by Gav Thorpe
The Chaplain looked out of the canopy at the receding ground. Faith in Demensuis was one thing, but it did little to quell Boreas’s unease at dealing with consequences he did not fully comprehend.
‘Everything will proceed as planned, brother,’ Demensuis assured him, perhaps sensing the Chaplain’s slight apprehension.
‘What is the worst-case result?’ asked Boreas, eyes fixed on the small rockcrete block housing the relay controls.
‘That depends on the criteria you use,’ replied Demensuis. ‘In terms of the mission’s aims, the worst case would be the link is not severed and the orks are able to continue with whatever it is they need the power supply for. In a wider context, it could be that I have made the grossest miscalculation and the whole island will explode in one massive volcanic eruption, shattering tectonic plates and sending tidal waves that will scour all life from the other islands, thereby effectively destroying Piscina as an Imperial world.’
Boreas glanced sharply at Demensuis, worried by his matter-of-fact tone.
‘Could that really happen, brother?’ the Chaplain asked. ‘Could we destroy the planet?’
Demensuis kept his gaze forwards and his voice level.
‘It is a theoretical possibility, brother, but highly improbable,’ replied the Techmarine.
‘How improbable?’
Demensuis turned his head slowly to look at Boreas, a thin smile on his lips.
‘At least one in forty-eight million, I would say.’
The Chaplain grunted in annoyance at Demensuis’s levity and turned his attention back to the chronometer. Twenty seconds to detonation.
‘This could be your last chance to say goodbye to the Third Company, Brother-Chaplain,’ Demensuis continued. ‘Any last words for them?’
‘I find this attitude highly disrespectful! Your irreverence is unbecoming of a battle-brother. I feel that when this campaign is complete, it would be beneficial to all of us that you spend more time in the Reclusiam than the armoury. These consta–’
Boreas stopped as a bluish sphere of gas and fire engulfed the relay station. Electricity crackled through the expanding ball of plasma. Parts of the compound collapsed as cracks ripped through the rockcrete-covered ground. A few seconds passed before the shockwave hit the Thunderhawk, setting every surface rattling, jarring Boreas against his seat harness.
Demensuis leaned forwards and pointedly looked around through the Thunderhawk’s canopy at the ground below, before his gaze settled on Boreas.
‘It seems my calculations were correct, brother,’ said the Techmarine. ‘Sorry to interrupt. You were saying something about spending more time in the Reclusiam, I believe.’
‘We will speak further on this when we return to the Chapter,’ Boreas warned. ‘Please restrain your glibness in future.’
Demensuis bowed his head in apology and steered the Thunderhawk northwards.
‘Journey time to Barrak Gorge estimated at seventy-six minutes, Brother-Chaplain,’ he said. ‘Do you wish to apprise Master Belial of our successful mission, or shall I?’
Boreas snatched the comm handset from its cradle.
‘This is Chaplain Boreas to Master Belial. Mission is complete. Power link to the East Barrens has been severed. Pass on my praises to the brothers at Koth Ridge: the fury of the orks will fall upon them soon.’
Night insects chirruped and buzzed around the bright lamps illuminating the mine head compound. The snores of sleeping Free Militia troopers blended with the murmurs of those on watch and the crunch of the Space Marines’ boots as they walked the perimeter.
Boreas did not sleep, though he knew that there was little chance the orks would come this far north. His restlessness was born not out of concern for himself, but for his battle-brothers on Koth Ridge. There had been no word over the comm about the next ork thrust for Kadillus Harbour, but the Chaplain knew that it was likely to come soon. He stood looking down the mountainside at the distant silhouette of Koth Ridge, imagining the Space Marines staring to the east, searching for the first signs of the ork offensive.
Four thousand metres higher up the slope of Kadillus’s central mount, Barrak Gorge was situated at the end of a mighty split in the rocks. Lava flows in ages past had created a nest of interweaving gulleys and valleys. The geothermal station loomed over the gorge, beneath it the gaping caverns of the exhausted mine and the jutting structures of its workings.
