Imperial Calender Date, 1 150 428.M38

124 standard days since the declaration of the Avernus crusade

Munitorium crusade report AB-3302 on progress of Imperial advance to the office of the warmaster

Location: Avernus Sector, Planet designation Alpha-CXXII

conflict designation: Survey & secure,

Status communicate: behind schedule...... progress stalled..... Resistance heavier than anticipated.

.......Resistance?

Affirmative. Native xenos. Strong, durable, warlike. Undetected until planetary foothold established. Standard Militarum firearms are ineffective. Situation is rapidly degrading.

.......Committed assets?

Four Imperial Guard regiments. Requesting Further immediate reinforcements.

...... affirmative. Nearest Militarum regiments will be available in est. three standard weeks

Unnacceptable. Reinforcements needed immediately. Loss of Imperial foothold within one standard week at current rate of attrition.

...... Affirmative, Routing aid request to Astartes strike force beta, Battle Barge designation 'Brightwing' Celestial Falcons chapter designation, estimated time of arrival...... four days.

Acknowledged, forwarding relevant tactical data. In the Emperors name we stand our ground!

....... In His Glorious Name.......



*************************************

It was nearly a full day later before anything on board the brightwing was explained. The Lord Commander had shut himself into his personal chambers after receiving a heavily encoded astropathic message from the Astra Militarum Command. What was done in that room was his business but whatever his actions were they were taking the near constant attention of the astropathic choir to continue the line of communication and the course of the Brightwing was altered and the virgin chapter was now barrelling through the warp on a new heading. Searching still for that first opportunity to baptize itself in the fire and blood of honourable war.

When the Lord Commander did break his silence and emerge from his self imposed solitude it was to call an immediate assembly of his most senior officers to the ships war-room. Wasting no time of his own and unwilling to let anyone else waste it for him. Whatever he had to announce was important.

Only when all notables on his chapter were assembled in the grand Cathedral like room, with its mighty arches, beautifully carved stone grotesques of various birds and angels and impossibly high windows that, if in real space would have provided a breathtaking view of the void and stars. Did he settle himself on one side of an equally ornate wooden desk. Easily as long as an astartes was tall and hand carved from some of the rarest natural fibres from the surface of Deliverance itself. Each leg was a fierce raven standing guard over he who sat behind them. Their wings spread to partially obscure the arcane technologies that produced the holographic images used for the Lord commanders review and tactical planning.

The young lord commander stood over the table, arms splayed out to his sides and arrayed in full battle plate. Save his helmet which was in the arms of a dignified serf standing almost perfectly still so as to be camouflaged with the furniture around him.

“Brothers.” Tormon intoned in a deep astartes boom. “Our day has finally come. We have been called to war!”

The voice and face of the Celestial Falcon's Lord commander may have betrayed his youth with their vigour and tone. But neither of those things had an ounce of niavete in them. They belonged to a man who had been alive for nearly three hundred years, and spent nearly all of them in hard combat or training for hard combat. It was a voice that demanded the attention of those who heard it. As well as the silence of those who might think to interupt. Call it confidence or the authority of youth. Either way Tormon Vosk was not to be denied or stopped once he began.

In the massive tactical room were cunningly wrought stone torches carved to resembled the Falcons for which chapter they served. In their talons were glow-globes that shone brightly, filling the room with ambient light which in turn put focus on the equally bright and very newly sewn banners belonging to the chapter. One for each of the ten companies hung between the high arched windows, identical save the white Gothic numeral against the black body of the Falcon which marked their future owners. Their strong colour reflecting the light of the room to create a dazzling brilliance. Each banner was pressed and new, totally void of any battle honours, blemishes or bullet holes earned from the battle field. Still it was hard not to feel a swell of pride in ones breast at the sight of them and the unity they would come to represent between brothers. In time they would become magnificently laden with brooches and embroidery commemorating the fine actions of those who would fight beneath them. At the head of the room hung the chapter banner. Currently its only unique marking was being void of any numerals but in time the Lord Commander aimed to change that as well. He just needed to find a suitably grand excuse.

