#H. V. Calimorre

[yandins-beleagured-historian]

Entry.081.InterviewTranscript015.narr

“Tell me about Damat.”

“What about Damat?”

She took a sip. The tea was strong and pungent, the kind that stung the nostrils. It was hard to suppress the grimace, and the marine seemed to notice it.

“You are aware you need not drink it. It is made strong specifically for Astartes.”

“It is…interesting. I have had similar meetings with more than a dozen of your brothers across multiple companies. Every time it’s a different infusion.”

“This is Corinthian Rosemary. Whenever resupply is viable the victualler corps make sure to include whatever the local culture deems an acceptable substitute. Disparate companies and campaigns accumulate their own stocks and I cannot help notice you are still drinking it.”

She smiled sweetly. It was a textbook manoeuvre, only slightly spoiled by the sinus-blasting the tea was providing. “I was taught that acknowledging and participating in a chapter’s individual customs is the best way to integrate and make connections.”

“I do not see remembrancers sharing the ale of Space Wolves.” He gave a harsh bark, the kind you might find if you stripped the sound of laughter down to the bone and removed half the bones. “In any case, it is a Taralan custom, if the ascendants speak truly. Therefore it belongs to neither of us.”

“And yet the custom is observed by the entire chapter, and has been for the best part of two millennia.”

“An irrationality from the dark days, solidified through habit, and the veneration of its practitioners.” He removed the small vessel from the burner and refilled their glasses. They were little things of cut glass, barely thicker than parchment. She couldn’t help but marvel at the elegance and delicacy of his augmetics as he raised the glass in hard digits of silver and plasteel. “Even astartes are prone to nostalgia and sentimentality in extremis.”

She nodded. “I have read the treatises on Lord Avenii. It seems justified to seek reassurance in the familiar when faced with strife of that kind. In my opinion, it humanized him”

That seemed to change something in him. It was like watching the weight removed from a taut cable, a reluctant, almost painful relaxation. He stood up, the fine mail hem of his tunic jingling softly as he turned his back on her.

“We are beyond human. We should not need comfort. We are warriors. Anything that does not serve that requirement is a waste at best, a weakness at worst.”

“A weakness?” She prompted. The phrase had come up many times over her tenure with the Fists. The shadow of Medusa laid heavy around them.

“Flesh is weak.” He replied. There was no feeling in the words. Not even the flat, unshakeable faith that was these marine’s closest analogue of confidence

“So I’ve heard. The human body is frail and imprecise and so on…but the human mind is a different matter, is it not?”

His brow furrowed, eyes flashing for a moment.  “Careful now, Miss Calimorre. You have my favour, but do not test it.” His footsteps boomed over to the wall, lifting a long, weathered bolt rifle off the wall. Her eyes gravitated to the floor, and the glass clasped in both hands. The air had suddenly become very tense. She took solace in another sip. There was a long pause, broken only by a loud clank of metal as he pulled back the arming bolt and began to disassemble the weapon.

025.M42 / 370.120 post TCM.M42

“You wish to know of Damat?” He said eventually. She nodded. “Very well…”

Segmentum Obsucurus

The Nachmund Gauntlet

“It is clear that, whatever masters they serve, this council has no right to let the people of this planet live.”

“Of course they have no right to live! I thought we’d established this weeks ago!”

“My lords, surely another orbital bombardment is the clear solution. Crack their shielding under weight of fire and the Emperor’s Divine Judgement.”

“The Imperial Navy lost its right to put forth suggestions after the mess you made of the landings at Harzkov. The blood of my regiments is still on your hands, Commodore!”

“Agreed. Not even a knight cannot clear a drop zone and clear the skies at once.”

“Those bastards shot down a titan lander on your watch, Commodore. A TITAN LANDER, for Throne’s sake! How does that even happen?!”

“What about the Astartes, then? Do the Emperor’s sons support not even their own these days?”

“Confirm. Probability of optimum resolution projected to increase with the presence of but a single gunship.”

“Tread carefully, adept. The probability of this meeting’s optimum resolution just decreased.”

Cosrau is grateful to be helmed, and stood five paces back from the strategium. Both factors do a very good job at hiding his dismay. The meeting has ticked over into its fourth hour, with nary a resolution in sight, and Captain Exitas is looking almost as frayed as the rest of the mortals around the table. Cosrau has never seen a tech-priest show fatigue, never believed it possible, but the way that Adept Rhomule has been twitching over the last few minutes is beginning to challenge that belief.

“And you are…? Well, I know you’re Second Company, but who’re you to speak for this Trajan?” The Colonel glowers across the table, over his seventh mug of recaf. He is as much of a mess as the Crown-Princess, but he has spent the last three hours synthesizing his fatigue into anger, and has already left two stab-wounds in the holo-table.

The Crown-Princess pulls herself to her feet. Her heavily-ornamented pilot suit is oil-stained and rumpled, and the strain of two straight days on her Throne Mechanicum has left her pallid and slow: “And what of Captain Trajan? I was led to believe his company are specialists in such matters?” She is looking over Exitas’ shoulders, towards the two other marines in the room, towards Cosrau.

“Captain Trajan’s efforts are currently engaged in maintaining the void-corridors in system.” Cosrau finds himself saying. He has taken three paces forwards without noticing. Exitas is looking at him intently.

“That was unnecessary.” Sergeant Ryza grunts on a private vox as Cosrau rejoins him, five paces behind their captain.

“Sergeant Yandin, Colonel. I speak for Lieutenant Tellurion. He was planetside with me during the first wave, and is currently coordinating remedial air defences. He speaks for Trajan.” The Colonel’s glower does not falter, so Yandin continues. “And while I may, I’d like to pass you his compliments. Your second battalion was with us when we took the Astropathic relay, and we agreed that their conduct was exemplary.”

That clears the air a little. The Colonel removes his hand from his sword hilt with a harrumph of grudging acknowledgement, and goes back to concealing his face under his wide-brimmed hat.

“Maybe.” Cosrau sighs.

“The mortals require discipline, not empty platitudes.”

“And the table requires less stab-wounds.” Cosrau is just a little too slow in catching his tongue.

Ryza’s helmet turns just a fraction as he snorts ruefully. “These are not your problems to solve, Cosrau.”

“We have all been trusted to secure this world, Havarris. We’d be remiss to not give our all to the effort.” Cosrau sighs. This place was supposed to be their rally point. Not just for this cocktail assortment of mortal forces, but for the entire chapter.  To present a world in this state for the first assembly of all ten companies in two millenia would be a shame of astronomical proportions.

“Hmf. Politics.” Ryza’s voice is practically dripping with distain for that word. “Emperor knows, it wasn’t this bad on Arx. PDF officers know their place, at least.”

Cosrau chuckles wryly. “And tell me, how many of those officers were still there on our return?”

