The observed phenomenon of dual coronal mass ejections, originating from both stellar bodies within this system and culminating in energetic collision, presents an anomaly of unprecedented improbability. Furthermore, the detection of Immaterium energy signatures preceding the radiative wave introduces complexities that confound current attempts to determine causality.

Estimated time to resumption of inter-atmospheric operations and surface astropathic communication: No fewer than 18 solar cycles local.

Standard probability computations follow.

Hypothesized Probabilities (subject to further data analysis):

Natural Occurrence: Designation: Omega-One-Seven. Probability: Infinitesimal, assessed at less than 0.000000172%.

Xenos Intervention:

Necron or Aeldari: Designation: Theta-Five. Probability: 20% or greater.

Orkoid (intentional): Designation: Omega-null. Probability: Lower than natural occurrence.

Orkoid (unintended consequence of Warp breach attempt): Designation: Eta-Three. Probability: 10%.

Other Xenos: Designation: Unknown. Probability: Undetermined.

Warp Entity Agency: Designation: Zeta-Nine. Probability: 25% or greater.

Hypothesis: Temporal manipulation and localized reality alteration by Warp entities could account for observed events.

Further hypothetical constructs lack sufficient data for meaningful analysis.

Communique to Surface Biologis: Conduct comprehensive surveys of populations that failed to implement adequate counter-radiological exposure protocols. Initiate continuous monitoring of these populations and record all subsequent physiological and psychological deviations for future analysis and integration into the sacred data str- message terminated prematurely-

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Summary: Listening Post Acumena Minoris Four alerted Naval Station Ark Chablys of an incoming radiation event resultant of a dual CME intercept. Radiation acted as an electromagnetic pulse that disrupted all electronic operations and EM spectrum communications. Tactical and Inquisitorial psykers experienced severe discomfort. Astropathics unable to conduct operations, caution advised.

Directives:

1) Stand down all training.

2) Task one quick reaction company per battlegroup as a security force.

3) Any unit falling below 30% vehicle readiness due to failure to follow Mechanicus warnings will be tasked with assisting with maintenance until vehicle readiness standards are met.

4) All other units are granted a 14-hour local pass with a four-hour recall time.

5) Prepare an escort flight for civilian leadership to leave Fortrezza del Sol AoR as soon as atmospheric conditions allow.

6) All tactical and non-classified psykers are to remain under preventative Inquisitorial supervision for no more or less than 12 hours as per CTPD 351-45 sec. 2-a.

Signed,

Koyakusi Cancha-Huyata

Lord Marshal, Commanding

—FDS, 1st Talons Operations Center, 1630—

The silence in the closed motor bay of Delta Company was far more deafening than the ferocious thunderstorm that pummeled most of the planet. They waited, barely breathing, none of the friendly, almost family conversations that the tight unit normally engaged in. For once, even Haruna felt it. Six months ago, the casual, almost relaxed nature of the company’s conversations had felt bewildering. Now the lack gnawed at her, and she realized for the first time in her memory she wanted to talk to her team.

And yet she remained silent. Because no one could bring themselves to think about anything, but what had befallen their teammates. Psykers, witches, to most of the Imperium, were often viewed as a necessary evil, essential but also carrying the possibility of summoning the forces of the Archenemy with a misplaced thought. And with twice their normal population in the Imperium Acumena, it was also home to the sector’s biggest psyker training temple and implant manufactorum.

First and Third Talons used this to great impact. Of the six Talon Regiments, Third was the smallest because it was made of nothing but psyker shinobi and their Inquisition monitors. They were a deeply faithful group, proud of their fanaticism for the Emperor and their mission. First Recon leaned more into their Catachan heritage and embraced any psyker who couldn’t follow the shadow monk path of Third Recon. And so, like the rest of the Regiment, First Talon witches were part of the family.

Now, all of them had been taken. Nearly a quarter of the Regiment was gone, shuttled away to Fortaleza del Sol’s Inquisition center in black armored ground cars. Most had been strapped to stretchers to keep them from clawing their own skin off.

Haruna tried to keep her mind clear as she began wrapping fresh ray skin straps around the hilt of the Angel-gifted katana again. She had been at it since they had finished turning in their equipment to the slightly singed Tech-Priests of the Regiment. This was the third time she had disassembled the sublime weapon and maintained it, obviously losing herself to the ritual. As she finished and checked it, again, Haruna flicked her eyes to her team.

Hernandez was talking with the other team leaders. The group of Master Veterans spoke quietly, discussing after-action reports they all knew, avoiding speculation they were to experienced to engage in. Karwaski and the other members of the company’s Maki grappling team were working out with toolboxes. Kjeld was with the other team medics, checking any of Delta that had gotten caught in the open. No one was talking loudly, no one was laughing about how badly they had shown up Bravo company, a good portion were seated on their shins, hands in the sign of the Aquila, praying to He on Terra.

Haruna had thought she had made herself immune to the feeling of loss; she had tried to be the Emperor’s blade, his scalpel, as cool and pure as the weapon in her hands. The roiling, clenching sensation in her stomach said she hadn’t succeeded.

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Subject: Planetary Governance Meeting, Acumena Majoris

Date: 032 M40

Analysis: Master Veteran Sergeant Saito’s pragmatic approach, while grounded in logistical practicality, raises concerns regarding the balance of enforcing compliance with Imperial standards and possible xenos influence.

Conclusion: The outcome of this meeting and the subsequent decree regarding the Prism Blossom Festival as an “Emperor’s blessing” have significant implications for the Inquisitorial mission on the Acumenar system. Vigilance and caution are advised.

Addendum: The unexpected success of the Prism Blossom Festival in bolstering local morale and compliance cannot be ignored. Weaponry produced by the Mechanicus with local lens production are measurably more effective than previous models. While Sergeant Saito’s methods remain unconventional, the results may justify further exploration and use of this resource.

Inquisitor [Redacted] Ordo Xenos

The twin suns of Acumena Majoris continued their ancient dance through the expanse that was the Eastern Fringe of the Ultima Segmentum. Aethel, the Blue Jaguar star was just rising into view, but Caelum, the White Serpent sun, was not far behind. Both would be in Acumena’s skies today, and the humans on the surface of fair Acumena knew that a wave of heat would wash over the northern half of the world. Then, the seas of their world would be stirred by the temperature into raging storms.

Soldiers of Acumena’s Astra Militarum prepared for what was going to be a brutal week of training, and turtle-minding vessels turned away from their flocks and made course for port. Kelp farmers gathered the last of their harvest for the endless tithe, and the Mechanicus’ factories prepared their forges for both the heat and the deluge that would soon follow. None of them saw two solar flares eject from the two suns, lashing through the gulfs of the void to entwine in cosmic fire.

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He was a stone-cold killa you could tell by his clothes

He lined a hundred heretics ‘gainst the wall

And bet ten smokes he could whup em all

He beat 98 til his fists turned blue

Then he stepped back, jumped up and kicked the other two!”

Catachan Running Cadence, popular on Acumena

“So the exercise starts in forty-eight hours, and we’ve no idea where General Izumo is going to attack?” Major de’Bray asked Colonel Saito as they looked over the grid overlayed battle map of Fortaleza del Sol, the neighboring city of Nueva Caracas. Just as importantly, it displayed the massive dockyards that stretched for literal miles along the western coast of Xochitil. The Mechanicus had cut out the low, rocky cliffs to function as dry docks for the fleets of surface ships that were the lifeblood of Acumenar agriculture and trade, as well as the significant Naval forces of the world.

Saito favored his XO with a sly smirk. “Not exactly, Marcus; what I said is that currently, his troop disposition is arrayed in a formation that allows an advance toward training areas Alpha, Bravo, or Delta. What that tells us is that he is going to attack Charlie, the dockyards.”

Major de’Bray blinked in confusion and looked at his commanding officer, whose smile deepened.

“Does Armageddon have a notable culture of melee combat?” Saito asked. de’Bray considered for a moment, brown eyes narrowing in thought and running a hand through his blond hair.

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Journal Entry: Cycle 38103.872, Craftworld Biel’Tan, Farseer Morrosys

The team had gotten twelve hours for sleep and real food before the Tech Priests announced that their equipment’s machine spirits were sufficiently soothed. That notice came along with the warning order from Battlegroup command. The entirety of First Recon was getting mobilized, with all of Delta Company being tasked directly to Colonel Saito.

The Lord Marshal had made his intent clear. The Tau infiltration had demonstrated that not all of Acumena’s forces were at an acceptable level of training and that needed to be remedied. The surface naval units were undergoing a readiness review. The Mechanicus were outfitting all armor units for full operations. And there would be a series of force-on-force training missions between entire Battlegroups, and these training engagements would be reviewed by the senior command staff of the entire planet.

Including the planetary governor. Meaning the entire Battlegroup had to get ready in days.

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I joined the Army because dreams don’t feed your family or pay medical bills. Writing stories for myself and for friends was an escape, if a stories about characters I liked didn’t exist, I made them myself. I ran tabletop games less as competitive math but more as collaborative story writing. In Iraq and Afghanistan both of these were invaluable for my mental health. Now I don’t have to get ready for the next war.

As of now.

Hanging on to the increasingly vanishing hope of an existing democracy that is not withering from environmental collapse and political strangulation, my long term goal is to get noticed and somehow make enough money from telling stories that I can own a house I can leave for my sons. Enough people who enjoy and are indpsired by my words that they remember me fondly and create their own stories would be enough for me. I take classes that I am uncomfortable with to try and force me to get better at the one thing beyond my wife and children that still has meaning for me.

Speculative fiction has always been about trickery. One first constructs a tale that thrills or at least enthralls, and then, once the reader is hooked, the most dangerous of all infections are smuggled in. Ideas. Questions that have uncomfortable answers, or better yet, questions that cannot yet be answered. Above all else, my most important goal has been to get the audience to think. As a writer it is my ethical responsibility not to form words of every value I have, but to never write anything I do not value.

The questioning of authority, the pursuit of knowledge for knowledge’s sake, the embrace of variety and intolerance of dogma, these are what I value as concepts. I can’t tell people to question authoritarian structures they were born into. But I can trick them into thinking about them. And maybe, maybe there’s the barest hint of a possibility that I can inspire them to do something that will make someone else’s life better.

The future is uncertain, the oligarchs and fundamentalists seek to monetize our very imaginations and artistic impulses. I don’t know if there is a hope for me to do my passion as my career.

But I served for 20 years learning about reality and sacrifice. I’m willing to take a chance and find out.

Sergeant Rodrigo Nakamura, Corporal Sato Ramirez, Corporal Naomi Onaga, Private First Class Flavio Ishida, Private First Class Zeshin deSouza, and Private Vincius Satoshi.

In defiance of the Holy Emperor and Imperium of Man, they have willingly and knowingly sought out and advocated the corrupting Tau “Greater Good” heresy and actively worked against humanity’s dominion. Hic damnantur ad iudicium per venationem. The Emperor’s Justice be served!

Commissar Remus Decimus, result of standard after action Commissarial review.

--Acumena, Yamatai Training area--

They moved like soldiers, like Guardsmen.

But they wore the tan upper shirts and olive pants of a penal city, and more disturbingly, they were finishing putting on Tau Fire Caste battle armor. Four unmarked crates that looked like standard Imperial Guard shipping containers. Her first instinct had been to put a lasbolt through the head of the big man who was scanning the area, tracking the dense foliage of the jungle with a xenos pulse rifle pulled from a rack that held two others.

But Glacier’s admonition on her first day of training echoed distantly in her mind.

“We can’t just be good soldiers, we ‘ave to be smart soldiers.” So she scanned the area, took in all the factors and slowly stalked closer. She froze as a metallic glimmer shone in the dimming light of the jungle past the clearing. The weapon rack had six slots; all were empty, but there were only four traitors in the clearing.

There were at least two more, concealed in the jungle as her team was. Despite the oppressive, cloying humidity a chill traced icy fingers down Haruna’s spine. Tau weapons were dangerous, their armor effective, her team would only get one chance against a technologically and numerically superior opponent. Slowly moving her hand from the grip of her longlas, Haruna held her hand out to get Ryoshi’s attention.

Two. Concealed.

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Adeptus Administratum, Kiltor Sector

--Acumena, Xochitl, Third Battlegroup HQ--

“Sir, are you saying the reason you’re still a colonel is because Lord General Stern was jealous of your accomplishments?” Major de’Bray asked, the expression on his unlined face one of shock. Saito wore a wry half-smirk and gave his executive officer a sidelong look as they moved through the reinforced halls of Fortaleza del Sol’s Battlegroup Headquarters building.

“Of course not, that would fall into accusation territory. I merely stated that after the Chaos traitors assassinated Battlemaster Vetruius, his replacement was Elysian. Neither his losses nor the Acumenar troopers’ victory were mentioned in battle summaries. I checked. We went directly from Malathrax to Darson Twenty and quelled a rebellion by the prisoners. I had no time to follow up.” The colonel’s wide shoulders rose in a shrug. “We were scheduled to return, and Fourth Group took on expeditionary duties after that; command here saw the reports of what happened and all but confirmed that my promotion never reached Kiltor Administratum. I was given what I truly wanted: command of FDS and all subordinate units. I hold the same responsibilities as all other Battlegroup generals, and the pay isn’t that much less. It wasn’t worth the political fight.”

de’Bray was silent for a few more steps then shook his head. “I had hoped that a transfer to a world where deeds outweighed family lineage would see me free of the bureaucratic foolishness that was so costly on Armageddon. Were my hopes in vain?”

“Hope is not a course of action this universe allows XO!” Saito said with a chuckle. “Acumena doesn’t have nobility as such, but the Mechanicus, the Inquisitors, and the merchants make Administratum politics here no less cut-throat than anywhere else in the Imperium.”

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“Delta Delta where have ya been?

Alpha Centauri kicking Xenos teeth IN!

And what ya gonna do when you get back?

Gonna steal the Colonel’s AMASEC!”

Running Cadence, Delta Company First Acumenar Talons (Recon)

Like most of Fortaleza del Sol, 1st Talons Battalion, Reconnaissance Headquarters reflected the sharp-angled hexagonal foundations that were so common in Acumenar architecture. During the Time of Strife, infighting and rebellions forced most government and military buildings to have sharp angles to make rebel artillery impacts less apt to take direct hits. The six-petal shape of the Prism Blossom likely contributed to the influence of the design, Haruna thought dazedly as she marched towards the five-floored building. Two guards in heavy carapace armor checked her orders data slate and wordlessly opened the granite gray and dark green trimmed doors for her.

The hallways were lined with picts that displayed the 500 year history of the First Acumenar Talons, campaigns across dozens of worlds and here on Acumena itself. She paused at one, breath caught in her throat. Inquisitor Alcinio Salinus, Ordos Hereticus, directing a team of snipers to cut down a cell of heretic psykers before the Warp touched knew they were present. She hadn’t seen him since he had rotated off-world with the Fourth Battle group eight years ago. And considering how only sixty percent of the Fourth came back, she didn’t expect to again.

He had been the one to broker the terms of the survival for her and the other children of her colony. Many other younger, more fervent, and puritanical Inquisitors would have considered the death of hundreds of children a tiny sacrifice for the safety of the Imperium. Perhaps they would be right. Regardless, Inquisitor Salinus had instead saved every child under ten years of age. They had been scattered across the Imperium, but he had taken her here personally and never fully explained why.

Now, she likely would never know that “why” but Haruna felt that she had to make his effort mean something, show that she was worthy.

Haruna kept her posture straight as she reported to the personnel office and was immediately handed a data slate with a standard series of Administratum forms to fill out. So far, the only thing different about her onboarding to one of the most elite units in not just the Acumenar Guard, but the entire Imperium, was that she was the only one in the office, and she hadn’t been treated like a raw recruit. Haruna completed the form and handed it back to the clerk, an older man with bone-white hair slicked back and far longer than most in the Acumenar Guard. His squint at the forms showed the mass of pale scars against his dark skin; he was a veteran, there was no doubt.

“First time go, huh, don’t see that every day. Or every month, for that matter.” Mused the old NCO. “Sit tight; the BC (Battalion Commander) and Command Veteran Sergeant want to meet you.”

“Yes, Sergeant,” Haruna said with a calm confidence she projected even as her gut twisted and her throat tried to close. A week ago the highest ranking officer she’d ever been in individual contact with was a Captain, and now on her first day, she was being personally met by a Lieutenant Colonel? The young soldier sat down and tried not to fidget.

The door hissed open, and a short, dense man with weather-beaten skin the color of dark leather and the close-cropped, shaved sides haircut much of the military on the planet favored. His uniform was parade field neat with creases so sharp he could likely trim the short beard he wore with them. Haruna was on her feet at the appropriate position before his eyes fell on her. His nametape read Vargas, and she remembered from the personnel listing she had memorized that he was the Battalion Command Veteran Sergeant despite not having any rank insignia.

“Command Veteran Sergeant, Cor-Sergeant Cordova reports as ordered!” She declared, and the most senior NCO in the organization let a faint smile and nod flicker across his blocky, rugged features.

“The sniper of the hour. Huh, didn’t expect you to be so young.” Markos Vargas mused out loud. “Well, can’t argue with results and definitely not arguing with a recommendation from the BG CO (Battlegroup Commander). Come on, first things first.”

Haruna had no idea what that meant but picked up her duffel and followed SGM Vargas down the hall to the Battalion Commander’s office. He walked in without a knock and stepped behind a plain desk behind which stood a woman with the build of a bullwhip who gave off the same implied level of toughness. Haruna locked to attention and snapped a salute. The Lieutenant colonel returned it and gestured to a small couch across from her position.

“Sergeant, I’m going to start this by saying the two things that need to be said. First, thank you. I’m sure you’ve heard it before but from me, personally, thank you. One of my teams was pinned down and had wounded. Because of you, we extracted them while the xenos fell to the Angels. Your actions directly saved the lives of my soldiers.” Haruna kept her face controlled, trying to think of what to say, but mercifully, LTC Sakata kept speaking.

“The second is just as important. Despite your re-assignment and your, to be blunt, heroism, I will not accept you as part of First Recon.” Naomi Sakata held the young woman’s gaze steady, seeming to gauge her reaction. Then she continued. “Yet.”

A release of tension rushed through Haruna’s body at the word, but she kept still. Command Veteran Sergeant Vargas picked up where his commanding officer left off.

“Normally, potential recruits into the Talons undergo months of selection and examination just to be able to make it into a unit. Then they have to train with the team they’ve been assigned to for four months, and the team decides if they join or not then.” The broad man explained, his posture erect and formal but somehow just as coiled as his commander. “Colonel Saito has essentially waived the first selection process. Neither Colonel Sakata nor I will waive the second.”

“The Talons are not the Infantry Sergeant.” Colonel Sakata said, her quiet voice level and calm. “Obedience to orders, discipline, loyalty to the Emperor, those are all still required here. But you will learn quickly that First Recon is no place for inflexibility, lack of initiative or imagination. My soldiers are given the best training, equipment, and intelligence of any unit on this planet. As such, they are a huge expenditure of resources. I will not allow them or their mission to be put at risk by anyone who is in the slightest below my standards. Do you understand?”

“Yes ma’am!” Sergeant Cordova responded. While a touch of anxiousness still flitted in the corners of her mind, she was confident in this regard. Whatever trial or test they came up with she would overcome it. The Emperor’s Angel of Death had blessed her with a blade used by his Brother. There was no way she would allow herself to fail. The Brigade Commander dismissed Haruna and she stood, snapped her typically sharp salute then turned to exit the office.

And felt her confidence plummet.

Two men stood inside the doorway, less than a meter from her. Both were taller than her, heavily muscled and toned, one with longer, slicked-back, black hair, and the other was a rare blond man on Acumena sporting the same buzzed close cut the Command Veteran Sergeant had. But both were tanned and had, more concerningly to the young Sergeant, walked on the tile floor in boots within a few feet of Haruna without her hearing them.

“This is Master Veteran Sergeant Hernandez and Senior Veteran Sergeant Karwaski, Delta Company. They run your team. Get her situated. I expect to see her in full training tomorrow, gentlemen.” The Command Veteran Sergeant said. The two men looked at her with cool, impassive expressions, then turned on their toes and glided out of the room, moving like jungle cats. Flushed with surprise, Haruna grabbed her bag and followed them.

The grim stoicism lasted until they were outside of the Headquarters building and headed towards the female barracks. The Master Veteran Sergeant pulled a red bandanna from his thigh pocket and tied it over his head almost unconsciously while Karwaski snapped open a blue patrol hat and sunglasses and donned them as well. As the senior Non Commissioned Officer tied the entirely out of regulation headwear Haruna noticed that his right arm was entirely augmetic, a high-end model that had been sculpted to look almost organic.

“So you’re the sniper who not only beat us in last year’s sniper competition but did our whole damn mission? Thought you’d be...well, different.” Hernandez said. With an exasperated shake of his head, Karwaski looked at his teammate.

“He means older, with at least one off-world op under your belt. Not a rookie in her second year outclassing the Warp out of us!” The Senior Veteran Sergeant laughed. “Seriously, that was good work.”

It took Haruna a few awkward seconds to respond. “Thank you, Sergeant; I was just trying to finish the mission.”

“Ha! Yeah, I figured that you’d say something like that. the best never brag.” Hernandez laughed.

They entered the building, loudly announcing there were males on the floor, and got Haruna’s eye and thumbprint registered to the building cogitator and it added the data to her room. It baffled her that she was going from a six-person bay hab to a nearly private room with only a single other woman in it. The thought of the near isolation was Throne blessed.

“All righty, get some rest Sergeant, we start at oh five hundred (0500) tomorrow. Distance run and obstacle course. Get some rest and I’d take it easy on the fox venom! We’re going to be having fun!” Hernandez said with a grin and a thumbs up. Haruna blinked at him, her earlier exhaustion starting to catch up with her.

“Thank you, Master Veteran Sergeant, um, I don’t consume alcohol.” Acumenar foxes were small pack hunting venomous creatures. At some point in the planet’s history someone had decided it would make a good flavoring for the locally produced kelp based liquor. The local Guard had exclusive contracts with most trustworthy distillers of the “beverage”. Hernandez quirked an eyebrow up over his dark eyes. Then shrugged his thick-set shoulders.

“More for me then. Seriously get some rest, you’re going to need it!” The two men abruptly spun and left, still moving with a disconcerting silence. The young sergeant identified her room on the second floor, found it, and then pressed her thumb to the panel next to the door and let it scan her eye. The door clicked open and Haruna opened the door, stopping abruptly when another woman’s face appeared directly in front of her, sideways and staring at her with wide, expressive black eyes. The other woman leaned in close, and it took a few moments for Haruna to realize that the unnamed woman was hanging sideways from an exercise bar set in the door frame. Dark brown hair framed her face in a neck-length short bob cut, and she wore fatigue pants and a white tank top.

“Um,” Started Haruna, unsure of what was going on. The mysterious woman flipped sideways in a display of easy grace, then landed silently, her body lean and lithe. She then stood up while leaning in close, uncomfortably close, examining Haruna intently. Still confused, the young sergeant took a half step back. “Uh?”

She felt a chill, not running down her spine, she was uncomfortable but not scared by this odd young woman. No, it was the air around her that felt chilled, unnatural. Abruptly, as quickly as she had noticed it, the feeling of cold evaporated.

“Yeah, okay, you’ll be alright.” The other woman said suddenly. Haruna shivered slightly even as the stranger retreated. Grinning, the brown-haired soldier held out a fist. “Name’s Ramirez, Sierra Ramirez, Sergeant type. You’re joining the team huh? Wasn’t expecting another woman, definitely not someone younger than me. Anyway, glad to meet you, hope you survive!”

It took the startled Haruna a few moments to bump the offered fist, and only then did she notice that Ramirez bore an Ordos Hereticus tattoo. Panic surged in her heart until she saw the type of mark. Astra Telepathica.

“You’re a psyker?” Haruna breathed out quietly. Sierra’s wide eyes narrowed slightly in caution.

“Yeah?” She answered, then blinked as the young NCO smiled ever so slightly.

“Oh good, I’ve never met a psyker before who wasn’t part of the Inquisition,” Haruna said quietly. “I look forward to getting to know you, Sergeant Ramirez.”

Now it was Sierra’s turn to look perplexed for a moment before smiling widely and gesturing to the empty bed. “We’re the same rank, and I think we’re going to be friends, so first names are allowed. Things are different in the Talons; you’ll figure it out fast if you make it through the next four months. Get your physical training uniform ready fast. Whatever time they tell you things are going to start, that’s the only time things won’t!”

At four in the morning, Sierra was proven right. Master Veteran Sergeant Hernandez, however, hadn’t lied; they started running at five, they just spent an hour with muscle building first. Haruna had always kept herself in peak condition, Recon platoons were expected to undergo long distance marches and operate under heavy load. The warm up they were doing was the equivalent of a final training schedule.

Haruna finally learned who her team was. Master Veteran Sergeant Hernandez, the boisterous and cheerful man, was the team leader. Veteran Sergeant Karwaski was his long-time spotter but would now be Haruna’s. Sierra had taken over as spotter for Hernandez. The last member she met on the training field was Veteran Sergeant Kjel Gusallos. The Vallhallan native was nearly as muscular as the other two males, and both his legs were augmetic below the knees.

However it wasn’t long before the training was all she could think about. Pull-ups, repeated jumps, abdominal twists while laying on the ground, and other explosive exercises, but repeated in such numbers that Haruna’s lungs were already beginning to ache.

Almost as much as her head was.

“Welcome to Delta Company, rookie; we’re the Emperor’s Wolves! We hunt the hunters, counter-sniping, scout elimination, take out intelligence officers, fun stuff like that. We operate forward of even the scouts, usually in las range of enemy fortifications. The only people who can sneak better than First Recon are Third and that’s because they cheat with psyker powers!” Hernandez said with a grin at Sierra as he performed push-ups with his biological arm.

“If you’re not cheating, you’re not trying!” Ramirez responded cheekily as she kept up with him. The team leader laughed and looked back at Haruna.

“Haruna, who do you think we’re based on, Catachan or Noctan?” The big NCO asked. Haruna remembered that the world had been re-discovered by a collection of Catachan and Noctan survivors from a failed battle against Tyranids. She thought quickly. “Catachan Devils?”

“Right on, we move fast, stay light, and don’t even cast a shadow in the enemy’s eye!” Hernandez said.

During the run, at approximately the three-mile mark, Karwaski dropped back to run next to her. “Do you remember why Acumena uses the prism blossoms and why the veterans couldn’t get resupply from a Forge world?”

She blinked sweat out of her eyes and tried to focus her exhausted, hazy mind. Through burning breaths, the young woman answered. “The survivors were on an Adeptus Mechanicus ship; a Warp storm threw them off course and dropped them into the system. They couldn’t repair the storm’s damage to the Geller field.”

Haruna swallowed and inhaled. “To bring the world into compliance, they needed more lasguns, and the Mechanicus found that the Emperor had blessed Acumena with trees that could help make them.”

This went on for the entirety of the brutal workout, and Haruna began to understand. They were forcing her to recall things from long ago and use her mind as her body was under extreme stress. It was the medic, Kjeld, who finalized the “why” of all the triva in his thick offworld brogue when they returned to the barracks. “We oft ‘ave ta operate on our own, without contact with command; we cannae’ write our orders or objectives down in case we’re caught yasee? First Recon can’t just be good soldiers; we ‘ave to be smart soldiers.”

What followed that day, and every other for the next four weeks, was far more intensive training than Haruna had ever undergone. The competition for Best Sniper had been arduous but only lasted a week. This was unrelenting. Six days of training, one day of recovery and study. Then, back to the grind.

