Darren Tredfeld, commander of the Adeptus Arbites Precinct on the capital city of Zenigrad, Vedan IV, stared dumbstruck at his secretary, who had burst in the door pale-faced and sweating. Tredfeld dropped his pen in the middle of signing a requisition form for a replacement armored transport. His own face turned as white as his secretary’s, and for a moment, he was completely lost for words.
A building at the northeastern edge of the city had been taken over by heretics, a very minor rebellion. In most situations, the Arbites would simply have the building shelled into rubble, and have a squad rifle through the rubble and execute any survivors. However, the building was a shrine, St. Apocles, containing more than one major Imperial relic; commander Tredfeld had already sent three parties of veteran Arbites, in an attempt to retrieve them. They had all ended Vox contact within ten minutes of entering the building, and were not heard from again. Darren had received a memo that an Ultramarines transport would be rendezvousing with other elements of its fleet in orbit above Vedan IV, and he had send a request for aide to the transport, knowing that even a handful of the Space Marines onboard would be able to end the situation in a matter of days, instead of the long siege on the building that Tredfeld was faced with; he did not like the idea of losing any more of his men in the effort. It was mostly a shot in the dark, he knew that the Adeptus Astartes never meddled with local matters, he had only really sent the request as a formality.
But ‘he’ was here.
Who, he wondered. Their commander? Some sort of representative?
“Er, send him in, quickly!” The secretary wheeled around, the door not quite shut behind him. Darren looked around himself, sat straighter in his chair, sweeping the forgotten requisition form into a drawer as well as a few other papers, revealing an Aquila burnt into the table whose wingtips stretched from one end of the wooden desk to the other. Pulling his sleeves taut in an attempt to smooth wrinkles, he heard heavy footsteps coming towards the door and took in a deep breath as he watched it open.
The Astartes was not out of place in the tall archways and ceilings of the armored Arbites courthouse, but seeing the god-like warrior next to his secretary -fully 3 feet shorter than the armored soldier- gave Darren perspective. The commander was momentarily speechless as the gargantuan Space Marine approached his desk; Darren very much expected to see cracks in the stone floor where the soldier had stepped. The commander stood as tall as he could; at 6’4”, he dwarfed most of his staff, but had to crane his head back to look into the gleaming, armored eyes of the giant.
“I can’t say I actually expected that the Ultramarines would send any aide. Are your comrades waiting downstairs, or…?”
“I am alone.” Darren pondered that a moment.
“I see. Did your superiors brief you on the situation here?”
“Yes.” The Arbites commander was slightly taken aback by the short responses by the Marine; it made his own speech feel rather awkward.
“Well then. I’ll see to it personally that you are escorted to the site immediately, we would like this matter cleared up within the week.”
“The Emperors Light and her fleet leave in seven hours. I will be done by then.”
Darren was incredulous at this, but managed to contain this.
“I’d better let you be on your way, then.” He bent downwards slightly and pressed a button under the edge of the table, activating a comlink to his secretary.
“Dobbs, arrange for an armored transport in front of the main entrance to bring our guest to the site.”
“Yes sir, immediately.”
Commander Tredfeld looked up at the Marine and smiled. “Looks like you’re on a tight schedule, you’d best make your way downstairs to the transport.
The Space Marine raised both of his hands –the commander flinched involuntarily- and formed the sign of the Aquila across his chest, over the actual Aquila that was imprinted onto his armor.
“The Emperor protects.”
The Space Marine wheeled and strode from the room, and Darren sat heavily behind his desk once more, wiping sweat from his brow and forehead. Hell, he’s on our side, and he scares me shitless. Those heretics are well and truly screwed, poor bastards.
+ + +
Quinn Carnn was a rather aged man, who frequently said that he'd spent about a third of his life behind the controls of an APC. The 56-year-old had spent 32 of those years as a driver, and knew the inside of a Rhino armored transport better than most men knew their wives.
