Let your words and warriors be carried on inspiring winds. From the Earth all things come, and to the Earth all things will go.
Space Marines.
That was the Gue'la term for the genetically altered warrior class of their empire. A Gue'la was already taller and broader than the average Fire Warrior, and a Gue'ron'sha dwarfed even them.
"The good news is: a ship of that size will only hold a few of them. Less than ten—though we can't be certain. But even a single one could disrupt one of our boarding actions. We cannot allow that. So we are going to tie them down while the rest of the fleet goes into action. Our gunship will launch first, take control of their hangar, then move throughout the ship. As such, I'm taking control of your la'rua and your greater cadre."
"It will be an honor to fight by your side, Commander," the Shas'Ui said, bowing slightly.
"Was it not a great enough honor fighting at my side?" a voice called from the shadow of the Orca's passenger compartment.
The Fireblade—the cadre commander—stepped into the hangar bay light and down the dropship's ramp. Mira thought he must have spent the journey awake, as some senior officers chose to do, because he looked much older than Mira remembered seeing just a few days ago… or at least what felt to him like yesterday. Even so, he projected the confidence—and the image—of a Fire Warrior at his peak.
He wore the same armor as the rest of them, though his was far more battered and worn—a testament to decades of service to the Empire. Draped over it was a magnificent white cloak rimmed in soft blue.
Shas'Nel T'au Nel'thun always managed to make an impression when he arrived anywhere. Not only because of the armor and uniform he kept—those were standard amongst Fireblades—but because of the weapon at his side. Where most would carry a bonding blade, he wore a long curved sword of alien origin.
He greatly enjoyed finding the cadre sitting around cleaning gear and talking, then joining them to tell stories. His favorite was the story of the sword.
Gather round, young soldiers. I have a story to tell you.
The cadre always gathered to listen. You had to be rather new not to have heard it before, but there were few who didn't enjoy the retelling. It was filled with action, peril, and a duel to the death—one in which their hero, Fireblade Skysword, emerged victorious every time.
In other stories, he would point to a battle scar on his armor or his body and ask, Do you know how I earned this wound? Sometimes an older warrior would speak up: "It was on campaign against the greenskins, Honored Blade," or name some other foe he had faced.
His counsel was valued even among the most honored Ethereals. He had faced the Empire's enemies in turn—and, at times, fought beside some of them as allies. A true living legend among Fire Warriors.
As he reached the bottom of the ramp, it was the Commander who spoke. "My dear friend, it is always an honor to fight with you once more. These young Bu'kons have simply taken it for granted. One day they will look back and regret not taking your lessons to heart."
Skysword threw his head back and laughed.
"It has been too long since we brought the fury of the Greater Good to our enemies, old friend. I will gladly take you into my cadre once more."
The two warriors embraced. Mira wondered how far back their bond went. It was obvious they had served in the same la'rua at some point—perhaps even their first. The bond they displayed was a public, amplified version of what Mira felt with Nirva as a comrade.
The shipwide intercom broke the moment.
"Attention. This is the Admiral. We will enter realspace in fifteen minutes, and the Gue'la ships will be within weapons range. All hands, man your stations and stand by for contact."
The rest of the cadre arrived, and with the announcement they formed files by la'rua and began checking one another's equipment. Fire Warriors tugged straps, ran comm checks, and bounced in place to ensure nothing was loose. The air filled with a soft, continuous roar of chatter that faded into hushed whispers.
Mira looked over his shoulder to see what had caused the reaction. Before he even saw who approached, he knew.
The tips of the Ethereal Honor Guard's spears rose well above the crowd gathered around the Orcas.
That crowd parted like the sea and bowed at the waist for the young woman walking between her honor guard. They were larger, broader, more heavily muscled than the average Fire Warrior—bred for a purpose even more absolute than most of the Fire Caste: to guard the Ethereals with their lives.
Mira had seen some guarding high-ranking Ethereals' chambers when he trained back on D'yanoi—dressed in ceremonial armor, with weapons that looked lifted straight from the Time of Troubles. These were different. They wore standard Fire Warrior armor fitted to their build, with ceremonial robes draped and wrapped around them. Their honor blades were held across their chests, and they were spaced precisely so the spear tips did not touch—though they came as close as they dared.
