Codex Unforgiven

[Editor Note] I've debated whether to put this article in the fiction section or in the tactics section. However, the author himself thought of this as a tactical article, and after an initial read through, I agree. So enjoy, and heed well the lessons within. 

Veteran Sergeant Zaamael sat in his darkened sleep cell, the only illumination coming from the dim light that shone through the open door. His head cast downward. His thoughts turned inward, stunned and shamed at the knowledge that had just been revealed to him.  So tightly were his hands clasped that pain shot through his right forearm, muscles clenched in a death grip.  He relished the pain, the bite of his now bionic left hand grating against the bones of his right.  The word, spoken by Interrogator-Chaplain Asmodai himself, burned in his memory.

            Traitors!

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            The appearance of the Interrogator-Chaplain at the induction proceedings was no surprise; of course they would be lead in prayer, re-affirming their loyalty to Emperor, Lion and Chapter.  That Asmodai himself was here for the proceedings was a great honor, to be sure, and one Zaamael felt they did not deserve, but the truth of the Interrogator-Chaplain’s presence was made known to him later. What was left of Zaamael’s tactical squad from the battle on the planet below knelt beside him, already enshrouded in white robes.  The Grandmaster himself was away, serving the Emperor beside other battle brothers of the chapter, but Deathwing Master Midael was present along with his Epistolary advisor, Haqadesh, both with dour expressions on their faces, expressions not suited for a celebratory occasion.  Zaamael’s warrior senses were piqued, and he thought back to the battle on the planet’s surface, wondering if perhaps they were to be scolded for some error.

                        *                                              *                                              *

            The fighting against the Tyranid swarms was fierce and the Dark Angels were spread thin.  The whole planet was infested with the swarm and would not doubt have to be cleansed from orbit, but first the Dark Angels had a mission to perform on the surface.  Memory imprint of the briefing instructed the marines to form a cordon around several structures in the capital, a burned out city long devoid of human life. They were to hold defensive position until members of the first company could accomplish their objective.  That objective was unknown to Zaamael at the time, and he did not need to know what it was, did not even think to ask.  He had his orders.  He was a Space Marine in the Emperor’s service, and he would obey.

            But the battle had not gone as planned.  Psychic interference from the xenos prevented the Deathwing from arriving on time.  The Dark Angels defended the perimeter stubbornly, an area the size of six city blocks square.  Pressed for time, knowing the swarm would eventually overrun them, Zaamael’s squad was to secure the objective site and hold it until the Deathwing arrived.  He took his ten man squad and moved it to the wrecked basilica, positioning his men inside the ruins, waiting in tense alertness.  When the first wave hit them, a mix of gaunt breeds, his squad repulsed them, and then again when the second wave approached.  Finally Brother Kezef’s squad teleported in, and they began to push the hated xenos back, their counter-attack pushing them to the gate at the courtyard’s entrance. Bolts hissed through the air, assault cannon shells pounded against the bodies of Tyranid Warriors, rending grievous wounds, and the boots of the Space Marines steadily crushed xeno body parts and rubble underfoot.

            When the wave finally receded, Zaamael reloaded his weapon.  “They will come again.” The voice was Kezef’s, heard through his helmet mounted com system.  “We must hold this courtyard until the Thunderhawk arrives.  Do you hear me, Sergeant Zaamael?  We will hold this courtyard!”

            Zaamael racked the slide on his bolter, chambering a shell.  It was an adequate reply.

            Three more waves of warriors and gaunts were repulsed before the situation truly became dire.  When the first splinters of venom cannon fire ripped Brother Sauriel apart, the Dark Angels knew they had problems.  The carnifexes had broken through their forward defenses.  In that moment, Zaamael knew many of his Dark Angel brethren were dead.  And the waves of lesser xenos had done their job.  The squad’s ammunition supply was dire.  Autosenses trained outward, the Dark Angels let loose one last fusillade of withering fire, suppressing the Tyranid assault, driving them into cover. Both sides regrouped, and waited.

            His com system crackled then.  “The Thunderhawk approaches!”  Brother Kezef stomped his Terminator armor over to Zaamael, laid his powersword beside him and rested his gauntleted hand against Zaamael’s armored shoulder.  “Brother, we will hold the courtyard.  Your squad’s ammunition is almost exhausted.  You must take your men inside the basilica and go to the lowest level.  There, in a central chamber, you will find a sarcophagus with the Chapter’s emblem on it.”  Zaamael’s training concealed his surprise.  There was no mention of a buried chapter hero on this backwater, ruined planet.  But Kezef’s voice was strident. “Carry the sarcophagus up and load it onto the Thunderhawk.  Do this deed for the glory and salvation of the chapter!”  He turned his head when the sound of skittering claw on stone began to approach them again.  “Now go!”

            Down Zaamael’s squad went, the sounds of battle resounding behind them.  The gothic columns and shattered glass windows soon receded to tight stone hallways. Ancient statues of sword bearing warriors leered down at them.  There was a definite sense of malice about this tomb.  These warriors were not here to mark a glorious deed.  They stood to frighten the weak of soul.

            They made silent progress to the center chamber. There in the center, lying on a raised stone pedestal was a ceramite sarcophagus, a robes angel bearing a wicked looking sword emblazoned on its surface.  One look told Zaamael that it was old, very old, not measured in centuries, but millennia. Quick hand signals sent four of his men to bear it, while he and the other three marines of his squad began to escort them out.  They moved quickly through the tight hallway.  Even underground they could hear the engines of the Thunderhawk as it landed and Zaamael thanked the Lion in relief that help had finally arrived. His relief was short lived, however; the sound of the transport masked a more deadly one.

            Zaamael noticed the hole in the stone floor as they rounded the corner, but could not react fast enough to warn his squad mates. When the Lictor struck, their surprise was nearly total.  The sarcophagus crashed to the floor as Brother Tamiel’s head was removed by the beast’s claw.  Their rearguard, Brother Mandrion was able to snap off a bolter shot as the Lictor zipped past him, but it went wild and he was dead before he hit the stone floor. The marines blazed away in the dark hallway, firing into the Lictor’s wake, but it had already eluded them with its speed, sheltered in the shadowy gloom of the hallway.

            “Continue onward, Brothers.  Drag it if you have to.  Brother Kushiel, take point.  I shall remain here to guard our rear and fight this beast.”  Brother Kushiel started to protest, but Zaamael cut him off with a raised gauntlet.  “There may be more of the beasts down here.  We haven’t the men or the time.  Continue onward.  I shall see you aboard the Thunderhawk.”  Zaamael projected a confidence that was necessary to spur Kushiel to action, but they both knew the truth of the matter.  One marine stood little chance in close quarters against this xeno horror.  Still, Kushiel obeyed, and Zaamael readied himself.

            He did not have long to wait.

            The Lictor came at him from the ceiling, moving down the hallway at frightening speed.  Even his augmented reflexes had difficulty tracking it as it powered down the hall towards him.  Finger pressed to trigger, he held his bolter out at arms length, his other hand clasped around the handle of his combat knife.  The weapon shuddered in his hand, spewing explosive tipped rockets wildly down the hallway before clicking on an empty chamber.  Time seemed to slow and Zaamael felt as if he watched each bolt flair down the hallway.  A few met their mark and the Lictor cried out in pain, but it came on relentlessly.  Zaamael had just enough time to drop the empty weapon, backing against the wall to brace against the Lictor’s charge.

            When it crashed into him, his outstretched arm almost buckled under the weight of the beast.  It was all claws and fury.  Flesh hooks embedded themselves into his armor, tendrils slathered over his helmet, seeking purchase in armor joints, talons scraped against his breastplate. The Lictor pulled a shoulder pad clear away from its armor, and Zaamael was forced to raise a foot to push the Lictor away with his armored boot.  Outward he slashed with his combat knife, stabbing again and again at the beast, knowing that he wasn’t doing any real lethal damage.  The Lictor knew it too, and pressed further into him, uncaring of the superficial wounds the harried sergeant was causing.  But Zaamael’s attack was not without purpose. Dropping his combat knife, his hand went down to his belt, and then thrust outward as he simultaneously let up the pressure his foot was exerting.  He finally relaxed his bracing arm and the Lictor crashed against him.  Zaamael’s left hand formed a fist and plunged into the now softened chest his enemy.

            He did not expect to survive the krak grenade’s blast. The pain was intense, and the always aware subconscious part of his altered brain told him he had lost consciousness for a few brief seconds.  His arm was gone from the elbow down, and he was wounded in a dozen different places, but he could move.  The Lictor was lifeless. The focused blast of the grenade had completely blown out its back.  Shakily Zaamael drew himself up with grim satisfaction and made his way to the surface.

            The scene that greeted him was one of incredible carnage.  The Thunderhawk was still firing at the gate, barely holding the swarm at bay.  He could see his men firing from the open ramp, trying to give the backpedaling Terminators a chance to get aboard.  Brother Kezef was the farthest out, holding back a Warrior that was all over him.  His helmet must have been damaged, because Zaamael could not hear the Dark Angels over the com unit, but he could imagine the zeal in Kezef’s voice as, knowing he could hold no longer, he cried out the unthinkable, but necessary order.  For surely no Battle Brother would fire on another unless told.  The Thunderhawk’s battle cannon belched and Kezef vanished in the resulting explosion.

Zaamael charged towards the ship, watching as Kushiel rushed away from it, towards the gate.  When the smoke cleared, all that was left of the Warrior that had engaged Kezef was a crater in the ground.  At the center of it was the brave martyr’s broken suit of Terminator armor. Kushiel rushed towards it, a bolt pistol chattering in his hand.  Stoically he began to pull the body of the fallen Terminator towards the Thunderhawk.

Zaamael pounded up the ramp of the ship and grabbed a pistol for himself. His helmet dropped to the floor. The rage was evident in his face as he turned to his squad.  “No one gets left behind!”  Out they charged, crossing the ground towards Kushiel, Zaamael bellowing the Litanies of Hatred as they stormed towards the Tyranid horde.  Kushiel fell forward midstride, his body flailing like an armored rag doll, bioweapon spines protruding from the back of his helmet. It was obviously a fatal wound, but he and Kezef would indeed return home.

It was after the honors had been bestowed upon his squad, after Kezef’s squad mates told of Zaamael’s heroic deeds and after they were inducted into the Deathwing that they learned the truth of the sarcophagus.  The dead warrior entombed within was indeed a Dark Angel, but he was no glorious hero, no defender of the Emperor.

Traitors!

The list must be complete.  The Chapter’s honor must be restored.  No Fallen could be left out in the galaxy to reveal the taint upon the Chapter.

Dead or alive, the Hunt would bring them all in.

            *                                              *                                              *

Zaamael’s thoughts drifted back to the present.  Asmodai had told them of Luther’s treachery those many years ago, told them the real story about the destruction of Caliban, the ancient home of the what was then the Dark Angels Legion.  He spoke of the Interrogator-Chaplains’ dark purpose, showing them the black pearls on his Blade of Reason that signified the redemption of the traitor Fallen.  He spoke of the shame that the Chapter carries to this day and revealed the existence of the Inner Circle.  Should the Imperium discover the reality of the events that happened during Caliban’s fall, the Dark Angels themselves would be hunted down and slain by their loyal brothers.  There was only one way they could be restored. 

