Heroes of the Space Marines

by Nick Kyme

  The chamber was dark, lit by a single guttering lantern overhead. In the centre of the circle of Space Marines, Nicz was on one knee, the Librarian’s head cradled in his armoured lap. Motes of energy danced around the psyker’s lips as he shouted wordlessly, but the Librarian was otherwise utterly inert. Gessart noticed thick blood oozing from Zacherys’s gums as he wailed.

  ‘What is happening?’ demanded Herdain as he entered from the opposite doorway.

  ‘I just found—’ began Nicz.

  Zacherys’s eyes snapped open and a blast of power exploded from him, hurling the Space Marines to the ground. Nicz was flung against the wall and flopped to the ground, dazed. The others groped their way back to their feet as the Librarian stood. His eyes were a liquid crimson and his teeth stained with blood.

  ‘The curtain of blood is parting,’ Zacherys whispered. ‘The realm beyond breaks through. The legion across the divide awaits. The clarions of Chaos call loud.’

  ‘What do you see?’ demanded Gessart, striding across the small chamber. He reached out to touch the Librarian but held back his hand at the last moment.

  ‘Death is coming!’ hissed Zacherys. He turned his otherworldly eyes on Gessart. ‘Yet, you are not destined to die here.’

  With a shuddering gasp, the psyker fell to his knees and slumped forwards onto all fours. When he raised his head again, his eyes were once more the pale blue they had always been. Gessart crouched beside his friend and laid a comforting hand on his left shoulder pad.

  ‘What did you see?’ he asked again, his voice now gentle, barely audible.

  ‘The warp opens,’ said Zacherys.

  There was a moment of murmuring discontent from the other Space Marines and Gessart shot them a fierce glance to quell it. ‘Traitors?’ asked Herdain.

  ‘Worse,’ said Zacherys, getting to his feet with the aid of Gessart. ‘Chaos Incarnate. The Evil Given Life. A Nightmare Host.’

  ‘Daemons,’ muttered Rykhel.

  ‘The rebels,’ the Librarian continued. ‘They know not what they do, but their fear and their loathing beckons the apparitions. They idly whisper the names of ancient powers lost in antiquity and draw the gaze of them to this world.’

  ‘How long do we have to get ready for the festivities?’ asked Lehenhart.

  ‘Less than a day,’ the Librarian replied. ‘Hours, more likely. I can feel the rift opening, out in the stars above the city. They will come here first. Everything will die.’

  ‘Not us,’ said Herdain. ‘We shall fight on gloriously. You said yourself that we will not die here.’

  ‘He said that I would not die here,’ said Gessart. ‘I didn’t hear him mention your name.’

  ‘Yet how would you survive while we perish?’ said Nicz, who had recovered and was pushing himself to his feet, using the wall to keep his balance.

  ‘None need to die here,’ said Gessart. He turned his dark gaze upon his Space Marines. ‘This world is lost; to the rebels or the daemons. It matters not which darkness devours Helmabad; only that we survive to warn of its fall.’

  ‘So we cut and run again?’ said Nicz.

  ‘That would not be my choice of phrase,’ said Gessart.

  ‘There is no honour in empty sacrifice,’ said Willusch, taking a step to stand beside his captain.

  ‘Sacrifice is the honour,’ snapped Herdain. ‘The Astartes were created to lay down their lives in battle. This cowardice will not be tolerated.’

  ‘It’s not cowardice, it’s survival,’ said Lehenhart. ‘Humanity will not be guarded by our corpses.’

  ‘I will not let you repeat the sins of Archimedon,’ said Herdain, rounding on Gessart. ‘You failed in your leadership then and you are failing now. You are no longer fit to lead this company.’

  ‘Company?’ laughed Nicz. ‘There is no company here. No Chapter. We are all that remain. I will not die here in a vain gesture.’ ‘Heresy!’ roared Herdain, snatching his plasma pistol from its holster and pointing it at Nicz. ‘Pay no heed to this treachery, brothers.’

  Rykhel held up his hands and stepped forwards.

  ‘I swore an oath to the Chapter,’ he said. ‘I am Astartes, of the Avenging Sons. My life was forfeit the day I took that oath, as were all of yours. It is not our place to pick and choose our fates, but to fight until we can fight no more.’

  There was a chorus of assent from several of the Space Marines, most of them newer recruits to the company, brought in to replace the losses of Archimedon. Gessart looked at the assembly and saw a mixture of hope and doubt in their eyes. Willusch gave him a reassuring nod.

