Legacy of the Blood Ravens: Battle Lines
[spoiler]
The Prelude

The air was cool as the sun rose over the jagged spires of the Fortress Monastery. Mists rising from the surrounding wetlands coated the ground, broken only by the feet of the large figures jogging towards the stronghold. They were the Blood Ravens, one of the Emperor’s Chosen. Leading the small group was Cyrus, the Captain of the 10th Company. His blonde hair and impressive number of facial scars made him stand out amongst his brethren, but he paid no heed to their comments. Behind him trailed a group of Scouts, the youngest members of the Chapter, and neophytes to combat. They would get plenty of experience today.

The Scouts reached the base of the Monastery, passing by the layered defenses being deployed by the serfs and servitors. A full company awaited their arrival, clad in the same crimson and bone coloured armor. Unfeeling green lenses glowed from their helmets as they awaited the news.

Cyrus watched the assembled marines with a keen eye, looking for any signs of apprehension. For weeks, the Blood Ravens had been knee deep in the massive conflict raging throughout the Kaurava system. For weeks, Cyrus had been battling all forms of xenos, heretics, and sadly, even fellow servants of the Emperor. It saddened Cyrus greatly, but any hopes of an alliance with the Imperial Guard had broken down, and now General Vance Stubbs had arrived on Kaurava II, intent on ending the conflict between the Guard and Astartes in one move.

Cyrus nodded towards brother Vaenor. The young scout marine dropped to one knee in front of the assembly to give the news to the Force Commander. Commander Boreale stood tall, his gold trimmed armour glistening in the faint sunlight of the early morning. His stern gaze bore down on the scout. Vaenor tried to keep his voice steady as he relayed the ill tidings the 10th Company had discovered.

"Commander Boreale, enemy forces have been located within our perimeter."

"Where?” demanded Boreale. “Where have they escaped your grasp?” his dismissive tone irritated Cyrus greatly. The commander did not think highly of the Scouts, especially those that had yet to truly test themselves in battle. Vaenor was eager to prove himself, however, and had personally requested to relay the information to Boreale. Cyrus had allowed him the chance. Initiative should always be encouraged.

"Sou... Southern Quadrant,' Vaenor stammered, "But they were on the move. Their current location is unknown."

Vaenor stared down at his feet, ashamed of himself. Commander Boreale continued to stare vehemently at the young scout. From the assembly, Cyrus remained impassive, while his frustration grew. He doesn’t deserve this, thought Cyrus. He’s still learning. As Captain of the 10th Company, it was Cryus’ responsibility to maintain discipline and account for all actions taken by his Initiates. Cyrus immediately regretted allowing Vaenor to be subjected to this humiliation. He should be the one in front of the gathered troops, not a recruit with barely a year’s combat experience. Vaenor was young, and he still had much to learn.

Pondering the news, Boreale turned to face the assembled Marines. At the base of the Fortress Monastery, the bulk of the Blood Ravens’ 2nd Company, Boreale’s own men, awaited their leader’s orders. Unreadable under their expressionless helmets, the Marines betrayed now emotion.

“There is no time to be lost! Battle Brothers!”

Cyrus tried to conceal a grimace. Boreale was a ferocious fighter, but as a speaker, he was no Captain Angelos.

“Space Marines, today the enemy is at our door! We know our duty and we will do it! We fight for our honour, as Blood Ravens, as Space Marines, and we fight in the Emperor’s Name!”

Cyrus noted that Chaplain Gren had buried face in his gauntlet in exasperation. If the stoic Chaplain could not take Boreale’s blathering, it bode ill for the rest. With the utterance of the Emperor’s name, Cyrus and the rest of the marines bowed to their knees to give prayers and platitudes to the God Emperor.

“And if we die this day, we die in glory! We die heroes’ deaths! But we shall not die, no! It is the enemy who will taste death and defeat! As you know, most of our Battle Brothers are stationed in space, prepared to deep strike!”

That caught Cyrus’ attention. Of all the tactics of the Astartes, what Boreale was about to propose was one of the riskiest manoeuvres ever conceived by the Space Marines. Cyrus paled at the thought. Only once had the attempt succeeded, during the Second Armageddon War. Boreale was about to attempt a Steel Rain attack.


Vaenor glanced nervously towards Cyrus. His teacher looked as though he seethed under his skin. Try as he might to keep a calm demeanor, Vaenor could see through the Captain’s mask. He was furious.

“Is something wrong, Captain?” he said.
“I am fine, initiate.” said Cyrus. “Heed the Commander’s words. We shall talk afterwords.”

Cyrus and Vaenor turned their attention back to Boreale’s speech. The Commander was describing the tactic known in the Codex as Steel Rain. The plan seemed to trouble his teacher greatly. Arreth, Teral and Denmor said nothing and betrayed no sign of confusion, but Vaenor knew they were both thinking the same as their Captain.

“We are the Space Marines! We are the Emperor’s fury!” finished Boreale with a rallying cry.

The gathered troops let out a great shout in response, thrusting their weapons to the sky. The speech was done, and Chaplain Gren took Boreale’s place as he turned towards the Monastery. Even beneath the skull shaped helmet, the gathered Marines knew that the Chaplain was angry.

“The Reclusiam shall be open to any brother who wishes to receive his sermons before the battle commences. I should also add that it is every Astartes duty to obey the orders of our Force Commander. Without faith in our leaders, we have no faith at all.”

There was a rumbling in the distance. Vaenor’s auditory implants filtered the noise until it was clear. They were the rumbling of tank treads, by the thousands. The Guard were getting closer. The Chaplain continued.

“The Commander has ordered all Chapter Command personnel to the communications room to discuss battle strategy. Brother Captains Cyrus, Hethforn, Deimos, and Gelden, report there immediately. All squads, move to your assigned locations, and await further orders. Put faith in the Holy Father! We are the Blood Ravens!”

As one, they chanted: “Let none find us wanting!”

The assembly broke off, squads moving towards their posts, orders being shouted across Vox channels. Vaenor watched the other Scout teams break off, led by Elerion and Ariston. Vaenor was attached to Cyrus’s squad, and they gathered around their leader, awaiting his command. The others looked uncertain, letting their concerns fill their faces. Vaenor huffed to himself at the show of fear.

Cyrus addressed them. “Yes initiates? You have your orders, you should not keep them waiting. I will meet you when I am finished.”

“Sir, you seemed worried,” said Teral. “What is it that troubles you?”

Cyrus chuckled. “Psychiatric help from my own initiates, is it? It is not important. What is important is that you survive. You are the future of the Chapter, initiates. Have faith that we will succeed, but do not hesitate to retreat if the battle turns against you. I’ll keep an open vox link with you. I would hardly be a teacher if I did not watch out for you. Keep your eyes sharp, and your wits sharper. Now go.”

The others reassured, Vaenor followed them towards the perimeter. He turned and caught a glance of Cyrus before he disappeared behind the lip of the steps to the Monastery. Whatever was troubling Cyrus, he was doing his best to hide it.

Vaenor stepped up to walk side by side with Denmor, the recruit that he had fought against in the Blood Trials. Denmor was heavier built than Vaenor, and his brute strength had made him a natural with heavy weapons. He hauled his heavy bolter over his shoulder, and turned to speak to Vaenor.

“So, what was it like speaking to the Commander? He’s very different from Captain Cryus, isn’t he?”

“He seems big, compared to Cyrus,” said Vaenor. “Just the way he carries himself. He looked down at me like I was a bug. I suppose intimidation is one way to earn loyalty.”

Denmor smiled. “Yes, it looked like you were being shamed in front of a parent, didn’t it? You looked afraid.”

“That wasn’t how it was at all,” he snapped. “I was not afraid! I was bowing in respect.”

“Sure you were,” said Denmor, smiling and shaking his head.

“You could have gone up and spoke, but you didn’t, did you?” said Vaenor.

Teral and Arreth yelled back at the two. “Hurry up back there, you two argue like children!”

“Best not keep them waiting, Vaenor.” Denmor hauled his heavy bolter higher and jogged to catch up with the others. Vaenor just scowled and followed after him, splashing through the swamp as the Monastery gave way to the wilderness.

The entrance to the grand hall swung open as Cyrus stormed into the Monastery. Ornately crafted effigies and murals adorned the chamber's walls, recounting the exploits of the Blood Ravens and their search for knowledge. Cyrus paid little attention to the craftsmanship, his mind preoccupied. Entering a side passage, he soon arrived at the Communications Room, where the Captains awaited.

The Captains were pouring over the tactical charts emanating from the projector table, marking positions for suggested landing sites and defensive lines. Behind them, banks of servitors continued to print lengths of data, which chapter serfs diligently gathered and scurried away to other sections of the fortress. Slamming the door behind him, Cyrus brought a sudden silence to the room as the Captains stopped to stare at him.

"Commander, are you out of your mind?" Cyrus said. "You are asking your brothers to lay down their lives in an untested strategy. This isn't the time to try new manoeuvres. We need a better plan."

Boreale's eyes met Cyrus' glare with equal measure. "What information could you provide me with, Scout Captain? More reports of missing contacts with the enemy? Perhaps we would not be forced into such measures had your initiates been more careful. Had you been more careful.

Cyrus ignored the slight, continuing. "What matters is not the events that brought us here, but what we can do to prevent further damage. There has to be a better way."

Captain Hethforn spoke up. "What would you suggest we do, Brother-Captain? Commander Boreale may be our leader, but he would do well to heed the council of his brethren."

Boreale scowled at Hethforn. "Wisdom," he muttered. "Old man, I would suggest that you heed your own words, and take my own thoughts into consideration. I am the Force Commander, my word is immutable."

Faster than Cyrus could blink, Hethforn slammed Boreale to the ground, shaking the floor as they landed. The pair lashed out, throwing wild punches. Boreale managed to kick his opponent off of him, and he jumped to his feet. Rage filled their eyes, and the pair charged towards each other once more. The serfs scuttled away as the two warriors fought, desperate to avoid being trampled.

Deimos, Gelden and Cyrus backed off to give the fighters space. Trying to stop two astartes from fighting could in itself be a fatal act. Gelden glanced nervously at Cyrus and Deimos. Deimos remained impassive, while Cyrus merely shook his head. First, a fight with the Guard and the Sororitas, and now, here they were, fighting amongst themselves.

"Impudent wretch, you will undo us all to satisfy your own ego!" shouted Hethforn. The elder Marine's face was scarred by Boreale's blows, but he fought as though they were mere scratches.

Boreale caught Hethforn's fist and countered with an uppercut that sent him tumbling to the ground with a heavy thud. Standing over his opponent, Boreale pushed his boot down upon Hethforn's chest plate. "I will lead this defense, Captain. My word is immutable. Yield, and I shall ignore this transgression."

"Enough of this!"

Boreale looked up to see the image of Gabriel Angelos staring down at him. The astropathic projection was emanating from the table generator, giving Angelos's body a blue glow. The white haired Captain of the 3rd Company's face was filled with disgust.

"Your petty arguments are not needed at this time, Commander. Let him stand." said Angelos.

"As you command, Captain." said Boreale, releasing Hethforn and bowing to Angelos. Cyrus smirked. It seemed only Angelos could control Boreale's arrogance. It was fitting, however, as Angelos had been the Commander's Captain during his time in the 3rd Company, many years ago.

"This bickering is pointless." said Angelos. "We have much to discuss. Commander Thule's forces have completed the purge of Kronus, and we are preparing to return to Subsector Aurelia. We took minimal casualties, but every Astartes lost is a brother nonetheless. Report on your situation.

Brother Captain Deimos spoke. "Captain Angelos, the battle goes ill. Four Imperial Guard Divisions deployed to Kaurava II three days ago, and they are making a push towards our base of operations. Casualties have been severe. My 7th Company is at the moment unable to provide support, and are undergoing medical recuperation aboard the Battle Barge Fortress of Solitude. Eighty six marines killed in action, as well as forty more wounded across the five companies. 2nd and 10th company elements are on the ground providing our frontline defence, while 5th and 6th companies are stationed aboard Strike Cruisers Retribution, and Judgement, preparing for Steel Rain operations."

Nodding, Angelos turned to Boreale. "I assume this was your plan, Commander? And the meaning for your disagreements no less, I'm sure. Show me what you intended, Boreale."

Boreale rose from his kneel and activated the holochart. The three dimensional display expanded, and a map of the surrounding region flickered into view. Four large blue arrowheads appeared on the edges of the map, advancing through the swamplands.

"Here is the frontline of General Stubbs' divisions," he said. "Our last estimate placed their numbers at roughly three hundred thousand guardsmen. Each of the four spearheads is commanded by a Baneblade and an accompanying armor contingent. The plan is to lure the guardsmen into the swamplands, and then target their heaviest vehicles with deep striking tactical squads from 5th and 6th companies."

