Ultramarines

by Graham McNeill

  Deserts of red and gold covered much of the planet’s surface, making it an odd choice for an agri-world, though it was one of the most productive in the Imperium. Hundreds of sprawling agri-cities covered the planet’s surface, and each one contained millions of acres of arable land beneath its protective domes. In the normal run of things, Quintarn, along with its sister worlds of Tarentus and Masali were quiet, industrious and peaceful worlds.

  But these were not normal times.

  An invading army had descended upon the Three Worlds, a bastard host of murderous corsairs, war machines and diabolical priests of the Dark Mechanicus. They called themselves the Bloodborn, and they fought under the command of a nightmarish creature known as Votheer Tark. Little more than a filthy scrap of ravaged meat and neuro-synaptic tissue suspended in an amniotic vat, Votheer Tark’s legions of battle engines came not to conquer or enslave.

  They came to destroy, but they would not find Quintarn lacking in defenders.

  The 5th and 6th Companies of the Ultramarines stood against the Bloodborn, and their victories were legend, their names bywords for courage and honour. Quintarn itself boasted an impressive defence auxilia, thousands of men and women under arms and sworn to the defence their homeworld.

  But the fate of Quintarn would not be decided by massed ranks of soldiers or the battle companies of the Adeptus Astartes.

  It would be decided by a single warrior.

  His name was Torias Telion.

  Situated at the confluence of three rivers, the dome-shielded city of Idrisia rose like a cluster of sun-kissed blisters from the arid plains. Beyond its shimmering perimeter, a heat-hazed desert spread to the horizon, and sand drifted at the base of its armaglas structures. The planet’s star burned hot and white in the sky, like a metal disc heated in an armourer’s forge. Little could survive in the parched landscape, but beneath the city’s incredible domes, the landscape was rich with life.

  Ten thousand soldiers of the Quintarn defence auxilia were billeted within the city, their myriad tents and vehicle parks crushing flat field after field of crops grown to feed the Imperium’s hungry mouths. Despite the auxilia’s best efforts, the Bloodborn had broken through the northern bulwarks, and the soldiers’ sky-blue uniforms were bloody after the retreat from Castra Mondus. Now, with the routes to the southern hydroponics cities wide open, Idrisia was sure to feel the Bloodborn’s wrath next.

  But a force of warriors of far greater prowess now stood ready to face Votheer Tark’s demented war machines and blood-hungry army. The Ultramarines occupied the heart of Idrisia, and modular barrack buildings of gleaming azure jostled for space alongside temporary fortifications and the ancillary battlefield structures that came with the Adeptus Astartes at war. In the heart of the Ultramarines deployment sat an octagonal command structure with an arched roof that bristled with vox antennae, rotating auspex dishes and integral void shields.

  Moisture formed on the gold-winged eagles stamped upon the breastplates of the ten Ultramarines stationed around the perimeter of the command tower. It dripped from their boltguns and their shoulder guards, five trimmed in iron black, the others in brilliant gold, and hissed on the hot vents of their armour’s power packs. All ten warriors stood as still as statues, immobile guardians of the captains within. To protect the army’s commanders was a singular honour, and only the best warriors from each company had been selected for so vital a duty.

  Within its walls, banks of battlefield cogitators hummed with power, digesting information gathered from after action reports, vox-thievery, surveyor sweeps and inloads from the few remaining orbital auspex.

  The picture they painted was one of a world on the brink of falling to the enemy.

  Tech-priests moved in circular sweeps around the darkened chamber, pausing to burble a short burst of binaric prayer or minister to a piece of equipment. Aides and scrivener servitors kept to the shadows, ready to stand forward at their masters’ behest at a moment’s notice.

  The four warriors tasked with defending Quintarn gathered around a central plotting table fixing the ghostly topographical image with piercing stares, as though force of will alone could alter the bleak strategic situation before them.

  Captain Galenus of the 5th Company was the first to speak.

  ‘Idrisia,’ he said. ‘It’s the key. Lose it and we lose the war.’

