sky, too, and it didn't look like you were viewing it through a glass of dirty water.

The intercom sparked to life, and the men stared at it expectantly. “This is your Captain speaking. We are less than one klik from our destination, ETA one minute minus. We hoped you've had a pleasant journey today with the Imperial Navy, please exit towards the rear of the vehicle and remember to top up your frequent flier miles on the way out.” There was a pause as the rear ramp began to descend, and Favre felt his wind on his face, the ground a blur of turquoise. “And good hunting, gentlemen.”

The Valkyrie hovered a couple of meters from the ground as they jumped out, rolling in the soft grass. Favre climbed unsteadily to his feet, looking around. It was so... empty. The farmhouse was behind them, and a large barn, and a few trees. Lots and lots of grass, and trees, and crops as far as the eyes could see. Where were all the people? There was Favre's squad, with Marric's and Theo's squads arriving in their own Valkyries, but that was it. No city. No people. No scrits.

Captain Mavonel yelled at them to move and they hurried towards the farmhouse. Theo's squad circled around the farmhouse, and Marric's went for the barn. The door to the house was already open, hanging off one hinge. It creaked as the wind blew. The men around him raised their weapons, and Favre did the same. There was blood on the wooden floor.

They moved into the building slowly, weapons held high. Favre was at the back, the long barrel of his sniper-las too clumsy for the tight confines of the building. Favre was halfway up the stairs when the squad stopped. There were scratch marks on the stairs. A burst on gunfire from upstairs brought his attention back to the squad, which started moving again. Oarus stood by a closed door, his face tight, waving them past. “Don't want to look in there, lads. Keep moving.” Ilkinson was bent over next to him, vomiting.

Favre ended up making his way to a spot by a window, pulling the curtains back from the window and prising it open with his knife. The room was large, but mainly empty, a large bed and a small table opposite, flat against the whitewashed walls. The floor was carpeted in ugly purple. Theo was sat on the bed behind him, speaking into a vox caster, his oversized helmet lopsided. It made Favre smile.

Captain Mavonel walked into the room, had a hushed conversation with Theo. Favre was staring out the window, trying not to pay any attention until Mavonel walked up and put one of his great big hands on Favre's shoulder. It was heavy and cold.

“You ready, Fav? They're herdin' the Scrits here at the moment. Could be a quick turnaround.” Mavonel's voice was deep, slow, quiet. He sounded tired, like he always did these days. Favre nodded.

“Good lad. Give us a shout when.” Mavonel removed his hand and Favre heard him retreating from the room. Slowly, he took his greatcoat off, folding it into a pile on the floor, before kneeling on it. It was a bit more comfortable that way. He went to his scope, scanning the fields of crops and grass, watching the stalks bend and bow. Theo had gone quiet in the room behind him, and everything seemed so still. Favre still felt sick.

Luckily, they didn't have to wait long. Favre noticed the approaching Scrits long before he saw them, the long crops giving away their advance. “Scrits, Theo. Scrits.” Theo flew to the windows in a rush of activity, before dashing back to his vox caster and relaying the message in panicked voice. The reply came a moment later. “Strike Force Lancer, weapons free.”

Favre opened fire a spit-second before the others, firing into the field just as the Scrits burst through the crops into the grass pasture beneath him. He could see the Hellhounds behind them, three of them spread out in the field, belching fire, the crops around them going up in smoke. Three Valkyries hovered overhead, hunting any of the Scrits that fled away from the farm. The crossfire was thick and violent.

Five of the smaller ones, quick ones with long bandy legs, bounded forward. Three stumbled and fell, but the last two managed to weather the storm, bounding through to the barn. They disappeared inside, and Theo swore. There was screaming, and a few last lonely gunshots, and silence. No-one was saying anything, Favre realised. The farmhouse had gone as silent as the barn.

Finally, after a long few minutes, three bloody men from Marric's squad stumbled out through the big open doorway to the barn. Favre saw Captain Mavonel running over the grass towards them, four others with him. One of the men collapsed to his knees, and blood slowly stained the turquoise grass a shade of purple. It looked a bit like the Scrit's ichor, Favre thought.

[deathspectersgt7]

Liked the dry Humor of the pilot. 

[Harlan Skorus]

Have another interlude - the first part of the final 'cycle' of the story will be up later tonight, so here's something to chew in the meantime. As with everything else it is currently cut down to pre-war so as to not ruin anything - more will be added in once this is wrapped up.

 

+++

 

INTERLUDE 4: The 212^th Heralic Armoured Infantry Regiment.

 

Homeworld: Heral

Regiment name: 212th Heralic Armoured Infantry

Regimental motto: First in, last out

Specialty: Mechanised warfare

 

The 212th Heralic Armoured Infantry is a combined-arms regiment of the Heralic Mechanised Legion that earned significant note for it's involvement alongside the Knights Vindicant Chapter of Space Marines in the Poriphon War. The regiment, like all others of the Heralic Mechanised Legion, is completely mechanized – every squad has some form of armoured transport, and the regiment has a sizable contingent of tank and artillery support units. The regiment is currently deployed to the Cadian Gate in response to the 13^th Black Crusade of Abaddon the Despoiler.

 

Homeworld.

 

Heral, a former hive world in the Poriphon System, is a planet approximate in size to Holy Terra. The planet's surface is 80% landmass, and every inch of this was covered in a sprawling, planet-wide hive city. As with all Hive planets, crime was rife, and the people of Heral would often seek any means to escape their dire surroundings; Heral's tithe of armed forces was easily filled by volunteers, largely those of poor social and economic status. Despite being a relatively newly-colonised planet in the Eastern Fringe, Heral had produced a large number of regiments due to it's massive population. Recruitment for the 213^rd Heralic Tank Regiment was underway at the time of the Poriphon War, but the regiment was barely-formed by the outbreak of the Poriphon War.

 

After being declared Exterminatus by Inquisitor Allarez of the Ordo Xenos, Heral is now a dead world. The 212^th Heralic have been based on Ymirica since the war, recruiting more soldiers to bring the regiment back up to full strength whilst receiving new shipments of tanks from the Adeptus Mechanicus.
 

History.

 

The 212th was the most recently formed regiment of the Heralic Mechanised Legion at the outset of the Poriphon War. Along with the 70^th, 111^th and 203^rd regiments they were stationed in the Poriphon system in 992.M41; the 212^th had been awaiting their first deployment, whilst the other regiments were there as a result of the constant rotation of Heralic regiments through the system to ensure the safety of their strategically important homeworld. At the time, the regiment was under the command of Colonel Sammander Garlon, a veteran of the 187^th Heralic Armoured Infantry. As with all units from Heral, the regiment was well-equipped with armoured support produced by the hive-factories of their homeworld, and stationed at the largest Spaceport on the planet, Fort Carancus.

 

The regiment distinguished itself in the Siege of Heral, fighting alongside their Knight Vindicant allies throughout the engagement. Colonel Garlon and his men earning the respect of the Knights Vindicant and their Captain, Indrus Baeloc, through their dogged perseverance in the face of overwhelming odds. By the time the extraction force arrived to rescue Captain Baeloc and his men from Hive Fleet Vritra, the combined total of the four Heralic regiments totalled only around three hundred survivors and a few battered tanks. Following the arrival of Battlefleet Barus, the survivors were all folded into the 212^th regiment aboard the Unbridled Fury, a Dictator Class Cruiser. They then had to watch as, despite the vocal protests of Colonel Garlon, their home planet was razed in an Exterminatus.

The regiment fought again on Ymirica before the end of the war, where what was left of the armoured elements in the regiment were put to good use cutting off the largest part of Hive Fleet Vritra's incursion onto the planet before it could threaten the Hives. There were some limited casualties in this fighting, although the Tyranid forces were not substantial enough to cause any real threat; notably, a detachment under the command of Inquisitor Allarez was ambushed and destroyed, Allarez along with it – much to the joy of the 212^th, as Inquisitor Allarez had been the one to order the Exterminatus upon their homeworld. While much of the regiment stayed on Ymirica to secure the planet, a small force of the most elite fighters in the regiment accompanied Captain Baeloc to the Spaceport of Talacra Prime.

