Imperium Ascendant

Book II: The Great Crusade

Chapter Twenty-Five: Rust and Ruin

Excerpts from "A Storm of Fire and Iron: recorded accounts of the X Legion." by Lady Remembrancer Jinjoon Mhuirich

Article Six

Dated: (014) 894.M30

It had taken nearly a year of fighting, but the Stormbringers had finally reached the heart of the Krooked Claw Sector. A year filled with war, death, and destruction. Which I documented to the best of my abilities. I'd stood aboard the Thunderhead's bridge as it exchanged fire with Orkish Hulks by the dozen, ridden alongside a squad of Battle-Brothers piloting a Land Raider in defense of a field hospital from Greenskin "Kommandos," and had even watched the full wrath of a Stormbringer artillery barrage rain down upon Underboss Zogim's fortress. In that year, I saw the horrors of war and what it requires for our species to survive in this wretched galaxy. The Orks were brutally ugly beasts of war and oftentimes the Stormbringers were worse.

Orks infest and desecrate whatever they conquer. Reducing it to a profane pile of scrap, filth, and brawling Xenos. The perverted ecosystem of the greenskins at work, tearing apart worlds and remaking them in the image of bestial cruelty. By contrast, the Stormbringers do not defile, mutilate, or otherwise twist where they fight. No, they are much more straightforward in their methods. The sons of Culian destroy the enemy and their lands utterly. I have walked across fields of cooling glass and ashen craters that stretched in miles in every possible direction. Places where once stood ancient human cities turned into Orkish fortresses, now turned to dust. Nothing stands in the way of the Emperor's Storm and everything is broken by its wrath, becoming a clean slate for whatever the Imperium wishes to create.

I still remember the first time I was deployed alongside the Stormbringers. Chieftain Shadrak had assigned me to an Artillery detachment of mixed Astartes and Auxilia firepower. My duty was to follow Captain Cruthin, commander of a combined Artillery, and infantry detachment, and document the Stormbringer's bombardment of an Orkish position under siege by the Legion. The "position" was a sprawling war-camp of fungal organics and mechanical deathtraps built over a cavernous mine. According to what information I could scavenge from the military proceedings around me the Orks were encircled twice over. By an inner ring of frontline armor and infantry, and an outer ring of Artillery where I found myself stationed.

With some effort, I managed to capture Captain Cruthin's attention during a lull and inquire about the purpose of this strategy. Tersely he informed me this was a Boar-Hunt deployment. With the outer ring of artillery acting as flushers. Using overwhelming firepower to fracture and scatter the Ork forces, who would be easy pickings for the Tank and Infantry battalions of the inner ring. This was apparently X Legion standard procedure for assaulting fortified Orks. The snippet of information and attention I got from the Captain was encouraging. It might not sound like much but it was the most I had gotten from an Astartes other than Chieftain Shadrak. Cruthin apparently numbered among some of the more progressive officers of Clan MacSmythe. Tolerating me and even rarely indulging my questions. Feeling it was best not to test my luck. I left the command hub and found a spotter's nest to observe the impending bombardment. The auxilia artillery spotters did not seem to mind me and I kept out of their way.

Eventually, the call came through. All around me vox-links activated and orders were given. According to one of the spotters this section of the rings first shots had been lined up hours ago. Just waiting for the circlet to be complete and the command to open fire. I watched as thousands of barrels pointed towards the sky around me, miles of guns in either direction stretching out in a great ring of firepower. For a moment the world seemed to freeze as if every human across this planet held their breath. Then across a dozen vox-channels, it came. "OPEN FIRE!"

I was instantly deaf, blind, and disoriented. The ground shook and my senses left me. Cybernetic and Organic enhancements reacting to the explosions by shielding my senses and brain. After a few heartbeats, my vision and hearing returned. Filling my mind with the smell of accelerant, the sound of whistling shells, and the sight of raining death. What I would later learn was close to two hundred thousand rounds of ordinance filled the sky. A ring of missiles, directed energy and super-heated metal closed around the Orkish war-camp. Tightening and dropping into a solid mass of death. The impact was too much for my senses and I only caught flickers of atomic light and snippets of the roaring inferno. There was no time to recover as the second and then third volley fired. My augments quickly calibrated to this new extreme and I could watch the onslaught. As the Emperor's wrath was unleashed, I finally had the answer to one of my first questions about this Legion. Why were the X called Stormbringers? As dirty lighting born of billowing ash leaped across the sky and the never-ending thunder of guns shook the earth, I finally understood.