--One month--

Wooden swords clacked together as Haruna sparred with the unfamiliar length of the katana against First Recon’s best swordsman, Master Veteran Sergeant Otavio Jardim.

“We fight with the same philosophy, be it swords or long-lasrifle.” The tall, lean man said, stopping her attack by simply pointing the tip of his katana in line with her face and sliding into range with practiced ease. She was younger, faster, and entirely out of her depth. Haruna smacked the flat of her wooden sword into his to try and beat it aside. Master Veteran Sergeant Jardim flicked his wrist and cracked her sword hand sharply. “Limit the enemy’s options while remaining mission effective.”

The young woman hissed in pain as she dropped her wooden sword but managed to parry his follow-on machete uppercut with her own practice weapon. The senior non-commissioned officer let her counter, easily circling away and using his own machete to deflect her desperate attack. “You’re forgetting principle two of close combat when at a weapons disadvantage.”

Pain shot up from her leg as the experienced swordsman cracked his katana into the back of her thigh, exploiting the opening by stopping his wooden machete a hair’s breadth from her throat. The tanned man raised an eyebrow expectantly.

“Principle two, aggression has to be measured and precise to overcome range disadvantage.” Haruna responded. Nodding his scarred face the NCO stepped back and pointed to her fallen bokken.

“Again, see if you can use that knowledge rather than just remembering it.”

--Two months--

The team was at the range every other day of training. Her long-las optic was transferred from 161 to First Recon’s armory while she began training with an ancient weapon used by one of the original Noctan scout snipers. It was an exquisite weapon, with a machine spirit the embedded tech-priest assured Haruna was vicious and thirsty for Xenos blood. Its barrel had been changed hundreds of times over its life, and the suppressor was brand new and made the compressed photon blasts invisible and noisy as a whisper on a snowy day. It now had an offset non magnifying sight in case a target appeared that was too close for the zoomed in long scope.

“Target is an ork tank killer team. Thirty second window, inflict maximum damage on target. Go!” Senior Veteran Sergeant Seijaku Karwaski whispered. Haruna sighted the target, eight hundred meters away and arranged with other simulated orks around it obscuring her view. Five blasts flicked out, striking the target sensor on the weapon itself, the ammunition, and then finally the noses of two of the targets.

Nodding, Karwaski checked the time, keeping his voice hushed as he spoke. “Cease fire, why did you target the weapon and spare rockets first?”

“As noted in the Fourth Battlegroup campaign against the ork xenos to retake Gorlumda: Ork ammo has no safety protocols. Their own weapons can cause more damage to them than our own sometimes. And leaves nothing left for another ork to use.” Haruna whispered back. The Tech-priests of First Recon had described destroying ork weapons as exorcising the tormented souls of the machine spirits within. They also were quite explicit as to how she could soothe her own weapons spirit with careful maintenance. Karwaski nodded and flicked his fingers in three short motions. Haruna nodded, pulled her optical camo poncho lower, and began to crawl to the next range.

--Three months--

The hum of three galvanic drives scarcely disrupted the omnipresent humming of the swarms of insects, tires partially deflated to reduce the sound of crunching gravel and foliage. The two modified Aquilus Warquad bikes pulled around Kjeld and Sierra in the team scout Tauros as they had drilled every other day for the past ninety.

Haruna hoped from the back of her quad, landing soft on the balls of her feet, watching her roommate dismount from the lascannon turret of the Tauros, magnoculars in hand. The young sniper silently flowed into a prone position next to Karwaski. The taciturn man was already kneeling, scanning the huge orchard of Prism trees as the team glided into their roles.

“Tally sector mid line, dirt road, proceeds halfway through AO then turns north.” He paused, tapped the rangefinder on his magnoculars. “400 meters.”

“Contact.” Kjeld echoed and slaved the turret to his position as driver, sighting the weapon at the sharp turn.

“Contact.” Sierra said as she found it. “Tally nine o’clock limit, warning sign on fence, hanging to the south.”

“Contact.” Hernandez affirmed. He glanced out of the corner of his eye towards the newest member of their team. Haruna saw the bare movement and ignored it.

“Tally three o’clock limit, fence on tracks to mid-line, tracking civilian hauler.” She whispered.

“Contact.” Karwaski echoed. In less than ten seconds the team had divided the orchard into quarters, each sniper team watching their field of fire. Haruna tracked three civilian vehicles moving into the orchard. They were unmarked, the men moving around the harvesters had facemasks on despite the warm spring night humidity.

Prism Blossom sales to the Mechanicus was a lethally cutthroat business, and theft of one orchardist ‘s harvest was not uncommon. As long as the product kept flowing the Mechanicus didn’t care who they got their supplies from. To be honest the Astra Militarum didn’t either, but First Recon had long ago discovered that small scale criminal operations made excellent training opportunities. Entirely unauthorized training, but as Haruna had been learning, authorization was only required when Imperial citizens bodies began dropping.

“Target, bravo sector, power cable between mover and trailer.” Karwaski stated softly. Vaguely Haruna heard Ramirez saying something but tuned it out. She saw the slowly moving vehicle and began moving her longlas with it.

“Contact, center-rear, yellow and red cable with-” Haruna began, describing the exact cable her spotter had designated.

“On glass, parallax and fire at will.” Karwaski said. Haruna touched the ancient digital controls of her scope, and brought the cable in sharp focus. She lead the slow movement of the thief’s vehicle, breathed out, barely tightened her trigger finger and the invisible lasbolt severed the power cable

The trailer’s brakes locked up and the vehicle ground to a sudden halt, as did the truck and trailer Hernandez was on. A soft whump was heard as Kjeld casually launched an illuminator flare set to maximum range over the orchard. It burst into blinding white and panicked cries and shouts went up from the would-be thieves. By the time any of them looked towards the hill the team had been on, the vehicles were gone. Haruna was perched on the back of the quad, longlas in place on a pintle, the wind in her face coolly wiping away the sultry heat.

--Four months--

“Rise and shine sleepyhead!” Sierra called cheerfully as Haruna jerked awake, not even remembering when she had fallen asleep while looking at a dataslate identifying priority Tau targets. She blinked her wide blue eyes at her teammate’s impish expression.

“Am I late?” She blurted, not remembering any scheduled training for today. Ramirez giggled.

“Nope, but we got clearance for phase two. Survival training in Yamatai!” Haruna’s eyes grew even wider and all traces of sleepiness were excised. A majority of the continent had been jungle when the forebearer’s ship had brought the Emperor’s light back to Acumena. And the people and civilization that had grown in that light’s absence had a deep fear and respect for Yamatai. One that was well placed, as even the Catachan Devils considered Yamatai “a bit interesting to work.”

The first time an Administratum member saw the aftermath of a Acumenar jaguar attack, he’d nearly classified the entire planet a death world.

Haruna stepped off the Valkyrie and instantly drew her carbine, as the rest of her team did as well. Even Sierra, who wore a strange sickle and chain weapon on her hip, drew her standard weapon. The team fanned out in a half circle, watching the edges of the landing zone with tense anticipation.

“We’re off compound, hunting names only.” Hernandez, no, “Ralfius” Haruna reminded herself, said. “Hunting names” were what the Talon teams used when they were around other members of the Astra Militarum. They were the elite of Acumena, often called upon by the Inquisition to assist in tracking down and infiltrating rogue psykers trying to run from the strict temples, or heretical thieves that tried to claim that the Imperium’s Tithe was too great. Some level of anonymity was required for those most often seconded to the tasks of the vast Acumenar Ordos Hereticus. A hunting name was given by the team if a prospect survived two months in training.

“Kitsune, on point, Lamina, stay tight on her, don’t blaze a trail, step where she steps, the fence line is a hundred meters out, after that we’re no longer at the top of the food chain. Glacier, stow the krak launcher, if we need that out here, we’re lunch anyway.” Hernandez whispered after the aircraft had flown off. The medic shrugged and pulled his laspistol out. Out of the corner of her eye Haruna watched Sierra, Kitsune, pull her tight breathable mesh hood over her hair and face. She stood and glided forward making all the noise of dew forming. Recon training had given Haruna a start on stalking silently, and her senior NCOs had ingrained into her how to practice walking softly at all times. But Kitsune was a wraith in the dense green and yellow swirled vegetation.

“The rumor is that Third Recon was started by an Noctan assassin who was a psyker. He founded the temple all of us are trained in.” Sierra had told Haruna one night while they were studying Eldari craftworld heraldry on data slates given to them by Ordos Xenos liaisons. “No one knows why but there’s more psykers here than normal, twice the rate of most planets. Enough to where we can field an entire unit of them!”

They slid into the vine and leaf choked foilage, each scanning a cone drilled into them by hundreds of hours of repetition. They had water and rations for a four day long range patrol. The objective was to hunt down a piece of tech guarded by an unknown enemy unit operating in a relatively know area. Then deliver the objective to their extract point on the other side of this arm of jungle. The trip was expected to take two weeks, foraging was part of the training.

The Acumenar jaguars, a leathery skinned, four limbed tree dwelling predator that could grab smaller prey with its prehensile tail and bleed them silently with claws and fangs that were composed of titanium and silica was a ferocious beast and the undisputed apex predator of Yamatai. And when the ecosystem held arboreal octopus-like creatures that hunted in pairs, armored beasts as large as a Salamander tank, and packs of venomous quadruped fox-like creatures, that was a statement that carried profound meaning.

This time of year was their mating season. And the males were going to be very aggressive.

Haruna kept her eyes moving, slowed her heart, and followed Kitsune into the darkness.

—-All Other Chapters Available to Paid Subscribers—

FOR OFFICIAL REVIEW – AUTHORIZED EYES ONLY (Security Clearance: Magenta)

Subject: Malathrax Quartus Campaign Summary.

Theater: Hell World Malathrax Quartus, hostile fungal jungle terrain. Substantial Industry. Extensive enemy fortifications.

Opposing Forces: Confirmed Iron Warriors Traitor Legion elements, supported by multiple Chaos-corrupted Militarum regiments. Estimated enemy strength in excess of three divisions.

Mission Objective: Recapture primary plasteel and ceramite base component mining facility.

Priority: restore vital war material production for Departmento Munitorum.

Casualty Estimate: [Redacted]

--Seven Acumenar years Prior--

The Tyranids, with their endless swarms of increasingly profane and grotesque monstrosities, were horrifying. The Orks, and their tidal waves of chaotic violence, were a maelstrom of destruction. But battles with them tended to be brief one way or another. The Iron Warriors and the Chaos-tainted soldiers they commanded were a steady, implacable, ceaseless foe. Propaganda bombarded the beleaguered defenders with false promises of freedom and self-determination (terms and conditions may apply), while raining a steady salvo of artillery and methodical advances. Tyranids and Orks were an avalanche of swift and terrible violence, but the Iron Warriors were an implacable, tireless glacier advancing on the largest ore processing plant of Malathrax and grinding resistance into bloody mud.

Battlemaster Gaius Vetruius, of Krieg descent but Cadian trained, was skilled at armor maneuvers and adept at delegation and sweeping strategy. He entrusted his battlegroup commanders with organizing the disposition of their regiments. Thus far it had proved successful, costly, but successful. His command fortress, a massive structure with four super heavy tank engines and sets of treads, churned the muddy soil as it patrolled the exterior of the lines of battle. The borders of the white and black jungles wavered in unceasing carbonic acid rain.

A circle of mountains sheltered the loyal defenders of Malathrax’s mining community. They had withdrawn there under the guns and endless tides of Iron Warrior Chaos Marines and their legions, and the attackers had been content to lay siege to the essential facility. Then the Imperial Guard Battlegroup arrived. Around the core of armored vehicles from a dozen worlds dozens of Regiments of infantry advanced, cutting down the rear guard of the Chaos Regiments, until they slammed into the heavy infantry and deadly bolter fire of the Iron Warriors. And so the invaders repelled the relief force, but could not focus on breaking through the defenders’ barricades, and this war descended into the bane of the infantryman and the general alike: a stalemate.

And so Malathrax Quartus turned into a meat grinder of a war.

This world annoyed Colonel Tiberius Stern, 1st Elysian Jump Regiment. It was a rare moon habitable to human life, the gas giant it orbited reflected so much sun there was no true night, and the industrial smog that suffused the atmosphere meant the world had been in a twilight that only marginally altered in illumination levels between day and night. Plant life was nearly nonexistent, and yet there were jungles of a wide variety of fungi and moss that had adapted to feed on the carbon in the atmosphere. Which meant even the herbivores would kill and eat humans here. It was a ghastly world before the Traitors had arrived, seeking to pry the mines and manufactorums from the righteous grip of the Imperium. Now, it was positively intolerable.

Almost as insufferable as the man Colonel Stern found himself attending the same mission briefing as a commoner who’d had the audacity to be born on a world where family name was insufficient for due respect. Colonel Javier Saito was a lean, tall man, black-haired and scarred from campaigns on his world and off. He was of Catachan descent, as half of Acumena was, and supposedly been a Special Forces Executive Officer before his recent promotion to Colonel. It was outrageous what fringe worlds like Acumena got away with mused Stern, even if their jungle fighters and mechanized infantry were undefeated thus far. The lowborn pretender of an officer didn’t even wear a dress uniform in a briefing from the Battlemaster, he wore a common light carapace armor with his rank insignia on removable patches.

Then Stern’s attention was brought to the door hissing open as Battlemaster General Vetruisis strode in, his black overcoat wet from the unceasing rain. The hulking forms of his Tempestus Scion bodyguards took position behind the General as he waved his hand over the holo-display and brought up two ridges that flanked a wide, flat valley.

“Gentlemen, time is not a luxury ve haff an overabundance of, so I will be short.” The general’s accent rolled thickly from his tongue, both Colonels had noticed when he was stressed his heavy Kriegsman accent came out more. He indicated the two ridges and the flat plateaus on top of them. “I have designated this Route Alpha, and it iz our best chance to close my armor with ze traitor Legions. However, it haz ze unfortunate pest problem of enemy artillery batteries infesting it. And ze current situation in voidspace does not allow for accurate orbital strikes.”

The General met their eyes with the bone-deep weariness of an officer who has sent thousands of men and women to their deaths and would send thousands more if he had to, but would never enjoy it. “You two haf succeeded in tasks zat other infantry officers haf merely wasted resources on. I need those guns silenced, and silenced by 0700 local tomorrow morning. Can zis be done?”

Both Stern and Saito leaned forward studying the display intensely. Chaos forces felt no need to organize themselves into reasonable units, but they often fell into old habits. Each ridge appeared to hold approximately two companies of heavy infantry, a mixture of armored vehicles, and crews for the eight corrupted cannons. The northern ridge was accessible only by a single wide road, undoubtedly mined and bracketed with heavy weapons at the top. The southern ridge had two narrow roads leading down a gentler slope, the routes separated by a deceptively green mass on the holo-map representing jungle. Reality was far less pleasant on the eyes.

“Sir the briefings declared the jungles as a level three threat, are they toxic?” Saito asked, knowing the answer but wanting confirmation. General Vetrusis shook his head.

“Zey do not need to be. The predators and fungus are danger enough and ze enemy haz many hunter parties within zem. Jungle operations haf met with casualties that even Kriegsmen find unsustainable.” Saito nodded in response, his brow furrowed in concentration. He straightened.

“I believe the Acumenar Regiments are more suited for the southern objective, if you have no objection Colonel Stern, I would like to be given that operation.” Stern almost objected out of hand to show the commoner who really needed to be in charge, but the northern objective was more suited to his drop troopers anyway. Casualties would be high, the enemy had multi barrel light anti aircraft emplacements, and there was no chance for a surprise attack. But he had four full Regiments of Elysian heavy infantry, and a flat landing zone with steady gravity.

“Battlemaster, the northern objective is more suited to my forces speciality. If I may have enough Valkyries to deploy three companies at once that objective will be yours before the appointed hour. Sir.” The general considered for a moment then nodded in acquiescence.

“Ja, zis can be done. Colonel Saito?” The Acumenar Colonel seemed to be considering more calculations but responded promptly.

“I will have a plan to your slate before 2300 sir, I would request two Vultures for a ground strike, no additional resources are required.” The Battlemaster raised his eyebrows but seemed satisfied.

“Very well. Dismissed gentlemen.” Both officers saluted sharply as the General saluted back, turned, and left the briefing room. Saito slid a glance and his noble-born fellow officer as they exited as well and walked crisply toward the exit elevator

“Do you want a copy as well Colonel Stern, in case we have to coordinate operations?” Saito asked casually. Stern snorted.

“That will not be necessary, Colonel. I will take my objective within the allotted time. If you fail in yours I will deploy my reserves to finish this fight.”

It was a minor slight, using a fellow officer’s rank instead of their name, and Saito appeared uncaring of it. Instead, the up-jumped man was focused on a data slate, tracing troop maneuver paths and then wiping them and restarting. The journey was halfway finished and Stern felt the need to fill the silence.

“It appears you will have to get your troops’ noses bloody after all Colonel, there will be losses for this victory.” For the first time, a glint of emotion flashed in Saito’s dark eyes.

“Likely true, this is war. However, I plan on being able to be part of the push on the traitor headquarters after we complete our objectives.” Much as he hated to admit it, Stern realized that the other officer had a point. He considered his options for a moment.

A two-stage assault sprang to mind. The first wave would likely take significant casualties, but he could bolster his ranks with a second wave he would have the numbers for the final assault. Stern knew he had to be there for the glory he deserved. He smirked at Saito’s furrowed brow, let this commoner plot and consider, deploy tricks and waste time. Tiberius Stern was an officer of action and his Elysian’s knew their place, to kill and die for the Emperor as directed by their betters. This enlisted man who thought deeds could escape the shadows of his lowly birth, he would be left in the dust of Stern’s glory.

--2100, Acumenar Fourth Expeditionary Battlegroup Headquarters.--

“Does it ever stop fracking raining on this Throne damned planet!” Senior Veteran Sergeant Raphael “Ralfius” Hernandez moaned as he looked out into the acid rain from within the command tent. There was a chorus of rueful chuckles from the collected officers and non-coms. The four infantry company commanding captains, the armor detachment lieutenant, a major, and the huge framed Sergeant Hernandez from the combined Acumenar Talons Special Warfare detachment.

“Rumor is it’ll stop raining on Malatharax when soldiers stop whining about it.” Colonel Saito said with a wry grin as he entered from the other side. The tent’s occupants snapped to attention as their commander entered, his executive officer Naomi Sakata pulling the hood off her camouflage poncho, the close-cropped sides of her black hair shining damply. Pulling his dataslate from under his own poncho, the Colonel sent the map he had been sketching on to a hololithic display table in the center of the command tent. “So we can expect the storm to break when the sun explodes. As you were.”

The group of soldiers relaxed and leaned in.

“Gentlemen, the Battlemaster has a pair of Enemy artillery emplacements keeping his armor from taking on the traitors and keeping the loyal people of this planet alive. His assault needs to happen by 0700. We don’t have Elysian grav chutes,” He paused and looked up grimly. “Or their commander’s attitude towards casualties. So I want to get these Chaos bastards away from their superior position and extended.”

He highlighted the edges of a ridge, tracing a single path, wide enough for maybe three tanks abreast, with thick fungal jungle on one side, and a sheer drop into the valley on the other. The ridge had been flattened into a wide flat plateau, with reinforced bulwarks and armed guard towers. Colonel Saito looked up at his command staff. “I used to collect honey from Prism wasps, we’d poke the hive and hold a bag over the exit to hold the swarm. Can we make that happen here?”

Sergeant Hernandez narrowed his eyes and traced the outline of the jungle. “What was the cause for the threat rating for the wilderness sir?”

“Predators, fungal and animal. There are Enemy hunter killer teams as well. Level three,” Colonel Saito said with a bare smile. “What’s the threat level of Yamatai’s jungle back home?”

Hernandez grinned. “Same as Catacha, a lot higher than this cakewalk sir. We can get through the jungle, got some good teams from 5th Assault, we can probably escort some fire teams as well.”

“We will deal with the enemy forces.” Came a soft whisper from the side of the tent. The group looked around to see a grey-suited and masked figure. Everyone stared at him for a long moment until he sighed and pulled his mask off. Captain Tatsuke Atzhin, 3rd Recon made his presence known at last. “I’ve been here the entire time, you need to be more aware of your surroundings.”

There was a long moment of silence.

“I would love to have words with the Ordos Hereticus who felt an entire temple that trained psyker shinobi was a ‘Good Idea’.” Major Sakata grouched. Saito smiled wryly, he’d worked with 3rd Recon when he had commanded 2nd Assault battalion. For sentry removal, bodyguard detail, or assassination, the psyker ninja were beyond compare.

“Thank you, Captain.” The Colonel leaned forward, watching as the armor detachment Chief Veteran Sergeant put his hand in an “L” shape on the left path. Saito knew two hotshot Vulture drivers on a carrier overhead. They could poke the hive. His collected officers and NCOs came up with a plan, it sounded solid to him. They’d have no chance to rehearse this, no second chances once they were committed. But they were Acumenar, they’d get this done.

--0345--

The Iron Warriors knew their trade well. As their engineers had smoothed the top of the ridge the displaced earth had been piled into a bulwark around the entire encampment. The guard posts had been constructed swiftly with stout timber-like fungal growths, and reinforced with bags of earth that would soak up most las fire short of a cannon and even shrapnel from artillery, while giving the heretic forces inside the post good visibility and cover. Barriers had been erected within the fortification to protect from indirect fire. The guards gave regular checks and were not slack in their scanning of the jungle, but it hadn’t made much of a difference. Every member of the Acumenar Talons had to survive the jungles of their native jungle continent of Yamatai, where a single misplaced breath could end with you in the gullet of several predators. Even without psyker abilities 1st and 3rd Recon had crept within two meters of the sentry post.

None of the Talons, the Acumenar answer to the Tempestus Scions, had slept in the night. They had led kill teams ahead of the finest infantry the Battlegroup could provide, lugging las cannons and rocket launchers along with their standard weapons. 1st and 3rd Recon had stalked the fungal undergrowth relentlessly, slaying the hunters the Enemy fielded with silenced las pistol and blades most times. Even the insects didn’t stop their sonorous calls as they performed their bloody task, clearing the way for the regular infantry.

They hadn’t been perfect of course, three men and two women from Charlie company’s detachment had been set upon by Chaos-polluted assassins, the sickly thin parodies of the men they had been, slashed into on the Guardsmen like striking insects. Charlie company hadn’t broken noise discipline, they had responded to their attackers with machetes and silent fury until Hernandez and Captain Atzhin’s teams arrived and finished the job. Hernandez had held the hand and mouth of one of the soldiers from Charlie, who had only been wounded by a rusty, toxin-coated blade but he lay writhing in the acidic mud jungle floor. Captain Atzhin severed his spine, it was a blessed mercy from whatever fate that foul knife had meant for the young man.

Now they were on to the second phase.

Hernandez had timed the transmissions of the sentries and gave his teammates from 3rd Recon a nod. He felt the temperature around him drop as the man and woman flickered into a hazy, apparition-like form, then were gone in the steaming jungle. Both of the Chaos sentries died without a chance to whisper or move their weapons, but Hernandez smelled their blood as it spilled.

He and his spotter Karwaski moved the remaining two meters to the edge of the and pulled the corpses through the narrow openings, taking care not to let their kit make noise as they handed the bodies off to the remaining members of the infiltration team. Both men slid along the wet ground silently despite their thickly muscled bulk.

The corpses were stowed in the underbrush as Hernandez set up a specially purposed Hellshot sniper rifle, concealing the muzzle in the shadows of the guard post. Hernandez leaned back and braced against the wall of the guard post as Karwaski spotted the Captain of the four Iron Warriors who oversaw this artillery detachment. The traitors marched forward, scanning for any break in the discipline of the corrupted troops they commanded. The camp was expertly made, every artillery piece covered with camouflage netting and fast-setting modular bunker parts. Waist-deep trenches had been dug into the earth between the separated barracks modules, the artillery pieces, and the guard posts with raised walls around the few flat areas reserved for vehicle movement.

Hernandez slowed his breathing, felt his pulse ease, released the tension he didn’t remember feeling gather in his legs and abdomen. From the mouth of the camp, the hideous target stirred as its masters approached. A twisted fusion of insect legs, mechanical scorpion claws, and a curved auto-cannon where a tail might have been, gleamed sickly in the wan ambient light. The Defiler was where they expected, patrolling near the reinforced bunkers at the mouth of the eastern approach. A flicker of light showed from behind the twisted and possessed form of a Chaos anti-aircraft Hydra. 3rd Recon was as prepared as they could be.

Hernandez nodded at Karwaski who tapped his vox bead three times.

It was a signal that was short enough no one in the Chaos emplacement could detect it. Mission ready.

--0400--

The signal came and both operations started at the same time. It was the one thing both Colonels agreed on, as it would keep one emplacement from bolstering the other. The small number of Salamander Astartes on planet led a charge of armor and artillery against the Chaos western flank while the super heavy armor crept towards “Route Alpha”. Valkyrie and Vultures descended from their carrier ships with re-entry speed, trailing super-heated plasma as they shrieked through thickening air toward their objectives. The thick miasma of acidic clouds concealed their exact positions until they broke through, tracer fire from traitor Hydras already carving deadly paths through the pre-dawn black.

Saito sat in his Command Salamander and waited, eyes closed, listening to the chatter as 1st Recon’s spotters talked to the two gunships flexed to his mission. Both camps were guarded by Defiler daemon machines, either of which could wreck most of his light tanks or a company of Elysian Drop Troops. One of his many vox officers turned.

“Sir, just got the go from the inside team, on your order.” Saito nodded once at the lieutenant. The young officer raised the vox handset to his mouth. “Initiate.”

Hernandez waited until the Sergeant of the Chaos Marines turned just enough to where he could see the faceplate, activating the stabilizers of the single-shot rifle. He breathed out, was still, and squeezed the light trigger.

The adamantium-tipped autocannon round flew true from the suppressed muzzle and punched into the side of the traitor’s helmet. Even their armor couldn’t hold up against a round that heavy moving that fast. The projectile dented the Iron Warrior’s helmet instead of exiting as its kinetic energy dumped into the Chaos Marine’s skull, gore burst out of the twenty-millimeter hole as the traitor’s body went limp and fell. Hernandez threw himself to the side as the remaining three instantly turned and opened fire on the guard post. Their bolters gouged and tore into the well-made shelter. Lasbolts erupted from around the guard post, slamming into two of the traitor Astartes, scoring their heavy armor but not penetrating. They bellowed for support and took cover behind their defenses, then noticed that the third member of their squad hadn’t received a single shot.

Hernandez grinned and reloaded his heavy rifle as the traitors howled accusations at their suspected “brother”. He just hoped the rest of this operation went as well.

--0405--

“Reaper this Kitsune, tally enemy encampment at marked grid, call contact.”

“This is Reaper One, contact.” The pilot responded as he locked eyes and auspex on the enemy fortification and heard the brief hiss of hushed vox transmission. The rain made the gloomy landscape a field of darkness with wide swathes of sickly green and white fungal jungle, but the guns of the Chaos artillery were obvious enough, as were the lines of tracer fire reaching up from the enemy Hydra anti-aircraft guns.

Out of the corner of his eye, the Navy Lieutenant watched as the main flight of Valkyrie and Vultures of the Elysian task force swerved and dodged the streaks of fire from the other objective. His thermal scope bloomed slightly and suddenly the tracer fire from his target ceased.

“Reaper this is Kitsune, guns down, lasing target, call contact!” The pilot heard weapons fire and explosions behind the hissed voice. His infrared scanner saw a wide beam of otherwise invisible infrared light paint over a hideous insect-like Chaos engine and loathing filled him.

