[center][h1][u][b]Yndonesic Respite[/b][/u][/h1]
[i]After the Fall of Sanctii[/i][/center]
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[img]https://i.imgur.com/rD33amL.jpeg[/img]
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Lord-Commander Wolfgang Crucias had expected the assault on the Yndonesic Bloc to slow their campaign for several months. All of the analytics, scribe-attendants, and data-savants had made predictions for a high casualty, high attrition scenario. It was half the reason he commanded a host of thousands into the millions of the growing Imperium’s Auxilia. The logistics of such a host alone had solved a manning saturation aboard the [b]Fangs of the Wolf[/b] - the super-heavy command tank of the Tenth Excertus Imperialis. It surprised him then when the first envoy met their host half-way through the concrete jungle of Eurasia. Before the first thermonuclear barrages could be launched from their super-artillery, the Bloc had surrendered. 

His hand reached down to the power cutlass hanging from his waist, remembering the feeling of cleaving the envoy’s head from their shoulders. He refused to believe that they would surrender so easily after their full commitment in the cursed jungles of Indoi. The Yndonesic reports counted several thousands dead from their reinforcements. Crucias rejected the belief that they utilized their entire armed forces for the conflict. The second envoy proved his rejection wrong just as he had prepared to unleash an endless volley of artillery into their concrete domiciles. A part of him feared that old age was beginning to take it’s toll. The respite following a bloodless victory felt unearned.

The holographic map of the surrounding areas rotated before him on the bridge of the Wolf, highlighting the vast land-armada that he commanded. Their numbers continued to grow, each battalion growing in size as they absorbed the willing from the Yndosenic populace. His eye was drawn to separate parts of his army, those drafted up from the separate Legiones: the Astartes, the Cataegis, and the Custodes. One would swell in size from their victory, one would continue to bleed out in excess, and the other would soon likely depart from their services.

“Lord-Commander,” A soldier approached behind him, a vox-pack attached to their back and their black-red garments as fresh as newly laid Himalayzian snow. She was fresh from the recruitment camps. Despite her uneasiness and rodent-quiet voice, she held a firm posture and strict stance. He nodded in approval, their newest training regimes churning out would-be veterans for their Imperium. A wave of his hand allowed her to true. “Report from Scribe-Intendant Yarrish. Recruitment in the Bloc has been completed and we’ve received reports for reinforcements against the hive-fortress of Ouran. A portion of the Astartes are to assist the invasion. Furthermore, the Legio Cataegis have been called back to the frontline at Ursh. Lastly, Lord Ghallajar’s warriors have been rerouted to a redacted assignment.”

The loss of the Cataegis and the Custodes was certainly a blow to their overall shock assault efficiency; however, the Astartes made up for it in their sheer numbers. The Thunder Warriors gave him pause as they had fought alongside him unflinching since his first years as a mercenary. Their removal from the Eurasian frontline would cause some morale loss.  The last of the Custodes, though, was something that he had anticipated on the march to the Jade Palace. War with Ursh, which had loomed for the last fifty years, finally ignited by decree of the Emperor. No doubt they were planning to surgically strike in vital zones across the Urshite border. His rumination ended with a wave of his hand and a tired grunt from his parched lips.

Parched lips. How many hours had passed already as he poured over battle plans for the remainder of the Eurasian Unification? An empty recaff mug lingered to his right on a nearby terminal. Mildew had already threatened to form at the bottom of the container. No doubt it was from how hot the command vehicle ran at all times from the sheer amount of overworked cogitators. He slammed his gloved hands on the hololithic table, forcing the hologram to momentarily flicker. Wolfgang demanded fresh air, discipline and a lho-stick. 

“Lord-Commander leaving the bridge!” One of the surrounding operators said with urgency. All nine of the other soldiers popped to attention, offering their right arm in a crisp salute to their temple. Wordlessly, he dismissed them with a swift salute and stepped off the bridge down into the bays below.

