Celadon: Light in the Darkness

[Wargamer]

Prologue: The Coming Storm
The scenes playing out before Captain Tádor were all too familiar; the darkened interior of a vessel, filled with the noise of battle and lit by the flash of gunfire. Normally, he would have led the assault personally, but this time he had to be cautious. This time, his foes were Astartes.

 

The enemy was dug in and skilled. Thirty Astartes held the deck, facing Bright Lords forces as they poured down three assault ramps. Tádor's men had overwhelming numbers, but numbers were not enough when facing their own. He knew dozens more awaited further into the ship, no doubt planning an ambush or trap to even the odds. Thus, unable to risk losing his best men in the opening clash, Tádor and the Torchbearers could only watch as their brothers fought and died to take the beachhead.

 

Fifteen minutes of brutal fighting saw every defender slain, at a cost of almost sixty Bright Lords. With the fighting over, Tádor strode forth into the darkened deck, being careful to step around the fallen. As he reached the centre of the chamber the overhead lights flickered into life. Red-robed tech adepts strode about the deck, taking note of the events.

"Fallen forces, clear the deck!" the supervising officer announced, and on their orders the defeated Bright Lords and Supernovas alike stood back up and began filing away.

"Not a good sign, Captain!" the Supernovan sergeant chuckled on his way past, "two to one kills in our favour!"

Tádor smiled at the man and replied, "how unfortunate for your Chapter that I outnumber you three to one."

 

The games had been Tádor's idea; a way to both train and bond as Astartes from multiple Chapters gathered at the muster point. So far, four hundred Astartes had answered the call, with at least a thousand more on the way. Combined with the forces of the Guard and Navy, the armies promised to be a truly terrifying force able to sweep away even the mightiest of foes. And they would be needed, if the signals from Celadon were any indication.

 

The next stage of the training mission would take place along the inner corridors. Three passages had been selected, running parallel to each other and joining the cargo deck to the outer edge of the drive section. Tádor's scouts brought back word of the enemy's deployment; the outer passages were held by Ironforged - siege specialists of the Supernovas Chapter. The central passage was defended by ordinary Marines, and in fewer numbers.

"It seems Master Dyus has set a trap for us," Tádor chuckled.

"An obvious one," Lightbearer Heyel replied. "He surely can't expect us to take the bait."

"That is precisely what we will do," Tádor answered.

Noting the confusion of his peers, he added, "You have all studied the Codex Astartes, and so has our enemy. Master Dyus expects us to attack where he is strong because we are taught to be suspicious of his weakness. In truth, he does not feign weakness; he shows it openly. We shall pin his best on the flanks and smash through the middle for an easy victory!"

 

The decks echoed with gunfire once more as Tádor led the Torchbearers down the central passage. No bullets struck them, but laser designators and beam-detectors monitored where bullets should have landed and fed data to cogitator banks, which the tech-adepts used to determine who lived and who died.

Sheer weight of fire pushed the Supernovas back as the Torchbearers advanced. Under such a barrage, the defenders fled through the blast door and sealed it behind them, hoping that the door could buy time where bolters failed.

Yet Tádor never reached the door. The monotone, synthetic voice of a tech-adept declared him a casualty. Confused, he turned around to see the rest of his men milling about in confusion, all seemingly dead from an unknown source. Frustrated, Tádor had no choice but to wait and listen to the battle waging elsewhere; a battle that quickly turned against his forces.

 

When the order to cease was announced, the blast door opened to reveal Chapter Master Dyus of the Ironforged, who strolled toward the vanquished elites. The man's face was calm and un-emotive, but Tádor was sure there was an arrogant swagger in the man's stride.

"How disappointing. The great Tádor, slain by such an obvious trap."

"I would very much like to know how I was slain," Tádor replied impatiently.

Dyus pointed to the interior wall of the corridor, "inside this wall is an armoured elevator that feeds the dorsal turrets from the ship's magazine. Prior to your attack I had charges set behind the wall panels and raised a shell to deck height. The tech-priests assured me that the resulting explosion would have killed everyone in the passage, and several in the adjacent passage."