A muttered exchange of orders warned Boreas that the Piscina force were changing their guard. He looked at the two hundred men huddled in their field blankets beneath rubberised sheet bivouacs. They had spent most of the five hours since Boreas’s arrival complaining: about the cold, about the thin air, about the rations. Those complaints had not been voiced directly to the Chaplain, but had simply hovered in the air as the squads had moved about erecting their sandbagged positions and setting up their heavy weapons.
Boreas turned back and walked through the camp, trying to ignore the quiet chatter between the men coming off watch and those about to start their patrols. The Chaplain was no keener to be here than any of the defence troopers, though his reasons were far different. It was not the inconvenience or physical discomfort that displeased Boreas: it was the sense of foreboding that he would miss out on fighting the decisive battle of the campaign. He was sure that the next ork assault on Koth Ridge would be the last chance the alien filth had to unite their forces. When the orks were thrown back, it would be a simple matter to keep them scattered until the rest of the Chapter returned to aid in the final purging.
‘I only wanted to get off the mega-trawlers,’ Boreas heard one of the troopers say as the Chaplain walked past a squad of men hunkered behind a low plascrete wall. ‘I thought if I joined the Free Militia I’d have a chance to get off-world. Now look at me! I’ll be lucky to see Kadillus Harbour again.’
Boreas could see the young trooper’s face illuminated in the dull aura of a heatplate. He was surely less than twenty years old, his blond hair cropped to his shoulders. The trooper looked up with shock as Boreas stepped into the glow of the heatplate. The squad saw the Chaplain’s black armour and their eyes strayed to the skull helm hanging from his belt.
‘There is no luck,’ said the Chaplain. He crouched so that he was closer to their level, the servos in his armour creaking. ‘Warriors live and die by their skill. If there is some other force that decides our destiny, it is the hand of the Emperor, not luck.’
‘Praise the Emperor,’ the blond-haired trooper replied unthinkingly.
Boreas looked at the men; saw their tired, strained expressions and the tightness with which they held their lasguns to their chests.
‘Skill and courage win more battles than luck,’ the Chaplain told them, his gaze resting on the trooper who had spoken. ‘Faith in yourselves and each other is the greatest faith you can possess. Do not dwell upon the hardships that you endure, but remember the great honour that you have been granted. Who else but you can say that they have stood upon the line, faced the foes of the Emperor and prevailed? Who else but you can say he was willing to lay down his life to protect his home? Most men pass their lives toiling in the darkness, the eye of the Emperor never seeing their labour, the ear of the Emperor never hearing their voices. The galaxy is swathed in shadows of evil and you have the opportunity to burn bright in the firmament, if only for a moment.
‘We who have seen war have seen the true struggle for existence. Others rest safe tonight, on this world and others, because you are here on this cold and forbidding mountain standing guard. Perhaps our watchfulness will go untested and others will be gifted with the opportunity for glorious battle. It matters not, for you can say to lesser men that you stood ready; to watch and to fight if need be.’
Boreas realised his words were as much for himself as the Piscinans.
‘My family died when the orks first entered Kadillus Harbour,’ said one trooper, his face lined with age and worry. ‘What do I fight for now? Everything is lost.’
Remembering that he was dealing with ordinary men, Boreas suppressed the growl that was rising in his throat. He coughed and did his best to keep his voice stern but gentle.
‘You fight for their memory, trooper. Would you have the orks trample your city to dust and destroy all of those that remember your family? They exist still in your soul and your heart, and in the souls and hearts of others that knew them. A memory is far harder to protect than a person. It can be swept away by fear and doubt, far more dangerous than any bullet or shell. The sacrifice of those you love should not weaken your resolve, but harden it. They have given their lives for the Imperium, whether willingly or not. Who are you to offer anything less? The blood of martyrs is the seed of the Imperium, trooper.’
Boreas straightened and saw the glare of conviction in the old trooper’s eyes. The Chaplain was about to leave when the blond trooper stopped him with a question.
‘Why do you fight for Piscina, sir?’
