Fighitng With Faith- Thirty-Sixth Entry

A surrogate command centre, mainly comprising of two large rectangular tents, was erected at the base of the mountain side. Its bright yellow canvas, in almost perfect camouflage with the blazing orange soil which it was surrounded by, fluttered wildly in the turbulent wind. This was a clear contrast to the stillness and edgy atmosphere that encompassed the tents within.

On the canvas of both tents, in bold and dark hues, was the Imperial Aquila.

The command centre was situated in a closed curvature valley, several hundred metres off the nearest insertion point; A strategic and safe haven for a forward base.

Commissar Leetol, dressed in his standard battle uniform of Asat Guard issued boots, pants, shirt and his own personalised peak cap, was exiting one of the tents and heading to the other.

At his side, was Abjax, his close companion and precious Tactican. Without him, Leetol would not even be half as he is now. Abjax had proved invaluable in the art of data collection, assimilation and execution. Without him, Leetol was sure to be nothing more then an all-talk-no-walk Commissar, with almost zero capability at handling extensive administrative work. Abjax was cradling several data slates, some of it possibly worth the lives of half the men that were readying for the assault on the warehouse. With his augmented eyes and hands, Abjax could read and view vast amounts of information and battle reports at mere seconds glance.

“All units at insertion points?” Leetol asked, leaning over at the same time to read a peculiar piece of information which was coming into view on a data slate on Abjax’s metallic hands. He had to jink his hand out of the way, narrowly avoiding Abjax as hot caffeine spilled out of it.

“Ah yes, including Titan Azrael- blesseth be his name. The Cult Mechanicus have blessed us with a Machine God to be amongst us in this battle, courtesy of Princeps Arzrael of the Immolators Legion.” Abjax said.

Leetol’s sharp features creased into a frown.

“What’s with the identical name? Most Titans and their respective Princeps usually have different identities. Isn’t Azrael, the Princep, blaspheming Azrael, the machine god, even if he still commandeers it? Isn’t a machine god more esteemed than a mere Princep?” Leetol said as he gave a curt nod and a diplomatic smile to passing Arbites officials.

“You have points there, Commissar, and I also held such views when I heard of it. However I have delved deep into the records and histories of this Titan- then I realised why it is the case.” Abjax replied, keeping his one augmented eye still glued to the data slate in his hand. The information coming in was being transmitted at an agonisingly slow rate, obviously a result from a great volume of static or transmissions being around at the same time.

“Care to fill me in?”

“Indeed. You see, Princep Azrael was borne into a Princep Royal Family, the Nazirxl. They are of royal blood, with rumours of them being related to the Lord of the Cult Mechanicus, however they still hold a high reputation and esteem within the Immolator Legion’s hierarchy due to their many victories and glorious feats. It seemed the Nazirxl family had the blood of the machine, with Azreal’s father and forefathers bearing mighty titles to their name. The tech-priests of Mars saw fit that every Princep from the Nazirxl family was to be given the honour of receiving a Titan, in record of it being named after them.” Abjax said, practically reciting the whole text of Azrael’s introductory records.

“And so I realise.” Leetol commented, moment’s clarity finally upon him.

They had been walking for fifteen minutes, passing by security posts, sanitary cubicles and other amenities that were the basic requirement for a forward base camp. The command centre was now in sight, a broad tent, with a constant stream of soldiers, Arbites officials and Imperial officials walking around, into and out of it.

Abjax gave a wheezing sigh, glad that the message had finally been transmitted. To Abjax’s disgust, it appeared that the message was typed in the most quick and crude way it could have been to relay the message over, unlike his perfect, flawless way of text encoding and encrypting.

Leetol leaned closer, careful not to spill anymore caffeine onto his dear Tactican, and squinted. What he read made him drop the cup he was carefully cradling in his palms, shattering it into a hundred pieces, splashing the steaming hot liquid within it in all directions.

At that very instant, a distant booming could be heard far off, in the direction of the warehouse. Several more deep and low powerful explosions could be heard again, signifying a mighty battle unfolding. People around began casting nervous glances around, as though suddenly feeling vulnerable, afraid that a stray shell may slam home into the camp. Officials immediately made their way hastily to their respective areas, placing on vox-beads and vox-phones, preparing for the inevitable orchestra that is to begin.

The transmission was from Azrael, containing a combat log of the Titan and a text message from the Princep. In bold, Imperial Gothic, was written:

::==::

++Azrael to command++

++ Advance on standby++

++ Spore mines sighted- possible indication of Biovore breed present++

++ Spore mines launched towards self- initiating close proximity perimeter defences++

++CPPD execution invalid- spore mines present on hull- casualties at 5.04%++

++Additional spore mines sighted- present rate of functionality 75.98%- casualties at 12.0%++

++Advance commenced- Target within 500 metres- enemy troops sighted- Biovore presence confirm- spore mines within hull- damage in cooling system- System overheating at 9.89%- Casualties at 21.54%- Functionality stabalised at 78.90%- servitor reserves dispatch in reparation process++

++Heavy fire from enemy- Iron cannon inactive- Functionality at 68.54%- Reserve servitors At 45.0% strength- Initiating emergency cooling ablution in engine system- System overheating at 43.50%- Volcano cannon activation in process at 50.89%++

=+Manual text transmission:

Azrael to command. Titan taking heavy hits. Expected to resume mission. Emperor protects. Azrael out.

