Angels of Light

A story, part 1

The bell tolled once, slowly and mournfully, its peal rolling across the land. Then it rang a second and third time before falling silent. The people gathered in the dark below waited with baited breath, anticipation in their eyes as they gazed to the west. Then as a faint glimmer it came, the sky growing lighter, the stars dimmer. Soon the first rays of the morning light crested the horizon and the bells rang in joyous celebration.

--

Captain West ducked down low behind the smoking hull or a rhino, nodding to her command squad. All around was the noise of battle – the rapport of bolters, the crack of lasers, and the thunderous roar of artillery. The city was dark in the pre-dawn, save for the stark flash that came with every blast and explosion. Angles of light shot out from between ruined windows and doorways. The city was in the final stages of its death, collapsing upon itself under the weight of the slaughter. Half her company was dead, they were all wounded, and low on supplies. But all that concerned her was the far end of the bridge.


The hated Tau were dug in, defending their final bastion to the last. They were cut off and surrounded, but their position was as perfect as one could be in this situation: an island at the edge of the city that once housed the Governor’s palace. It was accessible by a single span some seven hundred metres long, and a maze of administratum buildings surrounded the palace. They were all smashed to pieces, the towering structures reduced to rubble for the most part. But the Tau were there, hiding one of their Etherals in there. Should he be slain the entire enemy effort would be thrown into disarray. They had to get across.


Casting a quick glance over the edge of the makeshift barricade West sized up the defences. Railguns blasted away from the far shoreline, delicate spirals of blue static trailing in the wake of their shells. Periodic bursts of pulse laser and rocket fire erupted before the shooters relocated to avoid counter fire. The bridge was wide, and could accommodate two vehicles either way. A number of ruined civilian vehicles littered the roadway, providing cover but limiting any armoured support. At the far end she could just make out a makeshift blockhouse through the smoke and gloom.


Looking back to her battle lines she saw troopers standing to fire bursts at the enemy, but more still sought cover. Too many were broken and bloodied, too many lay wounded on the ground, too many lay dying. Too many lay dead. Apothecary Varela was stooped over a fallen trooper, Hartner she thought, removing his geneseed. She frowned, Hartner had only made his stripes a few months ago. Turning away she looked at her remaining command section.

Sergeant McGarret was crouched low, the company standard in his gauntleted hands. Next to him was Sergeant Sztaba, his grim features partially hidden under a swathe of bloody bandages. Trooper Bruskott was trying to raise some close range artillery support on his vox unit. West watched as he held his hand to his helmet, the rainbow pattern blurring as his head bobbed up and down. Cho was there, his armour black, a grinning skull painted on his helm. But this was not the Cho she had served alongside for so long, who had risked life and limb with her on hundreds of worlds and campaigns. That Cho had died many years ago, but the honour of the chapter would never die, so Chaplain Cho lived on eternally.

She thought of all the names and faces she had fought beside over her life. Faulkes, Moon, Sonkkila, Nils, Bootes... all gone. They would carry the Light of The Emperor in eternity, heroes each and every one, but the weight of their loss was a heavy burden to bear. She suddenly felt very alone, desiring to see the sun rise from Council Hill once again, to smell the fresh bread of Mr Lusow in the morning, to see her parents. But she knew it would never be, that all that had been lost to her when she had chosen to walk the Rainbow Bridge to the Hall of Victors. She must honour her loss by honouring her duty.

“Bruskott,” she barked into her comm set, “where’s my artillery?”
“I’ve raised Skull One, Commander, inbound in five.”
She grinned, an old familiar face was coming.
“Sergeant Sztaba, rally the remaining troopers – we’re going to take that bridge.” The old warhorse nodded briefly before moving off to gather the attack. “Bruskott, get the Guard HQ on the vox and tell them we’ll have their breakthrough so they’d better be ready in four.”
“Aye aye Sir,” he nodded.
“Chaplain, how long until Sunrise?”
“Thirty four minutes, Captain.” His voice was emotionless as only a Chaplain can make it.
The captain looked to the east, sighing “Pity, I would have liked one more.”
“We will all have one more.”
“Aye, we will – in Victory!”


Switching to the company frequency she stood and looked at the gathered troops, huddled in the shadows of wrecked and ruined vehicles. Their once pristine blue armour was dirty and grey from the dust and rubble of the city. Pieces were missing or hastily repaired. Red soaked bandages held together mangled limbs. Every able hand held a weapon, and those who couldn’t walk leant on those who could. But each and every helm glimmered by the red glow of the fires. They were the light in the shadows.


“You are all my brothers and sisters, we are united by the blood of Dorn, the blood of The Emperor – together we shall prevail. Our strengths are many, and they fight as one. That is our creed and our glory. Today we shall triumph, we shall see our foes laid low and scattered before us. We will bring the glorious light of The Emperor and Mankind to these xenos scum, and cleanse them from this world!”
At this she thrust her fist out, and the assembled marines answered in kind, roaring their assent.
“Hoi!”
“Ready, my Soldiers of Sunrise!”
“Hoi!” They roared again, hammering fists to breastplates.
Above them a stream of flames shot across the sky, orange fires erupting in the Tau lines, the blossoming explosions lighting the waters blood red. Their artillery had arrived.


Thunderous footfalls shook the earth as the titan strode into view. It was a Reaver class, one of the smaller varieties, but it towered above the marines. West recognised it immediately, the Igneus Angelus, piloted by her old friend and ally Princeps Virgine d'Orléans.
“Well met Captain!” The commander of the mighty war engine appeared on the Captains HUD. Her long brown hair was splayed about her shoulders as always, a grin on her face. “The Angel is ready to follow you to victory!”
“Good to have you here Princeps,” West voxed back. The Princeps hadn’t aged a day since they had last seen each other a decade ago – the Mechanicus were hard at work. “Just keep them busy and don’t blow up the bridge.”
“Rodger that, starting suppression fire.”


The image vanished and a moment later the mighty weapon mounts opened fire. Bolts of pure energy wracked the enemy positions, sending masonry and entire facades into the waters below. The assault was answered in kind by a barrage of Tau firepower. The void shields of the Angelus shimmered an electric blue against the night sky, but did not falter. West looked out over the bridge, which seemed to grow longer with each passing second. Standing atop the wrecked rhino she drew her sword and raised it high. One last attack, one last battle and in victory she could return home to rest.

“Angels of Light...” The blade came down. “Charge!”


--


Jula jumped out of bed as soon before the first strike of the bell had started to fade. She quickly put on her shoes, being already dressed for the day. Running down the wooden stairs and across the long hall to the front door she bolted out into the cool morning air before the second strike had sung out. Behind her came her parents, much more slowly, likely not already up for several hours. Her father helped her mother, who was heavily with child, after their eager daughter to the top of the Council Hill.

The hill was the highest part of the village, and stood on its eastern side. Turning back Jula looked over the dim grey of the village, a few windows illuminated by candles, streets marked by the movement of bobbing lanterns. As the bell rang a third third time the whole village was gathered on the hill. All around her was a great press of excited bodies. Two great hands reached down from above and scooped her up, setting her on a pair of broad shoulders. She wrapped her arms around her father, nestling her head in his mane of thick brown hair, bright blue eyes fixed to the west and the coming dawn.