Not until steam hits the fan.

I lead a company of Imperial soldiers into the position. Awaiting orders, I tell the men to hunker down and get some rest. One of them, wounded, falls over. Seeing as nobody have any medication to offer him, I let his own take care of him, keeping my scorn silent.

A fellow Astarte approach me, a long-range sniper rifle at his back. The dull grey armor, the weapon of choice, as well as the stalker demeanor marks him instantly in my mind as a Moritat. I’m unfamiliar with his rank, but not the Jovian rune on his shoulder, nor its meaning. Fear, if one could allow oneself to feel such an emotion, creeps up on me. He introduces himself as Sergeant Koskinen, Raven Guard, Silent Shadow Chapter, second battalion, third company, tactical squad. I reply in turn; Centurion Olson of the Emperor’s Children, Gilded Wings Millennial, first battalion, seventh company, assault squad, Righteous Blades member. I am uncertain if this puts me above him in rank or not. Deciding not to make an issue out of it, I follow him. He leads me to four other Astartes, none being a member of either of our own two legion battle-brothers.

Epistolary Nowak – a Librarian – of the Dusk Raiders, Black Saber Cats Chapter, first battalion, second company. No squad mentioned. His blue armor has some extensive scars as well as the Raptor Imperialis painted on his left knee. A true veteran, clearly for all to see. He carries a large tome, bound in black leather, and an axe at his side.

Lieutenant Dubois, Seeker Chapter, first battalion, fifth company, tactical squad. The lack of legion, along with the mysterious sigil on his shoulder can mean only one thing: the dreaded Ghost Legion. Bolter gun, grenades, all standard issue. Somehow, he makes conventional weaponry seem more threatening that it should be. My gut sink as I start to realize why I’m here.

Smith, Corporal of the Iron Hands, Krask Clan, second battalion, ninth company, support squad. He carries an impressive Hellgun, and a bolt pistol. The latter appears to be slightly different from my own, and have probably undergone some testing I don’t have the clearance to know about. Neither do I know of his Clan.

They all wear the Mk. II battle armor, some of them scarred, others not. However, only I carry the golden emblem – not to mention, the regal color purple – of the Emperor on my chest.

A captain of the Luna Wolves is also present. Their Primarch, Horus Lupercal, first of the Emperor’s Sons to return, is a stout ally of my own Legion. Nevertheless, I don’t know this man.

Uncertain, I offer them all the Sign of the Aquila.

The Captain, Ultimate Badass Chapter, third battalion, first company, is Vasquez, and he wears a heavy flamer. He tells us that he has a mission, and that we’re currently the only Astartes available to him outside his own Chapter. A sense of pride spreads around my hearts, despite the burning of uncertainty of the others around me. After this basic information, Captain Vasquez exits the room as he wishes us good hunting, and reminds us to stay frosty. Then Lieutenant Dubois steps forward.

- I don’t care what you know or suspect of me. This is my mission, and you’re all expendable. However, if we work together, we can all come back alive.

The task is to rescue a scientist, as well as assassinate a local war leader called Commander Dorn. The scientist, an Agatha Heterodyne, is the main priority, rescued from her current restrictive conditions. Extermination should be the very, very last option taken. Lieutenant Dubois is exceptionally clear on this point. I’m assigned to protect the female human spark of genius. This has me thinking back to the days of my initiation, and the Challenge Trial of Speed. Besting my battle-brother yet to become, I alone now hold a glowing hope within my Chapter. With a silent motion, at touch the hilt of my sword, I reminisce for but a moment. I shall make it so, and tell them with determination in my tone.

Dubois seems pleased, and then carries on refusing us to abide by rank, instead consider us all equal squad mates. Unheard of, I silently rage against this lack of hierarchy, but as my superior, it is his right. Another one of his legion underhanded tactics, I’m certain.

Nowak, forbidden to add this mission in his chronicles, is to be second in command should the need of a command structure to take place during the mission. I can only imagine this infuriates him as much as I already fume within my power armor.

Smith becomes our designated driver – for a small, unmarked civilian craft, suited for stealth and speed only, if even that. This too should be a source of resentment and anger, if I know anything about the Iron Hands. With barely contained sarcasm, Smith asks Dubois if allowed to carry his main weapon, the Hellgun. Surprisingly, Dubois replies that we’ll need all the firepower we can get our hands on. Taking the remark personally, I hold my tongue.

Only Koskinen could potentially be content with this setup. Of course, working within a team goes against the very foundation of a Moritat, so his displeasure for the mission may have preceded all of the rest of us. If he breaks away, I’ll not be the one stopping him.

