It was just like it was 10,000 years ago. They emerged in
the edge of the system, each tearing a tiny ragged wound to the immaterium as
they passed through the murky sheen of the void behind them. Around 6 ships,
tightly formed around a main cruiser, slowly sliding into the edge of the star
system. The lead ship slithering to the front of the formation was a monster of
a thing. What had clearly started as a heavy cruiser had been added to and
augmented to where it now resembled a small battleship in terms of size. Black
hull plating and gold trim outlined the seemingly imperial vessel. Its lines
and angles all matching the ships brought to bear by the imperium, mostly. Here
and there elements of innovation could be seen. The 2 large sections at either
of its flanks, packed with long range autocannons gave it the appearance of a
large iron fish, its pectoral fins wide. Up front, a long saw bladed prow
jutted from its chin like an accusing sword blade levelled at a foe, built onto
the vast teeth of the ‘saw’ were small turrets and hull defence lasers, each
occupying a different tooth and swivelling lazily to track asteroids or other
ships in the flotilla that came too close. None firing, just tracking. Looking
straight on the ship would also have a heavily build underside, combed like a beehive.
Inside each tunnel, hangars waited to dispense fighters and boarding craft into
a formation, the ships unseen dagger to the serrated teeth of the enhanced macro
batteries.
The ship was new forged for the Black Legion at the behest
of the warmaster himself, and was captained by a very old astartes indeed. Old
enough to remember when the Black Legion were the Sons of Horus, and even
before then to the days of the lunar wolves. Falkus Kibre, First of the
Justaerin and ‘Widowmaker’ of the first company. Now traversed the stars in the
name of his lord. The tool for this was almighty ‘Sunbreaker’. Supported by the
other cruisers ‘Black Anvil’ and ‘Herald of Woe’. The latter off to the edge of
the formation in the foul, sickly green of the Death Guard. A necessary
liability to Kibre, given the mission.
Recently, a Death Guard fleet had come across a Rogue Trader
in the space beyond the rift. Pursuing it, the vessel had headed to a section
of the rift seemingly blocked by a warp storm. Intrigued and unwilling to let
their prey escape the Death Guard had run the trader down. A week later, after
a stay with the plague surgeons, he had talked, and talked. News reached the
Warmaster of a planet named Krillion, beset by Orks and sending out distress
signals like a wounded beast, such a planet going dark would be all too natural
to assume, giving a blind side to the corpse-emperors Imperium, a chink in the
armour for the spear tip to be thrust into the Imperium.
Chosen by Abbadon himself to wield the spear tip, the
javelin which would sunder the rift and allow the warmaster’s fury to rain
down, Falkus would not fail. He had gathered a warband of squads hand-picked
for their performance both prior to and post Isstvaan and the long war. Many still
wore their old armour, the sea green a jarring experience of pride and de ja vu.
Regrettably, as part of the agreement to reveal the location, the task force
had to be accompanied by a warband of the Death Guard. Lead by an insufferably
boorish oaf by the name of Vulgarsus Gullgex. There to spread the gifts of the
grandfather onto the virgin agriworlds of Ultramar, Kibre was to deliver this
contagion.
Stomping into the war room aboard Sunbreaker, Kibre assessed
his command. The large iron floored chamber ran up to a ceiling dome which
allowed the starlight in during real space transit, and allowed the more…devout
members of the warband somewhere to meditate when in the warp. Burnt or
captured banners of fallen enemies crowded the walls of the circular chamber,
the only key feature being the vast hololith in the centre of the room,
surrounded by panels, so multiple officers could give demonstrations and affect
the tactical display. He was secretly pleased, but would never let on, lest
they grow arrogant and slack. Kibre was a dour, black clad juggernaut in
antique terminator armour, the same suit he had worn to the siege of Terra
itself. It was old and fit him like a glove. The long tusks he had attached
some years later jutted out like the mandibles of a centipede and the reverse
jaw of a sabretooth cat from prehistoric Terra. Kibre was less the butcher he
had been before the heresy. Command had mellowed his crude, bloody candour into
a capable combat mind and shrewd tactician. Favouring the shock assault tactics
of old, he was an atypical Son of Horus. Cold, Realistic, yet no less brutal
once the lead slipped and the wolves were released. The rest of his staff
looked to him, all saluting in the old way, hand across breastplate.
There was Gullgex, as ever stuck into his cataphractii
armour, and constantly accompanied by the buzz of flies, and the moist slushing
of his entrails, battered his fist off with a low bong. Slow, out of limited
movement or unwillingness, it didn’t matter to Kibre. For all his faults of
personality, and barratry, he knew his warriors capabilities. The smaller death
guard contingent marching endlessly into the teeth of enemy fire before
scouring the life from them with their plague knives. Their main problem was
their lack of subtlety, and would therefore be kept out of the smaller
engagements.