The names of the traitors were known, laid down in the Book of Salvation, that most holy of tomes entrusted to the Chapter’s Librarians.  If the Chapter could bring all of the tainted warriors to be cleansed by the Interrogator-Chaplains, then the disgrace could finally be expunged, the glory restored in the eyes of the Emperor.

That was the true purpose of the Deathwing.  The First Company of the First Space Marine Legion, the Emperor’s elite, shouldered the responsibility of cleansing ten millennia of guilt and shame, entirely in secret, even amongst their own battle brothers. 

By the light of the Emperor of man, what have I become?!

So lost in thought was Zaamael that even his heightened senses did not pick up the approach of the figure that now stood in his doorway.  A gentle rap against the frame slowly brought his head up to stare at the robed figure, its shadow cast across his room.  Slowly he straightened up, bringing himself to full awareness of the present.

Master Midael stood patiently waiting.  A long moment passed before he lowered the hood of his robe.  He knew the pain that this young Sergeant felt now. It had been his burden to share almost six decades ago.  He had born it for more than the lifetime of most humans the Imperium protected, humans who would cry for their blood if the secret were ever discovered.  He sighed at the irony of it all, remembering those first moments of horrible revelation.  It was a pain that did not fade easily.

“How are you feeling?”  Midael’s voice was quiet.

The young marine, finally unclenched his hands, resting them on his legs as he sat.  Fire burned in his eyes.  “Already I have full use of my arm, Master.  The pain has faded, though the memory of it is still there.  I am ready to fight when the Chapter needs me.”

Midael’s reply was gentle but stern.  “Your resolve is to be commended, but I was not asking about your arm, Brother Sergeant.”

Zaamael’s gaze hesitated for a moment before fixing itself on the wall opposite him.  His tone was subdued. “Yes.  I know.”

They both remained silent again before Midael’s question hanging in the air between them.  Haltingly, Zaamael began to speak.  “I feel… broken, Master.  When I was plucked from my home world by the warriors from the sky, the men who would become my brother marines, I was filled with a noble purpose that came from service to the Emperor.  That noble purpose, my very reason for being, has been crushed.  I feel as if I have been living a life of lies, with my only solace being the humans we have saved by our actions in battle.  Now…now I feel as if that will be my only solace for whatever of my life remains, living as a man of constant sorrow.”

Midael watched as Zaamael lowered his head once again.  He knew that feeling, knew that loss of noble purpose. Because of it, he hated what he had to say next, but knew too, as he had done many times, that the words were necessary.  An edge to his voice, his tone scathing, Midael’s sharp reply brought the young marine’s head up sharply. “And is service not enough for you? Is duty not the reason for your existence?  Noble purpose!  What you truly speak of is glory, and that leads down the path of pride, the very reason for the treachery of our Fallen brethren! Do not rise above yourself, what you really are, Brother Zaamael.  We protect the Emperor’s subjects, and that is our only purpose as a loyal Space Marine.”

Zaamael absorbed the tirade in shamed silence.  Midael dropped the façade of fury and calmly spoke again. “So the Interrogator-Chaplains teach us, and so they would tell you.  I feel your pain, Brother.  I sat as you did now, wracked with grief.  Yet there are ways to manage it.  One of those ways is to return to the truth of why we are here to begin with: service.”

Slowly, the young marine nodded at the Master’s words.  “And the others?”

“In time the Interrogator-Chaplains will teach you the secret prayers and litanies that will protect you and embolden you.  You will speak the charge of the Inner Circle and turn your shame into resolve time and again.  And you will always hold the truth of one fact dear as well.”  Midael fixed him with his piercing gaze.  “You are Deathwing.”

A grim smile found its way to Zaamael’s face.  A different fire was to be found in his eyes now, a smoldering one, dampened perhaps by shame, yet waiting to be re-kindled into a great blaze at the chapter’s command.  Yes, Zaamael would recover.  He was Deathwing, and he would serve.

“Come.”  Midael dislodged himself from the doorway and beckoned to sitting warrior.  “We have things to speak of as you assume your new mantle.”  Zaamael rose, his robe quietly shuffling around him as he made his way out into the hallways, following Midael.

They pressed on into the core of the Rock.  The orbital fortress of the Unforgiven was all that remained of the legion’s glorious citadel on Caliban.  The citadel and millions of tons of rock foundation had been blown into space, miraculously surviving the destruction of the planet.  Since that time the Space Marines had turned it into a mobile base of operations, a constant reminder of the chapter’s origins.

Vast halls and chambers had been carved into the stone that the citadel rested upon, forming a network of secret tunnels leading to hidden dungeons.  For the first time, Zaamael passed into areas that were only rumors to the chapter at large.  He passed unmarked doors that held untold mysteries. Statues of robed warriors stood guard over these hallowed halls.  The eyes of the enigmatic Watcher in the Dark marked his passage.  Zaamael wondered what secrets those eldritch beings held.

As they moved further into the vast depths of the Rock, Midael began to speak again.  “What has been revealed to you so far is but the beginning.  The legacy of our brothers is truly a great weight to carry, and you have only just begun to do so.”  Servants and servitors stood aside for the marines as they passed down the hallway. Many of them did so out of mindless obedience, pausing in their duties only because they were conditioned to make way for their warrior lords.  Midael’s words could not be more poignant than now, and Zaamael ground his teeth.

Oh how I wish I could be mindlessly ignorant like these servitors around us!  Would that I could carry this burden with only duty to concern me.

Midael lead him down one of many side passages that ended in a great metal door.  The familiar broken sword of the Deathwing was carved into its surface.  He paused at the entrance and turned back to Zaamael.  In a low voice he continued.  “You know the tale, in its generalized form.  If the Lion watches over you, you shall progress further into the ranks of the Inner Circle.  New knowledge will be granted to you.  Yet already you have learned the double edge that knowledge brings. The general will become specific. You will come to know the specific deeds of the Fallen in all their gruesome detail.  You will know a new kind of rage; will be filled with a deep shame that you never thought possible.”  Midael nodded knowingly, and Zaamael could see revulsion in his face. Already he could feel bile rising in his throat.  The horrors of the Chaos Traitors were already known to him.  Had his Fallen brethren committed crimes as terrible?

“Your faith will be tested at every turn.  When you face your first Fallen Brother alive and ready to do battle, your mind will reel at the prospects before you.  He will tell you lies and half-truths, words of a corrupted mind long tainted by the Warp.  But there is one final tool to manage this burden.  That tool is the Hunt itself…”

He pushed open the metal doors before turning back to Zaamael, his face the epitome of stubborn resolve.  “The Hunt and the Justice it brings.”

*                                                          *                                              *

Zaamael stood before a stasis cell gazing at the preserved armor it contained. He stood in a room that contained twenty similar cells, each one containing a hallowed suit of Tactical Dreadnought Armor.  The ceiling rose above him and vanished in shadows.  Judging Angels stared down at them, stony fingers cast towards them. Next to each cell, carved into the very stone itself was scrollwork that listed the bearer of each suit throughout the centuries.  Some of the suits dated back over five thousand years, several generations of even the long lived space marines.  Only through the fanatical work of the chapter’s techmarines could these rare suits be preserved in working condition.  Each one was a work of art, the very pinnacle of human warcraft. Chapter symbols, honors and awards were carved into the bone white armor.  No suit was the same and each had a tale to tell that would boggle the mind of the most hardened veteran.  They had been damaged and restored, pulled from battlefields at great cost.  A chapter’s complement of Terminator armor was its most valuable treasure.  The secrets of its creation had been lost ages ago, so every suit lost was grievous.

Brother Zaamael felt the ages as he looked over the armor before him.  It became plain to him then that thousands of his brethren before him had shared in the secret shame at the core of the Dark Angels and they had acted with valor performing their sworn duty.  That duty may not be a tasteful one, but they performed it nonetheless in grudging silence, battle after battle, century after century.  He could not dishonor their brave example by shirking in the face of his new charge.  Squaring his shoulders he turned towards Master Midael. “I am ready to begin, Master.”

Midael grinned at him in approval before turning back to the armor in front of them. “Tactical Dreadnought Armor, the most powerful infantry armor in the known universe.  Impeccable craftsmanship has produced unparalled protection.  A Terminator armored marine can survive on any battlefield, in the harshness of space, even in the heart of a reactor for a time.  The most powerful weapons in the arsenal of mankind are yours to command should you step on the field in one of these suits.”

He turned back to Zaamael and spoke in a stern voice.  “But do not let that sense of power make you feel invincible. Many battle brothers have indeed fallen to relentless assaults of the enemy, and some of them have been careless, thoughtless deaths.  So heed my words well.  They will help you to survive and in surviving you can continue the Hunt, for the honor of the Chapter.”

Zaamael nodded without hesitation.  “I stand before you a willing and open receptacle, Master Midael.”

Midael nodded once before beginning the walk down the long hallway, pausing only to shift attention to each suit of armor before them.  “First, do not merely present yourself to the enemy. You have excellent protection, yes, but there are vulnerabilities.  There are two threats you should be most aware of.  The first is that there are weapons which can penetrate even the finest Terminator armor with greater ease than others.  Many of these weapons are powerful enough to kill our tanks, as well, so beware them.  Our enemies know of the power inherent in a Terminator armored marine, and they will turn these weapons against you if the opportunity presents itself.”

“What such weapons should I be most wary of, Master?”

“First, if it should come to blows with the enemy in close assault, beware any power weapons or the sharp claws of genestealers or their ilk.  Use the same caution you would if you were in power armor. Terminator armor can provide you with some protection against these weapons, but charging headlong into them is foolhardy.  Do you understand?”

“Avoid powerful close combat weapons of my enemy.  Yes, I understand.”

“Likewise, traitor dreadnoughts and other large, monstrous creatures should be avoided if possible.  Carnifex, Hive Tyrants and the hated Greater Daemons… Many of them can easily tear open even a Land Raider.  Do not face off against them if you can help it.  Engage them at range if you must engage them at all.”

“And what ranged weapons should I be wary of, Master?”

Midael raised began counting off on his fingers as he continued, emphasizing his points.  “Foremost among these are the plasma based weapons.  Plasma weapons are prevalent both amongst the traitor legions and the armies of the xenos.  Many of them have discovered the secrets of plasma technology and they will kill a terminator armored marine almost as easily as one in power armor.  Moreover, many of these weapons have ranges that are comparable to the weapons a Terminator can carry into battle.

“Likewise be wary of melta and fusion weapons.  Typically they have shorter ranges than their plasma based counterparts but they are no less lethal.  More so, in fact, as I have seen such weapons vaporize a Terminator armored marine almost in total.  That is a loss of armor and gene-seed we simply cannot abide.”  Midael’s voice carried with it a tone of finality and Zaamael nodded in obedience.