“++My lords. Conversial tone indicates you are unaware of the insecurity of your vox-link.++”

The third voice jolts both sergeants up to attention. Adept Rhomule has not spoken out loud, has not shifted position, but Cosrau can feel her softly-glowing cyberlenses boring through his own. Ryza has already closed the link before Cosrau can apologise, leaving him to stew in the discomfort of the unmasked, a feeling that is only slightly alleviated by the message beamed into his helmet’s display by a distinctly binaric outside force.

++Conveyance – In spite of occurance: lax EM discipline (addendum – will be reported to Astartes Superior), This one is appreciative of the…Enrichment.++

Cosrau exhales. It’s going to be a long night.

[yandins-beleagured-historian]

Entry #001.v2.final

I have had the pleasure of meeting Yandin once before, in the aftermath of the Indomitus Crusade's arrival over Taralus. The navigator records on the Macragge's Honour had listed that dusty old ball of drab rock and snow as an Armoury World, so there was a fair amount of bemusement all round when we got word of a sizeable contingent of Astartes dug in on the planet's surface. Initial communications indicated they'd been holed up for some time in an old ruin near one of the old space elevators. They identified themselves as Iron Fists, and were claiming the planet as their ancestral chapter world. By all account, Crusade Command spent no small effort to screen them for foul play, corruption or infiltration. While the Iron Fists' claim to Taralus was eventually upheld, there was a general interest from higher up in gathering more information about the chapter and verifying some of the accounts that were coming out of Taralus. Remembrancer Anjelika Biscari led the effort, and took a small team down to the planet's surface to conduct interviews, appraise structures and write reports. I was still fairly new to the role then, and my visit to the Godspire anchorage terminal was the first time I worked alone in the field. Biscari had gone down a few hours before me and had emphasised an unusual need for brevity. "Broad strokes only", I believe her words were, and I didn't understand what she meant until I stepped out of the lander and saw the planet surface for the first time. The sights of war stretched all the way out to the horizon, and the ragged landscape of the Godspire mountains were littered with the husks of drop pods, tanks and bunkers. You couldn't walk twenty meters without passing a pile of burning dead, and it was here I first encountered sergeant Cosrau Yandin, sixth squad, second company Iron Fists. The moment stuck in my head rather prominently, as I recall he was helping a couple of disposal operatives clear a maintenace passage. The two men had been struggling with the body of a metahuman, still in its power armour, and as the sergeant reached in and dragged it out, I decided on a  bit of a whim to snag a pict-capture. It was only once I looked up that I realised I'd just got my first ever look at a Chaos Space Marine. Regrettably, I was only able to spend a few hours with the sergeant on Taralus. Broad strokes, Biscari had asked for, so that was all I could really capture. The Crusade did not linger long at Taralus, and before long the Iron Fists were well behind us. It's only been in recent months, as the Grand Conclave of Baal winds down, that I've had the opportunity and freedom to track the Iron Fists down and produce more of a complete history of the Chapter. It also gave me an opportunity to present Yandin, now Captain of the seventh company, with the pict-capt I took on our first meeting. (or rather, a remaster: most of my original pict-logs were scrambled quite badly during a brush with the bleak coil two years ago, so I had a colleague of mine, Artov Ilqar, recreate the pict with oil on canvas. See attached.) I've since had the opportunity to interview Captain Yandin on a number of aspects of his chapter's history, and hope to catalogue some of the more notable testimonies, treatises and accounts here. Throne willing, Hester Vinchix Calimorre, Historiographer-Moderatus, Logos Historica Verita.

[yandins-beleagured-historian]

Entry #012.3v2.(fennion).uncompressed.

--The Second Company, Part 4 of 9 5 9-- +Header Item: Pict-Capture, Sergeant Harmik Fennion, retrieved from archived sensor-capts, Avaricum Tercius, Demeter Campaign, approx. 963.M41. The Departmento Photartem formally apologises for hue losses and degradation encountered during processing.+

Continuing this entry on, and I quote "names that should be known" (??) within the Iron Fists' Second Company, we come to Harmik Fennion. Chapter readiness records, as delightfully reliable as they are, suggest that Fennion was the sergeant of the seventh squad, second company, from 932.M41 at the latest. This is according to a few cross-referenced accounts of the Emerigo campaign, in which Fennion is described as:

"a proud graduate of the Gygar Octavian School of Unsubtle Grox-Headedness" by one Ensign Ebosan, and

"...adequate..." by the aforementioned Sergeant Gygar Octavian himself.

Despite this...ringing endorsement by his peers, Fennion seems to have enjoyed a fairly successful career as far as space marine sergeants go. His squad attained consistently high kill rates, relatively few casualties, and battle commendations across Demeter, Poros and a number of other campaigns. However, a few noted statements in his log stand out as unusual, and detail explicit rejection of bionics, in apparent confliction with the chapter's general adherence to the teachings of Ferrus Manus. This appears to have even gone so far as to merit him an official warning from Company Command for "deliberately slowing tactical replenishment rates". Odd. What is also odd is that the best-quality pict-capt I could find of Fennion depicts him wielding a power sword of a pattern that is generally not seen outside the armouries of the Ordo Malleus. I;ve asked Yandin about the sword, and he has refused to comment.

+Supplementary Log, Cosrau Yandin, Captain, 7th Company Iron Fists+

"Fennion was...well, you couldn't have asked for a better sergeant, in my books. The line between mechanical obedience and radical initiative is a hard one to walk, especially as a sergeant, but he managed it, and managed it well. He never cut corners, never took shortcuts, but always managed to find little ways of improving things. For example, I remember him wrapping ammunition belts around his wrist rather than using magazines, because 'the burst rate never quire lines up right with the clip capacity.'" "By the time he took me into the seventh squad, his reputation for clean efficiency was known well outside the Second Company. It was a reputation that got him places, no doubt about that. Fennion's reputation put him alongside First Captain Aurastra, when we charged at a Shadowsword on Avaricum Tercius. Fennion's reputation also put him on the plainwards flank of Verchen's rearguard during the siege of Taralus. It put him against two score Kakophoni noise marines of the third legion. It put him in his grave, that day...."

+End log.+ +Addendum. I refuse to comment on Fennion's sword. -Y.+

Throne knows I try, Hester Vinchix Calimorre, Historiographer-Moderatus, Logos Historica Verita.