 

In the aftermath of the Poriphon War, the regiment remained stationed on Ymirica in order to help make sure the system remained secure, combat any resurgent Tyranid infestations that might crop up, and to rebuild. Factories on the planet were converted to produce tanks and weapons that once would have been constructed on Heral, and the regiment found no lack of willing recruits among the grateful citizens of Ymirica. What they couldn't produce was shipped in, the Imperium wishing to ensure the regiment remains well armed should there be further incursions into the Poriphon system. Colonel Sammander Garlon received a promotion to General; he has since commanded armies against Hive Fleets Medusa and Leviathan, and currently commands forces from the 99^th, 143^rd, 176^th and 177^th Heralic Mechanized Legion fighting against the 13^th Black Crusade. Command of the 212^th was passed to Colonel Vanz Danric, formerly Major of the 111^th Siege Regiment, following their being folded into the 212^th. The regiment remained on Ymirica for just over five years, building back up to a full strength regiment with significant armoured support; recently, it has also been redeployed to the Cadian Gate. The regiment is currently on route, but is expected to link up with General Garlon once it arrives.
 

Equipment.

 

The soldiers of the 212^th Heralic are armed with the Heral-III pattern lascarbine, with it's shortened barrel and collapsible stock allowing for the cramped conditions of the Chimera transports they ride in. Infantry units in the regiment tend to favour grenade launchers and flamers as support weapons, whereas elite units and command regiments often make good use of melta weapons. Heavy weapons teams use a mixture of weaponry, with the main infantry platoons tending to favour autocannons and missile launchers, with some lascannon use. There is a a fairly distinct lack of plasma-based weaponry among the infantry elements, with most of those found within the regiment being incorporated into vehicle armaments.

 

The regimental uniform is slate grey armour over off-white fatigues. Respirators are often worn due to the exhaust fumes from the vehicles, as are greatcoats in the same off-white style as the fatigues. Vehicles are generally painted in urban camouflage schemes, although there is some variation on this now the regiment is based on the significantly less urbanised world of Ymirica.

 

The regiment is noted for having a strong element of armoured support, with it's armoured division numbering well over three hundred tanks, not even counting the Chimera transports. Tanks tend to be based around the easily produced Leman Russ and Chimera chassis, with a strong core of Leman Russ Battle Tanks and Basilisk artillery tanks. Due to the high number of vehicles produced, the regiment sports numbers of the different variations of these standard pattern tanks, boasting a highly adaptable armoured core. To date, the regiment is supported by seven super-heavy tanks: one Banehammer, three Baneblades, and three Stormlords. The Ballista Support Company also fields a large amount of Sentinels that the regiment uses for outriders and reconnaissance.

 

Organisation.

 

The regiment is chiefly formed of ten armoured infantry companies, named for variations of bladed weaponry: Dagger, Broadsword, Rapier, Falchion, Longsword, Machete, Scimitar, Sabre, Claymore, and Cutlass. Each company consists of five platoons of fully mechanized infantry. Platoons are made up of five ten-man squads led by the platoon Lieutenant and his command squad. This puts each company at 280 men, barring vehicle crews and the company Commissar. The companies themselves do not have any support units attributed to them; rather, these units form a series of unique auxiliary companies – Bastard, Lancer, Mangonel, Trebuchet and Ballista Companies.

 

“Bastard” Company comprises entirely of squads of veteran guardsmen, the remnants of those who fought in the Poriphon War; elevated above the common infantry ranks for their service, yet not distinguished enough to be selected for Lancer strike teams, the veterans initially operated as separate, single-squad strike teams. As the Regiment grew and more infantrymen were formed into these special strike squads, the veteran squads formed their own unofficial company structure. In 998.M41, this was finally recognised by Regimental Command who promoted one of the Company's Sergeants, Kal Smitzer, to the rank of Captain. Being halfway between the regular rank-and-file infantry and the elite Lancers, the company's joking title of 'Bastard' Company stuck. Able to be seen as a reference to ancient bastard/hand-and-a-half swords, it was considered in line with the Company call-sign resignations. The Bastards, as they are commonly known, specialise in being the armoured fist of a regiment comprised entirely of armoured fists. Recon teams operate as forward sentries, able to speed ahead of the main regiment to capture key points and fortify them; other squads form assault teams armed for urban-range warfare, and elite fire teams to provide heavy weapons support.

 

Lancer Company is a rare 'in-house' Storm Trooper equivalent, much like the Kasrkin of the Cadian regiments. They are unique in they do not come from a separate regiment like the Storm Troopers, Kasrkin or the Militarum Tempestus Scions. The Lancer Strike Forces are made up entirely of the elite soldiers of the 212^th, riding in a few Valykries and Vendettas that were leant to the regiment during the cleanup operation on Ymirica, and seemed to stay in the regiment's hands afterwards. They are arrive to battle in heavy flak armour, wielding super-charged lasguns referred to as 'Laser Lances'. The are often looked upon with some measure of resentment by the other companies – especially Bastard Company, who refer to Laner Company as being “too good for numbers”, a reference to both Lancer Company's approach of quality over quantity, and also to their call-signs as being the only ones in the regiment not numbers-based. Should the regiment need to capture objectives behind enemy lines or rapidly redeploy firepower to a certain area – both of which have been necessary when fighting the remaining Tyranid infection on Ymirica – it is the Lancers that the regiment will call upon. The company is made up of two strike forces – Strike Force Kestrel, led by Captain Elas, and Strike Force Falcon, led by Captain Mavonel.

 

The Mangonel Tank Company accounts for all of the regiment's close to medium range tank support. Rather than have a few tanks attached to each of the infantry regiments as support units, they function as one unit under Captain Harvel. The company has yet to be deployed in a combat situation all at once, as the situation on Ymirica has never been bad enough since the end of the Poriphon War to warrant it – rather, a small portion of the company is deployed on active patrol at any one time, and is regularly rotated to allow for training, repairs and other duties. This is expected to change once the regiment reaches the Cadian Gate, where the regiment is far more likely to be deployed into a warzone as a single fighting force. Mangonel Company is by far the largest company in the regiment, with the tank crews numbering around a thousand – they are rarely seen outside of their machines, however, and tend to be forgotten.

 

The long range support of the regiment is concentrated in the Trebuchet Artillery Company. Field artillery, siege cannons, and long range missiles all come under the umbrella of Captain Cassidy, who reports directly to Gunnery Officer Theo Harkus in the regimental command. Whenever the other companies are in need of some long range firepower, detachments are sent from Trebuchet Company to provide the very finest in fire support; Captain Cassidy is known for rigorously drilling her tank crews, providing some of the best trained artillery in the sector.

 

Finally, there is the Ballista Support Company. Mainly made up of those units that don't quite fit anywhere else, the company has Sentinel squadrons, anti-air tanks, and Hellhound close support units. Captain Bren tends to divide his Sentinels into two groups; Scout Sentinels are used to perform reconnaissance duties, as their name suggests, whilst the Armoured Sentinels cover the same duty that armoured infantry might in other more conventional regiments; they function as outriders, flanking forces, and rapid response units.

 

Notable Persons.

 

Colonel Danz Vanric

Danz Vanric initially made his name as an officer in the 111^th Siege Regiment. Originally enlisting as a Sergeant in 969.M41, Vanric distinguished himself during the Siege of Novar and the Battle for Karikala, quickly rising through the ranks to become a Major, and second in command of the regiment to Colonel Edison Tarbald at the outbreak of the Poriphon War.

 

Vanric fought through the Siege of Heral, impressing Colonel Garlon of the 212^th with his tactical adaptability and willingness to lead from the front. He fought in the delaying actions immediately following the Tyranid invasion of Heral, and remained on the front lines, personally fighting in the first and second defence lines. Vanric assumed a short-lived command of the regiment following Colonel Tarbald's death at Fort Carancus, although this lasted less than 24 hours as the regiments were merged under the flag of the 212^th whilst the Heralic Mechanised Legion forces recovered aboard the Unbridled Fury. Vanric went on to be instrumental in the containment operation on Ymirica, and when Colonel Garlon was promoted to General, Vanric was his first choice to succeed him as Colonel of the 212^th.

 

Colonel Vanric is often thought of as a taciturn, dour man, but this nature hides a fine tactical understanding and a strong command presence. As a Colonel, Vanric has struggled to adapt to a role that does not place such an emphasis on his presence at the front lines, but has nonetheless proved a capable commander in the ongoing small engagements on Ymirica. Along with the 212^th, he is currently on route to the Eye of Terror, which will prove to be the first true test of his capabilities as a Colonel.

