Legends of the Space Marines

by Christian Dunn (ed) - (ebook by Undead)

  “Do not mistake my words, Master.” I countered. “I understand the value of restraint, of retreat when circumstances dictate. We defended the orbital stations, but we did not even try to save that planet. We did not even step foot upon the surface. Before we even entered the system we were defeated in our hearts.”

  I paused. Thrasius let the silence hang in the air between us for a long moment. “You wish for it to be as it was,” he said.

  “Yes!” I gasped. “Kraken is broken, its fleets are scattered. We do not need to sell our lives merely to delay their advance. If we commit ourselves in force we can win a victory, a true victory. As Calgar did on Ichar IV, as we did at Dal’yth Tertius, and Translock. Yes, I wish to fight as we did, with every weapon, every muscle, every sinew at our command. Come victory or death, to fight as an Astartes should.”

  I had not expected to burst out with such sentiments now, to anticipate the statement that Sergeant Angeloi was readying to give him. I expected Thrasius to roar back at me, but his reply was very quick.

  “One day, Tiresias, we shall fight like that again. But for now it cannot be. For now, any action where no brother is lost must be victory enough,” he said simply. “I know that it is far easier to say than it is to accept in one’s heart. That is my challenge, one of them at least, to help us understand what has happened to us. How we must change. So many brothers dead; Sotha gone, mere rubble in space. The noble Scythes of the Emperor, loyal reapers of mankind’s foes, cut down ourselves by the great devourer. It is not a fate we deserved.”

  He stepped away from me, his robe brushing lightly over the polished floor.

  “I understand your frustration, but you must have hope in our future. And that is what I left you to acquire. Here.”

  He keyed a sequence into a control and the mosaics along the walls rose smoothly, revealing pict-screens behind. They all displayed images of one of the ship’s hangar bays. It had changed greatly. The fighters had gone; the machinery had all been stripped away. In their place, a bizarre maze had been constructed. Plasteel walls covered and painted to resemble the corridors of a tyranid bio-ship. Inside the maze I could see Space Marines advancing in their squads; not Space Marines, no, they were too small. They were neophytes.

  As I watched, one of them trod upon a pressure-switch. A trapdoor in the floor opened and he vanished before even catching his breath to shout.

  “Traps, creatures, combat servitors programmed with tyranid attack patterns. It is as real as we can make it. We have paid close attention to the data we gathered fighting these monstrosities, after all, it came to us dear.”

  “How many?” I asked, my voice a whisper.

  “Three hundred in total, and more to come. Young, untested, but keen. All orphans of the Kraken like ourselves. All ready to be baptised with tyranid blood.” Thrasius placed his hand upon my shoulder then. “They only need leadership, guidance, from brothers like you. Sergeant Angeloi recommended you specifically, Tiresias. Promotion and this, your first command.”

  I opened my mouth, but found for once no words were waiting there. Thrasius continued: “You see, Tiresias, one day it shall be as it was. And it shall not take a hundred years, or even fifty. When the next hive fleet comes to plague these sectors we will be ready to answer the Emperor’s call.”

  I stepped back a little, and Thrasius’ hand fell from me.

  “I will… thank you, Master. I will be sure to thank my sergeant when I—”

  And then I saw a look in Thrasius’ golden eyes.

  “I will ensure you will have the chance to send a message after him,” he interrupted. “Brother-Sergeant Angeloi has already departed to join the xenos hunters of the Inquisition, the fabled Deathwatch. Given our experiences, they requested as many brothers as we could spare to help spread the knowledge of the forms of the tyranid blight and how each may best be destroyed. I granted him, and a few others, the honour of carrying our name and our teachings to the galaxy.”

  A few others, Thrasius said, but in truth over forty brothers had gone already, reassigned to the Deathwatch. They were nearly a third of our strength and each one of them was one of Angeloi’s crusaders. And the chance to compel Thrasius to order one last, glorious campaign had gone with them.

  “Now rest a moment, brother,” Thrasius directed me to sit, “and allow me to share with you how your new command will aid our Chapter’s Salvation.”

