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My eyes flutter open and a wave of dizziness washes over me, my vision greying out. Not a good sign and I have not experienced such sensations for many decades. It also tells me that my helmet is gone and my first instinct is to check for head trauma. Lifting my right arm flexes my torso and a hard pain lances through my stomach. There is a length of jagged metal protruding from my abdomen and I realise that it is pinning me to my seat.

I am still in my harness and I carefully hit the release so as not to jar myself and aggravate my wounds. I put my left hand on the protruding metal and then pull myself forwards in one quick, smooth movement. I feel dizzy again and a tinnitus whine fills me ears. Despite myself, I vomit, and it takes me several long moments to recover. I need my helmet so that I can use my armour's diagnostics to assess my injuries and this is what causes me to check my surroundings for the first time.

The Thunderhawk's troop bay is empty and the only light is a faint grey wash coming in through the two massive rents through the fuselage. It is only now that I become aware of the howl of air and juddering of the deck beneath my feet. The deck is inclined almost ten degrees and as the light builds and fades I can tell that the gunship is yawing and spinning slightly, one way and then the other.

I orient myself first, finding the wall mounted vox and then straitening as much as I can but the metal through my stomach has pinned my armour, forcing me into a stoop. I crab walk across the shivering deck and lean against a stanchion. I press the send button and call for a situation report but there is only a set response from the servitor autopilot. This tells me several things: Grevon, the pilot, is either dead or gone; the Thunderhawk has sustained some kind of critical damage beyond the obvious rents in the fuselage and this is why the servitor cannot hold the gunship steady; it tells me that I need to get out quickly before we slam into the ground.

Carefully, I move to the rear stowage section and back myself up against an emergency grav-chute. I feel it latch onto my backpack and I reach around with my right hand to clip an umbilical into a port on my back. There is a sort of, scratch, in my mind, as my central nervous system makes sense of what my armour is telling me; that the grav-chute is connected and ready. Without my helmet I am reduced to these feelings and sensations.

I still cannot see my own helmet and more than likely it is gone, sucked out by the slipstream when the Thunderhawk was damaged. I push against a small compartment door and look up into the black lenses of old Makorro's MKV helmet. It is hard not to see the battered helm, with its reinforcing studs and slanted lenses and not hear Makorro's gruff voice or the rough humour that made him such a good Brother to have at your back. I miss him, and, stooped over like an old man with a dull throb in my bowels and nothing but the gloomy, grey light from outside to see by, I suddenly feel all of my two hundred and twenty nine years. As I lock Mokorro's helmet down into place and watch the display flicker on and sync with my armour's systems I glance about the abandoned troop bay and wonder where my Brothers are.

I sniff, and then sniff again, catching a faint odour of rine sap. It makes me smile, remembering the small wooden Aquilla that Mokorro used to wear, some trinket he picked up after the Mol Campaign; did a girl give it to him, some kind of holy woman? I have almost perfect recall but that small detail alludes me. I realise how much time I am wasting on these reminiscences and call up the diagnostic, checking my injuries; subdural clots, concussion, skull fracture, perforated bowel, penetration of the retroperitoneum and stage one hypovolemic shock. Not good then.

I need to leave but not yet. I take two canisters of expanding bio-foam from a rack to my left. I shake them both in one hand watching the two liquid compounds inside mix. I pull the shrapnel half way out, pushing the nozzle of the bio-foam canister in through the hole in the back of my armour and as far into my abdomen as it will go and then activate it, drawing it back out as foam fills my wound. I do the same in the front after pulling the metal all the way out. I can stand again and feel pain balms flood my system as my armour responds to my emergency treatment.

I limp over to the rent in the fuselage and grip hold, pushing myself out into the rushing air. The wing is to my left and the heavy bolter cradle is gone and the turbine isn't working. I cannot see the ground through the cloud cover and have no way to know how close I am but it has been seven minutes since I regained consciousness so the ground must be close by now.

Any normal man would not throw himself blindly from a falling gunship after pulling three feet of ceramite composite armour shrapnel from his guts. Any normal man would be in a coma with half his skull smashed and bleeding out from a catastrophic injury. Any normal man would be dead by now. But I am not a normal man. I am Carleeson of the Prophets of Hatred. I am a Space Marine.





**********



Not the best title perhaps but I was never very good at them. Something I've had floating around my head for months and I just got the urge to finally type it out.

Extremely detailed, an interesting read.
Just out of curiosity, is this just a short story or the beginning of a longer one? If the former is so, you should really consider extending this I think it would be well worth the read.

Great intro - I'd be very interested to see the broader picture here!

As I am about to leap, a shadow passes through the clouds opposite me, a flickering smudge that circles around to my right and then vanishes. I run the tip of my thumb along the ragged edge of the rent, the Thunderhawk's skin sliced through and mercury bright. Railgun. I know now what has crippled the old war machine and the shadow in the clouds takes on a more sinister connotation. My Brothers are all gone but did any of them survive? Why is the old war bird still being dogged?

I step out into the air and spread my arms and legs, slowing my rate of descent and I watch the Thunderhawk tumble away beneath me. She was not a glamorous beast, she had no mighty deeds carved on her prow, no one sang of the furious battles she had been engaged in. She was Cage, not a glorious name, but she served the Chapter before even my grandfather's grandfather was born and whilst my own life has lasted almost as long as those generations of men it is still a long time by any reckoning. Even if I live my span again I will still not have battled in the Emperor's name for as long as Cage, I will not have visited as many battlefields, nor slain as many foes. As I watch the gunship's cruciform silhouette diminish beneath me, alone and abandoned, mutilated by alien weapons, a small, hard knot of anger tightens in my chest.

It is not right that something that has existed for so long should end like this. I think of Makorro's helmet, waiting in that little compartment for me to retrieve it and wonder how many other ancient items of wargear have just died with Cage. Makorro's helmet, MKV, Heresy Armour, forged on Mars when the Emperor still walked amongst men, and I know that it has been worn by countless other Brothers in that time, that the fuzzy, green tinged display with its jagged script and the one dead pixel in the bottom left field has glimpsed enemies and battlefields that exist only in myth now, when the current enemy were only plains dwelling savages confined to a single world. They probably looked at the stars in the night sky and imagined that they were the only beings in the universe whilst Man made the greatest Empire the galaxy has ever seen.

I watch as Cage disappears from sight and it is as if my whole world has fallen with her. I am going to kill these aliens. They will not get to congratulate each other on destroying an Adeptus Astartes Thunderhawk Gunship. They will not get to pat each other on the back and boast of how their advanced technologies bested the clumsy Gue'la war machine. They will not get to agree with each other that it proves the superiority of their Tau'va. I lift my head and slowly scan from left to right, hunting for the shadow in the clouds. Makorro's helmet helps me, and it is as if I am back on the firing range as a twelve year old initiate, with Makorro's voice whispering in my ear, his giant paw on my scrawny shoulder, guiding my aim, teaching me to shoot for the first time. He knew the angle and speed of every target, knew exactly where I needed to point my rifle so that every shot hit its mark. Thanks to his effortless instruction I could not miss and I cannot truly say of what practical value his tuition was, or weather the success I had that first day was down to my natural talent or his long experience but you cannot know what it is like to have one of the Emperor's own Angels right at your back, you cannot know what it means to have a Space Marine educate you on the basic techniques that you will use in over two centuries of war.

The reticule is a square that floats around in my field of vision almost at random but it finds the shadow for me and locks on. I pull my arms and legs back, angling my body so that I speed towards the enemy aircraft. In the seconds I have, I imagine simply using my armoured body to smash strait through the alien machine, it would be pleasing in its brutal simplicity. I decide against that; it is not enough to destroy my enemies, they must know that they have been destroyed, they must know that they cannot strike at the Adeptus Astartes and live, no matter how grievous the wound is they have dealt.