  ‘You think I don’t see that?’ asked his fellow commander. Captain Epathus of the 6th folded his arms and leaned on the raised lip of the plotting table. ‘It’s the gateway to the southern cities, but it’s not strong enough to withstand an assault. Not yet.’

  Antaro Chronus spoke next, his voice a throaty grumble, so like the engines of the tanks he commanded. ‘I can hold them for a time,’ he said, jabbing a fist at the projected map. ‘Here. At the edge of the Upashid Scar. With the armour units from the defence auxilia, I have enough vehicles to keep the bastards at bay for a time.’

  ‘How long?’ asked Epathus.

  ‘Long enough for you to fortify this damn place,’ replied Chronus. ‘I’ll kill a great many, but they are too numerous to hold forever.’

  The fourth member of the command group nodded, his face obscured by a grim skull-faced helmet. Chaplain Ortan Cassius wore armour black as night, embossed with gold and blue, with a repeating skull motif worked into every trim and plate. Though none could see his disfigured face, they all felt the grim purpose of his gaze.

  ‘Votheer Tark’s Bloodborn make war like the Great Devourer,’ he said, his voice a wet rasp of damaged vocal chords that no amount of augmetic surgery could repair. ‘His Dark Mechanicum consume the iron bones of fallen machines and remake them to swell their numbers. Every piece of equipment and forge we lose is cannibalised to create more war machines for the Bloodborn.’

  ‘A bleak assessment, Chaplain,’ said Galenus.

  ‘An honest one,’ replied Cassius.

  ‘How do you fight an enemy that grows stronger with every battle?’ asked Epathus.

  ‘I think I can help with that,’ said a voice from the shadows above.

  Every warrior in the command tower spun toward the speaker, and weapons were pulled from holsters with Adeptus Astartes speed. A half-glimpsed figure sat upon a structural rafter, an elongated bolter rested casually across his lap.

  ‘Security!’ barked Galenus, trying to fix on the indistinct form.

  The warrior swung down from the darkness and dropped lightly to the decking of the command tower. The spectral half-light of the plotting table seemed not to touch him, leaving his spare frame shrouded in shadows where no shadows should be. His dusty fatigues were coated in ochre dust, and the blue of his armour was scratched and worn by wind-blown sand. A face tanned the colour of baked leather from the light of a thousand suns was framed by a neatly trimmed beard of silver, and regarded the assembled commanders with a faintly disapproving grin.

  ‘Telion? Is that you?’ said Epathus. ‘How in Guilliman’s name did you get in here?’

  ‘You know I’ll not tell you that,’ said Torias Telion, foremost Scout of the Ultramarines.

  ‘When did you get to Quintarn?’ demanded Galenus. ‘And why was I not informed of your arrival?’

  Telion ignored Galenus. ‘My Scouts were on Quintarn long before you got here. Did you think the Bloodborn forges on the Kodian Uplands simply destroyed themselves?’

  ‘That was you?’ asked Chronus.

  Telion nodded. ‘It was.’

  ‘Damn it, Telion,’ snapped Galenus. ‘You can’t fight alongside our companies without attaching yourself to the order of battle. How can we formulate strategy when we don’t know what assets we have in the field?’

  Telion shook his head. ‘You have a more pressing concern than my omission from the order of battle, Galenus.’

  ‘And what’s that?’

  ‘Your security,’ said Telion, gesturing to the roo
f space with a single upraised finger.

  Galenus and his fellow commanders looked up.

  Five scouts perched on the rafters, each with a weapon trained on the commanders below.

  Telion waved his finger in admonishment. ‘If we had been the enemy, you’d all be dead now. Think about that while we re-arm and resupply.’

  It had been a long, hard run from the Uplands, a fast dash from mayhem with the enemy’s hunters dogging their footsteps through broken hinterlands between the burning ridge and the southern plains. The enemy had some capable hunters, and only forty-three of his sixty warriors had returned from the arid desert.

  But none of the Bloodborn had the guile and skill of Torias Telion.

  He had served under three different Chapter Masters, and earned more battle honours than any other Scout in Ultramarines history. No scrappy, half-trained machine-fused seeker was going to catch him in a pursuit.

