So it seems the link in my previous chapter's foreword is broken. FFN may not like linking I guess, so I won't try to fix it. (It also seems to love screwing with layouts and text styling... websites shouldn't have a will of their own, Emperor damn it. A.I. is HERESY.)

I was asked if Sachiel is an Ironclad Dreadnought. As awesome as they are, she is not. She is a Chaplain Dreadnought, most often fitted as a modified Mortis-pattern Rifleman. (Kinda Mary-sue, yeah I know, but I didn't really plan the Chaplain thing, it just happened.) Also all Dreadnoughts are "voices-in-boxes", not just Ironclads, which are just like any other Dreadnought but fitted with a load of extra armor plating and close-ranged weaponry.

Don't worry about me abandoning this fic. Updating is just slow because I'm completely addicted to World of Tanks, Fallen Earth and S.T.A.L.K.E.R.

Muchos Gracias for all the positive comments. It's good to know there are people dumb enough to enjoy my horrible writing. Just kidding of course. :P

Chapter 14

The Emperor's work is never finished, especially for His finest. This was made evident by a broadcast picked up as the Heritage of Zestra III emerged from the Warp after one of its short jumps.

"..nyone wh...ear us, w...nned dow...n this worl...ncoming att...ranid swar...alling all Imper...orces...uesting reinforcem...is anyo...ut there? We...ocated on Ly...epeat, loca... ynn VIII...yone assist?"

"And they've been repeating that since before we exited the Warp." Mebahiah commented as he thumbed the mute-rune on the comms control panel. "I don't think I need to overlay the repeated message for you to figure out how serious the matter is."

"Not exactly, no." Zeruel answered. "Try to contact the sender of that message and ask the full extent of the resistance. Alternate with broadcasting whatever information we have, see if we can rally more troops for this cause." He had mixed feelings about the matter. He was obviously worried about what they might face and whether they could handle it, because the Tyranids most definitely bring more friends than he would. On the other hand, he was excited to finally walk the battlefield again after spending weeks welding the ship back together and, while he did not dislike doing that, it was starting to get repetitive.

"Beware, however. This might just as well be a trap. We have walked into plenty of those before. I need not remind you of Zilvesta, I assume. Our enemies are getting smarter with every revolution Holy Terra makes." Sachiel added. She stared out the bridge's thick windows, into the void without speaking to anyone in specific.

"Good call, Chaplain. Meanwhile, I'll move use closer. Getting a stronger signal is at least as important as getting there in time to save anyone." Zeruel brings up the digital librarium and searches for the coordinates of Lynn VIII. "L.. L... Ly... Lynn, there." He mumbles to himself. "Throne..."

"What is it?" Sachiel's vox boomed through the bridge, her sensitive sensorium having picked up the near-silent curse. She knew it was rather pointless to ask and that Zeruel would most likely share the exact nature of the problem the next second or so, but she did so in a reflex.

"They're way outside the range of even the most powerful vox-transmitter that I know of. Either there's some really powerful archeotech to be found, or you might just be right about it being a trap. Records do state heavy Mechanicus presence on the planet for the last four centuries, but that alone says nothing, of course." His voice, Sachiel noted, carried preparation for disappointment. She could understand that.

"If we're going to walk into a trap, at least we do so knowingly. We must have backup plans ready with every step we take, keep as many options open as possible, rely only on ourselves. If we accept help, make sure it is a redundancy."

"You sound like you've already decided to accept the mission." Zeruel was slightly surprised. You sounded exactly like an Astartes just now, he thought.

"I was not made into a dreadnought to idly wait for the bad things to go away while people are dying. You know what they say about idleness."

"Yes, I do. Let's hope these engines can really be pushed as far as I think they can." Zeruel pushed levers forwards, pressed runes and turned dials with both hands and even with his large servo-arms, controlling them with the fine precision only the highest quality MIU implants and training can realise. He would flip tiny switches made for normal human fingers using the giant metal claws even as he walked over to the different consoles, carefully monitoring the engines as he tried to seek their limit.

Almost as fast as Zeruel had hoped, a warp portal opened in front of the Heritage. The jump lasted only a second, as it was never meant to make the trip at once. Even if it were, anywhere within vox-range, regardless of what pre-heresy technology or daemonic sorcery might be responsible for its magnitude, would be close enough to jump in no more than a second or five.