 

High Commissar Rovald Bernart.

High Commissar is one of the emergent legends of the Poriphon War, venerated as a stubborn hero of the 212^th following his actions in the Siege of Heral. Holding the gate to Fort Carancus after it was breached by a Hive Tyrant and it's retinue, Bernart attacked the Hive Tyrant only for it to cut his right arm off. Bernart, the story goes, struggled back to his feet, and holding a meltagun in his one remaining arm, continued to engage the Hive Tyrant, distracting it long enough for the Thunderhawks of the evacuation force to destroy the alien before collapsing from blood loss.

The High Commissar survived due to the quick actions of Apothecarion Carve Sorris aboard the Darian's Fire, a Strike Cruiser of the Knight's Vindicant chapter. Today, he has a bionic right arm, a symbol of the perseverance in the face of impossible odds that has characterised the 212^th.

 

Captain Mikal Elas

Captain Elas was just seventeen years old at the start of the Siege of Heral, a fresh-faced newly made guardsman of the 212^th. He rose to Sergeant, rallying his squad after their original Sergeant was killed during the fall of the first defence line; he later made Lieutenant after the escape from Fort Carancus and the merging of the regiments. Despite his age, he earned the loyalty of the men around him through his good nature, fast temper, and fierce battlefield abilities. He was one of the two men entrusted to lead the Lancer Strike Force of the 212^th alongside Captain Indrus Baeloc as part of the relief force on Talacra.

 

Captain Arim Mavonel

The other Captain of the Lancer Strike Force, Mavonel had been given command of a squad as a Sergeant shortly before the Siege of Heral. Noted for fighting in the delaying actions and leading his squad in a number of successful ambushes throughout the Poriphon War, Mavonel was the only member of his squad to survive the entire conflict, leading to a grim reputation among the troops of the 212^th. Mavonel was one of two men entrusted to lead the Lancer Strike Force to Talacra, losing the last member of his original squad on the ocean planet, officially the final casualty of the war.

 

Captain Eustace Harvel

Harvel is a veteran tank commander, having risen to prominence fighting the cultists on Jarara Prime, as part of the 203^rd Heralic Tank Company attached to the 187^th Heralic Armoured Infantry. The 203^rd having been cycled back to Heral as part of the planet's ever-rotating series of Heralic Mechanised Legion guard regiments, Harvel participated in the Siege of Heral as a Major. He was since demoted to Captain as part of the merging of the regiments, a fact that he holds some bitterness over.

 

Captain Elisa Cassidy

Elisa Cassidy was a Basilisk Gunner at the outset of the Poriphon War, one of the thousands of new recruits within the 212^th Heralic Armoured Infantry. Learning under the old Captain Farris, a friend of the then-Colonel Garlon, she was an exceptional gunner and spotter. Fighting on the lines after the regiment had exhausted it's artillery, and later acting as a Leman Russ Gunnery Officer under Captain Harvel on Ymirica, her posting as Captain of the Trebuchet Artillery Company was Sammander Garlon's last act as Colonel of the 212^th. She is known for her constant, some would say over-zealous, drilling of her tank crews.

 

Regimental Structure.

 

Notes on Call-Signs

 

Colonel Vanric's regimental command has the battlefield call-sign Two-One-Two-Actual. This is in line with the command units of the various Heralic regiment commands. Company command squads substitute their Company title for the Regimental (eg Falchion-Actual).

 

Platoons call-signs are organised by number – Dagger-One, Dagger-Two etc. Squads in platoons are also designated by a second number – Broadsword-One-One, Broadsword-One-Two, Broadsword-Two-One etc. The Platoon's Command squad is referred to as 'Command' in place of a number – Rapier-Three-Command, etc.

Within Bastard Company, Captain Smitzer's squad has the call-sign Bastard Command. The squads are designated by function and number – Bastard-Sentry-One, Bastard-Assault-Two, Bastard-Fire-Three etc.

 

Chimera transports for all of the above use the squad's call-sign followed by 'home' – so Longsword-Actual-Home would be the call-sign for Captain Myles' command Chimera, for example, and Bastard-Sentry-Five-Home would refer to the Chimera accompanying the fifth Veteran Forward Sentry squad.

 

The Lancer platoons, Kestrel and Falcon, use a separate method of designating call-signs. The command squad in each strike force uses the identifier Alpha (eg Kestrel-Alpha) and the three squads of the platoon using Beta, Gamma and Delta respectively. Their airborne transports use the same call-sign as the squad they are responsible for, with the added identifier 'Nest' (eg Falcon-Nest-Beta would refer to the Valkyrie transporting Falcon-Beta).

 

As the armoured squadrons tend to operate in a less regimented manner than the infantry Companies, call-signs for the armoured units vary from that of other Companies. They work in a similar manner to the call-signs for individual platoon squads, with the Company name in the platoon designation being replaced with the design name for the unit – Wyvern, Executioner, Hellhound etc. For the Leman Russ variant, the variant name is used instead – Demolisher, Vanquisher, Exterminator etc. The Leman Russ Battle Tanks are referred to as Battle, the Scout Sentinels as Scout, and the Armoured Sentinels as Sentinel. Each Squadron has a numeric designation, with each of the tanks in a squadron being given a further numeric designation – so Sentinel-Three-Two refers to the second Armoured Sentinel of the Third Squadron, etc.

 

There are three exceptions to this rule:

• The squadron designator is simply cut out for super-heavy tanks or other individual units – so they become Baneblade-One, Stormlord-Two, Deathstrike-Three etc.

• Squadrons which number into double digits are given an additional vowel designation, so for Leman Russ Battle Tanks Squadron you would have Battle-A-One-One (the first tank in the first squadron) through to Battle-A-Ten-Three (the third tank in the tenth squadron), then Battle-E-One-One (the first squad in the eleventh squadron) through to Battle E-Ten-Three, then Battle-I-One-One and so on through to Battle-U-Ten-Three.

• Command squadrons for these companies use similar call-signs to the other Company command squads, so Mangonel-Actual is the call-sign for Captain Harvel's Vanquisher. The other two vehicle in the Command squadron use separate numbered designations – Trebuchet-Actual-One and Trebuchet-Actual-Two for the other two Basilisks in Captain Cassidy's battery, for example.

[Harlan Skorus]

Toodles, Cass.

 

+++

 

266.993.M41: Tank's Commander Elisa Cassidy; Arban Plains, Ymirica, Poriphon System.

 

“Battle-One-One, this is Mangonel-Actual. Do you copy? Over.”

 

“Mangonel-Actual, this is Battle-One-One, copy. Over.”

 

There was a pause.

 

“Battle-One-One, this is Mangonel-Actual. I repeat, do you copy, over.”

 

Cassidy slammed her palm on the top of the vox-unit.

 

“Mangonel-Actual, this is Battle-One-One, we read you. Over.”

 

“Battle-One-One, this is Mangonel-Actual. Please respond, over.”

 

“Oh for the love of...” Cassidy muttered under her breath as she undid the clasp and pushed open the turret hatch, hauling herself up the rungs until she was half out the tank. Looking to her right she waved. Captain Harvel waved back, perched in the turret of his own tank – a scarred and worn Leman Russ Vanquisher that had seen years of action. Generally used for tank hunting, Harvel had discovered a knack for utilising the high-penetrative rounds to take down the biggest of the Scrits.

 

“Sorry, Sir! Vox is a no-go!” She shouted in an effort to make herself heard above the engines. Judging by Harvel's confused expression, she hadn't shouted loudly enough. Cursing, Cassidy lifted herself out of the tank, climbing down and running to Harvel's Vanquisher. Using the camo netting as an impromptu ladder, she clambered up the side rigging until she was face to face with the Captain.

 

“Comms is down, Sir. Receiving fine, but we can't talk back.”

 

“Right.” Harvel took his cap off, curly dark hair bouncing loose. His forehead glistened with sweat, and he used his hat to try and mop it lazily away from his eyes. “Guess we'll have to do things the old-fashioned way. Keep an eye out for my signals. If the worst comes to it, just keep that cannon roaring, but hopefully this'll go easy.”