“Be wary also of the lascannon.  While typically employed against tanks, the lascannon can be a fearsome weapon when turned against an infantryman.  The long range of the lascannon denies us the ability to strike with many of our most powerful weapons.  At least with plasma and melta based weapons we have an opportunity to strike first.  The lascannon does not always allow us that advantage.”

“You have spoken several times of our powerful arsenal, Master.  What such weapons are at our disposal?”

“Each in its own time, Sergeant.  Learn how to survive first.  We shall speak more of the arsenal at your command when you have absorbed these first lessons.”

Zaamael nodded his assent.  “As you command.”

“Now, the second greatest threat to you is simply volume of fire.  Enough incoming fire can test the strength of even the finest suit or armor.  Whether it is massed bolter fire, the talons of gaunt broods or even a plethora of lowly lasguns, enough fire can eventually find a chink in your armor.  Do not simply walk out onto the battlefield with the belief that you are a walking tank.  That is a sure way to die.  Hold to your training.  Remember to use cover and concealment whenever possible.  Hug the edges of the terrain around you.  Deny the enemy the ability to see you and you deny him the ability attack you with both these powerful ranged weapons and his massed small arms.  Remember that your mobility is your key advantage in combat.  Your ability to move and fire even the heaviest weapon means that you can reveal yourself from cover to provide a devastating first strike on your enemy. As such, dance on the battlefield, do not trudge.”

Zaamael had a hard time seeing anyone dance in such a ponderous suit of armor, but he absorbed the meaning of the lesson taken out of its literal context. “Move with grace, not bullheadedness. Use terrain features to block line of sight to my squad.  A basic lesson, but one that bears repeating.  I can see how a false sense of security can be gotten whilst encased in armor as fine as this.”

Midael nodded in agreement.  “Such is the case.  Keep your formation tight if you can.  This will allow your squad mates to support each other in combat.  Likewise, stay close to other squads.  Should you get into a tight spot, this will allow them to rapidly respond to danger.  Loosen it only if you face powerful siege weaponry.  Terminator armor will protect you from many blast effects on the battlefield, but powerful artillery like the Demolisher cannon will obliterate you.  Do not give them the chance.”

“So if I must face ordinance fire, spread out my squad to as close to maximum coherency as I can.  That way I can reduce any potential effects that the damage will cause to the unit as a whole.”

Midael nodded.  “Yes, exactly.  Also, be aware that other things on the battlefield can provide you with protection.  Use the bulk of a moving Dreadnought or Land Raider to cover your advance.  Should you deploy with a battle company, use also the Rhinos or Razorbacks your brethren ride in.  Or you can take to the field using one of your most powerful advantages: the ability to teleport or drop pod onto the battlefield.  Both of these methods of deployment offer you great protection as the enemy cannot shoot or assault what is not on the field of battle.  You then are guaranteed the ability to strike first against the enemies of mankind.”

“I have ridden a drop pod many times into battle before, Master, but I have never experienced deployment through the teleporters,” Zaamael remarked. “How do they compare with each other?”

“A wise question.  There are distinct differences.  First let us talk about drop pods, which you are already familiar with.  A drop pod will limit your squad size to five men, unlike the usual ten in a tactical squad, because of the bulk of your armor.  Drop pods tend to be safe in the fact that their navigation systems will not permit them to land to close to impassable terrain or enemy units, and if the drop is not directly on target then the unit will still be protected from such hazards.  Upon landing, the unit can deploy up to a short distance away from the vehicle and use it as cover, shielding it from enemy weapons fire while simultaneously launching attacks on their chosen targets.

“Teleporting directly to the field allows you to bring up to a full squad of ten Terminators if you so choose, though I do not advise it.  You will come onto the field in the thick of battle and the nature of the teleporter requires you to be deployed in tight formation.  As such you will be immediately vulnerable to blast weapons.  Also, teleporting does carry greater risk.  Should you land in impassable terrain or too close to the enemy, your unit will be lost.  There are ways that this risk can be mitigated, but we shall discuss that when we get to the armory.

“In both cases remember that if you do not land close enough the battlefield you will be unable to participate in the fighting.  Remember also that you will be unable to engage the enemy in hand to hand after a drop or teleport.  Despite the risks, both methods allow you to attack the enemy in such a way that he cannot immediately strike against you, thus negating the range of his weapons or the benefits of cover that would otherwise protect him from a conventional attack.  These lighting strikes are the hallmark of Space Marine warfare, and no unit can perform them better than a unit of Terminators.”

Zaamael nodded his assent.  “On many drops we devastated the enemy through overwhelming force of arms alone. They key is proper drop coordinates that expose the unit to minimal return fire or terrain hazards.”

“Indeed,” Midael replied.  “Minimal return fire.  That should be constantly in your mind.  Always think first how to preserve your force.  You should always follow one rule, first and foremost:  As often as you can, expose yourself only to the enemy units you mean to destroy.”

“Wise advice that I shall adhere to, Master.”

“One last thought before we move to the armory.  It is traditional to bring five men in a squad.  Most of the other chapters do so, and should you deploy to the battlefield in a drop pod or most Land Raiders you will be forced to.  I believe that it is better to include a sixth marine with you if circumstances allow it.  A sixth man will allow you to be more resilient in contesting an objective on the battlefield.  Remember that many of our missions will focus on capturing an artifact or even a living target for later interrogation.  Make sure you can secure those targets well.  A sixth marine will help you do so while still giving you the ability to use terrain effectively.”

They came at last to the last suit in the hall, and Zaamael examined it, while the other half of his attention focused on Master Midael’s words.  This final suit was different from the others. It was a pure white and carried numerous pieces of extra equipment on the gauntlets, belt and back.  In a deep red the symbol of the Apothecarium was emblazoned on the armor.  Zaamael raised his eyebrow in confusion.

“A suit of Tactical Dreadnought Armor for an apothecary?  I did not know that they had the training to use such equipment.”

“All members of the Deathwing are trained thus.  There was a time when our brave Apothecaries would take to the field beside our powerful commanders.  Our Techmarines and even our Standard Bearers would as well.  Their armor represents true craftsmanship, and it is a pity they sit in stasis thusly.”

“Why, then, do they,” Zaamael asked.

“Come.  Let us go to the armory. I shall explain there.”

He let his eyes linger on the perfect white armor in front of him one last time before following Master Midael out of this sacred vault.

            *                                              *                                              *

The armory was abuzz with activity.  The battle left many suits of precious armor damaged and in need of repair. Techmarines leaned over weapons and armor all through the crowded workshop.  Servitors moved among them, bringing parts and tools at their command. Servo-arms whirred; welding torches burned, prayers said over hallowed equipment, all of it a well oiled machine owing to the discipline handed down century after century.  Midael and Zaamael moved carefully amongst them, careful to avoid disturbing their essential work.  They made their way slowly towards the rear of the shop, admiring the expert work of their Mechanicus trained brethren.

They came finally to a slanted table.  Torchlight reflected off the instruments that held an opened suit of Terminator armor.  Zaamael could see the components down to the skeletal frame.  The short-ranged, shoulder mounted radar lay open, and the Terminator’s destructive powerfist was held in a set of clamps, detached from its arm mechanism.  As he stood examining the armor, Midael moved to a rack off to the side and lifted a Storm Bolter free from it, showing it to Zaamael.

“Standard Terminatus pattern Storm Bolter.  Each carries up to sixty rounds of .75 caliber bolt shells, fired from a double barrel in either alternating or simultaneous cyclic action.  With bolter shall we destroy the enemies of the Emperor. No weapon is better suited to the task.”  He handed it to Midael as he crossed to the other side of the table, standing near the removed powerfist. “For close range fighting each Terminator carries a powerfist.  Their matter disrupting field and amplified strength allows them to punch through armor, tank hulls, bulkhead doors… nearly anything, with ease.  Few close combat weapons are as powerful.

“A standard pattern Terminator is capable of constant movement across the battlefield with targeting abilities that allow it to fire its weapons, without feeling the effect of recoil, to their maximum range.  No standard infantryman can withstand a hail of Storm Bolter fire for long.  Even light vehicles can be destroyed by its explosive shells.  In hand to hand, Terminators may not be able to answer the enemy first, but they will always have the last word.”  Midael grinned at this, and Zaamael joined him with harsh laughter.  “Even with just these weapons a Terminator squad is the match for any other infantry unit on the battlefield. And this is only a small portion of its arsenal.”

Midael moved over to the side wall of the armory where large racks held imposing weapons.  Zaamael was familiar with each of them in principle, but he welcomed the detail Midael was paying to each system.

“The Storm Bolter is the most prevalent weapon available, as you know, but each squad is also sanctioned to carry up to two heavy weapons into battle. Terminators do not have a huge selection to choose from, but nor do they need to.  The choice is largely dependent on what other assets the commander brings to the field, but there are a few things to keep in mind.  First, it’s generally best to choose the same heavy weapon in a squad.  Too much difference between them creates problems with decision making on the battlefield. Disparate ranges and weapon effects means that squads are often left with a whole selection of weapons that are less than optimal against their target of choice. 

“That follows into the second point.  Create a role for your squad.  Will it be a support squad?  Will it be in the thick of the action, giving and receiving heavy fire?  Will it primarily be used to pressure an objective or enemy unit?  All of these factors will play a role in your heavy weapon selection.”

The Deathwing Master moved first to a large, double nozzle weapon trailing hoses attached to canisters.  “The heavy flamer.  A very destructive weapon, but only at close range.  This weapon is well suited to a drop pod or teleporting squad if they intend on engaging infantry, and also serves as an excellent weapon in the tight quarters of spacecraft or buildings.  A single blast has been known to clear an entire bunker with its purifying flame. Cover will not help your adversaries. The heavy flamer will either destroy it or envelop them.  Most important is that the wielder does not even need to be particularly accurate for it to be effective.  Still the weapon has a very short range and is rarely suitable for an open battlefield. It is a specialized weapon to be issued only in specialized circumstances.”

Midael moved further down the wall where a large backpack rested on a raised rack.  The backpack had many open ports for small rockets to fit.  “The Cyclone launcher, the longest range heavy weapon in the Terminators arsenal. Cyclones are multi-round versions of the standard marine missile launcher.  Each one holds a mix of frag and krak missiles giving the operator the choice to fire at different classes of targets.  The advanced targeting system that the Cyclone uses meshes with the Terminators ability to move and shoot very well.  The Cyclone will not cause any reduction in mobility for the Terminator that carries it.  Moreover, since it is back mounted, the marine retains the use of his Storm Bolter and powerfist.

“The Cyclone is a good choice for a Deathwing force that has no other long range fire support in the field, but it has its downsides as well.  While the long range of the rockets can indeed strike from afar, the squad will not be able to fire its Storm Bolters at long range enemies.  Also, if the Sergeant commands his troops to fire on a medium or heavy vehicle, the Storm Bolters will be wasted on such targets.  Such waste creates inherent inefficiencies in the field that the versatility of the Cyclone really does not make up for, especially when one considers that logistically this is the most difficult heavy weapon for our Techmarines to field. Finally, the nature of the Cyclone’s targeting system require that a either a living being or a vehicle be selected.  That means that the fragmentation rocket cannot simply target an open space, and often its blast effect is wasted against dispersed targets.  In addition, frag rounds are really only useful for killing lightly armored infantry, something that the Terminator’s Storm Bolter already does well. For a fully foot born detachment of Terminator’s it is a wise choice, but for one with more mobility, there is a better option.”