“Contact, weapons free!” He barked. Both Vultures began blazing high-energy destruction with the four lascannons they mounted, lighting up the clouds in hellish red, the blasts so intense his optics auto-dimmed as they began carving gouges in the disgusting vehicle’s armor. It turned, freakishly, organically fast, its auto-cannon blazing to life as the two aircraft dived at the target with sickening speed.

“Fox 4, Fox 4!” The pilot called out as his Hellstrike missiles pinged a lock. Both birds unleashed their deadly gifts and peeled away, an auto-cannon round punching through the engine of his wingman.

“Reaper Two status!” He snapped out.

“One engine full loss, thrust down 40%, I can maintain altitude but nothing else!” The other Naval officer responded, his voice steady but shaking with barely concealed fear.

“RTB, no point in risking your bird!” The flight leader ordered. “Kitsune, this is Reaper, wingman’s damaged, what’s target status?”

There was a short pause, tension building in the Navy officer; he wasn’t sure if he could kill the Chaos creation if their first strike had failed to do so. Then the reply came, and the pilot grinned at the satisfaction he heard in the Guardsman’s voice.

“Reaper, objective complete, target down.”

The two Tauros hit first, the six wheels churning the hard-packed earth into gouged mud, rockets from the gunner slamming into the already aflame guard posts at the mouth of the Chaos base. Their heavy lascannons opened up next, incinerating a stumbling heretic and forcing any survivors to flee. A lesser unit might have been fully open to attack but these were servants of the Iron Warriors. Engines of Chaos polluted Chimera and other war vehicles roared to life behind the walls of the camp, and the enemy quick reaction force gathered at the first break-wall behind the smoldering wreckage of the Defiler snapping las fire at the attackers.

Four Taurox infantry vehicles were seconds behind the Tauros, angling their vehicles so the infantry inside had cover from the increasing fire from the camp. The turret-mounted mortars of the Taurox began firing into the camp the second they were stationary. The interior walls of the enemy fortification did their job and most detonated far above the gathering traitor force. The deployed men and women of the Acumenar infantry used the enemy barricades as cover from the organizing masses of Chaos, lobbing first shrapnel, then smoke grenades over the burning wreckage of the Defiler war machine.

For a brief moment, fire from the interior stopped, and then there was a shockwave that deafened the Guardsmen, as a high explosive cannon round impacted the wreckage of the Defiler and blasted it clear of the entry point shredding a soldier from Alpha company’s arm before she could dodge the wreck. The Acumenar infantry fell back in a panic, dragging the wounded from the blast, piling back into their transports, the Taurox firing wildly at the sound of approaching traitor armor. A stray lasbolt struck the last Acumenar infantry in the back and burned through his flack vest, killing him instantly, his body hauled inside the armor. The six-wheeled Tauros shot away first, the infantry carriers following close behind, dropping dozens of smoke grenades.

The tracked vehicles churned the muddy road even more than it had been before, the mud a blessing to the Acumenars as the three Chaos Leman Russ tanks pulled out of the opening and began firing down at the fleeing light vehicles, explosive shells sailing wide. The traitor armor opened their throttle and charged through the thick gray haze of smoke from the Taurox dispensers. The leader of the Chaos Guard, a turned lieutenant who was been eager for glory, began howling in frustration as the muddy ground bogged his tanks down and slowed their pursuit of the pitiful force in front of him. Behind the tanks four Chimera APCs and a series of light trucks followed, loaded with three-quarters of the infantry company that had been bunkered in the artillery emplacement.

The tanks punched through the miasma of smoke already firing at the lasbolts that burst through the wall of smoke. The already limited visibility of the Leman Russ tank was even further degraded in the rain and mud,so it wasn’t entirely the Chaos lieutenant’s fault that he didn’t recognize the danger he was in until two concentrated bursts of linked lascannon fire punched through the turret of the tank to his right, detonating the ammunition violently.

Acumena was not a world that favored mass heavy armor formations, and this deployment had seen only a single company worth of Leman Rus Annihilator variant tanks deployed to this expeditionary force. But with all of them arrayed in an arc around the end of the road, it was more than enough to focus armor destroying las cannon fire, and slag the enemy tanks into flaming oblivion.

Already committed to the charge, the Chaos Chimeras behind the tanks formed a line of four and slammed into the wreckage of their tanks. This slowed them to a crawl, but they used the burning wreckage as cover. The disciplined traitor infantry poured out of the Chimeras, readying anti-tank weapons as the APCs’ heavy bolters slammed fire into the Acumenar armor. They could see the Tauros and Taurox vehicles lurking behind the protection of the single row of loyalist Leman Russ tanks. The senior Chaos officer bellowed a war cry, knowing they could swarm the slow-moving vehicles below and rip them apart at point-blank range.

That’s when the fungal undergrowth of the Malathrax jungle blossomed into hellish light.

All along the sloping road lay concealed troopers who had stalked and killed all night, working their way into position. They had concealed themselves with breathing masks and adaptive camouflage ponchos, enduring the mildly acidic muck for hours. Now they struck. Hotshot-charged heavy lasguns punched into the treads of the enemy Chimeras and the wheels of the transport trucks, immobilizing them. Automatic fire from infantry and crew weapons tore into the dismounted forces, while precision sniper shots decapitated the officers and sergeants furthering the confused reaction of the traitors.

Panicked, some of the Chaos infantry launched a desperate charge at the entrenched Acumenars, spraying the corpse-white undergrowth with las-fire. The few who made it across the short distance were met with bayonets and machetes, dealing swift and disciplined death. The slaughter was resolved in less than two minutes as over a hundred traitors died.

While the bloodbath raged, two recovery tank frames approached the kill zone. They came through the lines of infantry fighting vehicles and tanks, then hooked on to the wreckages of enemy armor and APCs and efficiently shoved them off the side of the mud and blood-soaked road into the jungle, opening a corridor for the Tauros, now eight of them, to shoot through. The light vehicles had been modified with foot rails and thick meshes of webbing, serving as both camouflage and handholds.

Behind the Tauros vehicles, Colonel Saito’s Command Salamander slewed through the dark mud. It slowed, providing cover as the Tauros vehicles pulled alongside the infantry detachment that had so shatteringly ambushed the Chaos forces. Despite the enemy essentially firing blind, the Acumenars had suffered casualties. Some of the traitor infantry, through sheer volume of fire and krak grenades, had managed to kill four of the ambushers and wound six more. Saito ordered his vehicle to stop when he saw a woman from Bravo Company dragging her squad leader out of the fungal undergrowth. The squad leader’s right arm and leg were mangled from shrapnel, and leaking crimson into the mud.

Without hesitation the Regimental commander of the Acumenar expeditionary force hopped out of his command vehicle helping the private, Lagos by her nametape, tourniquet the man’s limbs and load him into his Salamander.

“Stay here, when MEDEVAC gets here, catch up! Iwata, get that long vox and you’re with me!” He swung onto the outside of a stopped Tauros, tucking his lascarbine into his arm as he gripped the webbing. Javier Saito had never been one to lead from the rear. His vox officer Iwata hopped onto the other side, informing the task force what was happening.

“Go go go!” Colonel Saito roared at the driver. Six of the Tauros were loaded and ready, chewing through the dissipating clouds of smoke. Inside the barricades of the artillery emplacement flashes and explosions were seen, and Saito gritted his teeth. His people in the Talons were good, the best his world had to offer, and he wouldn’t waste them.

Two of the Iron Warriors, scarred by the heavy las-fire from the jungle, cursed and tried to target their harassing foes. The third had left them to try and reform the defenses of their encampment, to organize any who hadn’t fallen for the obvious trap the servants of the corpse god had set. Leaving the two Space Marines to deal with what should have been easy prey.

They were proving anything but. The pair tried switching through spectrums of vision and cursing as they only caught glimpses of movement, trails of infrared bleeding away too fast to track. The constant rain cooled the barrels of the lasguns, their attacker’s face masks diffused the heat from the faces and breath, and their ponchos absorbed infrared and ultraviolet light.

Then, from the darkness, came the final insult.

The Astartes heard the dull thump of grenade launchers and dove behind separate ferricrete barriers only to spit out more curses as the two projectiles air burst into strobing flashes that overloaded their optics for the briefest moment. Moving far faster than such huge forms had any right to, the Iron Warrior rolled to their feet and charged the captured bunker, knowing human eyes would be blind longer than their optics were. The first saw the soles of jungle boots slipping outside the bunker and he roared in fury, charging into the fortification, raising his bolter to eviscerate these impudent meat sacks.

He missed the trip wire set in the doorway. It triggered two high explosive mines that flung him away, sending him skidding along the dark mud, barely clinging to life. The second leaped clear of his ally’s form and landed on top of the bunker, finally seeing the two fleeing soldiers that had killed his sergeant and given him so much grief. He got a single bolt round off, severing the arm of the one carrying the massive rifle.

Then a platoon’s worth of Hellshot lasbolts slammed into the Astartes, the concentrated volume cutting through his armor and ending the Iron Warrior.

The first Astartes rose slowly, dazed and reeling, blood being drawn away from his nose and ears by his struggling armor. His vision swam even without his optics glitching and showing nothing but static. But it was of little consequence. Because the moment he rose, Veteran Sergeant Karwaski, muzzle flash reflecting off his night vision optics, used the last armor piercing Hellshot round to decapitate the traitor and pay him back for maiming his best friend.

Further in the camp the final Astartes was organizing the remaining thirty Chaos infantry into positions as his helmet detected incoming vehicles. He formed two rocket teams with four high explosive launchers each, and arrayed the others to make the slaves of the Corpse Emperor pay for their entry into his domain. Though he credited the slave’s commander. He displayed far more cunning and skill than what he had come to expect from the Imperial fools. He leveled his heavy bolter and knelt behind the barricade, feeling seconds tick by as the stealthy Tauros vehicles gave away their advance through the sound of mud and tires.

Then he heard a gurgling sound from his left and right.

The Chaos soldier on his right who had held the rocket was dropping to his knees, a sickle blade on a chain, glowing with Warp energy, sunk into his throat to the spine, his reloader dropping with long, psyker powered darts in his eyes and throat. With a savage yank the blade came free, and the Iron Warrior saw a brief flash of a lithe, female form flickering out of view and registered the temperature in that area plummet. He spun to the other team and saw more of the same, his other rocket team assassinated by Warp powered slaves with long, curved single edged swords. Then his optics locked on two small objects, thrown on the arrayed rockets. A half second too late he realized what they were.

Inferno grenades.

The explosion of the collected rockets lifted the Iron Warrior from his position and battered him into the open. It also distracted his arranged troops and they missed the critical moment of the Acumenar mechanized infantry breaching the entry point to the artillery base. The slaughter began anew. The Tauros mounted lascannons evaporated the upper bodies of any exposed traitor infantry while the Acumenar forces dismounted from their transports and broke into fire teams, one covering while the other flanked around the carefully arranged defenses.

Bleary with concussive shock, sinking into the damnable mud of this cursed world the rogue Astartes identified a figure, dressed the same as the other slaves, all that gave the commander away was the long range vox trooper behind him and the gleaming power katana he used while effortlessly shooting a lascarbine one handed. Targeting reticles in the Iron Warriors glitching, impact slow helmet locked on the lanky human, and the Chaos Marine raised his bolter, still kneeling. Before he could pull the trigger the damnable sickle, guided and empowered with Warp energy, flicked over his gun hand, and bit into the soft armor of his wrist. The Astartes tried to transfer his bolter to his left hand, but a gleaming machete and katana blade, wielded by an indistinct gray clad figure, slid between wrist and elbow plates, piercing and cutting, sending agony up the Iron Warriors limb.

The Chaos Marine howled in rage and pain, then saw the commander of the force that had so thoroughly outmaneuvered him charging at the impaled Astartes. The power katana slid under the Iron Warriors helmet, finding Chaos tainted flesh, and biting deep.

Saito used the elbow of the arm that held his carbine, pushed with his legs, and twisted, feeling the blade slip down in between genetically reinforced vertebrae. The Iron Warrior died trying to curse the human who had killed him.

Saito was already moving on.

“Secure the area! Sweep fast but watch for mines, I want melta charges on those Throne damned guns in less than ten minutes!” He watched his soldiers move with barely restrained pride. Every traitor soldier had a single, full power lasbolt put dead center of its face, fire teams moved out in fields of overlapping fire and mutual support. The Taurox arrived a moment after the last Chaos turned bastard fell, and the second wave of Acumenar infantry began deploying in squads into the base. Eight minutes forty seconds later, the first Chaos artillery piece went up.

Colonel Javier Saito turned to his comms NCO and took the handset from him.

“Battle Six this is Light Rifle Six, Chaos position secured, first enemy gun destroyed, remaining will follow in two minutes. Mission complete 0446 local.” There was a brief burst of static as the encoded burst was heard, then a return.

“Light Rifle Six acknowledged, Abyss Six SITREP?” Abyss Six was Colonel Stern’s call sign and Saito held his breath unconsciously.

“Battle Six this Abyss Six, objective still secure as first report at 0423. Black on personnel. Request second wave deployment.” Stern’s haughty voice drolled out. Saito saw the data on his slate from the vox and his guts twisted into violent contortions. Over one hundred dead in the Elysian’s assault on a position that was almost identical to the target he had taken with ten KIA. And Stern sounded like a 30% casualty rate among his soldiers was a triumph. For twenty three minutes of bragging rights.

“Abyss six, acknowledge, but negative to your request.” There was a brief moment of silence. “Your second wave has been tasked to the Inquisition.”

“WHAT?” Stern exploded, all decorum and vox protocol lost. “Sir, if I don’t have the reinforcements-”

“You will be combat ineffective, ja, I am aware. The local Planetary Defense Force was ruled to have not resisted the traitor’s influence strongly enough, and zerfore are being judged as tainted and subject to Inquisitorial execution.” There was another brief pause. “I am not happy about this either gentlemen. Colonel Saito redeploy to Route Alpha and prepare to scout for my advance. Emperor Protects!”

Saito repeated the invocation emotionlessly. The joy he felt at his soldiers performance was sucked dry from his soul, the PDF had sustained grievous losses to the Chaos infection. They’d been no match for Iron Warriors and retreated, had never seen the Salamanders who fought for them, but Saito had seen them, he knew the men and women who were about to die for not fighting hard enough.

The Emperor protects. Except here, thought Saito. Except when it matters.

“Furthermore, their command structure in many cases is based on titles and accidents of their messy, organic births rather than merit. Sub-optimal directives are issued from higher ranks with no understanding of ground conditions, followed with blind obedience. Adaptability rating: non-existent for a majority of encountered units.”

Designation: Cryptek Heirotekh, Phaeron Imhotekh’s Cadre Survey Subject: Astra Militarum

“This is she? The one called Cordova?” Haruna’s head swam, she tried to force herself to breathe as she heard the Astartes’ voice, he sounded like baritone silk.

“Aye, Lord Captain, she brought the Tau device down, opened the damned xenos flank as neat as a surgeon.” Colonel Saito said, appropriate reverence in his voice, but also a tint of pride. She was under his command after all. Finally getting her breathing under control Haruna risked looking at the armored boots of the Blood Angel commanding officer. The armor was gleaming, cleaned of all dirt and Tau blood, but still carried a weight in the crimson, a memory of ages, battles and blood no polish could wipe away. She was in awe.

“Raise your eyes Corporal Cordova, I am no saint to be prayed to.” Captain Avicius said gently. However much she might have been inclined to feel otherwise Haruna was not about to ignore a command from the Emperor’s Angel. She looked up, her blue eyes wide with reverence meeting his own calm, appraising cerulean gaze. Avicius studied her for a moment then nodded.

“Allow me to tell you a small story, Corporal Cordova.” The Lord Captain said. “Over four hundred cycles of this planet around its suns’ my battle brother Vaeleros and I emerged from out sacred chambers, forged anew in Sanguinus’ image. A hundred years later, we found ourselves on this world, saving your manufactorums from the forces of Chaos. Your people fought valiantly, your psykers found the cultists quickly and prevented the spread of the taint. We merely finished what this world already started. In nomine Imperatoris.”

The rest of the briefing room echoed the invocation, she was speaking High Gothic, saying “In the Emperor’s Name” with one of his own Angels! Haruna swallowed and kept her face calm. Captain Avicius’ eyes were distant however.

“My brother Vaeleros in particular rescued a group of craftsmen single handedly from traitor cultists. One of them was a bladesmith, possessed of particular skill and artistry. He begged Vaeleros to accept a gift, a token of his world’s gratitude. Vaeleros refused, because he was a son of Sanguinius, but when the old man gave him the blade, this blade.” Avicius held out his hand carefully, respectfully. In the armored palm of the Blood Angel’s hand was a knife by the massive Astartes standard. To Haruna it was a full sized katana, like those worn by elite Cavalry or the Talon Special Forces operators.

It was beautiful.

“Vaeleros accepted this work of art and carried it with him for three hundred more years of battle against the dark, using it as intended sometimes, but mostly as a reminder of who he defended.” Captain Avicius couldn’t help but stiffen, a surge of constrained fury tightening his massive bulk under the crimson armor. “He was among the first to fall in the initial attack on those cursed Tau. His Stormraven was struck and then he was cut down by their cowards from afar.”

Avicius turned his impossibly artistic face away for just a half second to regain focus then faced Haruna resolute and calm again. “This blade was carried from this world by my battle brother, I believe fate and the Emperor have decreed that this blade has journeyed home. You, Corporal Cordova, you allowed my brothers to avenge our fallen with no further human blood spilled. You allowed me to set my brother’s spirit at peace. And for that, I will be eternally in your debt. Please allow this blade to serve you as it did my brother.”

Avicius leaned down, clearly offering the curved weapon. It was resplendent in a prism tree redwood scabbard, adorned with engravings of serpents and jaguars. Her mouth dry, hands trembling, close to falling over she was hyperventilating so much, Haruna reached her hands up and took the hilt and scabbard gently, formally, bringing the weapon to her chest. She looked back up at him, trying to get her throat to work, her mouth to form something.

“I...I...yes my lord I will strive to wield it with honor, in the Emperor’s name!” She finally managed to whisper out. Avicius smiled, nodding slightly in his power armor.

“Had I any doubt I would not have given it to you. Continue your journey Corporal, for the Emperor!” The room again echoed the invocation reverentially. Avicius turned to face Colonel Saito. The tall, sword-thin officer turned just slightly to fully face the Angel. Avicius bowed his body slightly. “It has been an honor to do the Emperor’s will here Colonel, but I must leave. Ave Imperator.”

“Ave Imperator Lord Captain it has been our honor to have your aid.” Colonel Saito bowed formally at the waist, as they did in the mountain dojo of Takama. The Blood Angel Captain turned and strode away, Astartes armor whirring and making the earth tremble. Colonel Saito rose from his bow and looked at the dumbstruck, still kneeling Corporal, and tried not to show the amusement he felt at her reaction in his jet black eyes. “On your feet Corporal.”

Discipline ripped through her foggy mind and Haruna snapped up to her feet, the Astartes katana held in her left hand. Sudden panic shone in the young sniper’s eyes, and Saito worked extremely hard to keep the harsh, chiseled features of his face unmoving.

“Permission to speak sir?” Haruna managed, her voice a shade away from squeaking.

“Granted.” Saito responded, straightening his immaculate field uniform. The young woman’s eyes flickered towards the weapon in her hand, then back to him, now looking utterly stricken.

“Sir...I... sir I can’t wear this! But I have to... I mean what can I... how can I...?” At this point Saito looked away for a moment, meeting his executive officers eyes, both of them trying not to laugh at the panicking junior NCO.

“That’s right, you’re infantry aren’t you?” Colonel Javier Saito, former commander of Haruna’s current battalion, mused. “I suppose we’ll have to transfer you then.”

Haruna stiffened, a strange mix of emotions welling in her that she forced back down into her unsteady stomach. “Am I to be Cavalry sir? I didn’t know they needed snipers.”

“Oh, don’t they? Huh. Well that is a problem.” Mused the severe faced Colonel, his XO looked at him with a mildly disapproving air. Saito couldn’t help but chuckle once. Major de’Brey was right, he’d had enough fun at Cordova’s expense. Saito turned back to the now visibly sweating Corporal. “Only one thing for it then, XO if you please.”

“Attention to Orders!” de’Brey barked out and the staff, already on their feet for the Blood Angel’s departure, snapped rigid. “Be it known that effective immediately, for her demonstrated courage, skill, and fealty to the Emperor’s will, Corporal Haruna Cordova is hereby promoted to the rank of Sergeant. In trust of her loyalty, leadership, and professional excellence, by order of Colonel Javier Saito, Infantry, Commander.”

“Provisional promotion.” Colonel Saito said, taking a data slate from the table and holding it out to the bewildered young woman. “I can only do this because I requested you to be transferred to the First Talon Special Operation Battalion.”

“First Recon?” Haruna breathed out, her voice a whisper that Saito heard and no one else. He flashed her a sharp glare to remain disciplined that he didn’t even come close to feeling. It had been an easy enough request to his friend and former subordinate, Lieutenant Colonel Naomi Sakata, for Haruna’s transfer to be immediate. Cordova had basically completed the mission Aguilar had tasked her Delta company with by herself, so Saito had a good feeling where she was going.

“Thumbprint here if you accept this transfer and promotion, Sergeant.” Gathering every bit of willpower and control she had left in her mind and body Haruna pressed a trembling thumb to the data slate. Colonel Saito nodded.

“Well now in accordance with all applicable regulation and tradition, you are authorized to wear both katana and machete Sergeant.” The taciturn officer said. “But I’d get your gear from your rack and be at the south Landing Zone in thirty five minutes if you don’t want to have to hike to First Recon command! Dismissed!”

Eyes wide, Haruna snapped a razor sharp salute, spun and this time outright sprinted towards the Alpha company tent where her rack and few belongings were. Saito watched the ecstatic young soldier go with a slight smile. Major de’Brey stepped closer and Saito already felt his mood darken.

“Corps command is on vid-vox sir. It’s the new general, he’d like to explain personally why your promotion was denied, and why Sergeant Cordova’s commendation was denied as well.” Saito closed his eyes and breathed slowly and calmly.

“I was in the middle of commanding a rescue of the forces of 2nd Battlegroup’s repulsed offensive, and overseeing a counterstrike when the vox came through of who this...” The furious Colonel stilled his tongue, remembering they weren’t in a private area. “Fine officer is. Care to educate your commander Marcus?”

The Major met his gaze ruefully. “Lord General Tiberius Stern, First Elysian Drop Regiment. That’s who, Javier.”

The colonel’s growled curses would have caused an Ecclisiarchs ears to melt.

Minutes later, Saito reflexively straightened and tugged his crisp uniform taut though he was not yet broadcasting his image to his new corps commander. The thought burned in his mind like a shard from a flaming blade. They’d served in the same offensive together, shed heretic and Chaos blood together, and the newly minted General had left an impression on the Acumenar officer. Colonel Javier Saito had killed Tyranids with more concern for human life than the Elysian.

The pict-caster hummed to life as the vox network bounced signals off of Acumena’s strong ionosphere. Lord General Stern’s image was a static pulled, flickering blue-white affair, that still managed to convey the man’s over two meter height and imposing physicality; Stern’s first of his two expressions was transmitted as well, a smugly condescending smirk.

“Why Colonel Saito, it has been seven years has it not?” Tiberius Stern stated evenly, his deep voice ragged and fizzing at the ends of sounds with the distortion in the vox. Saito nodded once, keeping his expression calm.

“Give or take time in the Warp, that’s correct, sir.” Saito, instinctively recalling his junior enlisted roots, wondered if the overbearing Elysian would even recognize the pause. If respect was genuine, natural to the soldiers involved then there was no pause between statement and rank. If respect was only there because it was mandatory then there was always a pause. Saito continued. “Seven years since we killed heretics on Malathrax Quartus. My command did well in the final push.”

Stern’s face twisted into a ferocious scowl of midnight dark anger, made more distorted by the distance between them and the inconsistencies of the vox waves. That didn’t take long, mused Javier, he’d only ever seen Stern look smug or furious. The moment quickly faded and Stern regained control of himself, his expression filled with the disdain that somehow even reflected in his augmetic eye.

“Yes, somehow you managed to outwit the heretics that day, and apparently have done so again with these Tau xenos. Though I am curious how you managed to effect such a smashing victory with so few losses.” General Stern said with casual indifference. This was a standard accusation from “leaders” like the Elysian. They would drop so many of their troops into the maw of the enemy that their blood drowned the foes of the Imperium. Any other approach, particularly one that differed in doctrine from their own, was viewed with suspicion, and far too often, that suspicion cost soldiers their lives.

“One of my Scouts was able to infiltrate their perimeter, right to the border of their camp and deliver a surgical strike. But I’m sure you read the report in detail. Sir.” Saito responded, his voice even and measured, forcing a calm as his fingers clenched behind his back. “Even Lord Captain Avicius commended her actions.”

That smug smile that Saito wanted to smash with a bolt pistol turned up even more.

“Ah yes, the Blood Angels, the true heroes of the assault, I made sure to...amend, your overly hyperbolic report of the trooper’s contributions in my forwarding of the summary to the Ministry of War.” Stern responded with nonchalant spite. Then the extravagant cruelty that Javier knew lurked in the man surfaced. “In fact I have requested a specialist in rooting out heresy be transferred here, he’s quite motivated, his family had its legacy destroyed in the Klaisus 3 tragedy, he is very skilled at discovering traitors hiding behind bravery. Inquisitor Blackwood will also be reviewing the officers who recommended you for promotion, Colonel.”

Saito’s control fractured, and he leaned towards the flickering image of his commanding officer, dropping the posture of respect, almost unconsciously reaching for the katana at his side.

“Sergeant Cordova is a member of First Recon now, she’s been cleared by Ordos Hereticus several times, and been nothing but a loyal daughter of the Imperium, this will accomplish nothing. General.” His stoic face descended into a scowl of pure fury. “I care not if your personal vendetta against me stands in my career’s path but leave my soldiers out of this!”

Stern’s face matched Saito’s in a storm of fury, and had they not been separated by several thousand kilometers and a literal sea there would have been violence between the men.

“You transferred her and promoted her without my authorization! You just confirmed what I have always said about your kind, you coddle your troops and fight like an Aeldari! You are soft and ineffective and I will demonstrate it, I will put right the wrong you inflicted on me and take back the glory you stole from me on Malathrax!” The general’s voice dropped in volume but if anything grew darker and more vicious. “I will see to it you never command soldiers off this miserable backwater again, and neither will I let your pet abomination infect my Guard!”

The image cut out and Colonel Saito fought a growl of frustration back. He had put down one enemy, and now a far more poisonous one commanded him and all the lives he was responsible for. It was almost enough for him to offer a prayer to the Throne. Almost.

Not that Javier Saito had prayed for anything since Malathrax.

INQUISITORIAL RECORD

Subject: Planetary Governance Meeting, Acumena Majoris

Date: 031 M40 (est 1100 solar cycles before current date)

Attendees: Inquisitor Thorne, Engineer Cyrax, Master Veteran Sergeant Aguilar Saito (Catachan Devils)

Summary: Current situation of re-integration of Acumena Majoris into Imperial Compliance

Factors/Salient Facts:

1. Limited Weaponry: Only 45% of the Imperial Guard contingent is currently armed with functional lasrifles.

2. Local Compliance: Populace’s current cooperation is based on ignorance of the limits of local Imperial resources.

3. Organic Solution: The most common species of tree on the planet is capable of rectifying the weaponry shortage.

Inquisitor [Redacted] Ordo Xenos

Smoke and the smell of ionized air and burning xenos drifted across the island as Haruna fought off the exhaustion that suffused her body. The shift from the near-constant endorphin high of her past mission to the monotony of overwatch was jarring, making it a struggle to maintain discipline. Her eyes burned as she scanned her sector. However frayed her concentration and senses were, she still picked up on the crunch of three sets of boots marching in lockstep towards her. She waited until the Guardsmen were close enough to avoid alarming them before glancing over her shoulder. Sometimes people got spooked if she reacted when she first detected them. She recognized Chief Veteran Sergeant Iwata of Bravo Company, accompanied by two Corporals.