[yandins-beleagured-historian]

Entry #005.2ndcompany.v2[avaronedit].txt

--The Second Company, Part 1 of 5-- +Header Item: Pict-Capture, elements of the Second Company, Iron Fists Chapter, during deployments on Crucible, Poros Crusade, 985.M41. The Departmento Photartem formally apologises for resolution losses and degradation encountered during processing.+

Within every Astartes chapter, there is a company that occupies the lion's share of the spotlight. For some, this is the result of years of dutiful service, such as the Dark Angels' fifth company, or a hereditary, prominent position at the tip of the spear in the case of the Space Wolves' Blackmanes. The Ultramarines second company, oft-referred to as the Guardians of the Temple, exemplify this trend most clearly, thanks to their 'crafted...reputation as dynamic heroes'. The test for such prominence is fairly trivial, and requires that one merely browse the galleries of chapter artwork and identify the company heraldry that comes up most frequently. For the Iron Fists, this trend manifests strongest around the Second company, sometimes colloquially known as the black-blades, but more often referred to as simply "The Second". However, unlike the famous companies of first-founding chapters, the Second's prominence in the eyes of the outside world is not the result of a prodigiously long roll of honour, nor a saga of dramatic, galaxy-shaking deeds. It is a quirk of doctrine that makes the Iron Fists' Second stand out. The bespoke organisational layout of the Second dates back to around 350.M39, some half-century hence of the Fall of Taralus during Abaddon's tenth black crusade. With limited resources with which to rebuild the shattered chapter, surviving command staff were compelled to devise novel force structures in order to maximise the utility of what few assets they had. Swiftly-promoted from savant-initiate to captain (a normally unprecedented ascension that owed more to the lack of more senior candidates with more seniority), it was Llewellus Thoca who received the responsibility of reforging the Second.

Thoca deserves a treatise all of his own (which I am told exists but am struggling to locate at present), but his restructuring of the Second was one of the earliest and most immediately effective measures of its kind. The company focused itself around a core of assault veterans who had survived the Fall of Taralus by near-constant ship defence actions. The successful utilisation of these squads would prove pivotal in the company's first actions since the fall, and gradually the company's doctrine would shift towards creating and exploiting scenarios where their effect could be maximised, usually in the form of rapid, pinpoint strikes on key enemy targets. This structure had its fair share of downsides. The Second had significantly less specialised resources at its disposal in comparison to its contemporaries. The company's core strength was bound up in close-range infantry, and if improperly commanded, that infantry would take heavy casualties, especially if tasked to handle threats they were incapable or inequipped to face. These core assault squads also required significant coordination inside and outside the Second, which required company command to establish and maintain high levels of trust and cooperation with outsiders.

Nevertheless, such hardships would foster unique levels of proficiency across the company's tactical, assault and devastator units, creating a company-wide focus on cohesion, diplomacy and quality intelligence gathering. The entombment of select veterans of the company into dreadnought chassis would further this trend by preserving hard-won expertise for future generations to learn from. In particular, the tactical squads of the second company would develop a bespoke reputation for quality, both within and beyond the chapter, and it was not uncommon for individual squads to be placed under the command of other captains in instances where well-disciplined line troops were vital.

Thus, when the Second was suitably managed and supported, their ability to turn the tide of battles or even whole campaigns was profound. Such deployments frequently put elements of the Second in positions of much greater visibility to mortal soldiery and imperial commanders alike, in stark comparison to the other four battle companies who were generally more capable of operating alone. This factor would be further enhanced by the personality of the Second's captains, who were chosen by vote from within the company and were generally selected for their zeal, inspirational abilities and diplomatic candor, all the better to secure the collaboration that made the Second effective.

+Supplementary Log, Cosrau Yandin, Captain, 7th Company Iron Fists+

As a former sergeant of the Second's sixth tactical squad, Captain Yandin had this to say when asked about the prominence of the company. [edited for brevity]

"This is a feature, not a glitch. The Second lives and dies on its reputation. The moment it is perceived as unreliable by those it fights alongside, it is no longer able to draw on the support, intelligence or specialist units that allow it to fight as well as it does. You've only to look to instances like Ibossim to see how the Second fares when fighting alone." "A lot of the training leverages this mechanic. While you always train with your squad, eight times out of ten your squad trains alone. This cultivates an understanding of what happens when you are unsupported. If you make a mistake, you die, and so do those around you. The pressure is extremely fierce, as a result." "This pressure extends to every part of the company . A warrior of the Second bears responsibility for the lives of those they fight beside. But a captain of the Second carries the entire company on their shoulders. It lives and dies with him. He must be considerate enough to soothe his allies, yet passionate enough to inspire them. He must carefully consider his stratagems, yet always be ready to join the fray himself. He must be open minded to new ideas, but throne forbid he make a mistake." "That's not to say it's all as brutal as it sounds. Yes, I mean it, stop looking at me like that. The Second has just as long a history of teaching its members as it does combat-simming them into perfectionists. Sharing knowledge strengthens the whole company. Ascendants teach the sergeants, who teach each other, who teach the rank and file. [Author's note: 'Ascendant' is a term used within the company to refer to those interred in dreadnoughts.] The first squad was a self-contained bladesmanship academy long before it was the captain's personal bodyguard, and those who do make captain often spend decades being prepared for the role by their predecessor. The last captain, Exitas, could trace the teachings he received all the way back into M40, when Hayabusa Shandar was wrestling necrons out of their night scythes."

"That tradition could've continued for another thousand years, had his tenure not ended so abruptly. Exitas died on Kalidos, during the retreat from the Stygius sector, barely thirty years into his tenure and with no suitable successor prepared. Throne, it wouldn't have been so bad if we'd just lost Exitas. Samas Tenebra was right there, Exitas' direct predecessor, the only First Captain in the chapter's history to have risen from the Second. There was literally no better to teach Exitas' successor, but then Saphyre happened, and before either of them were laid to rest in Taralan soil, our beloved Chapter Master bike-slides onto the Tsiolkovan and declares Throne-damned cog-brained Artos Myra as Second Captain and before you know it-"

+Log terminated: storage capacity exceeded+

Saved by the voxcaptor, Hester Vinchix Calimorre, Historiographer-Moderatus, Logos Historica Verita.

+Attached Image: Second Captain Shado Avaron in action at the head of first squad Zaio, second company, during the "Ibossim Bloodbath", circa 639.M41. Recovered from data-fragments extracted from Praetorian XIX regimental datalink.+

[yandins-beleagured-historian]

Untitledmemoranda(23)[cathaytemple].autorecovered

In light of the recent antics of one Custodian by the name of Calladayce Taurovalia Kesh, a desire has been expressed amongst the higher levels of the Logos Historica Verita to reappraise existing histories of the Emperor's Companions and ascertain what proportion of named individuals may, like Kesh, be, and I regrettably quote "Companionesses." (remembrancer mikelos why are you like this??) 

Given the agonizingly byzantine nature of personal onomastics within the Adeptus Custodes, I have requested that I use my current research connections as a method for contribution to this undoubtedly grand and worthy undertaking (/s), rather than spend the next five decades combing through Terra's underlibraries and arguing twenty different forms of ancient linguistics with adepts who still believe the Necron are chaos robots.

I caught up with Captain Yandin on the launch deck to introduce him to my new task and ask him whether the Iron Fists have ever fought alongside the Adeptus Custodes. He was just limbering up to regale me with the story of eighth captain Demiach's experience aboard the Talos Clarion during the siege of Taralus, when we were promptly interrupted by savant Paramete, who was heard to explain something along the lines of "WE CAN DO THAT NOW??" Before leaving the deck at speed in a state of what I can only describe as 'righteous jubilation.' 

