Chapter 71: Chapter Twenty-Five: Rust and Ruin (Part I)
Article Four
Dated: 893.M30
To be raised into the ranks of Imperial Remembrancers during the Great Crusade was considered the greatest honor an artist or historian could achieve. It required impeccable credentials, talent to stand out, and will to travel into warzones as nothing but observers. Those selected to join this prestigious order were some of the best and brightest creative minds mankind had to offer. Having passed rigorous tests and fought tooth and nail to achieve this position. I relate this as not some self-aggrandizement or advertisement for my order but as a statement of facts. As well as context for my initial reaction to my assignment to the X Legion.
For nearly five years I had worked to gain the rank of Legion Assigned Remembrancer. Honing my art of Wordsmithing and learning all I could about the Legio Astartes and wider Imperial military. This effort paid off when I finally received my commission as Documentarist and secondary Wordsmith aboard a Legion Crusader Fleet. A moment of triumph and joy that was cut short when I learned the Legion I had been assigned to. The X Legion newly named the Stormbringers. At that moment I briefly considered scrapping the whole idea and finding other work. I truly considered throwing all of my effort and a bright future away. In order to spare me serving alongside the Stormbringers. In those moments I thought that maybe the Imperium might have a use for a talented young woman like myself outside of serving with the X Legion.
Like most other imperial citizens I had heard of the taciturn, brutal, and disturbingly pragmatic sons of Culain MakTursan. A legion that often seemed to have more in common with Martian automata than their cousins. Who worryingly in the nearly eighty years of the Great Crusade at that point. No remembrancer had lasted more than three years among the Stormbringers. Either injured, killed, or willingly demoted to a lesser position. I am sure readers can understand my initial trepidation to this assignment. Nevertheless, the entire spirit of the Great Crusade was of optimism, bravery, and challenging the unknown. To simply give up or shy away from this challenge went against the zeitgeist and was unacceptable. Both to myself and the hopeful billions of mankind's newborn age of expansion.
Despite my worries and those of my family on learning of my assignment. I accepted and prepared to join the Stormbringers on the frontlines of the Great Crusade. Leaving the Sol system and my native Saturn Orbital onboard a Mechanicum supply ship. Surrounded by munitions, weapons, auxilia soldiers, adepts of both Mars and Terra, alongside anything else the Stormbringers needed to prosecute their war. My time aboard the gothic Martian ship was spent preparing for my assignment. Either pouring over dataslates packed with low-security military and cultural information about the X Legion. Or more worryingly, undergoing cybernetic and biological augmentations.
With my tacit consent I was modified to survive the warzones the Stormbringers call home. A trio of Martian Cybernetisists worked to rebuild my "weak flesh" as they so lovingly put it. Thankfully for me, all three were students of the Sacred form School. Who view crafting advanced augments that appear like natural tissue as a peak reflection of the Emperor's vision. I would have silicon, steel, and sculpted cells replace my flesh. Which at least would marginally look like the original. My first augment was a complete replacement of the internal ears. When I asked why the mechanical horror they presented to me needed to replace my delicate sensory organs. The lead Cybernetisists bluntly replied, "So you don't go deaf during your first battle."
That comforting thought filled my mind as the anesthetic stole me away into slumber. Upon waking I was shocked to discover minor sutures on the side of my head and a metallic hardness when I pressed the nearby skin were the only outward signs of the augmentation. Despite my initial worries I will admit having adjustable hearing thrice as powerful as the original with built-in vox-beads is quite useful. Every time I started to adapt to a new augment, it would be time for my next operation. By the time the Martians were finished my ears, eyes, vocal cords, throat, lungs, kidneys, and digestive system had been altered. Either fully replaced with mechanical or genecrafted similcuria. Or tweaked with minor filters or cell treatments. This entire process was to protect my body from the conditions of Stormbringer warfare.
Even with adapting to new and improved body parts, I poured over the information given to me. Working to understand the Legion I was to serve with. While also looking for any clues to increase my odds of survival. Even with the minimalist and redacted files I was given. It became quite clear the necessity of the augmentations I had been given. I'd even wondered if I should request additional implants from the Mechanicum trio. In a few weeks, I would be plunging feet first into hell.