“Stand down Corporal, area is clear.” Haruna nodded, thumbing the safety on her long-lasrifle, and peeling herself from the shallow depression she had made into her position when given instruction to secure this lane of approach. The green and yellow grass rippled as the wind mercifully picked up and blew towards the battlefield, blessedly carrying the stench of burning xenos and their equipment away from her. The senior Non Commissioned Officer looked at the exhausted Corporal and nodded curtly. “Heard you were good Cordova, Your platoon sergeant, Vasquez, used to be in Bravo under me. He was a good soldier, and spoke highly of you. Looks like he was right.”

“Thank you, Chief Veteran Sergeant,” Haruna replied, slinging her lasrifle and bringing her carbine to a low ready, finger over the trigger guard. Always ready. Apprehension, outright fear, gripped Haruna’s throat. “My team Chief Veteran Sergeant, did they... make it?”

Chief Veteran Sergeant Iwata nodded, as if she had passed some test.

“Buentello took some heavy fragmentation, probably needs his arm replaced, an eye too. Your team lead, Sergeant Sixto? He pulled everyone else together but they were about to get smashed by some of those filthy Kroot savages. They got lucky, 1st Recon had a team insert at the same time as they did, they smoked the xenos, got your team out. No Killed in Action.”

Relief, and more exhaustion, made Haruna slump slightly. Her background made most, even her platoon and team NCO, treat her with some distance, but Alpha Recon at least respected her. It was more than she got from most who knew of her parent’s deeds, and she valued it. No one from her team K I A? She’d been on training operations with more fatalities.

“Thank you Chief Veteran Sergeant, where do you need me to go?” She said wearily. The veteran NCO snorted.

“Corporal, when was the last time you got to sleep?” He asked, Haruna blinked and tried to recall.

“Thirty fi-um thirty six hours Chief Veteran Sergeant, I’m out of stims, if you need-” Iwata made a cutting motion with his hand.

“I need you to get to Valkyrie 3-A and prep for evac, you did good, you’re a credit to Acumena, but you’re in no condition to serve anyone right now. “ He paused and leaned closer, speaking softly so the two junior enlisted behind him couldn’t hear. “All of us, up to Colonel Saito, know you saved a lot of lives out here today. But above him? Ministry of War got some new hotshot Lord General from offworld, to him doctrine is duty. Make sure your action report is very clear, and very accurate Corporal.”

A familiar gut clenching anxiety tensed Haruna’s body. Without speaking she nodded. Her parent’s legacy cast a long shadow, far overreaching the saving of hundreds of Imperial Guard lives.

Chief Veteran Sergeant Iwata nodded back and straightened. “Ramos, Motouji, get the Corporal a seat, ahead of the engines. My orders.”

The two young infantry straightened and called out their acknowledgement. “Ha!”

“This way Corporal.” Said the Private, Motouji, a young man probably seeing his first action since Basic, Haruna vaguely mused. This had been her first real combat operation but she’d had two years of training before this. The other Corporal walked next to her.

“You really smoked three fishheads and let the Angels in?” Ramos asked, trying to sound casual, but with an edge of eagerness in his voice. A slight spring returned to the drained sniper’s steps as she nodded.

“Five actually, got two of their pilots before the Emperor’s Angels arrived, Throne they were amazing!” The sniper said, exuberance sounding in her voice through the exhaustion. Ramos and Motouji shook their heads.

“Man I only got one, wasn’t even one of their gunheads.” Ramos complained. “Scouts get all the fun!”

Thinking of the injuries that her team had suffered, Haruna wasn’t positive that “fun” was accurate but was too exhausted to argue.

“More than me,” Mumbled Motouji. “I was in the second wave, wasn’t anything to do then but set up melta-bombs and demo charges, and then patrol.”

The young Private shifted around and looked at Haruna for so long he nearly tripped. He coughed and shifted his gaze around before finally managing to speak. “Um, there’s a really good restaurant outside the Fortress, great fish tortillas, maybe you can tell me about it while I-”

Although his snorting laugh was rude, Haruna was secretly glad for the interruption Ramos provided. Romance was the farthest thing from her mind.

“Fracking ‘ell, no wonder you haven’t got a date for the Prism Blossom festival! She’s been face to face with fishfaces for damn near two days and you’re asking her on a date! To eat fish! Timing kid!” The, marginally, older soldier laughed. Moutuji sagged and for a moment the exhausted Haruna felt bad for the crestfallen private.

The Prism Blossom festival, ordained by the Adeptus Mechanicus, was the biggest celebration of the year for the Xochitil continent. It was the beginning of the harvest of the crystalline blossoms that formed the lens of every Acumenar lasweapon, from the rifle on her back to mobile tank destroyer lascannons. Acumenar poets often picked it as a time to compose their most romantic poems during the three day city-wide party. Haruna usually volunteered for night watch and overnight barracks guard so she couldn’t be pressured by her squad to go with them.

“Ramos is correct, I am very tired and need a shower, but I will consider your offer, as long as there are enough vegetables there.” The young man brightened and resumed escorting the exhausted Corporal to her designated transport. She had no intention of actually getting back to him, despite her love of a vegetable burrito, but hopefully in the chaos of the after action recovery her unit was going to have to do, he’d forget about her and move on to someone who hadn’t been born to heretics who refused the Emperor’s call to arms. Or invited chaos into their family as she had been accused of so many times. She’d been close to another once before, before he discovered her heritage, and the pain from that rejection was worth bearing her self imposed isolation.

Invoking the Chief Veteran Sergeant’s order, Ramos ejected another corporal from the choice seat at the front of the Valkyrie. It was an unspoken truth among Guardsmen. If you didn’t want the first shots at the enemy the best place was at the front corner of the Valkyrie troop compartment. Ahead of the engine you didn’t hear half the roar of the atmospheric thrusters, and you could lean against the forward bulkhead and get some shut eye. Haruna favored her escorts with a grateful, weary smile, locked her long-lasrifle in place in the weapon clamp, strapped herself tightly into the bench, leaned her helmet against the vibrating armor plate, and was asleep before the Corporal from Bravo Company had time to complain more.

Haruna awoke as the Valkyrie jostled in turbulence, blue eyes blinking rapidly, and feeling slightly better for however long she had napped. She felt the craft begin to descend and looked at the other soldiers, most of them doing exactly what she was, being shaken awake. The descent didn’t feel like a combat landing, or worse freefall, so the sniper hoped it meant they were on approach to Fortaleza del Sol. The full name of the base was Fortress of the Rising Sun of Nue Caracas, but no actual soldier would call it that. So in the slang that had migrated with the first colonists of Acumena many millennia ago, the local tongue worked fine for most reports. Most enlisted, especially anyone from offworld, just said FDS.

For Haruna Cordova, and the entirety of the 3rd Battlegroup, the base had been home for two years, since she had graduated Basic on the agri-continent of Xochitl. Her Regimental Commander, Lieutenant Colonel Goji, had been battlefield promoted to the position of commander when the previous command element of the 161st Mechanized Infantry Regiment had been struck by some of the xenos flyers in a blinding fast retaliatory strike after the first push had failed. No one had expected the Tau to set up their abhorrent cannons so quickly, and the commanders of the 2nd Battlegroup were unfamiliar with the blue-skinned xenos. Four Valkyrie’s worth of Guardsmen had died without ever seeing the island they were supposed to land on. After that disaster, one of the Blood Angel Stormravens had been struck and the brave Astartes on it were cut down by the cowardly fish-men from long range.

The pride she felt at her helping avenge them was enough to make up for the fact that as the Bravo company soldiers woke and began joking and laughing amongst each other no one spoke to her. Something prickled along her senses and Haruna looked directly at another female soldier. She was tall and square jawed under nut brown skin and the wide nose of a Xochitil native, and dark brown, almost black eyes seething with hate as she stared at the sniper. Haruna saw her name and remembered it.

Lagos, she was a squad leader, a Veteran Sergeant from Bravo’s own scout platoon. Haruna’s still rousing brain struggled to remember why her gaze held so much venom. Two things lit in her mind, Lagos’s brother was part of the Ordos Hereticus, a permanent fixture on a world with near double the numbers of psykers compared to the rest of the Imperium. Most in her company knew she was the orphan child of heretic pacifists, but few knew the depth of their treachery. Of the few that did, Veteran Sergeant Lagos was the only one who had been a champion in the “Best Sniper” competition and been dethroned by Haruna on Haruna’s first year in the competition.

Fanaticism and resentment were a bitter mix to taste and it appeared Lagos had drunk of it deeply.

The Valkyrie began to shake as they neared their final approach. Haruna silently prayed that Alpha company was still here in force and the staging area on FDS had not begun full recovery operations yet. At least among her own unit there was an amiable, if not friendly, relationship, and the rest of the Alpha scouts respected Haruna’s desire for privacy. Being stuck with Veteran Sergeant Lagos for hours as they turned in their weapon to the Tech Priests and conducted after action reviews was a baneful thought.

But as she emerged from the landed Valkyrie and saw sporadic Alpha company soldiers and a long line from Bravo heading to the same building, she realized the Throne had other things to do than grant her wish. Wordlessly, avoiding eye contact, she marched in step with the unfamiliar troopers of Bravo into the cavernous building. As the line moved forward in groups of five to turn their lasguns back into the storage Armory where they would be inventoried and given the treatment of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Haruna had heard other worlds expected attack so often their Guard never turned their weapons in, only giving them to the Tech Priests when they ceased functioning.

As she pulled her helmet off her matted black hair, Haruna remembered from her orphanage’s teaching that the Noctan and Catachan veterans who had accidentally arrived at Acumena Majoris had been forced to adopt different techniques. The Warp storm that had dumped them here had found a world isolated from the universe for thousands of years, with a culture evolved quite differently from a majority of the Imperium. Acumena had never gone feral, the Emperor was still venerated as he should have been, and there was a functioning civilization here, but without contact with the Imperium it had mutated in unexpected ways.

Those original Astra Militarum, Ordos Hereticus, and Adeptus Mechanicus, had soon set many things right that had drifted away from the Imperium, but practicality and survival had been at the forefront of the veterans minds. The Tech Priests had soon discovered that the Prism Trees, a short, wide, flowering species that seemed to be the most successful and widespread species on the planet, used the binary suns’ ultraviolet rays to guide pollinators through its razor sharp, crystalline blossoms. And that these blossoms could be used as focus lens’ for Imperial lasweapons.

The Ordos Hereticus had decreed that the Emperor had guided them here to make use of this bounty. After all, were humans not destined to rule the cosmos? Adaptation could be allowed if it furthered the Emperor’s will. Haruna, like most soldiers, figured the Inquisitors just didn’t want to have forces without a source of resupply.

Part of that adaptation was constant scrutiny by the Tech Priests to insure that none their weapon’s spirits had become tainted by any xenos influence, which was why when they weren’t on mission all weapons were returned to the Mechanicus armories. All of this resulted in Haruna shuffling in line with Bravo Company to return her rifle to Cog Boys. At least she would get her own weapon back every time. Scout sniper long-lasrifle optics were meticulously sighted to their individual users unlike the bulk lasguns and lascarbines used by rank and file infantry.

It was a small comfort as she felt Veteran Sergeant Lagos’ white hot glare bore into the back of her head, and did nothing for her isolation. She wished she could’ve brought a data slate with her when her team was deployed, she had several videos saved showing how various vehicle components or even rifles like hers were constructed. Something about the smooth, untroubled efficiency of a forge assembling weapons always soothed Haruna, far more simple and clean than the messiness of the other humans around her. Thoughts like those kept her silent until it was her turn to hand her beloved rifle over to the initiate, who intoned the serial number to the true Adept behind him. The Mechanicus’ gleaming green eyes flashed as it recognized her registration.

“Alpha Company, yet you are with Bravo Company, and no notification given,” The augmented adept, Haruna wasn’t sure if the three metal armed Tech Priest with a strangely floating gait had been male or female. At this point, it probably didn’t matter. Whoever they were, they made a disappointed sounding buzzing noise. “I must give consolation to the Omnissiah, hallowed be his Binary, for this disordered process.”

Haruna nodded as she turned her chameleon poncho and carbine in as well. “...right, Praise the Omnissiah. Anything else?”

The Tech Priest hummed as its disconcerting eyes flickered. His (she guessed) head swung to look at her.

“Negative, proceed to debriefing room 2, go in the Machine Gods’ service.” Haruna mumbled something back that was vaguely appropriate, turned and headed for the mass debriefing room. Trying to be discreet she glanced around the columns of troops, and didn’t see Lagos. Haruna wasn’t sure if that was good or bad as she entered the secluded debrief room.

Bad, Haruna reflected, as the eyes of Veteran Sergeant Lagos, the Bravo Company squad, and her platoon leader snapped to her. There weren’t many troopers, and she recognized several of them; they’d been on the same Valkyrie as her, meaning they were all Bravo Company. Still she kept her head down and moved towards a bench in the middle of the room, trying to blend into the crowd. It was not to be.

Veteran Sergeant Lagos stepped in front of her making an exaggerated show of inspecting the young Corporal. Haruna held her tongue for as long as she could. When she spoke her voice was calm and carefully modulated. “Is there a problem, Veteran Sergeant?”

Lagos flinched back, her face screwed up as if she had just smelled something unpleasant.

“Bad enough to have your tainted sweat dripping on my floor, I have to smell your breath too? Throne preserve me, what did I do to deserve this? Yeah, there’s a problem, I was checking where the tips of your knife ears went ‘trooper’.” Lagos said through a contemptuous sneer. It was an old insult, heard hundreds of times before. Her ethereal appearance had sparked jealousy before, as if Haruna had any say in what her face looked like. Her agility and quickness, added to patience and a near pictographic memory, made her a better sniper than Lagos. She’d been compared to a xenos, an Eldar, even by people who’d never seen one of the arrogant race, more times than she could remember. Never mind she had been examined by Inquisitors and medics countless times, never mind she had just helped save hundreds of Guardsmen, possibly including Lagos, Haruna never could seem to sidestep the shadow her parents cast.

“Sergeant, my lineage didn’t stop me from helping get those fish-heads off the planet. And I’ve been checked by the Inquisitors and the medics. If there’s any trace of xenos taint in me it hasn’t been found. ” Haruna responded. “Do you think you know better than they?”

The last part was likely the wrong part to say. Lagos’ face and eyes darkened with fury, and she put her hand on the clip that kept her duty machete on her belt. Weapons were for war, dropping one’s machete to the ground meant a more personal approach to combat. Haruna had been forced into more than one brawl just to preserve herself, she found her hand on her machete latch ready to respond in kind, until she saw two of Lagos’ squad, big, brutish infantryman, stand up and move to flank her.

“Hey Lieutenant, I think the CO’s looking for you,” Lagos said with a sneer over her thickly muscled shoulder. Haruna watched the dark blonde man give an answering smirk and leave the room, closing the door behind him. Lagos nodded and dropped her machete, squaring up and raising her hands to a guard. “Been wanting to see what color you bleed, taint!”

Haruna’s heart thundered in her chest as she felt her hand tremble on the latch to her machete, she couldn’t fight them all, definitely not unarmed, but if she drew steel then this wouldn’t be a brawl, it’d be a fight to the death. She swallowed, stepping back, but unsure of what she should do. Lagos’ expression was cruel and gleeful, if Haruna drew a weapon her soldiers could do the same and-

“ROOM ATTEN-SHUN!” Thundered a voice from the door, the crowd of Bravo Company soldiers and Haruna snapped their arms to their sides and went into rigid attention. The chagrined platoon leader stood at the door, face flushed. Bravo company’s commander Captain Valdueza strode into the room, Chief Veteran Sergeant Iwata behind him. The officer was still in his field uniform stained with sweat and showing lines of flak armor. He glared at the position Veteran Sergeant Lagos was in, her machete on the floor. Silence reigned.

“Veteran Sergeant, is brawling authorized in my company?” Captain Valdueza said quietly. Lagos gulped but didn’t move.

“No sir!” He walked slowly and deliberately in between her and Haruna and nodded.

“So you definitely weren’t about to engage in some were you? Veteran Sergeant?” Someone outside the Imperial Guard might have missed the pause between his question and his statement of her rank. Everyone in the room knew what it meant. He considered her actions disgraceful, and her rank and position meant her actions angered him even more.

“No sir! Never!” Lagos lied authoritatively. Captain Valdueza turned on his heel and regarded Haruna.

“Corporal Cordova, report to Regimental Headquarters, Colonel Saito wants to see you.” Even the disciplined troopers sucked in quiet gasps. Shock, relief, and now a different kind of anxiety rushed through the young woman. She snapped a salute. The captain returned the gesture. “Dismissed Corporal.”

Haruna spun and didn’t quite run out of the briefing room, her body felt weak from another adrenaline dump, conflicting emotions twisted in her guts like a stomach full of glass. She’d been on the receiving end of abuse like Lagos’ before, but never so blatant, and never after she had pushed so hard to do the Emperor’s will. She focused on her breathing, almost in a daze as she crossed the field, oblivious to the backdrop of thousands of soldiers stowing gear, parking two legged Strider tanks, the roar of aircraft overhead.

Battlegroup headquarters was a temporary shelter placed between three Salamander Scout tanks. Acumenar doctrine called for extremely versatile commands that reacted quickly to threats and stayed moving rather than relying on long range vox and keeping far away from the front lines. Haruna identified herself to the two heavy armored guards and was waved inside the camo shrouded building. The light was dim, lit by a central holo-display of the battle space. Colonel Saito stood with his Executive officer, an off-worlder named de’Brey. As Haruna saluted and began to report, her voice caught in her throat, eyes widening,pulse surging as she dropped to a reverential kneel.

Lord Captain Avicius, commanding officer of the Blood Angels task force sent to save her world, stood before her, and looked at Haruna with calm, appraising eyes.

For anyone who hasn’t been to the Middle East there’s often a misconception. Phrases like “World’s Biggest Beach!” or “The Sandbox” conjures specific images in the minds of most civilians. They’re inaccurate and that’s intentional. We don’t like remembering where we are any more than the average citizen wants to think about what we do. Not thinking about the larger context is a soldier’s primary occupation, we spend our time concentrating on what’s in front of us, war is good as a clarity inducing mechanism that way. Everything else is confusing and draining, what is in front of you, that’s what matters.

Anyway, back to the most prevalent misconception about Iraq, the awful, terrible, oppressive sand. Evil baby powder is the closest metaphor I can think of. Fine powder that manages to be harsh edged and annoying while being maliciously effective at disrupting the function of weapons, vehicles, and my mental health. That’s what I tell myself the cause is anyway, the best lies we tell ourselves are mostly true. Day missions are the worst, not only is the sand everywhere, but it burns you. I get why the locals are covered head to foot. There’s other reasons too, primarily that there’s a curfew now, been in effect for two years, since ’04, no civilian vehicle traffic after 2100 in the cities. Makes missions easier, sometimes I’ll go four or five days without having to pull the trigger.

Day missions are the worst, and we’re on a five day (ha!) mission to the Syrian border. Delivering armored personnel carriers on the trucks meant to haul bulldozers. We all know why, tracked vehicles are destructive beasts, but they’re short range and break when you start them too often. We still make fun of the mission, the ridiculous concept of our puny HMMV escorting a Bradley. There’s three of us in this steel plated box, Romo’s a Peruvian immigrant, and my roommate. The “Room” part of the term is another self-deceptive lie, everyone in the tent has their living space partitioned off with scrap plywood sheets, gives us an illusion of privacy. We’ve noted that the line between minimum security felon and deployed soldier isn’t always a wide one. They get in trouble if they inflict violence on government time, we either get a medal or jail time. Either way we get hazard pay, that’s something.

Romo’s the driver, it’s the only position he doesn’t fall asleep at, I should know, I wake his ass up every day. Sergeant Henderson is the Vehicle Commander, VC, and we’re not far apart in most ways. We’re both logistic clerks, meant to be “in the rear with the gear”. He’s from Illinois, I’m from Michigan, he’s got two daughters, I’ve got two sons, similar age too. We both were here three years ago during the opening invasion, neither of us saw much combat. That’s changed for both of us here too. He had a few semesters of college more than I did so he pinned Sergeant right before we deployed, so he’s sitting on the radio and monitoring the BFT while I’m wearing 40 pounds of hard plate ceramic armor I bought because the Army issue stuff is old and sketchy, sitting behind a 7.62 millimeter chambered machine gun, an M240, with an actual M-16, the old one, probably manufactured before I enlisted seven years ago next to it. Most importantly, we both have epic deployment mustaches.

I’ll go to my grave before I admit it out loud, but his has more style.

The M-16 is for warning shots, the 5.56 doesn’t have enough ass behind it to make it effective against vehicles, and I can load the first five rounds of the magazine with tracers to warn off local nationals (LNs). Suppose they get really close and I want them to run. In that case, I have a M9 on my thigh, the old Iraqi regime would use pistols to assassinate political opponents, rifles are so common mothers will walk to the market with an AK on her back, a basket in one hand and her children in the other. The tracers don’t work great in daylight, my high intensity spotlight is barely a glow, I’m better off waving my arm and pointing to the literal machine gun in front of me as deterrents for distant contact, or unholstering a 9mm pistol to get their attention. I don’t like doing it, I barely train with the damn thing, I’d have to switch to something else if things go south.

Day missions are the worst.

We’ve been driving for three days, it’s day four, should hit the objective tonight, then it’s a refuel turn and burn back to the relative safety of Baghdad International Airport and Camp Stryker. We’re exhausted, fourteen hour days driving, shift sleeping at night. Our team is tight, but missions like this exhaust even our ability to gossip about the hot Lieutenant and her Staff Sergeant boyfriend, who according to regs, are completely not in a relationship. General Order Number One is no porn, no sex. There’s no way the most competent platoon sergeant and highest speed platoon leader would be sneaking off like hormonal teens would there? In truth none of us care, we just need the distraction. We’ve been here for eight months, four to go, I’ve already done my mid tour, went home for two weeks, seen my family, said goodbye again, and came back here. Back to counting the days, marking the missions.

A rocket attack killed six National Guardsmen at the PX a week before we left and the only way to keep functioning is to bury it, keep pushing, keep going. Keep distracting ourselves.

I’ve no idea what the name of this little village is where a logistics company set up their fuel tanks, but I’m not fond of it. It’s built on a hill which means there are building overlooking us, and any jackass with a Chinese knock off AK could drop rounds on us, and our turrets are open top. The captain in charge of the transport trucks thinks the same thing and soon I’m just watching the tiny houses on the outskirts while he gets a few Cavalry guys in the building to pull overwatch. There’s some children gathering close by to stare at us. I hope no one’s rigged any of the kids up with explosives.

“Huh.” SGT Henderson says. “That little girl, the one in blue, she looks like she’s the same age as my daughter.”

I’m watching the four men sit in the shade while their wives work the fields. They’re older, higher end of the Military Aged Male spectrum, but a suicide vest doesn’t take athletic ability. I feel something plastic tap my leg. It’s a bottle of water, a bigger one from a Kuwaiti company. Not as refined as the imported stuff, better than what these people are drinking. SGT Henderson doesn’t look at me, but we’ve been on the same team he doesn’t have to say anything. I let go of the 240’s pistol grip and take the bottle slinging it towards the little girl in blue. For once I throw true, and it lands in front of her. She bends and picks it up.

One of the men I was watching stands up and yells something at her, he shakes his fist as he approaches and snatches it, pushing her away. Her expression doesn’t change much. Sound goes away, I can hear my pulse in my veins and SGT Henderson’s muted but vitriolic cursing. He’s cursing himself, the war, the situation, the asshole who just stole water from a little girl most of all.

“Sarge,” I say, my voice calm. “Lemme have another bottle.”

There’s a pause, I can feel his eyes on me but I’m not looking at him. I’m not looking at the M-16 either, I’m just moving it, making sure I’m ready. Wordlessly, he lifts the bottle up and I deliver it the same. I can feel every bit of sand on my skin, I can feel the pattern of the M-16s pistol grip through my combat gloves as I lift the rifle and snug it against my shoulder. I can’t hear anything, I feel nothing but a glacial hatred. The man turns back around and says something that has his three friends laughing. He takes a step towards the bottle on the ground.

I hear the crack, feel the push against my shoulder. 5.56 is fast but it’s still just an oversized 22, my aim shifts to where it needs to be. There’s dust a foot away from his foot where the round hit. I hear the click going to three three-round burst before I even know I’ve done it. His guts are in my sights, the rise of the muzzle won’t kill him instantly, but it’ll be enough. There’s no thought, barely any feeling, just short measured breaths, keep the rifle still, sights on target. The trigger on an old M-16 like this isn’t great, it has about two millimeters of play before you hit the wall that will send three rounds into flesh and bone, I squeeze it just enough and feel the resistance. A silence stretches out, moments dripping out like blood loss.

I hear the radio through my headset. SGT Henderson.

“Warning shot, got an LN getting too curious, hold one.”

The man finally looks up at me after staring at the cloud of dust my first shot left, maybe a foot away from his front foot. His eyes meet mine. This isn’t a righteous shoot, this isn’t combat, but it is honest. And for a moment that honesty is passed between us. I wasn’t warning him, I was scaring him, scaring him like I felt every time I woke up in a country that could kill me without a moments warning. Scaring him like every child feels when their parents put on a uniform and leave for a year. Scaring him like a little girl who just wants some water felt when someone gave her some, and someone else took it away.

“Ansaraaf.” I whisper, the word a bare breath. It’s a legal requirement, warning him to get away, the barest nod to a legal code I can barely recall right then. The man slinks back, the confusion in his eyes matching his fear. There’s no way he heard me, but he can see. He can see that I will unquestioningly end his life. I barely see the little girl pick up the bottle of water and run away. Eventually he does too, his three friends following his heels, not even risking a glance at me.

It’s been maybe three seconds. It felt longer.

“Ratpack 6 this Pack 3, all clear, LNs are leaving, no casualties.” SGT Henderson says. I safe the rifle and hunker over the machine gun again. No longer 4 pounds of pressure from being a murderer, just another soldier doing his job.

“Pack 3 this is 6, roger that, we’re Oscar Mike in two minutes.”

We roll out four minutes later of course, the transport company has an allergy to making a hard time. Five minutes later and Romo is telling us about his mom’s cooking back in Peru. It doesn’t sound good, but it’s probably better than the Dining Facility. I wrap up a tan scarf around my face to keep the sun and sand away, as we hit the highway. No one was shot, no bloodshed, nothing even needing a written report. Just another wartime memory, another incident in a history filled with hair’s breadth decisions between right and wrong, honor and crime, life and death. Another tale written on gritty sand and infernal heat.

Day missions are the worst.

The Dystopia of Now

In 2026 the information ecosystem is more advanced than ever before. It is also more chaotic and hostile due to a combination of corporate heedlessness, social ignorance, and state overreach. The current pattern of state-mandated age-verification is just another link in a chain of intelligence, cybersecurity and ethics clashes that have their roots in 1950s “Red Scare” McCarthyism.