With some trepidation, I asked Yandin if the savant has a particular affection for cyclonic warheads. He responded that "The Cathay Temple is just a bit excitable when it comes to matters of engenderment." While there are notes of closed-doors organisations within the chapter, with the honour guard of the Arcan Temple being most notable, I have yet to probe further into this 'Cathay Temple'. Mostly as such exploration will likely require interacting with savant Paramete. Given the fortitude that such an experience will require, I am not keen to undertake this quite yet. Throne preserve my good graces, Hester Vinchix Calimorre, Historiographer-Moderatus, Logos Historica Verita. -Addendum- +Attached file: replication of token seen to be carried by Savant Haymer Paramete, seventh company command, Iron Fists+

[yandins-beleagured-historian]

Entry #029.3.Supplemental.Demeter

--Recovered from the Archive of Engagements aboard the Tsiolkovan-- --Official Action Report, originally created 963.M41.-- +The Demeter Campaign:

Shargen Aurastra and newly-promoted Second Captain Samas Tenebra are called upon to mop up remaining traitor presence in the Demeter sector following the War for Pandorax, encountering a Black Legion warband styling itself “The Obsidian Blade” carving out a domain for themselves in the ravaged Avaricum system, led by former Justaerin member Vayxin the Ravager. Tenebra leads a select cadre of forces to defend a critical mechanicum outpost but is forced back by a short-lived but bloody daemon incursion summoned by Dark Apostle Kabrius on the outpost’s upper levels, at the loss of most of Squad Octavian and the company’s attached librarian. The loss atop the manufactorum buys the warband time to reactivate an old Shadowsword within the manufactorum. Determined to ensure such an asset does not make it offworld, Aurastra leads a daring assault on the manufactorum to end Vayxin and his new toy. The battle is fierce, and Aurastra is almost killed when his command vehicle takes a direct hit from the Shadowsword’s main weapon. Despite the long, storied careers of both Aurastra and Vayxin, the battle is decided by youngbloods:

Neophyte Sergeant Trazis, who despite coming under heavy fire had successfully outflanked the Shadowsword, ingressing through a hull breach in the rear to plant a meltabomb on the Volcano Cannon’s primary capacitor bank.

Savant-Initiate Hastel Glademan, who provided air support from the Stormtalon Hurricane Dragon, catching Dark Apostle Kabrius in the open and flattening his position with a barrage of cyclone missiles.

Brother Cosrau Yandin, who followed Aurastra into a direct confrontation with Vayxin the Ravager. Despite losing many battle-brothers and taking a near-fatal wound from the Ravager’s chainfist, Yandin was able to slay the warlord alone, exploiting a breach in his Terminator armour using nothing but a well-placed meltagun shot and a combat knife to Vayxin’s exposed eye.

--Unofficial Interpretation Fragment #3 of 12# (Please Confirm?), derived from tactical data logs recovered from Redeemer-Pattern Land Raider Tvashtar's Fire during subsequent restoration--

"Sable Exact, this is Tvashtar. We are coming to you." Keldek Mormys clipped over the vox channel and spurred the Land Raider forwards. The turret bustle next to him rattled and shook as the tank’s machine spirit assumed direct control of the twin assault cannons. Mormys watched the weapons' target reticles track jerkily across the pict-feed wired directly into his helmet, just one of a dozen sensor inputs feeding into the cocoon-like driver's position high in the vehicle's interior. If he hadn't been controlling the tank though direct nerve impulse, he wouldn't have needed to lift a finger more than an inch off the controls before he'd be touching the glacis plate, such was the tightness of the confines of the position. All the better to allocate space to armour, armament and passengers. In truth, given the potency of the machine spirit within Tvashtar's Fire, he was barely more than a passenger himself. The tank was an old one, with a bombastic, eager character. He could feel it every time the Land Raider’s treads dug into a rise, like a mountain goat scrambling up a spoil heap. According to the stories, it was fully capable of operating fully autonomously when circumstances were particularly dire. It was only the narrow advantages of the organic mind in pattern recognition and data processing that warranted his presence at all. That and the vox link to the battleforce command network that dispersed its constant stream of data packets in clicks and growls directly into his ears. And right now the network was alive with a hashing, maddening overlap of information, The Mechanicus outpost was a slowly growing silhouette on the horizon, a squat monolith of fortified stores and workshops. The nimbus of warplight had crackled into existence around the outpost’s summit at the exact same time the aetheric interference had started filling the vox-channels, but enough of Gygar Octavian’s final broadcast had made it through the hissing static. It was that broadcast that had spurred every Iron Fists asset on the planet to converge on the outpost.

“Captain Aurastra,” Mormys called on the tank’s internal vox. “We have uplink with reconnaissance elements. Glademan and Trazis are joining formation. We shall reach engagement range in six minutes.”

“Noted, Keldek. Maintain flank speed and mark targets as they appear. Please keep the network link open while I inform our comrades.” The captain’s tone was relaxed, as was the tone of the data packets that briefly flashed through Mormys’ perception on their way from the Land Raider’s internal systems to the other vehicles in the formation. Mormys caught a brief snippet of off-network speech in that same tone beneath him in the passenger bay. A rousing speech, no doubt. That was beneficial. Tvashtar’s Fire was used to hosting terminators, not tactical marines, and the unfamiliarity of their cargo was reflected in the machine spirit’s disposition.

Mormys reached for the panel on the communication terminal, to patch into the squad-level vox net and see if First Captain Aurastra was as good as marshalling those of another company as his own. His finger was on the switch when the Land Raider’s external sensors lit up with alarms. Mormys hammered the switch into the on-position and felt the marines in the passenger bay flinch at his interruption.

“Captain, we have a massive thermal signature reading from within the outpost.”

“More information, please, Keldek.”

Mormys strained closer to the pict-screens, flicking through view options, focusing in on the bloom of heat radiating from the lower portion of the outpost. The metres-thick shell of reinforced ferrocrete yielded precious few answers, but there was a horrible sense of familiarity that was starting to creep out of the more organic parts of Mormys’ brain.

“Uncertain, captain, but the readings align with macro-grade weaponry. Will continue to observe.”

“Understood.” There was another click as the Captain plugged directly into the Land Raider’s internal systems, his next words ringing well-beyond the confines of the tank.

“All elements, this is Shargen Aurastra. We have a potential grandis-level threat spooling up in the bowels of that outpost. Make all haste and stay vigilant. If we see it before it sees us, the advantage will be ours.”

The message was met with a flurry of confirmations from the other force elements. Mormys sent  his own brief confirmation and urged Tvashtar’s Fire to go faster, eyes glued to the rattling pict-screens as the tank ground through the remnants of a walled-off courtyard and summitted the lip of a crater.

“Hurricane Dragon to Niveus Exact, this is Glademan!”

