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First Blood The Black Templars battle-barge Sword of Justice cleaved through deep space, it’s adamantium prow sheathing the docking bay for the Crusade’s Thunderhawks and the massive bombardment cannon assembly. Behind the huge prow a massive armoured tube two miles long, emblazoned with the symbol of the Chapter – a crucifix, black on white – and bearing batteries of plasma cannon and laser assemblies. Finally the massive engine block, wider and higher than the prow, massive engines heaving the ship onwards. The bridge, a tiny structure, but easily the most impressive of all, surmounted the block. Marshal Voss sat enthroned over the bridge, his stern gaze sweeping the dozens of Chapter Serfs who ran the ship. Failed Neophtyes or unstable candidates, but still of use as crewmen. Voss held them in slight contempt, to his regret and shame – but he knew he had been lucky. Somewhere in the terrible mass of the battle-barge was located a small cabin, the preserve of Brother Gideon and his protégé Darius. Darius was beside himself with excitement – this was the first time he had left Mira and seen the hugeness of the Imperium. For the first time the Neophyte had a true sense of his own miniscule size compared to the beneficent Emperor’s Imperium. Unnoticed, Gideon gazed over his shoulder, until his gravely voice disrupted Darius’ thoughts. Impressive, is it not, Darius?” Gideon murmured with a smile. “Yes, brother Gideon. All these worlds, all under the rule of one man and his aides.” Darius breathed quietly, overcome with the size of the galaxy. “Not all! Barely a tenth of these worlds are Imperial. The others are uninhabitable or overrun by heretics and aliens. You see that?” he asked, gesturing towards a swirl of darkness on the fringe of Darius’ vision. “The Eye of Terror. A whole sector consumed by Chaos. The darkness is stronger there than anywhere else in the galaxy. Over there-” this time towards the centre of the galaxy, to Darius’ right. “Golgotha. Formerly held in trust between the Squats and the Imperium, but now the whole sector is Ork-controlled.” “So many worlds, yet so few… it seems paradoxical to me, brother Gideon.” “That’s probably because it is. But still, don’t worry. There may be but one Space Marine for every world, but that is enough. For we know no fear.” Darius turned back into the cabin – two steel bunks, two lockers, and a small armoury – very much like their old quarters back on Mira, but far smaller. He pulled himself up onto the top bunk and looked down at his mentor. Gideon looked far younger than he was – a hundred years in the service of the Emperor had brought him to the prime of life. “Brother – do we have the mission details?” “Indeed we do! We head for the planet Korros, there to fight a band of Orks who raid and pillage nearby systems. Korros is a desert world with violent sandstorms, so we are compelled to drop our troops directly into the main Ork settlement. Our squad has been chosen to lead the attack. Ready your weapons, Darius, and recite the Litany Before Battle you learned in the Citadel.” “Sometimes, brother Gideon, you answer too well. What are we likely to face?” This was Darius’ first mission and he was compelled to ask every sensible question he could think of – he wanted to be prepared. “Not much, I’m afraid. I would suggest about seventy Orks in total, probably not too heavily equipped. I say probably – but the scanners are having trouble penetrating the dust clouds.” Darius nodded his thanks before he fell to his knees before the statue of the Imperial Eagle that adorned the quarters and began to intone the ancient, pre-Gothic syllables of the Litany Before Battle. He hadn’t a clue what they meant – most Space Marines didn’t, learning it by rote in their training – but he respected the tradition and chanted with all the faith and soul-scouring piety of a Black Templar. A second voice joined his in the chant – Brother Gideon knelt beside him and his slow, quiet voice uttered the ancient prayer alongside the Neophyte’s higher, almost choral pitch. Two hours later the pair were standing before a massive object, shaped like a gigantic metal egg on three short, telescopic legs. A ramp jutted out from the item’s side and Darius could glimpse a large rocket exhaust peeping from the base of the drop pod. Gideon had informed him they would be part of Squad Danaus – the unit Gideon fought with out of loyalty to its leader, who Gideon had known since induction. Gideon’s face lit up in one of his rare smiles as his old friend approached. “Well met, brother Gideon. I take it you’re joining us on this little excursion?” Danaus’ voice was a huge, booming tenor next to Gideon’s own, restrained tones, but the old Initiate held his status before the giant. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world! Reminds me of the old times – do you remember Dulgash?” “ Of course I do! We must have killed forty Orks between us that day, old friend. What’s this? You, on training duty? I thought you were above that sort of thing.” “I was, but I was ordered, and that which is instructed-“ “That which is instructed must be obeyed. Codex Astartes, Chapter Twelve, Verse Thirty.” “I see you’re not quite senile yet, old man. This is Neophyte Darius – his first engagement, his blooding.” Darius bowed his head in salute before raising it to look at his new acquaintance. Danaus was a huge man, blond, with one eye that could see and the other ripped in two by a deep scar. His power armour was older than Gideon’s – Mark 6, Corvus armour, a design dating back over eight thousand years but still in use by most Chapters, albeit in small amounts. Darius became aware that he was staring at the scar, and he shuffled in embarrassment. Danaus looked down at him and laughed, a truly vast sound that shook Darius back a pace. “That’s a relic of Kimmeria, my boy. Some damned heretic took my eye out with a chainaxe before I could split his face in two. Took me out of action for a week – and your friend here got all the glory!” “I saved your life, you mean!” Gideon snorted. “Don’t believe a word he says, Darius. Would I be interested in glory?” “The Emperor’s Champion. Brother Macai, I believe. He is to lead us in the attack. The armour he wears is Mark Five – Heresy armour, out of commission but still used by the Champions. The weapon is the Black Sword, a thing of truly great power and antiquity. The holiest of holies, Darius, and the symbol of every Black Templar there could be.” “DESTROY THE ALIEN!” There was a short, sharp explosion, a hiss of air and then a feeling of falling as the pod sped towards the surface of Korros. Darius felt the gravity shift – luckily he was strapped in, but this failed to quiet his stomach. The young Marine gazed down through the porthole at the planet below, feeling the fear of his first true battle. He knew that so many Neophytes died at this point, died before they could ever prove themselves. He heard Gideon’s voice over the comm.-link, reassuring him. “Know no fear, Darius. The foe is strong, but we are stronger. Believe and you shall not fall.” Darius had no time to reply as a second, more powerful transmission broke in, the voice of the Champion, giving them their orders and the plan. “Squads Lazarus and Paulus, you shall lead the attack. Lazarus, you and your men will airdrop on the Orks to keep them occupied and confused while the rest of the force deploys. Paulus – once Lazarus has left, you will land the pod in the Ork camp and back him up. Squad Danaus – you and Sword Brother Mordecus will attack the main gate and rendezvous with the assault force. Squad Varion – you will provide heavy support from the nearby crater and deal with any Orks who escape the settlement. Macai out.” With a hiss of static, the Champion was gone. Darius’ stomach lurched as the pod entered Korros’ atmosphere, hurtling toward the surface at over a thousand kilometres a second. Looking out, he saw the Assault Squad leap out of their pod, jump packs blazing. The counter clicked down – five hundred metres, four hundred, three, two, one – With a massive KRUMP the pod landed, shooting Darius a foot into the air. He landed with a bone-jarring thud and hit the button that disengaged his straps, checking his bolt pistol and combat knife. Gideon laid his free hand – the other was sheathed in the huge power fist he always used in battle – on Darius’ shoulder and said, “Stay close, Neophyte. I won’t see you die.” The ramp shot out with a muffled whirr of hydraulics and Darius charged out of the pod and down into battle. Before him he could see a large, crude fortress amidst a series of small hills and crags. A gate over twenty feet high was the only part not reinforced by nature, the gate decorated with a huge, grinning skull. Lining the walls were guards who blazed away into the centre of the fort – Darius could hear the sounds of vicious hand-to-hand fighting and the loud brakka-brakka-brakka of assault cannon and storm bolters. The squad began to run, charging across the desert sands toward the gates. Alongside them, moving with short, loud strides was the Dreadnought Mordecus, his speakers endlessly repeating the maxim of the huge war engine – “KILL! DESTROY! PURGE THE UNCLEAN!” From behind he heard the sound of heavy bolter fire – a low, bass throb that shook the dust around him. On the walls of the fort he saw two guards fall and four more turn. A brief, unintelligible yell of Orkish, the whine of an engine as the gate was raised. From out of the fort came a trio of small vehicles, each two-man. Two of them were half-tracked, one carrying a large automatic weapon, the other some kind of barrel-shaped turret. The third was wheeled, larger, carrying the same heavy bolter-like gun. The two heavy guns blazed away in unison, felling an Initiate next to Gideon. Behind them, the Dreadnought slowed to a halt before raising its lascannon. A loud blast of energy soared through the air and struck the half-tracked vehicle, scything through the driver’s body to blow the Trak apart in a cloud of smoke and fire. The missiles were next, careering through the sky with a shriek, but they impacted harmlessly on the ground