His steps brought him out into the concrete jungle that was the Yndonesic Bloc. Instead of the hive-cities with great spires stretching into the sky, the Bloc was full of squat and fat compounds reinforced with rock composites to handle intense bombings. Huge manufactorums with several-hundred-meter-wide smokestacks billowed black smog into the air, pumping new armaments for their repurposed Unification efforts. The air was even denser now that an entire third of the Imperialis Auxilia patiently waited for the next campaign. The Bloc had more than enough space to accommodate their ludicrous host.

A hundred different vehicles idled around him in a storm of rumbling engines. Command vehicles meant for company and battalions remained closest to the hulking giant that was the Wolf. The stomping of a thousand boots signalled him to the endless routine of countless patrols closest to the central structure of the Tenth Excertus Imperialis. It never ceased to bother him. Far from it, he relished in the sound of a functioning warmachine working at peak capacity. It was one of his greatest prides in this lifetime - raising an army worthy of His approval.

Every soldier he passed, a crisp salute or a fist to the Raptor was met in regards to him. He catalogued their units in his brain, whether they were mercenaries or formal Auxilia. An ace from the Finned Dragons of Franc, a heavy weapons expert from the Howling Cannons of Jermani, and another from the 315th Golden Fox Company of his own Auxilia passed him by. It reminded him of their humble beginnings, fighting alongside the early Cataegis with nothing more than leather carapace and stubber. How large they had grown.

His footfall brought him through celebrating soldiers drunk on amasec, mourning warriors near heaving incinerators, and cackling knights puffing from luxury lho-sticks by their company commanders. Each one of these would catch his personal attention were it not for the sheer raucous attention at the furthest end of their war camp. A herd of human flesh surrounded a circular pit where two half-naked giants fought in brutal close quarters. Both were Cataegis of different Legio, one from the Ninth and the other from the Eleventh. Both were as scarred and augmented as the very techno-barbarians superhumans that they actively fought. Wolfgang noted that most of the Thunder Warriors were present, bare of their lethal carapace and devoid of their devastating armaments.

Even more peculiar was the presence of the Astartes. Intentional or not, they were segregated away from the Cataegis in similar numbers. Half of them were from the Third and the other half were from the Thirteenth. It was the first time he had seen so many of the Third without their helmets, noting their squat and strong facial features as if they were printed over and over again from the same printer. The Thirteenth, though, varied much more in their different tones of tan skin, scars, and trophies graciously worn on their black-bronze armor. He picked out several of them that had interacted with him personally, catching their attention from his own and offering toothy grins before resuming their observations.

“[i]They fight like animals[/i].” A voice said from behind him. Crucias acknowledged the voice with a tilt of his head, already aware of the owner’s identity. Zaid ibn N’dar, Master of the Bronze Scorpions, stepped out next to him bedecked in the black-bronze that his legion was well-known for. His knightly helmet remained fixated on the fight pit before them, while both of his arms were crossed against his breastplate. 

“And continue to survive despite their wounds.” Wolfgang responded, earning him a scoff from the bronze giant next to him. A cheer erupted from the crowd as the Cataegis from the Ninth uppercutted the giant from the Eleventh. For a mortal man, perhaps that would’ve been the end of the fight; however, they immediately lunged back into each other with vicious snarling.

“Too stubborn to [i]die[/i]. Too strong to [i]falter[/i]. Too reckless to [i]survive[/i]. [b]Thunder Warriors[/b].” The Astartes said with no love in his raspy voice.

A collective groan from the crowd before them drew their momentary attention as the goliath from the Eleventh managed to strike a decisive blow on the warrior from the Ninth. Like a puppet cut from its strings, the Cataegis fell to the ground in an unconscious fit. The victorious Thunder Warrior raised their fists into the air in celebration, their actions echoed by the other nearby soldiers. The Astartes, notably, remained deathly silent as they watched the fighting continue.

“The Yndonesic Bloc kneeled too quickly.” Wolfgang finally stated after the match’s conclusion. The Astartes offered no response as he ruminated over Crucias’ concerns. The Lord-Commander continued, “no doubt, they’ll mob out of their habs and attempt to halt Unity in its tracks.”