 

“Yes sir.” Would that we'd be so lucky, thought Cassidy. The 212^th hadn't caught a break since the start of this damn war. Why break that habit now? She made the blimb back up to the hatch of her own tank, seating herself on the one of the rungs just inside the turret as Harvel waved them forward, his Vanquisher taking its place at the head of the group. Calling down to Hansen, the driver, Cassidy felt the Battle tank shudder as it moved into formation, to the left of Harvel. The third tank in their squadron, a battered Leman Russ Executioner, moved into position on Harvel's right.

 

Cassidy braced herself against the hatch as the vehicles moved forward, ears filled with the roar of engines as the turquoise fields of Ymirica rolled by. The crops swayed gently in the breeze, whilst the planet's capital, Arban, reached up into the sky on the horizon to their right. The Scrits had been cut off, surrounded by the remaining soldiers of the Knights Vindicant and the 21^th, backed up by the thousands of reinforcements that Battlefleet Barus had delivered to them. The noose was being tightened, and it felt good not to be the ones about to hang. She knew that about a kilo behind the bluff on her left, another group of tanks would be moving into position, and past them other groups would be moving up. Sentinels and units of armoured infantry patrolled the gaps between the tank formations, ready to block the flight of any Scrits that managed to break through the ring of steel.

 

The interior of the Leman Russ tanks was so cramped and hot compared to the open platform of the Basilisks she was used to. Her mouth curled into a sad smile as she remembered the time when all she wanted was a roof. I take that back, she thought, all is forgiven. Give me the open sky. But the tanks had lost so many of their crew, and Cassidy had proved herself a fine artillery spotter; with mobility being the key to cutting of the Scrit advance before they could spread to encompass another planet, she'd been shoe-horned into a temporary role as a tank commander. Only the Emperor knew where she'd end up after the war, but acting as Harvel's second for now wasn't a terrible position to be in.

 

It wasn't too comfortable either, though. Every bump in the road caused the tank to jolt, bruising her ribs as she bounced into the rim of the hatch. The Leman Russ was a sturdy chassis, but like everything else in the Imperial Guard, it wasn't designed with comfort in mind. She looked at Captain Harvel enviously. Formerly the Major of the 203^rd Tank Company, he was far more at home in these things than she was. He'd fought on Jarara Prime, she knew, and had racked up an impressive count of enemy armour kills there. Cassidy wondered if he resented the demotion he'd been forced into when the regiments had merged under the banner of the 212^th. If he did, he hid it well.

 

When it came, the pop of distant gunfire no longer surprised her like it once had, nor did it consume her attention. The plumes of smoke stood as grim markers against the skyline, memorials to whichever group of unfortunates had fought there. They were already few enough when then landed on Ymirica, she knew, and they'd continued to lose numbers over the last few days of battles – maybe not at the same tragic rate, but there was little doubt they'd be down more by the day's end. Even the once-invincible might of the Adeptus Astartes had waned in the face of the cosmic horror that had almost engulfed the system.

 

As they drew closer to the Scrit horde, Harvel pointed at the creatures in the distance, grinning, pumping a fist in the air to order them to engage. Cassidy could already make out the flash of explosions in the distance. The aliens looked like a river of boiling blood, the red carapaces flowing this way and that, trying to force it's way free of the armoured net it was caught in. The Primer said these things had the intelligence of animals, she thought as a trio of Navy Valkyries passed overhead, diving towards the mass of creatures. At long last, they looked like animals now, a heard of cattle being slaughtered. It was a welcome change.

 

The squadron slowed to a halt as they moved within range, Scrits hurling themselves towards the new attackers. She yelled angles and distances down through the hatch to the gunner, and felt the turret shift to comply. With another shout, the tank rocked, and tore a hole in the mass of red bone and pink flesh. A bright blue flash made Cassidy wince, leaving colours dancing in her eyes as the Executioner fired it's main gun, disintegrating more of the onrushing Scrits.

 

One of the bigger once turned ponderously to face them, a great bloated thing, itself the size of a tank. The spires of carapace on its back made it look like a obscene cathedral organ. Harvel's Vanquisher shuddered and spat fire, and the beast collapsed on it's front legs, purple ichor pouring from a hole just above it's head, and toppled ponderously to one side. Around it, many of the smaller creatures, just... collapsed. Like they'd just given up, had enough. Harvel turned and signalled for them to advance again, as the sponson gunners added their voices to the cacophony. Cassidy felt nothing but the grinding of the tracks as they crushed the dead Scrits beneath them.

[Harlan Skorus]

Work ate into my free time like a hungry scrit. Au revoir, Garlon!

 

+++

 

272.993.M41: Lieutenant-General Sammander Garlon; Arban Plains, Ymirica, Poriphon System.

 

Garlon slowly mixed the ash into the soft ground beneath, working it into the earth in small circles with the sole of his boot. The pinkish glow from the setting sun, cast over the unfamiliar hues of Ymirica's landscape, made everything around him look so vibrant, so alive. The ash and the dirt were all that reminded him of the dozens of worlds he'd fought on, the browns and greys that usually signified the final toll of a conflict. Even the sight of a dozen Hellhounds and flamer teams scouring the field ahead, burning carcasses sending great plumes of black smoke into the sky, seemed like an unwanted aberration here rather than an inexorable symbol of conquest and victory.

 

Though Garlon still found it hard to admit to himself, he'd known Heral and all it's drab shades was doomed from the start. Even before the Scrits had arrived, he'd read enough about them to know that the level of attack they faced would overrun the world. He knew that they were always fighting in the rearguard, not in the line. They were to hold until the end. But after bleeding so much over the planet he hadn't seen in half a century, the old sentiments had kicked in. He'd seen thousands sacrifice others in the name of the Imperium, and he'd seen millions be sacrificed. Nothing had rankled him more than being forced to yield his home. Even the damn letter that he'd made part of this warp-cursed planet forever.

 

Even Heral hadn't been the end to it. The Unbowed, the mighty ship that had come to ferry them to safety in their darkest hour, had been lost with all hands in the attack on the Scrit's fleet. Thousands of nameless heroes, snuffed out in the blink of an eye. On Ymirica the fighting had gone much more on the Imperium's favour, but even then there had been losses: a couple here, a handful there, but it was enough to wear on his mind. An entire platoon had gone missing just over a week ago, only for scouting parties to find them strewn across the countryside in bits and pieces; Garlon found little solace in the thought that the damn Inquisitor had been with them. Now he had to ask more of his men to go and continue fighting a war that everyone had said they'd already won.

 

He spat and turned to face the solemn group behind him, a gathering of the few remaining officers left to the 212^th. Gaunt faces and hollow eyes met his gaze, and it looked fitting, somehow. More so than the damn pink and turquoise, at any rate. There were about thirty assembled, stood in a rough semicircle around him, waiting for some kind of direction. Garlon sucked in some of the balmy evening air, and it tasted sour.

 

“Ymirica is ours, gentlemen. We've fought long and we've fought hard, but the end's in sight. Except for one little matter on Talacra, and time for some Emperor-damn payback.” He pounded a fist into a palm for emphasis. “Not just against the Scrits, but believe me, they've got that coming to them. But the Astartes need our damn help now. I need a couple of you to take the best men we have left and go pull some Space Marines out of the fire, and you better believe that if they need our help, it'll be a bloody big fire.”

 

“Ready and willing, Sir. I'll put in a good word for the two-one-two.” Lieutenant Elas stepped forward with a smirk. He was young and inexperienced, but the Lieutenant had proved himself to be damn fiery and a fine soldier. He was certainly a man that would be going places, and fast, if he wanted it. Garlon gave him a nod as he eyed up the two other candidates that had presented themselves.

 

“I'm not done with payback, Sir. Still got some accounts need settlin'.” Mavonel was older than Elas, and quieter; a solemn air hung over him like a heavy cloud. Like Elas, he'd fought all the way through the Poriphon War, and proved himself a talented leader in the process. The large man had lost a lot of weight, Garlon knew, but he was still a bulky man, and not one Garlon would like to come up against himself.

 

“I ain't bein' scavvin' left behind, Sir. Gimme five men and a hundred guns, we'll go clear that mess up good.” Sergeant Smitzer was brash, crass, and prone to insubordination; it had made him a great deal of friends in the regiment. His voice sounded like soured milk to Garlon, and he found it hard to keep his face from screwing up in disgust.

