C. Goto - Dawn of War

“Colonel Brom,” said Trooper Ckrius, flicking a sharp salute as he snapped to attention.

“Yes, trooper. What can I do for you?” Brom was getting a little tired of Ckrius’ enthusiasm. The young Guardsman had fought bravely against the orks, standing his ground with Brom himself, albeit after attempting to desert the battle. This was as much as Brom could ask of any of his men, but Ckrius seemed to think that he owed more than any of the others. As though his moment of hesitation had condemned him to a lifetime of penitence and of service to the officer who had made him see the light.

“I have brought you some recaff, colonel,” said Ckrius, thrusting a battered, tin cup towards his commanding officer.

Despite himself, Brom was grateful. It had been a long day and, although the sun was setting in a dazzling array of golds and reds, he knew that there would be no sleep for them tonight. Perhaps never again.

“Thank you, Trooper Ckrius,” he replied wearily, reaching out and taking the hot cup from the young man, who was still saluting. “You can relax, soldier.”

“We can sleep when we’re dead, right colonel?” said Ckrius eagerly, excited that Brom had remembered his name. He nodded his head energetically towards the recaff cup as though it contained the elixir of life.

Brom glanced down at the steaming liquid and raised it to his lips. It was so hot that it burnt his throat as he swallowed a large mouthful. He didn’t care. If that was the worst pain he would feel today, he would have no complaints.

“Let’s hope that we don’t have to wait that long,” replied the colonel, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and looking levelly at the young trooper. The young man looked terrible, running on hysteria and nervous energy. “You fought well today, son. Get some sleep, and you will also fight well tomorrow.”

“But there is no time for sleep,” protested Ckrius, twitching his head excitedly from side to side, taking in the flurry of activity around the spaceport. “There is so much to do.”

“The orks will not be back for a while yet. Captain Gabriel tells me that they will have to regroup at a safe distance and then reorganise before they will return to face the Tartarans again. Evidently, the reorganisation of a mob of orks can take a long time. We will be ready for them,” said Brom, hoping that the Blood Raven was right.

“Captain Gabriel?” asked Ckrius, as though he had heard a secret password. “Is that the Space Marine captain?”

“Yes, Captain Gabriel is the Space Marine commander. He is here to help us with the ork problem,” explained Brom carefully, conscious of the excitement in the young trooper’s face.

“The boys… that is, we were wondering who they were, colonel,” said Ckrius self-consciously. He looked back over his shoulder to a group of troopers who sat around a small fire on the hard-deck, sipping recaff from mangled tins. They all pretended to be chatting casually or looking elsewhere when Brom followed his gaze.

“I see,” said Brom as the real motivation for bringing him the recaff dawned on him. He smiled-these troopers had probably never even seen a Space Marine before. “They are Blood Ravens, trooper. The Blood Ravens Third Company.”

Ckrius’ eyes lit up. “I’ve heard of them,” he blurted excitedly. Then he paused for a moment and a shadow fell over his face as his thoughts caught up with him. “Aren’t they-”

“Yes, I dare say you have, trooper. Their reputation precedes them wherever they go, I’m sure. The Adeptus Astartes are justly exalted throughout the Imperium. As I say, they are here to help us with the orks, and we should thank the Emperor for that.” Brom cut Ckrius off, aware of the rumours about the Cyrene affair but unsure of the facts himself. “Now I suggest that you get some sleep, trooper. Tomorrow will be a long day, and you will need all of your strength if you are to show the Blood Ravens the worth of the Tartaran Fifth.”

“Yes, colonel,” replied Ckrius, saluting weakly and turning away. Brom watched him walk back to his friends around the fire, and smiled to himself as they crowded around the trooper, pestering him with questions.

The Blood Ravens scouts swept back into the spaceport on their bikes, engines roaring with power. Against the setting red sun, the ruby bikes seemed to fluoresce with energy, and the heat haze from the exhaust vents blurred into the fading daylight. Brom watched them slide the huge machines to a halt, and shook his head in faint disbelief. Those assault bikes were faster than a Sentinel walker and packed an awesome amount of firepower. And just one Marine sat astride each of the awesome machines, throwing it around as though it were nothing.

The Marines climbed off their bikes and pulled off their helmets, apparently enjoying the last rays of sunlight on their faces. The air was cooling rapidly as the night drew in, and Brom could only imagine how hot the Marines must have been inside that heavy armour all day. But the faces of the scouts were even and unbothered. Their hair was not matted to their heads, and they looked perfectly comfortable. The colonel shook his head again, wondering what he could achieve with a squad of such soldiers.

There were mutterings and faint whistles from some of the Guardsmen as they saw the bikes roll onto the hard-deck. At the end of a day like this one, the sight of nine Blood Raven assault bikes riding out of the sunset was more than any of them could have expected, and they didn’t try too hard to hide their awe.

Brom cast his eyes over his men once again, still shaking his head. They certainly needed this kind of inspiration. It had been a bad day for the Tartarans. Hundreds of men had fallen-good men who had stood their ground in the face of the alien onslaught. Many bad men had fallen too; he had dispatched them himself with his own pistol as they had tried to run from their duty.

He had not known that the Tartaran Fifth boasted so many cowards. His men had stood defiantly in the face of many foes before today. They had confronted insurrections and rebellions. They had cleansed cities of perverted and mutated cultists. They had even met orks before, when greenskin raiders had tried to plunder the resources of Tartarus. And always his men had stood firm-fighting for their honour, for the Emperor, and for their homes.

Something was different about this invasion. Although the arrival of the Blood Ravens was welcome, and their timely intervention had been decisive, the Tartarans had dealt with orks before, even without the help of the Adeptus Astartes. This glut of greenskins was no bigger than any they had faced before. But something was different. The men were whispering amongst themselves, casting furtive glances at each other, muttering quiet suspicions around the campfires. Brom couldn’t help but wonder whether the presence of the Space Marines actually made the men more suspicious: if the Adeptus Astartes are here, this must be some serious shit.

And Captain Angelos didn’t help-his haughty attitude was almost insulting. He hadn’t even included the Tartarans in his plans for the fortification of the spaceport; the Blood Ravens were doing everything. In truth, most of Brom’s men were grateful for the chance to rest, but he had heard some of them grumbling about not being good enough for the Space Marines.

A shiver ran down his back as Brom realised what Angelos’ first impression of the Tartarans must have been. In his mind’s eye, he could still see those men laying face down on the ground with his pistol wounds in their backs.

Then a realisation struck him. Something had been different even before the Space Marines had arrived. Some of his men had been defeated even before the battle had started. He had heard them talking about the voices in the wind. Some of them had heard warnings whispered in the breeze ahead of the ork assault-whispering songs and choruses that echoed into their ears from everywhere at once. Even Brom had convinced himself that he had heard something.