  I never discovered the truth behind the creation of the neophyte companies. The recruits themselves I knew were, just like Gricole and our retainers, from the worlds of the long retreat. Even before the hive fleet arrived in the Sotha system, even while my squad-brothers prepared the planet’s defences, plans were being made so that the Scythes might rise again.

  The best of the youngsters of Sotha had already been secretly evacuated. Each place we turned to make our stand, Miral, Graia, and the rest; while my brothers fought and died, the most promising youths were recruited and rescued. Harvested by us, I suppose, while those left behind were harvested by the xenos.

  But the gene-seed, that was the question. Three whole companies of neophytes and more to come, Thrasius had promised. How was it possible? There were many theories. A few were sensible; that Thorcyra had been forewarned of the attack on Sotha and ordered the gene-seed to be removed in secret, or that the old Chapter Master had struck an agreement with the Inquisition to return our gene-tithe and whether the Deathwatch Marines were the only price he had had to pay. Other theories were darker, that Thrasius had found or purchased arcane or alien tech that allowed progenoids to develop artificially far faster than in a Space Marine, or that most of the neophytes did not receive true gene-seed, they were merely bio-engineered and would never mature into true Astartes. I even heard a whisper that the gene-seed was not ours; that before the Salvation Teams there were squads designated Reaper Teams. I do not credit such thoughts, however; no Astartes would stoop to such measures even if the future of the Chapter depended upon it.

  But then, I have had cause to wonder, can you ever be sure what lengths a creature will go in order to ensure the survival of its children?

  “A kilometre and a half long, millions of tonnes, and a face only a hormagaunt could love…” Vitellios murmured, watching the muscles of the hive ship’s offspring ripple beneath its hull-skin.

  “And it’s trying to get out,” Pasan said.

  This was it then, the source of the ’gaunts we had encountered, the spark of life that Cassios had sworn existed. The bloated biters we had seen were not venturing inwards to wait; they were coming here to feed this offspring on the bio-matter of the corpse of its parent.

  “Very well,” I decided. “As soon as we return to the boat, we will send a despatch to the closest battle-group, Ultima priority. They will respond to that.”

  “No,” Cassios said.

  I scoffed. “I assure you, commander, they will!” But then, through the visor of his faceplate, I saw the expression in his eyes.

  “They will still be too late. We are the only ones who are close enough and we are here to kill that creature.”

  I had had enough of him. He had challenged my command once already and I was not going to waste my breath diverting him from such vainglorious stupidity.

  “As you wish, commander,” I told him and gave the signal for the Scouts to gather and follow. “I will ensure your final action is recorded with the proper honour.” I had walked several steps before I realised my wards were not with me.

  “Ensure it is recorded for all of us,” Vitellios spoke up.

  I should have seen it. I should have seen it as soon as I saw them standing with Cassios as he convinced me there were others within the ship that may be saved. They were not looking at me to lead them; they were looking at me to see whether I believed their lie.

  “A second beacon?” I did not look at Cassios, but rather at Narro. He knew I would have trusted him to double-check the auspex readings.

  “It was not his idea,” Pasan said.
“Nor was it the commander’s. It was mine.”

  “Yours?” I shot back at my acolyte.

  It was Cassios who replied. “I would have left you back there. It is clear to me that you have failed as their teacher and you have failed even as their leader. But Brother Pasan wanted you here.”

  I looked away from him; there was nothing he could say to me. Two days it had taken him, two days to take the loyalties of the wards I had cared for for two years. I looked back at Pasan. “Why did you want me here? So that you may see my face as you disgrace me?”

  “No,” Pasan said. “So that you may have the chance to join us.”

  “Join you?” I exclaimed. “For what purpose would I do that? What do you offer but the futile waste of your lives?”

  Pasan replied, but the four of them may as well have spoken as one.

  “To know what it is to fight as an Astartes.”