  He was tired, but did not let it show as he led his Scout squads through the familiar layout of the Ultramarines position. Everything was laid out as decreed in the Codex Astartes, regularly, precisely and… predictably.

  This unannounced arrival at Idrisia wasn’t the first time Telion had bent the tenets of his primarch’s teachings at war, but it was certainly the most obvious. He knew of at least one captain who had been banished from the Chapter for such breaches of the Codex’s teachings, so kept his own little heresies out of sight of any command ranks that might object.

  Telion saw Ultramarines warriors staring at his Scouts, and couldn’t suppress a flush of pride at the respectful nods he saw. His reputation within the Chapter was well known, and these warriors knew that with Torias Telion and his Scouts watching over them, they had guardian angels in place. The battle-brothers of the 5th and 6th Companies welcomed their arrival, even if Captain Galenus did not.

  He heard steps behind him, knowing from the length of stride and weight of the footfall that it was Draco. The youngster was a hellion with the missile launcher he carried slung on his back, a dead-eye shot who could send a warhead up the exhaust port of a skimmer’s engine at five hundred metres.

  ‘Are we joining the battle companies, brother-sergeant?’ asked the boy.

  ‘For a Scout trained in stealth and evasion you’re remarkably obvious in your questions, Draco,’ replied Telion.

  ‘Just want to know what we’re about, sergeant,’ said Draco. ‘I don’t like the idea of making this a straight up fight.’

  ‘Then put your mind at ease,’ said Telion. ‘We’re not attaching ourselves to the companies. We’re just here to resupply.’

  Draco nodded and Telion suppressed a smile as the boy rejoined his squad. The snipers, Zeno and Dareios, seemed pleased with the news, though Agathon, their newest member, clearly didn’t share their enthusiasm.

  ‘That won’t please Captain Galenus,’ said Sergeant Kaetan. Though Telion had attached himself to Kaetan’s squad, the sergeant had naturally stepped aside to allow the veteran Scout to take command. No-one among the 10th Company, save perhaps Captain Antilochus, would expect Torias Telion to serve under them.

  ‘I don’t much care what Galenus thinks,’ said Telion.

  ‘He’s right though, we should attach to the order of battle.’

  ‘That’s not how we’ll be most effective, Kaetan, and you know it,’ said Telion.

  Kaetan nodded and said, ‘I know that, but disregarding the wishes of a captain is a sure-fire way to get yourself sent on a Death Oath.’

  Kaetan was a dark-skinned veteran of Masali, a hard taskmaster and thorough teacher. Telion respected his ways, and believed him to be one of the best sergeants the 10th Company had seen in decades.

  Telion checked to see that none of the Scouts were listening and whispered, ‘Perhaps you’re right, but I see the anger he harbours towards Lord Calgar, even if no one else can. He blames the Chapter Master for the deaths of his men on the Indomitable.’

  Kaetan’s fingers flickered in the Scout sign for Enemy Observing and Telion fell silent. He had heard the approaching footsteps, but had spoken anyway, knowing who came near. Chaplain Cassius marched across the plaza towards the Scouts, the spiked head of his crozius maul jutting out behind his left shoulder guard.

  ‘Chaplain,’ said Telion. He gave a short bow of respect to the venerable warrior.

  ‘Kaetan, Torias,’ said Cassius, one of the few individuals with the authority to call any warrior in the Chapter by his first name. ‘I came to wish you good hunting.’

  ‘Gratitude, Chaplain,’ said Telion, touching the Ultramarines symbol embossed on his Stalker-pattern bolter. ‘It’s not often you come to see the hunters loosed.’

  ‘You suspect me of an ulterior motive?’

  Telion smiled warily. ‘I wouldn’t word it quite like that, but yes.’

  ‘Always a Scout, eh, Torias?’

  ‘Until the day I die.’

  ‘Then I will be as blunt,’ said Cassius. ‘You would do well not to antagonise Galenus. It is not wise to wound the pride of a battle captain.’

  Anger touched Telion. ‘He sends you here on his behalf?’ he said.

  ‘You know he does not,’ said Cassius. ‘And your belligerence does you no credit.’