"And what inspired such a suicidal tactic?" Tádor asked, equally amused and impressed by the unorthodox solution.

"Master Ximo," Dyus replied. "If you recall, you once suggested we partake in a similar training game many years ago. Ximo divised this as one possible method of defeating you, although I believe his plan involved a plasma feed."

Tádor gave the Chapter Master a respectful nod, "then I commend your former Chapter Master's strategy, and your implementation of it."

"I'm sure he would have welcomed your praise," Dyus answered. "I thank you for the diversion, Captain. I look forward to seeing you defeat the Fate's Angels in the next one."

[Wargamer]

Part One: The Great North Sea, Celadon

The firestorm in the sky robbed the assault boats of night's shroud as they slammed through the rough waters. Kathral gripped the hatch rim tightly and watched the heavens burn and wondered who was winning. The fact the High Fiend had ordered them to launch ahead of schedule gave him reason to doubt the fleet's fortunes, however. Even as he watched, a star was born and faded away; the sure sign of a catastrophic reactor meltdown or warp drive implosion.

 

He turned his eyes east toward the coast. The mainland ahead was mostly sheer cliffs and jagged shores, but recon flights had found a dozen viable landing sites. The west had fallen so quickly that the Imperials had not found time to properly fortify these weak points. Kathral expected little more than dragon's teeth and sandbag lines, perhaps the occasional bunker at worst. His strike force alone had a hundred thousand men to storm the beaches. It was not a question of if they would succeed, only how costly the victory.

 

With a smile he reflected on that fleeting thought. Casualties were nothing to fear; all skulls were welcome gifts to the Blood God. Soon he would meet his foe face to face and revel in the glory of war. The sudden urge for bloodshed sent a shiver up his spine, and he stroked the axe at his hip to calm himself.

"All in good time," he promised the weapon, giving one last look at the ruined skies before dropping back into the troop deck and sealing the hatch.

 

If he had remained aloft a few minutes more, Kathral would at least have seen the foe that killed him.

 

*   *   *

 

Asyan swore loudly and without restraint at every bump and jolt of the Land Speeder as it plunged from the sky, almost vertical, in a barely controlled free-fall. He vigorously poked the igniter rune on his control console, growling in frustration every time the red denial light flickered in response. Beside him, Dalth was either unaware or uncaring of the mortal peril the two Astartes were in. The internal vox link was dominated by the two-decade veteran's whoops of joy and fits of laughter, interspersed by the occasional urging for Asyan to take note of some impressive low-orbit detonation.

This is how I die, thought Asyan, strapped into a flying chariot that doesn't want to fly, with a bloody idiot as company.

The Speeder bucked upward as they fell into a thick cloud bank, and by some miracle the repulsors finally found something to repulse. With a sharp electric whine the Speeder arrested and slowed, drifting through the whiteness at a calm, measured pace.

"That was the most fun I've had in years!" Dalth roared gleefully, "We should do this more often!"

Asyan's scowl was wasted behind his Corvus helm. "I am never, under any circumstances, getting into one of these things again."

"You said that last time," Dalth pointed out.

"Shut up."

 

The two Supernovas turned to the auspex built into the dividing console. The returns indicated a dozen targets moving toward the shore, with orbital surveyors indicating close to a thousand spread across the convoy. The orbital drop had placed them out of position, ahead of the convoy rather than to the side.

"We should regroup," Asyan said without enthusiasm.

Dalth tapped the joystick that controlled the under-slung assault cannon, "but if we did that, we'd have to share the glory."

"That is a very compelling argument," Asyan said, although he knew it wasn't. He had aspirations of becoming a sergeant one day, and ignoring standing orders would not help him rise through the ranks. However, there was a far more pressing issue to hand; Yarrin had a higher kill count than he did, and Asyan wasn't going to be shown up by a boy twelve years his junior.