Twenty red tracers representing the combined drop pod force rained down from the top of the holochart onto the blue arrows. "Once they pass the perimeter set by our scout teams, the squad commanders will initiate their targeting beacons to allow pinpoint drops into the enemy lines. After the initial impact, 10th Company will provide covering fire as 5th and 6th consolidate a forward counteroffensive. 2nd Company will then move to reinforce their positions and funnel the Guard into predetermined kill zones.

"This is General Stubb's estimated position, near the middle of the Guard's forces. When our marines regroup, we make for his position. If we can capture the general, the chain of command will break, allowing us to easily subdue the disorganized Guard troops in the ensuing confusion. We could end this conflict with minimal casualties."

"A bold plan Commander," said Angelos, 'but it is not without risk. Your tactics rely on the abilities of Captain Cyrus' scout squads. Cyrus, what is your take on the situation?"

Cyrus leaned over the table. The map display reset the pieces to their original positions. "While I do not doubt my initiates or their talents, I am concerned about putting the weight of the entire operation on their shoulders. I am still working on moulding them into a cohesive team, and I feel they are not yet ready for such a task. I would suggest using the drop pods to instead focus on deploying tarantula turrets and Hellfire Dreadnoughts at specific points, creating a layered defense that will slow down the Imperial Guard advance while our main force is held in reserve.

"Steel Rain is only effective en masse, or when we have a geographical advantage. Commander Dante proved at Armageddon that a full chapter performing the manoeuvre can result in victory, but the circumstances are not the same. General Stubbs is no Ork, and he has proven that it is fatal to underestimate him. Likewise, we don't have the numbers to face him in a direct fight as Commander Boreale suggests we do. He is more likely to move over terrain instead of with it, negating the idea of funneling the guard into kill zones."

"Is that your assessment, Cyrus? Have you more to say?"

"Yes Captain Angelos, I do. I know no fear, but I am not so blind that I do not see a way out of this mess. A battle against our allies is a worst case scenario. I would recommend we evacuate and return to Aurelia. This crusade could end today, and with it, the future of our Chapter. I don't want to risk that."

"What?" said Gelden, his eyes growing wide, "Captain, you would have us abandon our relics, our knowledge? You would go against the principles on which our chapter was founded?"

"Don't lecture me on our principles, Gelden," said Cyrus. "Collecting our past will mean nothing if we do not have a future. Knowledge is power, but only as long as you are alive to use it.

"Engaging the Imperial Guard directly is suicidal Angelos. My Scouts can harass their soldiers from a distance, buying time to allow our remaining ground forces to escape. When all of them are away, Thunderhawk extraction crews can retrieve my Initiates."

A long silence followed. Cryus took note of the fact that Boreale had not objected once during his proposal. The silence was broken when a quivering serf approached the table, holding a length of parchment in his trembling hands. Deimos inspected the paper, and spoke gravely.

"Captains, we have a problem. Our network infiltrators picked up an Imperial transmission sent from Kaurava I. A Navy battle group has launched from the neighboring Cordon System to reinforce the 252nd Conservators. We must choose a course of action now. Every minute we stand here, the enemy approaches. What will it be? Do we stand and fight, or do we retreat?"

Angelos sighed. "Cyrus, as much as I respect your options and your willingness to protect your brethren, this is Commander Boreale's assignment. Chapter Command dictates that he has control over the final decision. Do as he commands. Brothers, stand true, and stand fast. Knowledge is power, guard it well."

Captain Angelos's image dissolved from the projector. Commander Boreale smiled to himself. "Then it is settled. We move forward as planned. To your stations, Captains, I shall meet you on the battlefield."

"I will return to the Fortress of Solitude, Commander," said Deimos. I will coordinate the ships' lance batteries and keep our forces updated on the Navy's movements. Hethforn, Gelden, with me. I will accompany you to your vessels."

The trio of captains exited, leaving Boreale and Cyrus alone. Boreale stared at Cyrus as he began to walk past, but Cyrus grabbed his chest plate. In his Scout armour, Cyrus was tiny compared to the massive Boreale, but he made his presence large.

"Don't do this Boreale. Listen to me, please. This isn't the right course of action."

Boreale shrugged Cyrus away. "Get off me, Scout Captain. This is my battle, and my chance to prove myself. The plan will not be changed."

"Boreale," said Cyrus quietly. "You were one of my best students. You were one of Angelos's finest sergeants. Don't throw it all away chasing glory. Think about what you have condemned us to."

Boreale said nothing, and marched out of the room, leaving Cyrus behind. In the corridor outside, he shook his head at the folly of the Scout Captain. This was his battle, and his to win. Nothing would change that.


Several miles away, no voice could be heard above the endless rumbling of engines. The swamplands were flattened underfoot by thousands of boots and armored tracks. The Imperial Guard continued their inexorable march across the Lands of Solitude.

From his platform atop a Baneblade modified for communications operations, the young Governor General and his retinue watched as thousands of troops strode past to the beat of a marching tune. He looked on with pride at his soldiers. They were not the strongest, nor the best trained, but countless citizens that had volunteered to join his cause in retaking the system. What had begun as a pitiful force of less than ten thousand ill trained soldiers had swelled towards millions, as citizens had risen up to volunteer their services to the Emperor. Their faith and devotion were a sight to behold, thought Stubbs.

When he had arrived, the 252nd Conservator Regiment had grown complacent, fat and lazy. It was no wonder that the Warp Storm had so swiftly overtaken Kaurava IV under their watch. It had already cost them dearly, and so Stubbs job had become twofold: to secure the sector, and to rebuild this group of incompetents into a force worthy of the Imperial Guard.

It hadn't been easy. Misfortune had struck almost as soon as the fighting began. A hundred Baneblades, shipped out across the system to battle the enemies of the Imperium, all gone in an instant. Transports shot out of the skies before their precious cargo could even be deployed. The Imperium's soldiers were fighting amongst themselves, and all it had achieved was prolonging the crusade.

The Adepta Sororitas had agreed to a ceasefire, realizing that they had no chance of saving the sector on their own. But the Blood Ravens would not accept. They had other reasons to be here that went beyond purging the sector of Chaos. They were hiding something, and they were willing to kill for it. It saddened Stubbs greatly that they had come to blows, but for the good of the sector, he would see justice brought to the Blood Ravens.

To his side, his trusted Lord Commissar Danalt was speaking into his Vox. "Yes sir... I understand... of course, I will put the General through to you immediately.' He turned to Stubbs. "General, the Admiral would like to speak to you now."

Outside, the battlements were being prepared. Techmarines coordinated Turantula Turret drops to specific defensive points, the Apothecaries were establishing triage centers for the inevitable casualties, and Thunderhawks made supply drops like clockwork, disgorging all manner of vehicles. Everywhere, battle brothers were moving to their positions, followed by serfs scrambling to keep up with their masters.

Cyrus waved down a landspeeder as it was about to set out for a perimeter patrol. The pilot obliged his request, and Cyrus hopped into the passenger's seat. They set out across the Lands of Solitude, a trail of steam following the speeder as its engines evaporated the swamplands below. As they sped to the perimeter, Cyrus silently contemplated the situation.

Boreale would be the death of them if he continued to ignore Cyrus's counsel. He wanted to make a name for himself, even if it took half the Chapter to do so. He'd argued against Boreale's promotion, saying he wasn't ready, but he had been overruled. Boreale's actions on Tartarus had won him favor with the Chapter Master, overruling the reservations held by a number of the elder Captains. What the Chapter Master wanted, he received. All Command could do was to nod their heads and keep quiet.

It was all a waste of time. What Azariah Kyras saw in Boreale eluded Cyrus, but he wasn't about to question a psyker of such talent. Perhaps, in the long run, Boreale would become the great leader that Kyras forsaw, but it mattered little in the short term. Cyrus preferred the immediate response over the long plan, especially if it meant sparing the lives of his brothers.

His hair whipped behind his ears as the speeder continued to scream across the landscape. He found the squad a few minutes later, nestled in a grove of trees above the swamplands. Nodding to the pilot, he headed towards them as the speeder sped off. Teral was on watch with Arreth, peering out across the mist covered bog. Denmor was erecting a makeshift machine gun nest for his heavy bolter. He looked up from his handiwork, and nodded with respect Cyrus as he approached. Vaenor looked to his mentor, his face sour.

"Do the Guard wish us to wait any longer? I just wish the traitors would show themselves so I can give them what they deserve."

"They are not traitors, initiate," corrected Cyrus. "They do their duty, just as we do ours. Our methods may differ, but all that we do is for the good of the Emperor and the Imperium. You should not take such excitement in facing our comrades. This is not a day of glory, or of celebration. It is a day that should be mourned, a day where we shed the blood of our allies. It is no victory whatever the outcome holds, only tragedy."

"Then what would you have us do, Captain?" said Vaenor. "Just ask the Guard to stop?"

"Preferably, I would rather not fight at all, Vaenor, but today, I will fight for every inch of earth, as is my duty. The Imperial Guard will expect nothing less of us. If we die today, we die as Space Marines, as the Angels of Death. Today, you will be tested. One shall stand, and one shall fall."

Denmor looked up from his work, uncertain. "Do you really think it will come to that, Captain? Will we die here?"

Cyrus patted Denmor on the shoulder. "Fear not, initiate, I promised I would keep you alive this morning. I don't intend to go back on that promise now. It is our fate to die in battle. But it is our choice of when that battle will be. I accept my fate, but I choose to prolong it as much as possible. The chapter's future is more important than the fate of one."

Denmor nodded. "I understand, Captain. It seems that there's more to being an Astartes than I thought."

Cyrus gave a weak smile. "You are still young initiate. These things are only learned through experience. Here, let me help you with that fortification."

They worked to build up the makeshift cover, masking the front with mud and leaves, braced against the lengths of wood Denmor had cut with his knife. They spoke little, so Cyrus watched. Each of his initiates was a part of a whole. Each brought something different, and it would manifest itself over time, determine where they would serve within the Chapter. Denmor was steadfast and willing to learn. He lacked the pure zeal of an experience warrior, but his unshakeable loyalty was inspiring for one so young.

Teral and Arreth were quiet, and they had formed a bond over their time in the Crusade. Teral was cold, and Arreth complimented him well. They were good soldiers, but they still needed to learn. Vaenor, on the other hand, almost seemed too eager to fight. He jumped at opportunities to prove himself, but his temper would be his downfall if he couldn't keep it in check.

Teral spoke. "Captain, Sergeant Ariston is on the Vox for you."

Cyrus keyed the vox bead. "What have you got for me, Ariston?"

"Cyrus, the Guard's batteries have opened fire. The south ridge is covered with artillery. We'll be pinned. I've pulled my squad back, and Elerion's doing the same. I'd move if I were you."

"Roger that, Ariston, we're moving out."

"Just make s...out...of..." the vox bead turned to static.

"Ariston? Ariston, come in!" The vox channel was dead. Cyrus glanced south. Ariston was right, the Basilisks had opened up. Loud booms rolled over the hills, flashes of light piercing the fog. "Move, now!"

Too late. Cyrus pushed Denmor to the ground as the artillery screamed down. Their best chance was to wait for it to move ahead. The round hit, turning the world red and orange as the fiery explosion hit near their position. He couldn't see Teral or Arreth in the smoke and dust. The Earthshaker Round had torn the tree line apart, leaving only splinters of burning wood and flash fried stumps behind. Before Cyrus could stand again, several more artillery rounds rocked the plateau, kicking up tons of dirt and rock in a chorus of fiery explosions.

His face was burning, his flesh and bone being peeled back by shrapnel and flames. Cyrus struggled to his feet, blood pouring over his temple into his eyes, obscuring his vision. With one hand, he lifted Denmor to his feet, and hauled Vaenor up with the other. The thundering sound of Basilisk rounds being fired continued, but for now, the scouts could stand again. The barrage had passed them, softening the landscape ahead of the Guard's advance.

Teral was dead, and Arreth's arm was shattered by the blast. Blood was streaming from his cracked breastplate, and he'd die without attention. Ariston's voice crackled through the vox. "Captain, there's some sort of interference with our vox channels, and my auspex scans are all over the place. Get out of there!"

As if to answer his statement, the air around Cyrus was filled with beams of lasgun fire. Taking cover in the new crater, the surviving scouts were faced with an oncoming rush of Imperial Guardsmen, hundreds of them. "Vaenor, cover Arreth. Denmor, with me!"

Denmor's Heavy Bolter began pounding away, the heavy thud of its bullets shaking the air as they discharged from the gun's barrel. Upon impact, the explosive tipped rounds tore the lightly armoured humans apart, before bursting into shrapnel, carving up the troops around the original victim. Vaenor had laid Arreth down in the crater, and was now firing off spurts of Boltgun fire as well. The hammering sound of his bolter complimented the steady thud of Denmor's heavy weapon. The chorus of bullets was only interrupted by the need to reload.

