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The remaining Orks were gone, their bodies piled up and discarded at the far end of the ruined shell of the building. Brennan looked around, his eyes steely and determined. The death of the Warboss had broken the Xenos, and they had fallen in short order. Brennan had called for his squad to regroup, and here they stood, bedraggled, blood-stained and beaten, barely standing. Six of them. They were all that remained. Six of the strongest Guardsmen on this planet wept quietly as everything, everyone, they had known lay dead around them. They were alone now, and the Astartes did not seem to care.
Allen looked up at Brennan as he paced angrily around. His face had been twisted by his grief, tear marks channelling deep furrows in the grime on his face, giving him a macabre look.
“Stephan’s gone Brennan. He’s really gone.”
Brennan stopped and crouched down, looking into the face of his friend, the devastation he saw within them almost choking him.
“I know my friend. I know. We’ve all lost so much.”
He glanced down at the data pad in his hand.
“And now we can’t even be with them. For what?”
He stood up, tears running down his face.
“The Astartes came, another victory for their stories, another battle for the fireplace. And what do we have? Nothing! They took it all. For what?”
He screamed the last words, the Guardsmen all looking at him in fear as his rage seemed to boil over.
“For what?!” He screamed again.
“For the Emperor, for the Imperium.” Spoke a deep voice behind Brennan. “For your families.”
Brennan spun, turning to face the giant Space Marine behind him. It was the Marine clad in grey Terminator armour, every inch of it covered in runes and ornate carvings. To his side stood two taller Marines, their power armour painted grey, except for their right shoulders and left greaves, which were painted bone, covered in intricate scrollwork and text, each line recalling a famous victory. Their left shoulders held the image of a stylised skull, and each Marine had a unique assortment of seals and laurels pressed onto his armour, marking them as veterans, even amongst the elite Space Marines. Between the two of them they carried a package, wrapped in a cloth bearing the Aquila.
“You.” Hissed Brennan, as the anger boiled in his blood. “You did this. You killed them.”
His hand began to stray towards the knife on his belt, before both of the Space Marines raised their bolters, anticipating his move. Raising his hand, the Terminator armoured Marine stopped his followers from firing, before stepping closer to Brennan.
“I am Captain Audentis of the Grey Slayers. What is it you accuse us of soldier?”
Wild-eyed, Brennan gestured at the Guardsmen behind him, their apprehension visible as they watched this confrontation nervously.
“This!” Brennan spat, “You came so late! Everyone is dead because of you, we have nothing to live for now. Nothing to fight for. We could have died at peace. With our families! But this is a victory for you isn’t it? Another laurel for your armour. Another trophy to hold dear. Because that is all you have, battle and war, you’re nothing, you hear me. Nothing!”
Brennan took a step back, his voice finally cracking as the anger came pouring out. His breathing was heavy and laboured as emotions battered his mind and body. In front of him, the Captain raised his hands to his helmet, the seals opening with a hiss of steam. Slowly, the mighty figure removed his helmet, his face remarkably youthful, with a shock of black hair standing out against his armour. Brennan stared at the sorrow on the Captain’s features, a deep sadness that shook Brennan’s vitriolic rage. As he spoke, the Captain’s face hardened, the sorrow replaced with a fiery zeal.
“Yes.” Even whispering, the Captain’s voice boomed in Brennan’s ears. “We have no family. No life but war. But we gave them to the Emperor willingly. Our lives are war for him. For his people. So that humanity can live with emotion and families, safe in the knowledge that we will protect them.”
He paused, giving Brennan a deep look that seemed to bore down into him.
“But perhaps we have failed you. Not because your friends are dead.” He looked over the guardsmen as he spoke. “But because you feel you lost. Each of you fought like a dozen men, lived where you should have died a hundred times. But while you live, so do those you lost. You remember them, just as we record each of our battles, and while you do, then you have them still. We are needed elsewhere, but you have our gratitude and sympathy. Take this, to remind you of the honours you won today. May the Emperor protect us all.”
The Captain handed Brennan the package, before turning, walking towards their waiting Thunderhawk transport.
Brennan stood still, empty, lost. Looking down at the package, he gently peeled back the corner of the cloth. A huge wracking sob left his body as he saw what lay inside. Dropping to his knees, he let the tears come as he stared at his father’s sword, polished and burnished, forty-two purity seals pressed onto shining metal. One seal for every day they had survived. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up into Allen’s face.
“Maybe they’re right.” He said, still gripping Stephan’s tags. “We can’t give up, while we fight, so do they.”
Brennan smiled, gripping the handle of the sword tightly as he stood up.
“I guess so.” He turned to the other four soldiers, “What do you say.”
Glancing at each other, they all nodded as they looked at Brennan and Allen.
“We keep fighting until we’re all dead, they keep fighting too.”
Brennan smiled wryly as he looked at his friends, the survivors. His family.
“Then I guess we fight.”
“Oh good.” A silvery voice spoke from the shadows behind the Guardsmen. As the figure stepped into view, a golden stylised ‘I’ flashed briefly.
“I think I may have an offer for you.”
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