By the time the sun of this nameless dustball orbited had set, nothing was left alive in the War-Camp. The bombardment continued the entire time and the Orks had attempted a breakout at least thrice. Being too far away from those battles I only caught snippets of them. Flashes of las and plasma fire, explosions along the horizon. I never even saw an Ork, the closest I came was the occasional blast of green lighting or roar of an engine too ugly to be Imperial. Still, I never underestimated the foe, some animal part of me feared the slim possibility the Greenskins might break through the inner ring. Those fears were fed by the barbaric war cries of the Xeno which carried on the wind in between bombardments. The danger of the foe was never far from my mind. Especially when I watched the grotesque spectacle of a Rhino Transport hurtled through the air. Far enough away it looked like a Childs toy, the multi-ton armored vehicle was tossed thousands of meters into the air by a lash of green energy. Launched by a grav-weapon and landing in a burning crater after a solid minute of flight.

My first battle ultimately lasted only a few days and I soon found myself back aboard the Thunderhead. My shuttle into orbit gave me a view of the continent-covering ash cloud unleashed by the bombardment. A sight that haunted me as I overheard a squad of Auxilia troopers joking about how this "mop-up operation" was not worth the Crusader Fleets time. Only attracting the Imperium attention to ensure stable supply lines deeper into the Krooked-Klaw Sector.

The Krooked-Klaw Sector, the vestibule of the Golgotha Wastes, and where the Stormbringers spent the first year of my assignment fighting. Scouts and Explorators quickly learned the region is inhospitable but resource-rich. Even sparse desert worlds like the rock I had first witnessed battle on were rare here. Valuable minerals, gases, and ruins were however common. A fact that had drawn prospectors of different generations and species. They had all lived and died trying to exploit the riches of this region. A cycle of boom and bust that ended when Old Night came, and the Orks with it. Records and Imperial Archaeology showed the Greenskins had conquered the sector about two thousand Terran years ago. Enslaving and exterminating the human colonies then plundering these world's riches for themselves. Forming a vast sub-empire of the Wastes, built on the crumbling tombs of long-dead peoples.

Uncountable mining and scavenging settlements dotted the Sector, all scrounging up as much material as possible. Nearly all of it transported deeper into the sector. A great web of scrap moving to the heart of Krooked-Claw. The Stormbringers followed this web, cutting it apart world by world. Pressing deeper to find the core of this Xeno nest, hunting for the unseen center. I am no tactical savant or Astartes Commander but even I could understand the importance of this mission. If an entire sector's worth of material was being ferried to a singular point. That meant the Orks were building something, something requiring huge amounts of resources. Something dangerous enough to get the Emperor's attention and require his Stormbringers.

Article Seven

Dated: (125) 894.M30

We found our target. A wounded scout-frigate limped back to the fleet ten Sols ago. Its cogitators stuffed with data and a few battle-scarred Tech-Priests clinging to life inside. They had found the heart of the Orkish infestation and barely escaped. Revealing its true hideous nature. The great web of resources pouring into this system was feeding an Orkish Scrap-World. A crude Xeno equivalent to a Martian forge world. The frigate's sensors captured a snapshot of the monumental industrial processes at work in this newly discovered star system.

Great convoys filled with all manner of Ores and Salvaged tech flowed towards the Scrap-World. Swallowed up by reefs of smith-orbitals and Zero-G smelters. Rickety space-elevators dotted the Scrap-World, ferrying kilotons of metal and machinery to and from the surface. All while tens if not hundreds of thousands of unfinished warships formed a ring around the planet. A planet covered in grotesque, dilapidated centers of industry scattered between seas of tar and deserts of rotten iron. A world of Rust and Ruin that grew in power and malice even as it collapsed under its own weight. The planet existed as a monument to Xeno barbarism and hunger for expansion, a parody of Mars in color and purpose. Now named by the Primarch Culain Makturson himself, for its crumbling structures and iron sands "Rust."