The Ethereal herself was slight and slender, younger than any Mira had seen on holofeeds. But youth didn't blunt her presence. He was awestruck all the same.
He had seen her before, in the briefing when they had departed for the campaign, and she had been a recurring feature in his cryo-dreams.
She walked up to the Commander, raising a hand. The guards stepped to her flanks immediately and faced inward, their spears shifting through practiced movements—down to the side, then forward to a supported angle.
The Commander bowed low from the waist. When she spoke, it was as if honey flowed through the air. Mira's worries about cowardice and battle melted away as her voice passed through his auditory senses.
"Honored Fire Warriors," she said, loud and clear—addressing the whole hangar. "You are about to embark on a battle that will live in our people's history forever. These Gue'la yearn for the freedom of the Greater Good, and you will arrive as their liberators. Their children's children will thank you for the actions you take here today."
Her tone never faltered.
"However, their empire will not relinquish control of this world. They will have poisoned the minds of its people. You must be the cure. In all your actions in the days to come, you must be paragons of the Greater Good. Show mercy and kindness when faced with the opportunity—but ensure you also show the ruthlessness of the Empire. Let the population see that we can not only liberate them, but keep them safe from their oppressors."
Her gaze swept the hangar.
"Show this death cult that it is we who are eternal and inevitable. That we shall unite the galaxy—forever as one. For the Greater Good."
The whole hangar replied: "For the Greater Good!"
With her speech complete, she turned to face the Commander directly. The rest of the cadres were loading into their gunships, but Mira's cadre did not dare move past the Ethereal to board. She spoke again—this time without the resounding voice, in a soft tone meant only for those close enough to hear.
"I wish you good hunting on this expedition, Hero of the Empire."
Mira found himself desperate to hear the next syllable leave her lips.
"You honor us with your words, Your Grace." The Commander touched his right hand to his left shoulder and bowed again—less deeply than before, but still reverent.
"I understand you are embarking to engage a Gue'ron'sha ship." She was shorter than the Commander, shorter than Mira expected—but authority made her seem taller than any of them.
"Yes, Honored Ethereal. There is a scout ship. We do not know how many warriors are aboard, but we cannot risk them disrupting the rest of the operation. We will engage them directly."
The Ethereal nodded. No doubt she already knew, but she offered the appearance of listening intently.
"This is an extraordinary effort, involving extraordinary courage," she said. "I shall accompany you to the vessel."
If discipline hadn't held them, Mira was sure the cadre would have cried out. An Ethereal was to be protected. To bring one willingly into the heart of the enemy—against the Gue'la's most elite warriors—was incomprehensible.
"Honored Ethereal, I must protest," Skysword said. The words sounded like pain. He looked almost chastised for speaking against one so revered, but he held firm. "To bring you along would place you in grave danger. The Gue'ron'sha are dangerous alone, but not only will we be fighting a group of them—we will be fighting the ship's crew as well. We cannot guarantee your safety."
"Noble Knight," the Ethereal replied smoothly, "it is not your job to protect me. That is what my guard is for—just as it is my duty to inspire and lead you on the path of the Greater Good. And if I cannot do that in the dangers of combat, then I do not deserve to do so from safety either."
She was determined. There would be no persuading her.
"If that is your interpretation of the Greater Good," the Commander said, "then who are we to disagree?"
Mira couldn't read the Commander's expression. Sadness, yes—but perhaps confusion as well. He couldn't tell. It was as if the Commander did not wish to speak with the Ethereal, or even be in her presence. Something sat heavy behind his eyes. Maybe the Commander didn't understand it himself. His fingers twitched slightly at his side.
"As for your defense," the Commander continued, "we shall simply need to be diligent in our engagement of the enemy."
Skysword looked as if he wanted to speak again, but swallowed it.
"I welcome you aboard our craft. Please board quickly. We will be entering combat space soon, and we are to launch with all haste."