The signal spiked almost painfully through Mormys’ senses, thick with static and interference as it shot into the Land Raider’s vox network. He didn’t even hear Aurastra’s response before the signal continued, and Mormys was just about to start work on a scolding reminder about vox-procedures that the pilots of the Fifth Company were in clear need of, before the rest of the signal drove a pulse of shock up his spine.

“I have my sight on the facility. The lower bay doors are open, we have super heavy armour, I repeat, super heavy armour emerging.”

The Land Raider’s momentum carried it down into the crater and up the other side, its machine spirit taking advantage of Mormys’ momentary paralysis to dig its treads in and climb. It was still moving at speed when it reached the crater lip, so it took a few moments for the tank to come to a stop. A few moments that Mormys spent staring at a gargantuan, slab-sided nightmare of riveted metal that had clawed its way from some unholy bowel of the fortified mechanicus outpost and was now rolling straight towards them. In the face of ordinance designed explicitly to fell titans, vox-procedures went out the window. Mormys’ words were heard in the ear of every Iron Fist within ten kilometers as he jammed the tank’s motors into reverse and screamed “SHADOWSWORD!”

It was too late. Keldek Mormys was imparted with the acute sensation of the Land Raider’s glacis plate, rendered red hot by a billion watts of laser energy, peeling back like the lid of a sardine can, before his world became a unitary point of infinite light and heat.

[yandins-beleagured-historian]

Entry #002.chapter-preface.v4.lastsavedbyuser

Preface on Iron Fists Chapter Astartes

For internal use only

Chapter Name: Iron Fists

Founding Chapter: Iron Hands

Founded: Approx. 015.M37, 22nd founding.

Homeworld: Taralus (see addendums)

Current Chapter Master: Katon Cantabricus

Codex Adherence: Moderate divergence (see addendums)

Colours: Gunmetal, silver, black, gold.

Addendum: Homeworld

Taralus is located on the southern Antimar Fringe, Scarus Sector, Segmentum Obscurus, and served as the chapter homeworld between 015.M37 and 001.M39, at which point it was considered lost to a substantial traitor fleet seeking to shield the coreward flank of the Despoiler's Tenth Black Crusade.

The remaining third of the chapter is reported to have undergone an arduous pilgrimage to Terra, seeking sanctuary and reinforcement from the High Lords. The Iron Fists would be assigned to a barren holding-station within the moons of Jupiter while their fate was decided.

After much deliberation and several attempts to break the chapter up, the Iron Fists would be permitted to operate at limited strength on selected campaigns, providing they report all activities and maintain subservience to the Terran Castellan of the Imperial Fists, who was authorized to sanction the chapter should they be found wanting in their duties.

In the waning days of M41, the Iron Fists would be granted approval to launch a crusade to reclaim their homeworld, with the provision that they use the resources of Taralus to reinforce the increasingly-embattled Cadian sector. By all accounts, the reclamation was a briefly-enjoyed success, as the rapid destabilization of the cadian gate and the formation of the Cicatrix Maledictum would subject the world to many horrors, and true liberation would only come at the hands of the Indomitus Crusade.

Addendum: Codex Adherence

Having been bound to operate at limited strength for the best part of two millennia, the Iron Fists' structure as a chapter has diverged somewhat from its previous, codex-adherent structure. Notable divergence includes:

Company Structure: Instead of retaining the balanced approach laid down by the Codex Astartes, the makeup of the chapter's key battle companies indicates a level of specialization within each company. The Second company possesses twice as many assault squads as a standard codex company, while the Fourth company operates almost exclusively on bikes and other fast platforms. The Third and Fifth company follow more conventional structures, but with integrated pools of armoured vehicles and aircraft respectively.

The Unbound: Once at the end of the roster, the Sixth company functioned as the Chapter's scout company. Exploiting a loophole in the terms of their confinement, the sixth company concealed multiple squads of power-armoured neophytes, termed as 'Unbound', to serve as a reserve pool that other companies could draw on. Such an action, while dubiously legal, provided much-needed capacity in the depleted chapter and paved the way for the reinstatement of first, the seventh and eighth, then the ninth and tenth companies following the liberation of Taralus. The Sixth company was elevated from scout company to battleline company in the wake of these actions, but still retains a specialism for infiltrators.

The Savants: The chapter's adherence to the teachings of Ferrus Manus, in combination with limited chapter resources and high numbers of battle-brothers wounded in action, served to create a unique position within the chapter. As the distinction between mechanical and organic assets becomes increasingly blurred, the black-armoured Savants of the Iron Fists are part-techmarine, part-apothecary, charged with looking after both aspects of the chapter's wellbeing. Each company has a dedicated Savant embedded within its command structure, who oversees a number of Savant-Initiates that are tasked with vehicle operation, medicae duties and maintenance efforts,

The Arcan Temple: The chapter is known to harbour a number of 'Temples', largely closed-door congregations that normally serve a role as keepers and educators in specific schools of war, but have also been known to include sergeants' councils and even a captains' council. The Arcan Temple is chief amongst all, as it functions as both a chapter-wide honour guard, and a monument to the chapter's spirit of vengeance. Warriors of the Arcan Temple shed their individuality on induction and are never seen helmetless or outside of their armour, although what occurs between the gold and iron-clad doors to the Arcan Temple is unknown. Unlike the rest of the chapter, Arcan maniples do not bear hereditary names or those of the squad’s sergeant, but are simply numbered. Company colours are shed in exchanged for a halved scheme, The badge of the Arcan Temple is a pair of black axes crossed on a golden yellow shield, and the warriors within have sworn to not rest until their homeworld is recaptured. Or at least, they did, until their homeworld was promptly recaptured.

+Attached Image: Arcan Warder in action during the Karefax Campaign, circa 680.M40.+

[yandins-beleagured-historian]

If I had a purity seal for every time an escalating regional scuffle managed to drag in forces from every major xenos race, plus chaos, I'd have at least half a dozen, which isn't much but is far more than would be ideal. Legends tell of scribes found comatose at their desks for years after the battle for Kronos. Honestly I think the Inquisition might've just saved us all paperwork.

- H. V. Calimorre.

So you mentioned this "dreaded campaign" a couple times. Could you explain what it was exactly?

The dreaded campaign was a terrible event. One that the inquisition went to great strides to cover up. It is similar to the story of dawn of war soulstorm with how many factions showed up.

It started out simply enough. The Imperial Guard and the Tau Empire were fighting over a sector that bordered their empires. The fighting had riled up the local orks in the sector, starting up a full-blown ork rebellion. To make matters worse, there had been reports from guardsmen that there were Craftworld Eldar sightings. Nothing confirmed though, as they would disappear just as quickly as they would appear.

To make matters worse, even Dark Eldar began to appear, wishing to take many of the inhabitants of the sector as slaves. It all got to the point the ork rebellion turned into a full blown WAAAGH!!! Attracting orks from outside the sector to join in. All the while, chaos renegades and cultists began performing Dark rituals to summon daemons, using the carnage of the war as the catalyst. The sisters of battle soon arrived to deal with the heretics and alien witches.