Prior to the internet and the information explosion, the late 1940s through to the early 1970s saw some of the grossest state-sponsored violations of democratic ideals and human rights in recent history. FBI Director Hoover justified the threat of communism to initiate warrantless wiretaps and mail tampering, compiling lists of possible subversives. This was reignited by the 2001 9/11 attacks in the form of the Patriot Act. The Apple vs FBI case, or the subsequent DOJ vs Facebook, and Russia’s three-year attempt to unencrypt Telegram are the most recent engagements, but the battle for the human right of privacy is never-ending.

A History of Invasiveness

In the 50s the government leaked what was, for the time, derogatory information, to employers and compliant journalists. This eviscerated privacy and ruined lives without the need for due process. Behavior that wasn’t criminal, but was socially stigmatizing was utilized to “expose, disrupt, misdirect, discredit, or otherwise neutralize” such criminal figures as Dr. Martin Luther King, or remove LGBTQ federal employees. This state run surveillance was called COINTELPRO, and in the words of Senator Church “Many of the techniques used would be intolerable in a democratic society even if all of the targets had been involved in violent activity, but COINTELPRO went far beyond that.”

After the September 11 attack intelligence and law enforcement agencies began to exercise more liberal use of inter-agency assets. While this undoubtedly has increased efficiency and prevented more attacks, “connecting the dots” to counter violent extremism has serious issues. “Pre-terrorism” indicators can be everyday behavior such as attending a religious building or function that isn’t Protestant Christian, wearing religious clothing of a non-Christian religion, or being part of a targeted political party.

When intelligence and DOJ subsidiaries utilize such lists, they are not conducting a due process investigation. They are engaging in empirically falsified methods of authoritarian violations of the Fourth and First amendments. The Department of Homeland Security and ICE have been going on mass acquisition “sprees” of surveillance equipment, then targeting politically non-compliant cities for “enforcement”.

Given the historical precedent for this behavior, it is not hypothetical that a current administration could do integrate surveillance capitalism into techno-authoritarianism, it is an inevitability.

Ecology of Corporate Surveillance

Social media and the internet in general exist almost entirely on enigmatic technology and potentially catastrophic caches of sensitive data. All humans engaged in the information age have given this up without even a hint of informed consent existing. This is what is currently known as surveillance capitalism. Teens are especially vulnerable to data exploitation, and modern algorithms are tailored to give positive feedback for more engagement. This has resulted in an entire industry of identity verification and security that has evolved far faster than legal, and more importantly societal, regulation.

Privacy, after all, is not profitable. Meta, Palantir, OpenAI, and the Alphabet company have not become billion-dollar investments by respecting human rights. These companies use “Black-box” algorithms and technology that operate with proprietary and poorly understood code. Legal waivers are written with intent to obfuscate rather than illuminate. And the average citizen becomes a commodity not an individual.

The Rise of Techno-Authoritarianism

An example of this erosion can hide its intent is the entirely misguided Digital Age Assurance Act (AB 1043) recently passed by California. Unlike like prior efforts which targeted individual websites, AB 1043 mandates that operating systems (OS) provide a collector the user’s date of birth at device setup. The OS then broadcast’s an encrypted “age-signal” over a real time application programming interface (API) to any application requesting it. The broad wording of the law threatens open-source applications like Linux, LibreOffice, or Calcpad. Clacpad is a calculator for mathematical and engineering calculations. It will no longer be available in California due to the potential fine for not complying with this law.

Even more frightening is that this law embeds identity-signaling directly into the infrastructure of a device. This is a dangerous precedent. Normalizing architecture that broadcasts one demographic makes it easier for more data to be needed. Citizenship status verified by ID, political affiliation, medical history could easily be data required in the name of safety or national security. That data will inevitably be gathered by third-party vendors.

As the past twenty years of internet history have proved, data breaches are inevitable.

Corporate Negligence and Resistance

Persona, a biometric identity verification vendor that is used by major platforms such as Discord and OpenAI, left thousands of records such as fingerprints, government ID numbers, phone numbers and faces exposed. IDMerit left approximately one billion identity records exposed without even password protection. AU10TIX, a service utilized in age-verification “services” left administrator credentials unsecured for over 365 days. The National Nuclear Safety Agency, responsible for minor tasks such as developing and securing nuclear power and weapons was compromised by a Microsoft Sharepoint “zero-day” exploit. When the very services that secure data can be compromised through negligence or malicious action, government mandates for age-verification becomes dangerous and unethical.

The actual effectiveness of age-verification has been historically useless, an individual can easily begin to believe that these legal obligations are not tools to prevent children from accessing harmful or exploitative content but to circumvent privacy controls.

The 2016 FBI versus Apple case is one of multiple DOJ versus Privacy cases. In 2018 it demanded the same cryptographic backdoor be created for Facebook Messenger. This very closely mirrors efforts by Brazil’s efforts to read WhatsApp messages, and more concerningly, Russia’s lengthy attempts to crack, then ban Telegram (2017-2020). What the Department of Justice misses, or does not care about, is that any exploit that the state can use, can be used by criminal elements or hostile nations as well.

Thus far technology companies have not caved to state surveillance demands, but that time may be ending within a year.

Rights at Risk

The Fourth Amendment demands Warrants for invasions of privacy. History has proven that the state will ignore this when politically convenient, using whatever existential threat is currently generating the most fear to do so. California’s ignorance of technology and its ramifications shows that freedom of speech and thought, along with digital privacy, is at risk now more than ever.

Our current regulatory frameworks are failing to protect us from overreach through neglect or design. The Electronics Communication Privacy Act is far too narrow in scope and must be expanded. Society must enshrine our right to digital privacy as just as essential as our right to believe or not believe in a religion or own firearms. The entire population of the United States must make it known that it will not comply with the whims of an authoritarian state willing to trample Constitutional rights in the digital space. This is not a matter of political identity, but of human identity.

References

Deflem, M. (2008). Connecting the dots: Intelligence and law enforcement since 9/11. UC Berkeley.

Doctorow, C. (2020). How to destroy surveillance capitalism. OneZero.

Electronic Frontier Foundation. (2026). ICE is going on a surveillance shopping spree. DeepLinks.

Encyclopedia Britannica. (n.d.). COINTELPRO. Retrieved March 14, 2026, from https://www.britannica.com/topic/COINTELPRO

Marwick, A. E., & boyd, d. (2014). Networked privacy: How teenagers negotiate context in a networked world. New Media & Society, 16(7), 1051-1067.

O’Neil, C. (2016). Weapons of math destruction: How big data increases inequality and threatens democracy. London: Penguin.

Patel, F. (2015). New government program to root out extremists is seriously flawed. Brennan Center for Justice.

Schwartz, M. J. (2025, July 23). US nuclear agency breach tied to SharePoint zero-days. BankInfoSecurity.

Zuboff, S. (2019). The age of surveillance capitalism: The fight for a human future at the new frontier of power. London: Profile.

Acknowledgements: Google Gemini was used for research, grammar correction and formatting.

The Poetics of Truth

It is a valid argument to declare that poetry is not intended to mystify but rather to reveal truths. At its best, poetry takes the messy complexity of human reality and focuses it into understandable beauty. Across history, poetry has served both as a tool of institutional power and propaganda, while also serving as the primary weapon of rebellion against those same machines of authority. While those in power have continually sought to sanitize their own history, render atrocity abstract, or criminalize a lack of belief, the poet’s objective is to anchor society in physical, experiential truth. When modern poetry acts as a voice protesting injustice—notably and recently in the Black Lives Matter movement—it carries on a long, vital tradition of poetics. When seeking justice, indifference is often a mightier enemy than the institution of carrying out the injustice. Since the Roman Empire, religious dogmatism has served as a core aspect of Western political power, frequently painting over oppression with the necessity of religious obedience to an abstract God. To combat these forces, the poet must wield language that refuses to let the reader look away.

Documentary Poetics Staring into the Face of Atrocity

Nowhere is this stubborn refusal to make suffering unimportant more evident than in the tradition of witness poetics. Witness poetry relies on primary source material and direct language to combat the state’s desire to sanitize its atrocities (”Documentary Poetics”). Carolyn Forché’s seminal prose poem “The Colonel” exemplifies this demand for visceral, mortal truth. In the poem, the speaker is invited to the home of a retired military officer, surrounded by the comfortable trappings of normalcy: “There was some talk, then, of how difficult it had become to govern. The parrot said hello on the terrace” (Forché). However, the institution’s true ruthlessness is grotesquely revealed when the colonel dumps a sack of severed human ears onto the table.

Forché’s speaker acts as a human camera, refusing to turn away from the brutality. The colonel mocks the very idea of rebellion, stating, “As for the rights of anyone, tell your people they can go fuck themselves. He swept the ears to the floor with his arm” (Forché). The colonel dares the author to write about it. “Something for your poetry no?” The poem’s conclusion—”Some of the ears on the floor caught this scrap of his voice. Some of the ears on the floor were pressed to the ground,”—proves that poetry is the ultimate mechanism of witness.

Some will listen, some will not, but a witness poet ensures that at least truth has been spoken to power.

Shattering Indifference: From Vallejo to Black Lives Matter

Institutional power infects and spreads by making human suffering abstract, distant, a concept rather than a reality that happens to another human being. Tricking the populace into thinking what is happening isn’t their problem, it is happening to an “other”. The literary dialogue between César Vallejo and Donald Justice illustrates this battle against the system’s indifference. Vallejo’s “Black Stone on a White Stone” is a litany in protest of his unjust imprisonment. At the same time, Justice’s “Variations on a Text by Vallejo” exposes the bureaucratic banality and indifference of modern America. While Justice was speaking about the peaceful indolence of his own life compared to Vallejo’s, it highlights how a man dying is no longer anything of note; the pain of his family is irrelevant to the stocks of the Rockefellers.

During the Black Lives Matter (BLM) protests, poetry served as an inverted elegy. Instead of a lament for a lost life seeking closure, protest poetry acts as “transgressive variation of contemporary (anti-)elegy,” explicitly lamenting the ongoing social realities of systemic racism (Miller). BLM poetry deliberately resists the illusions of consolatory closure, forcing the public to confront the visceral reality of marginalized bodies rather than accepting sanitized political narratives. From the civil rights movement to Black Lives Matter, poetry calls out the unjust forces of the status quo, actively speaking truth to power and rejecting rhetoric designed to obscure or disempower the truth. In both Vallejo’s historical exile and modern racial justice movements, the poet highlights the true enemy: the indifference of a society built on cruelty.

Dogmatism and Belief and Machinery of Power

Oppression is at its most powerful when it is advertised to be an expression of divine will. A protest is no longer aimed against a corrupt institution but against all that is holy. Religious dogmatism relies on abstract language and a rejection of knowledge to demand docility, historically criminalizing a lack of belief to protect the state and church. Poets have often shattered this veneer. Paul Laurence Dunbar’s “An Antebellum Sermon” actively subverted the “slave bible religion” and white Christian nationalism of his era by contrasting oppressive dogma with a liberatory, human-centric faith (Walker 112). Dunbar transformed the dogma of oppression into prophecies of freedom, weaponizing the oppressor’s text against them.

Today, as Christian nationalism slithers deeper into American political structures, poets continue to dismantle its hypocrisies. Alex Mouw’s recent collection, The Unbelieving Yelp of Prey, directly engages with the political infection of conservative religious movements. Mouw utilizes adaptations of biblical psalms—such as turning the omnipresence of God in Psalm 139 into a critique of a “reeking koi pond”—to strip away the nostalgic fantasies and state-approved imitations of modern evangelical culture. By grounding ethics in human consequence and physical reality rather than metaphysical obedience, secular and protest poets are attempting to revitalize the human spirit from the state and its religious control mechanisms.

The Hijack of Creativity

Religious institutions have a long culture of co-opting the language of protest and rebellion to maintain their power. Surrealist André Breton used phrases such as “Our brains are dulled by the incurable mania of wanting to make the unknown known” or “We are still living under the reign of logic” as a rebellion against the suffocating, rational authority of his day (Breton 165). In the present, however, the most powerful voting bloc in the United States—white Christian nationalists—literally preaches that it is an assailed minority fighting against dogmatic scientists who seek to reduce God and use logic to strip away the Lord’s power (Whitehead and Perry 84). While the current administration has not ventured into high literary poetics, it has certainly embraced lyrical poetry in populist anthems that cloak institutional authority in the aesthetics of rebellion.

Consider the lyrics of Diamond Rio’s “In God We Still Trust,” a staple of modern MAGA playlists:

“Now there are those among us,

who want to push Him out

And erase His name from everything,

this country’s all about

From the Schoolhouse to the Courthouse,

they’re Silencing His Word

Now it’s time for all Believers,

to make our Voices heard” (Diamond Rio)

This is the poetics of orthodoxy and obedience cosplaying as resistance. The song relies entirely on paranoia and fabricated persecution—the vague “those among us”—to justify the enforcement of the dominant religion in public spaces. Compare this manufactured, abstract grievance to the genuine, mortal resistance found in Maya Angelou’s “Still I Rise”:

“You may shoot me with your words,

You may cut me with your eyes,

You may kill me with your hatefulness,

But still, like air, I’ll rise.” (Angelou)

Here, the poetic voice does not demand institutional obedience or manufacture persecution. Angelou grounds her resistance in concrete, experienced truth of actual hardship. Pro-regime anthems, almost universally using AI-generated cover artwork, demand that the listener submit to a nationalistic ideal that has never existed. Angelou’s poem, and protest poetry as a whole, asserts an indestructible human dignity that survives despite the violence of the state.

Conclusion:

It is clear that today, as it always has, poetry serves as the ultimate weapon in the battle for truth. Institutions built on injustice—whether the wealthy authoritarians that exiled César Vallejo, the military dictatorships documented by Carolyn Forché, or the current Christian nationalist movements demanding ideological subservience—require the public to accept sanitized, abstract narratives. They thrive on the public’s indifference. The true poet’s duty is to shatter this illusion. By wielding language that forces the reader to confront the physical, often painful truths of the human condition, poets refuse to let atrocity remain a mere concept. Corporate greed and authoritarian institutions may control the courthouse and the schoolhouse, but the undeniable resilience of the human spirit will always rise above them.

And poets will be there to immortalize it.

Works Cited

Angelou, Maya. “Still I Rise.” And Still I Rise, Random House, 1978. Poetry Foundation, www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/46446/still-i-rise.

Breton, André. “Manifesto of Surrealism.” Toward the Open Field: Poets on the Art of Poetry 1800-1950, edited by Melissa Kwasny, Wesleyan University Press, 2004, pp. 160-169.

Diamond Rio. “In God We Still Trust.” The Reason, Arista Nashville, 2009. Genius, genius.com/Diamond-rio-in-god-we-still-trust-lyrics.

“Documentary Poetics.” Poetry Foundation, www.poetryfoundation.org/blog/uncategorized/53648/documentary-poetics.

Forché, Carolyn. “The Colonel.” The Country Between Us, Harper & Row, 1981. Poetry Foundation, www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/49862/the-colonel.

Miller, Alyson. “Ideas, language, action: The protest poetry of #MeToo and Black Lives Matter.” TEXT Journal of Writing and Writing Courses, vol. 25, no. 1, Oct. 2021. Crossref, https://doi.org/10.52086/001c.30990.

Walker, Maureen. “Biblelistically Blessed: Liberating Christianity from White Supremacy.” Journal of African American Literature, vol. 14, no. 2, 2018, pp. 110-125.

Whitehead, Andrew L., and Samuel L. Perry. Taking America Back for God: Christian Nationalism in the United States. Oxford University Press, 2020.

Acknowledgement: Grammarly was used for proper formatting, citations, grammar, and my tendency to write entire paragraphs as a single sentence.

For over three thousand Terran years, the Fortunato trade clan has expanded a network between solar systems on the edges of four major systems. Family lines have lived and died, never setting a foot off a world of steel ground and air shipped in from living worlds. The Fortunatos have expanded their vast wealth and influence on the blood and broken lives of generations in the Stellarium’s body. Now, the lines of power and greed spread beyond the sacred space of the Imperium of Man and into the domain of the Tau Xenos and their poisonous lies.

Among other, far darker, influences festering in the shadows of the Lower Decks.

****

His breath was already fogging in front of him this close to the outer hull, and Saturio pulled his patchwork synth leather coat tighter as he jogged along the rattling walkway. He kept his face covered with a scarf over the rebreather he’d plucked from a scrap vendor’s cart while he sold the ancient woman power cells for her welding kit. If there were an actual hull breach out here, not even the upper spire tech would keep him alive. It might give him time to get away from a micro meteorite hole, or a rogue cloud of carbon monoxide and argon up from the industrial decks. The runner he’d inherited this route from hadn’t worn one, went hypoxic, and gone over the ledge. ‘Least that’s what it looked like had happened to Saturio when he’d found the body.

Either way, he hadn’t looked back; the other deck runner had routes, credits, and a stash of genuine Necromunda-grade Obscura that had Saturio traded for freedom from Tycho’s 86th Deck gang. You either bought your way out of a gang or killed your way out, and Saturio wasn’t quite the killer for that. Not yet anyway.

He sprinted, then hopped over a gap in the walkway where a maintenance servitor moved on rails along the outer hull. Saturio didn’t look down at the vast gulf of emptiness that vanished below him. Rumour said that all artificial gravity had a point where it would swap, and if you fell into that spot, you’d slow and float, suspended in the thin, false atmosphere of the station. Others said deck runners past had fallen into the gravity well and been stuck, unable to move, that their skeletons could be found floating in the void outside water reclamation.

Always a lot of rumours in the lower decks, few he cared to test.

Rumours like the opulence of the Upper Spires, where all the trash chutes worked, food was real, and water filters weren’t a generational career. Supposedly, there were two hundred decks of living space, hydroponics, industrial areas, and a mass of humanity living, toiling, and dying in service to the Fortunato family. And the Emperor of course. Saturio had been told that’s who gave the Fortunatos and Enforcers authority to do all that they did.

They were just as mythical as a sky and sea to a mid-deck orphan like Saturio. He had no idea what a planet looked like, what it would be like to look up and see stars instead of the next deck up, to see a horizon and a sun instead of the open chasm of the outer hull, and the bulging, smoking, writhing blob that was the centre hub of Fortunato station, Saturio’s home. A flare of light outside the armor-crys window shifted Saturio’s hazel eyes to the harsh chill of the void outside. Three ships, sleek Imperial Navy cruisers and a blocky utilitarian model Saturio knew was a transport ship were gliding towards the station.

More Imperial Guard meant most things were going to be in short supply, however long they were here, but that meant profit for someone who didn’t much care for what was and wasn’t supposed to find its way to the Docks. There were two ways goods moved between the scrubbed-clean, gilded polish of the upper decks and the stinking, toxic cloud of the lower decks. Writs of trade given out by the representatives of the Fortunato Trade family, or independent smugglers who were too short on time and isolated to be on the auspex of the Enforcers, Deck Runners. The first was expensive, laden with forms, fees, and foolishness. The second kept the station, well, it wasn’t smooth, but it was running. So Saturio was a Deck Runner now. A smuggler moving high-quality food and water, cannisters of purified air from the Spires, unauthorized tech mods, Black Trade xenos trinkets, and every kind of chemical feel-good that could be smoked, drank, inhaled, or injected.

He was a lean young man, artificial-light-pale, grease and soot-stained skin, and reflexes born and honed to razor’s edge on the streets. A matronly merchant had called him comely, near beautiful, but he’d never been so hungry as to take the deal the old man offered. Saturio had a good head for orientation, having grown up in an orphanage on an upper deck, guided pickpockets and shop-stall snatch-and-grabs away from Enforcers or furious sellers without ever getting close to being caught. So now he was a free man, free as he could be anyway. He ran all day, his grey and brown canvas clothes stayed cleaner than usual, and he earned enough credits and goods to keep a flop with a locking door. The last meant he went to sleep with a full belly and got a complete rest more often than not. All of that was better than the gang life, but it wasn’t what kept him happy.

She was.

Her laugh was music, echoing along the edge of the station hull, like crystals in a chime, drawing him forward through void-chilled air. Caelonia was another Deck Runner, a willowy Void-Born woman; she moved like a dancer, had hair like the streaks of a comet through a red gas nebula, and star-light skin that never seemed to stain, unlike his and everyone else’s. He rounded the curve of the outer hull and saw her.

Another orphan from an upper-deck orphanage, the daughter of a tithed Guard father and a minor noble mother, whatever money her family once possessed, she had parlayed into contacts. She was seated on the handrail, her back to the empty void of the outer hull, one knee, her high-booted foot, lazily hooked to a vertical strut, the other casually swinging, almost playfully. Her pants and top were made of an advanced fabric that clung to her svelte form, giving glimpses under her heavy armoured coat that sparked the imagination. Saturio could see the way she moved and gestured, a grace and fluidity that told a story far more polished than the lower deck toughs she was talking to now. He’d never seen her with a weapon, though that meant little down here.

The hulking men were from Baetus’ crew, Deck 84 chem-dealers. Saturio didn’t like them, but they had always dealt fairly with Caelonia; that was good enough. Her eyes set on him before any of the others, it always seemed like she knew more than the others around her. The woman’s smile didn’t change, lips curling up like smoke from a dream pipe, part invitation, part mocking rebuke, but when she saw him, something happened in her eyes that made every trip worth it.

“There’s my favourite runner! Any problems?” She sang out. Saturio couldn’t help but wipe a smudge of grease off his face with his sleeve but tried to stay calm in front of the other men. With a shake of his head, he slid the straps of his backpack off his shoulders and pulled two fabric-wrapped canisters from it.

“Not for me. Someone hit the dealers from water treatment in Smoketown down on 86 where I normally get this, but they had already left it for me, and whoever is taking over didn’t know the drop point. They got the Enforcer quad too, too; it must be a big player. I got in, got the merch, and got out.” He hid the shiver he felt thinking about the two scenes. Blood smeared with grime and rust, along the upper parts of the walls, a harsh chemical cleaner burning his nose, and not a single body or body part. Whoever had hit both locations had done so fast, quietly, and unless someone was used to walking along the underside of the decks like Saturio was, they wouldn’t have seen the leftovers. Enforcers getting killed or a new gang moving in wasn’t unusual, but someone that methodical and clean, that was.

“Any idea who it was?” One of Baetus’s knee breakers asked.

“Any evidence?” The other said, unnervingly similar in tone. They didn’t look related; both were made up of bulk-iron muscle under a day’s crust of grease, dirt, and probably some blood behind glowering scarred faces and too often broken noses. But they sounded like twins. Saturio almost mentioned the chemical cleaners, how no one outside the industrial water plant had noticed anything, and everyone was conspicuously not looking at the Enforcer station. A warning twist in his guts kept his mouth in check long enough to shape a neutral response.

“Nothing weird, probably someone new moving in, I’ll head back in a couple of cycles, contact the new owners. Whoever the Enforcers pissed off will lie low until replacements break some heads for revenge anyway.” Saturio said casually, taking his pack in one hand in case he had to use it as a weapon. One of the leather armoured toughs scooped up the cannisters. Both turned, again giving Saturio an uncanny impression of twins.

“She has your payment. We’ll be in contact when we need more.” One of them said without looking back. Or was it both? Saturio felt a chill shudder through his whipcord body. He felt a hand, warm through his thick coat, and was gently pulled to look at Caelonia’s artful, extended features, not alien, not xenos, just different. Saturio stared at her wide-eyed, all pretence of composure bleeding out of him like a neck shot.

“Don’t look back at them, keep your eyes on me.” She whispered. Saturio would have done that for as long as she let him, he realized. Then he saw something under the careful smile, a tension oozed from her like smoke, and there was something in her glittering eyes, something he couldn’t get the auspex on.

“I got another pass for you; you can get up past 50 now!” The woman said loudly, keeping the retreating pair in her vision, he realized. Caelonia kept him in front of her, and her lips moved, not saying anything but providing a fascinating display that-

“Five, six, seven, at the least, maybe more. They weren’t part of the gang last week, now they move before the gangers tell them to.” She said softly, her bright eyes drinking in information. A smile pulled up on her curved lips, and suddenly her gaze flicked back to him.

“We’re flirting,” Caelonia whispered, reaching out for him, the words sending a shiver from his ear down his spine. Then he was being spun around, and her lithe, surprisingly strong body was pulling him to her. He craned his neck to look back at her, then saw that Caelonia’s face was angled toward him, but her eyes were locked on the departing pair of thugs. “What do you see, Saturio?”

He followed her gaze out of the corner of his vision and saw what she meant. “Seen gangs before, none move like them, definitely not Baetus’ people. Folks who I know’d never deal with a gang aren’t looking twice at ‘em. And... did one of them just hand off the package to a water tech?”

Her hands tightened, sending a surge of warmth through him. “Can you get to water reclamation? Some path most don’t know?”

Saturio nodded, feeling her breath on his neck and delighting at the slight hum of satisfaction that Caelonia made. “Something’s happening, and it’s not good for any of us. I need to get some things, keep doing your run, meet me at Stairwell Alpha in four hours.”

And then she was sliding forward, around him, and jogging lightly away, giving him a winking goodbye over her shoulder with a swirl of braided hair. He stood stock still for a moment, watching her vanish into the bustle of the crowd. Then shook himself, then shouldered his pack and jogged in the opposite direction for his next delivery, until excitement drove him to run.

Three and a half hours, and several kilometres of jogging later, he was waiting and sucking down a tube of cold nutri-stew and lounging in an alley against a trash chute. This was one of the three levels that weren’t jammed and overflowing with filth and the stench of rot. Four had been plugged before Saturio was born, the “Out of Order” warning signs coated in decades of grime and graffiti. He watched the morass of humanity that made up the Deck 86 market with the rare moment of introspection, a pouch of coins, and a relatively full belly bought.

His pack was empty save for a spool of rope and some water; a large, intimidating knife hung on his belt, but the double-edged blade he had actually used nestled in a shoulder sheath under the front of his coat. Something about what Caelonia had said left him unsettled, and that, along with the odd synchronized movement of Baetus’ gang, had him ready for trouble.

He wasn’t ready for a chrome badge Enforcer officer in a starched pressed uniform to emerge from the elevator next to Caelonia. They were too far away for him to hear anything over the low roar of the market; if he hadn’t been at an angle, he could have spotted both the stairway and the elevator; he wouldn’t have seen it at all. But they were talking and gesturing with short, restrained intensity, amplifying the tension Saturio had felt in the woman before. The Enforcer was shaking his head more emphatically and went to grab Caelonia’s arm. She slid around him like a wisp of smoke, flicking her hand to knock his helmet over his eyes before sliding into the crowd towards the stairwell, an impish smirk on her lips. Saturio peeled himself away from the shadows of the trash chute and navigated the crowd to arrive at the heavy metal door just as Caelonia did.

She smiled, a quick flash of teeth whiter than any Saturio saw in his world of the Low Decks, and distractingly, he saw that she carried a backpack like his, dull green canvas fabric. Likely a cast-off from one of the thousands of Astra Militarum units that cycled through Fortunato station to wage the Imperium’s wars.

“I tried to get the Enforcers to send someone with us, the noxious pig refused, orders from higher, he said,” Caelonia said, her whisper severing the hum around them cleanly. She shook her head and began to wrap coal coloured fabric around her red and silver-streaked hair. “Normally, I like it when they’re useless, figures when we might need them, they won’t move.”

“First lesson, the other kids taught me. Life above, ignore below. Upper Spires don’t like to see us down here, ‘cept you, you see m- eh, see us.” Saturio blurted out, his tongue staging an unsuccessful rebellion against what he meant to say. A smirking wink made the young man flush again, then she slid close and shouldered her pack.