His eyes, as sharp and black as a raven's ran over all of the assembled brothers before him. His interim chief librarian, Senior Apothecary, Reclusiarch, Forge master and those few captains he possessed. All arrayed across the desk from himself. Even the ship's master. A mortal human male plucked from the ranks of the Imperial Navy to provide the naval expertise in captaining the battle barge that his chapter currently lacked. He was a man that had frequent disagreements and disciplinary infractions despite holding the rank of captain. Many reports indicated he was a impulsive and reckless man. Prone to taking great risks in the name of furthering his own glory. Tormon's experience talking to the man gave him a different perspective. It was the reason he was chosen for the honour of captaining an astartes battle barge. Vosk did not see a rash glory hound in this human. But rather a calculating and intelligent officer. One willing to take a great risk to achieve a greater outcome against the Emperor's foes. Each of those risks was calculated and each proved his sense of initiative and strategy right in the end.

Tormon rather liked the man actually.

“This world is officially designated Alpha-122.” At a subtle queue given by the Lord Commander, a slaved servitor suspended from a pillar overlooking the astartes war council performed whatever arcane commands required of it to produce a large holo of a verdant world with two orbiting moons. The world and the moons flickered and fuzzed in the pale blue of the holographic light.

“The Imperial guard who are currently stationed there call it ‘Havoc’… among other things.” He added dryly. “It is a primitive world, mostly covered in thick arboreal landscapes and mountainous crags. Initial surveys suggest that the potential mineral wealth of this world is staggering, and it was declared an ideal world for colonization and industry development. Why this concerns us is because those initial surveys also reported that there were no hostile or advanced forms of life when the exploration fleet arrived weeks ago. They were wrong.” He finished bluntly.

The image of the globe and its moons faded out and was replaced with an image of a large hulking creature. It seemed to be part animal and part stone its hide was so thick. It was a brute of a creature that looked nearly as tall as an astartes and as muscled as an ogryn. Vaguely resembling the hideous monstrosities known as trolls in ancient Terran folklore. Even in the monotone blue colouration it would have been terrifying to a normal mans eyes, much less the terror one might need to overcome to face an enraged one in combat.

“The tech priests of the Biologis have yet to assign the creature a designation. As I understand Imperial forces have simply taking to calling them ‘Trogs’.” He personally found the name fitting for a creature of their physical nature. Not that giving them a name would matter in the long run.



“Unlike most of the animals on that world these creatures display a modinom of intelligence and represent a clear and hostile threat to the Imperial designs for this world and its future. They have been officially declared a hostile Xeno species, and will be exterminated as such. THAT brothers…” Emphasizing heavily that first word to drive home his point. “Is our purpose is in this conflict."


More fiddling with the holo map produced a semi detailed view of the planet’s surface. Notably the makeshift Imperial military fort thereon and the surrounding landscape. “We have received a plea from the ranking officer in command of the planets forces to help cull their numbers in that new province, and possibly the rest of the planet.”

Despite his best efforts to remain grim faced he was certain his excitement was still palatable. His plated knuckles gripped the sides of the holo table tightly enough to creak against the beautifully wrought wood. Knuckles turning as white as the right half of his armour. This was their first request for aid as a chapter, and this would be their first campaign as a chapter. His first test in leading it as it’s master. His excitement was understandable.

“We will arrive in orbit in three days. So I ask you to report, Is our chapter ready for war? Are we prepared to baptize ourselves in blood and fire?”

“Commanders!” Eyes zeroing in in on the three men who represented what passed for actual command staff for the chapter. Black orbs scanning over each in turn. “Are your divisions ready?"

“Forgemaster,” turning now the revered techmarine that served as his master mechanic. “I know your fellow techmarines are few, but will our war machines be ready in time?”

“Reclusiarch.” Now his gaze settled on the elderly chaplain that perhaps represented his greatest challenge to overcome, in terms of changing mindsets away from the traditional thinking of the Raven Guard ways. A defiant rock clinging to past ways and standing defiant against the torrent of change. “How are our brother’s spirits?"