The shadow resolves as a Tau Hammerhead gunship. Even now I must acknowledge that it is fortunate that it is not one of the larger Tau flyers, although in truth one of them might have been responsible for what happened to Cage and the Hammerhead is only here to check over the corpse. It makes no matter, the two Tau pilots awoke this morning, put on their uniforms, ate their meals, discussed the actions they would need to perform this day and never knew it would be their last. Even now they are ignorant that death is only seconds away. I will enlighten them.

I slow myself as best I can but even so I slam into the curved hull of the Tau machine with enough force to rock it sideways. I get enough grip to put one boot under me and then magnetise myself to the hull. I bend down and fix my only two krak grenades to the hinge of the circular access ramp in the side and lean back. I do not hear the detonation but long years of experience see me leaning back in instinctively, my right hand digging into the smoking hole where the hinge was and yanking the ramp back up the wrong way, tearing it loose. I demagnetise my boot as I swing into the cramped crew space. Hammerhead's do not carry passengers, their interiors given over to power generation for the weapon systems. For a Tau it would be cramped, but for me there is almost no room to move at all. Fury and determination see me wriggle like a fish down the narrow gangway and then kick myself a space in which to move, crushing alien machinery beneath my armoured soles. All of my standard weapons are mag-clamped to my armour but I want to use my hands for this. I want to feel Tau bones snap beneath my fingers because the loss I feel at Cage's destruction demands this visceral reaction.

Three good punches and the door that seals off the cockpit is warped enough for me to rip it out. I come in on my side, howling like a madman and the look of complete fear on the pilot's flat, blue face sends a thrill through me. One on one no Tau is a match for me, even unarmoured, my resilience and strength are far beyond what a Tau can compete with. It would be like a grown man beating a small child but the knowledge that I so completely outclass my opponent physically gives me a sense of power that I do not want to deny in this moment. I display some of that prowess in smashing my way into the cabin, buckling the strange, smooth alien material of the Hammerhead like wet cardboard. The Tau are screaming at each other, one is out of his seat and fumbling with a pistol while the other frantically works at the Hammerheads controls. I do not care if the alien is reporting my attack and I do not care that the other one is shooting me. Eight blue pulses of energy thump into my chest and two go over my head and then the Tau is pulling the trigger on an empty weapon. I grab the pistol and the Tau's hand in my own gauntlet and crush them. The Tau roars in pain but to his credit tries to fight. I turn full on to the other Tau and bring his wounded comrade around with me. We look into each other's eyes as I reach with my right hand and crush the skull of the first Tau.

His eyes are dark brown and I do not know if that is a usual colour for a Tau's eyes or not. They glisten with a limpid quality that tells me this Tau has eaten well, and been healthy and active all of his life, unlike so many human troops who come from worlds where malnutrition and disease are constant. It gives the Tau a professional military air but I also despise him for his coddled existence. In his eyes I see a veil come down, it is the look one gets when death is inevitable and imminent. It is the look of one who is defeated and it is what I wanted to see.

"What is your name Tau?" The alien's face creases with confusion as I speak his language.

"Kor'vre Sa'Cea Y'eldi Mi'el." Caste and Rank, birthworld and an honourific that means he is a skilled pilot. It makes sense if this is the Tau responsible for Cage's destruction.

"Mi'el?"

"One who laughs."

"You are not laughing now Vre'Mi'el." The Tau shakes his head slightly, his eyes never leaving mine, even though they are hidden behind Mokorro's helmet lenses.

"I am Brother Carleeson of the Prophets of Hatred Chapter of Space Marines. Did you shoot down the Thunderhawk Gunship Vre'Mi'el?" He nods. "What happened to the Space Marines aboard?" He says nothing. No matter. He has braced himself into the corner, both hands spread across consoles that are clear and smooth, their controls projected rather than physical keys and buttons. He is terrified but it no-longer makes me feel powerful, the sudden rush of moments ago swallowed by black hatred. I know enough about this Tau that I can respect him, just as his own people respect him, but I also abhor him and it is a feeling of such pure antipathy that I think it must be almost like love. I do not know what love is but I know this other emotion. The orks say 'grod', their word for best friend or favourite enemy, and I wonder if this is how they feel when they look at me.

Kor'vre Sa'Cea Y'eldi Mi'el scrabbles away like an animal in a crate when I reach for him and he says no over and over. I kill him swiftly. I take his head and strap it to my belt, the Tau's long topknot coming in handy for this. It is no gruesome trophy but an item of strategic value but that will come once I reach the surface, not now. I throw myself back out into the cloudy sky and engage the grav-chute almost immediately. Less than a minute passes before I see ground. It is a city in flames and I am heading strait into a devastated civilian housing area. The house below me is demolished but in the rear garden, a muddy patch of torn up turf and flower beds, stands a completely unscathed glasshouse and it is beside this I come to rest. I take one last look into the limp features of Vre'Mi'el before a peel off his skull cap and stuff his brain in my mouth.





**********



Thank you both for the replies. I am not sure just how long this will be but I think it has some legs in it so I guess we'll find out.

Again not bad. Perfect? definitely not. Entertaining? yes.
At times it seemed you had somewhat of a grudge on tau players for example when you said "They will not get to pat each other on the back and boast of how their advanced technologies bested the clumsy Gue'la war machine. They will not get to agree with each other that it proves the superiority of their Tau'va". No offence meant, just a bit of a backround vibe I was feeling; I'm not exactly a lover of the tau myself.

However it was a solid effort imho and intriguing, I look forward to more

The omophagea is an organ unique to Space Marines which is often under-utilised and overlooked by many of my cousin Chapters. This is especially true when using it as I am now, to absorb the memories of an alien. Many would consider the moral threat too much, and whilst I do not discount the threat posed by the propaganda of the Tau Empire to cozen the credulous and the gullible, to infer that some sickness of the soul could be transmitted by eating the flesh of Vre'Mi'el is laughable. Some would consider the act simply too repugnant and they are fools. I am one of the Emperor's Angels of Death, there is no act too gruesome, no deed too vile that I will not attempt it in order to execute my holy duties as one of His servants and to safeguard the future of humankind.

I have the vague awareness of dropping onto my backside as the omophagea begins to work, as I send myself into the trance state which will allow me to make as many of Vre'Mi'el's memories my own. At first there are only colours and odd strangulated sounds but quickly enough I see Vre'Mi'el's life play before me like a vidreel. I drift through his memories like a dreamer but as the omophagea parses his memories in more detail his thoughts, his feelings, become mine.

I lay awake in a simple cot bed in the dark, the sounds of dozens of others sleeping, around me. I peek out from under my sheet to see if those closest to me are asleep and hope that they cannot here me crying. I am older, running with my friend Tai'ell but the Earth Caste boy's smaller legs cannot keep up with my long strides. I stand with Tai'ell as we are reprimanded and I feel my face burn hot with shame and I feel the tears threatening to come again. They drag Tai'ell away and I know I will never see him again. Now I am even older, learning to pilot a small hover craft nad my instructors nods appreciatively but I know that he is impressed. I am older still and I whoop with joy as I fly into the glittering void of space for the first time alone and I imagine the service I might provide the Tau Empire.

The memories go on and on, those that were most frequently visited by Vre'Mi'el with other, vaguer memories flashing by almost too quickly to see. Finally I come to his most recent memories. I see myself first, a huge armoured figure reaching for him and I feel his terror, his fear and his despair. I die as Vre'Mi'el before I see the memory of his attack run on Cage. I see the great warmachine wounded, the sudden, unexpected power failure after the third railgun shot. I see the armoured figures jumping from the doomed machine. Some of them are very messily destroyed but the others fight back and are well coordinated even as they plunge through the sky.

