Chapter 3: The Fire of War
Thaddeus stood amidst the chaos of battle, his crimson armor gleaming under the harsh light of Gorgona Secundus's sun. The air was thick with the stench of blood and gunpowder, and the deafening roar of Ork war cries filled his ears. He could feel the familiar pull of the Red Thirst, the insidious urge to lose himself in the bloodlust of combat. But Thaddeus held firm, focusing his mind on the task at hand.
Around him, his brothers fought valiantly, their bolters and chainswords carving a path through the green-skinned horde. The Orks were relentless, their numbers seemingly endless. Thaddeus saw several of his comrades fall, their lifeless bodies trampled underfoot by the rampaging xenos. Time seemed to slow as he watched in horror. Are we losing? he thought, a cold dread settling in his stomach.
Then he saw him—Sergeant Kael, a veteran of countless battles, locked in combat with an Ork Nob. Ork Nobs were the largest and most aggressive of their kind, towering over their lesser brethren and armed with brutal weapons. Kael was holding his ground, his power sword flashing in the sunlight, but the Nob's sheer size and strength were overwhelming.
Thaddeus's heart pounded in his chest as he saw Kael stagger under a powerful blow. The veteran Astartes, who had taught him so much, was being pushed back. "No! Brother!" Thaddeus screamed, his voice raw with desperation.
With a primal roar, Thaddeus charged forward, his chainsword revving to life. He carved a path through the Orks between him and Kael, his bolter barking death in his left hand. The rage and worry for his mentor fueled his every strike, his movements a blur of violence. The Ork Nob turned to face him, surprise and fear flickering in its beady eyes.
Thaddeus fought with the ferocity of a berserker, his chainsword biting deep into the Nob's flesh. The Ork fought back with savage fury, but Thaddeus's rage made him unstoppable. Blow after blow, he hacked at the creature, his mind consumed with a single purpose: to save Kael.
Finally, with a mighty swing, Thaddeus decapitated the Ork Nob, its headless body toppling to the ground. He stood over the fallen beast, his breath ragged, his armor spattered with blood. Around him, the Blood Angels rallied, inspired by his display of valor. They surged forward, pushing back the Orks with renewed vigor.
As the battle raged on, Thaddeus knelt beside Sergeant Kael. The veteran was gravely wounded, his armor shattered and blood pooling around him. "Hang on, brother," Thaddeus murmured, his voice choked with emotion. He activated his comms, calling for a medicae team. The fight was far from over, but Thaddeus knew he would not let his mentor fall.
The sounds of battle faded into the background as Thaddeus focused on Kael. This was only the beginning of their fight, and he would do whatever it took to save his brother.
As the medicae team arrived and began their work, taking Sergeant Kael to the under-construction base, Thaddeus looked out over the battlefield. The Orks were regrouping for another assault. Thaddeus took off his helmet and looked at the battlefield with a glint of rage and hatred. "You pathetic green beasts are dead," he thought, and put his helmet on. He took his bolter and prepared himself, his jaw clenched.
He looked at his brothers; they knew what to do. They had to hold on until the base camp was formed and reinforcements arrived. "We are iron, we are wrath, nothing stands in the path of our wrath!" The Orks started their advance again; this time there were more Ork Nobs. Thaddeus, with a thunderous voice, yelled, "For the Emperor, for Sanguinius!" His brothers roared with him. A tough battle of attrition began...
As the echoes of battle faded momentarily, Thaddeus and his brethren regrouped. The field was littered with the wreckage of war, both Ork and Astartes alike. It was here, amid the devastation, that Thaddeus learned of Sergeant Kael's fate. Gravely wounded and beyond the aid of conventional medicine, the decision had been made: Kael would be preserved within the chassis of a Dreadnought.
The medicae and techmarines worked tirelessly in a field-hospice turned makeshift forge. Thaddeus observed the intricate and solemn process, a mixture of awe and sorrow gripping him. The creation of a Dreadnought was a sacred rite, reserved for the mightiest of warriors who were too valuable to lose to death. It was a second life, granted at the cost of never feeling the warmth of sunlight or the comfort of human touch again.
Thaddeus watched as the sarcophagus that would house Kael's broken body was prepared, his once indomitable mentor now reliant on a life-support system. The transformation was not immediate, and the full integration would take time and many rites of activation and sanctification. Yet, even as Kael was being entombed, his warrior spirit never waned. Through pain-laced whispers, he spoke of duty and sacrifice, his voice becoming a beacon for those who stood vigil.
"Continue the fight," Kael urged Thaddeus, his voice echoing from within the emerging Dreadnought. "Carry forward our legacy. Not even in death does duty end."
"For the Emperor, For Sanguinius, brother..."
Thaddeus returned to the frontlines. The battle was far from over, and the Orks were regrouping for another onslaught.
The suns of Gorgona Secundus were set in a crimson hue, like the blood-stained armor of the Astartes, heralding the night's battles. As darkness enveloped the landscape, Thaddeus tightened his grip on his weapons. The night would be long, and the echoes of war would once again rise.
Thaddeus watched as the reinforcement pods thundered into the blood-soaked soil of Gorgona Secundus. Among the newly arrived Astartes was a figure that stood out starkly against the crimson and steel backdrop—a warrior clad in the resplendent golden armor of the Sanguinary Guard. His helmet, a masterful replica of Sanguinius's noble visage, glinted under the war-torn skies.