Caduceus was currently having the slightly bizarre experience of witnessing the briefing from seven different locations, due to the servitors that the Forgemaster had slaved to him. Each one gave him a slightly different view of the briefing, the commanders, the reclusiarch.... He saw each and every banner hung on the wall from a different location, even saw himself, a towering figure of red robes and thick armour, holding his ceremonial, yet no less lethally deadly for that matter, chain axe, the teeth of the construct gleaming evilly in the artificial light.

The Celestial Falcons were a new chapter, not tested by war and with a Lord Commander younger than him. This, therefore, thought the Forgemaster logically meant that they were ideal for going up against these… Trogs. How sad that his brothers in the Biologis had failed to come up with a name before the guardsmen had come up with one that was irredeemably stupid. One of his servo-arms was extended and had been peering at the hologram, storing away vital information he could glean from it inside the databanks included within his helmet. Whilst he could have taken the servitor with him, he had no desire to mollycoddle a lobotomized neophyte around with him. No, this was far more practical.

Despite this however… He felt a pang of jealousy. He was one of the highest ranking Techmarines in the Raven Guard, with the taste of Forgemaster in his grasp, and instead of fighting with the rest of the Legion in their black, he was among the yellow, ‘fresh’ marines viewed only useful for reinforcing incapable guards and exterminating backwater aliens. Were they not even powerful enough to justify fighting an Ork uprising? Perhaps the filthy Eldar had come out of their heretical ‘webway gates,’ and they could supress that? No, of course not. He would have shaken his head, but there was no need. Some members of the congregation, he had no doubt, would have similar sympathies.

When he spoke, his voice was a deep, rich booming bass voice, loud and clear, untouched by the technological modifications otherwise spread across his body. “Every brother shall have his holy bolter, every assault marine his chain sword, every squad his rhino and every devastator his weapon of peerless destruction. Unfortunately, we have no access to skimmers such as the land speeder, nor do we have access to air support such as the Stormtalon gunship. Our holy land raiders are available for use however. There is also…” He paused for a second. “There is a forge world located in a nearby colonized sector. I could beseech the Magos for lease of a group of Skitarii. Despite the time they would take arriving, these could perhaps take pressure away from the local guard and allow us to concentrate our forces to a greater degree.” Noticeably, Caduceus avoided calling the younger man any honorifics, if he insisted perhaps, but that was unlikely, thought the techmarine.

“What few of my brothers are on this fine ship will be marching with the machines. You shall find no fault in our equipment.”

---

While the Celestial Falcon's leadership were discussing future operations, its rank-and-file were busy preparing for war. Serfs cleaned bolters, sharpened chainswords, and primed what precious few melta guns the fledgling chapter had. They checked and re-checked each weapon to make sure of its availability and reliability. A veritable army of men stinking of cleaning oil droned on rites of maintenance in the armories of the Battle Barge Brightwing, but the masters for whom they were tending the weapons were not idle, either. Especially not a certain assault sergeant.

Sweat flicked off of the mountain of muscle that was Avernus' half-nude body as he parried yet another strike from the training servitor and followed through with yet another counter-blow. His combat knife dived in from the side in a thrust like lightning, but at the brink of impact, the astartes asserted his muscles in reverse and reduced what would have been a fatal blow into the lightest, harmless tap against the lobotomized cyborg's temple. A terminal, at the corner of the training chapel within Avernus' peripheral vision, beeped, registering another good hit. Its display read "168" for one hundred and sixty-eight hits per minute.

Not good enough, thought Avernus, as he continued engaging the servitor's seven bladed arms. He was 12 points off of his target, despite his arms already being a veritable blur of action and reaction. He had been doing this for an hour already and despite his opinion that it was honestly rather dull, it was an important part of his daily training regime. It did not teach the veteran anything new, but it kept his body warmed up and got his blood flowing. Otherwise, it was very monotonous - monotonous enough for Avernus' mind leeway to think about many other things, despite the real and present danger of the servitor's legitimately effective weapons. Usually it would be about past battles, past glories - but at that moment he found himself thinking about the future.