"Alright, I'm taking us into the pack! Let's send them under!"

 

Once more the Land Speeder went into a steep dive, but at least this time it was controlled. Asyan jinked the ship across and into the path of the invaders. The armada stretched all the way to the horizon, a vast flotilla of blood and bronze carrying the war-host of Chaos.

"I wonder if they can swim?" Dalth chuckled, testing the responsiveness of the guns. His left hand controlled the assault cannon, while the right-hand control operated the dorsal mounted multi-melta. Both weapons had centre-line pict feeds linked to dashboard monitors for maximum accuracy.

As the first craft swung up into view, Dalth let loose a burst of assault cannon fire that rippled across the segmented armour plates of the craft. Cursing, the gunner urged Asyan to drop low. He obliged, swinging the vehicle around in a wide S-turn to give the best possible shot. In one smooth action, Dalth seared the prow off the lead craft while raking the flank of a second. Both attacks were rewarded with plumes of smoke and fire, with one ship consumed by flames by the time the Speeder could roll onto its third target. The second listed onwards for several minutes before slowly vanishing under water. The Cultist troops aboard tried to abandon ship, but they were still miles from shore and the tide was against them - none would be rescued.

 

Asyan saw the muzzle flashes from the gunboat as Asyan shouted the warning. He hauled the craft around, dropping so low the sensor pylon gouged the ocean surface, and began to jink through the transports. Some of the passengers opened hatches and tried to shoot down the speeder with rifles, but these small arms were no concern compared to he quad autocannon of the gunboat. Dalth was still firing at ships as they swung onto their attack path, mocking the traitors whose ships were becalmed or drowning due to his assault.

"Focus, please!" Asyan cursed, noting the flak turret of the gunboat rotating swiftly toward them.

"Bring us a touch lower, would you? If you can."

Asyan scoffed, "why not? I'm sure this works just fine under water!" Despite his condescending tone he complied, ignoring the protests from the machine-spirit as the waves began to break across the forward repulsor plates. Autocannon rounds began to chop the air above them, unable to lower far enough to hit the strike craft.

"Tell the Emperor the Sons of Tasal sent you!" Dalth roared as the melta blast cooked the turret's ammunition stockpile and blew it into a thousand pieces. Shrapnel and misfired rounds dinged off the front of the Speeder as it rose up sharply, trailing sea spray and boiling vapour as it arced back toward the transports.

 

As they came back around, Asyan saw nine more blue and black Land Speeders of varying makes and models flying in two loose-V formations. The barrage of shells, missiles and melta-blasts unleashed as they hit the formation detonated half a dozen ships, and sent the bulk of the column into panicked evasive maneuvers.

Dalth leaned over and shook his fist at the allied craft. "Oi! Get your own damn targets!"

Despite himself, Asyan let out a belly laugh as he swung around in search of fresh kills. He could hear the distant chatter of flak further back in the formation, and gunships were more glorious kills than transports. Let the others pick off the helpless prey; he and Dalth would have all the glory.

 

Banking through chattering gunfire, Asyan saw in the corner of his vision Dalth jerk back hard against his seat, hands snapping to his throat as a choking sound spluttered over the vox. He rolled the ship and felt stub fire ring against the keel plate, the joy of battle now filled with a lust for vengeance. As he span the skimmer round to avenge Dalth's wound he reached for the assault cannon controls, only to be smacked away by Dalth's bloody gauntlet. Asyan couldn't see his battle brother's face, but the way he held himself conveyed all that need be said. With a pained growl Dalth squeezed the trigger and sprayed the Chaos barge, splattering the stub-gunner across the hull. They made one more pass for good measure, and on the second run their guns set the engines ablaze. One more pass shattered the driver's cockpit, crippling their controls and obliterating the sailor's face and chest.

"Still on for the gunboats?" Asyan asked. Dalth merely nodded in reply.

