Nolan distributed ration packs from the storage interface while the blizzard continued outside.
The three of them ate in the shelter of the ice formation without ceremony. When they were done, Nolan had assembled a working outline of what came next, and the outline had a simple shape: the Chaos presence on Aurelia Prime needed to be eliminated, the surviving Blood Ravens needed to be found and consolidated, and the question of the internal leak needed to be handled with the care that kind of accusation required.
For the second and third items, Nolan would need to be the one to make the final determinations. Identifying corruption was not something that could be delegated easily, and on a planet where the enemy apparently had access to Blood Ravens communications, the margin for error was small.
He extracted a storm bolter and a vibranium power sword from the storage interface and handed them across: one set to Orion, one to Cyrus. Orion accepted his with a brief, specific look at the materials that said he was cataloguing the alloy composition for later reference and choosing not to ask about it right now. Cyrus checked the storm bolter's charge and the sword's edge and secured them without comment.
They stepped out of the shelter and into the wind.
Cyrus raised a hand twenty minutes into the march.
The signal he was hearing on the Blood Ravens' command channel was fragmented, repeating at irregular intervals, carrying the distress code pattern that any Blood Ravens vanguard team would use to call for extraction. He had been monitoring it for several minutes before he was certain enough to report it. The source was not far.
Nolan indicated they should proceed.
The station they reached was abandoned in the same way the mining settlement had been: not evacuated, but simply left when whatever had been operating here was no longer being operated. The buildings were intact in their bones while everything that had been organic about their function had departed or been covered by decades of accumulation. In the alleys between the structures, Bloodletters had gathered in numbers sufficient to constitute a tactical problem.
Nolan entered from the front.
The warscythe came out first, the blade clearing the initial contact point in one pass, and Forgebreaker followed on the backswing, the discharge from the thunder head finding the clusters of Bloodletters behind the initial group and doing the kind of work that thunder hammers do when the operator is hitting things with full intention. The Bloodletters who remained standing from the first three seconds of contact reorganized toward him and found that reorganizing toward him was not an improvement.
Orion came in from the left flank.
The difference that a functional Librarian at full capacity makes in a psychic combat sequence is the difference between a candle and a light fixture. The psychic lightning Orion produced was sustained and aimed and drew on reserves that had fully recovered, the strikes falling precisely in the patterns that would maintain the pressure on the Bloodletters without overlapping with Nolan's movement. Psychic flame followed where lightning did not reach, the two working in alternating sequence across the station ground.
Cyrus was somewhere above them.
He had found a position and taken it before Nolan and Orion reached the station perimeter, because that was what Cyrus did. The sniper shots that crossed the battlefield came from angles that suggested he had already mapped the station's geometry and identified the coverage gaps. Each shot found a Bloodletter that the other two were not currently addressing, and each shot was placed where a shot would end the engagement with that specific Bloodletter rather than simply damage it. The precision was the kind that looks effortless because all the effort was spent before the shooting started.
The last Bloodletter went down to Forgebreaker.
The station was quiet except for the wind.
Orion moved through the ruins methodically, covering the ground in overlapping passes, and found the Techmarine near the settlement's center. He was lying where he had been thrown, the scarred ceramite of his power armor visible under a partial covering of snow, positioned in a way that suggested he had not arranged himself there. The life-sign telemetry from his armor's transponder, when Orion connected his own armor's scanner to it, returned a reading that was not death: it was suspended animation, the deep metabolic suppression that Astartes physiology can enter as a final resource when the alternative is dying immediately.
Nolan brought a medical compound over.
Getting it past the sealed lips required a small amount of creative application of the Techmarine's armor's emergency medical port, but the compound found its way in, and within thirty seconds the Techmarine's respiratory pattern changed and his eyes opened.
The first thing he said was not an identification of himself or a report or a request for status.
"Withdraw," he said. "All of you, withdraw now. The distress signal on the chapter channel is not from our people. The enemy is using it."
He held the focus in his eyes through what was obviously significant effort.
"They know the frequencies. They know the distress codes. Someone gave them those things. Whatever team that signal brought in before we arrived, they walked into a prepared position."
Orion had already glanced at Nolan by the time Martellus finished the sentence.
Orion spoke to the Techmarine in the measured tone of someone delivering news that will require processing: they were not in immediate danger; the station was clear; there was a Primarch present. Martellus absorbed the last item and went to one knee with the specific quality of someone who has extensive experience with protocol and is applying it despite everything else that is currently happening to them.
Nolan put a hand under the Techmarine's arm and lifted.
"Martellus," he said. "I need the damage in my power armor assessed and addressed as much as possible. Materials you haven't encountered before. The question is whether you can work with them."
The Techmarine looked at the vibranium power armor for a moment with the evaluating attention of his vocation.
"Show me what needs doing," he said.
The building they selected was two walls and a partial roof, which was sufficient for wind deflection and offered clear sightlines in two directions and a defensible entry point. Cyrus settled the sightlines question by taking up a position himself, which resolved it permanently.
Martellus removed the vibranium power armor from Nolan with the servo-arm that was part of his own armor's extended system, the mechanical appendage working through the suit's attachment points with practiced precision. When the suit was laid out, the Techmarine spent several minutes simply examining it: passing his gauntleted hands across the plating, accessing the internal cavity through the back panel, running diagnostics through his armor's interface on whatever systems still accepted external query.
The sounds of quiet professional amazement punctuated the examination at intervals.
"I don't recognize the base alloy," he said eventually, without looking up. "Or the electro-fiber configuration. Or this." He indicated a component that had been part of the wing drive mechanism before the Ark of Omen's explosion had interrupted its function. "But the underlying principles are sound and I can work with the damage."
He began working.
Nolan sat with his back against the remaining wall, sharing a second round of ration packs with Orion and Cyrus while the armor repair progressed. After a short while he glanced at Cyrus, who was eating with the methodical attention of someone who has learned not to waste food when it is available.
"A question," Nolan said.
Cyrus waited.
"You're a Scout Sergeant. Your years of service and everything I've seen of your capability suggest you've been offered advancement past that rank more than once. Why scout armor?"
Cyrus was quiet for a moment. Not evasively quiet: considering-the-phrasing quiet.
"I served in the Deathwatch for a period," he said finally. "Different methods. Different doctrines. I came back to the Blood Ravens with conclusions that the Chapter's existing tactical culture doesn't accommodate." He paused. "There are two ways to change a Chapter's doctrine. One is to achieve a rank high enough to issue directives. The other is to train every new Astartes who comes through the 10th Company."
He took another bite.
"Promotion takes me out of the 10th Company and into a command role where I would spend my time managing existing formations that already do things the way they do them. Staying as Scout Sergeant means every recruit who completes their surgery learns from me. In a few centuries, every active Blood Raven in the Chapter will have passed through my hands."
A brief pause.
"I don't need the Chapter Master to approve my doctrine. I just need to outlast the generation that disagrees with it."
Orion, who had clearly heard this argument before, said nothing, which communicated something.
Martellus looked up briefly from the armor's interior, registered the conversation, and looked back down.
Outside, the blizzard continued.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Writing takes time, coffee, and a lot of love.If you'd like to support my work, join me at [email protected]/GoldenGaruda
You'll get early access to over 50 chapters, selection on new series, and the satisfaction of knowing your support directly fuels more stories.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~