C. Goto - Dawn of War

The convoy stopped in the fringe of the forest and Gabriel jumped down from his temporary vantage point on the roof of his stationary Rhino, making his way to the very last line of trees before the ground fell away into the plain in front of Lloovre Marr. With Isador at his shoulder, Gabriel dropped to the ground as the foliage thinned, and he crept further forward.

Lying flat against the earth, Gabriel took out his binocs, letting them whir and blip until they clicked into focus against the great wall of the city before him. The once shimmering rockcrete was now a pitted and stained mess where ordnance and flamer gouts had smashed into the formerly smooth surface. The wall’s gun emplacements had been shattered and cracked with precision fire, but the great gates showed no sign of damage at all.

“Do you think the defenders repelled the attack?” asked Isador, trying to make sense of the unexpected scene.

“No. There was only a minimal force left to defend the city, thanks to Toth’s alarmist pronouncements. There is no way that they could have confronted the eldar,” replied Gabriel, half-whispering.

“Then what happened?”

“It looks to me,” answered Gabriel, thinking as he spoke, “as though somebody inside the city opened the gates and let the eldar in. There seems to be no damage to the material of the gates at all so I think that they were open before the first shots were fired.”

“Then why was there firing at all?” asked Isador, seeing the logic in Gabriel’s train of thought, but still unsure.

“Perhaps not everyone was ready to surrender,” answered Gabriel. “The Guardsmen were left here without any senior officers-each would have had to make their own choice, and bear the responsibility for it.”

“So, someone opened the gates, and somebody else started firing…” said Isador, incredulously shaking his head. “These Tartarans are an inconsistent people-with cowards and heroes in equal measure,” he added, thinking back to the stand against the orks at Magna Bonum.

“I’m sure that the same could be said of any planet,” responded Gabriel thoughtfully. “Even Cyrene,” he added without meeting Isador’s eyes.

A rustle in the foliage made the Marines turn-Matiel was working his way through the undergrowth towards them, keeping as low as his power armour would let him, before sliding down onto the ground next to them.

“Are the eldar manning the gun emplacements?” asked the sergeant, staring forward at the walls and shielding his eyes. The red sun was setting behind them, and it bounced off the reflective surface of the walls before them.

“I don’t know,” replied Gabriel, honestly. “But it would not be characteristic of the eldar to appropriate the weapons of humans, so my guess would be that they would make their stand on the other side of the walls, making us waste our energies destroying the wall itself before we even engage the aliens.”

“What do you suggest, captain?” asked Matiel with a hint of impatience.

“I suggest that we do not disappoint them,” said Gabriel, standing up out of the foliage and making no attempt to conceal himself. “The time for subtlety is over, my friends. This is a situation that calls for the exercise of power.”

As he rose to his feet, threads of blood trickled down the chest plate of his armour. Isador sprang up to inspect the wound on his friend, but found none. Instead, he noticed that his own armour was running with blood. As Matiel climbed to his feet to join them, his red armour was slick with streams of blood as well.

“What’s going on?” asked Matiel, flicking his eyes from Gabriel to Isador and then back to his own chest.

Gabriel knelt back down to the ground and pressed his hand into the earth. It compressed like a sponge, and a little pool of blood oozed out over his fingers, filling the depression. He looked up at Isador. “The ground is saturated with blood.”

“The historical records show that Lloovre Marr was constructed on the cusp of the water-table, Gabriel. All of those pumping stations that we saw near Magna Bonum were used to lower the water-level so that the city would not subside,” explained Isador, his voice tinged with disgust as he realised what was going on.

“So, all of the blood spilt here over the last few days has seeped down to this level, turning this place into a swamp?” asked Matiel, sharing Isador’s disgust.

“There is more than a few days’ worth of blood here, sergeant,” replied Gabriel standing once again, “however bloody these days have been. This swamp must have been forming for years.”

“Surely the people of Lloovre Marr would have noticed this?” said Matiel, stubbornly entertaining his own disbelief.

“Yes, Matiel,” said Gabriel. “I’m sure that they noticed it, and I would be very interested to know why this city was built here in the first place. The blood-drenched history of Tartarus is beginning to look rather more sinister, is it not, Isador?”

“Gabriel, the city was built by the founder of this planet, three thousand years ago,” replied Isador.

“Yes, but as we have just discovered, the eldar were here before then. Why should we not believe that humans were here before then as well?” asked Gabriel.

“But why would there be no records?” countered the Librarian.

“Why indeed?” replied Gabriel, nodding as though his question answered itself.

“Your conniving will cost us this war, sorcerer,” bellowed Bale, his huge scythe swept out towards the raging battle before the walls of Lloovre Marr. The Blood Ravens had broken cover at the edge of the tree-line and were lashing out with their heavy weapons, bombarding the walls and the city beyond with cannons and rockets. “The false-Emperor’s lackeys… those Blood Ravens have beaten us to the city. While we hide in this cave like cowards, they fight like warriors against the aliens.”

“They are merely puppets, my lord,” responded Sindri smoothly, as though unperturbed by the Chaos Lord’s anger, but watching the blade of his scythe carefully. “You have been generous with your patience up until now, Lord Bale, and I beg only a little extra indulgence. Events are proceeding to my… to our benefit, according to my devices.”

“Are you blind, sorcerer? As you gaze into the patterns of the warp, are you rendered utterly oblivious to the events of reality?” Bale was in no mood for Sindri’s empty assurances-the Alpha Legion had a proud history and it was not forged by shying away from combat.

Although the Alpha Legion was counted amongst the Space Marine Chapters of the First Founding, it had been the last of this most glorious group, and its primarch, Alpharius, had vowed that his Marines would prove themselves the finest of the Emperor’s warriors. More than anything else, Alpharius despised weakness and cowardice. Long ago, it was his passion for strength and power that had drawn the primarch to the side of Warmaster Horus, welcoming the opportunity to test his Marines against the might of their brother Space Marines. Alpharius had gloried in the war that engulfed the galaxy as Horus turned against the Emperor in those fateful, ancient days, bringing the Imperium to the point of annihilation. And in the millennia since the end of the Heresy, which saw Horus killed and his forces driven from the heart of the galaxy, hunted constantly by the misguided fools who remained loyal to the false-Emperor, the Alpha Legion had not once shied away from battle. Indeed, they searched it out, eager to test themselves against the self-righteous, loyalist Space Marines, like the Blood Ravens.

“I see the battle, my lord, but it is of no concern to us,” hissed Sindri, squirming slightly. “The Blood Ravens are but hapless fools before the might of the Alpha Legion-they are no test of our strength. Far better to let the eldar deal with them, preserving our own forces for more worthy foes.”