The X Crusader Fleet smashed its way through the few systems standing between it and Rust. The Thunderhead and its kin unleashed their firepower at any sign of Orkish infestation and Auxilia Regiment ships stayed behind to ensure nothing of the Xeno menace survived. As we neared the Rust system and the great Warp Engines of the Primarchs chariot started to slow. The Remembrancers and other valued Civilians were ushered towards vault-compartments in the ship's interior. The X Legion had no intention of losing us in the madness of void combat. Which was sure to come when we entered Realspace and confronted the Orks. So I sat with my colleagues, waiting out the inevitable Void battle. Almost the moment the Thunderhead's Warp drive powered down we were under fire. 𐍂ÄＮƟʙĘS̩

I do not know the exact details of the battle and I am certain they can be found elsewhere. For me, the Void war for Rust was a story of thunder and fear. Even hidden away deep within the Flagship the noises of the battle echoed into the vault. While it is true the Void is silent, that does not apply to the ships that sail it. The Thunderhead groaned with exertion as its mighty engines pushed into battle. Hundreds of macro-cannons unleashed broadsides that rolled like thunder. The recycled air around me became static-charged from Shield discharge and Lance blowback. Locked away from the battle we had no idea how the Stormbringers fared. My mind was filled with Iterator speeches and snippets of military strategy learned from Clan MacSmythe. All telling me we would be fine, and the battle would be our victory. That knowledge did little to shut off the panicking animal in the back of my skull. Trapped in a box and surrounded by predators. As Lord Malcador once famously said, Fear truly is the mind-killer. Stripping away sanity and strength until a fearful drive to escape is all that remains.

My fellow civilian Adepts around me sought solace anyway they could. Some muttered Neologian approved meditation chants over and over. I noticed the obsessive rereading and double-checking of documents and reports were also common. Lex Mechanics, Savants, and the like throwing themselves into their work to cope. A couple of younger members of our group found solace among each other. Working hard at night to produce the next generation of Imperial citizens. Stranger still when some thought themselves alone, the occasional Cathric or Zunnic Prayer could be heard. A heresy that proved the Emperor right in a manner. These proud adherents to the Imperial Truth returned to superstition once fear and uncertainty got their claws in them. Religion and its False Gods prey on weakness and fear. A fact I resolved to never forget. Watching my fellows fall to fear I focused on the reason for this Crusade and the herculean effort put into it. This was mankind's struggle to reclaim the galaxy and conquer the fearful things in the dark. Millions fought and bled to ensure billions might see a better future.

This insight into the great task set forward by our Emperor helped calm my nerves and keep me focused. Something that was necessary as the void battle around us dragged on for nearly a Terran week. It was a monotonous purgatory, where the rumble of guns never stopped. The wail of klaxons pulled me from sleep or concentration daily. My mind racing like a caged rodent trying to interpret the various sirens. I learned to identify the ones for impending impact, boarding attempts, and worst of all emergency movement. The artificial gravity and inertia dampeners of Thunderhead could never quite compensate for the uncontrolled movement of its powerful thrusters. Shoving the Flagship away from charging Ork hulks or trying to fight a Gravity-whip lashing onto the ship and tossing us about. The idea that any weapon could drag the hive-city sized Gloriana-Class through the Void like a tug-ship was incredibly unsettling.

Orkish gravity weaponry proved itself immensely dangerous time after time during the Rust Campaign. With voidship mounted Gravity whips capable of tossing kilometer-long vessels like toys. Or multiple whips wrapping around a single vessel and tearing it apart. A hideous fate that almost befell Thunderhead when a dozen Orkish battleships rammed through her escorts and latched onto the ship with grav-tethers. From the safety of the vault-compartments, we could hear the superstructure of Thunderhead scream as it was wrenched on. I fear what might have happened if Astartes boarders had not teleported onto the Orkish vessels, and destroyed the Xeno weapons from inside.

After seven horrible day cycles of screeching metal and infant star eruptions, it seemed the Void battle was winding down. The thunder of macro-cannons slowed and shrill Klaxons rarely erupted. We were eventually freed from our protective vault and I returned to Clan MacSmyth. Upon arriving in the Chapters barracks I was greeted with the sobering sight of wounded and exhausted Astartes. New patterns of scars traced familiar features and I noticed some faces I'd grown to know were missing. Some were under intensive care with the Apothecaries, reattaching limbs and repairing destroyed organs. Less lucky Battle-Brothers lived on through Geneseed and death-tags. I found some of the more cooperative Astartes to interview about the Battle and what had exactly happened.

