Victory Pointless

Artonius ran.

It was not the pell-mell flight of a terrified mortal – the marines of his honour guard showed no fear, falling back in good order and pausing in well-drilled rhythm to provide covering fire that blew apart droves of the fanatics that chased them – but it was retreat nonetheless and it stung his pride.

Of the demi-company that had dropped from orbit, a full third had perished in the disastrous descent.  The remainder had found themselves scattered, surrounded, outnumbered and hunted.  Now, the casualty tally on his tactical readout informed him, they were down to half strength.

It was a disaster.  It was his disaster.  Past visions of glory danced through Artonius’s head, mocking him and making the shame burn deeper.  That there was nothing other he could have done did not assuage the guilt – it was his command, his responsibility.  This had been the largest force he had led to date.  To lose half of it in a matter of minutes hurt far more than any injury he had sustained in his long years of service.

Had he still been a line Astartes, or even a sergeant, he would have halted, bade his brothers onwards and turned back to face the horde alone, hoping to win back some of his lost honour through their blood and his own.  But the laurels of command were now his, and duty came even before honour.  His duty was to salvage what he could, minimise further losses and make it to the rendezvous with Task Force Gorio, even if that meant retreat, even if it meant his personal honour was forfeit.

They were, at least, not alone.  Marines from the Sons of Absolution chapter also fought through this ruined cityscape.  Whether they had fallen into the same trap or were here for some other purpose had not been revealed during their terse communications, but in any case they were in the same situation now, pressed hard by waves of screaming heretics and cackling abominations.

As soon as they’d landed they’d been swarmed by masses of human cultists.  The heretics died en masse against the elite Astartes but had lived up to the legend of the hydra symbol many of them bore – for every one that fell it seemed as though two more appeared to continue the assault.  He himself had slain one of the demagogues at the head of the horde, but he suspected he had silenced only one mouthpiece of many belonging to the cult’s true masters.

Armageddon Campaign, Battle 1: Task Force Artonius (Space Marines) & Sons of Absolution (Dark Angels) vs Poisonflame Cultists (Chaos Space Marines)

Mission: Beset on All Sides (custom narrative scenario)

Result: Chaos wins, 26-20

Tactical Analysis: The cultists rapidly got onto the objectives and then successfully tarpitted the marines so that in the 3 rounds the custom scenario lasted there wasn't time to take over those points.

Eventually, however, the tides of mortals had finally fallen away and now heretic Astartes had taken up the chase.

“Halt!  Fire!” As one, the squad of Hellblasters he was with paused, turned and launched a volley of superheated plasma into a baying pack of Possessed.  The corrupted beasts fell, but more traitor marines and daemons followed behind.  The wave broke against a squad of Deathwing Knights, standing firm before the onslaught, buying time for the other Imperial forces to withdraw.  Their heroism was another red line in the ledger of honour-debt that Artonius swore to repay.

“Move!  Move!  Move!” He would not stay to watch the sacrifice of the Sons of Absolution.  His role was to make sure it was worthwhile.
The squad ran out onto a roadway that shook with the stomping feet of Dreadnought and Terminators falling back on the same line.  There was a sudden roar of engines and Artonius beheld a squad of heretic bikers approaching, jinking around the burned-out ruins of wrecked groundcars and spattering the exposed loyalists with bolter fire.

“Fire!  Take out the-”

He was flung backwards, smashing into the wall of the ruin they had just left.  A plasma incinerator, pushed beyond the limits of its cooling system by continuous firing, had detonated.  The effect was as though a plasma grenade had been dropped in the middle of the squad.

Artonius felt a sense of futility threaten to overwhelm him – even the machine spirits of their own wargear had taken against them.  He pushed it down, pushed the following surge of anger down even harder.  There was no time for sorrow, no time for rage.  Duty, only duty remained.

He pulled himself out of the shattered rock-crete.  A now one-armed marine lay dazed at his feet.  Artonius hauled him up and shoved him forwards.  “Onwards, brothers!  Onwards!”
The roadway ramped up to an elevated section of the city.  This was where their rendezvous point was situated – so chosen, presumably, because it was a defensible location.

The ragged survivors of the company pounded up the roadway, propelled by combat stims and their last vestiges of gene-wrought strength.  As they crested the ridge Artonius directed them to take cover, form a defensive perimeter, give covering fire to the stragglers.

The Chaos forces, themselves heavily depleted by the fighting withdrawal of the loyalists and recognising their prey was no longer quite so vulnerable, drew away.  Profane chants, daemonic howls and the occasional scream still rang out from the maze of ruins, but to the Blood Angels at least, the immediate threat had passed.

Armageddon Campaign, Battle 2: Task Force Artonius (Space Marines) & Sons of Absolution (Dark Angels) vs The Scions of Scripture (Chaos Space Marines)

Mission: The Killing Route (custom narrative scenario)

Result: Draw, 45-45

Tactical Analysis: This was almost a victory, but the Hellblasters failed 5/8 hazardous tests in one round, pushing the squad below half strength and meaning it didn't count for scoring purposes. Oops.

Artonius busied himself organising the defenders, marking firing lanes, ensuring that the wounded were cared for.  But, in the back of his mind a simple question beat insistently.  This was supposed to be their meeting place with Task Force Gorio.  Where were they?

“Lieutenant Artonius, I presume?”

Artonius spun, bolter levelled at the figure who had stepped out of the shadows.  His plate was the red of the Blood Angels, but darkened by a layer of grime, his company markings missing or obscured by makeshift patchwork repairs.  He was not one of Artonius’s men.

“You know me?”

The stranger smiled, grimly.  “By reputation, only.  I hear good things.”

“Identify yourself.”

“Lieutenant Vitrani.  Sixth company.  Attached to Task Force Gorio.”

Artonius lowered his bolter, slowly.  “Ah.  I too know of you.” He was unable to reciprocate the statement of having heard good things – the whispers about Vitrani among the brothers were not entirely positive.  There was something strange about him, the rumours ran.  Something not entirely to be trusted.  Something cursed.  Something perhaps even heretical.  Still, Chapter Command clearly trusted him enough to allow him to retain a Lieutenant’s rank, and that was good enough for Artonius.

He slung the bolter, and thumped a fist to his chest in salute.  “I greet you, Brother-Lieutenant!  Now tell me, where is the rest of your force?  Where is Captain Gorio?”

Vitrani gave another slight smile.  “That, brother, is what I called you here to help me find out.”