This was one of the many reasons he was annoyed about having been recommissioned to a Chimera. His regular transport, a Rhino lovingly dubbed “Fire Magnet,” had been tagged by a rocket earlier this week, bringing Arbites to St. Apocles. The missile had blown one of the side hatches wide open, killing most of the Arbites outright, and blasting the tread to hell and gone. The old warhorse was totaled; Quinn had sent a request for a new Rhino to the precinct commander, but he had no idea when it would find its way to the man's desk. Perhaps it already had, and had passed from that desk to a disposal unit, or to a secretary, or maybe it actually had been requisitioned, but wherever that piece of paper was in the bureaucracy, Quinn was still stuck with the Chimera for now.
When he heard that he was to take a Space Marine to the shrine, he particularly lamented the loss of his Rhino; Chimeras really weren't built to house the massive warriors, where a Rhino could carry nearly a dozen of them. Though he'd driven a Rhino for years and years, he'd never actually seen any of their intended occupants, the Space Marines, the giant Astartes for which the transport was designed. The warrior was massive enough to show up on the tactical readout on the Chimera's controls, the readout which was supposed to identify nearby vehicles. Quinn got a glimpse of the Astartes in his deep blue armor, trimmed in gold, but only a glimpse; in a moment, the entire Chimera leaned slightly when the Space Marine stepped into the back of it.
Once he heard the rear hatch sealing shut, pneumatic clamps locking it into place, Quinn started the engine of the Chimera, the difference in engine tone grating against his ears as he swung it into the abandoned streets. It handles as though I'm carrying a full squad, or a Cyclops, he thought in mild awe, realizing that the Space Marine probably did weigh about as much as a Cyclops remote detonation vehicle.
Evidence of the fighting was visible long before St. Apocles was visible. Barricades were across the streets to keep civilians away from the danger area, which occupied well over a dozen city blocks around the shrine. The Chimera was waved through by an Arbites, four guardsmen hastily removing a barricade from the path of Quinn's vehicle. He was able to take the vehicle about two blocks closer, before running into a line of rubble.
The buildings adjacent to St. Apocles shrine had been leveled by placed charges, to prevent the escape of heretics; these buildings contained no holy artifacts, so they were, by comparison, expendable. Replaceable. It prevented the heretics from taking over nearby buildings, effectively isolating them. If they had taken any other building but a shrine, it would have met the same fate: an explosive destruction, along with all of its inhabitants.
As Quinn pulled the APC to a stop and dropped the rear hatch, he wondered what exactly they were going to do with him. They weren't going to send him in alone... Were they? He shrugged such thoughts from his mind as the Astartes exited the tank, and the aging man turned it around, heading back to the Precinct. 's no business of mine, and that's the truth.
+ + +
The shrine was pockmarked with thousands upon thousands of holes, scored by both bullets and lasers over the course of the last several days, the building hardly damaged structurally by the fire, but losing most, if not all of its grandeur. Every one of a hundred stained-glass windows were shattered, dozens of intricate carvings were pockmarked with bullet holes, the once-majestic gates were battered and barricaded. Captain James Hedran had been subjected to this sight for the last 48 hours, as his platoon of the Planetary Defense force had been deployed around St. Apocles. He had ordered the shelling of the surrounding buildings, and had some five hundred men surrounding the building, heavy weapons trained on every window, door, and hole.
Captain Hedran had seen three separate teams of the Arbites enter the shrine, and not come out, let alone the critical relics. He was losing confidence that they would be able to retrieve the relics intact, and would have to shell the shrine as well, an act that might well make him a target for the Inquisition's gaze, something he wanted to avoid at all costs. Including his own men, if it came to that.