As I come out of the omophagea trance I put a hand to my head to wipe away the perspiration from my brow before I remember that I am helmeted. I remove the helm and feel the cool air on my overheating skin and get my first taste of this world which the local inhabitants call Gracer. This battlefield will be a first for me. I was not sent here to fight the Tau, nor was I sent here to put down a rebellion; this war is about bringing Gracer into compliance. I have never had the opportunity to bring one of Mankind's lost worlds back into the fold. It was not supposed to come to bloodshed but it does not surprise me.

Thanks to Vre'Mi'el I now know that many of my Brothers survived his attack. Whether they survived planetfall I cannot say nor can I say where they are but they are not close as my helmet vox is still hunting for a frequency. I haul myself to my feet and unsling my bolter, racking the slide and checking the action. I walk out of the garden, pulverising fallen bricks beneath my boots or crushing them into the soft turf and walk onto the pavement and scan my immediate surroundings. To me right the civilian housing is flattened and the horizon is a featureless tumble. Behind me to me left, approximately three miles away, the city seems largely intact although there are many plumes of black smoke and the unmistakable flicker of vast fires.

My Brothers and I were given a simple task, to neutralise a chemical refinery that was supplying fuel for the Tau and, unfortunately, to the anti-Imperial human resistance who are aiding them. Not all of Gracer's human population has sided with the Xenos against us but it would seem that half of them were impressed enough with the Tau's promises and demonstrations to side with them against their own kind. I believe the fault lies with Prefectus Odonna whose overbearing approach to the governments of Gracer overawed and cowed some and, quite literally, alienated the others. It is the fact that Gracer is a world of separate nations that has largely allowed the Imperium to pursue any kind of military action. Without so many Gracerites on our side it would have been difficult to contend with the Tau.

I have a much more informed opinion on the wider picture from the Tau perspective because of Vre'Mi'el. What the Tau think of as civilian news is little better than propaganda and it amuses me that they go along with it so readily. There is much and more about the Tau that I do no understand, their culture, their hierarchy, their relationship with the mysterious Ethereal Caste. Even with Vre'Mi'el's memories it is difficult to analyse them objectively; I experience his memories as he did and his own bias and opinion threads through everything he did and was in life to such an extent, that, simply viewing his memories in my mind and expecting to see some kind of unadulterated truth becomes increasingly difficult. Memories about where his base was, even in what bunk he slept, these memories can be relied upon and utilised, they are simply place and time. Using his memories to discern how he perceived his comrades, his commanders, his very people, this is where it becomes difficult; if Vre'Mi'el was so completely indoctrinated that he could not know his own mind then how can I?

Right now I do not have the luxury to ponder these things. My first objective is clear though: reunite with my Brothers. I move back through the garden and make a direct line through the destroyed houses and towards the city. As the Emperor wills it, I should find my Brothers quickly and then we can get on with the business of securing this planet for the Imperium.





**********



Thanks for the reply. There is certainly no hate for Tau players, I myself have a tiny Tau army although the last time I played 40K regularly the Tau were not even a faction! I'm glad that the passage you quote felt personal though, it should, and I wanted to convey how a Space Marine feels about the loss of, what is essentially, a machine. To him it is so much more than that. I also wanted to try and get into the hatred that Space Marines have for their enemies and again, where a man might be angry, it is personal to Carleeson and I think that much of that comes from him being a Space Marine.

Good stuff. Nice to see some focus on those aspects of a space marine's physiology that are often glossed over. Hopefully we'll see Brother Carleeson spitting acid at some filthy xenos scum at some point!

The omophagea is something used often for ritual (and other) purposes by the Prophets of Hatred so I expect there will be plenty more brains getting munched. I had overlooked the acid spit but you've given me an idea so I'll definitely be using that.

Once again, thanks for the reply.

I cannot see them but I can smell them. Approximately a dozen humans, one adult, the rest children and adolescents of varying ages. They have followed me for over two miles and the closer I get to the city the more they will hinder my attempts to regroup with my Brothers. There is no alternative but to confront them. They are quiet, I will give them that, and the bulk of the group has never strayed closer than two hundred yards. A normal man would never detect them without auspex to aid him and even then they are sufficiently far away as to render that doubtful as well. I head strait for the nearest of them, the same one who has dared to get closest so far. With a thought I open the grille of Makorro's helm and the unfiltered air puffs in. I take a deep breath, letting the scents of this world drift over my tongue, tasting the air as much as smelling it. What it tells me about my little shadow is that it is female, pre-pubescent, filthy, dehydrated. As I get closer to her position it must be obvious that I have detected her and she flees back to the group. I decide to pick up the pace and start to crash through tumbled down brick walls and the charred remains of fences and hedges, I even make a show of casually kicking aside a wrecked vehicle. The rest of them do not go far.

Loose grit on the road crunches beneath my boots and I walk steadily, boltgun raised, as I approach a relatively intact commercial building. The road I am on terminates at a staggered cross-junction, the opposite lane separated from a series of diagonal parking bays by a thick white painted line. Most of the bays are occupied by destroyed vehicles, some with the bodies of their occupants still inside them. The damage is inconsistent with Tau weaponry; humans or one of the Tau allied xenos races did this.

The parking bays are fronted by a strip of now yellowed grass and then a large paved walkway. The corner building is the most intact, shaded by a large, badly burnt tree; although I see much of it has begun to sprout. A plate glass window that comprises much of the frontage of the building is shattered, a cascade of glass fragments spread over the interior of the building like a vitrified wave. At first I think the building is filled with corpses but as I look more closely I realise that only some are real, the rest are mannequins.

There are clothes everywhere as well, on racks, on shelves, scattered over the floor and on displays throughout the building. Many of the latter have been dragged into a flimsy barricade and I see several butchered human soldiers lying over them or next to them, many with shrapnel wounds in their backs from a large hole blasted into the side wall. There are several dead soldiers facing the barricade, as well as two kroot. Many of the bodies have distinct wounds where they have either been gnawed on or had hanks of flesh cut away. The kroot are allies of the Tau, well known as mercenaries they have a long and complicated history of coexistence with the Tau. They also eat the dead and I know that their 'shapers' as they call them are able to make use of the genetic material of what they eat to enhance the other kroot. Many would call the practise barbaric perhaps even an unholy sin. Vri'Mi'el's memories flicker unbidden through my mind and I know that the truth is that the kroot are not so different to me.

"I know you're there." I take a few more long strides towards the barricade. "You may as well come out."

Slowly, in ones and twos, dirty, pallid faces rise up to stare at me. Some stand with their mouths open but a few give me hard glares which makes me chuckle. It has been a long, long time since I had cause to interact with children, save the boys who are initiates in the Prophets of Hatred but it is many years since I visited my homeworld of Carnate and even then I never trained recruits. The defiance of those few children before me now amuses me, the fear or awe of the others barely registers, like unfocussed figures in a pict. Only the last person to stand holds any true interest to me however.

The adult I detected. Female, approximately thirty-five standard years of age. She is unsteady on her feet, one arm bound up in a sling with dirty bandages wrapped around her head, covering her left eye. My little shadow is supporting her.

"You are the leader here?" I ask. The woman gives a little snort, but whether she is amused, angry or exasperated I cannot tell.

"Am I the leader?" She repeats the words as if giving the question deep thought. "What exactly do you suppose we are, a band of warriors? These are children! But to answer your question, no, I am not the 'leader' here. My name is Miss Crofter, I am a teacher. These are my pupils." I can understand her tone. Ironically it is the memories of Vri'Mi'el's time in what I believe to be the Tau equivalent of a Schola Progenium, that gives me the best insight into what this woman must be thinking. Into what she must be feeling. I compare what I 'remember' about the Tau orphanage with what I know about a true Schola; military academies for children, where they are taught creed and combat, where the teachers are more truthfully instructors more than capable of taking to the field if necessary. I apply this knowledge to what this woman has just said and find her statement completely alien.