End+=

::==::

Leetol shared the same horrified look on Abjax’s face, realising what had been unfolding for the past fifteen minutes on the battlefield, they sprinted into the command tent, beginning the long and arduous task of doing battle.

Fighting With Faith- Thirty-Fifth Entry


A rapid, light staccato of footsteps sounded its way down along the dim and dark corridors of the warehouse. Cultist Alken, forehead creased into a deep frown, worked his way through the tight corridors lit only by sparse lightings to the end of it, where it ended in a broad, low ceiling rounded auditorium. Several other robed figures were also striding purposefully along the corridors, all wearing a facial expression that betrayed no form of fear or cowardice. The atmosphere in the central command centre of the warehouse was tense, everyone well aware of the marshalling Imperial forces across the plains on all sides.

Its walls were plain, rusted, corroded metal of ages past, its inhabitants long ago driven out of this structure from unknown reasons. The air held a tinge of blood and perspiring creatures of alien odour

Only the commander in charge, Master Cultist Barnel and his assistant Kaweit stood at the central pulpit, calmly issuing orders and receiving reports. Both stood at heights towering above everyone else, their two additional limbs on the sides of their body long ago been blessed by the Hive Mother with serrated blades grown from it and clamping, powerful pincers protruding from their torsos.

They still maintained a rather humanoid head, however their eyes taking a menacing, Genestealer like aspect. Their noses had also been flattened, only two narrow slits remaining at where their nostrils should have been.

Regardless of all these benefactions, rewards of their great victories from previous engagements, they still speak perfect Gothic, to Alken’s relief. He was not well associated yet with the guttural and tail-flicking way the Tyranid creatures communicated in.

“Greetings, fellow Alken, what report do you bring?” Barnel slurred as he turned his head to face Alken. He then shifted his body to fully face Alken, pivoting his waist and turning.

For a briefest moment, Alken was fascinated by Master Cultist Barnel’s state of manifestation. How Alken wished he was blessed too with such enhancements, maybe with even more. He is so close to perfection!

Behind Master Barnel, Alken could vaguely make out the brutish and hulking form of Master Barnel’s assistant, Kaweit. Assitant-Cultist Master Kaweit seemed deep in conversation with another cultist at the base of the pulpit, of which Alken could not recognise.

It had been rumoured amongst the lower echelons of the Tyranid insurgent army that Assistant-Cultist Master Kaweit was not an assistant to Master Cultist Barnel at all, but a personal bodyguard in a much elaborated charade. Some even insinuate the rank of overseer of the entire army, but only under the disguise of assistant Master Cultist for safety and security intentions.

Barnel seemed to sense Alken’s thoughts as he began to reflexively flare his nose slits, making audible hissing sounds.

Alken, suddenly aware of Master Barnel’s attention on him, immediately snapped out of his reverence and cleared his throat.

“Master Barnel, the enemy is sighted within periphery visual. At the current moment there are ten sighted enemy main insertion points, all mainly coming in from the mountain ranges. Enemy troops are estimated in the thousands.” Alken said, trying to keep his voice calm and confident regardless of the even more urgent news he was about to unfold.

Master Barnel took in the information with surprising grace. He gave a curt nod, gently tilting his head to a side as he exquisitely tapped a long finger blade on his chin, as he did whenever he was deep in contemplation. After a few moments, his gaze fell upon Alken again and he straightened back his head, as though unhappy with Alken’s pleading look still on him.

“What is it?” He snapped, eyes glinting impedingly towards Alken.

“Master, pardon my lack of pre-emptive knowledge... A Titan is amongst them.” Alken barely said it.

Barnel’s gaze turned into a scowl, which soon turned into a murderous, venomous glare which further cowered Alken, already visibly shaking under the forceful glance from Kaweit, who cast his look on him after his conference with the cultist ended upon hearing what Alken had just uttered.

“It seems the situation has been escalated. Alken, the brood of Biovores is at your wardship. Your main objective now is to protect the Biovores that are to eradicate the threat of the Titan. By hook or by crook.” Master Barnel commanded, his voice low and powerful.

“Yes...yes Master! I will see to it.” Alken uttered, awed and shocked by the sudden weight of responsibility upon him.

Biovores...mighty, hulking creatures capable of rendering armies to writhing, pulsating corpses. One of the many spore mines nurtured within it is as deadly as a hundred explosions, its shrapnel produced as fatal as a virus bomb being unleashed.

Alken turned and began walking out of the auditorium, his heart still fluttering wildly.
“Alken?” Master Barnel called back.

Alken stopped in his tracks, turned and faced Barnel. Alken couldn’t help but notice Kaweit looming behind Master Barnel, eyes narrowed into threatening slits.

“Yes, Master Cultist?”

“Do not fail me.” Barnel hissed, revealing needlelike teeth and a fork-shaped tongue. His eyes were narrowed into a baleful, malicious squint, piercing Alken to the bone.