Limbs and blood flew in every direction as the bolter rounds impacted on their targets again and again. The suppressed guard were struggling to crawl up the ridge under the hail of explosive bullets. Despite their losses, the Guardsmen kept coming, more and more as the charge continued. The Hammer of the Emperor was an unending wave. Everything that Cyrus and his scouts did was only a delaying action, made to buy time until Boreale's idiotic plan could commence. All they could do was fall back, slowing the Guard's advance.

"Fall back! Fall back to the Fortress Monastery! Move!"

Cyrus's vox came to life once again, but the voice was weak. "Brothers, this is Captain Deimos, currently stationed aboard the Fortress of Solitude. Companies Five and Six are ready and able for combat drop. Now is our time to strike! Initiating Steel Rain tactics. Pods will drop in 3...2...1."

Cyrus looked up from the slaughter. Through the smoke, the sky was filled with streaking meteorites, scores of drop pods shooting through the sky. But something was wrong. The pods were splitting apart, some crossing through the paths of their fellows, others falling wide. The emergency vox channels were covered with static, but quips of panic broke through. Reports of off course trajectories, engine failures, and countless other problems filled the channel.

Boreale's plan had backfired the moment it had started.
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The shooting drop pods were suddenly surrounded on all sides by Valkyrie Transports and Vulture Gunships. Those pods whose auto correction systems weren't scrambled veered outside of their vectors, while the others weren't so fortunate. From the cockpit of his Valkyrie, Darius watched the chaos spreading through the flight of transports. To his starboard side, Darius' wingman was struck by a passing pod, tearing his wing off and sending the ship into a tumble. Darius's set his own gunship into a dive to avoid the conflagration of the two vessels mid air connection. However, this swift manoeuvre threw his ship into a spin, and Darius struggled to regain control of the bird as it continued its downward spiral.

He was vaguely aware of his navigator and co-pilot shouting behind him, but he drowned them out, focusing on leveling out. He finally regained control, no hailstorm of drop pods was about to stop him. Darius took a short moment to view the chaos above him. The air fleet was scattering to avoid collision with the passing drop pods, the telltale bursts of orange and yellow indicating where the craft connected with less fortunate pilots. Poor fools, he thought. Some pilots just lacked the stomach for close air manoeuvres, unlike him. Drop pods or no, he had a job to do.

His inner braggart got its comeuppance soon enough. Weaving in between a pair of hurtling pods, a third struck the ship squarely in the middle. Darius found his ship performing a ninety degree vector change. The starboard engine detonated, tearing the wing off with it.

The sudden shift threw his co-pilot violently into the cockpit canopy, snapping his neck on the glass covering. Darius could hear screams coming from the troop bay as soldiers tumbled out of their seats and were thrown about like discarded toys. Loud metallic thumps echoed across the top of the valkyrie as warning klaxons wailed indicating an imminent impact with the ground. Darius tried one last time to bring his ship about. Too little, too late. The Valkyrie slammed into the ground, crushed by the weight of the Drop Pod that had smashed into it in midair.

In a daze, Darius felt hot blood pooling around his waist. He tried to look down, but found he could not move his head; his spine had been shattered by the crash. As his blood poured out of his flight suit, sparks flying from his cockpit's damaged circuitry, he heard the sound of someone moving outside his broken cockpit. The last image he saw from his permanent stare at his cockpit canopy was of a hulking red figure with glowing green eyes, sending an armoured boot at his head.

'Keep firing! Don't let up as long as you stand!'

The air was punctuated by the repeating bursts from Denmor's heavy bolter as he and Cyrus covered the squad's retreat. An ever growing pile of guardsmen lay in their wake, more victims clambering over the corpses of their fallen comrades and into the marines' line of fire. Cyrus hefted his large calibre sniper rifle and lodged it into the crook of his arm. From his overturned rock cover, he scanned for the nearest officer. Eyeing the distinctive uniform of a Commissar, Cyrus took aim.

The scope of his rifle indicated a lock on the target. His hands gripped the stock of the gun harder. He squeezed the trigger, and there was a blinding flash from the muzzle. Searing through the air was a miniature rocket. It travelled swiftly, puncturing the sound barrier, passing by dozens of soldiers, unerring in its accuracy. The Commissar, busy shouting and shooting cowardly guardsman for "inspiration", was unaware of his imminent demise. For a split second, he might have felt the contact, a sudden shock, a brief moment of pain. If he had any doubts about his life, he wouldn't have time to reflect on them. A red smear and an explosion of blood were all that remained of the political officer's face, his blood being splashed across his men, inspiring them to run rather than stand.

A massive red projectile smashed into the hill as the first of the fleeing guardsmen reached its crest. The drop pod's impact sent soldiers flying into the air. Any that could still stand looked up with terror as the pod split open, revealing a hulking figure draped in shadows.

A deep, metallic voice spoke. 'Even in death, I still serve.'

Gouts of flame burst from the pod as a massive Space Marine Dreadnought tore itself free of its harness. With deceptive speed, the ancient warrior grabbed a petrified guardsman in one of its massive claws. Lifting the man into the air, the Dreadnought contemplated its victim for a moment, before slamming the body into the ground repeatedly. The Imperial Guardsmen were frozen with horror.

Denmor took advantage of their stupor, laying torrents of bolter fire into the masses, tearing apart the survivors while the Dreadnought incinerated the stragglers as they sprinted for cover. Cyrus approached the Dreadnought, and bowed with respect. "My thanks, Brother Alexis."

"Captain Cyrus... my drop pod... it was off course. No doubt the work of enemy psykers... they must pay..."

Cyrus nodded. "And they shall, brother. We shall make our stand here. It will be an honour to fight alongside you." He turned to the trio of scouts. "Denmor, stay with me. Vaenor, get Arreth back to the monastery."

"But I-" Vaenor started. Cyrus stopped him.

"No buts, initiate," he said sternly. "Arreth is in no condition to fight. No brother will be left behind so long as I can help it."

"I, yes, Captain, I shall do as you command." said Vaenor.

Cyrus put a hand on his shoulder. "If you are to become a brother, you must learn to work as a team, and rely on each other. Right now, Arreth needs medical attention. He is relying on you. Now, go."

Alexis spoke slowly. "Listen to the Captain, initiate. He speaks wisdom."

Vaenor nodded solemnly. He pulled Arreth over his shoulder, and started the long trek back to the monastery. Cyrus watched him leave before turning back. Two more drop pods had landed nearby, and soon, a dozen full battle brothers were gathered along the ridge. A sergeant approached Cyrus and bowed. "Sergeant Kerax, 6th Company reporting Captain!"

"At ease, sergeant, I need a status report. Communications are dead. What is the situation with the Steel Rain operations?"

Kerax relaxed. "Our strike force was thrown off course when the disruption hit our sensors. We hit a flight of Valkyries. My own drop pod collided with a ship as we passed through the thicket. I managed to link to a vox communication from another downed pod, and we regrouped here by zeroing in on Brother Alexis' signal. Sergeant Mieron's pod landed soon after us."

"Have you had contact with Captain Hethforn, Kerax? What about the 5th Company? Any ideas as to where the bulk of our forces have landed?"

Kerax shook his helmet, "Mieron's men are from 5th, but the vox is dead. We've been on our own for nearly twenty minutes without communications from any other squads. As far as I can tell, we're completely scattered."

Cyrus looked away, frustrated. He'd lost a scout already, another was wounded, the Deep Strike operation had been botched, and Emperor knows how many Marines had gone off course. "We'll hold position until communications are back up. If they aren't restored in ten minutes, we break for the Monastery. This ridgeline overlooks the Guard's approach, and it is a strong defensive position. The creeping barrage has already passed by us, and they won't risk shelling their own tanks. We have a slight advantage."

'Understood captain, brothers, take your positions.' Kerax saluted once more.

"We must... take defensive positions... our enemies approach..." Alexis groaned.

Through his scope, Cyrus sighted a fleet of Chimeras churning across the swamps. He was feeling more confident. The Blood Ravens had more time to set up, and they would be ready. Cyrus would not be taken by surprise again. He loaded a fresh clip into his sniper, and waited. The Blood Ravens spread out along the ridge. Kerax's marines were digging in, while Mieron's assault marines waited further down the hill, ready to jump. "Marines, vox test! Our short range beads might still work." Cyrus said.

"Kerax, Aye!"

"Mieron, Aye!"

"Denmor, Aye!"

"Loxas, Aye!"

"Alexis... Aye!"

"Bron, Aye!"

"Praxus, Aye!"

"Jereth, Aye!"

"Rastor, Aye!"

"Orthel, Aye!"

"Karov, Aye!"

"Wycox, Aye!"

"Arevar, Aye!"

"Breanor, Aye!"

"Squads are ready Captain!" shouted Kerax.

The rumbling of the approaching Chimeras grew louder, their engines grinding as they continued to close the distance with the Marines on the hill. Armoured gauntlets gripped bolters, meltas, rocket launchers, and flamers. Internal working systems on Alexis' Dreadnought clicked and hissed. Sweat poured off of Cyrus' forehead, and for the first time, he noticed that his left eye was obscured by blood. He had been so caught up in fighting that he hadn't noticed the shrapnel lodged in his face. He would need aid, but later.

The Chimeras were now entering firing distance, indicated by the sudden eruption of multilaser fire, crisscrossing beams of orange-red energy passing over the entrenched Battle Brothers. Denmor had not a look of fear or doubt in his eyes, but one of steely determination as he gripped his heavy bolter tighter. Cyrus smiled.

He looked down the scope of his Sniper once more, searching for a target. There, a suitable opponent. A zealous Commissar atop a Leman Russ hatch, waving a sword in the direction of the Blood Ravens. He would make an easy target.

Cyrus squeezed the trigger. "The Emperor Protects."

The Hammer Falls

A storm of bolter shells were loosed, igniting the air around them. Brother Loxas aimed a krak missile at the first Chimera surging towards the hill. The missile struck the left track, tearing up the muddy ground. Bolter rounds ripped through the lightly armoured vehicles, stalling two more, smoke rising from their damaged engines. The carriers behind just pushed on, smashing the burning hulks aside as the fleet continued to rush the hill. The bulk of the Chimeras began diverting around ridge. The Space Marines poured bolter fire into them as they passed.

The Imperial Guard responded with torrents of lasgun and multilaser fire, firing from the open topped cargo sections.. A single lasgun shot was little to worry about, but what the Guard lacked in quality, they made up for in numbers. The sheer volume of fire as the fleet swept past forced Cyrus and the marines to duck into cover to avoid death by pinpricks. Lying face down in the dirt, Cyrus' vox communicator began to blip. The channels were open again.

"Captain, this is Initiate Vaenor! Arreth is on the transport as you demanded, and I am returning to your position as quickly as I can! Sir, the Monastery is in chaos! The techmarines are working on returning communications, but only for short bursts! 2nd Company is trying to hold off... stormtro... being overrun!"

Static began to drone out Vaenor's voice, leaving Cyrus no time to respond. The Marines were struggling back to their feet, intent on meeting the next wave of transports. Dozens of carriers had parked, and hordes of guardsmen, clad in green flak jackets, were swarming out of their transports, and making a push for the hill. Cyrus motioned to Denmor, who let loose with his Heavy Bolter, pelting the mass of soldiers with sustained fire. Cyrus continued to target the Commissars and officers, leaving his Brothers to deal with the rest. Guardsmen were charging their lines, soaking up bolter rounds like a sponge. The dead were everywhere, but the Guard's sheer numbers were enough to gain a foothold. The Hammer of the Emperor indeed, thought Cyrus.

The air was tinged with the smell of ozone created by the massive discharging of Lasgun fire. The marines kept firing. Bolters fired, flamers spewed holy promethium, and Breanor's Meltagun flash fried dozens of soldiers with a single shot. Yet still the guard pushed against them. Below, one aggressive Chimera driver revved the engine of his vehicle, and shot towards the hill.

Brother Alexis' servos began to groan. As the Chimera sped ever closer, the great Dreadnought began to march steadily towards the edge of the ridge. A deep rumbling voice was augmented with the volume of electronic speakers. Alexis leveled his power claws, presenting himself to the foolish driver. "In the name of the Emperor... YOU SHALL NOT PASS!"

A huge power fist lashed out, struck the frontal armour of the Chimera, and lodged there. Alexis spun his metallic fist upwards, using the momentum of the vehicle to his advantage, propelling the Chimera over his shoulder and into the ground behind him with a sickening thud. The strain on his metallic limb as the Dreadnought tried to maintain its balance proved too much, snapping the arm off like a twig. Not that this deterred Alexis in the slightest. Quickly turning around, the Dreadnought stomped towards the overturned Chimera, igniting it with his flamer before pounding it into the ground with his remaining power fist, unaffected by the screams of the dying men and women trapped inside.

The Guardsmen had a foothold on the hilltop. A Leman Russ had joined the battle, and they had gathered around the tank, using it as a base. The lasguns were no concern for the marines, but the tank's battle canon was cause for caution. Sergeant Kerax shouted out. "Loxas, Breanor, deploy anti vehicle ordinance! We will provide covering fire from here!"