 

With hindsight, Asyan would later reflect how they should have withdrawn. Not only because of Dalth's injury, but because the constant peppering of small arms had slowly taken its toll on the fragile craft. By the time they lined up on their third gunboat the consoles were full of red and amber warning runes, conveying everything from dead auger pylons to punctured fuel pods. With the wind behind them the smell of burning plastic would waft over the crew, and temperature gauges spiked alarmingly whenever the nose was tilted more than ten degrees upward. Inter-craft vox chatter suggested two others had turned back due to damage, and Sergeant Jyor's Tempest had suffered a main gun jam that let him with only four frag missiles with which to fight. The order came for the Supernovas to cut their losses and retreat to the mainland with intent to regroup and provide close air support once the Traitors made landing.

 

Asyan had other plans.

 

They came in so low that a wild wave ripped the vox-antenna off the port wing and all but becalmed them. By swearing in no less than three languages, Asyan verbally abused the Land Speeder back into the sky just before a missile crew could blow them apart. Melta fire tore open the hull and capsized the ship, but return fire knocked out the engines and plunged them back into the spray.

"Throne!" Asyan gasped as the on-board systems shut down in unison. He hammered the throttle and pumped the igniter, but nothing responded. The Speeder was dead, and their foes knew it.

He turned to Dalth, who had drawn his bolt pistol and was snapping off rounds at the nearest craft. "We need to bail! Dalth!"

Dalth turned to him, then took a doubting look at the water. Neither of them had ever tried to swim in power armour, but Dalth certainly seemed to doubt it would work.

"I said bail!" Asyan roared, grabbing his comrade and ripping him from his seat. The force of the pull unbalanced the ship and they tumbled backward together, plunging into the sea and sinking from sight.

 

Scarce seconds later, lascannon fire struck the flotsam and blasted it into a dozen pieces.

[Wargamer]

Part Two: Command Centre Primus, Celadon City 

 

Celadon City was much as Xeran remembered it; a city of flowers.

 

Every building he surveyed was named after a flower, and blossoming floral patterns of the building's namesake were carved into stone pillars or embossed into the woodwork. Every window had a flower box outside it, and bright petals lined every path and roadway. The air was thick with pollen and the drone of insects. Someone, somewhere, had gone to great lengths to make the city look like a rich boutique, or Noble's palace.  This time, Xeran decided, he was going to inquire into the city's past.

 

Inevitably, his eyes were drawn to the canal and eastward, towards the water gate. Vivid images flashed across his mind - bloody water, the pressure of the dead greenskins pinning him down, the bright light of the surgical table as they cut out his ruined eye...

 

He spat a curse and turned away. Throne willing, the Supernovas would have no need of yet another heroic last stand in the shadow of that gate.

 

A choral bell summoned him back into the briefing room, and with a hint of reluctance he stepped back into the world of blackened oak and green carpets complete with daisies. The guards at the door wore onion brown uniforms with dulled steel helmets adorned with rose and thorn heraldry. They saluted as he passed, thumping their empty fists against the aquila on their gorgets. The aquila clutched a floral wreath in place of the more traditional laurel.

"Such a thing as taking a theme too far," Xeran muttered under his breath as he pushed open the tulip themed door.

 

In the space beyond, Imperial officers had found a holoprojector, possibly the only one on the planet not covered in petals, and a gathering of Guard staff, Inquisitorial agents and Astartes jostled for positions around it. Not that Astartes had to jostle particularly hard. Xeran took in the finery of the military caste with a quick glance, paying most attention to his fellow Astartes - the Bright Lords in black and gold; the Fate's Angels in dark-bone, black and red; the Grey Ravens in silver and rare metals. He spotted the familiar sight of Master Dyus and took up station, depriving two Munitorum staff of their front row seats in the process.

As the last of the Astartes entered a robed man with a leprous face strode forward to the speaking podium. "Good morning," he croaked. "I come as the bearer of good news; reports from the coreward regions indicate the Guard are making excellent progress. We predict order shall be restored to the raided colonies within a year. Furthermore, the Primarch's Legion has recognised the importance of our mission and, as we speak, are driving back the xenos incursions on our spinward flank. This war is as good as won!"