a few metres ahead of the buggy. The crew laughed and jeered, gibbering in their harsh tongue. Ploughing forward with all their strength, the Templars came closer and closer to the Ork vehicles. Suddenly, the turret of the surviving half-track shot open and a green- skinned head, fangs and eyes glaring out over the squad, appeared and roared. A jet of flame shot out of the turret gun into the black-armoured warriors. Darius leapt to one side, the heat scorching the air above his head. The Initiate on his left was not so lucky. Burning, neck-to-thighs in incendiary fuel, he staggered to the floor and died, screaming defiance. Gideon roared with hate, blasting at the Trak with his pistol. A series of bullet-holes were punched into the mudguard, but the rusty vehicle continued it’s remorseless attack. Darius saw his mentor leap toward it, swinging his power fist around, bellowing the warcry of the Black Templars. “No Pity! No Remorse! No Fear!” The power fist completed its deadly arc, shattering the armoured turret and sending the Ork pilot flying. Darius jumped onto the front of the Trak, grabbing the handlebars from the surprised Ork. Planting his feet on the spikes of the axle, Darius fired his pistol at point blank range. The Ork’s head shattered in a spurt of green brains and the Trak slewed around. Darius pulled himself over the top. The Dreadnought had pulverised the buggy with missile and laser bolts but now death approached and Mordecus was too far away to be much help. A mob of Orks, easily twenty strong, was spilling out of the gates towards them. A volley of bolt pistol shots hit grinning, green targets, but still they came on. A flamer fired as the range closed, but by then it was too late. Within seconds the squad was embroiled in a sprawling melee. Danaus was the first to fall, hacked down by a chainsaw wielding greenskin, which in turn was felled by a Neophyte leaping over the body of his fallen master. The squad were outnumbered two to one with the odds getting worse all the time. Gideon was in the midst of the Orks, power fist swinging and smashing, killing an Ork with every blow. Darius had one chance. He pulled himself up onto the Trak, grabbed the controls for the flamethrower and prayed for a good result. A gout of flame spewed out into the heart of the Ork mob. Six of the attackers fell, but the flamer had also caught a Templar who even now fell to a slugga shot while trying to beat out the last few flames on his armour. Darius fired again – another four Orks were incinerated in the blast. Darius cheered in delight – and then he stopped dead. Gideon was standing before a monstrous Ork, easily the size of the veteran Templar and brandishing a massive double-headed chainaxe. The huge weapon whirled around to catch Gideon a glancing blow, but the Templar was recovered and bounding to his feet in an instant. The Nob attacked again, the massive axe swinging towards Gideon’s unprotected head. Up came the power fist in an arc of blue light. It parried the blow, but the rebounding axe slashed its cables and the energy field flickered and died. Gideon staggered to his knees with the force of the blow, the next would surely kill him. Darius raised the flamer but the fuel was gone, expiring with a dull whumph. And then he remembered the training mission he had undergone on Mira – the mission where a frag grenade would have killed him had it not been a simulation. Why hadn’t he thought of that before? He reached for his belt, grabbed a grenade and hurled it straight at the Ork as it brought its axe up for the kill. It struck the beast full in the face and sent it toppling back. Darius jumped off his platform and ran for the Ork, grabbing his combat knife and slashing out in the same movement. The weapon simply bounced off the Ork’s tough, gnarly skin, flying through the air to impale another greenskin corpse. The Ork Nob laughed and pushed itself half upright, reaching for the axe…before a bolt pistol shot blew its hand off. Gideon, raising himself on one shoulder, fired again, this time putting the bullet through its chest, but still it wouldn’t die. Darius grabbed his knife and stabbed upwards, feeling the blade pierce skin and bone, hearing the Ork’s deathscream as it keeled over. Gideon reached out to him and he pulled on the wrecked power fist, hauling the Initiate to his feet. “Thank you, brother.” Gideon wheezed, swaying and leaning on the Trak for support. “No. Thank you. Brother.” Darius replied. Looking around him, he saw the battle won. The Dreadnought Mordecus had come to their aid, ploughing into the combat and smashing the remaining Orks apart under its metal feet. Even now it stood, firing missile upon missile into the burning fortress. As Darius watched, the Assault Squad’s three surviving members took off, landing on a watchtower on the nearby hill and setting about the defenders with covering fire from Squad Varion and the Terminators. He had been blooded, and had survived. Almost crying with relief, warcry on his lips, Neophyte Darius returned to the fray.
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