“Well then, let’s find something else to see. This stairwell will lead us down to water reclamation, yes?” She asked. Saturio found his head nodding before he recovered and shook his head. He turned away and started towards an alley, finding it much easier to think clearly when he wasn’t lost in her eyes.

“Does, but you wanted to get there on the quiet, yeah? Water Rec is on Deck 100; where the centre of the grav plates are. They pull the waste down from the Upper Spires and up from the Dockyards at the bottom. That’s what the old guy on Deck 89 says, said he used to be a smuggler from Dock 120, and he’d use the power conduits and the grav effects to move heavy stuff around the servitors.” He looked over her shoulder and felt confident enough to grin. “Works a treat, do it meself, ‘s how I get you the best stuff and still got legs to work the rest o’ the day.”

The returned grin from the woman behind him made Saturio’s steps lighter. He found the power maintenance shaft and worked the hatch out of the housing. The old smuggler was more than willing to pass on his secrets if Saturio kept the man stocked with the proper chems to keep away whatever physical and emotional injuries had forced the elder to retire. And just like he had been told, Saturio waited until Caelonia slid next to him in the dusty shadow and worked the hatch back in place. Thick electrical cabling crowded the walls, humming with a voltage that would cook them instantly if the insulation had worn thin at any point.

He took the lead then, letting experience and touch guide him in the pitch darkness, painfully aware suddenly that he smelled of sweat and burned rubber while she was something far sweeter. Eventually, a red-orange glow tremulously worked its way up to his eyes, and he smiled a gape-mouthed smirk of satisfaction. He worked down to a worn metal ladder in the wall, the sound of clanking servitors and rushing water around them. The Lower Decks were constantly humming with voices of generations of space-born humanity, around Saturio and Caelonia, now only machines spoke. He saw the tension in her form wind even tighter than when they had been dealing with the eerie pair of thugs and spoke low, his voice lost in the din of the station’s forgotten guts.

“Know it’s loud, don’t much like it here either, but no one’s here most times. See those grey pipes with the yellow an’ green? That’s waste from the Upper, we follow them, leave the servitors be, an we’ll be in Water Rec quick as you please.” Caelonia wrinkled her delicate nose and glanced at him.

“We don’t have to go in there, do we?” She asked, pointing at the indicated pipes. Saturio laughed once.

“Be more an’ just human waste in there, run off from the manufactorum gets mixed in too, was just starting out when I saw a gang get in a shootout next to one. Few stray rounds and the whole pipe burst, flooded the bay they was in. Lucky ones got their necks broke, unlucky ones survived long enough to watch their skin melt.” The memory made Saturio shudder and his stomach lurch. His eyes widened in horror, and he looked up at Caelonia sharply. “Oh! ‘M sorry, didn’ mean to upset you, miss-”

She silenced him with a musical laugh and the touch of a finger on his nose. “I’m not so delicate I wilt at some nasty tale, Saturio. I’m a runner too, I see all the polish in the Upper Levels, the filth under it all just makes it more vile. Let’s go.”

He led them along the labyrinth of shuddering walkways and ladders, watching as magnetic-locked servitors lumbered through the workings of electricity and water. Some sealed leaks with a shower of sparking, molten metal; others carried empty containers from one point to another, then moved them back again, their forgotten function lost to time, doomed to play out until they collapsed.

Time lost meaning as they descended into the station’s twisting innards of conduit nerves, arterial piping, and orange phos-lamp air. Saturio knew they were getting closer when a chemical tang filtered up through the air, and he heard foul-smelling steam jetting from one of the outer purifiers before they emerged into a cavernous open space.

The pair crouched on a walkway barely wide enough for one of them and looked out over the disquieting lambent glow of flickering lamps. Saturio pointed at a grimy and mold-covered painted number.

“91, yeah, this is the top level of Water Rec, goes down five, normally I’m running stims and painkills to the lot.” He stopped for a moment, realization clattering into place. “Orders dried up a week ago, ‘bout the same time the Enforcers got wiped on 86.”

Caelonia frowned, her almost almond eyes narrowing in thought. She canted her head and spoke. “Either they’ve all gone clean.”

They both rolled their eyes at that, then she continued. “Or something strange is happening here.”

A chill slithered down Saturio’s spine at her words. Food was always scarce, but the Fortunato family made sure there was always just enough calories flowing to keep the lower decks from rioting. The Uppers had real food flown from agri-worlds or grown in great hydroponic gardens, while Saturio had known nutrient-starch stew and, on a good day, harvested rat skewers. But all of them needed water; if the flow of drinking water were to stop... Saturio couldn’t begin to imagine how awful it would get. He’d seen scavengers tear each other to shreds for the last scrape of obscura from a used syringe. What would people do to each other if the taps stopped flowing?

Another waft of sulphur mixed with who knew what else nearly made him gag, and he noticed that whatever dark place her mind was, the smell was getting to Caelonia as well, as she silently fought retching. He pulled his rebreather over his nose, fished around his pack, pulled another one, and offered it. Caelonia’s eyes lit up, and she eagerly fastened it to her face. A long, savouring breath in through the filters later, and her eyes rolled up in relief. Caelonia fixed him with her bright eyes a moment later.

“This can’t have been cheap, Saturio.” She said with gentle accusation muffled behind the filters. He coloured under the mask and kept his hands busy by fixing his pack back in place.

“Just did a couple extra runs today, weren’t nothing. You shouldn’t have to smell this rubbish.” Then her hand was scooping around the back of his neck, and she pulled him in close, their foreheads touching.

“Thank you, I got you something too.” She said. Without another word, the lithe woman unslung her pack and opened it, revealing a matte-black holster holding the blocky lines of an Enforcer laspistol. Saturio’s eyes nearly bugged from his skull.

“I... never used one before!” He stammered weakly. Caelonia’s eyes lit up in amusement, and she reached around him to strap it under his shoulder, coming teasingly close to embracing the mortified young man. After she strapped one of her own on, Caelonia slid her waistcoat back over sleekly muscled shoulders and winked at him.

“Well, if you need to pop that cherry, better to have one close to hand then hm?” Even under the mask, he could hear the teasing flirtation in her voice and felt his skin flush from scalp to feet. Hurriedly, he turned and started working his way down the precarious walkway, past the barriers that sectioned off the upper levels of the heart of Fortunato station.

Moments later, he froze because the din of pumps, generators, and servitors was layered with a lower-pitched sound. After a moment, the sound resolved itself. Footsteps. Dozens of them. Not quite the unending din of hallways near the docks, but more than Saturio could count. Something else made his guts twist, and the chill along his spine grabbed his heart. Not a sound, but a lack of one.

The Water Rec crew had been boisterous and cheerful, though how much of that was honest and how much of it was the particular mix of chems Saturio had brought to hand, neither knew nor cared. Now, instead of working songs, laughing, or cursing, there were only footsteps and machinery. Saturio forced himself not to look down, terrified of what awful sight waited for him, until he found a shadowed platform with a solid floor that he and Caelonia could shelter in.

Forcing his breath to slow, hearing blood pound in his ears, the young man looked over the edge of the raised, sheet metal guardrail, and felt his heart skip. Water technicians worked alongside gangers and dock workers, men, women, and even children barely old enough to walk, gliding around each other in an eerily graceful coordination. Saturio had heard tell of insects, like cockroaches, but smaller, that lived and died as one vast swarm of life. The crews who had set foot on real planets had called them ants, and that same alien connection that had made Saturio’s skin crawl with how wrong it seemed, radiated from the scene below.

Caelonia tugged his sleeve and wordlessly pointed where there should have been grated flooring separating the decks of Water Reclamation. Now, there are only narrow walkways, forming a web over the vast cauldrons that purified the slurry of toxins and filth from the water of the station. She pointed him to ten brightly shining, pressurized tanks, clearly new additions. A twisting array of piping led to clear tubes, filled with something bubbling and vaguely purple.

He stole a glance at her, eyes wide with fear and shock. They huddled close together, barely whispering through the filters.

“Whas, goin’ on? Mutants? Heretics? What’re they doin?” Saturio breathed, unable to keep a tremor from his voice and hands. Caelonia shook her head short and sharp.

“Not mutants, some kind of... Xenos taint, and that stuff is, hm, well, nothing good.” The woman responded, and nausea rose in Saturio’s throat as he tried to remember the prayers they had taught him in the orphanage.

“We need to get the Enforcers down here! They could-” He stopped, because now he could hear something, like a low whispered chant, and... yelling. The pair peeked over their scant shelter and saw that motion had stopped, the workers were swaying and whispering something, the faint individual susurration melding into a bowel-clenching hymn of terror. Then the voices became clearer.

“Let off! You’ve no right-”

“I am a licensed escort; you brutes have no idea who my clients are!” Four Enforcers, their uniforms in disarray but their motions in the exact uncanny lockstep that had so disquieted Saturio in the gang members. Caelonia’s lips pressed together in a suppressed snarl of frustration. Whatever foul infection was happening here, some of the Enforcers were part of it. And they were bodily hauling a man and a woman, brothel workers from above Deck 50 by the clothes they, sort of, were wearing. Whatever protests the two had been making died as the couple took in the dread whispering of the entranced workers. Caelonia’s hand found his, and he gripped it, just to try and still the shaking of his own body.

The whisper rose in volume until finally Saturio could make out the strange accent in common Gothic.

Emperor of Stars, Emperor of Stars, four arms of freedom!” And seconds after that, a shadowed abomination crawled up from behind a tank, and seemingly from beyond Saturio’s most horrifying nightmares. It was a foul thing of purple carapace over pale grey, grub-like flesh. It was made of claws and serrated teeth set in an almost humanoid face, looking at the captured joytoys with a chill malice that Saturio had only felt when looking into the vacuum between stars. The pair began screaming, thrashing, and tearing skin from their knees as they flailed against the Enforcer’s steely grip.

Saturio watched, revulsion threatening to overwhelm him, as the purple and grey monstrosity crawled down the shining tanks on four disgustingly malformed, taloned arms that sprouted from its body. The utter wrongness of how smooth it moved, how dreadfully void-silent its claws were on metal. Certain that he was about to watch the brothel workers be ripped to bloody shreds, Saturio dry heaved slightly when it stopped, and a tendril emerged from its tongue, sliding over the captured young man’s thigh as he screamed for the Emperor’s protection until words descended into mindless terror.

The tongue decided on a spot near the captured joytoy’s lower rib and sank in effortlessly. The young man thrashed and frothed at the mouth for a moment, then went still, a drugged, placid smile spreading over his face. Caelonia ripped Saturio away from the edge of their hiding spot as the woman’s screams redoubled.

“We can’t tell who in Enforcers is part of this!” She hissed with far more calm than Saturio thought was reasonable. “It’s up to us! They’re spreading, if they corrupt the water of the station...”

The scale of the horror that statement unfurled in Saturio’s mind was so vast, so incomprehensible, it threatened to bury him further into his shocked trance. He shook, breathing fast under his filter, his life flashing before his eyes. It wasn’t much, but he appreciated it, the joy of running, Caelonia’s smile, the gleam of ships coming in to dock-

“Ships...the ships, the Guard!” Memory collided with terrorized inspiration. He looked up at Caelonia’s baffled expression, eyes wide with panic-tinged hope. “I saw a transport docking right before I met you, today, a Guard ship! If we can let them know-”

Caelonia grabbed his head with both hands, eyes alight again. “Yes! Almost yes, but if we make this their problem, the soldiers can deal with the infection!”

Saturio nodded frantically, then froze. The chanting had stopped, and he couldn’t hear the synchronized thump of workboots. Caelonia rose first, looking over the edge cautiously, then scrambling back and pointing down the walkway they had come from. The two knee-breakers from the morning were scaling a ladder leading from the vast cavern of water treatment towards their alcove. Saturio grabbed his companion and scrambled over the ledge, hopping down to land unstably on a vast sewage pipe.

Caelonia joined him, far more elegantly, but once they were moving, Saturio’s experience in traversing unusual paths kept him sure-footed. Quick and quiet, they sprinted away from the thugs, deeper into the complex. The main elevator shafts ran along the central shaft of the station, if they could make it there-

They almost did.

A howl of inhuman hunger rose from below them, a sound no human could make, and without thinking, Saturio’s eyes snapped down to meet the infinite malice of the four-armed nightmare’s gaze. He nearly stumbled from the sheer mind-numbing horror he felt looking at the thing, but Caelonia grabbed him and shoved him forward.

“Go, go!” She snarled. Saturio went. He caught glimpses of things in the corner of his vision, the crowd of people swarming around the dazed courtesans effortlessly, men and women lifting the Enforcers up on their shoulders wordlessly so the armed men could hunt the fleeing pair. Saturio could see the door that led back into the maintenance corridors, scant safety, but at least a goal. Before a thickset man, purple-tinged muscles distending and bulging monstrously, bounced from a lower pipe to directly in front of Saturio, his jaw gaping and stretching, a second set of predator teeth emerging behind his human facade. His knees gave out in panic, and Saturio nearly tumbled into the throng of uplifted hands of the chanting mutations below him.

Wordlessly, Caelonia vaulted over Saturio’s body, pulling her laspistol and a gloss black serrated dagger from under her coat and putting a snapshot lasbolt into the cultist’s hip. The malformed man dropped awkwardly around the pipe, scrabbling to keep hold of the smooth metal, and the lithe woman slashed the blade across his face and cleared his flailing limbs as he fell into the mass of bodies below.

Recovering just enough to get his body to move, Saturio panted through his rebreather desperately, sucking in air, trying to get his muscles to move. He heard the heavy stomp of boots behind him, and in desperation drew the pistol Caelonia had given him. Without looking back, he tried to catch up to the woman, blind firing wildly, killing nothing but clammy air. Caelonia reached the door and let out a shriek of indignation, finding it locked.

“Slow them down!” The woman nearest snarled at him, and Saturio spun, his hands trembling, firing at the hulking thugs who were almost on him. Sheer volume of fire found him catching the lead cultist in the knee and sent him stumbling. Saturio instinctively tried aiming lower to decapitate the massive man but missed.

Instead blasting a hole in the pressurized sewage pipe the cultists were standing on. Brown and green filth erupted from the pipe and slammed into the cultist’s scarred face, flipping him to his back. Caelonia laughed in vindication as the door swung open. Just in time for Saturio to see the purple chitin of the abomination leap soundlessly to the same wall their door was on, then surge along the horizontal surface effortlessly. He snapped off two more useless shots before slamming through the door and locking it behind him, then shooting the access panel on instinct.

For a precious second, he stared helplessly at the door, relief and terror causing his body to freeze while he sweated. Strong hands grabbed his head and turned him to face Caelonia.

“Saturio! I need you. Focus. We need to get to the docks where the soldiers are, which way!” He blinked, lost in her impossibly bright eyes, then shook himself. Turning, he grabbed her hand and tugged her towards the central freight elevator shaft. They were in an elevator maintenance section of the deck, ill-lit save by failing orange phos-lamps and silent as a funeral shrine after the din of Water Rec. Saturio almost winced as his boots thumped on the metal-grated hall.

“Come on! Gravity switches midway, but it’s the fastest transport to the troop dock!” They snapped around a corner just as they heard the door shear of its hinges. Saturio’s breath was momentarily too scared to move through his lungs, but he rolled to the balls of his feet to move more quietly, hoping to buy just a few seconds before that thing was after them again. Another sharp corner and they saw the signage for the cargo elevator, and he panted out a breath, hot with dread and hope in equal measure. His calves burning, Saturio had stopped his stealthy tread, and his boots scuffed for a brief second before he got to the panel and hit the activator rune.

He turned to check on Caelonia, suddenly realizing he hadn’t heard her once during the panicked sprint. She was behind, still wearing her mask, eyes lit with excitement as she pointed her laspistol down the hall, far steadier than his own hands had been. Saturio heard the whine of cables and gears behind him and watched as the floor runes crept towards them, then snapped back to the hallway corner, where a faint scrape of a hard boot against metal sounded.

A woman rounded the corner, lank, stained blonde hair tied back in a worker’s bun, overalls, and hard features now seeming a nightmarish rusty-red from the mix of purple stain and orange light. Her blank eyes swung towards them, and before her mouth could elongate into the nightmare Saturio had seen before, a single lasbolt cratered her skull.

“They’ll be coming, get ready!” Caelonia whispered. He was about to ask why when the young man heard the sickeningly wordless thump of boots on metal as more of the cult crashed towards them. The orange lights flickered, then died, plunging them into darkness before Saturio frantically pulled a stablight from his pack and flicked it on, almost instantly wishing he hadn’t.

Green reflecting eyes set in human faces surged around the corner, running, crawling on all fours, mouth wide and slavering. Saturio’s throat closed off the scream he wanted to let out, and he began firing, the density of the cult making his lack of accuracy irrelevant. Blood and other fluids splashed the walls, Caelonia felling the infected workers with manic skill, accompanied by short, insane giggles. Icy fingers clamped around his guts as his finger tightened and his laspistol merely clicked on an empty power pack. The swarm of cultists swarmed toward him.

The elevator chimed, and Saturio threw himself back into the welcome light, Caelonia a breath behind him.

A breath too late.

A disgustingly jointed arm lanced from the shadows of the ceiling and hooked into her backpack, arresting her normally sleek movement, and the hideous xenos leered into view as it whipped its tongue towards her neck. Fury at someone so beautiful in the grasp of something so hideous killed his terror. Saturio unsheathed his knife and hurled it with every ounce of fury and skill he had.

The monster snapped its head out of the way almost idly. Moving with eye-watering speed Caelonia caught the hilt of the knife and jammed it into one of the monstrous black eyes. Green ichor sprayed out, and it howled, flailing gleaming talons at them both.

The Emperor’s grace saved Saturio, as his unsteady legs collapsed, grabbing and pulling Caelonia down at the same time, her pack shredding. She twisted like a dancer and blasted the monstrosity point-blank in the neck, sending it reeling back. The freight elevator door shut as the car began to drop, sending them scrambling to grab loose straps that usually secured cargo to the floor or ceiling, depending on the car’s direction. Saturio let out a panting breath, pulling his rebreather down, shaking with too many surges of fear and relief. He stole a glance at Caelonia, wondering if he could say anything to comfort-

She had pulled her mask off as well. And was grinning madly.

Before the young man could react, he felt his stomach begin to shift as they passed into deck 100, the gravitational centre of the station. With a screaming protest of tortured metal, the car slammed to a halt and sent the pair crashing against the wall, only their grip on the cargo straps preventing their inertia from sprawling them against the floor. They stared at each other in shock, wondering what had happened, when something landed on the car’s “roof” with a thud. Purple claws punched effortlessly through the metal roof.

Caelonia fired through the roof as Saturio scrambled for the maintenance panel at the bottom, wondering how long it would take the creature to realize there was one on the roof as well. He desperately worked the panel open just as his question was answered, the roof panel was ripped away violently. Saturio frantically crawled out, his stomach now flipping from null-gravity vertigo as well as fear. He heard Caelonia spit out an unrecognizable word, though the tone said quite enough as she slipped out the hatch, dropping her empty laspistol as she did.

The central freight elevator was dizzyingly tall, the air frigid and thin. They heard the whine of other cables as other cars moved, muted in the sparse air. Balanced on one hand, Saturio instinctively pulled his rebreather up to his face, noticing that Caelonia didn’t bother, the centre gravity of the station letting him hold himself in place easily. They both looked around, doing their best not to look down, working their way towards the rungs of a ladder running parallel with the elevator car.

The abomination’s clawed arms levered through the same opening they had come through. Its remaining eyes, now gleaming in the metallic light, with sheer hate focused on the woman, Saturio’s knife still hilt-deep in its face. Panic, along with the sight of Caelonia’s laspistol drifting lazily next to him, fuelled inspiration. He grabbed her and pushed off the elevator car into the empty, cavernous space of the shaft.

Inertia carried them into the field of null-gravity. They drifted towards the opposite side of the shaft, rotating lazily, adrenaline drawing the moment out like time had slowed to a crawl. The monster looked at them, tilting its hideous visage in confusion as Saturio pulled the grapple and rope from his pack. Growling in effort, Saturio flung the grapple toward the rungs on the service ladder opposite them, snapping it in place with a practiced jerk. He heard Caelonia suck in the thin air and looked over to see the monstrosity crouch and explode toward them.

Saturio heaved with all his might, his mind still slowing the moments out to hours, seeing the razor talons reach for them, fanged maw open, tongue writhing nauseatingly. Then an expression like shock registered on the thing’s face as the station’s gravity betrayed its momentum.

Caelonia pushed the arm he had around her away; then she pushed off, sending him down and herself up and over the monster. Its scything arms missing her hair by fractions of a millimetre, then one of her outstretched hands caught Saturio’s firmly lodged knife. Her own, black-polished blade appeared in her other hand. She pulled herself down, with eye-watering speed, and drove the knife hard into the abomination’s neck. Her arm stabbed forward over and over like a sewing machine, then she pushed off it. She sailed through the minimal gravity back towards Saturio. At the same time, the thing drifted down, trailing globs of ichor. The cantered gravity of the station centre leaving the writhing body in the path of a fast-rising cargo elevator.

If she hadn’t killed it, the impact of the cargo elevator gears slamming into the purple chitin, chewing it into a spray of green and grey-green gobbets, certainly did. Holding onto the rope with a death grip, Saturio reached out and caught Caelonia’s outstretched hand, pulled her to him, and felt the momentum knock them towards the service ladder. She pressed her forehead to his and smiled wide, eyes alight with glee.

For a long, gently spinning moment, Saturio stared into her too beautiful face, lost in eyes that had no place in this world of corridors, metal, and recycled air.

Still panting, his sense of time finally moving at a normal pace, Saturio led the way to a servitor door and worked it open. They tumbled into the hallway in a heap, lying still and listening for cultists or monsters. When none descended on them, Saturio spotted a comset in the wall and scrabbled toward it. He lifted the set and froze, now unsure of what to say.

Caelonia snatched it from him and put a finger to his lips and winked. The voice that came from her was only roundly recognizable as hers.

“Oi! We got cultists ‘ere! In Water Rec! Some bleedin’ Xenos filth just tried to bugger the lift goin’ to the Guard on the docks!” She dropped the set and grabbed Saturio’s coat with both hands, pulling him in tight, holding him for a second that could have stretched into eternity if he’d had say in it. She pulled his mask off and breathed in deep, eyes fluttering slightly, pressing her forehead against his, then shook as if returning to her senses.

“The pass I gave you will bring you to level 46, Hab block Epsilon 34. We need to separate. Meet me there, call first!” Then she was sprinting, lightly and silently away, leaving Saturio stunned, until the sound of alarm claxons shook him from his stupor.

It took weeks for the Guard to massacre their way through the cells of the Xenos infection. Saturio spent most of the time as an aide to a hard-edged Guardsman in scarred green armour. They’d taken samples of his blood, then paid him good credits to guide patrols through ducts and pathways, gunning down a surprising number of gangers and Enforcers, as well as most of the Water Reclamation crew.

Then they’d gone, leaving the people of the lower decks to incinerate the bodies, including a surprising amount of Upper Spire fancies. Saturio hadn’t much cared about it all; the pass Caelonia had given him was in a chain around his neck and kept against his skin, never out of reach. He spent some of the credits the Guard had paid him to get a real shower, made off with two real apples from deck 48’s garden, and a bit more on clothes that weren’t taken from a body.

He’d tried to call, but in truth didn’t really know how, so he’d just rolled the dice and made his way nervously but carefully through the legitimate gates to deck 46. The air smelled off, empty, there was a lack of crowds and street vendors, and enough new Enforcers that he was a touch anxious, despite the fact he’d trod through the gate proper-like. Saturio found her door and hesitated, nerves he hadn’t felt guiding the Guardsmen locking him in place. Then he heard a muted sound, Caelonia’s laugh. Longing defeated anxiety and his knuckles wrapped on the door.

The door slid open, showing a room so dark he couldn’t see a thing but odd pink and green glows, but Caelonia’s hand burst from the shadow and latched onto him, pulling him into the hab with shocking force. Stumbling Saturio found himself pushed onto a soft couch, sinking into the cushion. Before his eyes could adapt he felt her legs around his, her weight on him, pinning him. As his eyes adapted her face swam into view, half-light by the soft lighting.

Saturio’s guts twisted, his breath sucking in, capturing her scent, strange and exotic. But not as exotic as she looked now. Caelonia’s features were different, more, and beautifully, terrifyingly wrong. Inhuman. She shook her head, gleaming eyes fixed on him. He felt the chill of her strange, gloss-black knife touch his throat.

“Oh, Saturio, I told you to call first! I’m not,” She sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. “Ready for company.”

A shocked sound, between whimper and gasp, escaped his lips, and Caelonia leaned forward, pressing her forehead to his, the gesture now feeling intimately threatening. She shushed him, her nose brushing his as her free hand searched him, finding the apples.

“Ah, so sweet, I was going to save you for my personal enjoyment when the time came. When this place’s swarm of meaningless lives would finally be put to proper use. But those… things, those insects take away that use. No pain, no pleasure, no purpose, just hunger.” She whispered her voice a caress that turned his blood to ice. “We had to deal with them, and you helped! So, I was going to savour you…”

The blade at his neck, the mix of lust and fear left Saturio frozen, scarce able to breathe as Caelonia delicately took a crunching bite out of the apple, sharp white canines gleaming in the wan light. She inhaled as she slowly chewed. Juice trailed down her milky skin, as Caelonia’s elongated, shimmering eyes drank in his desire and horror.

“Despair is so much sweeter when it has been infused with hope. Don’t worry, this will last, I have plans for you, such things for us to share…”

Storm Raven maxim.

Chapter 1: Haruna

Sub oculis Imperatoris

System: Acumena Majoris

Planet Designation: Acumena

Contributions: Las weaponry, psykers

Population: Inconsequential, 500 million

Astra Militarum: Small presence, 6 million

Status: Tainted. Xenos. Tau.

In nomine Imperatoris, we cleanse this world

Ave Imperator, Ave Sanguinius

-Blood Angel report on the Tau infesting planet Acumena

Breathe in, hold, breathe out.

A flash of obscene blue energy lit the field of grass.

Squeeze. Infrared energy flickered out, scoring another layer off the xenos device.

The shockwave hit her at the same time as the hypersonic thunder of rail cannon fire. The two-toned green and yellow grasses, adapted to the binary suns that illuminated her world, washed back around her. The black dome of the targeting system mocked her with the integrity of its housing.

Five seconds, she had five seconds for the cannon to reload, re-aim, and begin its suppression fire. Corporal Haruna Cordova hoped her hearing protection was working, and closed her eyes.

--Thirty hours earlier--.

“Evasive maneuvers!” Haruna heard the static-laden interior vox cry and felt her stomach relocate to her throat. The Valkyrie dipped towards the waves, thrusters burning frantically. She caught sight of a flash of white-hot flame as one of their escorts from 2nd Battlegroup’s Vulture squadron was ripped apart by a rail cannon dart.

She squeezed her eyes shut as the pilots arced the craft violently in a zig-zag and felt her blood pulled towards her feet as gravity warred with inertia in her body.

“Escorts down, Bravo group never closed, do we-”

“Our duty remains!” Haruna’s team NCO, Veteran Sergeant Sixto snarled. “Get us on the ground!”

--Present--

She allowed the count to get down to two before opening her dark blue eyes. Opened them, fired in time with Tau rail cannon again. Tau design was a blasphemy separate from their poisonous message, round and sleek, organic seeming curves to represent their insidious lies. They had only been on this island for a few short weeks before they were discovered, and already had layered anti-aircraft and boarding ship emplacements built. From their bunker, their heretical filth poured out, common goals, peaceful assimilation, the greater good.