The two marines nodded, and leapt down from the ridge into the horde of guardsmen. Shoulder charging a cluster of infantry, Breanor pushed a path through the enemy, his ceramite armour protecting him from the worst injuries. Loxas followed, shoving aside any guardsman foolish enough to put himself between him and his target. They didn't have long to live anyways. From the ridge, Cyrus and the rest of the marines continued to lay waste to the humans below, preventing any from following the two marines any closer.

"Set the Melta Bombs for a delayed explosion, then get out of there!" Cyrus called into his vox.

"Understood Captain, melta bombs away!" Breanor shouted.

The two Space Marines arrived planted themselves against the leman russ, staying outside the firing arc of its side sponsons. Taking the heavy explosives from his belt, Breanor clambered up the rear of the vehicle. The engine was covered by a thin layer of armour; compared to the hulking frontal defences, it was little more than a dust shield. Punching through the thin cover, Breanor lodged the explosives into the engine, and jumped off the side. "Charges set, Captain! Follow me Loxas!" The pair broke off at a run away from the huge tank, seconds away from destruction.

A deafening blast stuck with such force that Breanor and Loxas were thrown from their feet. The Leman Russ was a burning wreck, shrapnel falling in every direction. Breanor's armour was scarred and pockmarked from the blast, but it had kept most of the debris from piercing the black carapace. The lightly armoured Guardsmen around them were not so lucky. From his vantage point, Cyrus viewed the carnage. Hulks of metal had sheared a man's upper skull in half. Others had been ripped apart by the blast, and more still horribly maimed by the projectile shrapnel.

Behind Cyrus, Mieron shouted. "Now brothers, we shall strike while they are disoriented! For the Emperor and the Unknown Primarch!"

Mieron's five marines holstered their bolters, and drew their melee weapons. Mieron hefted a power axe over his head as he shouted out a battle cry and jumped down from the ledge, followed by Bron, Praxus, Jareth, Arevar and Karov, wielding chainswords and combat knives. Alexis descended from the hill, pushing into the melee..

Cyrus voxed Sergeant Kerax, "We will maintain covering fire. I want Loxas and Breanor with us as soon as possible. We need to cover this position as long as we can!"

"Yes Captain! Breanor, Loxas, up the ridge on the double!"

Breanor and Loxas scrambled up the side, covered by Kerax's remaining Marines. Down below, Mieron's squad was carving a path through the Imperial Guard. They fought like lions. Mieron's axe shone in through the clouds of dust, tearing limbs from bodies. A Commissar armed with a power fist managed to connect with Mieron's torso, knocking him backwards. Mieron responded by shrieking a vicious cry, grabbing the Commissar by the waste, and swiftly separating his head from the rest of his body with a single swing.

Chainswords flashed through the air. Jareth was swinging his combat knife wildly, fighting in tandem with Arevar and Praxus while Bron and Karov swung their mighty thunder hammers in wide arcs. The guard were fleeing left and right, but the suppressing fire from Cyrus' team on the ridge top prevented them from moving out of the killing field. The fighting lasted for mere minutes, but to each marine, the melee felt hours. The cycle of slashing, hacking, and chopping continued.

Eventually, the fighting died down, as the last few stragglers were shot, stabbed, or otherwise killed. Cyrus nodded to Kerax's squad. They left the ridge, meeting Mieron in the center of the battlefield. The marine's armour was soaked in blood, full of dents and cuts, but they had weathered the assault. Cyrus congratulated Mieron and his men. "Well fought Sergeant."

"Thank you captain, but we still have a duty to perform. What is our next move? The majority of the Guard bypassed our position, and we could not have stopped them had we tried."

"I agree, we should fall back to the Fortress," said Cyrus. "Hopefully, some other marines have made it back there already."

"Are communications back yet, Captain?" asked Praxus.

"Not yet, Brother," said Cyrus. " A few messages made it through, but the Techmarines haven't fully restored the communications network. The last I heard, it sounded like they had come under fire. I suggest we move quickly."

Kerax huffed. "This plan was foolish from the start. Who knows how many brothers we've lost already? Why did Hethforn ever put his faith in this plan?"

"Heading in that direction is the first step, Sergeant. We may find answers at the Monastery. Once we regroup with the others, we will try to sort out this mess. Denmor, you and I shall take point. Everyone else, skirmish line, we're moving out!"

"Aye!" shouted the Blood Ravens.

The Blood Ravens fell into line leaving behind the wrecked chimeras and burning bodies. Cyrus thought of Vaenor's vox message. The Imperial Guard had gotten behind their lines, and struck the Monastery itself.

I only hope we're not too late.

Despite the clouds of shrapnel being thrown into the air, Stubbs remained calm. Unflinchingly, he stood atop the observation platform adorning his mighty Baneblade as it trundled along across the scarred and pockmarked battlefield. Commissar Danalt stood by his side, and the two surveyed the burning landscape ahead of them.

The burning wrecks of several Leman Russ tanks and burned out Chimera hulls littered the ground, their fires still burning. Medic teams were rushing to extract those still alive from the wreckage, and to separate those fit to fight from the dead. If the grim scene had bothered Stubbs in any way, he did not show it.

"A fine beginning for the final push, wouldn't you say Commissar?" he said.

"Yes my lord, it is. I have the reports from the forward elements, should you wish to hear them."

"I always have time for my soldiers Danalt, show me the lists."

Stepping down from the observation deck into the bowels of the Baneblade, Stubbs and Danalt squeezed into the onboard communications center. A group of servitors and Vox communicators formed a ring around the tactical display in the center of the room. The machine's blue glow cast a faint light into the shadows of the rumbling tank, illuminating Stubbs and Danalt's faces. Lengths of paper scrolled out of the servitors, listing off casualties, troop locations, and supply information.

With a nod from Danalt, the Vox communicators hooked one of the servitors into the tactical display. After a brief setup, the image of the battlefield was replaced by scrolling lists of reports. Danalt pointed to one particular list.

"As you can see here, governor-general, we have taken several casualties, but our advance has been successful. The records place us at approximately twenty thousand casualties, fewer than eight thousand confirmed deaths."

Stubbs frowned, "A shame so many have died to prove our faith in the Emperor. What resistance have we been facing?"

"General, the Blood Ravens' main forces were in orbit. Our psykers jamming signals also affected their sensor equipment. When the Astartes drop pods launched, their guidance systems were affected, sending several off course. The Guard have encountered a number of smaller groups, but they are too scattered to form a cohesive defense."

"And the Stormtrooper detail? Are there any reports on their sabotage mission?"

Danalt shook his head. "None sir, we've received no confirmation of their actions."

Stubbs leaned over the table, staring at the lists, watching the names and serial tags of his soldiers roll by, new names continuously being added to the report. "What of our operations in the southern hemisphere? Have the Orks been dealt with? I'd rather not have them waiting to meet us when we're finished here."

Danalt addressed a second list. "Fairwind Division established a communications uplink with remnants from the Rolling Thunder Armour Division. Reports from General Bortan indicate that they have breached the Roklaw Mountains, and are pushing into the Orks outer holdings. Their current status places total troop strength at two hundred thousand, out of the three hundred thousand deployed. On the east, Emperor's Hammer has secured the capital at Monse, using the reclaimed Tau base on Orridune for orbital fire support. Casualties were minimal."

Stubbs appeared satisfied. "Very good Commissar, ensure we maintain communications with Bortan's forces. I feel we should inspire our forward soldiers. You know how I feel about wasting their lives testing enemy defenses."

"I know sir."

"We need to do something to inspire morale. Have the Baneblade Lance of Glory moved to the frontline. Her presence shall evoke pride in our soldiers, and at least caution in the Astartes. We shall bring up the rearguard. The navy shall arrive within a day. I intend to finish this before they get here. Those sailors lack the tact required to give a warrior an honourable death. I, however, do not. The Blood Ravens shall receive every respect I can provide upon their defeat."

Danalt bowed, and nodded to the vox officer. "As you command, General, so shall it be done."

Stubbs turned on the spot, his long overcoat trailing behind as he returned to the observation deck, leaving Danalt in the communications room. The comforting growl of the battle tank's engines served to calm the worried Commissar. He smiled.

Fire and Claws

The ground was exploding around Cyrus and the beleaguered Blood Ravens. Artillery strikes from both Imperial Basilisks and Space Marine Whirlwinds were blasting countless craters into the swamplands that swiftly began to pool with water. All around them, the land was burning. Through the smoke, other marine remnants battled scores of Imperial Guardsmen, desperately trying to stymie their push. Shrugging off lasgun bolts that struck Cyrus' carapace armour, Cyrus brandished his knife and charged into the platoon. Screaming litanies, the rest of the marines joined the fray. A flash of chainswords and power axes reflected the surrounding flames. Bayonets broke against ceramite. Red blood flowed from open wounds. Limbs flew. Men screamed. Only carnage remained.

Not pausing to survey the remains, Cyrus spurred his followers onwards. "To the Monastery, quickly!" he cried. The Blood Ravens were scattered across the battlefield. Vox reports had been sporadic, but the general consensus was to fall back to the fortress. Cyrus's vox chimed. It was Captain Gelden of the 5th Company.

"Attention, all remaining Blood Ravens, please respond! Company Captains, report in immediately!" Gelden's voice was still affected by static, but the signal was no longer wavering. He quickly responded to the hail.

"Captain Gelden, this is Captain Cyrus, 10th Company! What is the situation?"

"Captain, all Blood Ravens are to return to the Fortress Monastery and form a defensive line. The Imperial Guard are pressing towards the outer bastions as we speak. What is your status?"

"We are about three kilometres south of the Monastery. I have gathered stragglers from 5th and 6th Companies. We're caught between the Guard's forward armour regiments and our own Artillery."

Gelden responded, "Understood, Captain. Be warned, the Techmarines' scans have indicated that one of Stubbs Baneblades is moving forward to reinforce the frontline. Keep pressing forward and try to keep ahead of the main force. So far, my survivors and the 2nd company have been able to hold them at bay, but they are relentless. We shall see you soon, Captain. May the Emperor guide you here safely."

Cyrus nodded, "Understood Captain, marines, double time!" The group continued their charge. Ahead of them, a company of Guardsmen turned to face their attackers. Lasgun fire dissected dust clouds, and everywhere there was the sound of explosions and weapon discharges. Mieron swung wildly with his power axe, their blood shimmering on its blade. Bron and Jereth leapt forward to support their sergeant. The Blood Ravens drove a wedge into the guard formation.

The fighting continued to thicken around the Blood Ravens. Tanks and armoured vehicles were increasingly common; the closer Cyrus and the marines came to the Fortress Monastery, the denser the Guard numbers became. The clouds of smoke cleared momentarily, revealing the looming shape of the Fortress Monastery's towering spires and gleaming ramparts. It wasn't much further.

They finally reached a large pile of ruined vehicles, victims of the 2nd Company's concentrated fire. It formed a long barrier, stretching out in both directions into the clouds of dust. Several tanks were trying to clear the barricade. The wall was holding the tide back, slowing the Imperial advance to a crawl. However, it also blocked their retreat. Backs to the wall, Kerax's marines let loose their bolters once more against the advancing imperials. Countless guardsmen fell, but still more pushed against them like a tidal wave. Denmor's heavy bolter sang, the rhythm of his shots punctuated by the sound of their impact detonations.

Cyrus smiled at his recruit's prowess. He would make a fine devastator one day. His red carapace armour was blackened by repeated las fire, but Denmor stayed firm, shrugging off the bolts even as they continued to score his uniform. Cyrus loaded his rifle. It was his last shot. Make it count.

The high speed projectile erupted from the barrel, and mere milliseconds later splattered a vox operator's head across the bloodied battlefield. He lowered his gun, the magazine empty. The steady staccato of Denmor's weapon soon ended, and within a minute, the Blood Ravens ammunition had been spent. Cyrus brandished his knife, ready to take the next charge. Mieron's warriors gripped their weapons, bracing themselves. Alexis's servos began to whine, and his vehicle extended its remaining claw menacingly.

The Guard had momentarily stopped. The loud noise of an approaching vehicle filled the air. The mass of Guardsmen began to part, revealing the source. The mighty Baneblade had arrived. Over the vehicles loudspeakers, the vox operator's voice was tinged with metal. "Blood Ravens, lay down your weapons, or face annihilation. If you surrender, we shall offer you every respect we possess. End this pointless slaughter."

Alexis spoke softly. "The Blood Ravens... do not... surrender... no matter the odds..."

"So be it." the vox operator lamented. "May the Emperor watch over you, Angels of Death."

The Baneblade's weapons were trained on Cyrus's group. His good eye narrowed. Then, they moved. Moments later, the cannon fired. Too late.

The first soldier's bayonet he grabbed with his gauntlet, twisting it out of shape while running the poor soul through with his knife. The second received a stab through his faceplate, and the third the victim of a vicious backhand that slit his jugular. Around him, the other Blood Ravens battled dozens of guardsmen apiece, their heavy ceramite armour protecting them from the worst of injuries. This close to the Baneblade, it's guns were useless.