The ship exited two planets closer to the center of the Lynn system, their target being on the far end of it. The broadcast was different now, the distance traveled being equal to several light-minutes, that much Mebahiah could tell, but not its contents. As Zeruel feared, solar storms were interfering. He hoped the message had changed for the better, but had little faith in it. Minutes can make a world of difference when dealing with the 'nids, and generally time lost also meant lives lost.

"Prepare to jump once more."

The engines were already increasing their cyclic rate, producing a sound that rose in pitch as lights of various colors started burning on the control panels just like they had done the jump before. Reactor core temperature, cyclic rate, cooling duty cycle and various other indicators that made sense only to one trained by either the Adeptus Mechanicus or the Imperial Navy.

Apparently, the lights meant the disapproval of the vessel's Machine Spirit, as Sachiel overheard the techmarine whispering apologetic words to it, resulting in the opening of a second portal. another second and a half later the Angels' ship was positioned much more favorably for the vox-performance, but moving closers always comes with a risk, especially when potential traps are involved.

"Suspend broadcast upon re-materialization." Zeruel had told the Apothecary during the jump. Engines powered down and the ship's auspex array was switched to passive mode, but detecting little more than debris around Lynn VIII. For a moment, the waited and listened, but all they picked up was the broadcast from the Imperial Guard.

"This is trooper Vucced calling all Imperial forces traveling through the Lynn system. Our defenses are under heavy assault by Tyranids on Lynn VIII. We need immediate reinforcements or His world will be lost. I repeat, containment of Tyranids is failing, need immediate reinforcements."

"Given our current position, that message was sent 17 minutes ago. We can be on the ground in another 24." Zeruel paused and let out a long sigh. "That means 'immediate' is going to mean at least 41 minutes. That means the containment will have broken and the xenos have had a chance to spread over the surface which means the three of us will make little difference no matter how much firepower we can bring to bear."

The silence was suffocating, especially to Sachiel. "I'm sorry brothers, we are too la-"

Zeruel was interrupted by a strong auspex signal. A ship had exited the warp right in orbit of Lynn VIII. Of course, that signal too must have been delayed 17 minutes by virtue of sheer distance. Upon closer inspection, it was an Imperial ship. What it was doing alone Emperor only knew, but there was little other possibility than it having responded to the call for help.

"There's our chance!" Sachiel called out, spurring Zeruel into action. "Answer their call, brother, we're moving."

"Yes Chaplain!" The marines answered in unison, both realising a second later it was their indoctrinated obedience of authority and orders that just kicked in. It did not hurt that both of them had already drawn the same conclusion and deduced the appropriate course of action themselves. "Have we made sure to prepare our recruits for battle yet?" Mebahiah added after his moment of realization.

With the loud footsteps of her heavily armored chassis, Sachiel exited the bridge and made way to their two Astartes-to-be. "I'm on it." Half a minute later she called out to them through the door to their quarters and the reply came near instantly with the door opening a second later.

"Chaplain." Both boys bowed briefly before inquiring as to what was happening, what with all the Warp jumps in such rapid succession. "Is there something going on?"

"There is. You will gather your gear right now. This is not a drill. Be at my maintenance bay in 5. You will be briefed there."

Zeruel voxed her that he would be there to equip the most suitable load-out for the mission and he was by the time Sachiel arrived there too. This because the only habitable quarters for the scouts were right at the other side of the Destroyer warship.

As Ofwezto entered the bay Zeruel was half-way done removing Sachiel's left close combat weapon, lifting it off and to the side with the ceiling mounted crane. Forrustan followed a few seconds later, barely on time.

"Scouts, today shall be your first battle. In it you shall be tested, by it you shall be strengthened. By now you have received the training of a dozen Guardsmen. That means I expect you to fight like a dozen Guardsmen." The Chaplain paused for a moment as Zeruel attached a missile pod with a loud clang.