  ‘We cannot stand divided,’ said Gessart. ‘I am your captain, your commander. I alone lead this company, what remains of it.’

  ‘I still follow where you lead,’ said Willusch.

  ‘And I,’ said Zacherys. ‘There is no defeating this foe.’

  ‘I was taught to fight, not commit suicide,’ said Lehenhart. ‘Staying here would be suicide, by my reckoning.’

  Herdain’s face was a mask of hatred as he stared at Gessart and his companions. He turned his fell look upon Heynke. ‘You, brother, what do you say?’ the Chaplain demanded.

  Heynke stood transfixed for a moment, his eyes shifting between Gessart and Herdain before straying around the room to look at his battle-brothers. He opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again.

  ‘Is this the bravery of the Avenging Sons?’ shouted Herdain, grabbing the rim of the breastplate at Heynke’s throat and pulling him forward. ‘Make your loyalties known! Show your purity!’

  ‘I will fight!’ declared Ruphen, drawing up his bolter to his shoulder and aiming at the group clustered around Gessart.

  ‘This is insanity,’ muttered Tylo, the company’s Apothecary. His white armour stood out amongst the deep blue of his battle-brothers as he pushed his way forward. ‘We cannot fail here and allow our gene-seed to fall into the clutches of traitors. We must seek to preserve the future.’

  ‘What future is there without honour?’ said Herdain, lowering his pistol, his eyes imploring.

  The crack of a bolt-round rang out around the chamber and the Chaplain’s head exploded in a blossom of blood and fragments of bone. Gessart stood with Zacherys’s smoking pistol in his fist; the captain had not brought his own weapon with him.

  ‘More future than death holds,’ Gessart declared.

  Ruphen opened fire with his bolter and anarchy filled the chamber. Gessart lunged to his left, pushing Zacherys clear of the Space Marine’s fire. Nicz and Lehenhart opened up with their bolters. Within a second, the two camps were locked in bitter combat, blazing away with bolters and pounding each other with fists and chainswords, their harsh shouts accompanying the roar of weapons.

  In a matter of moments four Space Marines lay dead on the rocky floor and six more were sorely wounded. Nicz loomed over brother Karlrech, one of those who had sided with Herdain. His bolter was inches from the bleeding Space Marine’s face. Lehenhart was holding down Rykhel with the aid of two more battle-brothers. Heynke and a few others looked on with expressions of horror.

  Gessart handed back the pistol to Zacherys and walked towards the subdued followers of the Chaplain.

  ‘If you wish to die on Helmabad, I will grant that for you,’ he said calmly, looking not only at those who had spoken against him but those who had remained silent. ‘I hold no ill will against you, for we must each make a choice now. It will be quick for those who wish to preserve their honour. For those who swear anew to follow me, there will be no judgement on what has just passed.’

  ‘I will follow the will of my brothers,’ said Heynke. ‘If it is their choice that we leave, then I shall be with them.’

  ‘Death before dishonour!’ spat Karlrech.

  Gessart gave Nicz a nod, who pulled the trigger and ended Karlrech’s protests with the angry retort of his bolter. ‘Anybody else?’ Nicz asked, straightening, his face a crimson mask of the dead Space Marine’s blood.

  Brother Hechsen stepped f
orwards and grabbed the muzzle of Nicz’s bolter and placed it under his chin. He stared defiantly at Gessart.

  ‘This is treachery,’ said Hechsen. ‘I name you all renegades, and I will not be numbered amongst you in the annals of shame. I am an Avenging Son and proud to die as such. You are less than cowards, for you are traitors.’

  Gessart noticed a few of his warriors wince as Nicz fired again, but he kept his own eyes firmly fixed on those of Hechsen. He felt nothing. Inside he was empty, as he had been for several years; ever since Archimedon. He had not wished events to turn in this way, but he was accepting of whatever fate had dealt him.

  No more Space Marines stepped forwards at Nicz’s next inquiry and Gessart nodded approvingly. Lehenhart pulled Rykhel to his feet and patted him on the head. Tylo moved to the dead warriors and began the bloody process of removing their gene-seed as Gessart turned to Zacherys.

  ‘We shall not die on Helmabad,’ the captain said.

  ‘Aye, captain,’ said the Librarian with a weak smile.