Alexis the Dreadnought stampeded forward, knocking aside guardsmen and making for the Baneblade. "My tomb is eternal, yours is not!"

"To Brother Alexis!" shouted Mieron. Arevar and Praxus activated their jump jets, crashing onto the top of the Baneblade. Alexis claw grabbed the front of the tanks chassis, and he activated the flamer. With his fist, Alexis pounded away at the Baneblade's armor, tearing it apart bit by bit. Cyrus ducked a Commissar's power sword and watched the veteran continue his rampage.

The metal titans clashed, Alexis versus the Baneblade. Despite Alexis' damage, he was holding the Baneblade to a standstill. The veteran struggled to hold the tank back, bracing himself by digging his feet into the ground. He would not be beaten this way. Above, Arevar leapt from the turret into the clustered infantry. His chainsword sliced through a guardsman's flak jacket, tearing the man's chest apart.

Around him, Cyrus and the marines were becoming bogged down in the fighting. Praxus was dragged to the ground by sheer numbers. The marine lashed out with his knife, killing with every swing, but it wasn't enough. Dozens of point blank las bolts pierced his armor at the seams. A high powered shot struck his neck, severing his head. The Astartes ceased thrashing, lying dead amongst his victims.

Cyrus was struck in the chest by a las shot. The blast took him off his feet. The bolt had burned through his carapace armor effortlessly, passing through his chest and out his back. He felt little pain, but the shock had taken him by surprise. Beside him, Kerax took several shots to his shoulder pauldrons, scoring deep holes into them. Whatever the guard had done to their guns, it was working.

Alexis grappled with the tank's gun, pushing the cannon away from his brothers. Beneath the titans, a pair of Guardsmen crept underneath the frame of Alexis's Dreadnought. The enterprising soldiers attached a large package to the hull. Too late, Cyrus recognized the Melta charge. He threw himself flat against the ground. The bomb detonated as the guardsmen darted away.

The Dreadnought exploded, sending flying chunks of superheated metal into the crowd, flaying both Guardsmen and Blood Raven alike. The front of the Baneblade was scarred by the explosion, but it was still working. Cyrus stumbled to his feet, his congealed head wound bleeding anew. Loxas and Orthel were dead, the others heavily wounded. The Blood Ravens struggled to their feet, clutching deep wounds.

"Blood Ravens, scale the wall! Fall back, I repeat, fall back now!" shouted Cyrus. It was a long shot, but they wouldn't stand a chance against the Baneblade now. Alexis' melted hull was crushed under the advancing tank's treads. The ancient had fallen while barely damaging the behemoth vehicle.

As it turned out, they didn't have to. Two of the burning wrecks were pushed aside, blowing up a cloud of smoke and dust. Heavy Bolter rounds flashed through the sky, and the smoke parted to reveal the red painted shape of a Razorback. The Marine manning the Bolter waved to the Blood Ravens. The way was clear, and the gunner was covering their retreat. Cyrus nodded to the Marines, and they rushed for the breach.

The Baneblade pursued them, gun sponsons firing into their backs. The Blood Ravens ducked under the tank's field of fire, sprinting for cover. The Razorback was drawing fire away from them, but the transport was no match for the Baneblade. It instead focused on blocking the incoming wave of Guardsmen. Mieron held his ground, slashing and hacking the guardsmen while the marines fell back. He pushed Cyrus through the hole, before turning and following the Blood Ravens through. The air was choked with dust on the other side of the wall, but Cyrus saw a welcoming sight. Bright green visors pierced the smoke, fellow Blood Ravens at long last.

With a battle cry, the 2nd Company Marines opened fire on the breach, cutting down the pursuing Imperial Guard with ease. The Razorback drove back through the hole, firing the entire time. The gunner cut down several troops with a wide sweep of his weapon.

Cyrus stepped to the side, his followers mirroring him. He slumped to the ground in exhaustion. A shining figure, clad in gold trimmed armour, power sword in hand, rushed past them. Commander Indrick Boreale was leading from the front, hungry for glory. No doubt to also avoid hearing our criticism as well, thought Cyrus.

Another Marine approached. Despite his soot covered face, the noble image of the 5th Company Captain's well trimmed beard and fiery eyes shone through the grime. Captain Gelden offered a hand to Cyrus, hoisting him to his feet. "It is good to see you alive, Cyrus. I had feared for the worst."

"And to you, Captain," said Cyrus, accepting his hand. "Our brothers require medical attention. Three are dead, and more if we do not reach the Apothecaries."

Gelden wrapped an arm around Cyrus' shoulder, and the two walked back towards the Monastery. The heavy walls were pockmarked with holes and scorched black by fire. Gelden sighed. "Things are far worse than we feared. We have much to discuss and little time to do so."

The landing pad for the Monastery had been converted into a makeshift aid station. Dozens of wounded Marines and scouts were being tended to by a trio of Apothecaries performing triage, seeing who could be saved, and whose geneseeds to salvage. Chaplain Gren stood in the middle, chanting litanies of purification to cleanse the more gangrenous injuries, as well as to keep morale up. Cyrus and Gelden entered the command tent. Mieron and Kerax had returned to their Companies, leaving Cyrus with only Denmor. The young scout stood at the entrance to the tent while the two captains conferred inside.

The Tech Marines had installed a mobile holochart, similar to the one within the Monastery's communications room. Upon the entrance of the two captains, the techmarine nodded, and exited the tent, his servitor aids trailing him. "It is far worse than you imagined Cyrus," Gelden began. "First the damned deep strike beacons go offline, and then the vox lines go down! Our casualties have been severe, mostly due to the drop pod misfires."

Cyrus' scar wept plasma and cracked as he spoke, "This wouldn't have happened if Boreale was not in charge," he said. "We couldn't hope to face the Imperial Guard in a straight fight, much less in a disorganized mess. How many have made it back?"

Gelden sighed, "Most of my Battle Brothers arrived intact. I have you personally to thank for returning Mieron. It seems that 6th Company took the worst losses. Over half their brothers have not reported in. Cyrus, look, I know you are right. You were right from the beginning. I wanted to agree with you back in the monastery, I believed in your plan! But the Chapter Command dictates that all decisions can be vetoed by the campaign's Force Commander. I have as much to lose from this as you do."

"Do you Gelden? What have you to lose? Half your Company isn't even deployed here. You would be willing to let the rest of us die to uphold the Chapter Command's will?"

"I did not say that Cyrus!" said Gelden, "Don't you dare to presume such. Your contributions to the Chapter do not give you the right to insult those who disagree with you. Right now, we cannot afford to deviate from our present course. One plan has already failed; placing our hopes on another at such a critical moment is foolhardy. We must trust in the codex. If that means fighting to the last man, then so be it. I am loyal to the Chapter Master, and to Angelos."

Cyrus glared. "Gelden, your words and experience mean something! Do not throw your right aside. Angelos would listen to your opinions, yet you sit back and accept your fate. You could speak out against Boreale, we could find another way."

Gelden bowed his head, "I know... I know" he whispered. "I should have said something. I should have questioned him. But, I just cannot. I cannot do it. The Blood Ravens cannot continue operating in a regime that condemns questioning orders. But, it is beyond my control, Cyrus. There's nothing I can do."

"Yes there is, Gelden. You can speak out, voice your opinions. Boreale was placed in charge here by the word of one man, Chapter Master Azariah. I do not doubt his courage, but he is not ready. As a follower, he is the model Battle Brother. But as the leader, we have suffered far worse than we would under a capable Commander. Why would nobody question Kyras's orders? Because nobody has the courage to speak up. That needs to change."

"It's too late, Cyrus. We, I cannot do anything to stop the events set in motion today. Please, just leave. Do what you will, it doesn't matter anymore."

Cyrus turned to leave, but he paused at the entrance to the tent. "Gelden," he said softly. "Thing about what I said. You have a voice. Use it."

Siege

Outside, Cyrus and Denmor were joined by Vaenor. A group of fifty scouts had assembled near the walls. The initiates were bruised, cut, and scarred. The Crusade had been a crucible for the Scouts, and the blooding they had received today would be just another step towards becoming true battle brothers. But all that would be for nothing if the Imperial Guard overran their position.

"Initiates," said Cyrus. "Our duty now is to perform point defence for the 2nd Company. You are to break into your squads and position yourselves along the outer wall. You will provide fire support for Commander Boreale's main force. The Chapter Serfs will man the air defence towers to keep the skies clear, so focus on marking ground opposition. Target any officer brave enough to show his face. Any questions before we deploy?"

A scout with a face covered in diagonal scars stepped forward. "Yes, initiate Ademus?" said Cyrus.

"Captain Hethforn has not returned, my Captain. Will the Fortress last without his men?"

"It will last as long as it needs to, Ademus," Cyrus said. "However, we know that General Stubbs' forces contain a number of Baneblade weapon platforms. Our forces engaged one such tank spearheading the Guard's initial assault. Do not underestimate their power. Should you locate one, ensure the vehicle is identified and relay its location through your vox channels. We're on the defensive, so I do not want to see any foolhardy actions. Follow your Sergeants, and keep your heads down. Knowledge is power, initiates."

"Guard it well." the initiates finished. Cyrus nodded and dismissed the company. Ariston approached Cyrus. The tall, dark skinned Sergeant had served alongside Cyrus for years, and he was often accepted as Cyrus's second opinion. Ariston smiled wearily as he approached.

"Nice scar, Brother Captain. You'll need cybernetics if you want to keep your face together."

"I'm fine, Ariston. It will have to be dealt with later. Have you any reports from the other Sergeants? It looks like most of the company made it back."

Ariston shrugged. "Our initiates returned, surely, but not without scars. They're tired and they're concerned. Honestly, so am I, Cyrus. Do you have a plan?"

"I'm working on it," said Cyrus. "Have the sergeants maintain vox communications at all times. I want a direct link to my Channel. If the battle goes ill, I want the Company pulled back at once."

Ariston nodded, "Understood, Brother Captain. You can rely on me. Good luck, Cyrus."

"To you as well, Ariston" said Cyrus. "Initiates, come."

"Captain, is your wound severe?" asked Vaenor, noticing the mass of scar tissue that had developed around the left side of Cyrus' face. "Should I send for an Apothecary?"

"It is fine Vaenor. I do not require assistance." he said. "What happened here before we arrived?"

"You mean when you sent me away from the fight? Well, I got one anyways. Stormtroopers launched a deep strike behind our lines. Chaplain Gren ordered the charge. Seven brothers were killed before we reached them."

"How?" asked Denmor. "What befell our brothers?" He was genuinely concerned. Something powerful enough to slay seven brothers in a matter of seconds was a serious matter.

"They must have put something in their lasguns, Captain," said Vaenor. "Their shots were far larger than normal, and they punched through ceramite with ease. We kept charging them, and they fell in close combat, but the approach was a slaughter."

Cyrus frowned. "I had a similar encounter outside the wall. The Imperial Guard are adapting, it seems. If only they would focus on the true enemy. Be on your guard, nonetheless, initiates."

Dusk was beginning to settle over the Lands of Solitude. Outside the walls, the 252nd Kauravan Conservator Regiment had set up camp. The steady thud of artillery shelling echoed through the camp, but otherwise, the night was quiet. The Guard had pulled back upon facing an entire company of Astartes. The Space Marines had likewise chosen not to push forward. After the chaos of the day, it seemed both armies had settled for a direct confrontation. Until then, all that the Guard could do was to wait for the morning.

From the tree line, two figures watched. The first spoke, her voice tinged by an unearthly quality. "See how these primitives continue down the path of self destruction, Khailes. When humanity is without enemies, they turn on themselves with the same ferocity as Orks. How ones such as these were able to defeat us is beyond even my visions."

Khailes glanced at his companion. "How ironic it is then, that their supposed task to rid this sector of Chaos goes unfulfilled, cast aside in favor of petty rivalry. Why have you come here, Farseer? The interests of Mon Keigh are not worth the time we waste here. Let the children have their war. What could you hope to learn from primitives, Caerys?"

Caerys spoke. "The humans below are of no concern, Khailes, the future is. The Space Marines, these Blood Ravens. I have seen them in my visions. The sons and daughters of Ulthwé shall meet these warriors again."

Khailes glanced to Caerys, his face hidden behind his mask. It did little to hide his thoughts from her. "You are worried, my friend. Speak your mind."

He sighed. "Farseer Taldeer shared your visions, Caerys. Now she lies dead at the hands of these same barbarians. I do not wish you to suffer the same fate."

"Our direction is yet unclear, Exarch," she said. "We shall only observe, for now, perhaps in time we shall find clarity in this mist."

"Of course, Farseer, should you need me, we shall be watching." Exarch Khailes slinked back into the shadows of the tree line, vanishing without a sound. Caerys stared over the battlefield. Below, someone held the answers to her visions. The twisting strands of fate would unravel to her, revealing her purpose for being here.