"That is not my concern. You have been following me and that is unacceptable. You will desist. Now."

"Or you'll what? Gun down innocent children? Is that what your Imperium sent you here to do?"

I shift my stance slightly and every one of them flinches back. "Imperator Vult; as the Emperor wills it. And I believe what you meant to say is 'our Imperium'." I see the woman's throat bob as she swallows, see a bead of perspiration break out on her temple, just below the bandage, and trickle all the way down her cheek. I also see the stiffness of her posture and the hardness in her eye.

"Your Imperium. I know that your people have taken it for granted from the beginning that you had a right to our world but you cannot come here and simply take what you want. That is not how things work here."

"That is not how things used to work here. This world, and every other world in the galaxy, are the sovereign domain of the Imperium, by the will of the God-Emperor of Mankind." I look around at the bodies, at the kroot and their human collaborators, at the men who died here defying them and then catch Miss Crofter's eye. "I think perhaps we are both on the wrong side of that barrier."

"What difference would it make?" She spits at me. "Both sides are just as dead. Is that what you want?"

I raise my boltgun and fire. Someone screams and keeps screaming. In an instant I am through one of the flimsy wood boxes with its charred clothes. Bodies tumble around me as I surge through the hole in the wall.

Outside, the Tau collaborator explodes as his headless corpse, and the grenade he was about to throw, fall to the ground. Hard rounds spank off my armour, tight, concentrated bursts, first on my chest and then at my head. None of them do more than chip the paint but even that minor violation sends my armour's machine spirits seething. Combat stimms dump into my system and Makorro's helmet targeter sweeps across my foes whilst making an angry buzzing sound as if urging me on. I aim, shoot, aim, shoot, one shot is one kill but this action is done so swiftly that my bolter coughs out a continuous stream of rounds. Bodies come apart, the damage catastrophic and dramatic.

I am facing professional, well drilled soldiers but they did not expect this. Like Miss Crofter, not only have they never seen a Space Marine before, until very recently they did not even know such things existed. I will enlighten them.

Four men are dead already and a fifth goes down when my bolter stock demolishes his skull. I kick a grenade back at the thrower even as it lands at my feet. Seven dead including the first one I shot from inside the building. I Mag clamp my boltgun to my backpack with a single motion; I will waste no more ammunition on these fools. I reach the eighth soldier, a woman, on one knee steadily unjamming her weapon, some kind of autogun. Her steadiness impresses me but it is misplaced. She ejects the jammed round and lifts her weapon. I let her get a shot off, the bullet caroming from the front of Makorro's battered warhelm. Closer now she reaches for a combat knife whilst still levelling the barrel of her rifle at me. She lunges in, the blade scrawping over my thigh. I unsheathe my own dagger, the weapon more like a sword in comparison to the black blade of my opponent.

"Call that a knife?" My dagger punches into her guts and I saw it up and out through her left shoulder. She shrieks in unimaginable agony but is dead before she hits the wall where I throw her, her body spilling her insides everywhere. I shout at the top of my lungs, an animal roar of anger.

"Traitor Filth!" And this achieves the trans-human dread I was after. Both remaining soldiers are stupefied with terror. I pick one up by the face and pound his body into mulch against the trunk of the old tree next to the parking bays. His corpse is so crushed into the bark it stays in place when I let go. I skewer him into position with his own rifle for good measure. The other soldier is running by now, weapons dropped in their desperation to get away. I let them go, the damage they will do when they reach their own lines more deadly than another broken corpse out here.

I hear a scuffle behind me and see Miss Crofter, mouth agape, face ashen. I smell faeces and urine and hear quiet sobs but my little pack of shadows are all there.

"Ah. Yes. The children." I stalk towards them and stop in front of the teacher, overtopping her by a good two feet. "You were asking me what I want Miss Crofter. Let me tell you."

This is amazing! Exalt 4 sure.

That's one Angry Marine! I loved the visceral nature of that fight, the sheer one-sidedness of it. This story continues to impress.

"You cannot seriously mean to leave us here?" Miss Crofter calls at my back. "Letting defenceless children take their chances! What kind of man are you? Is this the sort of treatment we can expect from the so-called Emperor's soldiers!?"

The pitiful attack on my masculinity puzzles me more than anything but it is her casual blasphemy that truly angers me. I turn, slowly, hunched in an attack posture.

"So. Called. Emperor?" Saying the words out loud, spitting them through gritted teeth, has a far more potent affect than I anticipated. I know I scream the words 'you would dare?' but I do not hear them, my ears filled with tinnitus, my whole body fizzing with adrenaline blocks out my own words and all the ones that follow.

Most of the children flee back into the shop, although I am only dimly aware of this, with the remainder gone away into some safe place within themselves, glassy eyes staring into the middle distance. The teacher, the tiny, fragile, wounded woman, is pressed into the ground on her backside, unable to lay flat because of her wounded arm she hovers inches above the dusty ground with her free hand held up to try and ward me away. She is looking at the floor, her tears flowing freely. I know the soldiers I just killed were afraid but that was different, it was the detached panic of one who knows they are outclassed and about to die but with this woman, it is the fear of an ordinary human being pushed well beyond their limit. I only catch myself as I see my hand rise for a backhand blow that will crush her skull if it connects.

"I should kill you." Her loud sobs catch in her throat as I lean right down over her, words a sibilant growl, droplets of moisture from Makorro's helmet grille gently pattering on her head. "For the sake of your pupils I will let you live but profane the Emperor once more and I will crucify you." I lean in so close the glow of the helmet lenses bathes her face ruddy orange, her head barely a quarter the size of mine, armour clad.

I put one hand under her armpit and lift her up with the gentleness that only inhuman strength can provide. As I stand us both back up, she is close to me, so close that I have to hunch myself so that I can angle Makorro's old MkV helm down into my gorget in order to get an angle that allows me to see her. I brush strands of sweat slick hair over her ear and tilt her face up towards mine.

"Look at me." Her one unbandaged orb swivels desperately, not wanting to look but unable to defy my command. "Look at me and imagine the nature of the enemy that requires a warrior such as me to combat it. You have no concept of the threats which face humanity. You think that your glorious isolation here means that the galaxy is a place of wonder and beauty, of mercy and peace? I have fought and bled in a thousand wars to keep humanity alive. I have seen worlds that were home to five hundred billion souls burnt to ashes because the sacrifice of so many allowed the greater part of human kind to endure for just a second longer. You ask me not to abandon you for the sake of the children you have saved and my only answer for you is that those who want to live must fight, and those who do not want to fight in this world of eternal struggle do not deserve to live.

"The galaxy is not a place of wonder and beauty, it is a place of fear and darkness. The galaxy is not a place of mercy and peace, it is a place of pain and war without end."

I cannot explain the compunction that sees me remove the scowling Heresy Armour helmet, but I do, and Miss Crofter's eye widens in shock and she gasps as she sees my face. I can only imagine how it looks from the wound I have suffered for this world already and the wounds that I have taken on every other world I have ever set foot upon. What does this young woman see when she looks into my centuries old eyes?

Her fingers curl around mine and I kneel down to look at her eye to eye.

"Do you know how many worlds there are in the Imperium? Do you know how many Space Marines there are to defend them?" She gives a slight shake of her head, still held lightly in my gauntlet, her fingers tightening their grip more and her eye, so liquid and bright stares into mine, unblinking.