 

Others toyed with the idea of volunteering, but Garlon put up a hand to dissuade them. “That'll be enough. Elas, Mavonel, pick the best fifty men you can find and report back here.” It wasn't that the crestfallen Smitzer was incompetent; just that, unwatched, he was a diplomatic disaster waiting to happen. Garlon wouldn't risk that. As Elas and Mavonel departed, Garlon looked around the remaining crowd, slowly reaching up to unpin the badge from his uniform.

 

“The next order of business... for some inspired reason, Segmentum Command has given me a say in my successor at the head of the two-one-two. Nervous whispered and stifled coughs merged with the evening breeze. “Vanric.” The tense air dissipated as quickly as it had come as the stern-faced Major nodded and stepped forward, past Harvel's cool gaze to join Garlon in the centre of the gathering. With a curt handshake, Garlon pinned the iron eagle to Vanric's lapel, before stepping back to salute the new Colonel, gripping the man's hand in a tight shake. Vanric's grip was as steely as his command, by all accounts; but the 212^th needed a hard man now, and a leader that wasn't afraid to get his hand dirty with his men. Vanric was both those things, at least.

 

“Thank you, Lieutenant-General. I'll lead the two-one-two with pride.”

 

“Damn straight you will, Vanric.” Garlon could see Bernart looking at him out of the corner of his eye, and caught the fierce old man's gaze. It almost looked something like approval. “I have some recommendations on who I think would be good fits for the vacant posts, if you'd be interested in hearing them. We can go over them later, once the cleanup's over. And you'll want to be planning your first speech.”

 

Vanric led the group in a crisp salute, and Garlon left them to themselves as he strolled off through the field. Some of the officers were crowding to congratulate Vanric, some crowding to get in his good graces, other slinking off to tend to their wounded pride. Can't win them all, he mused, as Trent fell into step beside him. They walked towards the piles of burning corpses, landscape fluctuating in the heat.

 

“Congratulations on your promotion, Lieutenant-General.”

 

Garlon looked over, and Trent had broken his facade, replacing the blank slate with a mocking grin.

 

“Damn you, Trent.”

 

“Sorry Sir, couldn't be helped. Where are you being posted?”

 

“The Eye.” The gateway through which evil poured into the universe. If the last few months had been grim, Garlon had no doubt things wouldn't be improving in a hurry. “There's a Heralic task force stationed in the area; most of the 32^nd and the 48^th, along with bits of the 12^th, 43^rd and the 54^th. Should be all action, plenty of glory to go around. No doubt I've got a few more medals in me yet.”

 

“I'll be there if you need me, Sir.”

 

“No, Staff Sergeant, you won't. Your place is here.” Garlon glanced around conspiratorially before finishing his thought. “Bernart needs his new walking stick more than I do. Lost his last one... somewhere.” The pair shared a laugh as the last of the evening sun dipped beneath the horizon.

[Llagos_Tyrant]

Finally managed to read through it all in one go. Great read.

[Harlan Skorus]

Bye, Favre.

 

+++

 

308.993.M41: Specialist Zeke Favre, Talacra Prime Spaceport, Talacra, Poriphon System.

 

The Space Marines didn't look like they'd just won a war. Usually, soldiers cheered and laughed when the Scrits were running away or dead, but the Space Marines just looked at the dead, or their weapons, and started preparing for another fight. Favre watched as the Captain that had been on Heral and Ymirica walked over to the ones that had already been here, clasping hands with one of the other golden-helmeted ones. That was all the celebration they showed.

 

The skyline behind the Space Marines was on fire. Twisted plasteel reached up into the sky, towers falling in on themselves as the orbital bombardment blew Talacra Prime apart. The bridge to what would have been the city was full of bodies, mostly Scrits. It was an ugly sight. Favre wondered how long the fight here had gone on for, whether the Space Marines here had been fighting for as long as he had. He wondered if they ever stopped fighting.

 

Mavonel bounded up behind him, slapped him on the arm. “We did it, Fav. War's over. We beat the scavvin' Scrits!” The rest of Mavonel's command squad gave a ragged cheer behind them, and even bearded Lieutenant Mavonel had a big silly grin on his face. It reminded Favre of Jarl.

 

He looked out over the bridge. “The Space Marines don't seem very happy, Lieutenant Mavonel.” He pointed at the piles of the dead, where the occasional flash of silver would show between the pinks and reds and purples. “Some of them died here.”

 

Mavonel gave a sigh, tugging at his beard and looking up into the red sky. “Lots of us died too, Favre, all over the damn place. Too scavvin' many of us.”

 

“Did any of us die here?”

 

“Two. Antace took an unlucky shot, and Bars' plasma overheated.” Mavonel shuddered. Favre had seen a plasma gun overheat before, and he shuddered as well.

 

“Sorry, Lieutenant Mavonel.”

 

“Happens to the best of us, Fav. But look at us! We scavvin' survived the whole damn war. All the rest of the poor buggers got unlucky, but us... Felt for sure one of us was cursed, but we made it through.” Mavonel unscrewed the lid on a canteen and took a swig, before holding it up to Favre. “Here's to second squad.” Favre took the canteen and swigged as well. It tasted like fire. Mavonel laughed.

 

“Right, I better go find Elas, see if we can do anything for the Marines now. Look after yourself, Fav. Go celebrate with the lads.” Mavonel grinned, slapped him on the arm as well and messed up his hair, before strolling off. Favre raised an arm instinctively to his head. You never saw Space Marines messing up each other's hair.

 

Down on the bridge, Favre watched as some giant Space Marines he hadn't seen before stomped back from the city, bulky frames covered in splashes of ichor. A small unit of more lightly armoured ones followed behind, carrying a body with them, and Favre watched a white Marine rush over to them. The others stood around solemnly as the white one knelt by the body on the floor. They looked kind of like the statues Favre used to see at church, all shiny and silver obscured by layers of dirt.

 

He turned away, shouldering his sniper-las and walking off around the small island as the rest of his squad stood around and laughed amongst themselves. Favre didn't feel much like celebrating with the lads. What were they going to do now? None of them had homes any more. Few of them had friends. Favre had seen how many were turned away from the evacuation shuttles on Heral, and he didn't think many of them would have families left either. Where would they go? What was there left to celebrate?

 

Further away from the bridge, there were less bodies, the only noises being the distant shouts of the guardsmen and the waves lapping at the edges of the island the spaceport stood on. Occasionally, Favre would catch a pair of eyes – human, although he had to look twice to check a few times - looking out at him from one of the few buildings that were dotted about. Once, a small child came to the doorway to stare at him. Favre stared back for a few moments, and the two of them just stood there, staring. It made Favre uncomfortable, and he tugged at the scarf around his neck. Yells drew his attention, and he turned to look back the way he had come, where Mavonel had returned to their squad, hugging someone. By the time he returned his attention to the child, the doorway had emptied again. Favre continued on his slow patrol.

 

Eventually, he reached a point where the edge of the island gave way to the sea boiling and breaking on the rocks below. Favre decided that he'd walked far enough, and took a seat, his legs dangling off the edge of the island and his sniper-las resting on his lap. Even looking away from the mainland, the sky was a deep shade of crimson, cut up by flashes of lightning. It looked angry, like the sea. Favre didn't like this planet so much. Heral had been his home, and Ymirica had been colourful, but this place was just dark and dead.

 

Where would he go, Favre thought sullenly? Wherever Lieutenant Mavonel and the regiment went, he supposed. It wasn't like he had much else to do, and like the others, he had nowhere else to go. They'd all just keep fighting. Besides, he'd never really been much good at anything else like his was with a rifle. It was the one thing he'd been better at than Jarl and the others, better than anyone. He might be slow but he's the best shot I ever saw, Favre had heard the others say when he wasn't supposed to be listening. They were wrong. Favre shot faster than any of them could.

 

The only thing left to celebrate was fighting and winning, killing things. Mavonel had told Favre one night on Ymirica, when they were crowded around a small fire, that he couldn't sleep properly, kept having nightmares about all their dead friends. Favre had the same nightmares, but he hadn't told Mavonel that; he'd just kept looking into the fire, watching the flames dance and ebb away.