They called themselves the Celestial Faclons and they were bright and bold despite being scions of the Raven. Their colors were white and gold and they were extroverted in areas where the Raven Guard were normally not - demeanor, tactics, training. New philosophies, new beliefs that were variants of the old. So different, so strange. They were the newest Astartes chapter and Avernus had been volunteered to their ranks.

Anger. That was what he felt. He did not ask to join the Celestial falcons. He purposely took a few sharp breaths and let the annoying emotion out in the motion of his controlled attacks. 170, 172, 174 - his hits per minute rose.

The sudden flash of red puzzled him. Avernus was sure that he had made peace with his fate deep within his twin hearts - but that was evidently not true at all. What was the cause, he wondered. He looked into himself. He saw it then - a strange twinkle of aberration sticking out subtly but surely from the general uniformity of his thoughts. He drew his mind's eye close to it, examining it - what was this thought?

It was fear.

"Hm," Avernus grunted from his otherwise silent meditation. He suddenly shifted his 32-step parry-and-counter flow from a clockwise to counter-clockwise pattern.

No, not fear, he reasoned. Astartes did not know fear. But the thought was close to that almost-forgotten sin, and so his mind prematurely labeled it as such. No, it was not fear. There was a more proper definition for it: anxiety. No. Excitement? No, not that either. It was a mix of both.

The Avernus Crusade. A new campaign, a new chapter master, a new episode in his life. Unexpected, unwarranted, new. It was new. Just that fact made him as nervous as close as an astartes could get to being nervous. But he was also looking forward to it. Funny, he thought. He didn't care when he listened to the Lord Commander's speeches about a new, bright future but it turned out he really did. How strange. That him and the campaign shared the same name also elicited foolish notions of destiny that Avernus deemed stupid and threw away immediately.

Adventure. Hah. His glory-seeking days were over. Avernus was no longer as young as he used to be and after how many battles in how many campaigns he had nothing left to prove to his brothers. He felled the enemies of the Emperor and conquered what was rightfully the territory of His Imperium - and he did it with his brothers, and he would continue to do so until his inevitable end; and he was very content with that.

And yet the notion of adventure appealed to him. Avernus had a hard time admitting it, but deep within the beating of his twin hearts his super-oxygenated blood vibrated with it imperceptibly. Excitement. Giddiness. His hits per minute were now recording at well over 186. The smallest of smiles tugged at his deathly lips. Some tiny, active part of Avernus was actually looking forward to new horizons and promises that entailed them.

But most of him didn't in so particular a manner. Duty was duty - but some troublesome bug in a lonely, deep recess in his mind believed that he had been taken out from his proper duties in the Raven Guard, and took special offense in that he was never even asked his opinion of it.

His hits per minute suddenly dropped from 186 to 178 and fluctuated erratically between those two numbers, before stabilizing at 182. He would continue this private, introspective combat training for another hour before cleansing himself and joining his squad in bolter drills. After that, he would visit the Reclusiam to ask advice from a chaplain regarding his residual unacceptance to his transfer.

"Only in death does duty end." That was one of Avernus' favorite precepts. Its sombre and loyal tone resonated with him quite well.

“Brothers... Our day has finally come. We have been called to war!”

The new lord commander had already begun as the last captain finally entered the room. Yet Tormon Vosk was not to be denied or stopped once he began, and Veniktor Haines did not pause nor wait for any sign from him as he marched at pace straight to his position aside the table.

Veniktor listened in silence, as did the rest. His violation remained unspoken, yet he knew any subsequent infractions after being late would cost him. He stood motionless in his yellow and white, his helm under his arm. His pale skin, black hair, and somber frown contrasted comically with his armor, yet his reputation and demeanor dared anyone to verbalize that fact in his presence.

Veniktor too, was older than this new chapter's master, by a century. That fact meant nothing to him, but one had to wonder. The former sergeant, now captain, was more quiet and brooding than he used to be, and it was difficult to read him. Speaking with Veniktor gave a disquieting fear of some distant impending revenge for an unrecognized slight. Even to those that outranked him, Veniktor was intimidating.

