Editing Astral Wardens (section)

==Firefly Down==
 

	Emilia Pneumen, ace airman and Polestar for the renowned Firefly Squadron, sat by the fuselage of her crashed fighter, silently seething at the vagaries of fate. Five meters away,  tailgunner Marcus Rex turned the atmosphere blue with muffled cursing as he rooted through their Odonata's undercarriage in his sixth attempt to restore power and get them airborne. He had strictly forbidden Emilia from helping- crackerjack airman though she might be, her mechanical skills were, according to Marcus, nothing short of lethal-  and with a battle raging a short ways down the hillside and no good cause to attract undue attention to her squadron, she had nothing better to do than stew with her thoughts.

	Not ten hours ago, she had boasted to a Lightning pilot that the Fireflies would all make it through the battle, and he had agreed. He called them “Mosquito Squadron,” laughing as he told her that Odonata were nothing more than stunt craft, fluttering across the zone mortalis without making any sort of impact on who won the day. It was the heavy-duty craft like his own, the workhorses delivering payloads and putting feet on the ground, who won battles. Incensed, she had retorted the Fireflies would return from battle with nary a scratch on their paint, and she would bet money his beloved Lightning would have more holes in it than Thiepvalan cheese if it came back at all. 

	And now here she sat on the cold ground next to her beloved Odonata. About a third of the squadron had managed to guide their failing craft to a less-than-graceful landing at this ruined air field, and the rest of them had slowly trickled in from their crash sites following their Polestar's call through the Weave. Sydon Tong had taken up a guard position, watching the battlefield in case of trouble, Jinneil Robenko was trying to coax any sound out of the vox other than static, Jane Cobson was working out their position relative to the fleet, and Ramius Oasun had set up an abbreviated medical station for the benefit of those who hadn't landed so gracefully. It seemed everyone else had found something useful to do.

	 Well, everyone except poor Adrian Wright and his gunner Marian Lee, the only Fireflies missing from the assembly. Emilia had to assume whatever bizarre weapon the traitors had deployed to disable the Odonata had also affected Adrian' augmetics. While the rest of the squadron had managed to land their beleaguered craft with varying degrees of success, those two had gone down in the nearby mountain range. Emilia hadn't felt them in the Weave at all since then- she muttered a quick prayer to the Martyrs that they were only unconscious. 

''	“DROKK!”'' 

	Emilia flinched at the sudden expletive, and again as her copilot's autotorque whirred past her head. Marcus emerged from the fuselage sweating, red-faced and visibly frustrated. “Maybe the cogboys aren't groxdropping about their 'machine spirits,' 'cos I've checked every connection, tightened every fuel line and hammered on the engine box until my arm got tired. There's not a Martyr blessed thing wrong with it but it won't drokking turn over.”

	She sighed, resting her chin in her hands. “Figures. Who knows what the traitors did to it? If there's one thing you can count on traitors for, it's surprises.” 

	Hearing her tone, Marcus studied her for a moment, some of the color leaving his face as she felt his annoyance slowly shift to amusement. “Sore over your little bet with that barge-driver, Em?”

	Emilia turned away, further annoyed at having been read so easily. The psychic bond had its drawbacks, and for a brief selfish moment she was tempted to withdraw her mind from the Weave entirely. “It's not that, it's just- I'm useless down here, Marc. If I'm not in the air, I'm not doing any good.”

	Marcus snorted, instantly earning a heated look. “Em, you're our Polestar. None of us got the Oracle's knack but you. All you gotta do is sit there and keep the Weave going and you're doin' plenty good.” He paused, seeing her glare intensify, and tried a different tack. “Besides. It's like the boss says, right? The Vth Legion's not just the Astartes. Providence needs airmen as much as it needs tank crews, space marines, helmsmen... and even barge-drivers.”

	Marcus dodged the half-eaten ration she winged at him and retreated back behind the fuselage, chuckling. Still, Emilia did feel a little better- Polestars were the element that set the V<sup>th</sup> legion's auxilia apart from those of their brother states. Providence produced many psykers, but few proved compatible with the Astartes program. Half the population was ruled out at birth, after all, a fact that Emilia had been dismayed to learn as a child, but those individuals could still serve in the Luminary corps, lending their empyrean abilities to forge stronger bonds among squads.  Emilia's own psykic ability was infinitesimal, but it was enough to maintain the low-level gestalt that an Odonata squadron required for peak coordination, and for that she was always grateful. She touched the small shield-shaped badge on her flight suit's breast, marked with the Legion's star. It was a tiny reflection of the storm shields that were the Astral Wardens' signature, and Emilia smiled slightly at their Primarch's affirmation of her role, however indirect.

