Part I Brother-Sergeant Ezekial's boltgun barked staccato destruction all around him. Feet firmly planted, he and the members of his squad fought with all their strength to resist the advance of the enemy against their line. Explosions blossomed everywhere about them, showering them with shrapnel and dirt, but Ezekial's example of bravery inspired his men to give no ground. Triggers depressed, their bolters spat round after round of denial at the oncoming Eldar. Despite the best the alien foot soldiers could do, the Marines held out, standing firm in the face of the horrors of war. Tremendously outnumbered, the Dark Angels had been fighting a constant slow retreat since their arrival on planet. No more than four days had passed since then, and already the complete obliteration of the landing forces seemed certain. Of almost a full company of Marines and two battalions of the Imperial Guard, only a handful remained. None of their intelligence reports had indicated such a large number of the alien Eldar in the system, nor of their determination to take this planet at all costs. Mraba IV was a lucky find for the coffers of the Imperium. Settled during the Age of Expansion by human pioneers, it was the center of a vast web of trade far out on the southern frontier of the galaxy. The subsequent ages of war and peace saw Mraba's fortunes grow and decline, but always, always it was a source of technological inspiration. Whole new theories of mechanical systems originated in the minds of the Mrabans; ordinary machines became brilliant tools in their hands. The Dark Age of Technology practically began on Mraba IV. In many ways she even rivaled Earth herself. Its isolation by warp storms for millenia was a severe blow to Humanity during the Age of Strife; mankind had much need of good machinery then. Its existence had been rumored for centuries, a phantom planet luring adventurers to their doom with promises of riches untold. Some were able to find their way through the swirling confusion warp space wrapped about this world, only to be trapped here the rest of their lives. For the remainder of the galaxy it was a legend, nothing more. Until recently, that is. For unexplained, unknowable reasons, the warp storms had cleared, leaving the star system's four planets ripe for rediscovery. Rogue traders had first reported on its apparent rebirth, and Imperial Survey teams had been quickly dispatched to verify the stories trickling in. When its identity had been confirmed the High Lords of Terra had authorized its immediate acquisition; their orders: return its secrets back to the safety of the Imperium at any cost, before the warp storms sealed it off forever from future contact. Thus had the Imperial Navy been sent to blockade the system, stopping smugglers and aliens alike. The advance scouts had reported the Eldar presence prior to the Navy's arrival, but by all accounts they were few in number. The Eldar were always few in number and were always first to a find of such significance, almost as though they had foreknowledge of the event. It was one of the things men least understood and most feared about them. But this time the scouts were wrong: there were a great many more Eldar onplanet than anyone knew, and they were determined to prevent the reclamation of the artifacts by the humans. Why?, no one knew. The Eldar simply did such things. Sergeant Ezekial knew nothing of this planet's past, and cared little for its current state. His sole interest was in ridding it of the non-human infestation fighting for its possession. And right now, at Location 993, Grid reference AX-39, designation the City of Might, he was winning. The Eldar foot troopers called "Guardians" had been repulsed with heavy casualties, while Ezekial's men were unscathed. The torrent of destruction laid out by their rapid-firing boltguns had stopped the advance of the enigmatic aliens. Even their shock troops, strange wailing women called "Banshees," had been unable to dislodge the Emperor's loyal soldiers from their bunker stronghold. "Bunker" was, however, a totally inappropriate description. Whoever had lived on Mraba once had wrought amazing things, and this small fortification was evidence of their abilities. Reinforced walls, clear lines of fire, blast shields stronger than adamantium...and all apparently of an age defying belief. If the Tech-Priest Engineers were right, everything on this world pre-dated the founding of the Imperium. It was a mother-lode of valuable data: an STC of STC's. Ezekial had fought in nearly four hundred campaigns since his Initiation into the Dark Angels Space Marine Chapter, and never had he seen a building as well constructed as this one. Many was the time he was glad for having one of the Imperium's sturdy Bastions at his back -- those portable, nigh- indestructible buildings used throughout known space -- but none compared to the City of Might. Even though they had been unable to actually find an entrance into the strange building, its intelligent design had afforded them numerous safe firing positions from which to fight. The Techmarines of the Chapter had been in a state of elation at the prospect of finding working Standard Template Constucts systems on Mraba IV. And if this stronghold was any indication of what could be accomplished with that knowledge, then Ezekial would do all