  I could not credit this from such youths. “You do not know,” I told them. “You have never seen the full Chapter deployed in battle. Squad after squad standing proud in their armour, bolters raised. Reciting your battle-oaths with one voice and then marching forwards, knowing your brothers are there for you as you are there for them. You draw such strength from them, being not one warrior fighting alone, but one of a thousand fighting together. Ten hundred bodies forming a single weapon. Until you have experienced that… you do not really know what it is to fight as an Astartes.”

  The neophytes were silent. I felt my words had reached them at last.

  “You are right, honoured sergeant,” Pasan said. “We do not know. We have never experienced that. But then, when will we?”

  “When you are full battle-brothers,” I said.

  “Will we? Even if we do as you say. We leave here now, with you; we survive to take a place in the battle company,” Pasan glanced at his brother-Scouts for support. “When will we ever march into battle a full Chapter strong? How long will it take us to recover before we do anything more than nip and pinch at our enemies? A hundred years, two hundred? How much more will be lost to the devourer by then?”

  Pasan stood forwards and Vitellios stepped with him.

  “I know you think little of me,” the hive-trash said. “That I don’t take being a high and mighty Astartes seriously. But there’s one thing I am serious about. My life. I joined to scour our galaxy of the alien bastards that slaughtered my world. I didn’t raise myself up from hive-trash, put myself through all the trials to be chosen as a Scythe so I could dig through the dead and grow old training the next generation. I didn’t do all I’ve done just to become an antiquated relic…”

  “As I am, you mean?” I snapped back. I was beyond anger, I was furious. I raised my hand and Vitellios braced himself for the blow, but Pasan stepped in front of him.

  “Why are you against us?” he cried. “We all know that this is what you truly want. We’ve heard you rail to Gricole often enough.”

  “Now you are spying upon me as well?” I said, incredulous.

  Hwygir grunted in the corner, “A small craft, our transport.”

  “You are not the only one with an Astartes’ senses,” Vitellios chipped in, but Pasan cut him off.

  “No excuses, honoured sergeant. You wanted us to hear. You wanted us to know how much you resented this mission, resented us for what we took you from. Now here is your chance. There is the enemy. We can reach it. We can kill it. Yes, some of us, all of us may die. But is this not the chance for glory you want?”

  All four of them were standing now, united against me, yet united in favour of everything I believed. The anger that had flared inside me vanished.

  “Yes, it is,” I agreed with them. “More than you know. Every sinew and muscle in my body craves to carry the fight to the xenos without caution, without restraint. To serve as an Astartes should serve.”

  “Then you are with us!” Pasan shouted.

  “But then…” I continued. “I look deeper than my muscle, I look into my bones. And there, inscribed a thousand times, is the oath I took to the master of this Chapter to obey his orders and the Emperor’s word therein. It is an oath that I have never broken, and never will. As for the rest… I give it up.”

  I swept my arm up and pointed at them. “You are my witness! You hear me now! I give up my glory, I give up my revenge, I give up my hope of what I could have been,” I shouted even though they were close, but I knew I was not addressing them. “I accept it cannot be as it was! A battle where no brother falls is glory enough!”

  I saw their faces, they thought me mad, but in truth I was healed. The weight of the loss of my brothers, the weight of my rage that I had survived when they had not was lifted. I took a breath and breathed free for the first time since Sotha.

  “No glory,” I finished quietly, “is greater than the future of our Chapter. We are not greater than it, none of us. Any Astartes who thinks they are… there is a word for those.”

  “Renegades,” Cassios said from behind me. “But which of us is the renegade, brother? You, who defend our Chapter’s crippled body or I, who defend its soul?”

  “It’s starting to move…” Narro reported.

  “Then we shall as well,” Cassios gestured to the Scouts, once my wards, now his men, then turned back to me. “I offer you the chance to fight as a Scythe should, with his hand, his oath on his lips and his brothers by his side. If you do not come, let it be upon you.”

  “It shall be upon me,” I stated, “but I shall come. I take this oath now: you may take these children to their deaths but I shall bring them back again.”