For the most part, the officer had been left out of the plans of the Adeptus Arbites, something he resented greatly, since they'd ordered him and his men to this position. His own men hadn't been ordered in yet, the Arbites, staying very separate as always, had send in its own teams, unsuccessfully. James worried that his men would be sent in next, but relaxed slightly when he saw a fourth Arbites transport reach the command center. Instead of a dozen troopers with shotguns and carapace, however, a towering Adeptus Astartes stepped from it, holding a gun, a bolter with a barrel as big around as James's fist. The commander had seen enough heavy duty weapons in his time serving in the PDF, but the bolter the Astartes carried... Hedran hadn't seen anything approaching its size that wasn't carried by two men and mounted on a tripod.
He glanced to the sides, at his aides bustling about, one sitting at a radio, another rolling maps and old blueprints up, a pair of grunts dragging an ammo crate in between them... And a PDF guardsmen, half-concealed behind a section of crumbled wall, smoking one of the cheap cigarettes that the men always seemed to get their hands on.
“You there!” Captain Hedran used his most intimidating voice, and watched as the guardsmen jolted, the cigarette flying from his lips as he stared, wide-eyed at his superior.
“Sir!”
“The Arbites have sent us something new. Go down and show him to the command center.” James pointed at the Astartes standing outside, and watched as the guardsman's knees nearly buckled, his face turning even paler.
“Y-... Yes sir!”
Hedran watched the recruit go out into the street, before nodding to the aide who was sorting through blueprints, rolling them out on a metal folding table. The command center was in the last corner standing of one of the shelled perimeter buildings, both offering protection and a slightly closer position to the looming St. Apocles shrine. Ammunition was stored here, all the spare equipment that was needed for the dozens of heavy weapons groups that were positioned around the temple, along with the voxcaster equipment to keep track of them all. A tactical map detailing the positions of his men had been pinned onto one wall, and the blueprints that were now rolled out onto the table were of the shrine itself.
He heard the heavy footsteps approach the doorway, and stood straight, furrowing his officers cap onto his head a little tighter, taking a deep breath to steel himself. Still only a soldier like yourself. Just give him the information, the objective details, and send him on his way. James turned on his heel to face the Astartes, or rather, the Astartes's midsection. He fought reflexes that screamed for him to take several long steps backwards, and craned his head backwards until he could see the helmet of the massive warrior. Just give him the information. The words bounced around his head for a moment.
“Right.” He wheeled again, draping a finger onto the blueprints before him.
“This is the main entrance. They have it barricaded, of course, but my men will burn it down with fire from lascannons positioned well behind you, and fire a couple rockets inside to clear any immediate defenders.” He moved his hand to a second chart, detailing the second and third levels.
“There are two major relics that must be recovered. The tomb of St. Apocle is on the second floor, in the central chamber. The second relic is his sword, located in exactly the same spot, one floor higher.”
He turned again to the Marine. “Get those out, and get out. Don't worry about killing them all, we have the entire plaza surrounded, and as soon as you are a reasonable distance away, the building will be shelled to the ground. The heretics and the taint they will have caused will be burnt together.”
Captain Hedran waited a moment, wondering what the Astartes's voice was like, but he didn't respond, merely nodding and turning back to the door, mechanically drawing the bolt back on his massive firearm, before accelerating into a run, a wide arc around the command center, making an impressive speed towards the gates of the shrine. The PDF officer could hear his aide giving orders into the vox, directing the fire of the teams outside.
“Fire teams four, five, eight, and nine, fire into the gate, bring it down.”
Four brilliant beams screamed through the air, striking the barricaded doors on their hinges, leaving smoking holes. A second volley, a third, and the gate still stood.
“But... They fell last time! They must have-” Before the words were all the way out of the commanders mouth, he saw the Astartes seem to fly up to the gate, he was moving so fast. Striking it, full on, with a sound he could hear clearly, even so far back as he was. To his amazement, the gate buckled to the power of the ceramite-clad superhuman. An echo, and silence. James leaned backwards against the tactical map, pulling his cap off and run his fingers through his hair, calming his nerves somewhat. Now to wait, and see if the Astartes lives up to the legends.