On one of the hive worlds, a genestealer cult began to make the call to the tyranids, believing the sector was teeming with plenty of biomass. The Craftworld Eldar then made their move when it was revealed that another one of the planets in the sector turned out to be a tomb world, when an army of necrons came out of their tombs to get rid of all the mortals that disturbed their slumber.

This made things get even worse, as soon, several chaos warbands joined the renegades in conquering the sector for chaos. Resulting in both the inquisition, and several space marine chapters, to arrive to fight. It became brutal, with no clear victor in sight.

The warriors of the Imperium tried to work together, even if for some it was begrudgingly, to bring victory to the imperium. Some of the space marine chapters tried to evacuate the civilians, with the effort to do so led by the Nova Dragons. The Inqusition tried to prevent this, believing the people tainted by chaos. But the Astartes, the Guard, and even many of the Sororitas, refused to allow this. The Inqusition, knowing it couldn't afford a battle on all sides, begrudgingly allowed the evacuation after this.

Over the following months, things only got worse. Many on all sides died, with barely any guardsmen regiments remaining, many of the space marine chapters were broken, or wiped out, and even the Sororitas began to buckle at the wave of horrors that faced them.

The inquisiton was planning on performing exterminatus on the whole sector, even where the civilians had been evacuated, no longer caring about what the other champions of the Imperium wanted, as the Lord inquisitor was even willing to mark the space marines, sisters, and guardsmen, as traitors for defying him for so long.

It led to a combined effort to stop the lord inquisitor. When it was done, the lord inquisitor was dead. But they were worried this would lead to the inquisition punishing them severely. But at the time, they couldn't think of that, as the campaign waged on. At one point, Lucifer Samael, took the lead of the space marine forces on the planet. Sergeant Nelda Brar of the Astral Lions of Harad guard regiment had taken command after all her commanding officers were wiped out. And sister palatine Sarella Lash of The Order of the Daughters of the Risen Sword had also taken command of her sisters after the death of the canoness.

And, after much blood had been spilled, and many lives had been lost, the imperium had managed to achieve a victory, pyrrhic though it was. They had expected retribution from the inquisition for the death of the lord inquisitor, but instead, the inquisition merely covered the whole thing up, not wishing for a repeat of the months of shame.

After this, it was left the the remaining Imperial forces to pick up the pieces. When all was said and done, what little of each space marine chapter remained chose to form a new chapter from the ashes of the old. And such was what led to the birth of the Fractal Knights.

[yandins-beleagured-historian]

ASK AND YE SHALL RECEIVE

“In your experience,” she asked “do you believe the Indomitus Crusade strengthened the bonds between companies?

He looked up at her, gimlet eyes glinting. There was a jarring sound of metal on metal as he slid a piece back into the rifle with slightly too much force than was necessary.

“That is a bold assertation, remembrancer. A bold one, and a flawed one.”

“Forgive me.” She bowed her head slightly. “I have merely…encountered a trend in the chapter’s history. Most campaigns prior were fought with one or two companies, and the chapter only deployed in its entirety once every century or so.” She reached for where the dataslate lay on the small table and flipped it open to a jumbled notes page.  “For example, the Selenarch Dynasty War was the first time the chapter had come together to campaign since the invasion of Blakkspanna’s Bay almost three hundred years earlier. Yet, following the liberation of Taralus by the Primarch, there are three full-chapter engagements back-to-back-to-back in the space of thirty years, and single-company operations become almost non-existent.”

“Hmf.” He frowned, setting the half-assembled weapon aside and reaching for his tea. “Your information is accurate, but your conclusions are, as one might say, ‘on the other end of the stick from the…the point, that you are…holding it by.’

She was acutely aware that his voice had faltered. A moment’s awkward silence passed between them before she looked up, frowning in confusion. It seemed to take him a moment to realise what had happened too. Now he was the one hiding behind his glass.

“Would you mind…clarifying?” She said, hesitantly. He cleared his throat noisily, set down his tea, and began busying himself with the cleaning rag and the munitions feed.

“The Siege of Taralus brought us together, more so than the actions of any Primarch. It was a shared hardship, a common ordeal that we all emerged stronger from. Adversity begets strength the way forge-fire begets steel.”

She nodded, setting the dataslate in her lap and listening intently as he continued.

“And there is then the matter of a chapter of six companies going to a chapter of ten. There is suddenly many more resources at your disposal, and a great many more initiates in need of teaching.”

She smiled. “You are not the first of the old stock to express that sentiment.” He grunted in what could maybe pass as approval, his eyes down, his fingers thoroughly absorbed in his work. Now was the time to press, she thought.

 “Speaking of old stock, Taro Exitas…he had held command of the Second for…twenty five years at the time, yes?”

“That is correct.”

“The Second company were the pathfinders when Damat was identified as a rally point. Those early weeks…That was the first time he had operated alone, yes.”

He didn’t look up this time, although his brows did crease slightly. “Also correct, although I warn you, I sense you are approaching another spurious conclusion, at speed.”

She smiled warmly. Astartes didn’t really relax in the same way mortals did, but she was beginning to get a feel for what humor, or at least what passed for it, meant for this marine. “You are at leisure to correct me at any time, My lord. But the way you tell it, it sounds like he had to manage a great many parties during that time. Do you think he bore that duty well?”

There was a long pause. He shifted slightly. His eyes stayed down, but his hands had stopped working. A bead of oil dripped loudly from the applicator nozzle onto the casing and began to slide resolutely towards the floor.

“Not as well as some. Distinctly better than others.”

“My lord, is that a trace of scorn I am detecting there?”

He moved fast, too fast. Within a heartbeat, he’d leaned in, his hands were on the table, voice low and dangerous. His eyes were shining with the kind of fury that gets gods killed. She might as well have stared down the barrel of that bolter.

“Look to the state of the Second today and tell me that, above all those arrogant dolts who command it now, Taro Exitas was the most unsuited to lead us. He understood the weight of our legacy, and the honour that it was to bear the black. Say what you will about the trappings and toys of Guilliman’s new age. Exitas needed none of those.”

He inhaled, and the fire in his faced was quenched. When he spoke next, sour bitterness dripped where that passion.

“He had one thing that none of these youngbloods could even hope for.”

“What?”

He sighed, closing his eyes as he leaned back. “A damn fine mentor.”

025.M42 / 370.145 post TCM.M42

Segmentum Obsucurus

Twenty-Seventh Day of the Battle of Damat

Captain Tenebra isn’t strapped in. He's flown so many times now that the sharp rolls and jerks of the floor under him are physical background noise to be tuned out, as the Stormraven dances its way through the outer air defences and judders through dark clouds of flak. 

“The approach is clearing, captain.” His vox crackles, the pilot's voice almost lost in the roaring of wind, the engines and the battle all around. “Ground teams have disabled the main silos, and Cawl’s Overlords are drawing the heaviest defensive fire away from us.”