Captain Haines saluted and replied to Tromon's address with practiced ease. "Lord Commander. The brothers under my command already know how to fight, and under my leadership, they will be able to improvise in any situation, even when in the absence of my direct orders. My men are well aware that there is no hand-holding in my company, and that I have come to expect a measure of independent intelligence. Every marine is charged with the responsibility to maximize his own potential in battle. Adaptation is our ideology, and with that, we stand ready to face any confrontation." Duty and loyalty were clear, yet his words seemed overly direct, as if posing a challenge.

"Given the nature of our enemy in this engagement, I request the use of scouts and long-range heavy weaponry, missile launchers. These 'Trogs' will fall easily to krak ammunition." His expression was flat and businesslike.

A Chaplains work

Varrin Krowe had been working non-stop since being appointed Reclusiarch of the Celestial falcons. Starting with ensuring what few relics had been bequeathed to the Falcons were stored safely within the Battle Barge's Reliquary. Securing the relics in containment chambers, ensuring all proper rights were carried out several times a day, and teaching those Chaplains in training all the rights required. Krowe saw to the marines of the burgeoning chapter even more closely. From day one he held sermons and services, open to any Battle Brother seeking counsel or Spiritual guidance. for many of the young and excited marines it was a way to pray for victories to come or seek sage advice from Veterans. Many older marines, set in their ways like the old chaplain sought closure and guidance regarding the departure from the Raven Guards ways that the chapter would be taking. He offered guidance and advice to them all for this was a time of great and rapid change and no marine was without his doubts.

None held more such doubts perhaps than the Reclusiarch himself. Each day when there were no more brothers seeking help the Old Veteran would spend hours and hours in meditation, fasting and refusing rest of any kind. His mind was in turmoil as much as anyones, for the Lord commander of his new chapter sought to depart from every lesson the Sons of Corax had ever learned. To abandon the concealing shadows and step into the light for all to see... although he knew no Fear he was far from certain about this new direction. Indeed, the Lord Commanders reason for the change did not help the skeptical Chaplains view. A Vision from the Emperor himself? Such a thing was unheard of among the Sons of Corax, and Varrin had never put much stock in 'prophecy' of any kind. He found it foolhardy to believe in such frivolous and ungrounded motivations... but what was a Chaplains duty but to guide his chapter?

He would simply have to change the Lord Commanders ways. Even if it took another century he would turn him back to the ways of the Primarch. This was his mission, to turn the chapter back into the fold of shadows. And this first campaign would be where it began.

Along with the rest of Chapter Leadership Varrin Krowe stood at Rapt attention during the briefing. These xenos would be a fine first test of this new chapter. As the Lord Commander addressed him the Reclusiarch answered with confidence and gusto.

"Lord Commander the Chapter stands ready at your command. Our Spirits are stealed against the machinations of the foul xeno.
The brothers are ready, and as am I."

Tormon eyed his greenest captain with a tinge of perfectly masked surprise. It was clear the man had not spent a long time wearing his rank. His reply was.... flowery and contained more unnecessary tidbits than relevant ones to the current war council. And that knowledge helped better phrase his reply to that individual. Tormon reminded himself that Upper level briefings were probably unknown to Veniktor until recently.

“Your enthusiasm is commendable and I am certain your men will perform admirably under your command captain. But I suggest to all of but don't start drawing the battle lines just yet.” The polite commanding officer's way of saying 'Listen to the bloody briefing first.' and/or 'let me decide how to field our forces, thank you very much.' Tormon trusted the signal wasn't too subtle to pick up. Veniktor wasn't out of line, just a little over zealous, and Tormon loathed to outright quash such enthusiasm. In a less formal setting it might have gone over more favourably.

As for the forgemaster, well... that was a different problem altogether. Venkitor meant well and Tormon wasn't actually displeased with him, Just nudging him towards the proper protocol.