General Stubbs walked through the camp. The soldiers had lit large bonfires, and were either settling down for the night or readying for watch duties. The men saluted as he passed, their eyes lighting up when he looked at them. That was Stubbs' strength, his ability to inspire with his presence. Only a fool led from the front, but Stubbs understood the value of knowing his men. Stubbs was a General; he didn't need to waste time interacting with the foot soldiers. But it was the gesture that counted. He cared, and they cared back.

Rennek watched the General approach from the top of the Lance of Glory. Commander Hernann had given him a cup of coffee, but he hadn't touched it, and it had gone cold. He hadn't touched anything, or spoken to anyone, since that afternoon. He just sat atop the tank, playing over the events of the day in his head.

"Your Commander tells me that you haven't eaten anything, officer," said the General. "May I come up?"

Rennek shivered, but he nodded slowly. Stubbs smiled, climbing the Baneblade's hull. The General sat down beside him, and took a something from his coat pocket. He broke off a piece of chocolate and offered it to Rennek. Rennek paused, but he took the piece in a quivering hand.

"So," Stubbs began. "I know what is troubling you, Lieutenant."

Rennek's voice shook. "I told them to stop. I told them that this could end. I didn't want to kill them. Why would I want to kill them?"

"Did they say anything, son?" Stubbs kept his voice steady. He knew what Rennek was going through, and he felt the same aching feeling. But right now, this man needed someone to tell him the right thing.

"They did," said Rennek, tilting his head to look at Stubbs. "The one in the dreadnought, he spoke to me. The others stayed silent. I told them to end it. I... I told them. But, they don't feel the same. They don't care about us."

"What did the he say, Rennek? What did he tell you?"

Rennek spoke quietly. "He said: 'The Blood Ravens do not surrender, no matter the odds.' Then, they attacked. We lost. It was over so fast. He started pushing against us, bashing the front of the tank. The others, they just tore us apart. We were nothing to them, just another kill. We were nothing. I'm nothing."

Stubbs listened to everything that Rennek had to say. The man was spilling his heart out, whatever was left of it. It was a harsh realization to face. That a man's idols, his protectors, his angels, were not what he hoped. That they were trying to kill him, or that they cared so little for the individual in their quest to protect the collective. It was a sobering realization that Stubbs himself had to come to terms with over the campaign. Even with the might of the Imperium behind them, humanity could still feel alone.

Stubbs took a warm cup of coffee from Danalt and handed it to Rennek. "Drink, lad. You'll need it. You're not alone, Rennek. You never were. Faith matters, yes, but not just to the Emperor. To your friends, your allies, your family. That is where we get our strength. It is easy to get caught up in the big picture, Rennek. But you need to focus on what is important to you. You are fighting for the Imperium, but you are also fighting for what you care about. Never lose sight of that.

Rennek was silent for a while. His face was still ashen, but Stubbs could see a change coming over him. He smiled weakly to the General. "Thank you sir," he said quietly. "We need something to care about, don't we? Lieutenant Rennek Daas is ready to fight for his beliefs."

"That's all I need to hear, soldier. Your commander has seen to your new orders. Speak to him when you've finished that cup. I have an assignment for the Lance of Glory."

Ariston was patrolling the southern barricade when the call came in. Elerion had spotted something. "Have you got an ID on it, Sergeant?" he spoke into his vox bead.

"Affirmative, Brother. It bears the title Lance of Glory." Elerion set down his binoculars and rested on his elbows. "It's the Baneblade that was leading today's assault. It's moving up the eastern length of the Monastery, keeping outside our gun range. My scouts count forty accompanying transports. They're encircling us."

"Damn," hissed Ariston. "Where is Captain Hethforn when he is needed? Don't answer that. I'll report this to the Captain. Keep monitoring its movements."

"Understood, Sergeant Elerion out. May the Emperor guide your footsteps, Brother Ariston."

"Aye, Sergeant." Ariston killed the vox link. "Ademus, contact Captain Deimos, perhaps he can provide fire support against their armour."

"Understood, Sergeant." Ademus jogged towards the guard tower housing the orbital vox relay. Ariston flipped to Captain Cyrus's vox channel.

"Captain, we have identified a Baneblade leading a flanking force along the eastern wall. I've ordered Sergeant Elerion to mark the target the moment it comes into range. Initiate Ademus is communicating coordinates to Captain Deimos should orbital bombardment be required."

"Good work, Sergeant," said Cyrus. "I will inform Command. This changes things. Be prepared to face heavy opposition along our flanks."

"Understood, Captain."

Inside his sniper perch, Cyrus sighed. "All units, be advised. We have a Baneblade with armour detachment moving along our eastern flank. Recommend Predator Tank counter deployment to delay their approach."

Commander Boreale's gruff voice broke across the vox. "Belay that order, armour. Maintain your positions within the perimeter and provide cover should we need to fall back."

"If I may be blunt, Commander, your decisions this day have cost us," said Cyrus icily. "We cannot ignore this threat. They are trying to divide our forces, yes, but if we let them run amok, we will suffer in the long run. Right now, our only option is to hold out until a full scale evacuation can be completed."

"Captain, your counsel is noted. Armour, hold your ground and continue with your original mission parameters. There will be no retreat, no excuses." Boreale promptly ended the communication before Cyrus could summon a retort. Cyrus shook his head in disgust and settled back into his perch.

Denmor looked uncertainly from his Captain to Vaenor. Cyrus often was blunt with his brothers and his initiates, but he had never seen him talk back to a commanding officer like that. "Why does Boreale ignore you, Captain?" he asked eventually.

"I was his teacher once, Denmor," said Cyrus. "Like I now am to you and the others. He was one of my finest students. As an initiate, he showed all the traits of being a perfect Blood Raven: patience, awareness, and the ability to coordinate like a master tactician. His plan of attack today, Steel Rain, is an effective shock weapon. However, it is meant for offensive purposes, to break up enemy formations as they struck against diversionary targets. As a defense, it has limited success. I feel that Boreale wishes to see glory before reason."

"What happened, then?" asked Vaenor. "If he was such a great student as you say, why was he chosen to lead this crusade?"

Cyrus stared out the tower window. The left half of his face would need augmetics after the scarring it had taken. The scouts would all need treatment before this was over. The young hopefuls had looked like a ragged band of miscreants when he had assembled them that afternoon. Some of them had barely a year of service, and already they were earning the injuries reserved for veterans.

"Tartarus happened," he said finally. "You have followed your studies, scouts. Fifteen years ago, Gabriel Angelos led the Blood Ravens' 3rd Company to Tartarus to secure it for the Imperium. The campaign's success made Angelos a legend, and rightly so. He put faith above friendship, and managed to purge the planet in five days. One company did in less than a week what we have failed to do here in a month.

"Boreale was a Sergeant there. On the second day, the Orks assaulted the capital city. There, Boreale performed the impossible." Cyrus suddenly snapped his head to look at Denmor. "Initiate, what does the Codex tell you about the role of a Devastator?"

Denmor answered immediately. "The Devastator shall unleash his holy fury upon the foe from an entrenched position, supporting the Tactical Marine as he advances."

"Correct. The Devastator squad is not equipped for close combat. That day, Boreale was not given the choice of range. The Orks closed to striking distance, and Boreale was forced to meet them head on. Hundreds of xenos fell to the Sergeant, who boldly stood his ground against the Green Tide. The Devastators were defeated, but Boreale won.

"Angelos was impressed with Boreale's bravery in the face of overwhelming odds. However, he felt that the sergeant needed more time and experience before earning a command. I shared the sentiment when they returned from the campaign. However, the Chapter Master must have seen something in Boreale. His promotion was fast tracked, and before long, he was the new Captain of the 2nd Company."

"So you think he was promoted before he was ready, and the victory went to his head." said Vaenor. The scout's perceptiveness surprised Cyrus. Vaenor was a quicker learner than he let on.

"Yes. There is a reason that our Captains are veterans. You do not become a leader through luck. You earn it over a hundred campaigns, learning how to react to any situation, how to read your opponents better than they know themselves. You must know precisely when and where to strike, using necessary force to destroy all opposition. Boreale never learned that, and now we will all pay the price."

Cyrus spoke no more, and Denmor and Vaenor asked nothing else. Denmor thought over Cyrus's story as he calibrated his rifle. Vaenor was silent. Denmor couldn't read his face. Cyrus however, everything about the way he sat there spoke to a deeply affected person. There was more to his story than he had told them, something else. Denmor decided not to ask. He continued to work on his gun, awaiting the next day.

Siege

Outside, Cyrus and Denmor were joined by Vaenor. A group of fifty scouts had assembled near the walls. The initiates were bruised, cut, and scarred. The Crusade had been a crucible for the Scouts, and the blooding they had received today would be just another step towards becoming true battle brothers. But all that would be for nothing if the Imperial Guard overran their position.

"Initiates," said Cyrus. "Our duty now is to perform point defence for the 2nd Company. You are to break into your squads and position yourselves along the outer wall. You will provide fire support for Commander Boreale's main force. The Chapter Serfs will man the air defence towers to keep the skies clear, so focus on marking ground opposition. Target any officer brave enough to show his face. Any questions before we deploy?"

A scout with a face covered in diagonal scars stepped forward. "Yes, initiate Ademus?" said Cyrus.

"Captain Hethforn has not returned, my Captain. Will the Fortress last without his men?"

"It will last as long as it needs to, Ademus," Cyrus said. "However, we know that General Stubbs' forces contain a number of Baneblade weapon platforms. Our forces engaged one such tank spearheading the Guard's initial assault. Do not underestimate their power. Should you locate one, ensure the vehicle is identified and relay its location through your vox channels. We're on the defensive, so I do not want to see any foolhardy actions. Follow your Sergeants, and keep your heads down. Knowledge is power, initiates."

"Guard it well." the initiates finished. Cyrus nodded and dismissed the company. Ariston approached Cyrus. The tall, dark skinned Sergeant had served alongside Cyrus for years, and he was often accepted as Cyrus's second opinion. Ariston smiled wearily as he approached.

"Nice scar, Brother Captain. You'll need cybernetics if you want to keep your face together."

"I'm fine, Ariston. It will have to be dealt with later. Have you any reports from the other Sergeants? It looks like most of the company made it back."

Ariston shrugged. "Our initiates returned, surely, but not without scars. They're tired and they're concerned. Honestly, so am I, Cyrus. Do you have a plan?"

"I'm working on it," said Cyrus. "Have the sergeants maintain vox communications at all times. I want a direct link to my Channel. If the battle goes ill, I want the Company pulled back at once."

Ariston nodded, "Understood, Brother Captain. You can rely on me. Good luck, Cyrus."

"To you as well, Ariston" said Cyrus. "Initiates, come."

"Captain, is your wound severe?" asked Vaenor, noticing the mass of scar tissue that had developed around the left side of Cyrus' face. "Should I send for an Apothecary?"

"It is fine Vaenor. I do not require assistance." he said. "What happened here before we arrived?"

"You mean when you sent me away from the fight? Well, I got one anyways. Stormtroopers launched a deep strike behind our lines. Chaplain Gren ordered the charge. Seven brothers were killed before we reached them."

"How?" asked Denmor. "What befell our brothers?" He was genuinely concerned. Something powerful enough to slay seven brothers in a matter of seconds was a serious matter.

"They must have put something in their lasguns, Captain," said Vaenor. "Their shots were far larger than normal, and they punched through ceramite with ease. We kept charging them, and they fell in close combat, but the approach was a slaughter."

Cyrus frowned. "I had a similar encounter outside the wall. The Imperial Guard are adapting, it seems. If only they would focus on the true enemy. Be on your guard, nonetheless, initiates."

Dusk was beginning to settle over the Lands of Solitude. Outside the walls, the 252nd Kauravan Conservator Regiment had set up camp. The night was quiet, save for the hum of engines powering the perimeter lights. The Guard had pulled back upon facing an entire company of Astartes. The Space Marines had likewise chosen not to push forward. After the chaos of the day, it seemed both armies had settled for a direct confrontation. Until then, all that the Guard could do was to wait for the morning.

From the tree line, two figures watched. The first spoke, her voice tinged by an unearthly quality. "See how these primitives continue down the path of self destruction, Khailes. When humanity is without enemies, they turn on themselves with the same ferocity as Orks. How ones such as these were able to defeat us is beyond even my visions."

Khailes glanced at his companion. "How ironic it is then, that their supposed task to rid this sector of Chaos goes unfulfilled, cast aside in favor of petty rivalry. Why have you come here, Farseer? The interests of Mon Keigh are not worth the time we waste here. Let the children have their war. What could you hope to learn from primitives, Caerys?"

Caerys spoke. "The humans below are of no concern, Khailes, the future is. The Space Marines, these Blood Ravens. I have seen them in my visions. The sons and daughters of Ulthwé shall meet these warriors again."

Khailes glanced to Caerys, his face hidden behind his mask. It did little to hide his thoughts from her. "You are worried, my friend. Speak your mind."