he could to procure it for them. With the temporary retreat of the Eldar -- for he knew it only to be temporary -- Ezekial looked around to assess the situation. His squad of ten men, originally part of a much larger detachment, was intact. The rest were gone, killed in the first few hours by ambush before they'd stumbled on this defensive fortification. Their Imperial Guard allies -- mostly from the Stirkan 43rd Regiment, although there were others as well -- had been almost completely demolished: the landscape on this part of the planet was not conducive to the effective use of heavy armor, and frequent ambushes from the rocky spires and shadowed outcroppings had reduced the Guard to no more than a handful of stragglers. Most had deserted, only to be killed alone; the rest stayed with the Marines, loyal and a credit to the Imperium. Now all that remained of his recon-in-force detachment was holed up near the City of Might awaiting reinforcements. With the death of Captain Invictus in a hail of shuriken fire Brother-Sergeant Ezekial was the ranking officer. Even though Interrogator-Chaplain Vicconius had served with the Dark Angels for three hundred years longer than Ezekial, he was technically outside the chain of command. He preferred to remain unattached to any specific squad and instead be able to lend his presence wherever it was needed on the battlefield. At the moment, however, he was poking around in the shadows of the fort. Covered in fine powder, making his normally jet black armor appear gray, he stomped to and fro, shining a small lamp into every alcove. Where his armor showed pure black was where explosions had blasted it clean, tearing great rips in his bone white Deathwing robes. Now they hung almost in tatters about him. Despite their precarious situation, his energy and faith were undampened. He was too preoccupied to hear Ezekial's attempt to contact the rest of the Dark Angels' Fifth Company. There was no response. This in itself did not worry the Sergeant. There could be any number of explanations for a lack of communication: Eldar jamming, a damaged receiver, strange planetary fluctuations, even something in the City of Might. What was worrying was the thought that he might be all that was left of the Space Marine landing forces. The ignominy of failing in their appointed task, of falling short of the Emperor's expectations..._that_ would be shameful. Better to die here, now, than to be the only survivors. Part II Ezekial's pensive mood somehow attracted the Chaplain's attention after all. Shafts of dusty light glinting off his Crozius Arcanum -- his badge of office, and weapon of choice -- he strode over to the soldier. "Brother-Sergeant Ezekial," he said, deep voice resonating from his helmet speakers, "you appear distracted. Your men need guidance and preparation for the coming fight. Is there not enough inspiration around you to lift your spirits to lead them?" With his Crozius he indicated the mounds of dead Eldar strewn about them. "Truly your courage in the last attack was tremendous. But now is not the time for reflection." For emphasis he swung his weapon down against the smoothly rounded armor of a Guardian, killed by bolter fire. The Crozius hit with a flash and a flare of blue light, splitting open the warrior's helmet, revealing the face within. Ezekial regarded the dead Eldar's features in silence. The Chaplain was, of course, right. The Sergeant was slow to react, more contemplative than combative, and had always been so. Something in his earliest days had touched him, and he carried the effects even now. It troubled him, and was a constant source of private bitterness, yet its origins were unknown to him. No amount of personal meditation had revealed it to him. The rest of the Chaplains in the Chapter were justified to watch him closely, and his self-recriminations only served to spur them on. But anger made him strong, and strength for the Emperor was the only thing that mattered. It was unfortunate then that so much of his strength was gone now. Four days of, literally, constant fighting had taken a toll on them, despite their super-human capabilities. Ezekial had no thoughts to spare for the welfare of the regular human troopers accompanying them, save for how it impacted their fighting abilities, but he could see they were exhausted. Even Interrogator- Chaplain Vicconius was tired, although no sign of it showed to less than a very watchful eye. It was for this reason, Ezekial told himself, that he had let himself become less than the leader he needed to be. More guilt, more shame. He could feel the Chaplain's eyes watching him, measuring him against strenuous standards. Vicconius was waiting for an answer. |
REDEMPTION By Kelly L'Roy |
TOMES OF VALOUR |
This item has been reproduced without the permission of the author. It's use here is not intended as a challenge to the original authors copyright and is reproduced here for the sole purpose of enhancing the Dark Angel spirrit and the warhammer 40,000 experience. Sadly all attempts at contacting the author have been unsuccessful and the original site where this was published no longer in existence. The story has been too invaluable to the DA community to be simply lost in the warp and therefre been reproduced here. If Kellt L'Roy happens to read these pages, please contact by email. |