They came at last to a rack from which hung a fearsome, multi-barrel cannon. As they approached it, Midael rested his hand against the barrels and spun them slowly, the clicking sound of the mechanism raising the heads of more than one Techmarine in the shop. Zaamael knew this weapon well. Kezef’s squad, as well as many other Deathwing squads he had fought beside carried them into battle.

“The Assault Cannon.”  Midael beamed at the weapon.  “No other weapon carried by Terminator or Space Marine is as devastating at range. Its dense shells can penetrate both infantry and vehicle armor.  Its high rate of fire ensures that it will find a chink in even the toughest armor. Only the Monolith of the hated C’Tan is immune to its effect.  All other targets will fall before its fearsome fusillade.

“The Assault Cannon is the ultimate multipurpose weapon.  It uses inexpensive ammunition and is cheap for us to field.  It has a range comparable to the Terminatus pattern Storm Bolter, making it ideal for a Tactical Dreadnought Armored squad.  All in all, if you have little knowledge of what your enemy will field, bringing assault cannons with you is likely a good idea.”

Zaamael remembered the sound of the weapon firing.  It was as if the Emperor himself had decided to tear a hole in the fabric of reality.  He gave a slight shudder before asking the question on his mind.  “Let us talk more about its range, if we may.  I have heard other commanders be critical of this attribute of the weapon.  Is it a serious hindrance?”

Midael began leading Zaamael further into the armory where other kinds of work were being done before answering.  “You will find that most engagements you will face will be short to mid-ranged affairs. Terminators excel at these ranges, as well as in close quarters and dense terrain, as we have discussed. Keeping these facts in mind, the assault cannon fares well.  First, if you remember the principles we have discussed and use the environment to your advantage you should have little difficulty maneuvering into firing position. Besides, you’ll be endeavoring to do so with your Storm Bolters, which have the same range regardless.  Also, many enemies will come to you in order to engage you in close combat.  Finally your squad’s ability to teleport, arrive via drop pod or be transported by a Land Raider, as well as your advantage of moving and shooting, all reduce the effect of the assault cannon’s short range.  And there are other ways to bring long range firepower to bear on your enemy which we will discuss later.  Just remember for now that no weapon is more destructive in the hands of a Space Marine Terminator.”

Zaamael countered again, saying “Do you not run into the same situation as before, with the possibility of expending bolts against targets that are immune to such fire?”

Midael nodded his assent.  “True, but there are also ways to ensure that those bolts are more effective against light vehicles, mainly through training.  Also, as there are less Storm Bolters in the squad, there is less waste. And the combined effect of the Storm Bolters and Assault Cannons on infantry targets more than makes up for any deficiency.  Even an optimal blast pattern of frag rockets cannot match it.”

“But against heavy armored vehicles…  does not the assault cannon rely on a good bit of luck to do the job?”

Midael fixed him with a gaze full of mock scorn.  “Luck, Battle Brother?  There is no such thing!  Only the will of the Emperor!”  He put on his best priest face, saying, “Have faith and the Emperor himself will guide your shots!”

Zaamael looked on in amused silence.  None of the Dark Angels truly believed in the priests’ insistence that the Emperor was a god.  The First Founding Legions knew him as an incredible warrior, yes, but godhood still eluded men.  Midael knew he was not taken in and gave a small shrug, before resting his hand on Zaamael’s shoulder.  “There is one other principal of war that you should remember, Sergeant.”  He grinned wryly.  “Volume of fire has an accuracy all of its own!”

            *                                              *                                              *

The next section of the armory contained the company’s collection of wicked close combat weapons.  Axes, swords, hammers, fists, powered and unpowered versions of all of them hung from the walls or were mounted in racks.  Even the Chaplains’ Crozius Arcanum was maintained here.  Each weapon shone with a deadly gleam and all were ready to be put to immediate use.

The pair paused at the entranceway, Midael resuming his lecture. “Terminators are often called upon to be the vanguard of a crushing assault,” he began.  “As we talked about previously, each standard Terminatus pattern suit of armor bears the mighty powerfist.  Powerfists can fell the hardiest of foes and can even reduce other marines to a heap of bloodied gore in a single swing.  Many a traitor Dreadnought has met its end due to a well aimed powerfist.  The weapon itself doubles the natural strength of the wielder and ignores conventional forms of infantry armor.  Only powerful energy fields have been known to stop it.  The greatest disadvantage of the powerfist, however, is that it takes time for its matter destroying field to charge.  Thus a Terminator will often find himself weathering a fierce assault before being able to strike back.  If he chooses not to use the powerfist’s full ability and instead opts to fight more quickly, he will not gain the benefit of its special properties, but will likewise not have to wait for the weapon to charge.  In general, however, the powerfist is best used at full charge against all but the lightest armored opponents.”

They resumed their walk into the chamber until them came to a large metal table upon which several powerfist like weapons lay.  They were slightly different in design, however, with each mounting what looked to be a short, vicious chainsaw.  They heavy duty teeth looked like they could cut through thick armored plate, and Zaamael knew that this was precisely what they were designed to do.  Midael continued.  “A standard Terminator can have the Techmarines spend some time outfitting his armor with this, the chainfist. Chainfists perform in a similar fashion against infantry opposition, but are superior against vehicles.  A standard powerfist has a damaging effect equivalent to a krak missile, but a chainfist can hit a vehicle as hard as a melta at optimal range.  There is little need to outfit more than one or two members of a squad with such a weapon. Very few vehicles will survive contact with a chainfist for long.  However, I would usually bring at least one in every squad I take to the field with… just in case.”  Midael gave the chainfist on last pat before moving on to the next rack.

Large hammers hung from the wall, their heads the size of a Space Marine’s boot. The weapon looked like it could blast a man to smithereens.  Zaamael had seen such a weapon in action only once before, and it had done just that and much more.  Midael hefted the hammer, before handing it to his young charge, and Zaamael grunted under the weight.  “Be thankful that those armor suits are servo enhanced.  I would not want to lug one of those around without power armored assistance at the very least.”  “Nor I,” replied the Sergeant.  “The Thunder Hammer operates on the same principle that all blunt power weapons do, creating a matter destroying field at their striking point before the mass of the actual weapon clobbers through the weakened structure.  Yet this weapon also blasts its target with a powerful sonic effect, which creates a shockwave that stuns what it hits, if it should survive. It helps to even the odds against some of the more powerful monstrous creatures in the galaxy.  Moreover the crew of a tank that gets hit by a Thunder Hammer is often left reeling inside the vehicle’s chassis.  Like the powerfist, however, it is a very slow weapon to use.”  Midael extended his hand and Zaamael returned the hammer to it before speaking.

“Before you admonished me to stay out of arms length of these monstrous creatures, but now you speak of engaging them in hand to hand.  Which is it, Master?”

Midael smiled as he hung the hammer back on its rack.  “You know full well that no plan survives contact with the enemy. Battlefield conditions are almost never optimal.  Often times you will not be able to fell such beasts before they overrun your position. There will also be times when assault is the only option you have, though I hope your abilities to command your Brother Marines does not often leave you in such a precarious situation. Be thankful that you have such weapons at your disposal.”

Zaamael said, “Indeed, I am thankful.  I’m simply confused.”

Midael raised a finger to make his point.  “Use the knowledge we first spoke of to guide your decision.  Your Brothers’ survival is paramount, second only to accomplishing the mission.  Engage these terrible monstrosities at range whenever you can, but do not be afraid to assault them if it looks like you can score a killing blow.  Likewise, stand fast should they assault you.  You may lose men against such powerful beings, but losses are inevitable in any conflict. 

“Be wary of assaulting the enemy, but do not avoid it if closing into hand to hand will give you an advantage.  An enemy heavy weapons squad, for instance, will either fall back from the threat of assault or likely be slaughtered if your marines make it within striking distance.  Many such enemies will wither at the prospect of fighting Terminators in hand to hand.  Even the threat of assault can win you a victory.  You must develop a sense of timing that you can only gain on the battlefield, but in general if you have the opportunity to assault it is usually better to do so than be assaulted.  The initial charge is often a decisive factor in hand to hand combat.

“Know your weapons intimately and know how they will perform in the heat of battle.  More importantly, learn as much about your enemy as you can.  If you suspect that your enemy has weapons that can defeat your armor, then engage them only if they have been weakened to near ineffectiveness, and even then do so warily.  Your armor will give you some resilience against power weapons, but it is best not to rely on it.

“Regardless of whether you choose to assault or not, the one thing you should remember is to concentrate your efforts at one or two targets at a time with your entire force.  Ensure that you obliterate an enemy unit before moving on to the next one, and use the entire weight of arms at your disposal to do so.”

Zaamael nodded slowly, digesting this lesson.  Terminators did indeed have a frightening reputation as assault combatants, but now that he was to lead a squad he felt a bit out of his depth. What Midael said made sense: Know my enemies’ capabilities as well as my own.  It is better to assault than be assaulted.  Endeavor to stay away from full strength monstrous creatures.  The sense of timing he would have to develop in the heat of combat.

Midael waited for Zaamael to think this all through before resuming.  “Of course, there are squads of Terminators dedicated to the assault role.  Such squads carry no ranged weapons.  They are usually comprised of marines bearing these Thunder Hammers along with the companion Storm Shields, or a matched set of Lightning Claws.  The Storm Shield gives you an even chance to survive close combat hits from power weapons or monstrous xenos.  A Thunder Hammer and Storm Shield bearing Terminator is one of the few combatants that stands a chance against such beasts, but the ranged option is still a better one.  As for Lightning Claws…”

They moved down to a set of what looked like modified power gloves, each with four razor sharp blades protruding from the knuckles.  Each blade looked like it could easily destroy flesh and bone, as well as cut through ceramite.  Combined with the power weapons disruption field, these claws looked extremely dangerous even just sitting on the rack.

“These Claws do not have the strength enhancing properties that the other weapons I’ve shown you do, but they are brutally effective nonetheless.  A matched set of Lightning Claws relies on speed, taking advantage of our own natural abilities to seize the initiative. Moreover the set gives us an additional attack in combat.  The multiple blades are almost guaranteed to find a vital organ when they hit, and such weapons are known for causing grievous injury.  There are few things more destructive and horrifying to watch than a full Lightning Claw equipped Terminator squad on the charge, spurned on by an Interrogator-Chaplain.  Whole platoons have fallen to such a unit.”

Zaamael could only imagine the carnage.  He thought back to other Tyranid battles he had participated in, where the hated Genestealers, ancient nemesis of the Deathwing, had cut a swath through even his power armored brethren.  He imagined the effect was startlingly similar.  But he also remembered how easily those very Genestealers had fallen under the weight of sustained bolter fire, unable to respond to the ranged attack.  He said, “Isn’t an assault squad vulnerable to ranged weapons if they have none of their own?”