The Stormbringers are the paramount experts in Armored Warfare within the Imperium. Boasting a truly massive fleet of Tanks, Armored Transports, and Ordinance vehicles. Alongside three entire Titan Legions permanently assigned to the X Legion. Wherever they fought, horrible destruction was inevitable. It was what the Emperor designed them for, and what they excelled at. Battlefields where raw destructive potential and overwhelming force were key. Primarch Culain MakTurson and the strategists of Imperial High Command aimed this legion at conflits where such conduct was acceptable. Rarely was the X Legion found doing anything resembling peaceful compliance or diplomatic endeavors. The closest I could find in the records were accounts of Iterators using the Stormbringers as a threat to cajole resistant worlds. It seemed the Stormbringers found themselves eternally at the forefront of Imperial conquest.
Which naturally led them to the Golgotha Wastes. The Wastes were a segmentum spanning death zone centered around the northern Galactic Core. Stretching into the Ultima Segmentum and the edges of Segmentum Solar. This vast patch of space swallowed Rogue Traders and Expedition Fleets whole. Spitting out a few distress calls and maddened survivors, all telling the same story. Of Orks, of lots and lots of Orks. The Great Crusade had faced the Greenskins before. Many great victories against Orkish fiefdoms or marauding hordes had been won. Yet something was different about the Wastes. Orkish raiding parties did not leave its jagged borders like with other Greenskin Empires. As I would later learn, every intelligence-gathering mission into the Wastes ended in failure. Nothing except scraps exited the hungering maw of Golgotha. Some great Beast dwelled within, swallowing all and growing in power. A threat that could not be ignored. On the command of the Emperor himself, the Stormbringers marched to war. Heading into the Wastes, seeking the enemy's head.
The Imperial offensive had started with the reclamation of Seraphina. A human world in the northern Segmentum Solar and the closest the Orks had gotten to Terra. From there the X Legion pushed into the galactic north-east. Briefly fighting alongside VI Legion elements near their newly claimed homeworld of Fenris. Before pushing into the Golgotha Wastes. Following the trails left by Tengri Khagan and the V Legion. The nomadic raiders of the V Legion marauded across the Wastes and diverted enemy resources away from the approaching Stormbringers who steadily pushed past the Orkish border worlds and into Krooked Klaw space. An Orkish sub-sector at the fringes of the Golgothan Wastes.
New weapons, reinforcements, and supplies were needed before pushing any deeper into Orkish territory. The supply ship I found myself upon carried some of those necessities of war and would arrive alongside its siblings and escorts to join Crusader Fleet X. After a few weeks of uneventful transit, including my first gut-wrenching experiences with Warp travel, the resupply ships, and Crusader Fleet rendezvoused in a recently conquered Star System at the edge of the Krooked Sub-Sector. A temporary name for the Ork infested stars which would be replaced by a noble human title once the Greenskin threat was no more.
As a Remembrancer, I had the privilege of watching our arrival from an observation deck. How the great supply hauler I had traveled on glided through the void towards a distant constellation of light. It was hard to imagine we were moving at speeds measured in Terran Orbits as the ship cut through the dimly lit Void. I watched, transfixed as the distant scattering of light ahead of us grew and diversified. Void Ships of every possible breed dotted space. Thousands of them, ranging from mighty warships to schools of agile escorts. Growing up on a Saturn orbital station, the sight of void ships had been part of daily life. I'd traveled past zero-g forge yards and taken space-skimmers between habitats. The wonders of the void bound leviathans we call starships had grown dull. That was until I saw the full breathtaking size and complexity of an Imperial Crusader Fleet.
The Void was filled with thousands of ships, the smallest kilometers in length. The supply hauler I had called home over the past few weeks seemed a minor specimen in this collection of vessels. They varied in more than just size. The myriad branches of the Imperium were represented. Even in the dim light of a distant sun and the countless lumens dotting the armada, the rust-red of Mars shown proudly on Forge-Ships and Explorator Arks. Troop Transports and Auxilia Warships hung like ornate blades in the Void. Often marked with heraldry and insignia of the Cohorts, Regiments and Battlegroups the ships served with. Yet they all seemed small insignificant things against the Stormbringer Ships.
Stark behemoths, covered in weapons and thick armor plates. Adorned with the Anvil and Lighting sigil of the Legion. Each, a stoic monument to Imperial might and fortitude. My eyes swung between ships. Drinking in as much detail as I could and documenting it with my cybernetics. I recognized some ships, either from Imperial holovids or the dataslates given to prepare me for this data. As we flew deeper into the anchored fleet, a shiver went down my spine. A subconscious response to the newest object in my vision. In this fleet of warriors, servants, craftsmen and knights. I'd failed to notice the King. Perhaps its sheer size had convinced me it was some oddly shaped moon or asteroid. Or my brain limited what I took in to spare my nerves. Now gazing upon the Gloriana Class Flagship of the Stormbringers. The full impact of where I was, and what I was here to do hit me.