“My thanks, pilot. Go, support your comrades when we are done here.” Tenebra says, and switches the frequency. By comparison, it is uncommonly quiet in the troop bay. He turns to survey his battle brothers, eleven of them, squeezed into their jumper seats and rigid as statues. Ten slender giants in dull iron armour - Guilliman's Primaris marines, wearing the golden gauntlet of the Iron Fists. And amongst them, one marine of the old stock. Exitas is bent over in his seat, performing final rites of activation over the purring bulk of Black Tempest.  The great two-handed chainsword is a relic, indisputably the most prized possession in the Second’s arsenal. Exitas has borne it for the best part of a century, and Tenebra has never not been surprised by the care he shows for the weapon. The weapon that he himself has never felt comfortable bearing. “First Captain?” a voice draws Tenebra’s focus. He’s expecting Exitas’ voice, or the squad sergeant, but it’s neither of them.The battle-brother looking at him over his skull mask from the front rank of the troop bay is breathtakingly young, and his stare is brazenly bright and intent. 

“What troubles you, brother?” Tenebra says. It’s only with these words that the marine seems to realise who he’s talking to. “Forgive me, my lord, merely a…doctrinal query. A curiosity, nothing more” He says, his eyes snapped onto the troop bay floor. Tenebra glances over at Exitas, who is engaged in a blistering staring match of his own with the squad sergeant. For just a moment, he finds himself grappling with a memory, watching a much younger Exitas wipe his own blood off his face and try to ignore the battle-brother he’s just lost the unsanctioned duel to.

“What is your name, brother?”

“Ceyter, my lord, Fifth Squad, Second...company.”

“Well, Ceyter, consider this a learning opportunity, then. Submit your query.”

"The Codex Astartes states that first captains wear terminator plate. Is this doctrine…inapplicable in deployments like this? Are…other doctrines also invalid?"

Something stirs within Tenebra. He smiles behind his visor.

“How long have you served with us, Ceyter?”

“Two years with the Second. Four with the chapter.”

Well then, not to reiterate a point that I'm sure your captain has doubtless repeated a dozen times, but let me highlight a tenet of this company’s doctrine.” Tenebra raises his voice just a little, for the benefit of all in the troop bay. “Every second of a combat drop is a precious moment to be exploited. A good drop trooper will know where he is, where his brothers are, what and where his targets are, and what his vectors of advance will be, as soon as he hits the ground. Nine times out of ten, a keen eye and a jump pack will give you more advantage in a fight than a teleportarium ever will, nine times out of ten.” Tenebra slips Ceyter a sidelong glance, a sliver of mirth creeping into his voice. “And that advantage has been so exploited by your forebears that it borders on the artistic. Do you think it wise for me to yield this advantage for the sake of codex-adherence?”

“I…should think not, my lord.”

"Good.” Tenebra reaches up to tap the intake of his jump pack. “And besides. I have missed these wings dearly."

"Now we know how Lord Tyros must have felt." Exitas chuckled. The tension breaks, and hesitant, clipped laughs echo around the troop bay. Tenebra gives Ceyter a nod of gentle approval, then switches to a private vox.

"I trust I'm not undermining your authority, Taro.”

“You didn't hear them in the briefing room.” Exitas says. “By my oath, the honour is all theirs."

"Are we really so distant from them?" Tenebra muses.

"Moreso than we'd like. I may be their captain, but to them, you are a legend."

"Glad to see you're enjoying the better end of that disparity." Tenebra sighs.

"I mean it, Samas. They look at us like we look at the Iron Tenth."

"With consternation?"

"We, Samas.” Exitas sighs.“Your vexation with Lord Stronos is the outlier, not the median." 

"One would have thought a First Captain’s opinion would carry some weight with his subordinates." Tenebra muses.

"Just try not to disappoint them, alright?"

“Alright, if you say so, I shall endeavour to impress them.” Tenebra chuckles. It has been too long since he’s had a good old fashioned combat drop. This feels right. And yet, he can’t escape how time has marched onwards. The myriad of other vox-channels and data links filling the sidebar of his helmet display are a testament to that.

"I have maybe a minute on the ground before I am needed.” Tenebra says quietly. “After that, it's out of my hands. If these youngbloods do not break the traitors here, they will be broken against them. There is no more leeway left.”

“They are Iron. To break the foe is their nature, not just their purpose. They will bend, and some will be broken, but they will do their duty.”

“And rise as one, stronger.”

“Precisely. Worry not, Samas. You need not try to make a responsibility of me.”

“I am aware, Taro. But still…thank you for indulging these old habits.”

“I treasure this chance to fight by your side again, but you need not linger. Lord Verchen needs you more than I do. The Second will endeavour to ensure you arrive with good news.”

“Thank you, Taro. I am glad to see them under your command at last.” Tenebra cuts the feed as the drop counter ticks down into double digits. The casters in his helmets flick on with a crackle, and his voice booms inside the cramped drop ship interior.

“Brothers! The battlefield awaits. Stay tight, fall fast, open low, fight hard. Our primogenitors are on the field this day. Let us show every son of Ferrus how his blood flows inside us. Today our debt to Lord Stronos is repaid. Today we show the Today we set these traitorous rats to rout. Be iron. Be terror. Be vengeance!” His roar is punctuated with the sound of eleven golden fists beating against breastplates. Tenebra turns as the rear hatch of the Stormraven grinds down, a doorway onto a grey sky of dark contrails and bright stabs of tracer fire.

“Fly well old friend” Exitas called over the vox.

“And you, Captain.” Tenebra doesn’t look back. Two strides take him to the lip of the hatch, and he leaps off head-first into open air. Helmet displays blurt information at him; attitude, altitude, drop velocity, squad positioning, all of it irrelevant. Instinct guides his body down towards the rubble-strewn killing field at the foot of the outer wall.

High altitude, low opening, that’s how it will be done. The foes crowding the landing sight are too focused on forcing through the breach in the wall. The old master’s sword crackles hungrily as he draws it from its scabbard. No flak rushes up to meet him as he drops. None of the bastards even look up.

Not until two jump packs scream  into life right over their heads as Tenebra and Exitas land with an earth-shaking impact, wreathed in dust and exhaust. Simultaneously, ten grav-chutes snap open, shock grenades detonating in a storm of light and thunder as the Reivers land behind them, blades out and roaring through their voxcasters.

Chaos ensues, as Captain Tenebra throws himself into the fray.

Entry.081.InterviewTranscript015.narr

“Tell me about Damat.”

“What about Damat?”

She took a sip. The tea was strong and pungent, the kind that stung the nostrils. It was hard to suppress the grimace, and the marine seemed to notice it.

“You are aware you need not drink it. It is made strong specifically for Astartes.”

“It is…interesting. I have had similar meetings with more than a dozen of your brothers across multiple companies. Every time it’s a different infusion.”