Midael nodded.  “Of course. That’s why these squads are rarely fielded exclusively or without support.  In general they are most effective when delivered via a Land Raider transport.  If their transport is destroyed then the survivors are left walking, and are often out of the fight. Teleporting or drop podding is a less viable option, as the squad is vulnerable as they deploy to enemy weapons fire.  A Dreadnought escort sometimes helps to keep the pressure off of them, but in general mechanized transportation in the form of a Land Raider is the most effective way to get them into battle. Unfortunately this is a huge commitment of the company’s assets and should only be used when taking a well defended position is essential or where threat of reprisal is minimal.

“Of course, it was not always thus…”

Zaamael picked up on the Deathwing Master’s trailing tone.  “What do you mean?”

“Do you remember the Apothecary armor we saw in the vault,” he asked.

“Of course, Master.”

“There was a time when we were given much more latitude in what we could bring to the battlefield.  As I had mentioned, Techmarines and Apothecaries often accompanied their commanders directly onto the field in specialized, rare suits of Terminator Armor.  And we did not differentiate between Terminatus pattern squads and Assault Squads.  We freely mixed terminators armed with assault weapons in with our regular squads.”  Midael’s tone became bitter.  “But the Grandmaster himself ordered us to refrain from the practice.  It was drawing too much suspicion to us.”

Zaamael nodded as Midael spoke.  “I remember, when I was but a scout, the order that came down the chain of command.  The Deathwing were to fight ‘as the other chapters do,’ because we were do join our fellow Space Marines and Imperial Guardsmen in extended joint maneuvers and such a disparity in fighting styles was bound to cause confusion.”

Midael gave a derisive snort.  “Yes that was the official reason, the spoken reason.  The Chapter had to be told something, and it was a plausible explanation. The forces of the Imperium were stretched thin, and the Dark Angels amongst them.  We were being called to all corners of the galaxy.  Any lapse in good decision making at the strategic level could, indeed, cause errors.  Yet we had fought this way for millennia, and nothing so simple would cause such a change.  No, the decision came from within the depths of the Inner Circle, and it was driven by another necessity.”

“Which was?”

Master Midael raised his eyes and gave a grim smile.  “The Inquisitors were getting close.  Too close.  We were already raising enough suspicion.  The decision was made to try to conform a bit more closely to a ‘codex’ Chapter. We had our secrets to maintain, after all.”

Once again Zaamael was reminded of the darkness that was at the core of the Chapter.  How deep did the secrets go? How much was held back from even those that were inducted into the Deathwing?  How many layers deep did the Inner Circle truly consist of and what did they conceal?

“If the Emperor wills it, then we shall fight in our old way again.  In time, such a thing may be possible.”

            Silently, the pair moved from the chamber, each lost in his own thoughts.

                        *                                              *                                              *

            Midael led Zaamael down another hallway towards another, smaller workshop.  The Master paused and rested his hand against a great metal gate that barred further progress.  “As a Sergeant of a squad, you already have had access to our honored armory before, but it would make sense for us to speak on the items within while keeping Terminator tactics in mind.”  He drew a small, metal key from his robe before inserting it into the locked gate in front of them.  More workshop sounds could be heard beyond the gate, but at a much less frenetic pace. There was perhaps only one or two craftsman working diligently and slowly on the treasures this room held.

            With a clang, the gate swung open and the two moved into the room.  Techmarine Gradiel sat hunched over a small work table, parts for what appeared to be a combi-melta in front of him.  He glanced upwards at his two Battle Brothers only briefly, giving a brief nod in salute.  The pair understood. Gradiel had more important things to do than idle banter.

            They came first to a rack of long powerswords, each one meticulously designed with the Chapter’s icons.  Slowly, reverently, Midael drew a sword from the rack and held it vertically in front of him.  Zaamael watched as he did so, wondering if Midael was involved in some silent ritual that had yet to be revealed to him.

            After a time, Midael turned his attention to the young Sergeant.  “It is no secret that the sword is a powerful symbol for our Chapter.  While you will have your choice of weapons to bring into battle, it is customary for the Sergeant of a Terminator squad to bear one of these, a constant reminder of our heritage, of our identity.  Other weapons might be more destructive, but none has as much meaning to us as this martial blade.  And a symbol can be a powerful thing when men are fighting and dying.”

            Zaamael nodded.  He knew well the effect of the rare sight of seeing one of the Chapter’s standards born onto the battlefield.  He and his Space Marine brethren had been driven to new heights of valor and courage in those times, and as a Sergeant he knew the importance of leading by example.

            Midael briefly swung the sword through the air before replacing it on its rack.  “The powersword will allow you to strike before your squad mates do, allowing them to follow your initial strokes with their awesome powerfists.  But strike true.  Do not give your squad time to doubt your abilities, nor your enemy reason to think you weak.

            “It’s worth noting that every weapon a Terminator can carry into close combat can ignore lesser conventional armor.  All of them are power weapons of some kind or another. Use that to your advantage.”

            Zaamael let his gaze linger on the blades before him before following Midael to a weapons rack set behind the working Techmarine. There were perhaps twenty bolter style weapons on the rack, each one different.  All of them were custom designed by be the company’s Techmarines throughout the ages.  Midael selected three from the rack and put them on a side table.  He beckoned Zaamael to move closer.

            “You may be familiar with combi weapons.  Have you used one before,” Midael asked.

            Zaamael shook his head in reply.  “Only in training.  Never on the actual battlefield.  They are not popular amongst tactical squads.

            Midael nodded.  “Indeed, many see that they have very limited utility.  As you know, each is comprised of a standard bolter with a special weapon attached to it.  The special weapon has limited duration in the field, and that makes them unpopular.  But consider that these weapons, when used by a Terminator, give you access to weaponry you would not normally be able to carry into battle.

            “Take the combi-melta for instance.  It has enough of a charge for but one shot, but consider what that one shot can do.  We spoke before about the dangers of melta weapons to a Terminator armored marine. They are no less dangerous against other foes as well, and the melta gun may help you put that last lethal shot into a stubborn vehicle target.”

            Midael pointed to the next weapon in the line. “The combi-plasma has only enough power for a limited rapid fire burst or single long range pulse.  Use at range it will match up well with your Storm Bolters and Assault Cannons.  Up close the burst of energy can vaporize even heavily armored infantry or light vehicles, to a lesser extent.  This weapon can give you a deadly edge against the traitor legions.

            “Of course, one must not waste these shots.  Only the best marksmen of the Chapter should carry either of these weapons and your Interrogator-Chaplains, Masters and Librarians will often have first pick of them.  However, the last combi-weapon is well suited for a Terminator Sergeant.” Midael rest his hand on the last bolter on the table.  A blackened nozzle protruded from underneath the main barrel, and a small, bulbous canister hung off the side.

            “Combi-flamers are somewhat weaker versions of the heavy flamer.  It carries enough fuel for a long, protracted burst, able to engulf an enemy infantry unit in promethium flame.  No expert marksmanship is needed and cover will grant your enemies no benefit against the flamer unit. Its range is indeed short, but as a one shot equalizer prior to a charge its usefulness is unmatched.  As a general rule, all of these weapons work well during a drop pod or teleport deployment”

            Midael moved to stand by the absorbed Techmarine. “Of course our Techmarines’ fine craftsmanship will give many of these weapons, both ranged and close combat, greater degrees of accuracy.  You must decide whether it is worth risking one of these fine weapons on the field of battle.”

            Zaamael asked, “What else is available to me from the armory?”

            “As I mentioned, you may choose any of the combi-weapons or close combat weapons we have spoken about.  The powersword is a fine choice, but should you find it necessary to bear another weapon, then so be it.  Many of our older Battle Brothers choose to bring Lightning Claws into battle with them, to retain a bit of the edge we had with our older fighting styles.  Leave your heavy weapons to your squad mates; having to operate them will distract you in battle.  And finally, in general it is best to leave the combi-melta and plasma weapons to your more experienced brethren.”

            Midael glanced down at Zaamael’s now bionic left arm. “Use your injury to your advantage. Do not be afraid to put that limb in harms way.  I have seen more than one bionic enhancement sacrificed to save a Space Marine’s life. Remember that it can always be rebuilt, but warriors are difficult to replace.”

            Zaamael glanced down at his arm.  He felt indifferent about the loss of his limb. There was no shortage of Battle Brothers with such replacements.  Wounds were common on the battlefield, but Midael’s emphasis on survival and using every advantage he could gave him a new view on the implant.  He nodded and waited for his superior to continue.

            “There are really only two other pieces of equipment you should concern yourself with.  The first is the Auspex.  Many enemies will try to use stealth to set upon you in battle.  The auspex will give you a chance to detect them and foil their plans.  They have a short range, but are not pieces of expensive technology.  If you feel that your enemy may use such infiltration tactics heavily, then it should be easy to find the resources to bring a few of these scanners with you.

            “Finally there is the teleport homer.  You may remember that I mentioned earlier that equipment existed to enhance the accuracy of a teleport strike.  If one of your Battle Brother’s stands on the battlefield with an activated homer, a teleporting squad can land near them with pinpoint accuracy.  This allows us to rapidly overwhelm a specific area of the battlefield, bringing all of our might to bear against a few specific targets.  If your commander indicates that the squads will be deployed via the teleporters, having a teleport homer with you is recommended.”

            Master Midael gestured towards the exit and Zaamael led the way out of the Techmarine’s workshop.

                        *                                              *                                              *

            They continued their discussion as they moved through the Rock.  They began ascending to higher levels now, towards the actual Citadel itself.   As he passed many of the Chapter’s members, they gave him their congratulations for his achievement.  Zaamael mustered what thanks he could, taking it all with a soldier’s reserve.

            If they only knew what they truly spoke of…

            As they moved out of the large assembly areas of the Citadel and into the upper levels, Midael pitched his voice lower.  “You will find, Brother, that your newfound knowledge, however grim, will spur you on to great feats of heroism.  In the service of the Chapter you will stand before foes you would never have thought to engage before and will do so fearlessly. The creed you have undertaken will embolden you, will strengthen you.  Each Brother that falls beside you will drive you forward.  Each menace that blocks your way will only make you wish to overcome.  You will find a core of stubborn resolve that will allow you to move freely through the battlefield.  What we do is right, it is just, and that shall carry you through even the darkest days of warfare.

            “Also, as you fight you will come to learn the skills of a true veteran.  You will either serve as the leader of a squad or as an adjunct to one of the company’s commanders in their retinue.  Each carries with it a subtly different role.”

            “What are those different roles, Master?”

            Midael grinned wryly.  “Well, it is no secret that Marine Commanders like to lead from the front.  Even more so in the First Company.  When escorting one of our revered Inner Circle members, expect to be embroiled in many assaults.  Our Librarians and Interrogator-Chaplains especially like to deal with the enemies of the Emperor personally.  They can train you in the intimidating skills of the furious charge.  During such a charge, your enemies will waver in their resolve and openings will present themselves to you that will allow you to strike faster and with greater force. Your powerfist wielding brothers will gain little benefit, but you yourself and the warrior you escort will be as angels of death among lesser mortals.  It is a skill that is worth learning if you join an aggressive commander.