  * * *

  It was to be the final insertion of the 21st Salvation Team. The ship, the offspring, was grinding itself forward down the lifeless channel. We blew a hole through the young, unhardened skin as close to our target as we could manage. If the offspring noticed our pinprick at all its reaction was lost amidst the wild throes of its agonising birth. The chambers inside could not be more different than the dead, dark halls of its parent. Luminescent algae lit our path, the ground was springy beneath our boots, the wall-skin taut, the door valves firm, and the noise… each chamber and tunnel vibrated with the screeching noise as the offspring pulsed and squirmed out into space, but below that you could hear the hum, the pulse, the beat of its life all around you. The life the Scythes were here to take.

  We moved quickly. Cassios led the way, allowing his warrior instincts to draw him towards the creature’s heart. The Scouts followed a step behind; their excitement, their fear did not dull their skill. They moved easily, not in a single formation, but always shifting from one to another, running, covering. First Vitellios would run, as Pasan protected him, then Narro as Vitellios did the same, then Hwygir would charge up, bursting as ever with pride at being entrusted with the vital heavy weapon. They protected one another. For two years I had tried to find one amongst them suited to be their leader; at that moment I realised that they did not need one. They fought as one: as Hwygir reloaded, Narro shot into the tyranids to keep them from recovering; as Narro was caught by a tendril, Pasan forced his gun down into its maw and blew its brain out; as Pasan forced open a door-valve, Vitellios destroyed the creature lurking above it; as Vitellios ran quickly back from a new rush of ’gaunts, I lent my fire to his to halt them where they stood.

  Our foes were not the fearsome monsters of Macragge and Ichar IV. The ship had grown only its most basic defenders: termagants, other ’gaunts and the like; and it itself was focused on its struggle towards freedom. However, its plight, its vulnerable state, triggered a response from the creatures barring our path that was all the more visceral. Cassios did not care, he simply battered them aside. These tyranids, who had overwhelmed countless star systems with force of numbers, now found themselves overwhelmed in turn by Cassios’ simple force. Every chamber we encountered he stormed, every ’gaunt in his way fell to the shells of his pistol or the curved edge of his power sword. He gave them no chance to gather, but charged into the thick of them, relying o
n his speed to spoil their aim and his thick armour to protect his flesh. That it did for him, but it did not for the rest of us and we suffered our first loss.

  “Brother!” Hwygir shouted after Narro as he stumbled. One of the shots of bio-acid aimed too quickly at Cassios had flown past the commander and struck Narro. Across the vox, I heard him clamp down on his scream. Hwygir had already raised the heavy bolter and was struggling across to check on him.

  “Keep us covered!” I yelled at him and shoved his weapon around to face the closing enemy. I heard his frustrated roar as he fired, but my focus was on the stricken Narro. He was still breathing. I rolled him and saw his arm clutching his side. Without ceremony I pulled the arm away to see the wound and discovered that the arm ended at the wrist. His hand had been eaten away.

  His eyes snapped open, he looked down in shock at his stump and breathed in to holler in pain. I punched him sharply in the chest and he gasped instead, winded.

  “Overcome it!” I shouted into his ear. “You shall build yourself a new one.”

  He struggled to nod as his Astartes metabolism kicked in and dampened the shock and the pain. I took his weapon and handed him my pistol.

  “Sergeant!” Hwygir called back as he released the trigger for a moment. “How is—”

  I looked up as Hwygir turned his head to ask after his brother. I saw the shot hit the back of his helmet and the blood splatter on the inside of his face-plate as the tiny beetles of the bio-weapon bored through his skull and ate the flesh of his face from the inside. The savage fell and, in that instant, I felt the loss of a brother.

  I dived towards his body firing wildly to force his killers to scuttle back. I cannot claim any sentimentality—I had fought too long to allow such feelings cloud my reactions—it was solely his weapon I was after. I rose and aimed the heavy bolter. I had not fired one in battle since the long retreat from Sotha. I pulled the trigger, felt the reassuring recoil and watched as its shells blew a line of bloody death across the ’gaunts’ first ranks.