"Your hand will not be held as you try out this new thing called combat. You will be expected to operate as independently as necessary. Despite it being your first, you will fight this battle and every one thereafter as if it is your last. Your last chance to show Him on Terra what you are. Now, personally, I find that a little harsh." Now her right arm was removed, forcing her to pause again. It was timed perfectly, if confusing the two young men had been her goal. After all, who expects their Chaplain to be such a softy?

"Very harsh, even. But that is why Space Marines exist, and to become a Space Marine you must show how you can take such harsh conditions and forge a victory from them. That is what you are meant to do. What you are made to do." The look of confusion changed to determination while a fourth and final clang indicated the attachment of a weapon Sachiel had only trained with a select few times.

After looking at her Assault Cannon, spinning it a few revolutions to pull the first round into one of the chambers, Sachiel continued. "As for the mission, we are about to assist Guardsmen of the 26th, 43rd, 44th and 51st Lynnian regiment and their recent but potentially insufficient reinforcements of the 333rd and 412th Pollonian. At least, that is what our admittedly outdated vox-code data banks say. They are currently dug in around the Northern pole of the planet, where Tyranids have landed to invade. We have little reason to believe any of these regiments as at anything near full-strength, so their long lines are stretched thin and the xenos could break through soon. As an attacking force, they can choose where to focus their strike, but as far as we are concerned that works in our favor, provided they don't split up into too many groups."

This pause had been the first one that was accompanied by silence as Sachiel allowed the information to sink in. "As you can imagine we shall reinforce one such an area, and pray there are no more. You have... 8 minutes to function check your equipment and make other final preparations, after that you will be at the shuttle. Dismissed." In her mind, she sighed, still not feeling comfortable with the authority she had been given. Sure, the decision had been a logical one, but it was nonetheless an entirely new experience, and it was exactly that which she felt she lacked to make a worthy superior.

The six barrels of the Assault Cannon gleamed in the multi-colored light of the stained glass windows, but that was not the reason Sachiel was staring at it. Instead, she worried. A weapon like this comes with severe tactical limitations that diminish the theoretical firepower it can bring to bear, the most critical of which is the speed with which the cannon depletes its ammunition supplies. Another problem is that the barrels wear out at a rate proportional to which the supply of shells does.

Neither were the cause for her concern, however. The Guard could supply more ammunition. If there is one thing they have even more of than they do fighting men and women, it's ammunition, and Zeruel was packing a set of replacement barrels right that moment. She worried about friendly fire. The gun's rate of fire meant that even a slight slip up could mean the death of a dozen men, especially in the often chaotic close quarters style combat that the Tyranids prefer. She feared it even above the idea of a Carnifex ripping through her armor like a power sword through butter and ending what was left of her life right there and then.

The dreadnought stood next to the shuttle waiting for the recruits before she had even realised she started moving. She hoped she could avoid talking to anyone, in an attempt to not show the nervousness that would have made her once girly legs shake visibly for mere seconds before giving out under the pressure and resulting in her dropping to the floor, unable to move. In the midst of thanking the Emperor for her chassis' inability to do that, and praying to Him for the protection of His servants whom she would fight alongside of, Sachiel barely registered Mebahiah had started talking to her.

"Chaplain, we're ready to board."

"After you." She answered, deciding that if she had so speak anyway, she would keep it as brief as possible. One could arguably say she was in luck, as there was little time to talk when they set down on the half-iced over grassy fields of Lynn VIII's Northern polar region.

"By the Emperor" A trooper called out as the shuttle hatch opened. "we're saved! Ser-" the man trips over his own feet in a hurry but quickly picks himself up and continues his sprint back towards the hurriedly dug trenches.. "Sergeant! It's... the..."

"Speak up trooper Vgarr. Even if I had the patience, the 'nids sure don't."

"Sorry sergeant. Astartes have arrived. The Emperor's Angels of Death have come to res-"

"Angels of Doom, to be precise." Mebahiah deadpanned.

The trooper's eyes open wide as the apothecary stood right behind him, unnoticed in his excitement. The sergeant did the same as Sachiel's huge black figure emerged from the shuttle.

At that time, more and more guardsmen gathered around, whispering excitedly amongst each other. Not only them, though. While even the sergeants of the few squads that had gathered were amazed, the Commissar that noticed the commotion and was anything but amazed. Rather, his face looked like he was about to explode any minute, as would the chambered round of his bolt pistol if people lacked the intelligence to shut the hell up right this instant.