	She felt Tong's mind vanish from the Weave before she heard the gunshot.

	Marcus stood again from behind the fuselage, concern on his face- and then toppled backwards, a crimson hole blooming in his chest as a second shot split the air. Emilia spun toward the source and found a nightmare rising above the edge of the landing field.

	Emilia had seen Astartes before, of course. In the Union, the towering supermen were not an uncommon sight, often serving as honored statesmen when not called to battle, and she had brushed shoulders with many in the V<sup>th</sup> Legion's canteens. The creature that strode towards her with slow, purposeful steps had much of a Space Marine's form, much of their bearing, but amplified and twisted, an enormous brass-clad beast with burning, smoking eyes. This creature had a bristling panoply of gun barrels where its right hand should be, a yawning cannon-mouth for the left. For a moment, she wondered if this might be one of the Emperor's Custodians spoken of in legend, come to take vengeance on those who dared oppose the Imperial Creed.

	Then, she reached for her stubber.

	Other Fireflies had been quicker on the draw. Many of them had already taken up firing positions, unloading their sidearms at the approaching monstrosity. Emilia vaulted over her craft to take cover, landing next to her stricken tailgunner's heaving form, and squeezed off a trio of rounds in the direction of their assailant. She cheered with the rest of her crew as Jinneil landed a slug in the thing's eye, sending a plume of burning liquid jetting from its helm- but the cry died in her throat as the creature laconically raised an arm in his direction. Jinneil, his Odonata and the three other Fireflies who had taken up position behind it vanished in a plume of flame.

	With the squadron halved, the remaining Fireflies redoubled their efforts, unloading their stubbers with a frenzied fervor, but no matter how well-placed their shots the hulk never flinched, never faltered in its march. Another casual wave of its arm, and Sydon fell dead. Jane bolted from cover and met a hail of bullets. One by one the monstrosity cut Emilia's squadron down as it strode ever forward.

	She met Marco's eyes as he lay in the dirt beside her. His fingers flexed weakly, his mouth moved soundlessly, but for a weak, rattling breath. Through the Weave, she felt a faint goodbye, and he was gone.

	For the first time in years, Emilia was truly alone.

	The emptiness stunned her for a moment, crouching in the shadow of her fighter's fuselage. The warm, welcoming buzz of her crew's minds was simply gone, its absence an aching hole in her psyche. The Weave was undone. Save for the steady, rhythmic stomping of slowly-approaching feet and the distant sounds of battle, everything was silent. 

	Stomp.

	Stomp.

	Stomp. 


	Into that deafening silence came another revelation, equally terrible in its magnitude- the creature had been afforded every opportunity to kill Emilia. She had sat in plain view when it shot Marco, and even after she took cover it effortlessly destroyed Jinneil sheltering behind his Odonata. 

	It wanted her alive.	

	Stomp.

	Stomp.

	Stomp.

	Emilia quickly checked her stubber. Finding it empty, she scrambled for Marcus', freeing it with panicked speed from his unopened holster. 

	'''Stomp. '''

	'''Stomp.'''

	'''Stomp.'''

	Emilia pressed Marco's stubber to her chin, whispered a prayer to the martyrs, and closed her eyes.

	“Firefly Squadron, this is Radiant Dawn. What's your status?”

	Her eyes snapped open. The familiar voice of the mothership's comms officer crackling over the Odonata's vox stopped her short, finger trembling just above the trigger. Her sense of duty found itself at odds, the need to report to her superiors clashing with the desperate desire to join her crew. Everyone had heard what fate awaited captives of the Fallen Legions.

	“Radiant Dawn to Firefly Squadron, please respond.”

	“Dead.” She murmured. “They're all dead.”

	“Captain Pneumen? Is that you? We read you going down in the Antarean Range before we lost vox contact. Can you confirm your position?”

	'''''Stomp. '''''

	'''''Stomp.'''''

	'''''Stomp.'''''