But this techmarine was old enough, and experienced enough to know better. Each slight during his minor spiel was deliberately aimed at Tormon. From the half spoken truths to the omission of his due title and honourees. He would require a much more blunt response than Venkitor. Not here and now, while his peers were gathered around him. It would be humiliating to be thrashed like an unruly school boy in such a setting. But if the forgemaster wasn't careful than such a disciplinary action might be the least of his worries.

First though, there was the matter of his 'suggestion.' He was surprised such a suggestion would come from a techmarines mouth of all places. He more than anyone should know that the mechanicus would have no interest in helping that world and thus would not expend its resources to doing so. Plus the mere suggestion of succeeding the battleground to anyone was an insult in and of itself.

"The adeptus mechanicus were not beseech-ed for aid, we were.” fiddling with the controls some more. “Besides the nearest forge world is at least six weeks away and the skitarii likely will not be able to help as effectively as ourselves.” Tormon Suspected the reason such an odd suggestion was made to begin with. The forgemaster likely found this campaign as beneath him. He craved something more glorious and song worthy. That wasn't really Tormon's problem. He would serve or be replaced by one who could.

“We go where the Emperor needs us most. And we never shy from our duty wherever it might take us.”

He knew this was his biggest challenge as chapter master. And would likely continue to be for decades. His foot needed to be put down. Camaraderie was one thing, disrespect was another. No one in this room should ever doubt that he was in command, both of their lives and ultimate fates. It was his word and his will they obeyed. Not the other way around. Some of them would (and clearly did) think him young and therefor easily pushed or prodded. They would learn the hardest lessons in humility.

“The Imperial guard foothold on this world is weak will likely fall within a week if they do not receive aid. The nearest legion of skitarii is six, maybe eight weeks away in the nearest sector. They could not hope to arrive in time.” Letting that grim certainty sink in. If they didn't help conquer this world. Then no one else would. [color=yellow]“Even the nearest Militarum reinforcements are tied up in other pacification actions and wont be available in time. However we are available, and I will not allow any world stand outside the Emperor's domain nor will I let the lives of his soldiers be wasted.”

Right then, that bit was done and it was time to move onto the important bit. Be hoped nothing else needed to be said. And any further attempts to impose their own views on his deployment choice was quashed for the time being.

“Unfortunately we cannot simply bombard our enemy from orbit, nor can we hit them from the skies or fight them on our terms.” His voice returning to a flat, business like tone as the time for tactical planning was upon them. “What little we do know about our enemy is that they do not live above ground. Our augers have determined that below the surface of this world is riddled with caverns and tunnels. They currently span nearly the entire continent where our forces made initial landing.”

A few more subtle taps of the finger brought up a hazy display of said subterranean network. It was obviously incomplete and at certainly seemed that these caverns sent deeper than the imperial augers could detect. “It is possible these caverns penetrate for miles deeper. Unfortunately we don't know for certain, no scanners can penetrate too deeply because of the sheer density of mineral presence in this planet's crust. And no mapping party sent inside by the imperial guard has ever returned. We do know that these creatures most definitely live, attack from and retreat through these tunnels.”

“Our first objective is first to reinforce and secure the current Imperial foothold. Then once our lines have been reinforced we are to descend into these tunnels and find a way to wipe these creatures out. And that brothers” Slamming his fist into the table hard to emphasize the word 'that'. “Is where we will explore our options. And that is where we will succeed.” Slamming his fist again made the holo map fuzz into static and refocus.

“Captains, instruct your commands to prepare for tight quarters fighting. Bolters and blades will see us through the day. No melta charges or high explosives are to be used in the tunnels until we know they will be used at their most effective. Apothecary” Turning towards the figure standing in purest white armour. Winding red helix stamped boldly on one shoulder. “When we arrive on the planet I want you to collect whatever specimens you can. I need to know everything there is to know about these creatures and how to kill them.”

“Brothers, Make no mistake, these may not be orks or demons. But these creatures will be dangerous. Reports from the Imperial guard reports speak of these creatures achieving great feats of strength and destruction, supposedly standard militarum firearms are all but useless against their hides. Heavier weaponry is the only thing that can put them down for good. Expect a fight, and prepare for it to be bloody. I forsee our devestators being a key asset in the days to come.”