Brotherband Fife or Smyth Squad-2-6 depending if you used casual or official naming, had warmed up to me over the past few months. The Ten Astartes made up the crew of Clan MacSmyths sixth Land raider. An unusually gregarious bunch led by Sergeant Fife who supported the idea of Remembrancers among the X Legion. Fife Squad had let me glimpse the more hidden subtleties of the Stormbringers. Traditions of oral poetry combining Martian binaries and Terran songs. A set of these practices I witnessed once I found the Squad. Sergeant Fife and eight of his Brothers sat around a table. Each with a glass of obscenely potent alcohol in hand singing a slow dirge. A mixture of Gothic, Cant, and older solar dialects. I could make out bits recounting mighty deeds of a fallen brother, a poem of mourning to honor a fallen warrior.

I stepped back from the Squad quarters and watched. It was a short ceremony where baritone Astartes voices half-sung stories and memories of Brother Gwynth. Honoring the tenth member of Fife Squad who had fallen, repelling an Orkish boarding party. As the dirge faded away the nine Astartes each drank from their glass. Each larger than my head and filled with the potent Uiscebás liquor of the X Legion. Supposedly made from mixing Rhino transmission fluid with medical-grade ethanol and a collection of other toxins and industrial byproducts. Fife Squad to a man did not react to the caustic drink and sat in silence for a moment. Sergeant Osheen Fife then spoke: "Wordsmith, do you intend to shadow our bulkhead till the Crusade is finished or join us."

"I'm sorry Sergeant, I didn't mean to interrupt you. My condolences for Brother Gwynths death." was my reply. It occurred to me then that the Astartes must have been aware of my presence the moment I neared their quarters. Even without armor, their senses are superhuman.

Sergeant Fife looked into his empty glass and for a moment a flicker of sadness passed his stony features. I doubt most citizens would have noticed it as such. Learning to read the warrior-giants I lived beside had taken time, but it was possible. Fife sat the glass down and spoke: "Gwynth died well. His sword wet with Orkish blood and fury in his hearts. All we can do is remember him and continue the task before us. You did not disturb our mournwatch, your concern for our ritual is noted. Now onto our respective duties, what knowledge do you seek Wordsmith?"

Pausing for a moment to organize my thoughts. You usually have one shot at asking Stormbringers questions, so I needed to make it count. "As the Emperor commands me, I seek the story of the Void Battle and of our impending invasion or Rust."

In the ensuing half-hour, I learned more about the past battle and Clan MacSmyth's actions during it. Orkish gravity technology allowed the creation of stabilized and predictable Mandeville Points, similar to Imperial Warp Gates. Which the Fleet dropped right into. Surrounded by Greenskin guns, Crusader Fleet X fought its way out of the false-Mandeville Point and deeper into the Rust system. It was a close-quarter brawl, both Ork and Man relying on mighty guns and strong armor to win. Thunderhead acted as a mighty Stormfront, pushing through the Orkish battle lines and shrugging off the mightiest blows.

Storms of plasma and superheated gas exhaust billowed around the Flagship as she charged forward. Smearing a dozen Orkish frigates and destroyers across her Bow. Before ramming an asteroid-turned-fort into rubble. Swarms of Fighters, Bombers, and Boarders filled the Void. Clan MacSmyth rallied to defend Thunderhead and garrisoned a starboard hardpoint against Orkish attackers. They did not have to wait long, Greenskin probability sorcery found the smallest weak spot in a storm of Flak and Interceptors. Clan MacSmyth fought bravely within the iron halls of their home. Pushing back wave after wave of Xeno scum while the Thunderhead led the fleet to victory. Many fell when the Greenskin capital ships tried to rip the flagship apart. The stress felt across the Gloriana-Class, as brutish whips of gravity squeezed and tore at Thunderhead.