The figure allowed a pause for cheers, and seemed to notice the silence radiating from the Astartes. "From this point on, the war for Celadon is a holding action. We need only deny the enemy and await reinforcement. When the Legion arrives, our numbers and strength will be overwhelming - the Archenemy cannot hope to stand against us."

"And what of the colonies that depend on Celadon's agricultural output?" asked Paladin Helsir, leader of the Bright Lords delegation. "At present estimates, the planet's tithe potential has been reduced by sixty percent, although in my estimation that is a gross miscalculation. Dozens of worlds now face critical food shortages in the months and years to come. What has the Administratum, the Munitorum or the Inqusition done to provide for these planets?"

"Master Helsir, are you suggesting we should focus on the feeding of the poor when the servants of Chaos are at the door?" the Inquisitor replied.

"Daag wefyd bix negir empah," said Chapter Master Dyus in response.

"I beg your pardon?"

"A well-fed dog does not bite its master," Helsir translated. "While I would not use those exact words, my colleague's sentiment is accurate. A hungry populace is a rebellious populace."

The inquisitor nodded in understanding, "and a rebellious populace is a breeding ground for Heresy. Yes, I see. I will attempt to divert forces to the mining clusters most impacted by the shortages to ensure the populations are kept in line." The man caught Helsir's eye and, to the surprise of all, visibly flinched. "Purely as a policing tactic, until emergency supply lines can be arranged." 

"My Chapter will be glad to assist you in this task, Inquisitor," Helsir answered with a slight bow. As he straightened out he seemed, quite by accident, to catch the eye of a group of Administratum clerks, who immediately fled the room on some urgent errand.

A Primaris from the Grey Ravens rapped his knuckles on the desk, "if the matter of the outlying territories is settled? The enemy has held the western continents for three months now, and preliminary engagements indicate an aquatic invasion is imminent any day. The proposals for a war of attrition are unacceptable; time is a weapon of the enemy. Need I remind anyone here of the insidious, corrupting nature of the Warp?"

"Preventing a landing is impossible at this point," Tyronis of the Fate's Angels added. "We've sunk dozens, perhaps hundreds of their ships, but hundreds more appear on our augers every day. Our only saving grace is that the enemy is reckless; they intend to land at the closest viable points. I have marked them on the display for your viewing..."

Helsir pointed into the shimmering image, "my Chapter has already dispatched troops to Eta. Alpha and Beta, while optimal, are also too far north to be viable attack points. Unless the enemy has somehow blinded us, they will almost certain strike against Epsilon, Zeta, Eta, Theta and Iota. Every other landing zone would add at least a day to their deployment time, and nothing about the enemy's tactics thus far suggests they will brook any delay."

"But the enemy know we've had months to fortify!" protested one of the native commanders. "They'd be hurling their troops into minefields, bunkers and entrenched men! We've had artillery ranged in there for-"

Helsir held up a hand for silence, "Your observations are most welcome, colonel, but they assume a rational enemy. We face a foe who seeks death in battle - ours or their own, it matters not."

 

As the discussion turned to the specifics of war, Mytal entered and caught her Captain's eye. With a nod to the door she called him away, and in the quiet of the corridor said, "we're wanted at the forward base. Seems we have some new recruits waiting for us."

"And this can't wait until after the briefing?"

Mytal smirked at the question. "Were you planning to stick to their strategy?"

"No, I suppose not," Xeran answered, returning the smile. "Let's head out."

[Wargamer]

Part Three:

 

Astartes Forward Muster "Indomitus", The Western Front
 

Envy was unbecoming of a Bright Lord, but Knight-Lieutenant Vestus felt a pang of jealousy upon seeing his allies arrayed for war. Since their earliest years the Bright Lords had struggled to maintain reliable supplies of replacement wargear, and as a member of a Reserve Company, Vestus and his men were at the bottom of the pecking order. Then the Astronomicon went out and the galaxy seemed to fall apart around them, which did nothing to help matters. His men were lucky to obtain a full suit of Aquila plate, let alone one of the more venerated suits. So to see the Grey Ravens and Supernovas and their stockpiles gnawed at him.