"There are one million worlds and one million Space Marines. Just one of us for each of those worlds. Now look at me and tell me you believe that I alone am enough to turn back the tide, that I alone can fight every battle, vanquish every enemy so that your children do not have to." A ripple of movement crosses her face, and her trembling lips part ever so but she does not speak.

"You are wounded, weary and alone. I am weary, wounded and alone. But I will fight, and I will always fight, with every last ounce of strength with which the Emperor has endowed me because the very survival of the human race depends upon it.

"In the fight for survival there can be no bystanders," And I leave that quote unfinished for this woman's sake. "so, I ask you a very simple question; will you fight with me?"





**********


Thank you for the replies and I am gratified that you are enjoying the story so far.

I am reminded of something someone said they were told by GW when they applied for that writing position; characters should be flawed but awesome. I can only hope that Carleeson approaches that as he is an old character of mine who always seemed to get the best out of me. People often say that Space Marines are boring characters because they have nothing going on but I disagree with that and I think there's a great deal going on inside them that people don't see and I would like to think that I'm scratching the surface a little.

I also hope that the fight scene seems believable. Weapons aside, I think that a punch from a space marine is going to be almost always instantly fatal to any normal human and other attacks no less deadly with any return blows as useful as punching a car door. I don't have any problems with a Space Marine being able to go through a squad of trained soldiers without breaking a sweat circumstance allowing and besides, it's pretty fun to write!!

This is really epic!

She nods distractedly and pulls away but does not let go of my hand. She sniffs noisily and tries to wipe her face on her shoulder and stares at the smoking horizon, the destroyed homes, the shattered city.

"Why is this happening to us?" Again, I feel that this woman has wrong footed me in a way I am unable to understand. I did not exaggerate when I told her that I have fought in a thousand wars and I want you to imagine what that means. There are few civilians in the Imperium that have not had some relative, no matter how distant, who has fought in one of Mankind's endless wars. These could have been wars that engulfed worlds and entire star systems, even entire sectors, wars focused on some backwater moon, wars restricted to ship-to-ship duels. You may know of the deeds of this relative or ancestor, if you are lucky you may perhaps have a pict of them, maybe even a letter. Even if they could never return home there is always the expectation that they would win their war and then their service would end. Can you imagine that person sent from that first war to another, then another, then another, then another and onwards until war claims them?

I have fought orks who are bred for war, who love it like life itself. I have fought the Eldar who fight for their own mysterious ends or merely for the pleasure of slaughter. I have fought the Tyranids who make war only to consume the fallen. I have fought the Enoulians whose hatred of the Imperium is well known. I have fought Fra'al pirates and Donorian fiends and a score of xenos races besides who fight and make war with every breath in their bodies. None of them are content to simply sit in their homes. None of them shun the idea of combat like this human creature before me. I realise as I look at Miss Crofter that she does not want to fight. How representative of humankind is she?

I have seen civilians before, from afar, and whilst ostensibly I fight in their interests I do not make war for the safeguarding of ordinary men, women and children but for the human race itself, for the Imperium and the Emperor. When I have seen these people in the past, fleeing in terror for their lives I understood their fear as a mechanism of animal survival overcoming their sense of duty, as a symptom of selfishness, as a lack of faith. War is the Emperor's Creed, it is the sacred task with which he set us, His Angels of Death, and all those legions of men and women who battle in His name. The Emperor's church is a battlefield, a gunshot is a prayer, the roar of an engine is plainsong and the destruction of every xenos, deviant and heretic is an act of worship, righteous malacide in the Emperor's name.

What does it mean if humans do not want to fight? What does it mean when their souls do not cry out to make holy murder on the enemies of Man?

I jerk back onto my feet as if electrocuted by this woman's touch and realise that she is more alien to me than even the most bestial foe I have thus far encountered. I cannot breath in her presence and fumble to place Makorro's helmet back on so that I can hide my face from her sight.

Miss Crofter has finally regained some measure of composure and she tilts her head back so that she can look at me. She smiles, as cheerfully as she can but I can see the tremor in her lips and the tears in her eye. She says something but I do not hear a single word. All I can think is, 'what are you?'.

"I said, if I must fight then fight I shall?" Her eye searches the impassive lenses of my borrowed warhelm. "I don't think I'll be much help though eh?" She gives a little cough of laughter, held in her mouth as if she does not want to let it go. She looks at her injured arm, and frowns.

"When did you dress the arm?" I say and resist the urge to wipe my gauntlet on me leg as she finally lets go to half turn and indicate an older girl clutching two of the youngsters.

"Resecka, she helped me bind it up after... Well, the school was attacked and I was injured in an explosion but I lost consciousness for a little while." She trails off. Perhaps she does not want to remember the attack on her 'defenceless children' by the faithless cowards who have joined the Tau or whichever heathen scum it was that attacked a school.

"Let me look at it." I do not wait for her permission and as gently as I can stand, I pull her arm from the sling and feel my way up her forearm and up to her shoulder, the sensors in my gauntlet translating the touch more keenly than my old bare hands would manage. "Your arm is dislocated not broken." Before she can process this information I stretch out her arm and snap it back into its socket. She yelps in pain but grey's out and I have to catch her in my arms as she stumbles. Propped in the crook of my left arm I peel the bandage from her head. The hair is crusted with blood and the scalp still weeps from a jagged cut. Her eye is swollen shut but seems undamaged.

"You, come here." I look at the older girl the teacher indicated who hesitantly comes forward but stops I few feet short. "If you want to help this woman you must come closer." I try not to raise my voice but since it is naturally deeper than any normal man's voice, more powerful because of my size and third lung and distorted by the helmet mic it is hard to sound gentle, hard to sound as if it would not be easier to gun down every last one of them than talk softly. Never-the-less the girl comes forward and I hand her my dagger. She needs two hands to use it but under my direction cuts the hair from Miss Crofter's wound whilst I spray it with synthiflesh. It is the best I can do but already her body is less tense, no-longer held stiff to protect her wounded arm. She looks quite different now I can see her face properly for the first time, much younger than I estimated earlier.

My diversion to shake off these scraps has cost me almost forty minutes, an intolerable delay, but I am committed now. Even so we need to more.

"Miss Crofter." She winces as she wakes and runs a hand over her shorn scalp before realising she is using her previously incapacitated arm.

"Oh, you've fixed it. Thank you." She is as tiny as a newborn babe supported on my arm and whilst I can never know how a father feels to hold his child for the first time, it is not this, it is not how I feel now. I wish her arm was still dislocated so I could hurt her again. She does not want to fight...

"You are very welcome. We must move now. Strip what you can from the dead. Take their weapons, one for yourself and to which ever of the children you think can be trusted. I will scout the area to make sure there are no more enemies nearby." I leave her sat on the ground and do not look back; let the girl help her up.

I hope there are foes close at hand, someone needs to die.




**********


I'm glad you're enjoying it lliu and thank you for reading along. I don't know, maybe I've had writer's block or something all these years but this seems to be getting out of me from somewhere. I hope it keeps up as it feels good to just type away for a change.

This is great work! I'm really enjoying it.

"Someone needs to die?" Are you sure that SM is not possessed by some Chaos spirit?

A couple of really good updates. I was fascinated by Carleeson's whole mindset, his musings about fighting and dying and trying to relate to normal humans.

Nice last line, too.

 rez wrote:
This is great work! I'm really enjoying it.

Shucks, thank you. Hopefully it will continue to entertain but I think I've given myself enough hooks to keep going for a while and should be able to come up with more as I progress, touch wood anyway.

lliu wrote:
"Someone needs to die?" Are you sure that SM is not possessed by some Chaos spirit?

I suppose it's just as well the old GW forums no longer exist...