	She shook her head, trying to clear it, and clambered into the cockpit to reply. “Traitors deployed some new weapon. Our Odonata failed. Brought them down as best we could. We were in an airfield. Some... thing found us. Gunned the squadron down like...”

	“Your position, Pneumen. Coordinates.”

	'''STOMP. '''

	'''STOMP.'''

	'''STOMP.'''

	“''Saints' eyes, Emilia, position''!”

	She closed her eyes. “We came down in an abandoned airfield, and  the zone of engagement is to the north... I can see the Antares range beyond them-” Abruptly, she thought of Jane huddled over her charts, and a sequence of numbers faintly rang in her mind as though echoing from a great distance. “27842.42 by 76422.1?”

'''	STOMP.'''

	'''STOMP.'''

''	'''THOOM'''''

	For a split second, Emilia thought the creature stalking her had changed its mind and decided to kill her after all, but the thundercrack was followed by a rallying cry, ten-strong. Steeling herself, she risked a peek over the cockpit.

	Ten Astral Wardens stood arrayed between her and the encroaching foe, clad in hulking Terminator plate and crowned with  silver starfire. The creature bellowed a challenge -less the roar of a living thing than the report of an artillery battery- and finally abandoned its steady gait, lurching into a long, loping stride that closed distance at a rate belying its enormous frame. It leveled its cannon-arm at the phalanx of Wardens.
 
	In response, the ten men gave a synchronized shout, pounding the base of their shields against the tarmac in unison. An ethereal wall sprang to life before them, a shimmering aurora of ghostly hands, palms forward as if to deny their foe. The monster's cannon fire splashed a great gout of flame against the phantasmal wall, but went no farther. Undeterred, it loosed another blast, and this time the barrier flickered. A third shot saw the wall puff into nonexistence like a vapor trail in a stiff wind, and the fireball continued through, smashing into a Warden's storm shield. The force of the blast drove the man back ten paces, but still he stood, and his brothers quickly closed rank to protect their stricken comrade. One of them shouted an order, and the men leveled their armaments- plasma pistols?- at the creature, returning fire en masse. Their foe reacted as little to the plasma as it had to the Fireflies' stubbers, but the effects were much more evident, punching holes in its massive armor that poured forth the same gouts of molten metal that Jinneil's miraculous shot had drawn from its eye.

	Behind a wall of brothers, the wounded Warden made an exploratory motion with his damaged arm, then unstrapped the storm shield and let the arm dangle limply by his side. He turned towards the Odonata, and, spotting Emilia peeking over the top, raised his good hand.

	“Captain Pneumen?” he called, his powerful voice booming over the din. “Crewman Robern Tilliam, Astral Wardens 305. This the only unit you've engaged?”

	Emilia nodded, blinking away entirely unprofessional tears, and glanced at the battle raging mere meters away- the monster seemed to finally be slowing under the hail of plasma fire, and the Wardens stood fast against its fusillade. 

	“What... ''is'' that thing, Crewman?”

	“Obliterator's what the cogboys call 'em. Void-taken things, astartes changed by some sort of Forge Lord warp-virus into a walking pile of guns and hate. Our boys have been dealing with them on the main front for a while, but I'll be a landling if I know why this one came after your squad.”

	Emilia swallowed the lump rising in her throat and risked another glance. The Astartes line seemed to be holding, but the Obliterator was nearly upon them. As she watched, one of the Obliterator's wild hail of slugs slipped past the shield wall and staggered another marine, whose brothers quickly moved to cover him as they had Tilliam. She looked to Tilliam, mouth open to alert him, and saw he had already turned back towards the fight, his good hand moving in bizarre patterns at the end of his arm. At first she thought something was wrong- could Astartes go into shock? - but then she noticed the faint trails of light left by his fingertips, trails that grew ever brighter. He was... drawing glyphs in the air.

	So intent was she on the mesmerizing shapes of light that even amid the sounds of battle and gunfire she startled when he called out.

	“Best stand back, Captain.  Terminator plate's a treasure, but it ain't got the best range of movement, and this is gonna take elbow grease more than finesse.”

	Obligingly she ducked back behind her Odonata as Tilliam advanced back to his brothers' line, his hand now clenched in a fist raised above his head. They parted to let him through, pausing their fire, and Emilia got a brief, terrifying view of the metal monster lunging into melee range, swinging its cannon arm the instant it spotted the opening in their line. For a moment, adrenaline and sheer terror slowed time to a standstill, the Obliterator reaching to annihilate the mild-mannered Marine.