Heresy.

Haruna rested her eyes again.

--Twenty Nine Hours Fifty Eight Minutes Prior--

The Valkyrie shuddered as it fired every missile it had at the incoming swarm of return fire from the xenos and their perverse tech. The chin-mounted lascannon hissed so loud the Recon platoon heard it over the roar of the aircraft’s thrusters.

Haruna heard muffled crumps as explosions ripped the skies of Acumena apart. The explosions grew closer and then she was gritting her teeth as the aircraft roared up and then down, slewing port and starboard. Harsh metallic pangs sounded as shrapnel gouged into the armor of the Valkyrie.

“Five seconds to LZ, get your people-” The next explosion was a harsh snarl through the aircraft. Part of the dark craft’s troop compartment bloomed into orange light as shrapnel tore into it. Sergeant Buentello howled in fury and pain, as dark crimson blood splashed from his face and arm. Alarm claxons painted the interior in strobing yellow and red.

And the Valkyrie dropped.

--Present--

Flash of cannon fire. Squeeze, another layer of protective coating from the Tau targeting array peeled away. Another step closer to mission completion.

She had her Imperial long lasrifle blessed and customized by the Adeptus Mechanicus for her role as a scout sniper; non-visible beams, thermal sinks that bled heat into the soil beneath her, baffles to muffle the sound of the cells charging. It was an Acumenar original, far more accurate than she could be, a scalpel for the Emperor to excise xenos from her blessed world.

She wanted her team.

Some didn’t understand. They said a sniper was only as good as their weapon or that their way was that of a coward. More than once a planetary Ministry member had put forth a resolution that snipers were cowardly and unfit for the tradition of Acumenar honor. It was always a doomed motion as no General, even the most connected and political, would deny themselves the surgical precision and intelligence snipers provided. Political grandstanding to appeal to the “face” obsessed. They cared little for honor. Honor was serving the Emperor’s will, how did not matter if the Imperium was preserved.

Cannon flash. Squeeze the trigger. A glint in the sensor’s cover. She was getting close. Unlike most of her company Haruna had read the briefing prepared by Planetary Intelligence and the Ordos Xenos, and information about these cursed Tau hadn’t been extensive, but it had been enough. Her eyes sank closed, resting again.

--Twenty-seven hours prior--

The column of smoke that marked the crash site wasn’t nearly as far away as Haruna wanted it to be. But rising and even stalking forward in a crouch would have exposed her to the xenos savages patrolling the land. They had passed within a dozen meters of her, but looked uncomfortable, irritable, snapping clicks and whistles, their harsh xenos language, beaks snapping violently like shears. Even the lumbering ape-like green things they rode snarled at each other. Some even flinched at the distant thunder of Acumena’s surface fleet, bombarding over the horizon, using the curvature of the earth as cover from the railguns.

She heard the faint hiss-snap of lasfire and the group approaching the crash site exploded into a raucous charge forward, not directly at the crash site, but close to it. They entirely missed the shallow valley of a dry river that followed the ridgeline she was shadowing. Haruna tracked them as another pack of the creature followed, outpacing one that was dressed in bright colored armor and pointing forward with a long, hooked stave. She sighted on his hideous, beaked face.

The moment it fell silent, she put a full charge lashot into its foul eye. The suppressor worked perfectly. The other xenos, Kroot, she remembered, abandoned their leader as its body toppled to the ground. The creature it had ridden swung its huge head around stupidly and began sniffing the body of its rider.

Haruna didn’t stay to watch if it ate the fallen xenos, she had her mission. She tried not to think if the cannibal xenos were after her team. The Emperor Protects, she thought, and when he couldn’t, we avenge.

--Pre-mission Brief--

Conclusion: “The Tau are a formidable adversary, but remember – the Emperor protects! They fear close combat, and their reliance on technology can be turned against them. Fight with discipline, deny them the advantage of range, and do not let their insidious propaganda poison your resolve.”

--Present--

Flash, squeeze, wait.

Sweat slid under her slim yellow and green armor plates, itching along her skin. Beneath the now oppressive weight of her helmet, strands of her hair plastered themselves uncomfortably to her scalp, a simmering itch burrowing relentlessly beneath the unyielding plasteel. A very brief romantic attachment had called her skin “carmel colored” and her hair “ebony silk” before they had parted. Now one was sweat-covered and the other itchy.

Haruna allowed herself a fleeting moment of internal debate. Should she have succumbed to the prevalent custom of Acumena and shaved the sides of her head, mirroring the stark battle cuts sported by her comrades? The question lingered for a mere heartbeat before dissolving. She was an offworlder, raised in an orphanage; her exotic appearance, intense emotional distance, and talent for anything involving concentration or agility had marked her as an outsider even among those who didn’t know of her past.

There was no point in trying to fit in; to do so would mark her as weak, painted a target larger than the one emblazoned across her back by her parents’ heretical ways. With a resolute exhale, she banished the idle thought, refocusing her gaze on the Tau targeting array, waiting for the split-second moment the flash from their blasphemous rail cannons blinded the blue filth.

Haruna had lost track of how many times she wished she could use a higher power level on her lasrifle. She’d been awake for over thirty hours to accomplish her goal. The Tau were abhorrently thorough with their, undoubtedly Warp-inspired, technology; capable of detection far finer than Imperium auspex was.

But it still had limits.

She remembered that, at minimum power, her beam shot would go undetected at this range. The sensor she targeted was active; it tracked aircraft like the Angel Stormravens that orbited the island, dodging rail cannon fire. It didn’t even register her light scrape of focused photons against the blinding blast of cannon fire. Her rifle was one weapon in her arsenal, but patience, attention to detail, those were a sniper’s true killing implements.

The blue flash painted her world, as regular as a drumbeat. Her finger tightened. Another layer of the sensor peeled away. Sapphire, he’d called her eyes, sapphire like the deep sea. She closed them

--Twenty hours prior--

Haruna sipped her water ration lightly, just enough to force her second stim down her throat. She waited for it to hit, dulling the aches she felt from being thrown out of the crashing Valkyrie, and crawling on knees and elbows, slowly and steadily towards the objective. She could see the curved, discomforting shapes of their base on the horizon. Four of the blocky, heavy armored forms of Tau fire caste walked by her, even their profane technologies and abominable machines weren’t able to pierce her cloak and the unique plant life that made up Acumena.

They had likely arrived during the last ion storm, when a solar flare from Caelum, the white star of the pair, had disrupted the magnetosphere. Imperium ships couldn’t navigate the charged particles, but the xenos had slipped through unscathed. Almost as unseen as a shinobi from Third Recon.

This was 2nd Battlegroup’s area of responsibility, and they had reacted swiftly. The Tau invaders had been met with steel and las-fire. Acumena was blessed by the Emperor, and its people had tamed it through blood and faith. These xenos would not steal it from his Holy light.

A full Regiment from 2nd Battlegroup had fallen in a hail of plasma and rail gun fire, never even getting a chance to shoot back. And so Acumena had called for aid. The Angels heard their cry, and they had descended, ready to unleash righteous fury on the Tau. The Emperor’s sons had been close; Acumena had been fortunate, again a sign of the Emperor’s favor.

Tragically, the xenos had prepared well, and this location held their abominations of aircraft, defended by layers of missiles and guided hypersonic rail cannon fire. The surface Navy was forced to stand off at a distance that made time to target for artillery or missile barrage far too long, and the xenos could destroy incoming fire just as easily as they could bring down the agents of the Emperor’s retribution.

Colonel Saito had asked for the best to get on the island and put eyes to enemy, find their weak point before more brave Guardsmen died uselessly. The four Fire caste moved away; they probably thought they were being quiet, but sounded like javali boars in rut to Haruna. She moved again, crawling forward; she had to finish the mission.

--Present--

Another layer gone

She was tempted, so tempted, to increase the charge of her rifle and burn through the last few millimeters of coating, burn the sensor out, set her plan truly in motion. But she was a true daughter of the Imperium, not like her traitorous, pacifist parents. Corporal Cordova renewed her focus, waited, fired, and closed her eyes again. She had been at this for over fifteen hours; she would not falter now.

Breathe in, hold, breathe out. Squeeze in time with the flash

That shot, to her surprise, exposed alien circuitry. She praised the Emperor for his blessing of her hunt as she saw motion from inside the base. Three of the exo-suited Tau quick-stepped to the damaged sensor. She hadn’t disabled it; there would have been more panic if that had happened, but Haruna remembered the Adeptus briefing well, a rare gift of her heritage, and she knew what they would do.

Two of them were in armor with face shields that were not far removed from Mechanicus Adepts, the third was Fire Caste, his long targeting array singling him out. The Earth caste moved frantically, the Fire caste soldier’s body posture was one Haruna recognized as universal. The boredom of escorting a techie. Keeping her motion slow, smooth and minimal under her therm-optic camouflage poncho, Corporal Cordova replaced her power cell with a fresh one. Readied the HotShot charge, waited again.

The blue-skinned xenos pulled a wide plate of armor from the targeting array with practiced speed; just as she had prayed they would. It had been a calculated risk on Haruna’s part, but one that had paid off. Apparently, these Tau aped Imperial design more than any would admit. She designated her three targets, locked her optic on, and squeezed the trigger.

The Fire caste warrior first, full power blast through his faceplate, shifting to the engineers before they could even look at their protector’s falling body. One blast through the base of the standing one’s spine-equivalent, the last turning to look at its falling hive mates, so she burned a clean hole from temple to temple.

Moving swiftly, Haruna locked her HotShot charge in place and sighted into the depths of the targeting array’s exposed guts. She had no idea what to look for inside the thing, but spotted a glow deep within the device.

“Emperor guide me.” She breathed out the prayer, squeezed the trigger. The invisible stream of focused photons bored into the array. And Corporal Cordova winced her exhausted eyes shut as something burst into blue flame inside the alien creation. Alarms ripped audibly through the xenos base now; she had opened their flank like a surgeon.

“All stations this net, all stations this net, this is Alpha Romeo Six Bravo, xenos targeting sensor in sector Bravo Three Echo disabled!” Corporal Cordova whispered into her com bead. For a moment that dragged across her mind like a machete, there was silence. Then a deep voice.

“Confirmed Guardsman. In the Emperor’s Name!” The voice was deep and resonant, rich beyond human capability. Distantly she heard explosions erupt as the Acumenar warships fire everything, forcing the Tau to focus on the barrage. The howl of Stormraven engines ripped across the field Haruna lay in, hypersonic fire streaked the sky, but without their targeting array, the xenos were firing blind and missed the Angels. The Astartes craft was ripple-firing a storm of explosive fury that deleted the rail cannon that had been her metronome for the past thirty-six hours.

Haruna got back behind her scope, and saw that far inside the Tau installation, blue-skinned xenos frantically charging toward their manta ray-shaped flying craft. She pulled the expended HotShot charge off her longlas and slew the two that were closest to crewing their machines. Fire Caste soldiers sprayed plasma over her position, only to dive for cover as two Stormravens swept in, the howl of their engines mixing with the roar of Blood Angel jetpacks as the Angels descended on the xenos, chainswords ready, bolters ripping Tau infantry asunder even as they fell on their prey.

Haruna’s jaw went slack as she watched, entranced at the fury the Adeptus Astartes unleashed upon the Tau. A Chaplain slammed his Crozius Arcanum mace into the armored suit of an alien invader, smashing aside its outstretched hand, and flattening its head in a two-handed stroke of destruction. In a disciplined line that belied the savage efficiency of their attacks, Blood Angels crashed into the scrambling Tau infantry like a tsunami hitting a reed village.

Some of the Earth caste techs actually dropped their weapons as if they were surrendering. It didn’t matter. Denied their rail cannons and missiles, the fish-men were but a harvest for the Angels of the Imperium.

An armored battlesuit erupted from the squat building that was likely the Tau command post. The cannon that made up its right arm could have likely killed an entire platoon of heavy infantry. But the Tau weren’t fighting the Imperial Guard yet, the Emperor’s Angels descended on him. Haruna watched in stunned amazement as three of the Astartes shot down towards the hulking figure, jetpacks roaring.

Bolter fire slammed into the battlesuit’s arms and shoulders, the impact of the rounds knocking it still for just a half second. A power sword alive with a brilliant field of energy in his hand, Captain Avicius, the Blood Angels company commander, kicked his body in a blinding fast flip, crushing his boots into the Tau armored suit. They plummeted back to the earth, and the Blood Angel captain used the impact of their landing to slam his weapon through the xenos battlesuit, pinning it to the bloody ground. Almost casually, Captain Avicius stomped a heavy booted foot on the Tau’s armored head, then pointed his heavy bolt pistol, and fired twice, annihilating the fish-man’s head.

“Praise the Emperor!” Haruna whispered in awe. There was a crackle in her earpiece.

“Alpha Romeo Six Bravo, this is Light Rifles Six, can you activate your emergency beacon?” Haruna’s breath caught in her throat at the sound of the gravelly male voice. The Colonel? Her Brigade commander, Colonel Saito was calling her? Her mouth worked, thick-tongued for a moment before she could respond.

“Affirm Light Rifles Six, but I’m not taking fire.” She finally was able to respond. There was a burst of vox static, and Colonel Saito’s voice came back.

“Acknowledged Alpha Romeo Six Bravo, activate your beacon, 161 is coming in hot.” With sudden, frantic urgency, Haruna pulled the emergency transponder from under her armor and pressed it three times. She held her breath. “Alpha Romeo Six Bravo, signal clear. All Task Force Sukik aircraft, blacklist those coordinates on your targeting solutions. Once you call back with acknowledgment, weapons free, clear the LZ for the drop.”

Haruna heard six terse acknowledgments over the vox, the two Vulture gunships let lascannons and missiles free, destroying the remaining Tau aircraft. They quickly shifted to other sensor platforms, disabling them far more kinetically than Haruna had. Four Valkyrie shrieked over her head, launching salvos of missiles at the waves of Kroot infantry that were trying to react to the crimson spearhead of the Blood Angel Astartes.

The Valkyrie pilots spun their craft, rear ramps opening, flashes of lasbolts already searing into the disarrayed force of Tau Fire caste troopers. Bravo and Charlie company exited their two craft at a sprint, lasguns shouldered high, a withering hail of furious light slicing into the bewildered Tau.

Haruna stared, the faintest hint of a smile pulling the corners of her mouth up. She had done her duty, she was loyal, she was worthy to take her place at the side of the Emperor!

I shouldn’t be here.

Two weeks sober, give or take a night or three of withdrawal convulsions I can’t clearly remember. I just wanted out, wanted concrete underneath my boots and some kind of danger buzzing in the back of the amygdala so the rest of the gray matter kicks out the natural drugs I was taking street stims and throat-burn liver-rot booze to replace. Ye though I walk through the valley of the Portland slums I fear no evil. Probably because I’d prefer it to show up.

The barrier between my waking, thinking brain and the Tulpa, the Rider keeping pace with me in the shadows, stays firm. For now. Therapy is expensive, former soldiers going rogue and killing just to remember what it is to feel is bad press, and like every problem, there was a technological solution.

The last part is what they told us.

Tibetan Buddhist monks had an idea, a myth. Through discipline and focus, thoughts could be given a material form, another being that was who the monk sought to be. This “person” was a monk’s idealized self, and their actions were considered separate from the frail person trying to meditate. But that took effort and most distressingly for a corporate black-bag military, time. Trigeminal Unified Limbic Partition Agent created the Tulpa for us.

Kept the emotions from hitting, no doubt, no hesitation, no distractions, while you’re on mission the TULPA locks away all those feelings, damps down any pain to just a damage readout. It keeps you from forming an electron and protein bond with the trauma that comes from watching your friends ripped apart by shaped shrapnel warheads or putting a burst of high velocity rounds into the stomach of a kid too young to smoke here. That was the promise. You could spend six months on a series of ops that’d leave the soldiers of the last century gibbering, go home to family synth-barbecues and regular friendships without batting an eye. No need to treat a trauma you can’t feel, no headlines to crack the glossy veneer they paint over their work, no long-term costs. And for years, it worked.

I suck in air that burns my throat into lungs that were replaced ten years ago, something metallic and chemical stands out on my tongue from the background stench that permeates Kerns. Behind the augmented reality visor, I catch a flash of movement, fast and sudden, someone getting pulled back, a sound, drowned under the sea of background noise, flails and is lost. The Rider paces testing the partition, I keep him contained, milisec file integrity self-check says all systems running up to spec, so it’s not just the Tulpa that wants me to go towards somewhere I know I shouldn’t.

I’m halfway across the street before that thought finishes, sliding between the dead hulls of cars that have been rusting since we had enough oil to burn it for fuel. The scuffed sound bounced off slate-gray concrete, skittering softly along the rain-slick street. I check patrol jurisdiction. No corp-security patrols, “citizen reporting only”

Gang turf, Dìyù-qíshǒu, Hell Riders if memory served. Not the worst, usually kept their neighborhoods clear of random violence, but they were dealers in Glitz and were prone to dragging rival gangers behind their motorcycles until the chains were holding nothing but bloody meat. My eyes fix on the one thing out of place. That van was an import, something from Kazakhstan, according to the quick search my visor does on the model. Ural mountain manufacturer meant Kholodny Tigers. Descendants of Russian Bratva, prison-hardened family groups with a predilection for every kind of money-making and a gleeful appreciation of sadism.

I’m armed, of course; a walk in this part of Portland without a sidearm was ridiculous, but it’s a handgun, only a single spare. Stupid to get involved in something with no intel, no recon, no backup. But that sound, it wasn’t right, it wasn’t-

It hits me like a bucket of water from a melting glacier. It wasn’t adult.

I slide against the wall, augmented ears questing and breathing through my nose, weight on the toe, then the heel, just like always. I hear voices now, harsh, hammered syllables and guttural in the throat. Three at least, my visor translates it on the left lens, and by that context, definitely K-Tigers. Cracking slap, muffled curses, definitely a child, but not crying, cursing, a mishmash of Korean and Japanese. And one of the voices clicks into place like a round into a perfectly maintained chamber.

I’m three strides into the alley when I speak, hands in my pockets, not trying to test the Tulpa yet.

“Ugo, this isn’t where we normally meet, you dealing here now?” I say, and Ugolev’s two steroid-thick and amphetamine fast toughs spin towards me, one pulling an ancient blocky hand cannon and holding it waist level rain slicking down a bald tattooed head. The other steps to the edge of the alley raising a long crowbar, his visor a hideous neon green. Some things, regardless of centuries, countries, and the spiraling decay of a collapsing ecosystem, don’t change.

“Sutherland? Heeyyy, how do you do? I not seen you for almost t’ree weeks now, I tink you get picked up for work or die yeah?” Ugolev said staying behind his muscle, but motioning down with his hand at Baldy. I almost wish he’d switch back to his bastardized Russian, the translation software was easier to understand. “We jus’ expanding our operations you know, make moves make money, you know how it be yeah?”

“Yeah, your bosses are going to need someone a little better at killing if you’re starting to move in on Hell Rider haunts,” I say, drifting closer casually. “And since I’m out of cash, maybe we can make something happen.”

A low-flying cargo drone buzzes over the decaying apartments around us, collision lights reflecting off the rain clouds and illuminating the rest of the alley enough for the passives in my visor to pick up two huddled silhouettes. Street grimy, fake leather coats and hair that was probably in braids a few minutes ago. Can only see one face, one set of still organic eyes glaring at Ugolev and I without a hint of fear, just fury. She slid along the opened pile of trash bags and knelt, hands and ankles bound in front of the prone kid.

Ugolev grinned, steel-gray and gold-lined teeth flickering in reflected red and blue.

“You old man, but you got moves, tell you what, Imma get me some collateral for the Beatdown this week, you step in for us, and I give you all te ‘Peridol you need to keep the ghosts away yeah? After that we see if you can stay-“

It was the offer fighting for these sewage-blood, disgusting cowards that tipped it. Up until then, I’d been fine with talking, getting the kids away with some smooth promises, and dealing with the fallout later. But Ugolev thought I could be bought for drugs.

TULPA Protocol Initiated, partition off.

The Rider steps into my body, smooth, frictionless, worry, shame, addiction memories all gone. Just the glare of headlights flashing in Baldy’s visor, the headtilt that said he’s blinded for a split second. Neon too close to the wall to have full range with the bar. I compensated for the slick pavement easily, left hand into Baldy’s wrist, right elbow up and into his nose. Feel the snap. My left hand crushes down, mil-cyber strong, and Neon comes down at my head with the crowbar. Took less time than I thought but within parameters. I punch Baldy’s arm up and feel it break with Neon’s bar crushes into it.

I strip the heavy pistol out of Baldy’s hand, eat a glancing backhand on the right shoulder from Neon, damage negligible. Twisting in the narrow alley I finally see Ugolev, right arm already clearing a shoulder holster of something black and functional. Then he’s cursing and falling backwards, the girl slamming her shoulder into the back of his knee.

Not much time. Time enough.

I use the pistol like a hammer, snap four pistol-whip cracks to Neon and Baldy’s temples, slide past their falling bulk. Stomp threat three in the groin, and crush threat one’s pistol into his weapon. The double shock disarms threat three, palm heel to temple. Utilize pavement.

Threat three neutralized. One and Two immobile. Assessing-

On, partition on dammit.

TULPA protocol disengaging, partition reactivated.

My body aches, agony dancing along the link at my arm, howling along what is probably a fracture in my arm, and every joint in my spine from the flood of combat enhancers. But I’m not about to analyze if an eight-year-old is a threat. She glares at me from behind Ugolev’s body, and I force myself to open my hands and drop the pistol. I’ve seen tempests in Indonesia look less furious than her eyes, but she lets me undo the plastic ties Ugolev’s thugs slapped on her.

“You’re not Dìyù-qíshǒu.” She says defiantly. Something like a grin works up through the latticework scars on my face.

“I’m not, I’m Renaldo.” I reply. She nods curtly, grabbing the unconscious boy that was behind her protectively but still keeping her eyes on me.

“The gross one, he called you Sutherland. So you’re Renaldo Sutherland.” She says firmly, her voice sounding like she had made an authoritative decision. She looks back at me nodding with the seriousness only a child can muster. “Mihoko, that’s me, I’m going to be a Hell Rider. Hell Rider’s pay their debts.”

“Bet they do, why don’t you let me help your friend and then take me where your family can help pay me back, cool?” Another forehead wrinkled nod.

“Glossy. The fam’ll defo square this. You cancel ‘em?” Mihoko says, while my translation software tries to determine if this is English. I shake my head. She screws her face up as if to see if she likes that result or not, black eyes narrowing. A shrug of skinny shoulders under black pleather. “Mid, fix it later then.”

I like it, and something warm, something organic and real wells up, a quick motion capture of a greenhouse flower blooming to greet a UV light sun. Haven’t felt that in years. Maybe, maybe I should do this some more.

Yeah, probably will.

Subject: Malathrax Quartus Campaign Summary.

Theater: Hell World Malathrax Quartus, hostile fungal jungle terrain. Substantial Industry. Extensive enemy fortifications.

Opposing Forces: Confirmed Iron Warriors Traitor Legion elements, supported by multiple Chaos-corrupted Militarum regiments. Estimated enemy strength in excess of three divisions.

Mission Objective: Recapture primary plasteel and ceramite base component mining facility.

Priority: restore vital war material production for Departmento Munitorum.

Casualty Estimate: [Redacted]

--Seven Acumenar years Prior--

The Tyranids, with their endless swarms of increasingly profane and grotesque monstrosities, were horrifying. The Orks, and their tidal waves of chaotic violence, were a maelstrom of destruction. But battles with them tended to be brief one way or another. The Iron Warriors and the Chaos-tainted soldiers they commanded were a steady, implacable, ceaseless foe. Psychic waves bombarded the beleaguered defenders with false promises of freedom and self-determination (terms and conditions may apply), while raining a steady salvo of artillery and methodical advances. Tyranids and Orks were an avalanche of swift and terrible violence, but the Iron Warriors were an implacable, tireless glacier advancing on the largest ore processing plant of Malathrax and grinding resistance into bloody mud.

Battlemaster Gaius Vetruius, of Krieg descent but Cadian trained, was skilled at armor maneuvers and adept at delegation and sweeping strategy. He entrusted his battlegroup commanders with organizing the disposition of their regiments. Thus far it had proved successful, costly, but successful. His command fortress, a massive structure with four super heavy tank engines and sets of treads, churned the muddy soil as it patrolled the exterior of the lines of battle. The borders of the white and black jungles wavered in unceasing carbonic acid rain.

A circle of mountains sheltered the loyal defenders of Malathrax’s mining community. They had withdrawn there under the guns and endless tides of Iron Warrior Chaos Marines and their legions, and the attackers had been content to lay siege to the essential facility. Then the Imperial Guard Battlegroup arrived. Around the core of armored vehicles from a dozen worlds dozens of Regiments of infantry advanced, cutting down the rear guard of the Chaos Regiments, until they slammed into the heavy infantry and deadly bolter fire of the Iron Warriors. And so the invaders repelled the relief force, but could not focus on breaking through the defenders’ barricades, and this war descended into the bane of the infantryman and the general alike: a stalemate.

And so Malathrax Quartus turned into a meat grinder of a war.

This world annoyed Colonel Tiberius Stern, 1st Elysian Jump Regiment. It was a rare moon habitable to human life, the gas giant it orbited reflected so much sun there was no true night, and the industrial smog that suffused the atmosphere meant the world had been in a twilight that only marginally altered in illumination levels between day and night. Plant life was nearly nonexistent, and yet there were jungles of a wide variety of fungi and moss that had adapted to feed on the carbon in the atmosphere. Which meant even the herbivores would kill and eat humans here. It was a ghastly world before the Chaos had arrived, seeking to pry the mines and manufactorums from the righteous grip of the Imperium. Now, it was positively intolerable.

Almost as insufferable as the man Colonel Stern found himself attending the same mission briefing as a commoner who’d had the audacity to be born on a world where family name was insufficient for due respect. Colonel Javier Saito was a lean, tall man, black-haired and scarred from campaigns on his world and off. He was of Catachan descent, as half of Acumena was, and supposedly been a Special Forces Executive Officer before his recent promotion to Colonel. It was outrageous what fringe worlds like Acumena got away with mused Stern, even if their jungle fighters and mechanized infantry were undefeated thus far. The lowborn pretender of an officer didn’t even wear a dress uniform in a briefing from the Battlemaster, he wore a common light carapace armor with his rank insignia on removable patches.

Then Stern’s attention was brought to the door hissing open as Battlemaster General Vetruisis strode in, his black overcoat wet from the unceasing rain. The hulking forms of his Tempestus Scion bodyguards took position behind the General as he waved his hand over the holo-display and brought up two ridges that flanked a wide, flat valley.

“Gentlemen, time is not a luxury ve haff an overabundance of, so I will be short.” The general’s accent rolled thickly from his tongue, both Colonels had noticed when he was stressed his heavy Kriegsman accent came out more. He indicated the two ridges and the flat plateaus on top of them. “I have designated this Route Alpha, and it iz our best chance to close my armor with ze traitor Legions. However, it haz ze unfortunate pest problem of enemy artillery batteries infesting it. And ze current situation in voidspace does not allow for accurate orbital strikes.”

The General met their eyes with the bone-deep weariness of an officer who has sent thousands of men and women to their deaths and would send thousands more if he had to, but would never enjoy it. “You two haf succeeded in tasks zat other infantry officers haf merely wasted resources on. I need those guns silenced, and silenced by 0700 local tomorrow morning. Can zis be done?”