There were so many answers to give. Boreas could explain the happenstance that had led to the 3rd Company being on the world when the orks arrived. He could point out that Piscina IV was the Dark Angels’ staging post for recruiting the savage tribesmen of Piscina V. It was tempting to explain the ancient pacts the Dark Angels held with the Imperial Commanders of Piscina. Boreas could speak about the bond of the battle-brothers that meant that where one fought, all fought.
He could even tell them that as a Chaplain it was his honour and his role to lead by example, to battle the fiercest enemies where the fighting was the most dangerous. Could he get them to understand the duty of the Space Marines, their ancient and eternal purpose as laid down by the Emperor since time immemorial?
All of these reasons and more he considered, but he settled for the simple answer that encapsulated them all.
‘I am Astartes, the Emperor’s finest,’ he told them.
The Chaplain walked away, leaving the men to their quiet, human complaints. He found Sergeant Zaltys sitting on an outcrop of rock, gazing southwards at the cloudy sky. He cut a strange figure against the haze, the massive jump pack giving the sergeant a hunch-backed look. Zaltys looked around as Boreas crunched across the rocky ground.
‘What do you look at, brother?’ the Chaplain asked, stopping beside Zaltys.
‘Nothing, Brother-Chaplain.’ The sergeant returned to looking at the horizon. ‘There is nothing to see. The orks are not coming here. Even if they are, it would take them more than a day to arrive. It is a strange role for an Assault squad, guarding a disused mine against an enemy that is not coming.’
‘Master Belial acts in accordance with the best doctrines of combat, brother,’ said Boreas, resting one hand on the haft of his crozius. ‘It is wise that all strategic assets are garrisoned against capture by the enemy.’
Zaltys leaned forwards and picked up a small chunk of black rock. It crumbled as he closed his fist, dark dust trickling through the sergeant’s armoured fingers.
‘I do not judge Master Belial to be in error, I merely lament that it was my poor fortune to be available for this duty. Surely the Piscinans are force enough to dissuade any fast ork column that might seek to take the power plant?’
Boreas glanced back at the Free Militia squads and remembered the fragments of conversation he had overheard.
‘Put them in Kadillus Harbour and they will fight to the death, of that I am sure,’ said the Chaplain. ‘Up here, far from the eyes of their superiors, far from the homes they wish to protect? That is a different matter. It does not matter how much their commanders impress upon them the strategic importance of this place, all they hear is the empty sound of the wind. I share your misgivings, brother-sergeant, but it is because we will fight despite those misgivings that we will protect this place.’
‘So you have little regard for our allies, brother?’
‘They are men, brother, and nothing more,’ said Boreas. ‘I have no gauge by which I can measure their mettle by look alone, and everything they say is wrapped in the usual selfishness and self-pity that plague normal men. If they were left alone, I have no doubt they would fold before a concerted attack. With our presence, perhaps their backbones are stiffened, and pride if not honour will bolster their resolve.’
Zaltys pushed himself from the rock and looked back at the men clustered in the blaze of the lamps and the glow of their cooking plates.
‘I think you do these men a disservice, brother,’ said the sergeant. ‘Was not every Space Marine once a weak and fallible man? Are we not proof that training and discipline can harden the mind and soul against the terrors of war?’
‘We are not,’ Boreas replied immediately. ‘Even before we were welcomed into the Chapter, each of us was the best, greater than his peers, a diamond amongst the coal of humanity. We lived harsh, desperate lives and that is what makes us what we are.’
The Chaplain approached Zaltys and laid a hand on the sergeant’s shoulder pad, fingers on the Dark Angels’ symbol.
‘The Apothecaries can shape our bodies, and the Chaplains shape our minds, but they can only build upon strong foundations. Only the perfect physiology can accept the gifts of the Lion’s gene-seed; only the perfect spirit can accept the gift of the Lion’s teachings. We are stronger, faster and braver than we could ever be before the Chapter accepted us, but never forget that we were never destined to grow up as ordinary men.’