	The shield line's haloes dimmed, Tilliam's halo flared,  his fist swept down as if tearing a star from the sky, and a pillar of silver fire lanced from the heavens to swallow his foe.

	The thing didn't die, not immediately. The beam struck it from the air, but even awash in empyrean flame it pushed itself to its knees. The daemon struggled towards the Marine, who held his pose, fist to the ground. The Obliterator opened its mouth, silently screaming its hate, and re-leveled its cannon. Roger's halo flickered fitfully, and his arm trembled... and then all at once it was over. 

	Whatever spiteful will animated the daemon-thing finally gave out. The armor collapsed, and instantly the creature's shape decohered, pouring from its twisted plate in a wave of molten metal. Still Tilliam held the ethereal beam steady until the last runnels and rivulets of the Obliterator's being had trickled through the cracks in the tarmac. Only then did he finally slump to his knees, allowing the heavenly ray to evaporate into tiny motes of light. Another marine- the crew leader? -walked over to give him an encouraging slap on the back, then turned to Emilia.

	“Hail, Captain. Bosun Okama, Astral Wardens 305<sup>th</sup>. I regret we couldn't meet under better circumstances.”

	Emilia nodded numbly.  She circled the hull of her fighter to join the Astartes, sparing one last mournful glance at poor Marcus.

	“I've called in pickup. We'll be getting you back to the Dawn before we re-engage.” Okama grimaced, following her gaze. “A team will be along to collect your crewmates as soon as they  can. They'll get a farewell befitting martyrs of Providence.” He threw an abbreviated salute, then gestured at his men, and they took up some distance away, surveying the battlefield below. 

	Tilliam hadn't joined them. He remained slouched where he'd finished the Obliterator, and even his halo seemed to gutter. Carefully, Emilia approached the marine, and as if sensing her presence he straightened up.

	“Crewman Tilliam?”

	He smiled, though it seemed slightly forced, the skin around his eyes taut. “I'm fine, and thank you for askin'.”

	“What you did... it was incredible. One person controlling that kind of energy... I can't imagine what that's like.”

	“Well, I had help. Whole squad chipped in for that Sidereal Lance, I just played the job of release valve. Takes a toll on a fella, to be sure, but those things won't stay dead unless you really bring down the hammer. Nothin' wrong with me won't be fixed with a stiff drink and a long nap.”

	Emilia shook her head. “Your arm?”

	His face fell, and he winced as if only just remembering, glancing at his limp gauntlet. “Oh. Aye, I reckon that's mostly bone shards and meat pulp. The cogboys are gonna be getting me to test drive one of their new augmetics, more like than not.”

	Emilia nodded, then froze. Augmetics... “Adrian.” Tilliam cocked an eyebrow, but Emilia's mind was suddenly racing. In the horror she'd forgotten. “Adrian and Marian. They went down in the Antares range. Separate from our squad. They might...” She blinked back tears, and forced herself to continue. “They might still be alive. I haven't felt them in the Weave, but...”

	Tilliam gently placed an enormous mailed hand on her shoulder. “We'll check it out. I'll let the boss know we got us a mission once we drop you off.”

	Emilia startled. “Is that a joke, Crewman? Surely you should stay shipside, you're in no condition...”

	Tilliam chuckled wistfully. “Still got a shield arm, don't I? 'sides, you can't heal properly while you're worrying about your crew. Common knowledge. We'll get it done, Captain, of that you can be sure. No man left behind, that's the 305<sup>th</sup>'s motto.”

	He turned to rejoin his brothers. Emilia watched him go, briefly frozen with indecision- then she  gathered up Marcus' stubber and raced to match strides with the superhuman. Tilliam passed her a questioning glance as she drew up beside him, but her gaze was fixed firmly on the other Wardens at the edge of the tarmac.

	“I need to come with you. Adrian and Marian are '''my''' crew. If they're still alive...” she swallowed the lump in her throat and tried again, a hint of defiance rising in her voice. “We're connected through the Weave. If they're in one piece I'll be able to find them faster than you will. You need me.”

	Tilliam examined her in silence for a moment, then chuckled. “You're Wardens material, Captain Pneumen, no mistake about it. Welcome to the crew.”

{{Warmasters Triumvirate}}