 

Behind him, Mavonel was shouting for Favre to come back. Slowly, he used the sniper-las as a crutch to lever himself up, taking one last look at the angry sea and the red sky before turning away. It wasn't until he'd taken a few steps back towards Mavonel and the others that he heard the hissing. It raised the hairs on his arm, made his neck tingle. Favre raised his sniper-las across his chest, spinning to face the sea and the Scrit that had appeared behind him It bared rows of sharp yellow teeth, pale arms ending in short claws. The area under it's arms and legs was webbed, and seawater dripped into a growing puddle on the ground beneath it.

 

With a shriek it lunged at him. Favre didn't have time to aim properly, and his shot went wide before it barreled into him, knocking the breath from his chest. He fell backwards with a grunt, smacking his head on the hard floor. The sniper-las spun away from his grasp. The Scrit fell on top of him, scratching at his raised arms with it's claws as he swatted and punched to keep it away. Favre twisted and turned, trying to throw it off, but it gripped his flak vest with it's claws, hissing and spitting at him. Favre could feel blood welling from the gouges on his arms and his chest where the claws had raked him.

 

The Scrit was slippery with water, and strong. It brought those rows of teeth closer and closer to his face, and Favre could feel it's breath hot on his face. It smelt like rotting fish. He thrashed his head from side to side, trying to keep it far from him as possible. To the side he could see Mavonel and the others sprinting towards him, weapons raised. Mavonel was screaming too, and Favre was crying, pushing one hand into the rows of teeth, sobbing at the pain, struggling to keep the Scrit's mouth away from him.

 

Favre felt his arm buckle.

[deathspectersgt7]

Not favre no !!!!!

[Teetengee]

omnomnom

[Harlan Skorus]

For everyone who has read to the end: thanks very much for indulging my ramblings! I hope it has been enjoyable to some level. There is one final Epilogue chapter to this morose tale, but as of yet I'm not sure which form it's going to come in, so I'll be signing off this for now. Below if the final interlude, which covers in a less personal manner the entirety of the Poriphon War - I also plan to go through and update the other interlude articles with more up-to-date info. Catch you around!

 

(If anyone can do me some table-fu I'd be most incredibly grateful)
 
+++
 

INTERLUDE 5: The Poriphon War.

 

The Poriphon War took place from 992-993.M41 across the Poriphon sector between the Imperium and a splinter fleet of Hive Fleet Kraken, dubbed Hive Fleet Vritra. The war resulted in a pyrrhic Imperial victory, with Hive Fleet Vritra consuming three worlds in the Poriphon sector and nearly annihilating the Knights Vindicant Chapter of Space Marines before it was finally destroyed.

 

Prelude.

 

Following the appearance of Hive Fleet Kraken, the Knights Vindicant moved in 992.M41 to reinforce the Lamenters and Scythes of the Emperor Chapters in slowing the advance of the Hive Fleet. The Knights Vindicant were on route to Sotha when, resupplying in the frontier system of Poriphon (in the Barus sector on the distant edges of the Ultima Segmentum), a splinter of Hive Fleet Kraken within the system boundaries.
 
Opening Shots.

 

Dubbed Hive Fleet Vritra, the Tyranids had almost finished devouring the outer two planets of the six-planet system before they were detected. Chapter Master Molon led the majority of his fleet to the edges of the system, hoping to exterminate the bio-ships of the Hive Fleet from space whilst the bulk of the Tyranids forces were planetside. Launching an attack on the undefended Hive Ships in orbit over the planet of Demros, Molon planned to cut of the head of the beast before delivering the killing blow to the Tyranids below. This opportunity was, however, a trap; in a seemingly brazen ploy, the Tyranids had left the Hive Ships as high-value bait, whilst circling most of their fleet around a nearby moon. Surrounding Molon's fleet, the Knights Vindicant lost the Battle Barge Reclaimer and three Strike Cruisers (the Cataphract, the Sky Lance, and the Golden Seneschal) before they managed to withdraw to the inner reaches of the system.

 

The next planet in the path of Hive Fleet Vritra was the Hive World of Heral, home to the Heralic Mechanised Legions. Four regiments of the Heralic Mechanised Legion were currently stationed on Heral: the 70^th and 212^th Armoured Infantry, the 111^th Siege Regiment, and the 203^rd Tank Company. An Imperial Navy patrol had also entered the system; consisting of Lunar Class Cruiser Imperatous and the Gothic Class Cruiser Unbowed, they quickly linked up with the few ships of the local Systems Defense Force and the remaining Knights Vindicant fleet over Ymirica. Chapter Master Molon sent the 3^rd Company under Captain Indrus Baeloc, with support from the the 6^th and 9^th Companies, to reinforce the Heralic Mechanised Legion regiments stationed on Heral in a stalling action. Meanwhile, the 5^th and 7^th companies were dispatched in force to Talacra Prime, the one major city on the Ocean World Talacra; whilst the 1^st, 2^nd, 4^th, 8^th and 10^th companies of the Chapter fortified the undefended Agri-World Ymirica. Chapter Master Molon was challenged over these deployments by Captain Crucius of the 1^st Company as well as Captain Baeloc, who argued that the Chapter should be concentrating its efforts on Heral, the more strategically valuable planet; Molon overruled his objections, stating that the planet already had four regiments of Imperial Guard stationed there, and that should the populations be evacuated of civilians Ymirica would hold more value to Hive Fleet Vritra than Heral as an Agri-World, therefore having a significantly larger amount of biomass for the fleet to absorb.
 
The Siege of Heral.

 

The outbreak of the Poriphon War had resulted in a mass hysteria on Heral before Hive Fleet Vritra had even reached the planet. Civilians rushed to the various Spaceports to get off-world and evacuate the system. The 212^th Heralic Armoured Infantry struggled to maintain order at Fort Carancus, the largest Spaceport of the planet, with numerous riots breaking out in the surrounding areas. Colonel Garlon did his best to organise the masses flooding the Spaceport, but with the sheer number of people trying to force their way to the shuttles, it was a near-impossible to maintain just some semblance of order. After an incident at nearby Fort Rathan led to the deaths of two whole platoons of the 111^th at the hands of frenzied rioters, Colonel Garlon made the decision for his regiment to stand down and not risk themselves trying to organise the mob; they would only protect the military assets of the fort. Whilst this led to widespread rioting in the areas around Fort Carancus, Garlon judged that the lives of the 212^th would be far too valuable in the coming days.

 

Order was finally restored to Fort Carancus with the arrival of three companies of the Knights Vindicant, led by Captain Baeloc of the 3^rd Company. The local population were, for the most part, too fearful of crossing the Space Marines to disobey their orders. Those that were stupid enough to try were swiftly executed. Captain Baeloc commended Colonel Garlon for his sound reasoning in not wasting his men on fighting rioters and looters; the two instantly set to planning on how to hold Hive Fleet Vritra on the planet for as long as possible. With the arrival of the other three Heralic regiments to Fort Carancus on orders from Captain Baeloc, the Imperial forces fortified the area around Fort Carancus in three lines of defences, and erected a large shield-dome over the Fort and surrounding areas. Above them, the Imperatous and the Unbowed prepared to defend the refugee vessels and escort them out of the system; a tall order, given that the Imperials had been unable to summon reinforcements due to the interference of the Hive Mind.

 

When Hive Fleet Vritra landed on the world, the Knights Vindicant under Captain Baeloc and the Armoured Infantry of the 212^th Heralic fought an organised retreat, conducting precision counter-attacks on the advancing Tyranid horde where they could isolate and destroy the larger synapse creatures. With the aid of Colonel Garlon's men, they slowed and confused the Tyranid horde, leading to an uneven advance on Fort Carancus. When the Tyranids reached Fort Carancus, they were disjointed, and the heavily fortified line of defenders easily repulsed the first few attacks before the bulk of the Tyranid force arrived.

 

Meanwhile, in space, the Imperatous and the Unbowed fought alongside the SDF ships in a prolonged rearguard action against the Tyranid bio-ships. However, they were quickly outflanked by the far more numerous bio-ships of Hive Fleet Vritra; the Imperatous was overwhelmed and destroyed, and the Unbowed suffered severe damage, necessitating a retreat. The SDF ships fell shortly after, and many of the undefended refugee ships were annihilated, escape from Heral becoming impossible.