Zaltys said nothing. The clouds scudded across the night sky as a moon rose above the shoulder of Mount Barrak, its light reflecting from the lenses of the Assault sergeant’s helm, giving him eyes that glowed a silvery red. The Free Militia camp had fallen still again after the agitation of the watch change. It was almost possible to forget that a few dozen kilometres to the south a war-hungry foe numbering in their hundreds were preparing to wreak destruction and death. Almost, but not quite.
Boreas saw Zaltys gazing skywards again.
‘What is it that so concerns you about the heavens, brother?’ said the Chaplain.
‘I may have misled you earlier, Brother-Chaplain, and for that I offer apology,’ replied Zaltys. ‘I heard you speaking to those troopers about defending their homes and it reminded me of something, a memory that distracts me.’
‘What is this distraction?’
‘I was born on Piscina V, brother,’ the sergeant said. ‘Twice before I have returned to Piscina to recruit from my own people, but never before have I had to fight for their protection. It leaves me with a strange feeling of discomfort.’
‘Explain it to me.’
‘A Dark Angel has no home; that is what you teach us, Brother-Chaplain. The Chapter is our brotherhood and the Tower of Angels is our fortress. With blessed Caliban lost to us, the Dark Angels roam across the stars, free to pursue our foes and fulfil our duty.’
‘That is true. While the future of other Chapters is beholden to the fate of a single world, never again will the Dark Angels be brought low by such dependency. It is to be expected that you feel some connection to the planet that gave you life, but it is the Dark Angels that give you purpose.’
Zaltys did not seem to hear the Chaplain as he continued.
‘All I can really remember are jungles, and the huge beasts we hunted. Spears and blood, roars and the shouts of triumphant warriors. And the night the Chapter came for me, that I can still picture. For generations nobody had seen the warriors from the stars. There were those that doubted the stories, but I always believed. I listened to the tales and stared up into the starry sky and I knew that my place was elsewhere. My father and grandfather had been the finest warriors of the tribe, greater than their forefathers, but the warriors of the sky did not come from them. But I still believed they would come for me.’
‘I fail to see the relevance to our current mission, brother-sergeant.’
Zaltys gently shook his head.
‘Up there, millions of kilometres away, there is another youth of the tribes who can run faster than all of the others; is stronger than all of the others; who is braver
than all of the others. We are supposed to be there to bring him to his destiny, but instead we are fighting here, against an enemy that does not even know about him.’
‘All the more reason to see the orks destroyed,’ said Boreas.
‘Yes, it is,’ said Zaltys. ‘Understand, brother, that you fight out of your duty to the Chapter, the honour of the Lion and our oaths to the Emperor. I fight because if Piscina falls, the Dark Angels will never return here. I am a Dark Angel now, but the people that gave birth to me would be abandoned. A hundred generations from now they will still look to the heavens and wait for the warriors of the sky, but if we fail to protect Piscina that day will never come again.’
The assault sergeant banged his fist twice against Boreas’s chestplate, his armoured gauntlet ringing on the embossed design of a winged skeleton that decorated the Chaplain’s plastron.
‘And that, Brother-Chaplain, is why I wish that I were on Koth Ridge, fighting for Piscina, and not here waiting for an enemy that will never arrive.’
Zaltys took a step but was stopped by Boreas’s hand on his arm.
‘There is no reason for regret, brother,’ Boreas said. ‘I will speak with Master Belial tomorrow and request that you be transferred to the defence line on Koth Ridge. Your savage ancestors have provided great warriors for the Chapter, and their descendants will do so for years to come. I will make sure you have the chance to protect that legacy.’
Zaltys nodded his head.
‘Thank you, brother. You have the heart of the Lion as well as his wisdom.’
The Chaplain watched Zaltys return to the encampment and then turned his gaze to the south. Zaltys’s outburst worried Boreas. It was natural that the sergeant felt a greater duty to Piscina than to other worlds, but that loyalty could not be allowed to grow stronger than his connection to the Chapter. When the fighting was concluded, Boreas would have to spend some time with Zaltys, reminding the sergeant of his oaths of allegiance, leading him in the prayers of remembrance and dedication; he would help expunge these distracting memories and Zaltys would be free again to love the Chapter without regret.