  ‘I hope you have a plan for how you’re going to make that happen,’ said Lehenhart. ‘There’s still millions of rebels camped outside, and we need to get off this world.’

  ‘Captain!’ Nicz called out and pointed towards one of the chamber doors.

  Clustered outside was a handful of the Sepulchre Guard, who looked upon the awful scene with wide eyes and trembling lips. ‘Nicz, Lehenhart, Heynke, Willusch,’ Gessart snapped. ‘Deal with them.’

  As the Space Marines turned towards the doorway the Guardsmen bolted.

  ‘Fists and knives,’ Gessart added. ‘Save what ammunition you can.’

  THE CENTRAL CHAMBER of the sepulchre was deathly quiet, disturbed only by moans and whispers of dying Sepulchre Guards echoing from the corridors surrounding it. It was a large space, its wide floor decorated with tiles carved with the Imperial aquila, thirty pillars inscribed with the names of faithful Imperial servants supported the vaulted ceiling. At one end Imperial Commander Mu’shan sat upon a high-backed chair of dark red wood, his wizened face hidden by the cowl of his golden robe. Nicz stood to his left, bolter in hand, while Hurstreich loomed on the governor’s right. Gessart leant against one of the pillars not far from the throne, talking to Lehenhart and Zacherys. Some of the other Space Marines stood guard at the entrance hall, others stood sentry behind the sealed east gate, whilst five had been despatched on a mission beyond the sepulchre by their captain.

  ‘The breach is coming closer,’ warned the Librarian, his voice low. ‘I can feel the curtain of blood thinning. I hear the voices of the beasts that dwell on the other side. They are hungry, I can feel it. They sense the terror of this world and they thirst for it.’

  ‘We could probably fight our way back to the Thunderhawk,’ said Lehenhart. ‘It’s less than a mile from the north-west gate.’ ‘As a last resort, yes,’ Gessart replied. ‘I would rather not use up the remaining supplies fighting the rebels only to be unarmed when the daemons arrive. There is another way; one that carries less risk.’

  ‘What do you have in mind?’ asked Lehenhart.

  ‘That is not your concern,’ snapped Gessart. ‘Be ready to move out on my word.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Lehenhart. ‘You know, a little trust goes a long way.’

  Gessart darted the Space Marine a scowl in reply and Lehenhart swiftly retreated, joining his comrades at the main door.

  ‘What is your intent, renegade?’ Mu’shan’s high-pitched voice floated across the hall.

  Gessart strode to the Imperial commander and stood in front of him, swathing the aging ruler with his shadow. He looked down at the shrivelled dignitary and wondered how such a decrepit specimen could ever have been trusted with the sovereign rule of Helmabad.

  ‘It was not I that surrendered his world to the rebels,’ said Gessart. ‘The blame for all that has befallen you lies at your own feet. Your laxness in prosecuting the Emperor’s will has been your undoing.’

  ‘And so in hindsight you would hold me guilty of this, when it is you who are supposed to be our saviours?’ Mu’shan spoke quietly but with defiance. ‘What hope is there for mankind if our greatest defenders forget their oaths and put their survival ahead of their duty?’

  ‘You speak to me of duties?’ said Gessart with a sneer. ‘How is it that three-quarters of your citizens rose up in revolt against your command? Explain to me why the Astartes should shed their blood to save the rulership of a man who did not defend it himself?’

  ‘If I am weak, then it is beholden to you and your kind to remain strong,’ said Mu’shan, pulling back his hood to reveal a thin, wrinkled face with alabaster-white skin. His eyes were dark blue and intent as he stared at Gessart. ‘If I failed, it is because of my human weakness. You were created to be better than human; stronger, more devoted, dependable and unflinching. Has so much been lost these ten thousand years that the war-angels of the Astartes consider the protection of mankind beneath their dignity?’ ‘Has Man fallen so low that it must always look to the Astartes to cure every ill it suffers?’ countered Gessart. ‘We wage war for the protection of humankind, of the race, not in the defence of individuals. Did the Emperor grant you such a greater lot in your life, that it is worth our lives to defend you for a few hours more when we could live and save a billion others?’

  Mu’shan stood slowly, awkwardly, lips pursed, his head barely reaching the chest of Gessart. His back was bent and as he reached forward a hand to lay it upon the eagle of Gessart’s armour his skeletal limbs were plain to see.