“Your doubts aren’t unfounded,” Zaid said knowingly, pulling an object from one of his many leather pockets on his belt and tossing it to Wolfgang. Crucias nimbly caught it and turned the object over in his gloved hands. A crumpled metal medallion with the Yndonesic Bloc’s sigil covered in blood. “We executed approximately seventy-three different individuals attempting to sabotage everything from industry to vehicles to barracks in the past twenty hours. Whatever cell was planning resistance has been eliminated. ” 

“The hunting has been good here, then.” Wolfgang replied with a satisfied grunt. He pocketed the medallion for later. The Astartes responded to him with a muffled sound that reminded him of a strange snarl of recognition. The Lord-Commander knew well that it was his default motive to purge those that dwelt in the shadows. He continued, “your beginning to outshine the Cataegis with your suppression actions.”

“We’ve quelled enough insurrections to put our predecessors and their [i]false progenitors[/i] to shame.” Zaid said with venom. He didn’t doubt that the Astartes’ mouth morphed into a toothy snarl as he spoke the words. Crucias hadn’t expected such aggression from the Master of the Thirteenth, a man that had once fought alongside said Thunder Warriors. He narrowed his eye in response to the words.

“[i]False progenitors[/i]?”  Wolfgang found himself asking, finally earning Zaid’s full attention for the first time since he arrived at the fight pit. He had known the man long enough to recognize hesitancy. There was a pause in the Astartes’ response. The warrior nodded their helmet as if agreeing on something internal, or perhaps requesting permission to speak on a subject.

“I speak of their Primarchs. They are not correct. I witnessed the death of the Eleventh Cataegis Primarch in Indoi. It was a worthy death that has been seared into my brain, but he perished all the same.” Zaid spoke as if in a strange trance. His voice lowered to a dangerous level of seriousness, one that he hadn’t thought possible given the Astartes’ stoic nature. He spoke as if he had seen the ‘[i]correct[/i]’ version. As if the ‘[i]correct[/i]’ ones couldn’t die.

“[b]Primarch Vladorios[/b]. I read the reports after the [b]Siege of Protosia Agras[/b]. They still haven’t filled the vacancy left by his death.” The Lord-Commander responded. He was keenly aware of the tactical loss of the Eleventh Primarch. A warrior-general that could not be replaced, raised up from their gene-stock by the Emperor to lead.  Wolfgang felt that they would never find someone worthy of that title again.

“They won’t be able to. [b]They never will[/b]. Their flawed creation led to the circumstances they’re currently experiencing. Only one of their flawed progenitors has earned their title.” Wolfgang listened closely. His age may have muddled his perception, but war had kept his senses sharp. Zaid had spoken dangerously. The reports now confirmed his suspicions with the Cataegis growing ever smaller, more elite, and more desperate.

“[b]Aeternus[/b]. The closest you’ll find to something true of their title.” Zaid finished, turning his attention away from Wolfgang to the fight pit. A pair of Astartes from the Thirteenth and the Third were facing off. The Cataegis were cheering them on, hooting and hollering to rouse their bloodthirst. Crucias couldn’t help but agree with Zaid’s statement. The First Primarch of the First Legio Cataegis was a legend. Many of his men told stories about ‘the Emperor’s Blade’ and ‘the Champion of Unity’.

“The Lord of the God-Slayers.” The Lord-Commander replied. A constant topic that never ceased to falter. Some had even gone to such lengths as to call him the ‘Lightning Bearer’ or ‘Throneslayer’. The warrior that never escaped attention, no matter which side of Terra he fought on. A legend. A myth. He would relish in the destruction that the First Primarch would bring as part of his command.

“May He live to see Unity.” Zaid said with as much fondness as he could. Wolfgang shared the opinion of the Legion Master. A warrior of that stature falling in the most crucial moments of Unity would cause inexplicable waves of morale loss. He wagered that was how the Eleventh Legio felt with the loss of their own Primarch. 

The cackling of a Bronze Scorpion earned their attention. The two that wrestled in the fighting pit were already separated. The warrior from the Third was on the ground with a bleeding nose and several bruises across their face. His opponent offered a hand, hefting their genekin onto their feet and pulling them into a brotherly embrace. The two parted as a fresh round started. Wolfgang, finally, pulled a lho-stick from his coat’s pocket and ignited it with his free hand. 