 

Cursing the weakness of his thoughts, Vestus approached the quartermaster's building. It was an open-fronted affair with Techmarines, Chapter Serfs and Mechanicum Adepts working to prepare the weapons and armour of the Astartes for war. Officers lingered there, perhaps to best coordinate their troop deployments to coincide with the movement of supplies.

"Knight-Lieutenant Vestus,", Vestus announced as he approached the portable command podium.

"Sejanus", answered the giant in the silver and gold of the Grey Ravens. He was clearly one of the Primaris, resplendent in a new and strange form of armour.

A  Supernovan in Corvus plate nodded to him, "Captain Cyda, Supernovas Fifth. Good to fight alongside you again, Bright Lord."

"I don't believe I've had that honour," Vestus replied.

"Alongside your Chapter then. It looks like you've been given the worst of it, Vestus. Right in the middle of Eta."

"Yes, I know." Vestus said as he stepped up to review the tactical situation. "I volunteered for it.  How many forces are in reserve? I was told to expect a Captain Tyronis."

Sejanus shrugged, "The Fates Angels left two hours ago, they would not say why."

"So you've got my men and the Fourth, who should be here any minute. The Colourblind Ravens will be supporting the northern and southern beaches. When the Traitors hit you, and they will, it'll be our job to pull you out of the fire."

Vestus glanced at the black and gold heraldry on Cyda's left arm and shoulder. "I suspect you're looking forward to that."

The captain followed Vestus' gaze and chuckled, "Very true. I spoke to your officers already at Eta - I've got a dozen Rhinos loaded with ammunition ready to roll in during the fight. Even if the enemy doesn't hit you hard, they'll have more bodies than you have bolt-rounds. 

The Knight-Lieutenant glanced south toward the Supernovan motor pool. As promised, a dozen Deimos pattern Rhinos sat idling as Servitors hauled ordnance aboard. "On the subject of supplies, I wonder if I could stretch your generosity a little further? As you may have noticed, my company has a shortage of spare parts. If this battle is as fierce as we suspect, many of my soldiers will be left without functioning armour."

"Say no more," Cyda answered. "I'll get you everything you need. "

"Thank you. I'd best return to my men. Sejanus, Cyda."

As Vestus departed, the Grey Ravens Captain cocked his head to one side and said, "Did he say he was a Bright Lord?"

"Did you forget to turn your auto-senses on?"

"I thought the Bright Lords were lost," Sejanus said, ignoring the jab. "the Adeptus Terra's records indicate they were destroyed millennia ago."

"The Adeptus Terra have declared my Chapter destroyed at least twice. Don't believe everything a clerk tells you."

"I shall inform the Primarch when he arrives so the error can be corrected."

Cyda looked up at him, puzzled. "What did they ever do to you to deserve that?"

Before Sejanus could ask for an explanation, Cyda turned towards her barracks and walked away. "What a strange creature," he muttered.

 

 

Eta Beach, The Western Front

 

Fleet-Captain Tádor of the Bright Lords was supervising the upgrade to the fortifications. The Celadon PDF had spent months preparing, but their work fell far short of Astartes standards. The Chapter's Silverhands were busy working to install barricades, reinforce bunkers and entrench heavy weapons at key points along the line, with the Militarum Enginseers seemingly intent of hampering their work every step of the way.

 

Behind him, a sudden prickle of static announced the void pylons had been charged. To his right, Bright Lord Devastators hauled lascannons and crates of power packs towards the high ground. To his left, Sovan of the Silverhands was arguing with another Silverhand about which weapon would be given the prime position atop the nearest bunker. He listened to he debate's back and forth with some amusement, for Sovan's gift for plasma technology was second only to his bloody-mindedness. Tádor was sure the man was arguing purely out of spite.