 

On Ymirica, Chapter Master Molon mustered most of the Chapter. A world of vast fields of crops interspersed with large cities, Ymirica was the only world in the system of much value other than Heral. The Knights Vindicant were called on the combat a Genestealer cult in the capital city, Arban, but other than that one incident Ymirica remained largely untouched throughout 992.M41.
 
The Terrible Vow.

 

The Battle for Heral had dragged on into 993.M41 before Hive Fleet Vritra split its forces. A portion of the Tyranid fleet remained at Heral, besieging

the defenders of Fort Carancus whilst beginning the assimilation process for much of the planet. The other half of Vritra's fleet pushed further in system, heading in the direction of Ymirica. Chapter Master Molon, having deployed most of his remaining forces to Ymirica, the largest world of the sector, dug in to make his stand.

 

The Tyranids instead bypassed Ymirica entirely and converged on the world of Talacra. With a surface that was 89% ocean, and just one continent that consisted of a deadly jungle with one city at it's southern tip, the planet seemed a target of little obvious value to Hive Fleet Vritra. Regardless, they attacked the planet with the larger half of their fleet. Deciding that the split in the Tyranid forces was the biggest advantage that they would be afforded in destroying the splinter fleet, Chapter Master Molon seized the initiative and began to redeploy his forces whilst Hive Fleet Vritra invaded Talacra. Molon also commanded the Darian's Fire to make an effort to retrieve the beleaguered defenders of Heral, and the somewhat-repaired Unbowed volunteered to assist in the effort.

 

Over Talacra, the Knights Vindicant fleet punched through the Tyranid ships surrounding the planet, and deployed as many forces as they could to the planet, led by Chapter Master Molon himself. Having done so, the ships turned to engage the Tyranid splinter fleet, hoping to destroy as many of the Hive Ships as possible. Captain Thulis of the Knights Vindicant 4^th Company and Master of the Fleet, led the attack from the Knights Vindicant's Battle Barge and Fortress-Monastery, the Terrible Vow. The Knights Vindicant fleet met with some early success in the battle, but ultimately lacked the numbers to make any serious impact on the Tyranid numbers. They quickly found themselves on the back foot, losing the Battle Barge Corialis to swarms of boarding attacks. Captain Thulis, having kept his 4^th Company aboard the Terrible Vow for this eventuality, launched a desperate gambit.
Whilst the other ships of the Knights Vindicant fleet cut a wedge towards the centre of the Tyranid ships, Thulis directed the Terrible Vow towards the heart of the Tyranid splinter fleet. Unable to replicate the actions of the Dominus Astra during the First Tyrannic War due to a damaged warp engine, Thulis came up with a similar plan and ordered his ship to ram the largest Tyrannid vessel at the centre of the fleet. The Hive Ship quickly latched on to the Battle Barge as the few remaining ships of the Knights Vindicant fleet limped away.

 

The core of the Tyranid fleet rushed to engage the Terrible Vow, and the 4^th Company fought valiantly against numerous boarding forces, trying to keep the ship from being overrun against insurmountable odds. Captain Thulis led the defence of the munitions decks personally whilst the Tyranid fleet descended on the Terrible Vow. It is unknown how many, or indeed if any, of the 4^th company still survived when Captain Thulis detonated the munitions stockpiles, blowing the Battle Barge apart along with the vast majority of the Tyranid fleet over Talacra, and sending the remaining ships into disarray long enough for what little remained of the Knights Vindicant fleet to withdraw.
 
The Battle for Talacra.

 

Meanwhile, the vast majority of the Knights Vindicant landed at Talacra Prime, the one city of the planet on the southern tip of Talacra's sole landmass. The Knights Vindicant set up a command post at the Spaceport of the city, an artificial island connected by bridge to the rest of the city on the mainland. With the 5^th and 7^th companies already combating the vanguard of the Tyranid forces to the north, Chapter Master Molon left a skeleton force to hold the Spaceport whilst he advanced with the majority of his 1^st, 2^nd, 8^th and 10^th Companies into the hellish jungle of Talacra.

 

The Knights Vindicant had to battle as much against their hostile environment as they did against the Tyranids. Deadly creatures and plants stymied their efforts to relieve the 5^th and 7^th companies, who were quickly being overwhelmed as they fell back from Hive Fleet Vritra's advance, trying to link up with the bulk of the chapter. Numerous smaller engagements and skirmishes were fought, the Knights Vindicant destroying many smaller groups of Tyranids that had landed ahead of the main bulk of the Hive Fleet Vritra invasion, before the two forces eventually joined up at the Anrapar Ridge; albeit with severe losses in the 5^th and 7^th companies. The ridge offered formidable natural defences and a clear view of the valley below. It was here Chapter Master Molon decided to make his stand. The Knights Vindicant dug in on the ridge and looked to the north.

 

They did not have to wait long. Hive Fleet Vritra's advance could be seen above the tree line, giant capillary towers forcing their way skywards as the swarm pushed south towards the Knights Vindicant. Whirlwinds blew great holes in the mass of creatures that approached, whilst Land Raiders and Predators concentrated their fire on the trio of giant Heirophants that spearheaded the Tyranid assault. In the skies overhead, Thunderhawks conducted bombing runs whilst Stormtalons and Land Speeders engaged Harridans, Harpies and Gargoyles. As the horde closed, the battle turned into a great melee, assault squads and dreadnoughts trying desperately to halt the tide of Tyranids before they reached the fire teams and artillery.

 

The Battle of Anrapar Ridge ended in defeat for the Knights Vindicant. The numbers were simply too many, and Chapter Master Molon ordered a retreat to Talacra Prime, only moments before being caught in the path of a rampaging Carnifex. His death turned the retreat into a rout, as the Knights Vindicant struggled to disentangle themselves from the creatures assailing them. Less than three hundred Marines regrouped at Talacra Prime, under the leadership of Captain Javas Varantis of the 2^nd Company.

 

Varantis, with what forces he had left at his disposal, fortified the city of Talacra Prime, booby-trapping large areas of the city in order to funnel the Tyranid horde down one central approach towards the Spaceport. It was there that Varantis made his stand, placing his forces on and around the one bridge to the port, and pressing all of the civilian vessels available into service as automated bomb carriers. What was left of the 1^st Company, led by Veteran Sergeant Fenix Gestalt, volunteered to hold the bridge itself, whilst the bedraggled remnants of Captain Marravon's 10^th Scout Company quietly occupied key points in the mainland city to harry the Tyranids as they approached.

 

Days later, the Hive Fleet Vritra host reached the city. Great explosions could be heard as the alien creatures reached the various booby traps lying in the city, and the 10^th Company utilised ambushes and snipers in the tight confines of the city to kill as many of the creatures leading the horde as they could. When the Tyranids reached the bridge to the Spaceport, they were met with massed volleys of fire from the defenders surrounding the southern side of the bridge. Those that did get close enough to make it to the other side of the bridge faced Gestalt and his Terminators, tearing the Tyranids apart with fist and claw. Flying creatures were met by the remaining air force of the Knights Vindictus, and the makeshift flying bombs Varantis made of the remaining civilian vessels dropped onto the largest creatures in the horde. The bridge held for two full weeks, the defenders fighting day and night, tooth and nail before, at last, they were relieved.
 
Battlefleet Barus.

 

Unknown to Captain Varantis, one of the earliest refugee vessels to escape the system had alerted the Battlefleet Barus command to Hive Fleet Vritra's presence in the Poriphon system. Having received none of the outbound communications from the defenders of Poriphon due to the effects of the Shadow in the Warp, Lord Admiral Rathenburg promptly gathered as many ships and men as he could muster to rush to the aid of the Poriphon system. Before the Battlefleet departed, it was joined by Inquisitor Allarez of the Ordo Xenos, a man who had spent many years studying Tyranid attack patterns.