Pushing himself off the table to stand straight and square. Looking each officer in the eyes (or lenses), boring into them for some sense of their current thoughts or stance on this matter. He was more concerned with those who were making the active effort to hide their emotions than those who wore them openly. They were a potentially greater problem, represented by the knowledge that Tormon did not know when or if they might proverbially burst. And act as disrespectful towards him as the forgemaster.

“Brethren. This is the task before us, and in the Emperor's name we will see this world brought into his dominion. We will set a precedent of victory for this chapter for now and the future. And we will burn the xenos who stand in the way of either of those truths.” For that is what they were in his mind. Victory over the Trogs and this world becoming an imperial one were simple facts. They would happen no matter what.

“We arrive in three days. All tactical data will be made available. Captains, we will speak again after you have reviewed this data, I want to hear your own tactical appraisals of this situation in twenty four hours. Until then you are all dismissed.”

Again he eyed how many of these officers would show him the respect due of his title and offer a salute as he dismissed them.

The black of the armour he once knew coated now with brightness, a guiding light of the emporer and this new chapter, although not used to it Loch took to the new colours well hopefully it would attract more prey for him to dismember.

At this point he was heading into the war-room, his helmet clipped onto his belt as he prefered to look his leaders in the eye when spoken to. "Brothers... Our day has finally come. We have been called to war!" The new chapter master bellowed as all senior officers appeared for breifing.

Loch listened intently to the information provided and analyzing these wild beasts that was the initial problem. An awful name Loch thought giving a look of distaste to it. Eitherway this was the chapters first task, nothing compaired to the crusades in their former chapter none the less Loch understood the importance of securing a planet, maybe even the chance of a homebase so to speak. Loch soon wondered how the other members were feeling about this mission as he looked around at each of them before replying to Tormans question.

"Are your divisions ready?"
"Yes my lord, my brothers and I are ready for battle. May our first victory be swift like the emporers hammer smiting all that would oppose him, for we are his chosen" Loch announced as he stood to attention. Others around him issued their readyness from captains to forge master some more forward than others.

It seemed the Lord Commander was being tested by some of his peers. Why not, he was younger than some maybe even less capable, it mattered not to Loch. He wasn't fussed for such politics not now. Loch remained silent waiting for the brief to continue. As the Lord Commander explained about the battlefield, great, underground Loch thought. Not his favoured place, easy ambush and chance of tunnel collapse a tactical disadvantage all round. This was then backed up by heavy weaponry being the main feature to pierce its skin. Loch prefered charging the enemy however he understood when it to be a good and bad idea.

“We arrive in three days. All tactical data will be made available. Captains, we will speak again after you have reviewed this data, I want to hear your own tactical appraisals of this situation in twenty four hours. Until then you are all dismissed.”

Loch once again stood to attention saluting the Lord Commander and headed to the exit towards his quarters for meditation and assessment of the comming battle.

Caduceus saluted formally. No melta... Flamers would be the best way though the tunnels. He would have to talk to the devastator captains of course, but flamers seemed to the the way forward to deal with this threat. If their hides were so thick that even the holy promethium could no pierce it, then they would need to bring heavy bolters. Plasma would likely be just as disastrous if used in such close quaters- the blast might reflect off the walls, melt through the rock and bring it down, or a misfire would leave the marine carrying the weapon, and his fellows, fodder for the apothecary.

Vehicles would also be useless... Perhaps he might beseech one of the dreadnoughts? No, they should not be woken from their slumber for such a petty campaign. "I have much to do Lord Commander. I bid you good day." He half-bowed and left. No need to anger the man more than his so-called insubordination already had, the Servitors winking off, the holograms maintained by them vanishing in a blink of static. "01110111 01100001 01110010." The simple chant he murmured to himself helped keep his mind sharp as he walked, his tongue wandering familiarly over the words. He had turned his vox box off so that nobody else might hear the chant, the forgemaster returning to whence he came from.

