In a temporary safe zone formed by ogryn shield-bearers behind the front line, the apothecary of the Astral Claws Chapter, Barian, was performing a delicate operation.
His white ceramite armor was splattered with the alien's green ichor; his mechanical arm and hands moved with rock-steady precision.
Logically, even if the tyranidids in front were attacking without cease, as long as the ogryns holding the line up front were not broken through, the astartes behind them would not suffer heavy casualties.
But on the battlefield, logic and common sense are often shattered by sheer ill fortune.
The battle-brother whose chest was being cut open was one of those unlucky ones. A moment earlier he had been swinging his power axe, cleaving a tyranid warrior clean in two from head to toe.
At the instant between old strength spent and new strength not yet risen, a gap of only a few hundredths of a second, a fragment of bone spike, splintering from who knows where, struck at the most vulnerable connection of his helmet goggles, driving into his brain and detonating.
His skull instantly became an irretrievable pulp; death was declared on the spot. Not even the apothecary could save him.
Barian's movements were practiced and solemn. He guided the surgical tools on his mechanical arm into the battle-brother's chest, carefully avoiding ribs and organs, and at last he succeeded in extracting a gene-seed.
Only after he had removed that seed, the carrier of the chapter's future, and secured it in a portable containment vessel, did Barian exhale with relief. He had completed his most important duty.
He then reclosed the dead brother's breastplate and, with care, carried the body to the very center of the assault squad's formation.
There were already five fallen astartes laid side by side there. Without exception, they were like the one before him unlucky souls, slain by nothing but bad fortune.
As Barian set the body down, removed the helmet, and began to whisper a prayer to the God-Emperor for the souls of his brothers, a flicker of black, something that should not have been there, flashed across the back of the head of the brother who had fallen earliest.
"Hm?"
Barian's prayer cut off abruptly; he was instantly alert. Astartes senses and genetically altered minds do not 'missee'.
He leapt up and drew the combat dagger at his hip.
Several nearby battle-brothers on watch noticed his change as well and immediately signaled their ogryns to close in.
The massive tower shields formed a temporary barricade.
The apothecary strode forward and unhesitatingly removed the fallen brother's helmet.
The next second his pupils constricted sharply, a wave of shock and rage rising in his chest.
The battle-brother's once-determined face, at some unknown point, had sprouted a black, grotesque blossom that looked as if it were made of flesh.
It "bloomed" there silently; roots, like black veins, were buried deep into the sockets and nasal cavity of the corpse.
Even delicate tendrils could be seen penetrating the skull and entwining with the internal brain tissue.
Barian's first reaction was a towering fury, this was a profanation of an astartes, an affront to the Emperor's glory!
But he could not immediately remove the nauseating growth; its roots were fused too closely with the corpse.
Any rash attempt might further ruin a body that should remain as intact as possible.
In truth, at this stage his battle brother's fate would most likely be final purification by holy fire.
"Quick!" Barian immediately moved to salvage what he could. He turned and barked a command to the hulking ogryns: "Hoist our brothers off the ground at once!"
The ogryns fumbled and obeyed, hoisting the four remaining corpses into the air so they hung suspended.
Barian also transmitted the situation via the tactical channel to Aggeman, who was fighting at the front.
Within Aggeman's helmet, the apothecary's hurried report sounded clearly. When he heard it, anger, the same as Barian's, welled up inside him.
"Bloody xenos!" he growled, his voice trembling slightly with rage.
"They dare defile our battle-brothers with such disgusting methods!"
But alongside the rage there was also a flash of fear and of relief. Aggeman's gaze swept across the battlefield, past the astartes who fought on, landing on the foremost line of flesh and steel.
It must be remembered: the casualties of the assault squad were for the most part taken by those enormous ogryns. If they had not held the front, absorbing the tyranidids' fiercest first blows, and if Astral Claw and the Ultramarines had fought with conventional astartes tactics, the casualties would likely have numbered in the hundreds, how could it have been only five?
Aggeman intended to order an immediate withdrawal, to take enough promethium and then return to burn this cursed ground clean.
But when he looked at the ogryns up front, seeing their massive bodies take fatal blows again and again to shield the astartes behind them, he hesitated for a moment.
In the end he changed his mind and issued a different order over the fleet channel: "Gather the ogryn corpses together and purify them with fulminic acid! The rest of you, prepare alternating covering fire, we will withdraw!"
What Aggeman had not expected was that, after his withdrawal order was transmitted, the mortal troops assigned as the Helldiver contingent chose to refuse execution.
A Helldiver commander responsible for liaison with the astartes, upon hearing the order, replied directly: "You go. We'll stay."
Aggeman's brow knitted tightly; he could not fathom their logic. "Why?"
"A retreat while being harried by tyranidids is trouble to deal with. The astartes are precious — we'll stay to rear-guard you," the commander said in an offhand tone, as though talking about the weather.
"Besides, for soldiers of the Helldiver Company, retreat requires more courage than advance."
Actually meaning :
'We won't abandon this exp farm even if you execute us...'
Aggeman fell silent briefly. He tried to persuade them with rational military logic: "This isn't necessary. If we withdraw in good order, maintaining formation, then whether you or we, we'll be able to get out largely intact. We don't need one side to be completely sacrificed to save the other!"
"Bah, spare me the sentimentality," the Helldiver commander replied impatiently over the comm. "I've long tired of you tin-cans stealing our kills. Now go on, do you hear?"
What the Helldiver said was the truth from their hearts.
But to Aggeman it sounded entirely different.
The Ultramarines all knew that the Helldiver loved to ask for their signatures, it was, in the Ultramarine' view, a mark of admiration and validation.
That naturally made them fond of the Helldiver. Although they had never asked Aggeman for an autograph, he had never doubted the fervor of those soldiers.
So he took their brusque, rude words as a deliberate provocation meant to free him and his men of psychological burden so they could withdraw without hesitation.
What a noble lie! Concealing the most selfless sacrifice beneath the coarsest of language!
These mortals, their loyalty and devotion to the Imperium had reached a degree that inspired awe!
Aggeman took a deep breath and suppressed the complex emotions in his chest. He knew that any further pleading would only insult their resolve.
He spoke into the comm with the most solemn tone he could muster: "Then, may you slay many xenos, loyal warriors."
"May the Emperor be with you!"
_________
TL/N : I'm a bit dissapointed, I wanted to see the streamer continuation :((