 

The argument ended as anticipated, and that left Tádor with no choice but to consider the waterfront ahead of him. When the Bright Lords first arrived there had been a fishing village here, which the PDF had fortified as best they could. One glance told the Bright Lords that the flimsy buildings would be more of a hindrance than a help, and with great reluctance Tádor had ordered them demolished. It had taken less than a day, and now only random piles of rubble remained to mark where homes had once stood.

 

"Captain Tádor?" the captain turned at the sound of his name to see the familiar face of HQ RK-40 of the Hakarii Clades. The man was tall for a mortal, with a powerful physique that had seemingly come at the cost of his looks. He had bulging eyes and a war-ruined jaw that jutted too far out, leaving him with a look of constant bemusement.

"Yes, RK?"

"This local was looking for you, Lord. He said it was urgent."

Tádor glanced across to the newcomer. He was a young man, early twenties at most, and apparently terrified to be on the front. In fairness to the soldier, that could have been due to HQ RK-40, or the fact the officer and his bodyguard all appeared to be identical quintuplets.

"Come forward, trooper. What do you need?"

The soldier gave a quick salute, marched forward three paces and saluted again. None of this was done with any particular skill. "My Lord... The last of the refugee transports have finally arrived. Some of us - that is, Major Sanfred, but some of us troops as well - we wanted to know if we could send an escort with them?"

"Cowardice," RK growled, but quickly fell silent when Tádor's gaze snapped to him.
"An escort is a fine idea," Tádor answered calmly. "In fact, inform Major Sanfred that I would appreciate it if the 44th Militia could secure the entire roadway back to the tertiary line. Our reinforcements will need the roadways clear of all obstacles when the fighting starts, and we cannot risk the enemy outlfanking us."

"So to be clear, Lord... you want my unit to patrol the roads? Away from the front?"

"Correct," Tádor said, ignoring the mutterings of RK.

To the surprise of both officers, the trooper seemed worried, "with all due respect, it seems like you're pulling us out of the fight. It isn't right for us to slink away while off-worlders fight for our home."

That, at least, seemed to earn the respect of the Hakarii officer. "With all due respect, trooper, you've got Adeptus Astartes and some of the finest Imperial Guard ever raised holding this line. You've had, what, two weeks of basic prep? You'd be more a hindrance than a help."
"Keeping transit routes clear won't see statues made of you, but wars are won and lost on such overlooked details," Tádor added. "If our reinforcements are forced off road it will delay them, and that delay could cost us the beachhead. Let us have our turn at winning glory; you'll have your own soon enough."

The trooper nodded, satisfied, and remembered to salute before asking, "permission to leave, Lord?"

"What is your name, trooper?"

"Xeran, Lord."

Tádor grinned. "A curious name."

"Named for the Hero of Celadon City, Lord. An Astartes like you who saved the capital during the Ork War."

"I see. You are dismissed, trooper Xeran."

 

After the messanger and RK had left him, Tádor switched his vox to the inter-Chapter frequencies. "Captain Tádor to Captain Xeran-" he began, but his eyes were drawn to the horizon and the playful message died in his throat.

"Xeran here. What is it, Tádor? Tádor?"

"Ready your men. We have company," Tádor answered as the Land Speeders of the Supernovas' Sixth Company roared overhead. The local vox filled with chatter from the forward spotters, and the command stations void shield barely had time to crackle into life before the first shells slammed down on the Imperial line.

Edited February 4, 2018 by Wargamer

[Bjorn Firewalker]

Well done. You need to add spaces between paragraphs ro distinguish them, as the tabs that do so for a *.txt file are automatically removed when copying and pasting to an *.html file.

 

The story, though well written so far, looks like

First paragraph.

Second paragraph.

a difficult-to-read wall of text, when it should look like

First paragraph.

 

Second paragraph.

[Wargamer]

Weird. Are you viewing it on a phone? The paragraph breaks seem fine on my end. 

[Bjorn Firewalker]

Are you viewing it on a phone?

Yes.