Both Stern and Saito leaned forward studying the display intensely. Chaos forces felt no need to organize themselves into reasonable units, but they often fell into old habits. Each ridge appeared to hold approximately two companies of heavy infantry, a mixture of armored vehicles, and crews for the eight corrupted cannons. The northern ridge was accessible only by a single wide road, undoubtedly mined and bracketed with heavy weapons at the top. The southern ridge had two narrow roads leading down a gentler slope, the routes separated by a deceptively green mass on the holo-map representing jungle. Reality was far less pleasant on the eyes.

“Sir the briefings declared the jungles as a level three threat, are they toxic?” Saito asked, knowing the answer but wanting confirmation. General Vetrusis shook his head.

“Zey do not need to be. The predators and fungus are danger enough and ze enemy haz many hunter parties within zem. Jungle operations haf met with casualties that even Kriegsmen find unsustainable.” Saito nodded in response, his brow furrowed in concentration. He straightened.

“I believe the Acumenar Regiments are more suited for the southern objective, if you have no objection Colonel Stern, I would like to be given that operation.” Stern almost objected out of hand to show the commoner who really needed to be in charge, but the northern objective was more suited to his drop troopers anyway. Casualties would be high, the enemy had multi barrel light anti aircraft emplacements, and there was no chance for a surprise attack. But he had four full Regiments of Elysian heavy infantry, and a flat landing zone with steady gravity.

“Battlemaster, the northern objective is more suited to my forces speciality. If I may have enough Valkyries to deploy three companies at once that objective will be yours before the appointed hour. Sir.” The general considered for a moment then nodded in acquiescence.

“Ja, zis can be done. Colonel Saito?” The Acumenar Colonel seemed to be considering more calculations but responded promptly.

“I will have a plan to your slate before 2300 sir, I would request two Vultures for a ground strike, no additional resources are required.” The Battlemaster raised his eyebrows but seemed satisfied.

“Very well. Dismissed gentlemen.” Both officers saluted sharply as the General saluted back, turned, and left the briefing room. Saito slid a glance and his noble-born fellow officer as they exited as well and walked crisply toward the exit elevator

“Do you want a copy as well Colonel Stern, in case we have to coordinate operations?” Saito asked casually. Stern snorted.

“That will not be necessary, Colonel. I will take my objective within the allotted time. If you fail in yours I will deploy my reserves to finish this fight.”

It was a minor slight, using a fellow officer’s rank instead of their name, and Saito appeared uncaring of it. Instead, the up-jumped man was focused on a data slate, tracing troop maneuver paths and then wiping them and restarting. The journey was halfway finished and Stern felt the need to fill the silence.

“It appears you will have to get your troops’ noses bloody after all Colonel, there will be losses for this victory.” For the first time, a glint of emotion flashed in Saito’s dark eyes.

“Likely true, this is war. However, I plan on being able to be part of the push on the traitor headquarters after we complete our objectives.” Much as he hated to admit it, Stern realized that the other officer had a point. He considered his options for a moment.

A two-stage assault sprang to mind. The first wave would likely take significant casualties, but he could bolster his ranks with a second wave he would have the numbers for the final assault. Stern knew he had to be there for the glory he deserved. He smirked at Saito’s furrowed brow, let this commoner plot and consider, deploy tricks and waste time. Tiberius Stern was an officer of action and his Elysian’s knew their place, to kill and die for the Emperor as directed by their betters. This enlisted man who thought deeds could escape the shadows of his lowly birth, he would be left in the dust of Stern’s glory.

--2100, Acumenar Fourth Expeditionary Battlegroup Headquarters.--

“Does it ever stop fracking raining on this Throne damned planet!” Senior Veteran Sergeant Raphael “Ralfius” Hernandez moaned as he looked out into the acid rain from within the command tent. There was a chorus of rueful chuckles from the collected officers and non-coms. The four infantry company commanding captains, the armor detachment lieutenant, a major, and the huge framed Sergeant Hernandez from the combined Acumenar Talons Special Warfare detachment.

“Rumor is it’ll stop raining on Malatharax when soldiers stop whining about it.” Colonel Saito said with a wry grin as he entered from the other side. The tent’s occupants snapped to attention as their commander entered, his executive officer Naomi Sakata pulling the hood off her camouflage poncho, the close-cropped sides of her black hair shining damply. Pulling his dataslate from under his own poncho, the Colonel sent the map he had been sketching on to a hololithic display table in the center of the command tent. “So we can expect the storm to break when the sun explodes. As you were.”

The group of soldiers relaxed and leaned in.

“Gentlemen, the Battlemaster has a pair of Enemy artillery emplacements keeping his armor from taking on the traitors and keeping the loyal people of this planet alive. His assault needs to happen by 0700. We don’t have Elysian grav chutes,” He paused and looked up grimly. “Or their commander’s attitude towards casualties. So I want to get these Chaos bastards away from their superior position and extended.”

He highlighted the edges of a ridge, tracing a single path, wide enough for maybe three tanks abreast, with thick fungal jungle on one side, and a sheer drop into the valley on the other. The ridge had been flattened into a wide flat plateau, with reinforced bulwarks and armed guard towers. Colonel Saito looked up at his command staff. “I used to collect honey from Prism wasps, we’d poke the hive and hold a bag over the exit to hold the swarm. Can we make that happen here?”

Sergeant Hernandez narrowed his eyes and traced the outline of the jungle. “What was the cause for the threat rating for the wilderness sir?”

“Predators, fungal and animal. There are Enemy hunter killer teams as well. Level three,” Colonel Saito said with a bare smile. “What’s the threat level of Yamatai’s jungle back home?”

Hernandez grinned. “Same as Catacha, a lot higher than this cakewalk sir. We can get through the jungle, got some good teams from 5th Assault, we can probably escort some fire teams as well.”

“We will deal with the enemy forces.” Came a soft whisper from the side of the tent. The group looked around to see a grey-suited and masked figure. Everyone stared at him for a long moment until he sighed and pulled his mask off. Captain Tatsuke Atzhin, 3rd Recon made his presence known at last. “I’ve been here the entire time, you need to be more aware of your surroundings.”

There was a long moment of silence.

“I would love to have words with the Ordos Hereticus who felt an entire temple that trained psyker shinobi was a ‘Good Idea’.” Major Sakata grouched. Saito smiled wryly, he’d worked with 3rd Recon when he had commanded 2nd Assault battalion. For sentry removal, bodyguard detail, or assassination, the psyker ninja were beyond compare.

“Thank you, Captain.” The Colonel leaned forward, watching as the armor detachment Chief Veteran Sergeant put his hand in an “L” shape on the left path. Saito knew two hotshot Vulture drivers on a carrier overhead. They could poke the hive. His collected officers and NCOs came up with a plan, it sounded solid to him. They’d have no chance to rehearse this, no second chances once they were committed. But they were Acumenar, they’d get this done.

--0345--

The Iron Warriors knew their trade well. As their engineers had smoothed the top of the ridge the displaced earth had been piled into a bulwark around the entire encampment. The guard posts had been constructed swiftly with stout timber-like fungal growths, and reinforced with bags of earth that would soak up most las fire short of a cannon and even shrapnel from artillery, while giving the heretic forces inside the post good visibility and cover. Barriers had been erected within the fortification to protect from indirect fire. The guards gave regular checks and were not slack in their scanning of the jungle, but it hadn’t made much of a difference. Every member of the Acumenar Talons had to survive the jungles of their native jungle continent of Yamatai, where a single misplaced breath could end with you in the gullet of several predators. Even without psyker abilities 1st and 3rd Recon had crept within two meters of the sentry post.

None of the Talons, the Acumenar answer to the Tempestus Scions, had slept in the night. They had led kill teams ahead of the finest infantry the Battlegroup could provide, lugging las cannons and rocket launchers along with their standard weapons. 1st and 3rd Recon had stalked the fungal undergrowth relentlessly, slaying the hunters the Enemy fielded with silenced las pistol and blades most times. Even the insects didn’t stop their sonorous calls as they performed their bloody task, clearing the way for the regular infantry.

They hadn’t been perfect of course, three men and two women from Charlie company’s detachment had been set upon by Chaos-polluted assassins, the sickly thin parodies of the men they had been, slashed into on the Guardsmen like striking insects. Charlie company hadn’t broken noise discipline, they had responded to their attackers with machetes and silent fury until Hernandez and Captain Atzhin’s teams arrived and finished the job. Hernandez had held the hand and mouth of one of the soldiers from Charlie, who had only been wounded by a rusty, toxin-coated blade but he lay writhing in the acidic mud jungle floor. Captain Atzhin severed his spine, it was a blessed mercy from whatever fate that foul knife had meant for the young man.

Now they were on to the second phase.

Hernandez had timed the transmissions of the sentries and gave his teammates from 3rd Recon a nod. He felt the temperature around him drop as the man and woman flickered into a hazy, apparition-like form, then were gone in the steaming jungle. Both of the Chaos sentries died without a chance to whisper or move their weapons, but Hernandez smelled their blood as it spilled.

He and his spotter Karwaski moved the remaining two meters to the edge of the and pulled the corpses through the narrow openings, taking care not to let their kit make noise as they handed the bodies off to the remaining members of the infiltration team. Both men slid along the wet ground silently despite their thickly muscled bulk.

The corpses were stowed in the underbrush as Hernandez set up a specially purposed Hellshot sniper rifle, concealing the muzzle in the shadows of the guard post. Hernandez leaned back and braced against the wall of the guard post as Karwaski spotted the Captain of the four Iron Warriors who oversaw this artillery detachment. The traitors marched forward, scanning for any break in the discipline of the corrupted troops they commanded. The camp was expertly made, every artillery piece covered with camouflage netting and fast-setting modular bunker parts. Waist-deep trenches had been dug into the earth between the separated barracks modules, the artillery pieces, and the guard posts with raised walls around the few flat areas reserved for vehicle movement.

Hernandez slowed his breathing, felt his pulse ease, released the tension he didn’t remember feeling gather in his legs and abdomen. From the mouth of the camp, the hideous target stirred as its masters approached. A twisted fusion of insect legs, mechanical scorpion claws, and a curved auto-cannon where a tail might have been, gleamed sickly in the wan ambient light. The Defiler was where they expected, patrolling near the reinforced bunkers at the mouth of the eastern approach. A flicker of light showed from behind the twisted and possessed form of a Chaos anti-aircraft Hyrda. 3rd Recon was ready and he, they rather, were as ready as they could be.

Hernandez nodded at Karwaski who tapped his vox bead three times.

It was a signal that was short enough no one in the Chaos emplacement could detect. Mission ready.

--0400--

The signal came and both operations started at the same time. It was the one thing both Colonels agreed on, as it would keep one emplacement from bolstering the other. The small number of Salamander Astartes on planet led a charge of armor and artillery against the Chaos western flank while the super heavy armor crept towards “Route Alpha”. Valkyrie and Vultures descended from their carrier ships with re-entry speed, trailing super-heated plasma as they shrieked through thickening air toward their objectives. The thick miasma of acidic clouds concealed their exact positions until they broke through, tracer fire from traitor Hydras already carving deadly paths through the pre-dawn black.

Saito sat in his Command Salamander and waited, eyes closed, listening to the chatter as 1st Recon’s spotters talked to the two gunships flexed to his mission. Both camps were guarded by Defiler daemon machines, either of which could wreck most of his light tanks or a company of Elysian Drop Troops. One of his many vox officers turned.

“Sir, just got the go from the inside team, on your order.” Saito nodded once at the lieutenant. The young officer raised the vox handset to his mouth. “Initiate.”

Hernandez waited until the Sergeant of the Chaos Marines turned just enough to where he could see the faceplate, activating the stabilizers of the single-shot rifle. He breathed out, was still, and squeezed the light trigger.

The adamantium-tipped autocannon round flew true from the suppressed muzzle and punched into the side of the traitor’s helmet. Even their armor couldn’t hold up against a round that heavy moving that fast. The projectile dented the Iron Warrior’s helmet instead of exiting as its kinetic energy dumped into the Chaos Marine’s skull, gore burst out of the twenty-millimeter hole as the traitor’s body went limp and fell. Hernandez threw himself to the side as the remaining three instantly turned and opened fire on the guard post. Their bolters gouged and tore into the well-made shelter. Lasbolts erupted from around the guard post, slamming into two of the traitor Astartes, scoring their heavy armor but not penetrating. They bellowed for support and took cover behind their defenses, then noticed that the third member of their squad hadn’t received a single shot.

Hernandez grinned and reloaded his heavy rifle as the traitors howled accusations at their suspected “brother”. He just hoped the rest of this operation went as well.

--0405--

“Reaper this Kitsune, tally enemy encampment at marked grid, call contact.”

“This is Reaper One, contact.” The pilot responded as he locked eyes and auspex on the enemy fortification and heard the brief hiss of hushed vox transmission. The rain made the gloomy landscape a field of darkness with wide swathes of sickly green and white fungal jungle, but the guns of the Chaos artillery were obvious enough, as were the lines of tracer fire reaching up from the enemy Hydra anti-aircraft guns.

Out of the corner of his eye, the Navy Lieutenant watched as the main flight of Valkyrie and Vultures of the Elysian task force swerved and dodged the streaks of fire from the other objective. His thermal scope bloomed slightly and suddenly the tracer fire from his target ceased.

“Reaper this is Kitsune, guns down, lasing target, call contact!” The pilot heard weapons fire and explosions behind the hissed voice. His infrared scanner saw a wide beam of otherwise invisible infrared light paint over a hideous insect-like Chaos engine and loathing filled him.

“Contact, weapons free!” He barked. Both Vultures began blazing high-energy destruction with the four lascannons they mounted, lighting up the clouds in hellish red, the blasts so intense his optics auto-dimmed as they began carving gouges in the disgusting vehicle’s armor. It turned, freakishly, organically fast, its auto-cannon blazing to life as the two aircraft dived at the target with sickening speed.

“Fox 4, Fox 4!” The pilot called out as his Hellstrike missiles pinged a lock. Both birds unleashed their deadly gifts and peeled away, an auto-cannon round punching through the engine of his wingman.

“Reaper Two status!” He snapped out.

“One engine full loss, thrust down 40%, I can maintain altitude but nothing else!” The other Naval officer responded, his voice steady but shaking with barely concealed fear.

“RTB, no point in risking your bird!” The flight leader ordered. “Kitsune, this is Reaper, wingman’s damaged, what’s target status?”

There was a short pause, tension building in the Navy officer; he wasn’t sure if he could kill the Chaos creation if their first strike had failed to do so. Then the reply came, and the pilot grinned at the satisfaction he heard in the Guardsman’s voice.

“Reaper, objective complete, target down.”

The two Tauros hit first, the six wheels churning the hard-packed earth into gouged mud, rockets from the gunner slamming into the already aflame guard posts at the mouth of the Chaos base. Their heavy lascannons opened up next, incinerating a stumbling heretic and forcing any survivors to flee. A lesser unit might have been fully open to attack but these were servants of the Iron Warriors. Engines of Chaos polluted Chimera and other war vehicles roared to life behind the walls of the camp, and the enemy quick reaction force gathered at the first break-wall behind the smoldering wreckage of the Defiler snapping las fire at the attackers.

Four Taurox infantry vehicles were seconds behind the Tauros, angling their vehicles so the infantry inside had cover from the increasing fire from the camp. The turret-mounted mortars of the Taurox began firing into the camp the second they were stationary. The interior walls of the enemy fortification did their job and most detonated far above the gathering traitor force. The deployed men and women of the Acumenar infantry used the enemy barricades as cover from the organizing masses of Chaos, lobbing first shrapnel, then smoke grenades over the burning wreckage of the Defiler war machine.

For a brief moment, fire from the interior stopped, and then there was a shockwave that deafened the Guardsmen, as a high explosive cannon round impacted the wreckage of the Defiler and blasted it clear of the entry point shredding a soldier from Alpha company’s arm before she could dodge the wreck. The Acumenar infantry fell back in a panic, dragging the wounded from the blast, piling back into their transports, the Taurox firing wildly at the sound of approaching traitor armor. A stray lasbolt struck the last Acumenar infantry in the back and burned through his flack vest, killing him instantly, his body hauled inside the armor. The six-wheeled Tauros shot away first, the infantry carriers following close behind, dropping dozens of smoke grenades.

The tracked vehicles churned the muddy road even more than it had been before, the mud a blessing to the Acumenars as the three Chaos Leman Russ tanks pulled out of the opening and began firing down at the fleeing light vehicles, explosive shells sailing wide. The traitor armor opened their throttle and charged through the thick gray haze of smoke from the Taurox dispensers. The leader of the Chaos Guard, a turned lieutenant who was been eager for glory, began howling in frustration as the muddy ground bogged his tanks down and slowed their pursuit of the pitiful force in front of him. Behind the tanks four Chimera APCs and a series of light trucks followed, loaded with three-quarters of the infantry company that had been bunkered in the artillery emplacement.

The tanks punched through the miasma of smoke already firing at the lasbolts that burst through the wall of smoke. The already limited visibility of the Leman Russ tank was even further degraded in the rain and mud,so it wasn’t entirely the Chaos lieutenant’s fault that he didn’t recognize the danger he was in until two concentrated bursts of linked lascannon fire punched through the turret of the tank to his right, detonating the ammunition violently.

Acumena was not a world that favored mass heavy armor formations, and this deployment had seen only a single company worth of Leman Rus Annihilator variant tanks deployed to this expeditionary force. But with all of them arrayed in an arc around the end of the road, it was more than enough to focus armor destroying las cannon fire, and slag the enemy tanks into flaming oblivion.

Already committed to the charge, the Chaos Chimeras behind the tanks formed a line of four and slammed into the wreckage of their tanks. This slowed them to a crawl, but they used the burning wreckage as cover. The disciplined traitor infantry poured out of the Chimeras, readying anti-tank weapons as the APCs’ heavy bolters slammed fire into the Acumenar armor. They could see the Tauros and Taurox vehicles lurking behind the protection of the single row of loyalist Leman Russ tanks. The senior Chaos officer bellowed a war cry, knowing they could swarm the slow-moving vehicles below and rip them apart at point-blank range.

That’s when the fungal undergrowth of the Malathrax jungle blossomed into hellish light.

All along the sloping road lay concealed troopers who had stalked and killed all night, working their way into position. They had concealed themselves with breathing masks and adaptive camouflage ponchos, enduring the mildly acidic muck for hours. Now they struck. Hotshot-charged heavy lasguns punched into the treads of the enemy Chimeras and the wheels of the transport trucks, immobilizing them. Automatic fire from infantry and crew weapons tore into the dismounted forces, while precision sniper shots decapitated the officers and sergeants furthering the confused reaction of the traitors.

Panicked, some of the Chaos infantry launched a desperate charge at the entrenched Acumenars, spraying the corpse-white undergrowth with las-fire. The few who made it across the short distance were met with bayonets and machetes, dealing swift and disciplined death. The slaughter was resolved in less than two minutes as over a hundred traitors died.

While the bloodbath raged, two recovery tank frames approached the kill zone. They came through the lines of infantry fighting vehicles and tanks, then hooked on to the wreckages of enemy armor and APCs and efficiently shoved them off the side of the mud and blood-soaked road into the jungle, opening a corridor for the Tauros, now eight of them, to shoot through. The light vehicles had been modified with foot rails and thick meshes of webbing, serving as both camouflage and handholds.

Behind the Tauros vehicles, Colonel Saito’s Command Salamander slewed through the dark mud. It slowed, providing cover as the Tauros vehicles pulled alongside the infantry detachment that had so shatteringly ambushed the Chaos forces. Despite the enemy essentially firing blind, the Acumenars had suffered casualties. Some of the traitor infantry, through sheer volume of fire and krak grenades, had managed to kill four of the ambushers and wound six more. Saito ordered his vehicle to stop when he saw a woman from Bravo Company dragging her squad leader out of the fungal undergrowth. The squad leader’s right arm and leg were mangled from shrapnel, and leaking crimson into the mud.

Without hesitation the Regimental commander of the Acumenar expeditionary force hopped out of his command vehicle helping the private, Lagos by her nametape, tourniquet the man’s limbs and load him into his Salamander.

“Stay here, when MEDEVAC gets here, catch up! Iwata, get that long vox and you’re with me!” He swung onto the outside of Tauros, tucking his lascarbine into his arm as he gripped the webbing. Javier Saito had never been one to lead from the rear. His vox officer Iwata hopped onto the other side, informing the task force what was happening.

“Go go go!” Colonel Saito roared at the driver. Six of the Tauros were loaded and ready, chewing through the dissipating clouds of smoke. Inside the barricades of the artillery emplacement flashes and explosions were seen, and Saito gritted his teeth. His people in the Talons were good, the best his world had to offer, and he wouldn’t waste them.

Two of the Iron Warriors, scarred by the heavy las-fire from the jungle, cursed and tried to target their harassing foes. The third had left them to try and reform the defenses of their encampment, to organize any who hadn’t fallen for the obvious trap the servants of the corpse god had set. Leaving the two Space Marines to deal with what should have been easy prey.

They were proving anything but. The pair tried switching through spectrums of vision and cursing as they only caught glimpses of movement, trails of infrared bleeding away too fast to track. The constant rain cooled the barrels of the lasguns, their attacker’s face masks diffused the heat from the faces and breath, and their ponchos absorbed infrared and ultraviolet light.

Then, from the darkness, came the final insult.

The Astartes heard the dull thump of grenade launchers and dove behind separate ferricrete barriers only to spit out more curses as the two projectiles air burst into strobing flashes that overloaded their optics for the briefest moment. Moving far faster than such huge forms had any right to, the Iron Warrior rolled to their feet and charged the captured bunker, knowing human eyes would be blind longer than their optics were. The first saw the soles of jungle boots slipping outside the bunker and he roared in fury, charging into the fortification, raising his bolter to eviscerate these impudent meat sacks.

He missed the trip wire set in the doorway. It triggered two high explosive mines that flung him away, sending him skidding along the dark mud, barely clinging to life. The second leaped clear of his ally’s form and landed on top of the bunker, finally seeing the two fleeing soldiers that had killed his sergeant and given him so much grief. He got a single bolt round off, severing the arm of the one carrying the massive rifle.

Then a platoon’s worth of heavy las bolts slammed into the Astartes, the concentrated volume cutting through his armor and ending the Iron Warrior.

The first Astartes rose slowly, dazed and reeling, blood being drawn away from his nose and ears by his struggling armor. His vision swam even without his optics glitching and showing nothing but static. But it was of little consequence. Because the moment he rose, Veteran Sergeant Karwaski, muzzle flash reflecting off his night vision optics, used the last armor piercing Hellshot round to decapitate the traitor and pay him back for maiming his best friend.

Further in the camp the final Astartes was organizing the remaining thirty Chaos infantry into positions as his helmet detected incoming vehicles. He formed two rocket teams with four high explosive launchers each, and arrayed the others to make the slaves of the Corpse Emperor pay for their entry into his domain. Though he credited the slave’s commander. He displayed far more cunning and skill than what he had come to expect from the Imperial fools. He leveled his heavy bolter and knelt behind the barricade, feeling seconds tick by as the stealthy Tauros vehicles gave away their advance through the sound of mud and tires.

Then he heard a gurgling sound from his left and right.

The Chaos soldier on his right who had held the rocket was dropping to his knees, a sickle blade on a chain, glowing with Warp energy, sunk into his throat to the spine, his reloader dropping with long, psyker powered darts in his eyes and throat. With a savage yank the blade came free, and the Iron Warrior saw a brief flash of a lithe, female form flickering out of view and registered the temperature in that area plummet. He spun to the other team and saw more of the same, his other rocket team assassinated by Warp powered slaves with long, curved single edged swords. Then his optics locked on two small objects, thrown on the arrayed rockets. A half second too late he realized what they were.

Krak grenades.

The explosion of the collected rockets lifted the Iron Warrior from his position and battered him into the open. It also distracted his arranged troops and they missed the critical moment of the Acumenar mechanized infantry breaching the entry point to the artillery base. The slaughter began anew. The Tauros mounted lascannons evaporated the upper bodies of any exposed traitor infantry while the Acumenar forces dismounted from their transports and broke into fire teams, one covering while the other flanked around the carefully arranged defenses.

Bleary with concussive shock, sinking into the damnable mud of this cursed world the rogue Astartes identified a figure, dressed the same as his soldiers, all that gave the commander away was the long range vox trooper behind him and the gleaming power katana he used while effortlessly shooting a lascarbine one handed. Targeting reticles in the Iron Warriors glitching, impact slow helmet locked on the lanky human, and the Chaos Marine raised his bolter, still kneeling. Before he could pull the trigger the damnable sickle, guided and empowered with Warp energy, flicked over his gun hand, and bit into the soft armor of his wrist. The Astartes tried to transfer his bolter to his left hand, but a gleaming machete and katana blade, wielded by an indistinct gray clad figure, slid between wrist and elbow plates, piercing and cutting, sending agony up the Iron Warriors limb.

The Chaos Marine howled in rage and pain, then saw the commander of the force that had so thoroughly outmaneuvered him charging at the impaled Astartes. The power katana slid under the Iron Warriors helmet, finding Chaos tainted flesh, and biting deep.

Saito used the elbow of the arm that held his carbine, pushed with his legs, and twisted, feeling the blade slip down in between genetically reinforced vertebrae. The Iron Warrior died trying to curse the human who had killed him.

“Secure the area! Sweep fast but watch for mines, I want melta charges on those Throne damned guns in ten minutes!” He watched his soldiers move with barely restrained pride. Every traitor soldier had a single, full power lasbolt put dead center of its face, fire teams moved out in fields of overlapping fire and mutual support. The Taurox arrived a moment after the last Chaos turned bastard fell, and the second wave of Acumenar infantry began deploying in squads into the base. Eight minutes forty seconds later, the first Chaos artillery piece went up.

Colonel Javier Saito turned to his comms NCO and took the handset from him.

“Battle Six this is Light Rifle Six, Chaos position secured, first enemy gun destroyed, remaining will follow in two minutes. Mission complete 0446 local.” There was a brief burst of static as the encoded burst was heard, then a return.

“Light Rifle Six acknowledged, Abyss Six SITREP?” Abyss Six was Colonel Stern’s call sign and Saito held his breath unconsciously.

“Battle Six this Abyss Six, objective still secure as first report at 0423. Black on personnel. Request second wave deployment.” Stern’s haughty voice drolled out. Saito saw the data on his slate from the vox and his guts twisted into violent contortions. Over one hundred dead in the Elysian’s assault on a position that was almost identical to the target he had taken with ten KIA. And Stern sounded like a 30% casualty rate among his soldiers was a triumph. For twenty three minutes of bragging rights.

“Abyss six, acknowledge, but negative to your request.” There was a brief moment of silence. “Your second wave has been tasked to the Inquisition.”

“WHAT?” Stern exploded, all decorum and vox protocol lost. “Sir, if I don’t have the reinforcements-”

“You will be combat ineffective, ja, I am aware. The local Planetary Defense Force was ruled to have not resisted the traitor’s influence strongly enough, and zerfore are being judged as tainted and subject to Inquisitorial execution.” There was another brief pause. “I am not happy about this either gentlemen. Colonel Saito redeploy to Route Alpha and prepare to scout for my advance. Emperor Protects!”

Saito repeated the invocation emotionlessly. The joy he felt at his soldiers performance was sucked dry from his soul, the PDF had sustained grievous losses to the Chaos infection. They’d been no match for Iron Warriors and retreated, had never seen the Salamanders who fought for them, but Saito had seen them, he knew the men and women who were about to die for not fighting hard enough.

The Emperor protected, except here, thought Saito. Except when it matters.