 Necroagogo wrote:
A couple of really good updates. I was fascinated by Carleeson's whole mindset, his musings about fighting and dying and trying to relate to normal humans.

Nice last line, too.

Thank you. Carleeson was always quite individual but also in this story, it's a way to get across the personality of the Chapter too without labouring the detail which is often something I get bogged down with. I suppose the first person also helps too as I get to show more rather than just tell. I was also conscious that I've said Carleeson is over two hundred years old, so I wanted to show that he personally has never interacted with regular humans before and then these ones aren't even Imperial so that adds an extra dimension to it.

I imagine it must be pretty difficult for a Space Marine to understand just how different he is to a normal person when he's either interacting with soldiers and officials in a formal way, revered and feared by any civilians he might encounter who spend the time prostrating themselves and trying not to soil their breeches and either in or heading to the thickest fighting. Imagine just an ordinary man having people treat him like that all the time with no-one ever just being 'normal' with him, he'd be batpoop crazy. It could even be the fine line between a loyal Space Marine and a Chaos Space Marine; they are both identical except one of them has chosen to take advantage of how ordinary humans interact with him and the other stays focused on his duty.

My thoughts keep returning to the civilians I am now lumbered with. They have provoked strange thoughts, feelings and emotions which I realise are not unknown to me, but so long in my past they existed at a time when I could still forget. It is these distractions which cause the lapse in concentration that almost kills me. The rail rifle shot hits me in the shoulder shattering the ceramite like a sledgehammer on a tea cup and shredding the reinforced under layers. Shrapnel flies like confetti and the power of the shot tosses me through the air like a ragdoll. First encountered on Dolumar IV the weapon was deployed with the express intention of killing Astartes.

I smash through a wall, splintered wood, plasterboard and lagging exploding around me in a choking haze. I hear screams and running feet and another slamming report as the rail rifle fires again. Nearby, someone shrieks in horror. The actuators in my pauldron spark and jeer, the mechanisms twisted and squeezed by the rail round into scrap. I pull the broken pad from my arm and lay it reverently on the ground. The bloody hand symbol of my Chapter has been obliterated and a liquid heat spreads through my belly at the sight.

Through decades of war this ancient armour has protected me and even as it was destroyed it saved my life once again. I brush my fingers over the still warm material as if what I see is unreal and by touching it I can take back this mortal wound, but the pauldron is just as ruined after my touch as it was before. A red rune blinks on, intoning the reduced integrity of my armour. A red rune. The ancient spirit of Makorro's helmet shares my indignation at this injury. Vengeance!

I surge to my feet, barrelling through another wall to come at my enemies from a flank. I do not know their exact position and I put my trust in the Emperor that they have no relocated to a new firing place that overlooks the alley I am now in. I jog forwards and in a moment of precognition I snatch up an industrial waste bin to act as impromptu shield. The heavy tin is scorched to rust and the plastic lid melted at one corner where the bin has been set on fire in the past. It will offer scant protection from so mighty a weapon as a rail rifle but it will be something.

As soon as I cross the threshold back into the open the bin is snatched from my grip and flung away as a rail round punches into its side. My cover lasted less that a second but it was enough. I have pinpointed my enemies location and am under their angle of fire before they can take me down. I expect there will be two of them but another shot from behind me indicates they are still targeting the children. Xenos scum!

I vault a low hedge and stumble as I drop two yards over a wall that was hidden from view. I land on a bare metal crash barrier that fences in a vehicle parking area. Dozens of civilian vehicles are still parked, waiting for owners who will likely never return. I squirm through the barrier and head strait for the ramp that will take me to the next level. I reach for a blind grenade and throw it ahead of me as I reach the top of the ramp. Makorro's helmet automatically adjusts and the autosenses cut through the smoke with ease. There are no enemies to confront me however and I use the poll of this level's maximum speed sign as a pivot to swing myself swiftly up the next ramp as I continue to run on.

I do not have another blind grenade so sacrifice a frag to cover my approach; I cannot afford to take any chances with the Tau Pathfinders manning the rail rifles, a single good hit will kill me outright. The Emperor Himself must be watching over me, as the grenade, out of my sight on the next level, detonates and explodes a vehicle. I hear a Tau cry and know that at least one of them is wounded. I throw myself into a roll as I reach the next level, using a vehicle for cover and I leap up, boltgun panning, searching for the Tau. The wrecked vehicle burns fiercely and plumes of acrid black smoke belch from the machine's corpse. One Tau is sat nearby, scorched and bloody, staring sightlessly at the ground.

Heavy concrete beams and this level's ramp obscure my view of the rightmost area. I vault the bed of utility vehicle and punch through the passenger window, reaching into the cab and releasing the handbreak. With a shove I send it rolling forwards, where it bumps to a stop against metal mesh gates that protect some kind of generator. The impact triggers the vehicles alarm and it begins to beep and hoot, yellow indicator lights flashing, mixing with the flickering fires to throw abstract blocks of colour across the dingy interior.

I pick up a piece of wreckage and hurl it into the far corner and run after it, trusting once more in the Emperor to make such a simple ploy work. The Tau fires into the flickering shadows and I have him. I send a few bolts towards his hiding place and charge strait for him using my bulk and power armour augmented strength to shunt the line of parked vehicles towards him. The Pathfinder flings himself to the ground to save being crushed. My bolt tears open his plastron and buries itself in his chest, like a wolf sinking fangs into prey. The mass reactive detonates tenths of a second later and the puny Tau splatters over grey concrete and vehicles honking in protest at my earlier rough treatment.

I scan to make sure there are no more ambushers even though I am confident they were the only two. I retrieve both rail rifles and smash them into pieces before dropping what is left into the still burning vehicle. I squirm my way through the barrier on this level and drop to the ground, missing the low hedge and sinking inches into bark chippings. I return to my little entourage to assess what damage has been done.

One of the children has been utterly demolished by a rail shot and what is little more than human slurry is hugged close by a teenaged boy who howls with grief. He holds an arm severed at the elbow and the hand against his cheek has been so comprehensively exsanguinated by the force of the shot that it looks like wax. Miss Foster holds herself nearby, staring at him, totally incapable of consoling the boy or even processing what has happened. Whilst I do not share her shock, I am as useless as she, and I realise that I, along with all of the survivors of the attack are mutely watching the spectacle.

Survivors.

An interesting choice of word and it changes my whole perception of these children and their teacher in an instant. It would be a sad and pitiful scene, played out on dirty slabs next to destroyed and ransacked buildings but I feel as if my presence makes it worse. The giant in armour, with his mighty weapons, who stands and watches a crying boy seems so incongruous as to be a joke. A flicker of self loathing for my inability to combat this problem makes me grimace. I am one of the Emperor's Chosen, it is not meet that I should feel this powerless. I know that this very human suffering plays out on a thousand thousand worlds every moment of every day but I have never been confronted with it. This is not a scenario for which I was made to face.

Something clicks in my mind, some primal instinct hitherto unknown to me. I cross to the boy, kneel down and lift his head. I remove Makorro's helmet again as I know this is a task for which only my unshielded face will work.

"She is gone. She. Is. Gone." He cannot resist me as I take the remains from his grasp. I remember the first time I saw one of my Brothers die. I remember the words that were said to fire me for battle, so that I could use my grief, my outrage, my hatred to avenge his death. Those words seem hollow here. I am nothing like what these people have ever known before and I am as alien to them as the Tau and I have already put the fear of the Emperor into them. Warrior's words will not serve here. I decide that a personal truth will be the only thing to reach him.

"I have seen many Brothers taken from me. Nothing can prepare you for that pain and nothing will ever make it right. It is though, one of the greatest strengths and also the greatest weaknesses of the human race that, wherever they may be found in the galaxy, they always learn to adapt. You can adapt yourself to pain given time but often grief demands more than that.