This gravitic thrashing dislodged an entire Orkish lamprey ship. The brutish Xeno vessel had rammed its way into Thunderhead and disgorged thousands of Orks earlier in the battle. Only now to be ripped off the Flagship's ceramite hide and taking a chunk with it. Spacing a dozen Astartes along with hundreds of mortal soldiers and workers. Chieftain Shadrak led a force of maglocked battle-tanks across the wounded hull of our home. Rescuing a few Astartes and Auxilia clinging to the flagships monumental flank. Then blasting away two more lamprey ships and ambushing an Orkish cutter-squad tearing open Thunderhead's armor plates. Fighting on the surface of a Voidship is an impossibly dangerous feat and Fife Squad discussed it with little gravitas. After losing a brother in the initial boarding skirmishes the Squad had piloted a Land Raider into the Void. With only maneuvering thrusters and magnetic locks preventing them from spilling into the great emptiness beyond.

The Void battle was primitive in tactics, neither side relying on clever maneuvers or complicated battleplans. The Orks had pushed the Crusader fleet into the conflict they were best suited for. Ugly close-quarter scraps where victory was decided by metal and meddle. Sergeant Fife explained to me how this tactic might overwhelm and crush entire Expedition Fleets. Forcing the efficient but unspecialized Imperial Armada into a disadvantageous position. The strength of arms presented by Rust and its fleets might have been able to even mortally wound a Crusader Fleet unused to such warfare. This was not the case for Fleet X and its legion. They were born and bred for this type of battle. When the Greenskins hit, the Stormbringers hit back harder. The X Legion's ships are slow cumbersome things, due to the tremendous amounts of armor and weapons installed in them. Every ship of the line serving Culian MakTursion could trade broadsides and win against any vessel of its class. The near entirety of the Orkish void presence had been reduced to scrap with acceptable casualties for the Crusader Fleet. All that remained was the half-finished Orkish battle group surrounding Rust and the survivors of the Void battle.

This would be no easy task according to Fife Squad. Many of the more powerful Orkish ships had retreated from the battle when its outcome was clear. Cannibalizing unfinished ships in Rust's orbit to repair themselves, and joining a ring of asteroid-forts defending the Scrap-World. Crusader Fleet X would take a day or two to journey to Rust, taking its time to repair damage taken in the Void battle and get proper scans of Rust. Once the Fleet reached Rust orbit it would engage the Xeno defenders, opening up a gap for Thunderhead and a few chosen companions ships. They would then begin low orbit bombardment and troop deployment, starting the actual war for Rust.

Thinking of the description of Rust. An industrial Ork world more polluted than any Mechanicum hive and filled with deeply entrenched Greenskins equipped with all the weapons a sub-sectors worth of resources could produce, I had to ask. "Sergeant Fife, why does the Lord Primarch not just give the order to unleash the Dread Sanction?"

Fife looked at me with an intense stare and responded slowly: "Do you mean Exterminatus? The total destruction of a planet?"

Fearing I had made some sort of error I braced myself and responded: "Yes, this is a thoroughly Xeno infested world, why do we not just burn it and be done with it?"

The faces of the Astartes around me suddenly changed. It took me a moment to recognize the expression. They looked at me how one might look at a particularly stupid child asking an obvious question. Fife Squad were some of the more accepting members of the Stormbringers, but they were still the taciturn and blunt sons of Culain. Learning not to take the rude or even seemingly cruel action like this seriously came second nature to me now.

Sergeant Fife recovered himself slightly, seeming to decide the only thing to do was educate me. "A planet destroyed in such a way can never be recovered. Such an act is only to be done to a world already beyond any salvation. We can reclaim Rust and its resources can better serve the Emperor. Even if we were to unleash a Virus Bomb or Cyclonic Torpedo there is no guarantee it will work. Such weapons are easily intercepted and disabled. The Emperor has dictated they should only be used at the last possible moment for more than moral or pragmatic reasons. Only then, when a world is dying and the war is ending can the tool of Exterminatus slip through easily. I understand you are no soldier Remembrancer but do not speak of the Dread Sanction so lightly."

Apologizing and quickly making my exit I kicked myself for my mistake. Building up a rapport with Fife Squad had taken some time and I feared it was now all lost. Returning to my quarters after a few detours to check other sources. I thought about what must have offended the Astartes so much about my question? They themselves practiced indiscriminate destruction on levels almost comparable to Exterminatus. I'd even heard horror stories in the civilian rumor-vines of compliant human settlements caught in the crossfire of Stormbringer battles. Not spared a moment's thought as stray shells reduced it to rubble.