As the Aun and her guard boarded, the cadre followed. The Commander, his guards, and the cadre's other XV8 pilots—mounted in their battlesuits—moved down the center aisle of the passenger compartment. Three strike teams took the forward seats nearest the pilots; the Kroot auxiliaries positioned between them and the pathfinder teams clustered closer to the ramp.
The Aun took her seat behind the two pilots, who sat side by side. Her guard remained standing, one to either side. She spoke quietly to each pilot before sitting back. Her defense would be their assault on the ship's crew: rapid killing blows too violent to ignore, forcing the Gue'la to divert resources to meet them. Besides, it was unlikely the enemy would know an Ethereal was aboard—or understand her importance.
Finally, the Air Caste crew closed the ramp, sealing them inside the hull. Each Fire Warrior pulled on his helmet, sealing suit locks and firing up HUD systems. They ran test after test—each vital glyph blinking gold in turn.
They all felt the return to realspace. Gravity and momentum snapped back into existence as the theoretical looseness of slipspace became hard reality. The Air Caste on the flagship bridge knew it first, of course.
They surfaced barely within maximum railgun range.
Gunners began calling targets and firing solutions. Navigation tracked allies and enemies and made rapid corrections—no ship emerged from the in-between in exactly the same position, so the opening of any battle was usually a frantic reorganization into something like a line.
But this time was different. They had emerged already in combat range. Instead of prioritizing formation, they first had to clear friendly ship lanes so their weapons could fire.
Admiral Farwind stood motionless on his bridge, observing everything unfolding before him. His flagship opened fire first. The initial salvo cut through a small frigate still trying to charge their shields. The rail round punched into its hull, and the explosive warhead detonated when its sensors confirmed deep embedment.
If the frigate's shields had been up, it would have been a hard blow.
With shields down…
Farwind had seen the results of the Gue'la's favored tactic—ramming. The shot had crippled its ability to reply at this range, but it could still be deadly when they entered orbit.
"Mark that ship for suppression by our bomber squadrons," Farwind ordered, "then relay it to the boarding parties. I believe they are out of the fight. If they make serious maneuvers or attempt to fire weapons, re-engage."
It was a waste of shots to continue pummeling it. None of the warships in orbit could match even one of his—but if they swarmed, a thousand cuts could still kill the beast.
Better to engage at range and let the boarding parties do their work.
"Captain," Farwind added, "do not exclude the merchant ships from our fury. Immobilizing shots preferred—but if necessary, destroy them before they can act. The Gue'la are fanatics. Even an unarmed merchant hull can do serious damage in a collision."
The captain acknowledged between rapid orders. They had been in realspace for less than a dec. The maneuver was going perfectly.
A messenger spoke.
"Admiral, the Water Caste listeners have an initial communications report."
"What do they say?"
"The Gue'la were communicating about detecting us before we re-entered realspace. However, they deduced their detection occurred just before we surfaced, and were filled with confusion until they had visual confirmation."
Farwind furrowed his brow. That was good—but it needed perfecting. Perhaps re-entering just outside weapons range. They needed to maneuver anyway, and if the enemy only detected them moments before surfacing, surprise could still be preserved.
He tucked the thought away and refocused on the now.
The sensor officer looked ready to speak as well.
"Speak, pilot."
"Admiral, the armed ships are turning toward us. Their shields are rising, and we believe their weapons are charging. They are closing to engagement range."
"Very well. Thank you."
Farwind opened a comms tab and selected hangar control. Before transmitting, he added additional frequencies—every flight channel. It was his moment for a short speech. His pilots would appreciate hearing his voice, and the Shas'O would not object to well-wishes.
"Hangar control, this is Kor'O Shans'et Shir'Vah. All flights are cleared for departure at your discretion. We are relaying targets to you. Strike hard and strike fast. Good hunting, all. Kor'O out."
He closed the channel and watched the gold glyphs confirm receipt. Then he turned back to the main display.
He would not interfere with orders just yet. He would let the captains show their skill and clear their lanes.
Then, once the chaos settled, he would reorganize and restore efficiency to his fleet.