"In my Chapter, when a Brother is slain we enact a sacred ceremony which imparts to us a piece of that Brother that can never be forgotten and in that, he and all of the Brothers who have proceeded him down the long millennia, live forever.

"She was your sister." I do not need to ask, I can smell the familial connection between the boy and the sundered body. He nods anyway.

"Celly."

"Celly." I repeat and I hold the boys hands, my gauntleted paws dwarfing his. "I cannot bring back your sister but I can make her live forever." His eyes widen, filled with hope with incomprehension.

"How?"

"The sacred ceremony we perform for our fallen Brothers. I can do that for her. For you."

"Do it."

"First, you must understand that what it involves will be something your natural instincts rebel against. It involves a special ability that I possess. It will allow me to access your sister's memories, to make them mine and in so doing, her memory, everything that she was and hoped to be will live in me. In time I will live likewise in one of my Brothers and so too will your sister and so on forever until the stars go out. But it only works by doing one thing." And I drop my voice so that only he may hear for this is something that can only be shared amongst brothers. "I must consume her flesh."

The ability of a Space Marine to absorb the memories of another is a skill more potent than any other his enhanced physiology grants him. Coupled with an eidetic memory it means that that which is learned through this skill can be recalled as readily as any other memory. For those few that hone it most it can even grant skills and techniques. My Chapter makes use of this skill far more readily than almost all others because the process by which it is achieved requires acts which are seen as barbaric in the extreme, even monstrous. It is something that even Astartes often baulk at, most never making use of the omophagea. For those outside the mighty Brotherhood all Space Marines share it can be an act that engenders a violent reaction and there are Chapters who have been purged, or driven from the Imperium for making use of an ability granted us by the Emperor Himself.

I see these thoughts and more play across the features of the boy before me but even so, the words force themselves from his mouth.

"She will live forever?"

Celly's right shoulder, neck and skull are mostly intact, her torso and upper legs a smear of gristle only held together by the threads of her clothes. She has been scalped down the left side of her head and the bone beneath shattered like an egg shell. I brush back a few loose strands of hair and scoop out her brain in liquid portions, hiding what I do even though it is too obvious to pretend ignorance. Processing her thoughts is the work of moments for they are few. Her last memory is a pinprick flash of blue light but before that she watched me hit and it is strange to feel the surge of emotions this girl felt for me. I skip back a few moments more and I see her watching her brother's back. She felt guilty because the had put all of the responsibility for their shared survival on his shoulders.

"When you were children you fought over a toy," And I stumble over the words as I draw upon more and more memories to explain what I can see in my mind so vividly. "A dolphid. A yellow dolphid which your mother bought." It is enough detail to make sure he believes that I know her memories.

"I remember that. It was mine but she took it. We got into a lot of trouble but I took all the blame."

"She was thinking about you at the end. About your strength, your courage. She regretted that she had not done more to help but was so glad of you."

I do not know how much these words can comfort him but I was not made to spin stories. I can only tell the truth even if it does not amount to very much. Whatever her final thoughts were, they mean something to him which I will never be able to fully understand. He throws his arms around me and my armour's sensors relay the pressure of his head as he presses it against my chest. I hook my arm up his back and cradle his head in one hand so that the other is free to replace Makorro's battered old warhelm. I was not made to deal with this.

This is nice as always!

Oh damn, this is great! I love seeing the Space Marine, brought low by that which he is bound to protect. The ritual with the Omophagea is a great touch, and I'm just loving where this is going. Please continue!

Excellent and really well written - thank you for sharing and look forward to reading more.

Cheers all. I've been really enjoying typing this up, don't know where it's all coming from, but I'm glad people are being entertained by it too. Thank you.

Food for thought.

And thoughts for food.

Keep 'em coming!

My Brothers' voices on the vox is an immense relief. The words hash with static and fade in and out strangely, at one time sounding as if coming from a great distance and then inexplicably loud and clear then chopped through with squawks and giggles of interference. I cannot get through to them and on my fourth attempt I hear a monotone Tau voice, which sounds like that of a child, counting out a sequence of numbers with slow deliberation. The line cuts suddenly dead with a greasy pop.

Hunkered down in the lee of a building, a dirty, tattered awning providing scant concealment, I take a long look at the blown out facades of the nearby buildings. The sun is full up now and the air seethes with heat but the silence is unbroken. Progress has been slow since the ambush and in the hour since then we have gone only two miles but we are well within the outer bounds of the city now. I suspect that the area was rundown and derelict before the current conflict but even so, the stillness is unnerving. I thumb my palm as a ward and wonder just what those two pathfinders were doing out here. That's when I hear the low thrum. It is the unmistakable sound of a Tau anti-grav unit.

"Quickly, inside."

With a gentle shove I force open the door to the shop with the tattered awning, the simple lock shearing away under the power of my augmented strength. None of the children hesitate and even the teacher barely spares a questioning glance as they scuttle inside. I have moments before the Tau vehicle approaches, not enough to push myself through the tiny, human sized doorway so I pull it shut and step out into the street. It isn't likely they will expect an Astartes warrior to be waiting for them here, least of all one with half a class of children in tow but with that element of surprise and alone, I expect that will be enough to keep all the Tau's attention on me and away from the children, in case the damned blue bastards offer more resistance then I anticipate and this is where I finally part ways with Miss Foster and her charges. The first thing I see however is not the Tau but a gaggle of sprinting troopers.

"Get down!"

They are local military, it is unlikely that they have seen Astartes yet but the power of my voice overrides any reluctance on their part and they each drop to the baking hot road. The overcharged blast from the Razorshark's ion turret punches a bubbling crater into the pavement moments before the craft itself appears. My bolts are already in the air, enhanced hearing as good as sight, to tell me when to shoot and a trio of detonations spark along the sleek hull of the Tau machine with only one bolt wasted, taking a bite from a corner gable opposite and showering the street with brick fragments.

The humans get back on their feet, one of them tries to say something but a flat palm to the shoulder hurls him away with a strangulated squeak of surprise. I consider lining up to unleash another salvo when a thought occurs to me. I stamp down hard at the base of a street light, crumpling the metal and with a twist I tear it free. Time for some obvious tactics.

As the deadly Tau aircraft comes back around for another attack run I am ready, another little surprise they will never expect. The nose mounted burst cannon is already firing as the machine streaks into view over the roof adjacent to my position. Searing blue rounds rip up the road and punch into my leg like hammer blows. One clips my arm and the burning heat is too intense to feel although the sweet smell of cooked flesh wafts to my nose. I send the street light flying, the thirty feet long pole tangles in the Razorshark's airframe and snags the roofline above my head as the machine flies over. Suddenly anchored, the flimsy Tau vehicle buries itself in a mass of air-conditioning units and breaks apart like a child's toy. I throw myself forwards as chunks of brick and masonry collapse to the ground.

Coming up, I pan left, the scowling visage of Makorro's MkV lingering over the bedraggled men and women before me. They stare at me in awe but as I hear a door creak open behind me one of them, a pale young man with oily skin and black rimmed spectacles, raises his rifle, for all his unlikely appearance he is the most alert of them. Even so, I cannot have him panic shooting Miss Foster or the children.

"Move another inch and I will kill you wear you stand." The threat works on all of them, each one freezing in position and even behind me all movement has ceased. "Miss Foster," I say in a loud, clear voice. "Come into the street, slowly." I listen to the scuffle of shoes behind me but keep my attention firmly on the soldiers, the glaring lenses of the old warhelm keeping them rooted to the spot. I hear the steady tread come up beside me and spare a glance through the periphery of the right lens. Miss Foster is looking from the soldiers to me and back again, I wonder if she is expecting that I will kill them?