"I can hear everything you are whispering." Sachiel said aloud before anyone had even seen the impending commissarial doom. Her words had the same effect the bolt pistol would have had, minus the dead guardsman or two.

After a moment of silence, the air filled with the tangible terror of men who realised they made possibly one of the biggest mistakes in their lives, Sachiel decided to cut them some slack. "Just pulling your legs. My apologies, guardsmen. While I can indeed hear everything, it concerns me little, but would you rather have been silenced by that angry looking man behind you?"

The commissar, Klint his name was, now looked calmer and more calculating, but everyone who dared look him in the eyes say he was still watching every last soul present. At his side was now the platoon's Lieutenant, neatly shaven even in these times. He stepped forward and addressed his men.

"Boys, I understand you don't get to see a Marine every day, but get your asses back to your posts before the Commissar decides I fail at keeping my men under control and executes me."

That got him a few laughs that were barely enough to lighten the mood, and all of them marched back into the frozen trenches, saluting the Angels as they passed.

"Lieutenant, appraise us of the situation, if you please. Why is there no fighting going on?" Zeruel asked.

"Sir." He saluted before answering, his hands forming the Aquila over his chest. "We now believe the xenos who attacked this position were merely scouts for a larger force. When the attack came we all prepared to lay down our lives in His name, but as the battle progressed I noted our casualties were significantly lower than even our most conservative estimates and the big beasts we expected never showed up. In addition to that, when we beat about half of them, the others ran. I've never seen 'nids run away before. They're either getting smarter or more cowardly, and Klint might just shoot me for even suggesting the latter."

"The day I underestimate an enemy is the day I die." The commissar commented.

"Indeed it is, Commissar." The techmarine agreed. "We have noticed a similar trend amongst the Orks, of all races, but this is not the time for discussion. Let's pray the xenos found this place to be a weak spot, or our presence may just be wasted."

"Brother, I recommend we maintain optimal mobility regardless."

"Yes, Chaplain. Pray for the best but prepare for the worst. Lieutenant, what is available in the way of transport?"

The Commissar, meanwhile, went to oversee the men getting back into their positions before moving on to inspect other platoons. He must be a busy man, Sachiel thought.

"A Chimera for me and my command squad. That's basically it, sir. If I may be so rude to ask, could we ride with you when you call down the rest of your forces?"

"We..." Zeruel started, but had trouble finding the right words. "We're it. There is no rest. We have no vehicles either, which is why I asked."

"Pardon me, sir?"

"We were not given any for this mission." Sachiel added, a white lie to keep the destruction of the Chapter a secret. Sachiel had asked Zeruel why he felt dishonored by the event when she found him lamenting the fact during their first days on the Heritage. She chose to respect his answer. "We must do this by ourselves. No reinforcements. We believe we are being tested, but whether or not there is any truth to those beliefs is a pointless discussion at this point."

"That's a shame. Could really have used a few of those Land Raiders for the upcoming battle."

"You know about our sacred vehicles?"

"Yes sir. A wreck of one remains on this world of a battle long past. None of our tech-priests dared touch it, however. Afraid of defiling it, they say, but a small group of them chose to try and salvage a Predator tank found close to it instead, led by our regimental Magos Vyganturan."

"That's the 44th, if I remember correctly."

"Ah yes sir. Did I forget to introduce myself? Emperor forgive my rudeness."

"Then I pray for forgiveness for the same. I am Techmarine Zeruel of the Angels of Doom."

"Lieutenant Burkis Weber, 44th Lynnian Infantry Regiment." The two exchanged salutes again.

"Very well, Lt. Weber. Can you have someone bring me to the Magos? I'd like to speak to him."

"Going to attempt to salvage the Land Raider, sir?"

"Better than waiting, don't you say?"

"And here are the remains of the Land Raider." The red-robed Magos pointed to what at first sight seemed to be no more than a pile of corroded plasteel. Zeruel understood immediately why the Magos had no intention to touch it, and that was not just because this type of tank was outside her field of expertise.

