C. Goto - Dawn of War

Before Brom had a chance to react, a huge red-armoured warrior pounded up to his side, loosing showers of bolter shells into the frenzied mobs of orks that charged and lumbered towards the line. And the stranger was not alone, squads of similar figures deployed themselves into position in the heart of the defensive formation, towering head and shoulders above the Imperial Guardsmen around them.

In only a few moments the ork charge collapsed, and the chaotic assault seemed to fall into a frenzied retreat. The Space Marines pressed their advantage, striding forward of the Tartaran line and pressing the defensive action into an assault of their own.

By now the orks were in even more disarray: charging shoota boyz skidded to a halt and others ploughed into the back of them, unable to stop in time. The cleaver wielding slugga boyz had already turned tail and were lumbering back into the midst of the mobs of orks in the mid-field and the snivelling gretchin were diving for whatever cover they could find as the Space Marines’ barrage continued relentlessly.

For the first time, the Imperial forces started to make ground against the orks. Blood Ravens strode forward at the head of the counter-offensive, scything their way through the disorganised greenskins with sputtering chainswords and disciplined volleys of bolter fire. The retreat rapidly collapsed into a rout, as the orks abandoned their positions and ran in erratic, wailing mobs.

Brom watched the fleeing orks with something approaching amazement, but was overcome with relief. He turned to the Space Marine who had saved his life and bowed deeply.

“I am Colonel Carus Brom, and you are most welcome here, captain.”

The Space Marine eyed him sceptically. “Captain Gabriel Angelos of the Blood Ravens Third Company. What is your status?”

“The Tartarans have suffered terrible losses, captain, but they have fought bravely and with honour… in the main,” said Brom, trying to draw himself up to a more respectable height before this giant figure.

Gabriel surveyed the ruins of the spaceport. It was spotted with ordnance craters and speckled with the corpses of Guardsmen-some of whom were facing back towards the centre of the compound with gunshot wounds in their backs. But he couldn’t see a single greenskin corpse inside the defensive perimeter.

Nodding slowly, he turned back to Brom. “You stood your ground in the face of the Emperor’s foes. You have done your duty, colonel.”

Brom nodded and let out a brief sigh of relief as he realised what the Blood Raven was looking at. “Thank you, captain.”

“I am not here for thanks, colonel. This spaceport must be held if we are to maintain troops and supply lines to planet’s surface. It is only by the provenance of the Emperor that we arrived in time,” replied Gabriel, already scanning the scene for signs of supplies in the compound itself. “And what of the wounded and the civilians?” he asked.

“They are stranded, captain. The Tartarans have few ships, and most were destroyed by the orks during the initial stages of the invasion,” explained Brom, feeling rather too much on the defensive.

“Then you shall have more ships,” said Gabriel simply, turning to Brother-Sergeant Corallis. “Sergeant, contact the Litany of Fury and order that Thunderhawks are deployed to evacuate the wounded. Meanwhile,” he added, turning back to Brom with the hint of a smile, “we will dispatch the ground forces.”

“But captain,” replied Brom, slightly confused. “The orks have retreated. The ground forces are already broken.”

The Blood Ravens captain turned away from Brom and watched the greenskins scrambling away into the mountains on the horizon. His Marines had driven them out of the combat theatre, but then had broken off the pursuit, firing volleys at the heels of the scampering vermin just to keep them moving.

“If you are to defeat your enemies, colonel, you must first understand them. The orks have a saying: never be beaten in battle. Do you know what this means?” Gabriel returned his searching gaze back to the colonel, who shook his head nervously. Its meaning seemed obvious to him.

“It means, Colonel Brom, that orks never retreat, they only regroup. If they die in battle, then they do not think that they have not been beaten-they are only beaten if the battle itself defeats them. War for its own sake, colonel. The orks will be back, and they will keep coming until you or they are all dead.”

C.S. Goto (ebook by Undead)

01 – Dawn of War

In the distance there was a constant rumble of thunder as artillery fire and pockets of fighting continued. But the spaceport was secure and, tucked into the cliffs behind, the city of Magna Bonum remained relatively unscathed by the ravages of war. Its gleaming white buildings shimmered with bursts of red as the setting sun turned to orange and bounced the dying light off the bloody battlefield. Nothing moved in the streets, and an eerie calm had descended on the city.

The Blood Ravens were making preparations for their pursuit of the orks, overseeing the fortification of the spaceport in case the greenskins returned while they were away. Gabriel had already dispatched a squad of scouts into the wilderness to locate the rallying point of the foul aliens, and he was awaiting the return of Sergeant Corallis with impatience. He was certain that the warboss would be regrouping his forces for another assault, and was eager to thwart it before it began. The best way to beat orks was to prevent them from forming their forces in the first place.

“Prathios, my old friend,” said Gabriel as the Chaplain walked into the spaceport’s Imperial shrine. “It is good to see you.” The two Marines bowed slightly to each other, showing a respect suitable to a holy place.

“It is good to be here, Gabriel. It has been a long time since I saw planetfall. How can I serve you, captain?” The huge, old Marine looked down at Gabriel with compassionate eyes. “Why are you so troubled?” he asked.

Gabriel turned away from the Chaplain to face the altar, dropping to his knees before the image of the Emperor’s Golden Throne. It was encircled by a ring of silver angels, their wings tipped with blood. Facing away from the throne in the middle, their mouths were open and their heads thrown back, as though they were singing to the whole galaxy.

“I just need to be calm before the battle. I am impatient to deal with these orks, and impatience does not become me. I would not like to err in my judgment,” said Gabriel, admitting more than he would to anyone else.

“Your concern does you credit, captain,” answered Prathios, kneeling into prayer beside Gabriel, gazing at the images on the altar. “It is a beautiful sight, is it not?”

For a moment or two Gabriel said nothing; he just stared straight ahead, as though his gaze was trapped in the icon. “Yes, indeed it is. But tell me, Brother Prathios, haven’t you ever wondered what it might sound like?”

The Chaplain continued to look at the image, considering the question. “I wonder every day, Gabriel, but I will hear it soon enough, when the Emperor finally calls my soul to him.”

Colonel Brom looked over his men in the remains of the spaceport. They were tired. Exhausted. The ork invasion had taken them by surprise and it had been more severe than any of the previous incursions into the Tartarus system. The Tartarans’ small space-bound force had been virtually annihilated in the orks’ attack run, and then the giant, clumsy kill kroozer had plunged into the planet’s atmosphere, spewing an invasion force of orks onto the surface. The greenskins had no need for the spaceport, which the Tartarans had defended so desperately. They had just attacked Magna Bonum because that was where the Tartarans’ Fifth Regiment had dug in-so that was where the good fighting was to be found. Brom shook his head at the irony: if they hadn’t tried to defend the city, perhaps the orks would have just ignored it.