+ + +
Jophis Hedric winced slightly as he nicked himself on the curved blade he was using to strip the flesh off of the decapitated head of one of the citizens unfortunate enough to have been in St. Apocles when it was taken over. The 19-year-old cultist had grown bored with the life of a city boy, probably doomed to end up as a Guardsman to die on some damned rock he wouldn't be able to pronounce, and decided that Khorne was the way to go instead. There were nearly a hundred other cultists in the building, and they were working on one of two things: fortifying it, or making offerings to the Blood God. Jophis was one of the youngest there, and had gotten frustratingly little pleasure out of cutting down civilians. More senior heretics had set traps for the Arbites that had invaded the premises more than once; Jophis yearned to take them on in actual combat, and that's what landed him with the duty of stripping down the skulls of the dead.
They had decided to put their main area of worship into the central room on the third story, and it was starting to look very satisfyingly as though it could have been on a Chaos world, from all appearances. Jophis and more than a dozen others had spent the last two days painting the walls with blood, making a throne in the center of the room with stones pried from the walls, and stacking bloody skulls around it. It was starting to become a mighty pile, with several hundred of them. The Chaosphere had been burnt onto each of the four walls, about two meters in diameter each, a skull at each of their 8 points.
Jophis slowly stood, having stripped the skin and flesh from the head, not bothering to do so with the jaw, which he gripped in one blood-covered hand and ripped from the skull, tossing it aside. Walking towards the throne in the center of the room, he shook the skull up and down vigorously until the brain popped from its casing, hitting the floor with a splattering sound. He set the skull gently at the top, bowing and muttering the phrases he had been taught by one of the elder cultists.
Almost the instant he had finished the words, he heard a series of sharp cracks, followed by a slam that didn't quite sound like an explosion, but might have been. More of those damned corpse-loving enforcers. Jophis picked up another head from a pile where another cultist was busily sawing heads from their bodies, and started slicing away, nursing his cut finger occasionally. He heard the different traps go off, smiling as he remembered seeing the results of each on previous raids. There's the block-dropper... There's the head-snatcher... Now that's odd, doesn't it normally...? Jophis looked up from his bloody work, tilting his head. Autoguns? The cultists had always stayed out of the way and let the traps deal with intruders, but Jophis could hear small arms fire... And something much bigger. What the frag is that, a bloody grenade launcher?! He stood up, the head falling from his hands as he plucked his own autogun from the wall, seeing a dozen other cultists around the room exchange confused glances and doing the same.
He could hear panicked shouts from outside the room, now. One of the other heretics, bearing a shotgun and a cocky grin, streaked towards the door nearest the noises, and was about to pull it open when it was struck with a resounding bang, the hinges shrieking and failing, the massive metal door crushing the heretic, tumbling on end before falling against the throne and skulls, smashing them both. Jophis gaped, seeing a god-like figure ten feet tall step into the room, a stone sarcophagus atop one massive shoulder, a bolter held in his other hand. The other heretics were all shouting, but Jophis could barely hear it, it felt like. It was a Space Marine. A superhuman, an armored giant. A tank of flesh and bone. It was taking fire from at least two dozen heretics, with shotguns, autoguns, even lasguns, and didn't seem to even notice. The bolter roared, and a cultist to Jophis's left no longer had a torso, finally jolting him to his senses. He bolted, his autogun clattering to the floor, running to the opposite door as he heard the death-cry of a half-dozen of his comrades, many of whom were fleeing as Jophis was. As he got through the door, he spared a glance behind him, and saw the Marine kicking rubble from the center of the room, sweeping aside half a ton of rock and steel with one arm, reaching for something underneath it all, but Jophis was gone before he could see what.