He sighed. "Farseer Taldeer shared your visions, Caerys. Now she lies dead at the hands of these same barbarians. I do not wish you to suffer the same fate."

"Our direction is yet unclear, Exarch," she said. "We shall only observe, for now, perhaps in time we shall find clarity in this mist."

"Of course, Farseer, should you need me, we shall be watching." Exarch Khailes slinked back into the shadows of the tree line, vanishing without a sound. Caerys stared over the battlefield. Below, someone held the answers to her visions. The twisting strands of fate would unravel to her, revealing her purpose for being here.

General Stubbs walked through the camp. The soldiers had lit large bonfires, and were either settling down for the night or readying for watch duties. The men saluted as he passed, their eyes lighting up when he looked at them. That was Stubbs' strength, his ability to inspire with his presence. Only a fool led from the front, but Stubbs understood the value of knowing his men. Stubbs was a General, he didn't need to waste time interacting with the foot soldiers. But it was the gesture that counted. He cared, and they cared back.

The camp ran for miles. They were inspecting the vehicle park. Over a thousand tanks, transports and artillery pieces were arranged in neat rows stretching the back length of the encampment. Danalt droned on about the day's casualty reports as Stubbs walked the length of an artillery battery. Most of the tank crews stayed with their vehicles, running the engines to keep warm and using the radiators as makeshift ovens. Their usually wary faces brightened as he walked by. One group appeared completely stunned by his appearance. They hastily snapped off salutes, which he returned. He smiled as they broke into excited conversation after he had passed. The smallest gestures yielded the greatest results, sometimes.

They had reached the end of the first battery. Thirty more stretched out down the line. The engineer corps were working through the night repairing hull damage, refueling tanks, and reloading ammunition. This close to the fortress, the supplies had to be delivered by ground convoys. The Blood Raven's anti air systems had ripped their Stormtrooper teams apart before they had a chance to do much damage. This limited the speed at which Stubbs could operate. The 252nd would have to fight hand to hand if more supplies didn't arrive on time.

Danalt continued to read over the lists as a scribe passed them to him. "And 12th Battalion suffered forty percent losses sir. All fatal, no injured. Our advance was swift, but costly."

"And the survivors? What do they say?"

"The same thing sir. Most of them were too shell shocked to speak much, but those that do looked like they had seen the Eye of Terror. They say it was a slaughter."

"No doubt it was, Commissar," muttered Stubbs. Cold wind blew through the camp. Stubbs pulled his greatcoat around him to muster some warmth from the fur lined uniform. "We should find somewhere warmer, I think."

"Did you hear? Stubbs is walking around the camp!"

"Why would he do something like that? He's a General, you're a junior private."

"I know that, but what if he comes by? What if he talks to us?"

"There are a couple hundred thousand people here, Winters. he odds are a little stacked against you."

The rest of the platoon laughed. Winters shrunk, embarrassed. They were gathered around one of the large communal fire pits. Despite the swampy ground, it got surprisingly cold at night from the winds sweeping down over the steppes. Winters couldn't imagine why anyone would want to live up here. Then again, nobody really did, and the Space Marines probably liked the privacy.

"Still," said Winters, attracting a groan from the others, "supposing he did come by. What would you do if you saw him?"

Corporal Feryd raised a hand. "Listen Winters, how about this? If he comes by, I'll ask him straight up if he has a thunderhammer for a cock. And I'll give you thirty thrones on top."

There was a loud "ooooh" amongst the troops, and more than a few smirks. "And if he doesn't come by?" said Winters.

Feryd grinned slyly at him. "Then you have to run through the women's battalion naked. With Commissar Danalt after you."

Winters gulped. Danalt might have been a rather somber figure, but as a Commissar, he wasn't to be trifled with. Feryd just smiled and slapped him on the back. "Ah, I'm just fooling you, lad, no need to worry. No Commissar, just you, your equipment, and twelve hundred screaming lasses."

"Deal."

The night dragged on. Winters grew increasingly nervous, glancing around more and more frequently, watching everyone that passed by. Feryd lay back against his backpack, counting his thrones with greatly exaggerated emphasis. "The clocks ticking, Winters. It's supposed to be very cold tonight."

A few rows of tents over, a large group of guardsmen had broken out some instruments and were playing an energetic tune. The sounds of their laughter was carried on the wind, spreading through the camp. More groups picked up on the song, and all around, the Kauravans broke into loud, off key singing.

"Oh flower of Tristam,

when will we see

your like again,

that fought and died for,

your wee bit field and fen

and stood against him

(Against Who!)

Foul traitors army

(Bastards!)

And sent him homewards

(feth off!)

tae die again"

A loud cheer broke out among the troops. Caught up in the moment, it was easy to forget the trials of the day, and the coming battle. Some of the troops began to dance little jigs to the music, savoring the moment while they could.
One or two troops tried to jump the fire pit, with predictable results. The last one made it over, however, and the platoon started clapping and chanting the soldiers name.

"Well done indeed!" said a voice. Out of the darkness a pair of figures approached the campfire. The first was the heavyset Danalt, followed closely behind by General Vance Stubbs. "Oh, don't stop because of me. Any more jumps like that and you could scale the walls of the monastery.

Winters couldn't keep the stupid grin from growing across his face. He looked over to Feryd, now pale, and tapped his money pouch. Stubbs looked down at Winters. "Is something funny, private?" he asked.

"No, no sir," said Winters, struggling to hold back a snigger. "It's just, I think that the corporal here has something to ask you."

Elsewhere, the steady drone of a landspeeder's engines filled Kerax's ears. Hethforn had taken their reconnaissance squadron out for hours. They had barely gathered a dozen survivors, most of them too heavily injured to stand on their own. He slowed his speeder to a halt, hovering beside the four other vehicles. Kerax hauled himself up over the roll cage.

"Captain, we have swept this area clean. Most of these brothers were dead long before we got here. Those we did find won't last much longer if we do not return now."

Hethforn's face was aged and withered, but his eyes blazed with fire as he stared at Kerax. "No Sergeant, we are not yet finished. Keep searching. No brother I can save today will be left behind. I would do the same for you, were you in such a position. I never abandon my men."

"Understood sir."

"Then move out!" The landspeeders rocketed off across the wilderness once again, the only traces of their passing being the waving grass in their wake.

Lieutenant Daas sat on the turret of the Baneblade. Commander Hernann had given him a cup of coffee, but he hadn't touched it, and it had gone cold. He hadn't touched anything, or spoken to anyone, since that afternoon. He just sat atop the tank, playing over the events of the day in his head. Why did it have to happen?

He made no motion as the General, the legendary Stubbs pierced his self isolation. Rennek knew what he was here for. Why else would the man come to visit him?

"Your Commander tells me that you haven't eaten anything, officer," said the General. "May I come up?"

Rennek shivered, but he nodded slowly. Stubbs smiled, climbing the Baneblade's hull. The General sat down beside him, and took a something from his coat pocket. He broke off a piece of chocolate and offered it to Rennek. Rennek paused, but he took the piece in a quivering hand. "So," Stubbs began. "I want to know what is troubling you, Lieutenant."

Rennek's voice shook. "I told them to stop. I told them that this could end. I didn't want to kill them. Why would I want to kill them?"

"Did they say anything, son?" Stubbs said. He knew, thought Rennek.

"They did," said Rennek, tilting his head to look at Stubbs. "The one in the dreadnought, he spoke to me. The others stayed silent. I told them to end it. I... I told them. But, they don't feel the same. They don't care about us."

"What did the he say, Rennek? What did he tell you?"

Rennek spoke quietly. "He said: 'The Blood Ravens do not surrender, no matter the odds.' Then, they attacked. We lost. It was over so fast. He started pushing against us, bashing the front of the tank. The others, they just tore us apart. We were nothing to them, just another kill. We were nothing. I'm nothing."

Stubbs listened to everything that Rennek had to say. The man was spilling his heart out, whatever was left of it. It was a harsh realization to face. That a man's idols, his protectors, his angels, were not what he hoped. That they were trying to kill him, or that they cared so little for the individual in their quest to protect the collective. It was a sobering realization that Stubbs himself had to come to terms with over the campaign. Even with the might of the Imperium behind them, humanity could still feel alone.

Stubbs took a warm cup of coffee from Danalt and handed it to Rennek. "Drink, lad. You'll need it. You're not alone, Rennek. You never were. Faith matters, yes, but not just to the Emperor. To your friends, your allies, your family. That is where we get our strength. It is easy to get caught up in the big picture, Rennek. But you need to focus on what is important to you. You are fighting for the Imperium, but you are also fighting for what you care about. Never lose sight of that.

Rennek was silent for a while. His face was still ashen, but Stubbs could see a change coming over him. He smiled weakly to the General. "Thank you sir," he said quietly. "We need something to care about, don't we? Lieutenant Rennek Daas is ready to fight for his beliefs."

"That's all I need to hear, soldier. Your commander has seen to your new orders. Speak to him when you've finished that cup. I have an assignment for the Lance of Glory."

An hour passed. The horizon was glowing red, as the inky black sky began to recede for the dawn. Ariston was patrolling the southern barricade when the call came in. Elerion had spotted something. "Have you got an ID on it, Sergeant?" he spoke into his vox bead.

"Affirmative, Brother. It bears the title Lance of Glory." Elerion set down his binoculars and rested on his elbows. "It's the Baneblade that was leading today's assault. It's moving up the eastern length of the Monastery, keeping outside our gun range. My scouts count forty accompanying transports. They're encircling us."

"Damn," hissed Ariston. "Where is Captain Hethforn when he is needed? Don't answer that. I'll report this to the Captain. Keep monitoring its movements."

"Understood, Sergeant Elerion out. May the Emperor guide your footsteps, Brother Ariston."

"Aye, Sergeant." Ariston killed the vox link. "Ademus, contact Captain Deimos, perhaps he can provide fire support against their armour."

"Understood, Sergeant." Ademus jogged towards the guard tower housing the orbital vox relay. Ariston flipped to Captain Cyrus's vox channel.

"Captain, we have identified a Baneblade leading a flanking force along the eastern wall. I've ordered Sergeant Elerion to mark the target the moment it comes into range. Initiate Ademus is communicating coordinates to Captain Deimos should orbital bombardment be required."

"Good work, Sergeant," said Cyrus. "I will inform Command. This changes things. Be prepared to face heavy opposition along our flanks."

"Understood, Captain."

Inside his sniper perch, Cyrus opened the universal vox link. "All units, be advised. We have a Baneblade with armour detachment moving along our eastern flank. Recommend Predator Tank counter deployment to delay their approach."

Commander Boreale's gruff voice broke across the vox. "Belay that order, armour. Maintain your positions within the perimeter and provide cover should we need to fall back."

Typical, thought Cyrus. First, he throws caution to the wind and launches a full scale strike, and now he is too static. It was sloppy. They should be moving to face this problem now, before morning arrived and Stubbs would surely attack.

"If I may be blunt, Commander, your decisions this day have cost us," said Cyrus icily. "We cannot ignore this threat. They are trying to divide our forces, yes, but if we let them run amok, we will suffer in the long run. Right now, our only option is to hold out until a full scale evacuation can be completed."

"Captain, your counsel is noted. Armour, hold your ground and continue with your original mission parameters. There will be no retreat, no excuses." Boreale promptly ended the communication before Cyrus could summon a retort. Cyrus shook his head in disgust and settled back into his perch.

Denmor looked uncertainly from his Captain to Vaenor. Cyrus often was blunt with his brothers and his initiates, but he had never seen him talk back to a commanding officer like that. "Why does Boreale ignore you, Captain?" he asked eventually.

Cyrus looked back from the window, resting his elbows on his legs as he hunched over. There was a great sense of tiredness in his teacher. Something weighed heavily on Cyrus's mind.

"I was his teacher once, Denmor," said Cyrus. "Like I now am to you and the others. He was one of my finest students. As an initiate, he showed all the traits of being a perfect Blood Raven: patience, awareness, and the ability to coordinate like a master tactician. His plan of attack today, Steel Rain, is an effective shock weapon. However, it is meant for offensive purposes, to break up enemy formations as they struck against diversionary targets. As a defense, it has limited success. I feel that Boreale wishes to see glory before reason."

"What happened, then?" asked Vaenor. "If he was such a great student as you say, why was he chosen to lead this crusade?"

Cyrus touched his face where the shrapnel had struck him. The wound had congealed, weeping plasma. He would need augmetics after the scarring it had taken. The scouts would all need treatment before this was over. The young hopefuls had looked like a ragged band of miscreants when he had assembled them that afternoon. Some of them had barely a year of service, and already they were earning the injuries reserved for veterans. If they survive, he added, hating himself for thinking that.

"Tartarus happened," he said finally. "Fifteen years ago, Gabriel Angelos led the Blood Ravens' 3rd Company to Tartarus to secure it from the Orks and the Forces of Chaos. The campaign's success made Angelos a legend, and rightly so. He put faith above friendship, and managed to purge the planet in five days. One company did in less than a week what we have failed to do here in a month. It is a great honor to serve under Angelos. More legends have been made under his command than I can think to count. Indrick Boreale was one of them.