From there his gaze found the Champion Gustavus, his wild
ginger hair flapping in the discharge from his armours power back. He was the
opposite of Kibre, flamboyant, confident and bragging. He inspired the brothers
around him with jibes and goads, pushing them further into the fight. Not that
the Khornate madmen needed it. Despite this, Kibre saw drive in the man, and
recognised a great deal of himself in his young underling. He would need watching
carefully.
Ever muttering inside his helm, the Apostle Vugard rocked
backwards and forwards, Kibre knew he was listening but it was no less
irritating. Better than having him slip the lead in here though. Another Khorne
follower, he prided himself on delivering himself and his reavers into the
fight first, and butchering their way far into the enemies back line. Useful,
certainly more useful than the cultists who stopped to take heads or debase
corpses as the followers of the Dark prince insisted upon doing. Vugard and
Gustavus often lead the fore of the hammer blow Kibre committed to the enemies
lines.
As ever, the enclave of sorcerers had failed to show up to a
tactical briefing. Kibre didn’t miss them, they were the wrong kind of Astartes. The ones who tried to be too much. The Astartes were murderers of
worlds, not scholars. Now they studied tomes and gleaned knowledge of the gods
most couldn’t control. Still, they had their uses on occasion. When once
decided he had finally discovered the ‘truth’ as to which god was ‘real’ and
relied upon their casting in battle, only to retreat muttering of deception and
weakness to find another damn spell book the next battle.
A hololith of Krillion hung in the air between them like the
green light of an angler fish, distorted occasionally by someone moving their
hand over a projector. There had been problems already. Gustavus clearing his
throat to deliver the report.
“It would appear that we are not the first to locate this...opportunity.
Other forces are converging on Krillion like flies to a carcass” He keyed in a
zoom function onto the rift itself. “However, we may have an advantage lord.”
Not waiting for the needless question he continued. “If we can control the
planet, we’d have a foothold with which to gain egress into this new Imperium.”
Grullgex laughed wetly, a torrent of glistening ichor
lurching from his helmet grills. “We can rain down pestilent death from the
Herald of Woe. Once the bombardment has been completed, we can get our ships
into ultramar before Guilliman can…” Gustavus cut him off. “Destroying the planet
is…an option, but would leave an obvious hole. For maximum effect lord, we need
to find a way of jamming on the all clear signal. Which means we need it intact,
and will need to let the warpsmith subdue its machine spirit, a potentially
lengthy process.” Kibre nodded for the man to continue. “Therefore, our
objective is simple, subdue Krillion, and in doing so create the illusion of
wellness until we can move more warriors and ships into Imperial territory.” He
keyed in more orders. “However, this again won’t be easy. More than us want
Krillion for one reason or another and the orks aren’t going to allow us to
operate unimpeded, while the warpsmiths work, the rest of the strike force will
need to be deployed to buy them time and subdue the rest of the planet. We
could try...” Kibre finally spoke, holding up a hand to silence the champion.
“The plan is this. Gustavus, Vugard, take command of the strike frigate… -he
paused to check a dataslate offered by a serf and make his selection. Take
command of the ‘Dreaded Return.’ Take the warriors you need for a surface raid.
Find a drop zone capable of supporting the heavy landers, and get your claws
into the imperials. Then we’ll move in with the heavy ships, at least buying
time for our mechanicus contingent loosen the net Guilliman has cast if we
can’t hold the planet completely.” He turned slowly to look at each of them.
“Our orders come from the warmaster directly, other forces, even ‘allies’.” He
said the word with a sarcastic scoff. “Are to be destroyed with extreme
prejudice! The new imperium will die screaming in its infancy! And Krillion
will be the vector for that poison!” The cheers of the other officers were
drowned by warning Klaxons. Kibre smiled. “Strike force to your frigate!
Bridge, target the nearest vessel and fire all macrocannon, maximum damage
spread! All vessels are to engage the enemy! Give cover to the ‘Dreaded Return’
where able, no interceptors follow her in, no main ships able to shell where
they land, for the Warmaster.” A series of confirms and countersigns returned
through his vox. The others cleared the room, Gustavus grinning ferally at the
thought of his duty as the first knife in, taking off into a run with Vugard to
get to a shuttle to convey them. Kibre was reminded a lot of himself, which
meant annoyingly Gustavus was going to survive. He thought on this as he
trudged to the bridge, the void outside already erupting with arriving vessels
and the decks shaking with the crump-thud of loading macro cannon. It was just
like it was 10,000 years ago.