The Sanguinary Guard approached Thaddeus, his presence both an honor and a reminder of the gravity of their situation. "I am Brother Azkaellon," he announced, his voice carrying the weight of solemn duty. "Sent by our Primarch to aid you in holding this line until further reinforcements can be mustered."
Thaddeus felt a mix of relief and pressure; the arrival of one of Sanguinius's personal guard was not only reinforcement but also a signal that their mission bore crucial weight. The Blood Angels were to endure the night against a foe that seemed endless, their survival pivotal to the larger strategy against the Greenskin tide.
As night fell, Thaddeus prepared his squad, his mind on the stories he had heard of the heroic deeds of the Sanguinary Guard—how they were the embodiment of the Blood Angels' highest martial aspirations. "Tonight, we hold!" he declared to his brothers, his voice firm over the din of war preparations. "For the Emperor and for Sanguinius, let none find us wanting."
The night would test them all, not just in strength but in spirit. As the first Ork war cries of the night began, echoing across the darkened plains, Thaddeus and his brothers braced themselves.
As night cloaked Gorgona Secundus, Thaddeus surveyed the battlefield, his instincts sharpening with every Ork roar that sliced through the darkness. Something was amiss. The Ork numbers were overwhelming—far greater than any intelligence had suggested. He remembered his studies on Orkoid species; their propensity for war was legendary, but this was an unusual surge.
Unbeknownst to Thaddeus and the Blood Angels, the Orks had encountered a new enemy on the dark side of Gorgona—a Tyranid vanguard. The alien bioforms, driven by an insatiable hunger, had clashed violently with the Orks, sparking a fierce conflict. This war had driven the Orks to consolidate and swell their ranks, preparing for an all-out war to eradicate the Tyranid threat.
The Orks first encountered these terrifying new enemies when a Tyranid Hive Ship crash-landed on the dark side of Gorgona. The initial impact was a spectacle of horror as Mycetic Spores burst open, unleashing waves of Tyranid warriors. The Orks, ever eager for a fight, met this new challenge with brutal enthusiasm, but soon realized the Tyranids were unlike any foe they had faced. These creatures did not tire, did not fear, and they adapted with alarming speed to every strategy the Orks employed.
Caught in this unexpected war, the Orks found themselves fighting not just for the joy of battle, but for survival against a foe that seemed endless. Amidst this chaos, the arrival of the Blood Angels on Gorgona was perceived by the Orks as another challenge, turning their attention momentarily from the Tyranids to the Astartes. This shift in focus was all that was needed for the Tyranid presence to grow stronger, threatening to overrun both Orks and Astartes alike unless a solution was found quickly.
Neither Thaddeus nor Brother Azkaellon, the Sanguinary Guard, knew of this looming threat. The Greenskins, now driven by a primal need to defend their territory from the Tyranids, were inadvertently pushing towards the Blood Angels' position.
The night promised a storm of violence, with Thaddeus and his brethren unknowingly caught between the anvil of Ork ferocity and the hammer of the Tyranid menace. As the first wave of Orks surged forward, the Blood Angels prepared to meet them, unaware of the true scale of the cataclysm that was unfolding on the dark side of the planet. The battle for Gorgona Secundus was not just about survival anymore—it was about holding the line in the shadow of an unseen apocalypse.
Tyranids, known as the Great Devourer, represent one of the galaxy's deadliest xenos threats. These bio-engineered horrors come in various forms, each perfectly adapted to its role within their hive fleets. From the towering, scythe-limbed Carnifexes to the swarming, voracious Hormagaunts, each creature is a masterpiece of biological warfare, driven by a collective hive mind intent on consuming all biomatter in its path.
The dawn brings a cautious silence over the battlefield as the Blood Angels and the newly arrived reinforcements regroup and reassess. The unexpected retreat of the Orks, a rare occurrence that typically signifies a larger strategy than defeat, casts a shadow of doubt and suspicion among the ranks. Commander Azkaellon, his expression grave and contemplative, orders a reconnaissance squad to probe the enemy lines discreetly. The task is clear: to uncover any strategic changes or new threats that might be lurking behind the Orks' sudden withdrawal.
Thaddeus, although not selected for the reconnaissance mission, feels a tense anticipation. He watches his brothers prepare, their armor clinking softly in the quiet of the morning. The atmosphere at the base is one of strained readiness; the cheers of victory are muted by the uncertainty of what the Orks' retreat might portend.
Azkaellon turns to his troops, his voice cutting through the morning air with a commanding certainty that belies his internal concern. "Prepare yourselves, brothers," he declares. "This war is far from over. We must remain vigilant and ready to face whatever comes next, be it Ork cunning or a darker threat still unseen."
As the squad departs, a palpable tension settles over those remaining. Thaddeus stands among them, his gaze fixed on the horizon where danger and duty call. He takes of his Helmet and decides to rest like the others who fought. He needed his 4 hours of sleep badly. (Space Marines are allocated 4 hours in which to sleep. And also one of their additional organs ,the Catalepsean Node, allows them to sequentially shut off and rest parts of their brain, letting them remain active and alert for long periods of time, Space marines can fight over 7 days of continuous active combat, the record is a little over 13 days by a Crimson Fists squad)
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