“Orders have come down from the Sigillite. Two companies are to depart from your Legio to assist in the invasion of Ouran with the Seventeenth Legio. Scribe-Intendent Yarrish will have the details for your captains.” Wolfgang stated, then inhaled a long drag from the stick in his fingers. He knew the details had already been relayed to the Astartes. A swift expel saw a plume of white smoke gather in the air before him. He breathed out in relief after an eternity of huffing recycled tank air.

“Raamiz and Alim have already been dispatched with two hundred of our Indoi veterans. The Seventeeth will learn well under those two.” Zaid responded swiftly to no surprise. The two watched as the boastful warrior from the Thirteenth continuously laid the warrior from the Third flat over and over. Each time, the gray sentinel would last longer and longer until the two were on equal footing. The Thunder Warriors were screaming advice, cheering, roaring, and groaning over the claiming of their fight pit. Some had already started to depart after watching the Astartes with distaste. Zaid continued to speak, “and the others?”

“The Cataegis will rendezvous at the Urshic Front with the rest of the Thunder Legions. You, alone, will be fighting without them for the rest of the Eurasian Front. A sight I thought I’d never see. The Third, as well,  will remain behind to recruit, train, and suppress whenever necessary.” The smaller man said without enthusiasm. The quip had been noted by the acute ears of the Astartes. If it had drawn ire from the Astartes, then it was hidden beneath Zaid’s helmet or muttered under clenched teeth. 

“You don’t wish to see the Thunder Warriors leave.” The Space Marine stated in a neutral tone. Crucias rubbed his stubble in contemplation. He had known Zaid for longer than most and knew when he was trying to pry for information. Wolfgang was a tough man to crack, but he would allow it once.

“I’ve watched them ever since I was a young mercenary. Another hive-dredge with an autogun, leather carapace, and a dream of Unity. Forty years later, married with several troops of my own, and I still watch them push Unity with all of their heart. There will never be warriors like the best of them.” Crucias responded, heaving in another drag from his swiftly burning lho-stick. The embers fell quickly onto the tiled rockrete beneath their feet. He flicked the stick in the same spot, squishing it with his foot and extinguishing what remained.

“I’ll continue to watch them so long as I live and breathe Unity. Even after I’ve perished, I know my children will look up to you in the same way I looked up to the Thunder Warriors in pursuit of Unity.” The Lord-Commander continued to speak, earning himself another sideward glance from the helmeted genewarrior. He fully understood what he spoke of. The logistics told him everything that he needed to know.

The fight pit by this point had started to disperse as the warrior from the Third managed to flatten out the cocksure Scorpion. Their fight earned plentiful praise from the Cataegis and a small applaud from the Astartes. Men and women of mortal status had watched on from different vantage points, drawn in by the clamor of the geneknights. Night had already threatened to turn the smoggy day into endless dusk, ushering commanders and sergeants to push their troops into gear. 

“Your sentimentality will be the end of you. Consider retiring, [b]old man[/b], and serve the Emperor in a better capacity.” Zaid declared, turning away from Wolfgang to meet with the remainder of his Astartes. The joking amongst their number began sooner than the Legion Master’s bickering, pointing out flaws in their combat stance and lackadaisical demeanor. A roar of laughter boomed from their genewrought lungs, disappearing into the quickly descending night.

Crucias watched the Astartes leave and pulled out the shattered medal, stained in the blood of insurrectionists. He felt no sympathy for them, relishing in the death of those that would stomp on his dream. He wondered if they felt they had achieved anything with their demise, much the way that he thought his own death would. Wolfgang wasn’t a man to worry about such a thing. Without a doubt, his children would simply take the reins of command just as he once did through vim and vigor. The older warrior chuckled to himself as he slowly walked back to his command tank.

“[i]Even in death, I’ll still serve[/i].” He finally said, chucking aside the medal into the closest storm drain. The night continued on as it had for several days with rumbling tanks, the stomping of a thousand patrolling feet, and the heavy thumping of  overworked manufactorums.