The cultist was one among more than a dozen fleeing down the hallways, jostling back and forth against the walls to get distance between them and the servant of the False Emperor. Jophis heard a door burst open somewhere behind him, but it was more distant now. He was still running, dodging through side corridors, through empty rooms, finally stopping in a room with, ironically enough, a life-size stone statue of an all-too-familiar looking Astartes. Breathing in short, gasping breaths, he tried to listen to what was going on elsewhere in the building. The other cultists had taken different routes, and he was alone except for a pair of corpses, light shining on them from a shattered window. Gods, I can hear his footsteps... He shivered, sliding to a fetal position with his back against the wall, shivering uncontrollably, wincing every time the bolter fired, the sound muffled somewhat by the walls and spaces between him and it. Jophis shook his head violently, trying to get a hold of his senses, listening. It's on the floor below, he realized, a small glimmer of hope welling up inside him.
He worked up the courage to stand again, quavery on his feet. If the Astartes was downstairs, it was probably on its way out of the building, having accomplished whatever its goal was. The footsteps were fading, and the roar of the bolter was more distant now. He could hear nothing of his fellow cultists. Are they all dead? Am I the only one left? He paled at the thought. He wasn't going back. Wasn't going to see the bodies. Jophis eyed the ones on the floor in front of him, and the window. If the Space Marine had completed whatever goal it had set out to achieve, then there was nothing separating the temple to the corpse Emperor from the rubble surrounding it.
As if to confirm his fears, there was a distant thunder, a fast-approaching shriek, and a blast on the roof, two floors above, followed by another, and another. Jophis was thrown from his feet as a shell struck the wall of the building not far away, he could hear stone crumbling. He had to get out. He crawled forward, lifting one of the corpses from the floor in front of him, forcing himself to his feet, and sprinted to the window, leaping out of his, clutching the dead man tightly to his chest. Three stories, and down to the ground with half a foot of flesh and bone to pad him. He bitterly closed his eyes and awaited the impact.
+ + +
Hedran could barely believe his eyes when he saw the Astartes stride out of the gate, the stone sarcophagus containing the remains of St. Apocle over one shoulder, and Foesmite, the legend's sword gripped with the bolter in one massive hand. It had been barely more than an hour since the godlike warrior had entered the shrine, and there he was. His aide reacted faster than he did, ordering the artillery to immediately begin bombardment of the temple, lest any heretics try to escape, lest their taint spread. The captain sat heavily on a chair, watching the shells rain destruction on the building, watching it slowly crumble, corpses and men still living flung from its windows by the blasts. If they survived the fall, they would be mopped up by his men, James was sure that the Arbites would leave the dirty work up to the PDF forces, like always.
The Astartes set the sarcophagus down in the center of the command center floor, resting the sword on top of it. James was about to say something, a praise, a remark as to the Space Marine's demonstrated skill, but the warrior turned around and strode back outside, leaving the commander standing, still somewhat awed, the words still stuck in his throat. It was less than a minute before a Chimera arrived, taking the Space Marine out of Hedran's life, and he knew he would likely not see another.
+ + +
Commander Darren Tredfeld continued to serve the Adeptus Arbites for another 13 years. He was removed at that time for questioning by the Inquisiton, and was replaced by another official. He did not return to any form of service in the Adeptus Arbites.
Quinn Carnn happily served as a transport driver for an additional 8 years. Afterwards, he was deemed unfit to continue to serve as such due to his age, and was transferred to a desk job that handled low level management of the vehicles. He spent his spare time acquiring parts and equipment to repair his beloved Rhino, the Fire Magnet. He died at the age of 86.
Captain James Hedran served in the PDF for the rest of his life, his career ending 14 years later as a Colonel, when he was shot in the head by a sniper during a parade. His assassin was never found.
Jophis Hedric fell three stories from the shrine, suffered 9 broken ribs, and waited for five days without food and water in the rubble, waiting for his chance to escape the PDF patrols that scoured it. He was the only surviving cultist among those that invaded the temple. He later served as an assassin, killing prime targets among the loyalists on Vedan IV, including Colonel James Hedran.
The Adeptus Astartes warrior returned to his chapter, his ship, as planned. He spent the next several hundred years in a campaign against the Orks. He became a sergeant shortly before his death, having been struck by an Earthshaker shell from a looted Ork vehicle.