 

Over Heral, the Unbowed had drawn away a group from the Tyranid fleet with sustained Lance fire before withdrawing, creating a gap that the Darian's Fire exploited to push through to the planet. Launching it's complements of Thunderhawks to recover Captain Baeloc and his marines, they found Baeloc's force reduced to little over seventy surviving Marines, along with a few hundred men of the combined Heralic Imperial Guard and PDF regiments. The Imperial forces, on the brink of running out of supplies and being overrun, fled in the Thunderhawks and the numerous other shuttles that Colonel Garlon had commandeered at Fort Carancus. Retreating to the Darian's Fire and linking up with the Unbowed, the two ships promptly retreated away from the planet to the edges of the system to plan their next move. They were met by the remnants of the Knights Vindicant fleet from Talacra, composed of the Strike Cruiser Excisor and a few escort vessels, who had retreated from Talacra following the sacrifice of the Terrible Vow.
It was at this time that Battlefleet Barus arrived in Poriphon. The two forces regrouped on the outer edges of the system, and an assault was quickly planned by Rathenburg, Allarez, Baeloc and Garlon. Though not a large Battlefleet by any standards, the Tyranid fleet over Heral could not withstand a direct assault from Battlefleet Barus. The battle was not without it's losses; notably, the Unbowed was finally destroyed after seeing through the most of the conflict; but the Imperial Fleet carried the day, destroying the vast majority of the Tyranid fleet orbiting Heral. Inquisitor Allarez subsequently declared Exterminatus upon Heral, overruling Colonel Garlon's objections and reasoning that trying to take the dense Hives of the planet back from the Tyranids would cost a massive amount of resources that they simply did not have. Lord Admiral Rathenburg had no option but to commence a barrage that levelled the entire planet; leaving Heral as barren as Hive Fleet Vritra would have, given time.

 

Some surviving Tyranid elements that had scattered after the defeat at Heral made it to nearby Ymirica, where they landed on the vast farmlands of the planet. However, Captain Baeloc and his marines led a swift pursuit, chasing the remaining elements Hive Fleet Vritra to the surface of the planet with support from what was left of the 212th Heralic led by General Garlon, Inquisitor Allarez and a company of mercenaries in his employ, and from the battalions of Guardsmen and Armsmen that Battlefleet Barus had supplied. The Tyranids were spread out and had not been given the time to produce a large enough horde of aliens to be too much of a threat. However, Inquisitor Allarez and his mercenaries, along with a detachment from the 212^th, were killed after being sent to investigate reports of a Lictor some distance from the main Tyranid-infested zone. The rest of the force moved to tackle the infestation; encircling, containing, and destroying the Tyranids before they became a significant threat. Whilst Colonel Garlon and the 212^th remained on Ymirica to secure the planet and hunt down whatever creature had killed Allarez and his men, Captain Baeloc and his remaining Knights Vindicant turned their attention to Talacra.

 

Faced with the combined might of the Battlefleet, the few bio-ships still in orbit over Talacra were quickly destroyed, allowing the relief forces to deploy to the planet. Captain Varantis had less than a Company's worth of marines left under his command when Captain Baeloc arrived to relieve them. The reinforcements launched themselves into the fray, Baeloc personally leading the push to reclaim the Spaceport bridge. He found the remnants of the 1^st Company amidst hundreds of Tyranid corpses, Veteran Sergeant Gestalt and a few others miraculously still alive. The Imperial Navy, orbiting Talacra, commenced an orbital bombardment of the mainland portion of Talacra Prime, utterly crushing the Tyranids along with the city before moving their bombardment north to cover the whole of the continent. The Poriphon system had, at last, been saved, although at a tremendous cost.
 
Aftermath.

 

The Imperial forces had survived the attack of Hive Fleet Vritra, finally destroying it although at great cost. The Knights Vindicant had lost most of their command structure, most of their Chapter, and most of the fleet they had been based on; they have since claimed Talacra as their home world, though it offers nothing in the way of fresh recruits, the few feral tribes inhabiting the continent having been destroyed by Hive Fleet Vritra or by the orbital bombardment. It is likely that the Chapter will be amalgamated with another or destroyed should it not find a way to restore it's numbers and quickly, with the 13^th Black Crusade and Hive Fleet Leviathan both threatening the Imperium.

 

The 70^th, 111^th and 203^rd Regiments of the Heralic Mechanised Legion ceased to exist, having been folded into the 212^th Armoured Infantry due to heavy losses across all four regiments. The Regiment is now commanded by Colonel Danz Vanric, formerly Major of the 111^th; Sammander Garlon was promoted to General, and is currently commanding Heralic forces in the Cadian Gate against the 13^th Black Crusade. Heral having been destroyed, the Imperium has lost a recruiting world that had spawned hundreds of Imperial Guard regiments; the 212^th are the final legacy of Heral's proud past.

 

Some small Tyranid infestations remain on Talacra and Ymirica. Indrus Baeloc, now Chapter Master of the Knights Vindicant, uses them for training purposes; whilst the 212^th, until recently stationed on Ymirica, combated any resurgent infestations there. With the 212^th recently restored to above full regimental strength and redeployed to the Cadian Gate, it remains to be seen whether the Knights Vindicant can capably police two worlds with what little strength they have left.
 
Notable Imperial Losses.
 
Ordo Xenos
 

Inquisitor Konstanze Allarez
Inquisitor Allarez was lost during the fighting on Ymirica during the conclusion of the war. Allarez had led a detachment of the 212^th Heralic, led by Lieutenant Dovaris, along with a company of mercenaries in his employ, to investigates reports of what was likely the activity of an errant Lictor in a remote region. The task force was found dead to a man, amongst the ruins of their vehicles. No evidence of the Lictor was found.
 
Knights Vindicant
 

Chapter Master Adrus Molon
Chapter Master Molon was killed during the Battle of the Anrapar Ridge, having found himself in the path of a Carnifex whilst trying to organise the retreat. Of the five hundred (approx.) Knights Vindicant to participate in the Battle of the Anrapar Ridge, only around two hundred successfully retreated to Talacra Prime under Captain Varantis.
 
1^st Company Captain Lustace Crucius
Captain Crucius was killed at the Battle of the Anrapar Ridge, commanding the first company in a rearguard action.
 
4^th Company Captain Eridan Thulis
Captain Thulis commanded the Knights Vindicant fleet in the engagement over Talacra, sacrificing himself along with the entire 4^th Company and the Terrible Vow, the Battle Barge that served as the Chapter's Fortress-Monastery, in order to destroy the Hive Fleet Vritra bio-ships orbiting the planet.
 
5^th Company Captain Hurlon Valnis
Captain Valnis was killed in an unrecorded engagement in the jungle of Talacra, trying to lead his Company to link with Chapter Master Molon at the Anrapar Ridge.
 
6^th Company Captain Karlis Jaraxes
Captain Jaraxes was killed during the Siege of Heral, when he led a counter-attack to allow the retreating Heralic Mechanised Legion soldiers to safely retreat to Fort Carancus, following the fall of the second defence line.
 
7^th Company Captain Volantor Xaros
Captain Xaros died at the Battle of the Anrapar Ridge, having garnered the attention of the Heirophant bio-titan leading the Hive Fleet Vritra advance.
 
8^th Company Captain Jeor Garce
Captain Garce died at the Battle of the Anrapar Ridge. His cause of death is unknown, having occurred during the rout following Chapter Master Molon's death.
 
9^th Company Captain Ave Thylis
Captain Thylis was killed battling the Hive Tyrant that destroyed the gates of Fort Carancus, moments before the extraction force arrived to rescue the beleaguered defenders.
 
10^th Company Captain Nyla Marravon
Captain Marravon died as part of the 10^th Company's holding action in the city of Talacra Prime. A squad he was leading was caught between two broods of Zoanthropes as they withdrew following a successful ambush of a Warrior Brood.
 
Heralic Mechanised Legion
 

70^th Armoured Infantry Colonel Stanislaw Marsh
Colonel Marsh was killed during the near-catastrophic retreat to Fort Carancus following the collapse of the second defence line.
 
111^th Siege Regiment Colonel Edison Tarbald
Colonel Tarbald died in the fighting at Fort Carancus, moment before the extraction force arrived.
 
203^rd Tank Company Colonel Franz Heiram
Colonel Heiram's Leman Rush Executioner was destroyed along with it's crew whilst participating in the delaying actions during the early stages of the Siege of Heral.
 
Battlefleet Barus
 

Imperatous Captain Albus Maekar
The Imperatous was lost along with all hands, defending the fleeing refugees from Hive Fleet Vritra over Heral.
 

Unbowed Captain Tyrus Lamorgan
The Unbowed fought throughout practically the whole war, before being destroyed in the final significant naval engagement of the Poriphon War, when Battlefleet Barus destroyed the bio-ships over Heral.

[deathspectersgt7]

Well that was cool.