Dubois ask us if we’re all ready, or need to resupply before heading out. I tap my Palatine Aquila – the very symbol of our Emperor – twice. The dull sound my armored fist makes upon my power armor resonates within me with pride, and potential fear of the others. Nowak closes his black book, locks it and steps out to trust it to Captain Vasquez along with instructions to return it to the Black Saber Cats if he doesn’t return. Smith merely shoulders his Hellgun, as Koskinen utters a single word: “Ready.”

The plan is simple. We’re to head into enemy territory, where I’ll disembark, portraying a single Astarte come to talk with the warlord and offer her the peace of our Emperor. A ruse, as the others would exit unseen and secure the landing place for my swift return – as I am to ask for an inspection of the facilities. My job is to keep the warlord busy until I have eyes on our objective, and then await until a suitable time to either behead the warlord, or hurry the scientist back to our shared civilian craft. I fully expect to die during this mission, and regret that I cannot share any last transmissions.

Our transport is an ugly piece of machinery, outdated by all Imperial standards. If he was not wearing a helmet, I expect Smith to spit in disgust and repulsiveness. Dubois embarks with ease, Koskinen shortly behind him. Sighing silently, I too climb into the machine that will bring me closer to my doom, letting Nowak take his place beside me, having Smith muttering over the shared channel, offering all sorts of Terran curses – some of which I’m unfamiliar with, and grimly offer to repeat if given a chance

.

The flight is long and tedious. As we approach our destination, Koskinen, having stayed silent and strapped in, untangles himself with professionalism and purpose, heading for the door. Placing a hand on my sword, I ask him, loudly, where he’s going. Koskinen merely swings his visor in my direction, making sure I can hear his voice over the engine.

- I move faster on my own.

And with that, he is gone, dropped from the open door. I am quick to slam it shut once more, teeth gritting again. Nowak looks at me, keeping his remarks for himself. I activate our shared channel.

- Dubois, Koskinen just jumped ship.

- All part of the plan, Olson. Worry about your part.

Unsure if I’m to cry or laugh at this, I return to my seat, hearing sniggers across the broadband.

We land, but not without effort, as Smith is telling me what to do over the line continuously, as I am the only one within the cockpit. Another Ghost Legion tactic, I presume. Upon lading, I sigh, unstrap and head to the exit. There, I do my part and emerge in my entire splendor. A gold and purple power armor suit, wearing the mark of our Emperor for all to see. A Terran forged blade, one that I master. The proudness of the moment, of what I am I do not even attempt to hide. Everything speaks to the secret becoming of an ambassador of the Emperor, traveled far without detection.

Commander Dorn is there to greet met me in person. I can’t tell where the woman ends and where the cybernetics start. Tall, sneering, and eager for violence. Not the outright violence, but the sinister one, spent over time, in person, prolonging any release in death. Humanity is better off without her.

We tour the facility. Commander Dorn speaks of grand plans, hinting at potential positions of power for her work, clearly proud of what she’s accomplished. Part of my pity her, as she’s come so far, but fallen equally far away from the Imperial Truth.

The scientists – all locked inside several labs – or more accurately, a single, vast lab-complex, wear collars. Whether it’s the explosion or shocking or the more insidious kind, I can’t tell.

- I have eyes on the objective.

- Standby.

As we’re about to leave, the lab door shuts down. The lights flicker. Several of the scientists cry out in fear, clearly running some form of electrical dependent experiment. I stop and turn to my host.

- What’s the meaning with this?

- Generator must be acting up. Backup will kick in any moment now.

We wait. I move over to the objective, looking at whatever it is she’s working so feverishly on. It appears to be some sort of machine-man interface. Making my presence known to her, she jumps in surprise, having missed me entirely. I kindly ask if I can see the blueprints of her work. Compliant, and willing to share science, she brings the up on the computer next to her. I take the moment to download it all while Commander Dorn, seething orders in a hushed tone, remains distracted.

The lights stop flickering and the door opens. In a single move, I grab the scientist and her collar, dragging her alongside me back to the door, despite her loud disagreement. Commander Dorn rises what I can only assume is an eyebrow as I place the two of them together.

- Demonstrate how to remove the collar without harming the subject.

Commander Dorn, hesitant, waits for an explanation.

- I need to bring one with me back to Terra for further research, and I’d like to know if the process can be done in the field.

This is not a lie on my end, but a careful variation of the truth. The collar, removed and handed to me, remains in my hand.

- East wing, second door. Standby, Olson.