Then something clicked into place. What Exterminatus must represent to the Astartes, and the Stormbringers especially. It was the ultimate mark of failure. They were tasked with bringing new worlds under the Imperial Aegis and destroying everything unworthy of the Emperors protecting. Having a world utterly lost and requiring total destruction brought incredible shame to the Astartes. It admitted defeat in a profound way and represented the Legio Astartes failing in nearly all of their duties. The more I learned about the Stormbringers the more it seemed was left to discover.

Article Eight

Dated: (128) 894.M30

It was hours before planetfall. The second Void battle for Rust's orbit waged around us and the Stormbringers prepared to begin the war for the surface. One hundred thousand Astartes prepared for the initial attack. With over a million Auxilia and an entire Titan Legion ready to accompany them. This would be the first overwhelming strike. To secure a beachhead and clear the way for the rest of the assault. Clan MacSmyth and I were to be deployed in this initial attack. Our heavy vehicles following the initial infantry deep strikes, to help secure ground zero of the invasion. For this Clan MacSmyth and myself by extension were honored to wait for deployment in the Grand Hanger of Thunderhead.

Equipped with the best civilian armor I could get and swarmed by a small flock of Servo-Skulls. My mind worked hard to brace itself for what was coming. I'd been in battle before but nothing like this. The Servo-Skulls were linked to my augments and would let me get a view of the battle without getting too close to combat. The Skulls were observation drones and everything they recorded was also fed into the Stormbringers cogitators, giving me an unofficial role as a scout. A cry of "Attention!" filled the air and my Servo-Skulls responded to my shock and clipped onto my armors pack. The cry did not startle me, it was what came with it.

The air in the hanger instantly became static-charged, heavy with latent power. Something pulled from the peripheral of my vision and I found myself slowly turning to face it. Even if I wanted to stop the movement I could not have. Some base part of me reacting to what had just entered into the Grand Hanger, and taking control as an instinctual reaction to him. Primarch Culain MakTursan, Lord of the X, Stormlord, Star-keeper, Ira de Imperator, a legend given flesh. Surrounded by Terminator clad Astartes, which he dwarfed and clad in storm-green plate that visibly crackled with power. He felt somehow unreal yet more real than any of us. It was as if existence itself focused on him, making all my attention pull towards the Primarch.

Even hundreds of meters away I could make out his features perfectly, far better than my augmented eyes should allow. Short black hair with close-cropped facial hair framed a stern face inset with stormy grey eyes. I swear I made eye-contact with him and my heart stopped for a second. The Primarchs terminator armor added to his already considerable size and a series of sturdy looking mechadendrites were built into it. Two of the larger ones each holding a weapon locked onto his armor. A massive hybrid of Assault Cannon and Heavy Boltgun with seven barrels in one. On the other, a mighty power-sword larger than the Greatblades wielded by normal Astartes. My eyes could not look away and I almost forgot to start recording the Primarch as he strode between rows of Astartes.

Culain MakTursan stopped occasionally to talk with a commander, mortal, or transhuman. His oddly lilting baritone carried through the Hanger and he seemed almost relaxed. The confident air of a general before the battle around him. Yet a sense of potent, barely contained power followed him. Maybe the reason the universe seemed to focus on him was fear? Anxious of the destruction he could unleash at a moment's notice. I tried to push the thought aside but it stuck. Some instinct told me how incredibly dangerous this being is. A living cyclone of destructive fury compressed into superhuman flesh by an immortal genius. Now aimed at his species foes.

The Primarch reached the center of the Hanger. Somehow pulling even more attention from the assembled thousands onto him. He almost seemed to grow in stature, like his presence filled the room both metaphorically and literally. A mechadendrite snaked from his back and deposited his massive sword into the Primarchs hand. Stormking Culain thrust the blade into the air and it crackled with lightning. A wild grin crossing his face Culain bellowed: "Let's kill some Orks!"

A thunderous roar of agreement filled the hanger and the assembled Astartes left to prepare for battle. Recordings of this moment were transmitted across the entire Crusader Fleet and a great shout of battle-lust rippled across the assembled Legion. With no great speech, or fanfare, the invasion of Rust had begun. After all, you don't need many words to say a Storm is coming.

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