            “Another alternative would be to focus on your anti-tank skills.  Learn the vulnerable points of an enemy vehicle; you will find your assault cannons striking truer then, I assure you.  Even a Storm Bolter, used precisely, can stop one of our own Rhino’s!”

            Zaamael raised an eyebrow at his superior, wondering if he was finally being put on.  He had heard of such feats, but had rarely seen them demonstrated on the battlefield.  Terminators were certainly the elite of the elite, but could they be that effective with their weaponry?

            “You look surprised, but consider this.  We’ve tracked the results of our training regimen against a variety of armored targets.  They were surprising, even to us.  With proper tank hunter training, a Terminator’s storm bolter is twice as effective at damaging lightly armored vehicles such as a Land Speeder or the hated Eldar Vyper.  And there have been cases where massed, precision fire has caused a traitor Rhino to grind to a halt.  With teleporting or drop pod tactics the effect is even more pronounced, and in some cases heavy vehicles have had their engines disabled or fuel stores exploded because of a hail of mass-reactive bolts against its weak rear armor.

            “With the assault cannon we noticed that efficiency against medium vehicles also doubled.  Consider the majority of vehicles that fall into this class: fast moving, xeno skimmers.  Many of them, like the notorious Eldar Falcon, are extremely difficult to hit accurately, let alone damage.  Volume of fire often plays a huge role against these vehicles, as reliable penetrating hits are almost never guaranteed due to their high speed.  Yet we’ve found that scoring many weaker glancing hits can often cause similar effects.  We’ve even noticed increased efficiency against the heaviest of vehicles.  All in all, such training should be capitalized on by standard Terminator squads, while assault training should be taught to a Command Squad escort.”

            These facts did indeed startle Zaamael, but he was most curious now about where they were next headed.  He had never been to this area of the Citadel, but knew it from reputation.  They moved into a high ceilinged chamber, with row upon row of ancient texts resting on huge stone shelves. Of to one side, servitors sat at ancient archival terminals, processing tremendous stores of data for their Dark Angel masters.  Standing before them was none other Codicier Malakh.  The Codicier was a fearsome sight to behold.  He stood completely shrouded in a black robe trimmed with white. His face was lost in underneath the robes shroud.  His hands were folded in his sleeve, revealing nothing to those he faced. His reputation spoke for him.  He was amongst the most zealous of the Dark Angels, and had served as their eyes and ears within the Ordo Xeno’s Deathwatch Marines for over a decade.  He was uncompromising and it was said that he could see into the future.  The mysterious psyker’s legendary stubbornness was no doubt due to his prescient abilities.  When you can envision the path of the choices before you, no doubt a certain surety of mind comes with any final decision you make.

            Thus, it was no surprise when he looked up at them and said, “I have been expecting you.”

            “We thank you for your time, Brother Codicier.” Midael gestured to Zaamael beside him. “This is-“

            “Yes, he needs no introduction.”

            Zaamael looked at the Codicier with suspicion. “Can you read minds then, as well? You know who I am even at a glance?”

            A dark chuckle issued from beneath the depths of Malakh’s hood.  “Nothing so arcane.  It was my duty to instruct the servitors in recording your battle report.  No report related to the actions of the First Company is ever entered into the archives without first being cleared by the Chapter’s Librarians.  Besides, I know how fond Master Midael is of making the rounds with his newest Sergeants.” He beckoned for them to follow him deeper into the hall.  Eventually they came to a small side chamber dominated only by a single, stone chair, which Malakh eased himself into.

            “Still, all time is precious, so I shall be brief. Midael no doubt wishes for me to tell you more of a psykers abilities in battle.”  Zaamael looked to his superior for confirmation, but Malakh simply plunged ahead.  “There are six primary techniques taught to Space Marine psykers.  One of those techniques has its origins in this very Chapter. Librarians are first and foremost warriors of the Chapter, and as Space Marines it is logical that the techniques we are trained in all have battlefield applications.

            “The first technique is known as the Storm of the Emperor’s Wrath.  It is a short ranged power, but in can cook even heavily armored infantry in its area of effect.  The blast is small, but effective.  All in all, however, it is the weakest power at our disposal and the close range nature of the effect prevents widespread battlefield use amongst our Librarians.

            “The second technique is far more prevalent and effective. Fury of the Ancients.  A wave of psychic energy can be released to scour across the battlefield, damaging anything in its wake.  Terrain or line of sight does not matter.  The wave will stop only if it comes upon a friendly Dark Angels unit.  Such is the power of the wave that it has a chance to injure even mighty monstrous creatures or vehicles, albeit a slim one.  Against weaker, more cowardly opponents, however, the sight of such an effect is often enough to pin them in place with fear.

            “And fear is a powerful weapon.  We have learned to employ the third technique, Fear of the Darkness, for almost ten millennia.  Again, the technique is a short ranged one, but it radiates out in all directions from the Librarian.  Those who do not have the stomach for a true fight against the Emperor’s Space Marines will flee in terror.  So powerful is the effect that even loyal Space Marines have fallen victim to this fear in exercises.  It is truly a devastating power when employed in the thick of the enemy lines, such as after a bold deep strike deployment.  Whole armies have fled the field when confronted with such terror.” Malakh sounded more than a little pleased at the prospect of such a sight.

            “The fourth technique is strictly for use in hand to hand combat.  Might of Heroes.  The Librarian can use the warp to strengthen himself or a member of his squad, imbuing them with combat skills and supernatural speed.  The recipient becomes a whirling dervish, striking out at his enemies many more times than he would normally be capable of.  Use alone by the Librarian, the effect is often wasted.  Our prowess in assault rarely requires such a boost. But granted upon a member of his retinue… on say, the Sergeant of the squad…”  Zaamael was not sure that he relished that thought.  “..then the two working in concert together will prove fatal to any that stand against them.”

            Zaamael broke the tension he felt by asking, “What is the fifth technique, Brother Codicier?”

            Malakh stood slowly and spoke in almost an ethereal voice.  “The Veil of Time… a powerful prediction technique.  A Librarian armed with the knowledge of the immediate future can allow him to act with almost godlike precision.  His aim will become true, his armor will be impervious and he will lead his troops fearlessly before him.  It is a rare and powerful gift indeed, but one that benefits only the Librarian, and only when he is able to act.  This is a marked difference from the Might of Heroes technique.  Might of Heroes is much more useful when the Librarian leads a squad, but the Veil is better for one who travels unescorted.”

            Mideal spoke up.  “Tell him about the last technique.”

            Malakh was silent for a moment before speaking in a low voice.  “The Vortex of Doom. Risky.  Some even claim it borders on heresy to even employ it.”

            Zaamael was curious.  “Heresy?  Is the power that corrupting, then?”

            The Codicier gave another one of his dark chuckles.  “Oh, yes, Brother Sergeant. The Vortex opens a rift between Warp space and our world, sucking those who haven’t the reflexes to dodge it into complete oblivion.  Armor will not help you.  If you cannot evade the Vortex, you are doomed.  It has little effect on our faster enemies, such as the debaucherous Eldar.  What’s more, it is difficult to bring the Vortex into place exactly where the Librarian desires.  In fact, some unfortunate warriors have done little more than destroy themselves with this unleashed power.

            “All of these powers carry some risk to the psyker that employs them.  Psycho-somatic wounds and internal bleeding can be caused from improperly controlling this power.  It is our gift, and our curse.” 

The bitterness was unmistakable in Malakh’s voice.  Where had he come from?  Had he been persecuted amongst his people because of his strange abilities? The decision to make the attempt to become a Space Marine must surely be most difficult for a Chapter’s Librarians, exploited for the very talent that made them witches across the galaxy. And such duty to the Inner Circle! Even through his ingrained suspicion Zaamael found a bit of sympathy for Malakh in that moment.

“These techniques require intense concentration, and a Librarian can only employ one of them at a time.  Also, many of these techniques are ranged attacks.  A Librarian with such a power has little use for a Storm Bolter or combi-weapon.  If a Librarian relies on Fury of the Ancients as his primary mode of attack, he will often bring with him some kind of power weapon.  Most Librarians choose a simple powersword to compliment their force weapon, since they can be used with similar agility.  Likewise, a Storm Shield is often carried by those Librarians who expect to face powerful creatures or daemons.  The force weapon of a Librarian is a powerful weapon indeed against such beings.  If the Librarian can solidly wound one of these terrors, he can channel a blast of psychic energy through his force weapon to snuff the life force from his enemy. A Storm Shield will help him counter the powerful attacks such beings wield to buy him that chance.

“A lone Librarian employing the Veil of Time, however, would benefit from a ranged weapon because of the preternatural accuracy the power grants him. I myself favor a combi-melta, and I have never missed with the melta-gun yet.”

Malakh began to lead the pair back out of the hall.  “One final consideration when fighting beside a Librarian.  You have little to fear from enemy psykers.  The psychic hood we employ can nullify nearly any enemy psychic power.  In the hands of an Epistolary especially it is a potent equalizer against the Sorcerers of Chaos or the Warlocks of the Eldar.”

They came to the entrance of the hall and Malakh stopped.  “And so here I leave you.  Brother Sariel finishes his prayers with some of our Battle Company brethren.  I expect you will find him in the main chapel.”  With little more than a brief bow, Malakh moved back into the gloom of the archives.

            *                                              *                                              *

“An odd soldier.  I had not realized before now just how different they were from us.”

Midael nodded at Zaamael’s observation as they made their way back down to the main chapel.  “True, but I tell you this.  I would rather have a capable Librarian by my side in battle over even the most faithful Interrogator-Chaplain.”

Zaamael looked at him in stunned surprise.  “Truly, Master?”

“Oh, indeed.  The Librarians are strange, to be sure, but they bring with them capabilities no other warrior can match.  I have fought beside Epistolary Haqadesh on many occasions.  His abilities with Fear and Fury have razed the battlefield and sent the heretics fleeing for their lives.  And more than one self-styled demon spawned “Prince” has fallen to his force axe.”

“Such power…,”  Zaamael said softly.

“As Malakh said, a blessing and a curse.  Yet no single warrior can wreak as much havoc as a well trained Librarian, and I suspect Haqadesh’s abilities have saved my life and the lives of our Brothers many times over.”

When they arrived at one of the many entrances to the main chapel, a contingent of 3^rd Company marines was making their way out, many of them already donning their helmets.  The next four hours for them would consist of grueling combat training, replaying the events of the battle below.  Lessons had to be learned for future encounters.

Interrogator-Chaplain Sariel closed the tome that rested on the podium before him. It was an ancient copy of the Litanies of Duty, and one he had memorized decades before.  Yet he always carried it with him to sermon.  Tangible reminders were strong reinforcements of faith.

Symbols, always symbols, thought Zaamael.

“Master Midael, Brother Zaamael.  I am honored by your presence.”