"Which one of you is in command here?" It is the second time today I have asked that question, but the man I knocked down clears his throat, attempts a salute, and then simply says, 'I am'. I allow the barrel of my boltgun to lazily drift his way.

"You are not friend's of the Tau it would seem?"

"We are from Taskforce Beta, under Commander Brant." He says it like it should mean something to me. Or like I should believe him. I think back to the Tau voice on the vox.

"So you claim." I eventually say. The soldier eyes his comrades nervously, hardly daring to take his eyes off me. Very slowly he raises his hands, palm up.

"I have documents from my immediate superior and they carry the code submitted to us by the Adeptus, er, Adeptus Administratum. They will confirm that Taskfroce Beta, along with the other three Taskforces, all operate under the auspices of the Munitorum/Gracer Combined Arms Force."

He says it slowly, carefully, enunciating each word as if explaining something obvious to a child which he expects will be enough for him to assert his authority over this situation. Does he seriously believe that he can resolve this by waving about a slip of paper and then have me fall into line? The transparent sheet of plasfex stains his hand green as he slowly holds it out for me to inspect. I catch a glimpse of the Administratum seal and even the smell of the plastek material seems authentic. I did not really consider duplicity at any point but this little piece of theatre grates on my nerves. If all of the Gracen peoples who have wisely joined the rest of the human race are as officious as this man then they will get on wonderfully with the ink scrawlers of the Priesthood of Terra.

"The Adeptus Astartes do not answer to the Administratum and your 'documents' are meaningless to me." In one stride I have the man's arm in my hand and I yank him around to look at the armband he wears, a thick strip of camouflaged material embossed with the Aquilla. "Miss Foster. Would you say these soldiers are loyal to the Throne of Terra?" I lean in close enough to almost touch the soldier's face before turning to look at the teacher.

"Yes." She says confidently but here eyes flicker. "Please, don't kill them." The catch in her voice is perfect and I smile inside Makorro's helmet. Miss Foster's belief that I might have slaughtered these soldiers out of hand, just because, is of no consequence although it nags at me that I do not have her full trust. Even so, the effect on the soldiers is useful and it is right that they should fear the wrath of a Space Marine.

"What is your name little man?"

"S-Sergeant Kopez, 228150, 2nd Battalion, Urdeska Sector Marine Corps."

"Marine?" My laughter echoes down the deserted streets.

That is very epic! Very exciting! I love this!

Thank you. I was going to have him regroup with his Brothers but it evolved differently. I need to avoid having just a few characters basically wandering around doing very little (as I've had before) so, hopefully these new additions will give me something that will lead to a bit more action.

I push the heal of my palm into my eye, wiping away tears. Marines! I drop the MkV back onto my head and let it settle back into the neck ring under its own weight, enjoying the sound of the soft click as the seal engages. I knock twice on the helmet, an old habit I haven't indulged for many years. Marines... I sit on the counter of the old shop, feet not quite touching the floor and lean forwards, hands braced either side of me. Eleven children, one teacher and seven soldiers- no, marines. I only become aware of the low growl in my throat after every wary body leans back in the dusty old plastic seats they now occupy.

The shop seems to be some kind of food outlet, I think I heard one of them use the phrase 'tea room'. There is no power, no water and no food. A mouldering pile of old letters in the doorway are dated from several years previously. That little nugget of information was announced to general silence by the spectacled trooper, Dright, R.J. 389167, Marine First Grade, or MFG which I was informed made him and the others Mother Fruking Grunts! I glowered at them from the shadows until the nervous grins wilted.

But these are no amateurs it would seem. They have completed three 'tours' in Kesslin, a nation state at war with Urdeska, one of an alliance of nations of the 'Central Region'. Kesslin and its allies in the 'Archipzone', so called because they exist in the heavily populated Archipesia area (no doubt a corruption of the word archipelago, but I have no wish to delve into an etymological discussion) have joined the Tau in order to finally destroy their enemies of the Central Authorities Strategic Alliance or CASA as it seems to be more commonly called. Most worlds in the Imperium are controlled by a single government, headed by an Imperial Commander which is commonly a hereditary position. It is unusual for a world to have so many governments and even more unusual for ordinary citizens to be so well versed in politics. Clearly the Imperial model of hereditary governorships is superior to this unstable cauldron of divided interests. If these people believe that the Imperium will win their wars for them and then give them back this world to squabble over then they are sorely mistaken. A change in leadership will effect the common folk little but many of the leaders will need to be removed. Still, that is a problem for the Administratum. My concerns are more straight forward.

"There is a chemical refinery in this area. It is being used by the Tau and their human allies. Where is it?"

Sergeant Kopez exchanges a glance with Dright who is the one that answers my question.

"That would likely be Hornlow. It's about five clicks north-east of here but you won't make it."

"Is that so?" Dright coughs and shakes his head.

"Here look." Dright stands and spreads a map over a table and clicks on a torch clipped to his webbing to dispel the gloom. He waits for me to join him but I can see clearly from where I am, memorising every inch of his map in seconds. I indicate for him to continue. "We're, er, here," he says, tapping the map and looking to me before going on. "And this here is Hornlow. Over fifteen square kilometres. Down this side is a lagoon, completely impassable. From the south-west until just here, you have what used to be Westow but that whole part of the city is a complete death trap now, you can't get more than a block without coming under heavy fire."

"The east side," I say pointing. "Open country." Dright seems surprised that I am able to discern such detail from my position but then he just frowns.

"Exactly, open country." He says, emphasising each word. "The Tau have complete air superiority, no way you can get through there, I mean..." He trails off and waves his hand from floor to ceiling. "You're huge. Not exactly subtle."

"Subtlety is for those too weak to take their enemies head on." I slide down off the counter coming to a decision. "You came from this, Westow. Your military is in that area?" Sergeant Kopez answers this question.

"We have a command centre set up there. We were on a patrol trying to find a way to Little Gessly, there's a railyard there which the damn drebos' took off of us two weeks ago. They only sent us because we just don't have the men to spare. The entire area is a meat grinder man." He concludes with a shrug.

"Drebos?" To my surprise it is Miss Foster who answers.

"A derogatory term for people from Kesslin. Quite a nasty one too."

"Pft! Please, spare me the moral outrage chica. We've been fighting those gakholes for ten years. You know how many of us they've killed? You think I care about what I call them? They're drebo scum, every one!" He chews his lip and then his eyes narrow at the teacher. "Wait a minute, your name, Foster right? Hey Zebeck, ain't Foster a drebo name?"

"How dare you!"

"Yeah, you're a drebo alright," Kopez says, jabbing a finger hard into Miss Foster's chest. "I bet-" Makorro's old warhelm conceals my sigh. I pick up Kopez by the back of his head and fling him into the wall. Rifles are aimed by some of his squad but I crush the closest with no more difficulty than a normal man would squash a paper cup. The other guns lower. Kopez gets onto his hands and knees with a grunt and I shove him back onto his belly with my boot. I pick him up by the heel and throw him again. Point made I look at the other soldiers.

"Any one of you lays a finger on the woman again, you all die." I had hoped to leave the children in the care of the soldiers but it would seem that the rigours of war have taken too much of a toll. They will probably turn on them or abandon them as soon as my back is turned. However, if the situation is as they say then coming with me will be suicide. My course is clear though.

"I am going to the refinery. I cannot be your guardian any more Miss Foster but you may continue to accompany me if you wish. Perhaps at this Command Centre in Westow there will be a place for you."

I am tired of humans. I am the Emperor's mailed fist, I am the sword that cuts down all who oppose His will, my purpose is to kill and kill and kill in His name, not to coddle civilians. I leave and do not look back.

Really awesome writting thanks

Cheers and thanks for reading.