“This is Corinthian Rosemary. Whenever resupply is viable the victualler corps make sure to include whatever the local culture deems an acceptable substitute. Disparate companies and campaigns accumulate their own stocks and I cannot help notice you are still drinking it.”

She smiled sweetly. It was a textbook manoeuvre, only slightly spoiled by the sinus-blasting the tea was providing. “I was taught that acknowledging and participating in a chapter’s individual customs is the best way to integrate and make connections.”

“I do not see remembrancers sharing the ale of Space Wolves.” He gave a harsh bark, the kind you might find if you stripped the sound of laughter down to the bone and removed half the bones. “In any case, it is a Taralan custom, if the ascendants speak truly. Therefore it belongs to neither of us.”

“And yet the custom is observed by the entire chapter, and has been for the best part of two millennia.”

“An irrationality from the dark days, solidified through habit, and the veneration of its practitioners.” He removed the small vessel from the burner and refilled their glasses. They were little things of cut glass, barely thicker than parchment. She couldn’t help but marvel at the elegance and delicacy of his augmetics as he raised the glass in hard digits of silver and plasteel. “Even astartes are prone to nostalgia and sentimentality in extremis.”

She nodded. “I have read the treatises on Lord Avenii. It seems justified to seek reassurance in the familiar when faced with strife of that kind. In my opinion, it humanized him”

That seemed to change something in him. It was like watching the weight removed from a taut cable, a reluctant, almost painful relaxation. He stood up, the fine mail hem of his tunic jingling softly as he turned his back on her.

“We are beyond human. We should not need comfort. We are warriors. Anything that does not serve that requirement is a waste at best, a weakness at worst.”

“A weakness?” She prompted. The phrase had come up many times over her tenure with the Fists. The shadow of Medusa laid heavy around them.

“Flesh is weak.” He replied. There was no feeling in the words. Not even the flat, unshakeable faith that was these marine’s closest analogue of confidence

“So I’ve heard. The human body is frail and imprecise and so on…but the human mind is a different matter, is it not?”

His brow furrowed, eyes flashing for a moment.  “Careful now, Miss Calimorre. You have my favour, but do not test it.” His footsteps boomed over to the wall, lifting a long, weathered bolt rifle off the wall. Her eyes gravitated to the floor, and the glass clasped in both hands. The air had suddenly become very tense. She took solace in another sip. There was a long pause, broken only by a loud clank of metal as he pulled back the arming bolt and began to disassemble the weapon.

025.M42 / 370.120 post TCM.M42

“You wish to know of Damat?” He said eventually. She nodded. “Very well…”

Segmentum Obsucurus

The Nachmund Gauntlet

“It is clear that, whatever masters they serve, this council has no right to let the people of this planet live.”

“Of course they have no right to live! I thought we’d established this weeks ago!”

“My lords, surely another orbital bombardment is the clear solution. Crack their shielding under weight of fire and the Emperor’s Divine Judgement.”

“The Imperial Navy lost its right to put forth suggestions after the mess you made of the landings at Harzkov. The blood of my regiments is still on your hands, Commodore!”

“Agreed. Not even a knight cannot clear a drop zone and clear the skies at once.”

“Those bastards shot down a titan lander on your watch, Commodore. A TITAN LANDER, for Throne’s sake! How does that even happen?!”

“What about the Astartes, then? Do the Emperor’s sons support not even their own these days?”

“Confirm. Probability of optimum resolution projected to increase with the presence of but a single gunship.”

“Tread carefully, adept. The probability of this meeting’s optimum resolution just decreased.”

Cosrau is grateful to be helmed, and stood five paces back from the strategium. Both factors do a very good job at hiding his dismay. The meeting has ticked over into its fourth hour, with nary a resolution in sight, and Captain Exitas is looking almost as frayed as the rest of the mortals around the table. Cosrau has never seen a tech-priest show fatigue, never believed it possible, but the way that Adept Rhomule has been twitching over the last few minutes is beginning to challenge that belief.

“And you are…? Well, I know you’re Second Company, but who’re you to speak for this Trajan?” The Colonel glowers across the table, over his seventh mug of recaf. He is as much of a mess as the Crown-Princess, but he has spent the last three hours synthesizing his fatigue into anger, and has already left two stab-wounds in the holo-table.

The Crown-Princess pulls herself to her feet. Her heavily-ornamented pilot suit is oil-stained and rumpled, and the strain of two straight days on her Throne Mechanicum has left her pallid and slow: “And what of Captain Trajan? I was led to believe his company are specialists in such matters?” She is looking over Exitas’ shoulders, towards the two other marines in the room, towards Cosrau.

“Captain Trajan’s efforts are currently engaged in maintaining the void-corridors in system.” Cosrau finds himself saying. He has taken three paces forwards without noticing. Exitas is looking at him intently.

“That was unnecessary.” Sergeant Ryza grunts on a private vox as Cosrau rejoins him, five paces behind their captain.

“Sergeant Yandin, Colonel. I speak for Lieutenant Tellurion. He was planetside with me during the first wave, and is currently coordinating remedial air defences. He speaks for Trajan.” The Colonel’s glower does not falter, so Yandin continues. “And while I may, I’d like to pass you his compliments. Your second battalion was with us when we took the Astropathic relay, and we agreed that their conduct was exemplary.”

That clears the air a little. The Colonel removes his hand from his sword hilt with a harrumph of grudging acknowledgement, and goes back to concealing his face under his wide-brimmed hat.

“Maybe.” Cosrau sighs.

“The mortals require discipline, not empty platitudes.”

“And the table requires less stab-wounds.” Cosrau is just a little too slow in catching his tongue.

Ryza’s helmet turns just a fraction as he snorts ruefully. “These are not your problems to solve, Cosrau.”

“We have all been trusted to secure this world, Havarris. We’d be remiss to not give our all to the effort.” Cosrau sighs. This place was supposed to be their rally point. Not just for this cocktail assortment of mortal forces, but for the entire chapter.  To present a world in this state for the first assembly of all ten companies in two millenia would be a shame of astronomical proportions.

“Hmf. Politics.” Ryza’s voice is practically dripping with distain for that word. “Emperor knows, it wasn’t this bad on Arx. PDF officers know their place, at least.”

Cosrau chuckles wryly. “And tell me, how many of those officers were still there on our return?”

“++My lords. Conversial tone indicates you are unaware of the insecurity of your vox-link.++”

The third voice jolts both sergeants up to attention. Adept Rhomule has not spoken out loud, has not shifted position, but Cosrau can feel her softly-glowing cyberlenses boring through his own. Ryza has already closed the link before Cosrau can apologise, leaving him to stew in the discomfort of the unmasked, a feeling that is only slightly alleviated by the message beamed into his helmet’s display by a distinctly binaric outside force.

++Conveyance – In spite of occurance: lax EM discipline (addendum – will be reported to Astartes Superior), This one is appreciative of the…Enrichment.++

Cosrau exhales. It’s going to be a long night.