Knowing it’s now or never, I watch as Commander Dorn picks up another collar from her belt, activating it. The scientist bows her head.

Then the door opens. A fully armored and armed fellow battle-brother stands impressive in the doorway, blocking the path. It’s Novak. Taking in the moment, I draw my sword, but before I can engage, Commander Dorn goes down in a flash of sparks. The body, wriggling on the floor, shows no instant signs of life, as the mechanical parts starts shutting down.

- Go!

We make haste back towards the ship. Not seeing anyone, I’m guessing the rest of the squad are keeping the security busy. Upon arrival at the hangar, weapons discharges, small arms and heavier, explains why. Coming from the back, Novak and I rip through the rear guard in silence, save the death gurgles of the dying. The scientist, behind me, seems queasy.

Tearing through the now double fronted guards, we all make it back to the ship, lifting off just as alarms start blaring. Smith punches it, and moves the vessel with a touch of speed I would not have expected it had in it.

I stay close to the scientist, trying to offer her some comfort. Instead, she pukes out all over the deck. In a sign of sympathy, I don’t step away from it.

- Incoming!

The following engagement is short. A few minutes pass.

- Is that Koskinen, chased by heavies?

- Poor man doesn’t stand a chance.

This causes me to enter the cockpit. I draw my bolt pistol and jam the muzzle into the back of Smith’s head.

- You can either pick up Koskinen, or die. Your choice.

Without turning, I address the others.

- We fake a crash, and return by stealth. This way, they won’t be looking for us. The forces hunting Koskinen will repeat our heroism, and cause confusion with the enemy – assuming they’re part of Commander Dorn’s forces. If not, bonus.

There is a lack of response until Dubois half-heartedly agree.

- All right, Olson, we do it your way.

Having all but sealed my fate, this better not blow up in my face.

Taking the ship dangerously close to ground, Dubois and I open the door, almost ripping it away. Debris fly out of the hangar. The scientist, now safely tucked away in the cockpit, would have followed suit. Koskinen, still running, spots us and keeps parallel to our flight. Presented with a bigger target, the heavies focuses their shooting on us instead. One hit rocks the vessel. We’ll have no trouble faking a crash after this.

Smith keeps the pace, and the distance between us and Koskinen melts away in seconds. A grappling hook slams into the hull of the other side of the hangar, and Koskinen, in one swift motion, have himself pulled inside. A clutch. I’d preferred a jump pack myself.

We partly land the vessel inside a nearby factory, crashing through a few outer walls. Clearing out the guards takes less than a minute. The next three minutes we huddle down, keeping the factory workers safe. I’m supposed to take point when we emerge, blending our scientist within the ranks of the others.

Two hundred meters from the factory and the explosion knocks most of my unshielded to the ground. Standing alone, I keep the vigil and lookout. I know Koskinen is out there, keeping my back safe, while Nowak shields my very core without me knowing about it. We make it to the extraction point. I lose three of my protection unit. Cursing, I swing around, eager to face any enemy pursuing us. Then I’m hit with small arms fire, presenting an excellent target. Loudly yelling for all stragglers to hurry up, I advance. The first enemy: cut in half, never knowing I was even there. The second gets a bolt pistol shot from afar. The third stops, uncertain, turning around and runs for her life, barely succeeding. The fourth falls from a long-range head shot. The fifth and the sixth share a blood spatter. At the time I’m looking for the seventh, a grenade blows eighth and ninth away. I’m guessing this means Dubois made it to the engagement intact.

Then, without warning, Nowak walks into my field of vision. He hold his axe towards the enemies. Tenth, eleventh, twelfth and thirteenth becomes bloody messes from afar, simply tearing apart, all within the span of half a second. I’m beyond impressed, but also terrified.

Fourteenth and fifteenth becomes glowing shades, both falling to the ground. I’m pleased Smith made it out in time as well.

Sixteenth drops to the ground, trying to provide covering fire for himself. It lasts six seconds before Koskinen ends him – another headshot, I imagine.

I turn around and head to the survivors, offering them my words of comfort and safety, making sure they’re out of harm as well as secure. Dubois compliments us across the broadband.

I know reinforcements are coming. I know Captain Vasquez and his men are on their way. And yet, I’m left with a heavy heart, as I know I won’t see this squad ever again. Dubois, Koskinen, Nowak and Smith – forever left to the silent records of war, our glory untold and forever kept hidden.

I won’t disobey the orders, but I won’t keep this victory forgotten. Unfortunately, it must remain a secret.

Save for this record.