“Nay, it is we who are honored by your example, Brother Chaplain,” Midael replied.

Sariel smiled at the compliment, nodding to Midael in acknowledgement. He cast his gaze towards Zaamael, his bionic eye gleaming.  “And you, Brother Sergeant?  Has your journey into our honored ranks been difficult?”

There were still too many members of the 3^rd Company to speak in specifics, Zaamael knew.  In fact, he suspected that Sariel was testing him, seeing if he would speak openly. Zaamael decided to give him a shrouded truth.  Without even a glance around him, he returned the Chaplain’s stare and said, “Of course it has been difficult, Brother Chaplain.  Could one expect less from the Emperor’s most elite warriors?”

Sariel’s smile grew wider before he said, “Indeed not.  Should you find further transition difficult, however, do not hesitate to come and discuss your concerns with me.  We embolden each other, Brother.”  Zaamael nodded in silent acceptance, confident that he had answered appropriately.

Midael broke in, saying “I am giving Sergeant Zaamael a primer on Terminator tactics and thought he might benefit from your counsel.  You spend much of your time in the field with your Deathwatch brethren, after all.”

Sariel nodded slowly and lead them to his private chamber off of the chapel floor.  “And here we can discuss such things with greater privacy.”  Sariel closed the door behind them and indicated a plain, but functional bench for them to use.  The room was Spartan, containing little more than the few benches against the walls and two unlit braziers suspended from tripods in the far corners of the chamber. A more ornate robe hung from a wooden peg by the door.  Sariel crossed over to a small bookcase and replaced the tome he had been carrying beside many other that bore marks of similar age.  He muttered a short prayer under his breath before sitting across from them.

“I appreciate that you value discretion, Brother Zaamael.  It is unfortunate that we must keep such secrets from our fellow Marines, but, alas, such is the nature of our crime.”

“It will not always be thus,” Zaamael vowed.

His implication was clear and he sent an approving look to Midael before returning his attention to the Sergeant.  “With warriors such as yourself forming the core of our cause, I believe you are right.  Yet you came for strategic counsel today.  What can I do for you?”

Zaamael confidently took the initiative.  “Explain, if you would Brother Interrogator-Chaplain, the role that you serve in a deployed Deathwing force.”

Sariel nodded, saying, “Gladly.  As with any force of Space Marines, it falls to the Chaplain to maintain morale and purity amongst his Brother Marines.  It is this purity that primarily concerns us in the ranks of the Deathwing.  Morale is rarely at issue; as you said, you are the elite of the elite.  But the horrors you face, the awful truths…  They can be difficult to bear.  We will help to ease that burden.

“Of course, our function goes much deeper than that.  Redemption of the Fallen is our primary concern.  Every wayward warrior that is returned to us must be cleansed of his past misdeeds.”

Zaamael did not yet want to know the details of these redemptions.  Instead he pressed onward.  “And on the battlefield itself?  How do you prefer to fight?”

“We favor taking the fight directly to our enemies and engaging them in hand to hand.  Our Rosarius force-field protects us from weapons that would cleave through even our tough suits of Terminator armor while our Crozius Arcanum ensures that the Emperor’s will is done.

“Of one thing I am absolutely certain:  No Chaplain lead squad will falter in its faith on the battlefield. If an objective must be taken and held, a Chaplain is your best choice to do so.  We Dark Angels are known for being intractable, to be sure, when we stand amongst our battle brothers we ensure that we are also immovable. 

“And woe unto the enemies that stand before a charge lead by that same Chaplain.  We constantly seek to improve our brethren and they seek to prove their loyalty to the Emperor through the Chaplain.  There is no better proof than in destroying the enemies of the Emperor through sheer force of arms.  A marine that charges beside a Chaplain will prove himself with unerring strikes.”

“What do you bring into battle with you?”

Sariel shrugged.  “We require little, really.  Our Crozius Arcanum and Rosarius will see us through most battles well, especially when we are encased in Tactical Dreadnought Armor.  Many of us prefer a simple Storm Bolter to provide supporting fire on an approach to a target.  Others prefer another close combat weapon, such as a powersword.  I myself favor a Thunder Hammer or a chainfist.  Many Chaplains who escort an assault terminator squad will even replace their Crozius with a pair of Lightning Claws. We are very flexible combatants, but again, remember that we fare best locked in close combat with the enemy.”

“I see…  I think that covers all of my questions.”  Zaamael moved to stand, Midael joining him, but Sariel remained seated for a moment.

“Where do you take him next, Master Midael?”

“To the vehicle bay,” replied Midael.  “It is time he got a better look at the other assets reserved for the First Company’s use.”

Sariel nodded slowly, and then stood.  He crossed over to Zaamael and watched him closely before speaking. “Kezef’s recommendation was proper, I think.  You will do well in his stead.”

Zaamael was momentarily confused.  “His... recommendation?  What do you mean?  Has his gene-seed not already been re-collected?”

Sariel smiled slowly.  “Kezef survives, Brother, though his wounds were indeed grievous.  The Apothecaries revived him long enough for him to tell of your valor in combat.  He insisted that you were to join us.  He said that if he survived he would be truly honored to fight by your side.”

Zaamael was stunned, speechless.  “And… his condition?  Will he fight again?”

Sariel nodded.  “He shall, but his body could not be saved.  Instead he is to be interred in one of the Chapter’s hallowed Dreadnoughts. The Interrogator-Chaplain’s agreed to it only moments before my sermon.  The body of the traitorous Fallen he recovered was…  well, let us say that we had been after him for some time.”

Even Midael seemed surprised.  Kezef’s reputation as a member of the Deathwing was indeed impressive, but to be interred in one of the Chapter’s few Dreadnoughts was a tremendous honor indeed!

“He will not be ready for you to receive him for some time, of course, but I am sure that he will wish to commend you personally once he is brought to full awareness.  I shall keep you informed.”  Sariel crossed over to the door and let the still stunned marines out.

            *                                              *                                              *

“To be immortalized as a Dreadnought…”  Zaamael shook his head as they made their way down to the vehicle bay and ship dock.  They traveled in a little used side passage.  It was not the shortest route, but it was the most private.  Both knew that it suited their purposes well.  “I had no idea Kezef’s deeds were so important.”

“Nor I,” Midael honestly replied.  “Still, it’s possible that he has done far more than is publicly known, and far more than even I know.  Some of the actions of the Deathwing have not even made it into the archives in any form.  Their deeds are recorded only in the memories of the Grandmasters themselves. Many of them have served the Chapter as Dreadnoughts for reasons that will never see the light of day.

“Let us speak of Dreadnoughts in more detail, Brother Zaamael.  I doubt we will see one of our honored brethren in the hanger bay, and I would not deign to disturb their slumber.”

“As you command, Master.”

“A Space Marine Dreadnought is a rare engine of war, as rare as our precious suits of Terminator armor.  While our Techmarines have the ability to repair them and our Apothecaries can install our wounded heroes into their armored shells the knowledge of their construction has been lost.

“The basic frame of a Dreadnought consists of a moderately armored shell that surrounds the entombed core.  Squat, powerful legs keep the walker moving forward.  Its weapon arms are highly modular, allowing the warrior within to select his armament before heading to battle.

“Its nature as a walker allows it to move through terrain as an infantryman would.  While it does not have the speed of most other vehicles, it is ideal for spearheading or flanking a Terminator formation.  Canny Terminator Sergeants will position their squads in such a way as to use the bulk of the Dreadnought as a shield from incoming fire.  If a squad must cross open ground, doing so with a Dreadnought escort is often the best way.  Even if the Dreadnought cannot shield you completely, your enemy will be forced to decide where to split his fire.  As we discussed before, many of the weapons that can take a Terminator armored marine out of action are also well suited for dealing with vehicles.  Your enemy will have a tough decision on his hands.

“Dreadnoughts can also deploy to the battlefield via drop pods, making them well suited for the kinds of attacks the Deathwing like to employ.

“The Dreadnought’s left arm mounts a powerful close combat weapon.  It will easily ignore conventional armor and can destroy even the C’Tan’s Monolith vehicle if it lands a solid hit.  In close combat a Dreadnought often counts for as many as ten Space Marines.  A combined assault of a Dreadnought and a Terminator squad is almost sure to route all but the most fearless of enemies and what’s more, our Dreadnought brethren can pursue them where our Terminator armor cannot.”

Zaamael thought that over.  Terminator armor was indeed ponderous.  They could not always capitalize on the opportunity a fleeing enemy presented them. He would remember that the Dreadnoughts could often simply power their way through resistance to slaughter a broken unit.

“The left arm also typically mounts a Storm Bolter or Heavy Flamer.  The Storm Bolter is adequate if the walker must cross several hundred meters of terrain, but the Heavy Flamer optimal prior to an assault or coming out of a drop pod.  And of course the entire arm assembly can be replaced with a missile launcher.”

“How badly does that compromise its abilities in close combat, Master,” Zaamael asked.

“Without its weapon arm a Dreadnought is more suited for tying up an enemy unit than outright destroying it.  Armor will turn aside its blows, but the walker still retains its full bulk and, again, a combined assault will be devastating.

“A Dreadnought’s ranged weaponry consists primarily of the assault cannon, twin-linked lascannon and less common choices such as the multi-melta or plasma cannon.  The assault cannon is a solid choice regardless of the role the Dreadnought will play, but it is especially useful when delivered to the field in a drop pod.  So to is the multi-melta.  If you must destroy a vehicle a multi-melta equipped drop pod Dreadnought will likely do the job for you.  Still, that is a highly specialized role.

“Plasma cannons also have a very specific role.  While effective against power armored targets and even traitor Terminators, their blast effect is best employed when used against a unit that deep strikes onto the battlefield.  Often the threat of a plasma cannon will create a ‘no drop zone’ around the Dreadnought, forcing your enemy to deal with the Dreadnought before his reinforcements can safely arrive.

“The lascannon is best used with a missile launcher arm as both ranges are comparable and both can inflict damage on vehicle targets.  The missile launcher also gives the Dreadnought a secondary role against infantry, but I would not expect it to be particularly effective.  A lascannon/missile launcher Dreadnought is a specialized unit that primarily is there to destroy hardened targets.  In fact, it does it very very well.

“There are many different combinations available to the entombed warrior, of course. Many will depend on his personal preferences.  In general he should decide what part he wants to play in the battle and stick to it.  Will he drop pod in?  In that case short ranged weaponry and assault arms are recommended. Extra armor to make sure he can advance would be a wise investment.  Is the Dreadnought providing long ranged fire support?  If so then a lascannon and missile launcher arm makes sense, or perhaps a plasma cannon to discourage packed groups.  Extra armor will allow the Dreadnought to move behind cover if threatened, but it’s not as essential.  A searchlight, however, is invaluable in night conditions and is one of the best platforms for the Deathwing to field them.