Larger than the Orbital Stations that I had been reared upon. Dwarfing even the Star-Forts of the Sol System was the Thunderhead, chariot and throne of Culain MakTurson. It was the head of this mighty fleet and home of the Stormbringer Legion. Where I am assigned to serve the Imperium till death, disability, disgrace or development. The Thunderhead hung in orbit around a misshapen moon. Or at least what I thought was a moon. To my great surprise, the gun batteries of the Legion Flagship fired upon the moon, blasting great plumes of rock and dust into the void with each volley. In the light of a dozen Lance batteries, the crooked moon's surface became visible. My breath caught in my throat at the sight of a garish green symbol the size of a macro-habitat. An ugly rictus crudely mimicking an Ork's face, strapped to the moon's front. Not a Moon, an Orkish Hulk-Ship. A mixture of cosmic and spacefaring debris molded into a barbaric warship.
Looking closer I noticed the Hulks thrusters were smoking heaps of slag and its weapons offline. It was dead in the void. A beached whale, steadily being filleted by Thunderhead's weapons. The bombardment was slow and deliberate. In a flash of insight the reason became apparent. The last standing Orkish capital ship had been neutered and procured as a testing ground. Each round of munitions slamming into the Greenskin vessel was different. Variations and patterns tested on a live target. I didn't even dare ask if the Hulk was still inhabited. Some deep part of me knew it was. Greenskins stuck aboard a quickly dying ship. A miserable way to die, under the dissection of the Stormbringers. My mind quickly turned to the memories of grisly pict captures. Of what the aftermath of Ork attacks looks like. This quickly drove any traces of pity for the Xenos from my mind. The X Legion are a brutal bunch, and the Orks deserve whatever the Stormbringers can unleash.
A chime from my voxbead pulled me from observation. The supply hauler would soon be docking with Thunderhead. To unload priority supplies and personal, which included me. I left the Observation deck just as another volley of munitions lit up the void and cracked open the Hulk. My luggage, gear, and assorted items were all packed but I double-checked before heading towards the main gantry. I arrived with a hundred other adepts of different positions at the gantry. Scribes-Maesters, Iterators, Tech-Priests, and even a few other Remembrancers by the look of them gathered. Awaiting our vessel to dock and us to be transferred along with other precious cargo.
A deep mechanical groan followed by an electric whine filled the airlock atrium as the ships docked. The hiss of pressurized gas and the clank of ratcheting machines filled the chamber as the gantry extended and formed a bridge between ships. I watched a Tech-Priest scurry up to the bulkhead separating us from the Thunderhead. Prod, poke, and generally menacing the thing with his Mechandendrites. Seemingly satisfied with his finding the Martian let out a series of twittering beeps and static. As he withdrew the landcar sized Bulkhead started to open. Its metal form slid into the floor, revealing a pentarchy of silhouettes. One belonged to a Mechanicum official of some standing. The sheer bulk of augments told as much. The second was that of a crisp looking Officer in the uniform of the Imperial Armada. Between the Martian and Naval Officer was a tired-looking Adept of the Administratum. Carrying a high-capacity datal-slate in her gnarled hands. The trio of Imperial officials barely caught my attention. The twin giants flanking them were my main focus.
Two Astartes of the Stormbringer Legion stood before me. Stone still, with the hum of their power-armor the only evidence they were not statues. I marveled at the size and raw power of the Space Marines. I'd seen them in person before of course. But those had been the stalwart sons of Rogal Maur. Who greatly contrasted with the Astartes before me. Their armor was battle-worn and scarred. Covered in burn, blast and bullet marks. The layers of material scarring were so thick in places the original paint was barely visible. Still, I recognized the colors and heraldry. The helmet and torso were a sick green color. The hue of a city-breaking storm or the fallout of Atomic detonations. Three of the four limbs were silver, with its luster stolen by the fires of war. The last limb was martian red. Opposite arms for the two guards assigned to greet us. Discovering the meaning of the curious limb markings would be on my priorities in documenting this Legion.
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