That's another thing that surprised the techmarine. He has trouble recalling the last time he met a female magos on a battlefield. Usually they were more the studious, theoretical types, or interested in less dangerous jobs, mainly because the logical views of the Priesthood were quick to point out that males, being physically stronger, are better suited for the purpose. While of course that is limited only to little-augmented techpriests, by the time they have the mechanical body to compensate, they have already chosen their way to serve the Machine God.

Zeruel walked around the vehicle. Sure, it was complete, but many of the parts had rusted together, such as the track links and side hatches. The weapons might serve as a source of spare parts at best. He grabbed the handle of one of the hatches with a servo-arm and pulled. Magos Ilya Vyganturan cringed as the metal croaked and even more so when the hatch finally gave way with a loud metallic clang as the tension that held it in place was released in an instant.

"Are you out of your mind?" Ilya nearly screamed when she dared look again.

"What do you mean, Magos?"

"Do you always come in and wreck stuff wherever you go?" She pointed to the hatch.

"Im just going to take a look inside, calm down." Zeruel said as he climbed into the tank.

Ilya walked over to the vehicle, pushing aside one of her servitors in the process, and stuck her head through the hatch where Zeruel entered with the intention to lecture him about potential harm to the machine spirit, but he spoke first.

"Looks like the engine is slagged, but the cogitator banks should work fine still. Omnissiah be praised, those were the only thing I would have no way to fix."

"W-what?"

"Alright, let's take her apart. Could you instruct your servitors to start with the suspension? I'll go get my own from our shuttle and put them to work as well. For the engine I'm going to need a few more capable hands. Can you spare any enginseers?"

"Are you suggesting we strip, repair and rebuild it before the 'nids launch their attack?"

"No, I'm suggesting we try. There's little more we can do do right now and we need transport."

"We're already salvaging the Predator. The weapons are hardly useful anymore so it'll be a Rhino by the time we're done."

"Just give me anyone not working on that, then. No need in wasting this opportunity."

"I don't have anyone left." Vyganturan's answer was quite curt.

"Then what about you? Surely you know how to work an engine."

"Then who is going to oversee the enginseers?"

"I'm sure a Magos of your caliber has trained them enough to do just fine by themselves." Zeruel grinned under his helmet. He was hardly the most socially skilled, but even he knew how to make use of someone's pride to convince them. It was something he would not normally do, but since this concerns a high ranking techpriest, it was her own fault for taking physical augments before those that suppress such pointless emotion.

When he returned with his servitors, the tracks were laid down in parts and the engine was removed from the wreck, ready to be stripped and repaired. He started working on the hydraulics himself, draining the oil and disconnecting the cylinders that operated the front assault ramp and the hull and sponson mounted weapons.

Meanwhile the other Angels were on the lookout for an impending attack. For now, the coast seemed clear, unlike the skies. Thanks to the light pollution it was not the purest white, but the flakes slowly falling from the sky were definitely snow. A thin layer of it formed the sandbags of the trenches.

It melted whenever it landed on Mebahiah's powered armor, but he had to wipe it from his bolter every few minutes, as did the two scouts. They were somewhat under-dressed, but managed to hide the fact well. Slowly the snow would cool down Sachiel's armor, until it would stop melting and formed a thin layer of off-white on top of her as well. She spun her cannon so it would not freeze over, double checking the safety.

Sachiel walked alongside the trenches, straying no more than a kilometer in either direction of where they had landed. There was little to see, however. Just trenches. They were not deep or wide enough for her along most of their length, but even if they were she had a better view from the higher ground and she would actually be less vulnerable outside than in.

Mebahiah leaned his back against the rear trench wall, his arms folded and seeming bored or just waiting, but in reality he was silently praying and preparing himself mentally even if he hardly looked the part. He had instructed Ofwezto and Forrustan to do the same. They decided to do so in the shuttle, which, while the ramp was down, still sheltered them from the cold wind. In battle their physical activity would keep them warm enough, but in times of rest it was better not to tempt fate, regardless of their heightened resistance as Astartes-to-be.

"Sir." A guardsman woke Mebahiah out of his trance-like state of prayer. It took him a second to respond as a result.

"What is it?"

"It's our turn for a break. We uh.. wondered if you'd like to join us for some recaf. It's not as good as what the officers get, but it's warm and there's plenty of it."

