Warp Cutters' assault on the Orkz and Col.Collin's excerpt

From 1d4chan





In the hallowed darkness aboard the Battle Barge, nearly three hundred Space Marines had gathered in the spacious place on the Reclusiam.

Testament to their legendary disciple, they stood still as the statues that had borne vigil over the hall in the long decades the ship brought war to the galaxy's routes and ways. An outsider bearing witness to the gathering would have been amazed at the sight, a great company of the finest warriors standing at respectful attention in the most sacred area of the ship, surrounded by proof of their glory; rusted banners topped with crude sigils of axes and skulls lining the walls while sleek weapons of exotic and efficient design lay encased behind stasis fields. All those and a thousand more relics and items of worth, an incalculable fortune in honor and glory.

However, a discerning observer might have detected certain tells. Here, a battle brother's fingers twitched. There, another brother blew out a rattling breath through his vox grille. All over the company, there were signs of impatience. A fraternity born and bred for righteous and merciless action were champing at the bit, eager to wreak slaughter the xenos invaders on the planet below with shrieking chainblade and roaring bolter, to decorate the Reclusiam with even more proof of their blessed might.

But that had to wait. They would not be gathered here, standing amidst the relics and trophies while Imperial souls bled and died, fighting to keep the enemy at bay for just one second longer.

The massive double doors opened with an echoing creak and each marine stiffened reflexively. The chamber had begun to tingle, a slow-building charge in the air like pressure before a storm.

Slowly, the new arrivals, eight in total, made their way to the Reclusiam's raised dais, their pace ritually slow, almost as if their pronouncement bore the weight of the galaxy. Of all the Astartes aboard the vessel, none could have been more important than these.

Marching in a loose arrowhead formation, five of them were clad in Terminator plate of pearl black hue, the left pauldron and gauntlets on each trimmed and painted in gold. The left side of their chest plates and arms painted in dark purple. One clutched the company's standard, a pole decoratively topped by an aquila upon which hung a banner depicting a raven with crossed skull-and-bones at its heart. Surrounding this were sigils that symbolizing meritorious actions, four symbols upon each side.

Ahead of these giants, striding abreast of each other, were the company's leaders. To the left was a figure in deep blue power armour, seeming slight amidst the other Astartes. He was wrapped in a toga of ancient sail cloth, the armor underneath was graven with various prayers and scripts, as was the power staff in his grasp. What was striking in him was the ornament mask made out of wood and the skull of a large reptilian-like animal that was affixed to the helmet he was wearing. It had many tribal markings along with Imperial symbols.

The figure at the far right was a sight out of a nightmare. Underneath his sail cloth robes, his ebon armor was carved and painted into the a grimly accurate likeness of a skeleton, hard red light glaring out from the sockets underneath the hood. The crozius arcanum in his armored paw was shaped incongruously like an anchor, the points jutting out from the skull that housed the generator.

At the head, marched the captain. His honour-decked Terminator armor showed signs of constant loving care, the lustre of the pearl brilliant while the gold paint shone. The helm was tucked under an arm and the captain's battleworn face was set in a granite scowl, his great red beard hanging down in plaits. This was Henrik Morganius called the Bloody Beard, Captain of the Black Locks Warp Cutters Company and a lauded hero of the Haiyani Spinworlds campaign. And his news was indeed important enough to pause in the prosecution of a counter invasion.

The group finally stood before the assemblage, their backs to a great stained-glass representation of Chapter Master Ahab Blackbeard standing triumphant over a pile of Dark Eldar reavers. His eyes, one sea green and the other augmentin red, scanned each battle battle brother, almost as if he was reading their intentions and desires.

"My brothers," When he spoke, his voice had the low timbre of a building tidal wave. "It is as Epistolary Mondego has predicted." Under his beard, the captain grinned, showing teeth that were half adamantine replacements. The company broke out in low conversation, unable to hide their excitement. The energy in the air was now crackling.

"It is there. The Halcyon Disk Piece is upon this world."

This time, the company could not stop itself from breaking out in low conversation. The Halcyon Disk Piece, from what Epistolary Mondego and the Librarium could ascertain, was but one part of a mythical map that would lead them to the legendary Prize, the dearest hope of their Chapter. To say the least, such a find would lead them closer to the kind of glory their brethren, even their cousin Astartes, could only dream about.

The Sergeants (called Lot Leaders) shouted down the members of their squads into silence before Morganius could continue. The brute grin upon the captain's face widened. This was exactly what he wanted.

"Thanks to the interceptions we've made upon systemfall, the greenskins have no idea that we're even up here," Morganius continued with a low and dirty chuckle that was echoed. "Once we drop, it won't even be hilarious."

His gaze left them, affixing itself to some far away, far beyond the world of bleak hope and constant bloodshed, somewhere only his thoughts could reach and be welcomed. "Just think of it," he said, his tone as wistful as a posthuman voice could allow.

There was a short meaningful silence as each battle brother found themselves dreaming of the honor they would hope to win. And for the glorious rebirth of the Sons of the Calico Stars.

One couldn't tell where and when it began. Perhaps a brother stirred by the visions. Perhaps even the Emperor Himself willing his sons onward. For whatever reason, the brethren began to sing.

Filed out of the Reclusiam, the song began to pick up in volume and emotion. Such was honesty of the tune that it echoed throughout the battle barge, every living throat aboard bawling out the words that have been sung since the first Black Locks set sail amidst the stars.

Even as they boarded their drop pods, even as the Thunderhawks left the bays, even as the bridge crew readied the vessel's mighty orbital bombardment batteries, the refrain carried far, far and away...

"To the Galaxy's End! And to treasure untold! Beyond the farthest stars we go! There is no fear we shall know! For The Emperor, YO HO HO!"

The doom of the greenskins came swiftly that day.

"I was at the front that day, commanding the PDF. Well, what was left of us, at any rate. I remember thinking how it was like spitting at a wave, the fuqqin orks were so fuqqin many. A damned sea of them. Afterwards, Seg-Com said there were less of them that we originally thought, not even a WAAAGH, but we didn't know that. We were young and stupid then.

They'd gotten closer and my boys were just about ready to shit themselves. Barely threw out the 'fix bayonets' when... They came. The Astartes. Raining from the Throne-damned sky. The Angels of Death, decked out in black and gold. Then I was thinking, 'Wow. Just wow'.

I'm not gonna tell you how well they did and how they turned the tide. There ain't words for it, first time you see it for yourself. They saved us. They damn saved us.

No, we didn't get to chat with them. 'Least I didn't. Got too busy reforming the survivors. But from what I heard, the governor was ready to throw 'em a big to-do, parades and all that. But they said no. They did get something for their troubles. And from what I heard, they were real fuqqin happy." - An Excerpt from "The Blue and The Gold", Memoirs of Col. Collin Antic, 1st Titiana PDF