The forge was grand. The chant of the omnissiah flooded his ears as he entered, the few techmarines that were in the room saluting as he walked past in reverence. He placed his chainaxe up onto the wall and bowed his head in respect, before taking off his robes, and subsequently his armour, leaving him naked bar for the black carapace. He quickly rectified this by donning his robes once more, and walking purposefully towards a small side room.

Instructing the servitor to let none enter unless it was an emergency, Cadeucus shut the door behind him and looked around the room, before sitting cross-legged on the floor. He must beseech the omnissiah to find the clear way ahead for the machines. Perhaps after this a visit to the chaplain might be in order.

"The flesh is weak. The metal is willing."

Captain Haines appeared unphased in the face of Tormon's admonitive reprisal, saying nothing and doing nothing that didn't outwardly exemplify obedience. The new captain simply seemed to ignore it and move on. It seemed he would learn quickly.

The Lord Commander proceeded to reveal a great deal about the conditions of their upcoming battle. Veniktor soon realized why scouts and long-ranged weapons would likely prove futile, for there was a strong chance that the Celestial Falcons would be taking this fight underground to seek the heart of this xenos species, whatever it was, and to eliminate it. The captain's black eyes scrutinized the holodisplay as it revealed a series of interconnecting tunnels disappearing into the depths. Already, gears were turning in his head, configuring another plan as to how best his company could safely and efficiently clear the way down.

The Forgemaster seemed quite Martian in his persuasions. His suggestion to involve the Skitarii was highly unexpected, but Veniktor immediately recognized the sanity of it. The nearest forgeworld would have an interest in a new mining world, and with the enemy entrenching itself deep underground, erradicating them from the planet would undoubtedly take some time, plenty of time for the Skitarii to arrive. With the Mechanicus forces reinforcing the defense of Imperial establishments above ground, more Celestial Falcons would be available for pursuing the trogs where they lived. Still, Veniktor saw yet more reason to involve the worshippers of the machine god. As a whole, the Mechanicus were resourceful, their machines capable of feats beyond his understanding. If there was any way to peer through the rock of this planet, they could find it, and any method that could detect enemy movement underground would be invaluable in predicting Trog attacks and preserving the lives of his men in the precarious depths.

The growing tension between Tormon and Caduceus was heavily masked, but it did not escape Veniktor's notice. Nonetheless, he didn't care. He'd second the Forgemaster's suggestion at the earliest opportunity. First, he'd need to review that tactical data he was promised.

Keeping his intentions well hidden behind his usual dour expression, Veniktor simply saluted, "Lord Commander," and walked out.

--- Sometime later.

The yellow and white image of Veniktor Haines suddenly formed in the background of Avernus' vision as he was striking and dodging against his training servitor. There had been no announcement of the captain's arrival, and he had made no sounds upon entering the training room, so his sudden appearance was unsettling. There was no way to know how long he had been watching, but Veniktor's glare alone was nearly enough to break ones' concentration.

As soon as Avernus finished his most recent round, Veniktor approached purposefully. A pair of cold lightning claws rested inactive at his sides. The captain glanced at the number lit upon the servitor's display screen, judging it silently before facing his subordinate. "Sergeant Avernus. I see you've been warming up." The comment was impossible to interpret as either an insult or a compliment, yet the captain went on dismissively. "I have orders from our new lord commander to prepare our forces for battle. We are going to war against the native xenos of Alpha-122 in three days. Do not fear for your aim, for the size of these xenos make them hard to miss. We will be focusing on close-quarters subterranean engagement until our deployment."

Veniktor flicked on a company-wide comm-link. "This is Captain Haines. Bolter practice is cancelled until further notice. All squadrons are to report for extensive melee combat training. You will need swords, claws, spears, and I want you in full armor. You will spar against each other and scores will be tallied. That is all."

The comm switched off, and Veniktor beheld his bare-chested fellow. "I will be joining you in the combat training, sergeant. Prepare yourself, and return to me when you are ready to begin."