  ‘If you judge the worth of your battles by numbers alone, then you have already lost,’ said Mu’shan. ‘Beneath this breast of muscle and fused bone beats the heart of a man. Does it not tell you that what you do is wrong?’

  Gessart gently brushed aside the commander’s hand, fearful that so frail was Mu’shan that even this light touch might break his weak bones.

  ‘I have read the Tactica Imperialis too,’ said Gessart. ‘It also says, “The mere slaughter of your foe is no substitute for true victory”.’ A man’s heart may beat in my chest, but beside it beats the secondary heart of the Space Marine. We are not alike. We share no common bond. You ask that I be human and sacrifice myself for you. The nature of the galaxy demands that I be more than human and live to fight further battles. To accept defeat, for our deaths will not prevent it here, is no courage at all. To accept death, no matter the circumstance, is the counsel of despair. I will listen to it no longer.’

  Gessart turned away and heard Mu’shan wheeze as he sat down again. His ears also detected the tramp of heavy boots outside and a moment later the guards at the door parted to allow Willusch, Heynke and three other Space Marines to enter. Between them they carried the limp forms of four men, their greatcoats torn, insignias cut out. Rebels.

  ‘Tylo!’ Gessart called as the prisoners were dropped unceremoniously in the middle of the chamber.

  The Apothecary walked over to the captives and, after giving them a brief inspection, nodded to confirm that they were still alive. ‘Wake them up,’ said Gessart.

  Willusch strode across the chamber to the pile of crates and barrels in one corner, returning quickly with a glass demijohn of water. He tipped its contents over the faces of the men, who rose to wakefulness with splutters and coughs. They gazed at the Space Marines towering over them, their eyes full of fear, and their mouths aghast.

  ‘Listen, do not speak,’ snapped Gessart. ‘Do as I say and you will live. Any defiance and you will be slain.’

  The men nodded dumbly in understanding.

  ‘That is well,’ said Gessart, crouching down beside the prisoners, the joints of his armour creaking as he did so. He turned his gaze to Heynke. ‘Fetch a vox-caster.’

  Heynke headed back into the recesses of the hall without question and returned promptly carrying a comms unit under one arm. He placed it on the floor next to Gessart and knelt on one knee beside it.

  ‘Who are we contacting?’ Heynke said.

&
nbsp; Gessart looked at the prisoners with a vicious smile.

  ‘The enemy,’ he said.

  GESSART’S CAPTIVES WERE more than willing to give up the command frequencies of their superiors, and after several messages, the Space Marines worked their way up the chain to speak to those in charge.

  ‘Whom am I addressing?’ asked Gessart, the vox-caster’s pick-up dwarfed by his huge fist.

  ‘Serain Am’hep, Third Apostle of the Awakening,’ a tinny voice crackled back.

  ‘Third what?’ snorted Lehenhart. ‘Unbelievable!’

  Gessart waved him into silence and pressed the transmit stud.

  ‘Do you have the authority to discuss terms?’ the captain asked.

  ‘I am a member of the Revolutionary Council,’ Serain Am’hep replied. ‘I have with me the fourth and eighth Apostles and we speak for all members.’

  ‘Finally!’ said Gessart. He began to pace around the prisoners as he spoke. ‘It is my desire to end this conflict.’

  ‘You wish to discuss surrender?’ Am’hep’s incredulity was clear in the tone of his voice.

  ‘Of course not,’ said Gessart.

  ‘There’s no way we could possibly take you all prisoner!’ Lehenhart called from behind his leader.

  Gessart turned with a frown and wordlessly pointed towards the guards at the door. Lehenhart gave a sullen nod and departed to join them.

  ‘Let me be direct with you,’ said Gessart. ‘I wish to arrange our safe departure in return for the delivery of Imperial Commander Mu’shan.’

  ‘What?’ came Mu’shan’s choked cry from the end of the hall.

  Surprise was written across the faces of many of the Space Marines. Nicz simply nodded with a grim smile. ‘You will turn over the faithless Mu’shan to our justice?’ asked Am’hep.

  ‘Once we have departed, you will be free to enter the sepulchre without resistance and claim him for yourselves,’ said Gessart.

  ‘Why would we allow you to walk free?’ said Am’hep. ‘We have the manpower to storm the sepulchre any time that we wish.’

  ‘You are welcome to expend the lives of thousands of your followers in the attempt,’ said Gessart. ‘I’m sure their deaths will not discourage the rest.’