“A Dreadnought that is escorting a Terminator squad has the most flexibility in armament.  The standard Dreadnought configuration will likely serve well.  Smoke and Extra Armor will give the Dreadnought and added degree of survivability, thus insuring the Terminators reach their target. Of course, truly venerable battle brothers are tougher still.  Many of them can shrug off damage through sheer force of will, it seems.  And they too can benefit from special training like Terminators can.  If the commander can authorize the Grandmaster to release one of these heroic warriors to the field, then if is always worth it to do so.  In general I advocate bringing as many Dreadnoughts as you can, regardless of your mission.”

“Why is that, Master?”

“Because you present your enemy with a plethora of hard targets.  A Dreadnought is not a heavy tank, true, but they will serve to draw fire away from the Terminators.  A Dreadnought can be repaired, but a dead marine is a potential loss of gene seed and, regardless, it is the Terminators, not the Dreadnoughts, which usually ensure victory.  One other point to note is that having one or two long range support Dreadnought along will free up your Terminator squads’ need to carry long ranged weapons like Cyclones.  You will maximize your firepower by having the Dreadnoughts focus on vehicle targets while your Terminators focus on the infantry.”

Zaamael nodded in understanding.  “No wasted bolter fire.”

Midael snapped his fingers.  “Exactly. And what’s more, from a logistics standpoint, two Dreadnoughts consume a similar amount of the company’s resources as compared to a Cyclone Terminator squad.”

They were silent for a time, before Zaamael spoke again.  “Master Midael, just who was the warrior we recovered from that basilica?”

Midael shot him a sidelong glance.  “I do not know, Brother Sergeant.  Whomever he was it was obvious that the Interrogator-Chaplains’ had been after him for some time.”

“Are the identities kept that secret, even amongst the Inner Circle commanders?”

“As I mentioned before, there are layers of secrecy, even within the Inner Circle.  And only the Librarians have all of the names recorded in the Book of Salvation.  We each know some of the outstanding traitors, but not all of them. I could speculate on who it might be, but it would not be wise for me to do so.”  Midael fixed Zaamael with a look that left no room for doubt.  “Nor should you.”

Zaamael nodded in reply.  “Message received, Master.”  He would obey.  In truth, there had been quite enough revelations for one day cycle.

            *                                              *                                              *

They continued the rest of the way in reflective silence.  Eventually the side passage led them into a service access hall that branched directly off of one of the Chapter’s main staging areas. The hanger was huge, over a kilometer wide, all of it gleaming metal.  Vehicles of every kind in the Dark Angel’s arsenal sat, ready for action should they be needed.  In the distance, beyond the force field that led into open space, they could see one of the Chapter’s Battle Barges, the Indomitable, bombarding the planet below.  The cleansing would still take time, of course, but the Tyranid threat did not extend to orbit. 

Purgatus.  Soon nothing on that planet would be a threat.  All that would be left would be lifeless rock.  No trace would be left to connect any secret transgressions to the Dark Angels.  How many other times had this been done?  Who had paid the price?  Just how far had the Chapter gone to erase its past?

Zaamael did not care to dwell much on the thought.  That the planet was infested with the foul xenos was a fact. It needed to be cleansed, of course. No human life had remained on it for over a century.  But Zaamael knew that some purges were done while humans still remained on the ground…

His body had continued walking even while his mind wandered.  The rap of Midael’s knuckle on a metal hall roused him to full awareness.  There before him was one of the company’s many Land Raider tanks, painted in the unmistakable bleached bone scheme the Deathwing preferred.  This was a codex pattern Land Raider, twin-lascannon mounted on each side, twin-heavy bolter in the top turret.  The assault ramp lay open, ready to embark its cargo at a moment’s notice.  A transport Thunderhawk sat only thirty meters away.  All of it spoke of rapid readiness.

“Few marines have the honor of riding to battle in a Land Raider, but for the Terminators of the Deathwing, it is your only ground mobile option.  No Rhino can hold a squad of marines in Tactical Dreadnought Armor.  Only the powerful Land Raider has this capability.

“The standard pattern is a fearsome beast, but also a bit of a jack of all trades. At first glance it seems to be a heavy tank.  The twin-lascannon on each side primarily serves to destroy other heavily armored targets at range, but this heavy armament lacks the full traverse that a tank turret would have. The heavy bolters, meanwhile, will do little damage to all but the lightest vehicles, while the lascannons will make a small impact on most infantry squads.  The heavy bolters can fire while the tank is moving at half speed, but the both lascannon cannot without the help of the onboard Machine Spirit.  Lastly, the vehicle seems primarily to serve as a transport for heavy infantry, and in such a role the tank will commonly be moving full ahead, thus negating the possibility of firing any onboard weapon systems.

“For all of its mismatched purposes, however, the Land Raider does have some advantages of note.  It is fully armored on all sides.  There is Transport space for up to five Terminator armored marines, and thanks to the assault ramp they can move immediately into hand to hand after deploying from the vehicle. If the crew is stunned, the Machine Spirit can allow it to plow straight ahead until they recover.  Additionally the vehicle’s Machine Spirit can take control of one of its weapon systems.  Also, no enemy can ignore the threat of a Land Raider on the battlefield. Regardless of whether it is used to transport infantry or not, it will always be able to contest an objective.

“A few upgrades to the Land Raider can make it even more effective in combat. Simple smoke launchers can provide you with much needed concealment as you advance full speed.  Dozer blades will allow you to push through tight terrain. Extra armor plates can be installed to reduce the effect of damage on the crew.  Finally, additional weapon systems can be installed in the form of a pintle-mounted Storm Bolter or Hunter-Killer missile.”

Zaamael studied the awesome vehicle.  Land Raiders were amongst the toughest tanks the Imperium had to offer. Only the Imperial Guard’s superheavy tanks and the Titans of the Adeptus Mechanicus could outarmor and outgun them. Still, Midael’s comments highlighted how difficult it was to strike a balance in the tank’s use.  Land Raiders primarily served the Deathwing in a transport role, moving Terminators directly into the heart of a conflict.  The need for speed versus the application of firepower during the advance would have to be managed well.

Midael moved further into the bay and they passed perhaps half a dozen other Land Raiders not unlike the one they examined.  The tank he stopped at, though, was different than the other models on the hanger floor.  It seemed to be the only one of its kind.  Where the lascannons should be were racks of six bolters, belts of ammunition leading into the body of the vehicle.  Twin-assault cannons replaced the heavy bolter of the standard model, and a multi-melta was mounted on one of the cupola hatches.  Box like contraptions had been built into the front of the vehicle and the whole hull seemed to be reinforced with armor plating.

“For delivering assault Terminators into the heart of a conflict no vehicle is better at it than the Land Raider Crusader, a pattern we borrowed from the Black Templar’s.  The vehicle has extra armor already affixed to it.  The lascannons and their heavy capacitors have been removed to make room for more transport space.  This tank can bring up to eight Terminator armored marines into battle, a truly fearsome number.  ‘Hurricane’ bolters replace the lascannon on each side.  Each ‘Hurricane’ unit consists of three twin boltguns firing at full cyclic rates. The multi-melta gives the tank its tank busting firepower while the assault cannons… well… they generally destroy whatever the gunner aims them at.”

Zaamael pointed to the boxes on the front of the vehicle.  “What are those there for, Master?”

“Fragmentation launchers.  They explode prior to an assault and drive the target from their cover.  Since Terminators cannot carry small frag grenades, this is the next best thing.”

Zaamael nodded.  “This vehicle’s purpose is very clear, then.  Move troops to an objective and take it.”

“You are indeed correct.  Although it cannot fire its weapons at full speed, it can let loose with its entire arsenal at half speed.  Infantry have little chance against the bolters and assault cannons, especially at close range, and even vehicles have difficulty should the assault cannon combine its fire with the multi-melta.”

Midael moved next to Zaamael to admire the view of the tank before speaking again.  “Remember, though, that the commitment of a Land Raider to the battlefield is a significant drain on the Chapter’s resources.  Most small conflicts will never see one fielded, and even larger battles will only feature a few.  Also, a Land Raider, regardless of model, filled with Terminators will present the enemy with a tempting target.  Should the vehicle be destroyed, you now face a difficult prospect of moving your warriors into the battle on foot.  There is an ancient expression that goes, ‘Do not put all of your eggs in one basket.’ And Terminators make for very expensive eggs.”

Midael continued as they began to walk out of the hanger.  “Of course, your commander will determine how you will deploy.  A wise commander can use the inherent advantages of standard Terminatus pattern marines without having to resort to commitment of one of the Chapter’s Land Raiders.”

            *                                              *                                              *

They had finally made their way back to Zaamael’s sleep cell.  Midael once again stood in the doorway, watching the young Sergeant.  “Your training has just begun.  Do you have any other questions for me before I attend to my other duties, Brother?”

Zaamael turned towards him.  “Indeed, I do.  We have discussed many things this day, Master.  How to keep my unit alive, how to coordinate our firepower, how to equip our squads, how to take advantage of our vehicle assets, and even how our Librarians and Chaplains will fight at our side.  But how will you choose to fight at our side?”

Midael laughed and nodded.  “That is a broad question indeed, Brother.  Each commander is different.  Each wishes to deploy his forces in a different way.  Some prefer to take their Terminators to the field on foot, relying on the squad’s organic firepower to accomplish the mission. Others prefer a strong point assault with Land Raider transports.  Still others advocate deep striking strategies.  There is no “best” approach; each is suited to a commander’s personal style. 

“And we each have our preferences when it comes to equipment.”

“What do you prefer?”

Midael’s eyes glittered.  “Lightning Claws.  Simply Lightning Claws. Grandmaster Chassan often calls upon me to spearhead his assaults and I do so gladly.  But Grandmaster Chassan prefers a much different selection.  He prefers to carry a powerful combi-melta crafted from our finest forges and bears the powerful Sword of Secrets at his side.”

The mention of the Sword made Zaamael’s eyes glitter.  Cut from a single block of jet black stone, the edge had not shown wear in its entire long history.  It was a powerful weapon indeed and in the hands of a Grandmaster of the Deathwing, the only possible wielder, enemies of the Chapter would fall in scores.  Rumor had it that the Sword could strike almost as hard as a powerfist wielding marine with none of the disadvantages.  A Grandmaster wielding the Sword was Death incarnate, fearful of no foe.

“Know that whoever leads you into battle will do so with the full force of his ability.  A Master or Grandmaster’s presence on the battlefield is felt even over great distances.  Heed their wisdom, remember their training and above all protect the warriors under your command.  Do these things and your will succeed.”

Zaamael and Midael shared a final nod of mutual recognition.  They were done for now, and both knew it.  The Deathwing Master moved off down the hall while Zaamael resumed the position he had affected when Midael first came to see him.  This time, however, his hands were relaxed.  His head was held high.  His mind still questioned, true, but the answers would come in time. 

Traitors!

Yes, the crime had been committed and the Unforgiven paid for it even to this day.  Yet what Zaamael had told the Interrogator-Chaplain was true.  It would not always be this way.  It might take another ten millennia or more, and he would certainly not be alive to see it, but the veil of secrecy would eventually be parted. The Chapter’s honor would be restored. Asmodai’s word did indeed burn in his mind.  Yet another word burned there as well

Duty.

Together they gave Zaamael his strength.