  Telion sighed, knowing the Chaplain was right. ‘I apologise, Chaplain. It has been a long campaign for us. The abominable things we saw in the Uplands were beyond imagining. It makes me forget my manners.’

  Cassius waved away his clumsy apology. ‘Galenus will get over a little wounded pride. The loss of half his company aboard the Indomitable has left a blight on his soul and he lashes out when he should look to his warriors that remain.’

  Telion nodded and made to turn away, but Cassius stopped him with a firm hand upon his shoulder. Armoured in full battleplate, the Chaplain was a head taller than the Scout-sergeant, and it was impossible not to feel the threat and strength in his armoured form.

  ‘You take a great many risks,’ said Cassius. ‘Be careful you do not overstep your reach. Others who have done so have suffered greatly.’

  ‘I always watch my step, Chaplain. It’s what I do best,’ he promised.

  ‘Be sure that you do, Torias,’ said Cassius, lowering his voice so that only Telion could hear him. ‘When this war is over there will be many wounds that must be healed, and not all of them can be treated in an apothecarion. Suspicion and mistrust have taken root in our Chapter, and we will need to purge ourselves of their poisonous taint. Your voice is much respected within the Chapter, and if you show disrespect, others will hear of it and take heed. Think on that before you are so brazen with your reckless disregard for the chain of command.’

  Cassius turned away, and Telion waited until he was out of sight before leading his Scouts onwards. The Chaplain’s words had angered him, but he didn’t know whether it was the deeper truth that had touched a nerve or the fact that he was being admonished for his behaviour. Truth be told, either explanation sat ill with him.

  What had Cassius meant by suspicion and mistrust? A Scout lived or died by the awareness of his surroundings, and it galled Telion that he was ignorant of the subtler happenings within the Chapter. But these were questions for another time. He couldn’t let thoughts beyond his immediate concerns distract him from their mission.

  The ammo stores were housed within a modular construction built against a solid structure that had once served as an administrative centre for Idrisia. The quartermaster was a Techmarine from the 6th Company, and Telion was more than a little surprised to find that Captain Galenus’s authorisation for the release of ammunition and supplies had already been communicated to the quartermaster.

  The Scouts picked out what they required from the stores with the efficiency of looters, but took no more than they required, knowing through experience what they would need in the field and what was unnecessary weight. Within ten minutes, the Scouts w
ere fully equipped and ready for combat operations again.

  Telion gathered Kaetan’s Scouts in a small square with a stag-headed satyr at its centre – a holdover of Quintarn’s ancient beliefs from the days before the Imperium. A number of marble statues of wild animals surrounded this figure, sitting around him like the audience of a storyteller.

  ‘We’re heading north,’ he said without preamble. ‘Our brothers and the defence auxilia need time to fortify Idrisia for attack, so Antaro Chronus is leading an armoured formation north to fight the Bloodborn’s battle engines at the Upashid Scar. We’re going to lend a hand.’

  ‘What kind of enemy are we looking at?’ asked Dareios.

  ‘Armoured,’ said Telion. ‘Battle engines, transports, mobile artillery, that sort of thing.’

  He was pleased by the absence of fear in his Scouts. In their lighter armour and without heavy support, they would be achingly vulnerable, but they had Torias Telion to lead them, and their faith in him was a potent force in itself.

  ‘We help out where we can, but this isn’t our fight,’ said Telion ‘We have another mission, and I don’t want us dragged into an armoured brawl, understand?’

  A hand went up.

  ‘Draco?’ said Telion.

  ‘If we’re not engaging fully, then what’s our mission?’

  ‘It’s a dangerous one,’ said Telion. ‘One that only the best damn Scouts of the Adeptus Astartes can take on. We’re going to take out the enemy forge at the Maidens of Nestor and win the war for Quintarn in one fell swoop.’

  The Scouts set off within the hour, each squad taking its own route to separate targets as Antaro Chronus’s armoured strikeforce assembled. Telion led Kaetan’s squad through the cracked red gold deserts, skirting the plains and keeping to the rocky uplands wherever possible. They moved swiftly, but silently, hugging the few shadows on this arid world and leaving no trace of their passing.