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.