"Sure, why not." The apothecary answered after a second of contemplating the offer.

The guardsman, trooper Ellias, stuck up his thumbs to his squad mates to indicate success. "I shall go and invite your eh... colleagues... too."

"No."

"Excuse me, sir?"

"It's fine if you bring them some recaf, but do not otherwise disturb them during their preparation. This will be their first battle. The Chaplain does not require any sustenance, but may enjoy the company. I shall ask him myself." After a pause he continued. "The Chaplain politely declines your offer, but said he would consider it an honor to do so with those who fought alongside him after the xenos have been defeated."

"A good motivator, your Chaplain."

"That's why he is the Chaplain."

The other men from the squad already sat around a simple fire, a tripod holding a pot with recaf over it. Ellias sat down next to one of his buddies, who made room for him and pulled out his canteen to scoop the hot drink out of the pot. Bigger than his metal mug, he considered it ideal for the Space Marine, besides the fact little else was available. After passing it along he filled his mug with the brew and warmed his hands with it, as it was still too hot to drink.

It was a strange experience for Mebahiah. It was unusual to make contact of this nature with allied forces, especially with simple guardsmen. It was thanks to Sachiel that they established such relatively informal contact, and Mebahiah was not yet sure whether he liked it, but it could be worse, he guessed.

The Chaplain was always the friendly type, unusual in its own right. Not that Chaplains tended to be anti-social, on the contrary, but they did maintain a professional distance at all times. It had taken him a good long while to get used to that, but rather than for honor and glory as he was taught, he found he might just fight for his brothers as well, and not just because it's the right thing to do. He found the word brother to mean more in this Chapter than the one he came from.

In retrospect, comrade would have been a better term for his old battle-brothers, while his new ones felt more like family. It felt pleasant and accepting, but he wondered worriedly if Space Marines could really function that way when their numbers would start to grow. It would probably start to hold them back at some point, hesitant to let a brother die even when the costs of saving him would be higher than his life. Would that really be alright? An acceptable price to pay? For now though, such long-term worries mattered little, and Mebahiah was more concerned with what common ground he and the guardsmen had to converse about.

Ofwezto had no such problems. "How many do you think you'll kill? I bet there's gonna be plenty to just keep shooting."

Forrustan shrugged. "Dunno."

"What, you not excited?"

"Are you?"

"Of course. We get to prove our skills, proudly do battle for the glory of the Chapter and free recaf." The youngster raised his cup to reinforce his point. "You don't like recaf?"

"It's not about whether I like it or not."

"Then what? Tell me, bro."

"It's a job, plain and simple. I go out there, I earn my keep, I return. What's there to like about these thrice-damned creatures? Our hatred is all they deserve."

"Whoa there, bro. That's some class A negative waves right there. You got a grudge against these guys or something? Haven't even seen them before."

"Xenos are xenos. If one kind can... forget about it." Forrustan looks away, scowling.

"I see, it happened to you too. I guess most of us lost one person or another." Ofwezto sat down next to his only squad mate. "For what it's worth, I don't think they would've wanted you to become like this."

"Do I look like I don't know that! We're Astartes now. We gave up the privilege of a good life and I think that's a small price to pay."

"Hey bro, take it easy. I'm on your side, alright? Listen, it's good to hate the xenos and all, but that's something for on the battlefield."

"Where does it look we are? Just leave me alone already if you don't have anything mission-related to say."

Ofwezto was about to retort, but decided against it. It wasn't his business anyway, as much as he hated to admit it. He figured his breath was better spent reciting prayers and litanies to his Godwyn-pattern holy bolter.

So here I decided to do a little more character development for Mebahiah and the recruits. There's a bit more for our favorite apothecary because he's been around longer and thus more deserving of it. But with that delay I also wanted to illustrate he is a bit slow to adapt, and a bit unsure about things that change. He doesn't really know what to do with these guardsmen either, but hey, Chaplain's unspoken orders, right? Who is he to question 'his' decisions?

I have a rough idea of how I want the battle against the 'nids to go, but it's the details that take the time. The conversations, thoughts, descriptions, etc. I'm not going to give anything away just yet, just be patient. :3