"Boreale was a Sergeant there, leading the Devastators. On the second day, the Orks assaulted the capital city. There, Boreale performed the impossible." Cyrus suddenly snapped his head to look at Denmor. "Initiate, what does the Codex tell you about the role of a Devastator?"

Denmor answered immediately. "The Devastator shall unleash his holy fury upon the foe from an entrenched position, supporting the Tactical Marine as he advances."

"Correct. The Devastator squad is not equipped for close combat. That day, Boreale was not given the choice of range. The Orks closed to striking distance, and Boreale was forced to meet them head on. Hundreds of xenos fell to the Sergeant, who boldly stood his ground against the Green Tide. The Devastators were defeated, but Boreale won. Badly wounded, he fought through the Orks, gaining the high ground. He raised the flag, and the signal was sent. The Orks were routed back into the jungles just as he collapsed from his wounds.

"Angelos was impressed with Boreale's bravery in the face of overwhelming odds. However, he felt that the sergeant needed more time and experience before earning a command. I shared the sentiment when they returned from the campaign. However, the Chapter Master must have seen something in Boreale. His promotion was fast tracked, and before long, he was the new Captain of the 2nd Company."

Cyrus shook his head. It was too early, too sudden. His objections had been noted, and ignored. Boreale had used his new position to enforce his ideals on others. He had faced the glory of victory, but never the crush of defeat.

"So you think he was promoted before he was ready, and the victory went to his head." said Vaenor. The scout's perceptiveness surprised Cyrus. Vaenor was a quicker learner than he let on.

"Yes. There is a reason that our Captains are veterans. You do not become a leader through luck. You earn it over a hundred campaigns, learning how to react to any situation, how to read your opponents better than they know themselves. You must know precisely when and where to strike, using necessary force to destroy all opposition. Boreale never learned that, and now we will all pay the price. I will say no more."

In the silence, Denmor pondered Cyrus's tale. It certainly explained his attitude towards their Commander, but he felt there was something else. Something was eating at Cyrus from the inside, no matter how hard he tried to conceal it. But this was no time to be questioning his Captain's reasons, ironic as it was. He simply focused on the task at hand. There was still a battle to be fought.

Sudden Death

As dawn broke, the land was greeted not by the sound of birds hailing the new day, but with the deafening thud of Basilisk fire. The imperial shelling was greeted in kind with concerted whirlwind missile volleys, keeping the encroaching guardsmen at bay as they edged ever closer to the fortress. From her vantage point, Caerys kept her vigil, watching events unfold below.

Khailes had not returned. During the night, the Exarch had vanished with his aspect warriors to investigate a disturbance the Rangers had uncovered. She had been alone since, focusing solely on the affairs of the mon'keigh as their pitiful struggles consumed them.

There Stubbs, who had so eagerly and so easily pushed forward the previous day, now faltered in the face of a true conflict. He hadn't pressed his attack, and his caution had cost him their advantage. The Blood Ravens had entrenched themselves, preparing to rebuff any effort the General would launch at them. However, the Space Marines lacked the numbers to directly engage the Guardsmen, and so were trapped within their walls like a tomb. Both sides had resorted to indecisive exchanges of artillery in the interim.

Caerys lifted her ornate mask from her face, letting the cool wind sweep over her skin and through her hair. It was a small comfort, but it could not hold back the pangs of loss she had endured these past few days. The news of Taldeer's death on Kronus weighed heavily on her kin, and in their despair they had faltered. The Necrons roamed free across Kaurava III, their soulless automatons cleansing the planet of life and pushing the Craftworld's finest back into the Webway.

She could not go back, however. Not yet. Ulthwe could wait until her answers were found. Their fates would be tied to these Blood Ravens, for good or ill.

The landspeeders continued to soar across the lands, continuing their search for survivors. Kerax checked his auspex scanner again. There was a signal emanating from the large forest to the east of the Fortress. It was weak, but Hethforn wanted to hunt down very lead he could find. His devotion to his company was fierce, even to the point of irrationality. Kerax harbored many doubts about their chances of finding anything, but he wasn't about to second-guess his Captain.

"Squad Ferrus, take the southern ridgeline," said Hethforn over the vox. "Sergeant Kerax, take the north. All other Blood Ravens, follow me through the center."

"Understood, Captain." acknowledged Kerax. "Orthel, Breanor, with me." The landspeeder shot towards the forest, lifting above the crest of the treetops. The woodland was too thick to pass between the trunks, but Kerax hugged the top canopy as close as he could. Up here, they were exposed, and they were too far from the Monastery to receive any anti-air support if they were discovered.

The treetops were whipped into a fury by the passing engines, shivering in their wake. Kerax's gunner, Tarsel, scanned over the green expanse with the speeder's bolter. Kerax pulled the speeder to a stop, and checked the scans again. The signal was still emanating, but there was no change in the frequency of the blips to indicate if they were closing in. "Kerax to Breanor, have you discovered anything?"

"Nothing yet, sergeant," said Breanor. "There is no sign that a brother's drop pod crashed near here. There is no impact site, nothing. He must have traveled on foot to get here."

"Something doesn't seem right," murmured Kerax. "Keep your eyes open. It's possible his vox link was damaged by the crash, but this could also be a trap. Continue the sweep. Orthel, inform Captain Hethforn to be ready for an ambush."

Cyrus peered through the scope of his rifle, watching the Imperial Guard as they continued to fan out and establish a greater presence to the south of the walls. From his perch atop the barbican, Cyrus could see for miles. His personal Sniper rifle, an Ultra Pattern Mark IX given to him for his service in the Death Watch, allowed him to see far beyond even what his augmented vision could provide. The Guard, their main base established ten miles south, was as clear to him as the crumbling foundations of the fortress.

The morning's shelling had taught the Blood Ravens something about their chosen base of operations: it was in a state of disrepair. The Kauravan Monastery had been one of the Chapter's previous homes before they had changed to their current fleet based society. Due to the general stigma against the chapter for their secrecy, the Chapter had opted to abandon recruiting from single worlds and instead collect initiates from a number of regions along the Eastern Fringe.

The Monastery was a ruin, maintained only by those devoted families that had not forgotten their owed services to the Chapter. The place was more symbolically powerful than physically. Had the Warp Storms not driven the Blood Ravens to return to Kaurava, the Monastery would have remained an empty husk, gathering dust and weathering the climate as it had for centuries.

Thankfully, the archeotech that powered the fortress had withstood the test of time better than the walls. The void shield still functioned, providing a buffer between the Chapter and the Kauravan's constant barrage. That lack of provisions was the more immediate problem. Ammunition and firepower were in abundance, but the means to replace damaged limbs with augmetics were in short supply. Cyrus had refused to have his eye replaced, demanding the Apothecaries tend to those in more need. His rifle would be his eye for now.

The guard were sending sappers forward. They were hugging the ground, skipping between the broken and burnt out shells of the chimeras and tanks that had thrust forward the day before. Cyrus deftly tracked them, his aim steady. With the heavy suppressor minimizing his sniper's sound and muzzle flash, he could pick off the upstarts without them noticing. The six troopers broke from their cover, sprinting for the next safe shelter.

They never made it. Cyrus's shot took the first trooper down, the others being dispatched moments afterwards by concentrated shots from across the monastery's fortifications. Cyrus put a hand to his vox bead. "All clear, targets down. Keep a patrol across the wall, sergeants."

"Understood, my captain." said Ariston. Elerion responded in kind.

Cyrus sat back, shaking his head. It had only been two days, and the fighting was beginning to wear on him. A sense of doubt had permeated the camp, and there were talks of dissatisfaction with Boreale's leadership. Captain Hethforn had not returned, nor had he responded to any vox communiques. He was intent on following his own goals, and it seemed that his spat with Boreale had not been brushed aside.

Among the others, there was almost the feeling of dissent. Cyrus had been quietly told by a number of Marines about their agreement with his words. They felt Boreale was allowing them to become surrounded, his approach to defense being too static. Cyrus found it hard to disagree. The Baneblade detachment had only been the first of several movements by the guardsmen over the day. Under cover of the bombardment, Stubbs had launched three other groups to encircle the fortress, content on using this time to consolidate his position.

But there had been no attack, no aggressive moves. Stubbs had fallen back on reliably predictable Guard tactics, and this bothered Cyrus. Was this really the same man who had united a planet and rebuilt a failing guard unit into a professional army? Cyrus was certain that there must be something else at play. Either Stubbs was being intentionally obfuscating, or he had his own problems to contend with.

"Sergeant, we've found something!" said Breanor. "Our auspex scans showed movement down below. One individual, moving westwards, we're moving to intercept."

"Acknowledged Breanor, we're on our way," said Kerax. He activated his vox. "Orthel, triangulate coordinates with Breanor and I. Captain Hethforn, I think we have found our survivor."

"I am on my way, Sergeant. Good work." Kerax gunned the engines, streaking for Breanor's coordinates. That brought his landspeeder over a small clearing in the dense forest. The tree trunks dispersed to allow enough room to maneuver. The auspex showed the individual moving slowly towards the clearing. A faint vox signal burst from Kerax's helmet speakers.

"This is brother Emir, broadcasting on… emergency channel primaris. My combat patrol was killed on impact. We… we were struck by anti-air batteries on our descent. I was the only survivor from the drop pod."

"Brother Emir, this is Brother Kerax. We're here to return you to your brothers. Sergeant Horan still lives, along with half your squad. Approach the clearing and we will retrieve you."

Kerax could hear the surprise in the marine's weary voice. "Horan still alive? But, I thought for sure… no matter. It will be a comfort to be among brothers again. I still have some fight left in me."

"As do we all, brother."

Kerax settled the Landspeeder down in the clearing. Breanor and Orthel's speeders hovered above him, the backdraft of their repulsor engines kicking up leaves and grass. The lone marine stumbled out of the underbrush. His armor was chipped and scarred in several places, and his left leg dragged behind him. Tarsel jumped out of his seat to catch Emir as he keeled forward at the lip of the speeder.

"Easy now, brother, we will get you to the Apothecarium as soon as possible." Tarsel shouldered Emir's weight, half walking, half pulling the wounded marine into the Speeder's seats. Kerax noticed a blip on the auspex. He assumed it was an animal, most likely startled by the speeder's sudden drop into the forest. However, soon several more blips appeared, vanishing just as quickly as they appeared. Then, even more marks appeared, all flashing on and off the motion detector, as if the device was broken.

By the time he realized what was happening, the first shots were fired. A sliver of metal, no wider than a fingernail, sliced through Tarsel's helmet, exploding out the back of his head. Kerax leapt from the landspeeder and hugged the side as more shots tore through the bushes, accompanied by shouts and footsteps. Kerax recognized the sound of the weapons, and the unearthly timbre of the attackers' voices. Eldar.

"Brothers, we have come under Eldar attack!" he shouted into his vox. "We have a brother down, and another wounded!"

"Sergeant, we cannot get a good angle on the Eldar from up here!" said Breanor. "We're too exposed, and they have heavy cover!"

"Breanor, it's a trap, get your troops out of here!"

"No!" shouted Captain Hethforn over the vox. "I will not lose another battle brother on my watch. 6th Company, to Brother Kerax's position! We take the fight to the Eldar!"

No, no, they were heading into a trap. Kerax looked over to Emir, trapped under the weight of Tarsel's corpse, too weak to stand. The Eldar had set them up. A lone marine, isolated from his brethren, and away from the major fighting. And they had caught the 6th company in their web.

Emir reached out in vain, trying to pull himself out from under his brother. A green, lithe figure stood over him, shortly before setting a chainsword to Emir's neck, decapitating him. "Come out from there, mon'keigh," said a taunting voice. "It would be a shame for your brothers to witness you die like a coward, hiding under a metal box."

Kerax gripped his bolter tight, thinking. The Eldar was to his right, he could see his feet. Who knew how many more were watching from the depths of the wood? Still, he would not play their games. Kerax rolled onto his back and delivered a kick to the landspeeder, jamming one of the repulsors. The kick sent the speeder spiraling out of control, spinning wildly into towards the Eldar. Kerax used the momentary distraction to get to his feet, Bolter in hand.

The Striking Scorpion easily dodged the landspeeder, leaping over the vehicle with twin blades aimed for Kerax's throat. Kerax uttered a cry which the Eldar met with arrogant silence. Bolter in one hand, knife in the other, Sergeant Kerax engaged the Aspect Warrior as the landspeeders of the Blood Ravens 6th Company converged on his position, riding a wave of fire rising from the immolated forest behind.

Author's note: Been a while for this one, hasn't it? I really just lost interest in it for a while. This update I wrote months ago, but I was never totally satisfied with it, until now. Edit after edit. And I needed something to break up the tug of war between the Imperials. So here's some Eldar.