soldiers are the Adeptus Astartcs. the Space Marines,
bio-cngincercd super-warriors. Their comrades in arms are
legion: the Imperial Guard and countless planetary defence
forces, the ever-vigilant Inquisition and the tech-priests of
the Adeptus Mcchanicus to name only a few. But for all
their multitudes, they are barely enough to hold off the
ever-present threat from aliens, heretics, mutants –
and worse.
TO BE A man in such times is to be one amongst untold
billions. It is to live in the cruellest and most bloody
regime imaginable. These are the tales of those times. Forget
the power of technology and science, for so much has been
forgotten, never to be re-learned. Forget the promise of
progress and understanding, for in the grim dark future there
is only war. There is no peace amongst the stars,
only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter
of thirsting gods.
PROLOGUE
Splashes of colour painted the clouds with a swirl of reds, oranges and yellows, silhouetting the black and grey towers of Saint Harman, the once great capital city of Corinthus V. Wolf Lord Ragnar Blackmane found a sense of satisfaction in the ability of instruments of Imperial justice to duplicate the dawn of a new day in the middle of the night. Every explosion from the Imperial artillery, every bombardment from the fleet above, left its own mark on the tapestry of the sky.
Ragnar took an extra moment to commit this battle to memory. So many wars on countless worlds could make a Space Marine forget. The wars never ended for humanity's defenders. They constantly went forth to do the will of the Emperor of Mankind and battle the enemies of the Imperium. The Imperial Guard had fought the Chaos incursion for almost a year. After only a month, Ragnar and his great company of Space Wolves had turned the tide of the campaign.
Once Corinthus V had produced munitions and vehicles for the Imperium's vast armies, and the populace took pride in their work, too much pride in fact, looking to the glory of the machine instead of keeping their faith in the Emperor. While the citizens had performed their duties making ammunition for the Space Marine Chapters and the Imperial Guard, including Ragnar's own Space Wolves, the taint of Chaos had slipped onto Corinthus V. Every one of the Space Marines, the ultimate warriors of the Imperium, knew the dangers of Chaos. Daemons from the warp whispered twisted thoughts, corrupting even the most dedicated. Only faith in the Emperor could protect one from Chaos. When Corinthus V lost its faith, Chaos gained its hold. Now, the Space Wolves had almost reached victory.
Ragnar made a point of trying to remember each campaign before its end, and it was time for the end. The time was right for his Space Wolves to make their final assault. The treacherous enemy, rebels and worshippers of the ruinous powers of Chaos, were all but destroyed. One last strike and this campaign was won.
Ragnar stood alone on top of the rocky heights overlooking the city. He enjoyed this time the most. Just before battle, the world seemed different, quiet and tranquil. Moments of quiet were rare in a lifetime of constant warfare. He knew that the moment would not last. His job was not yet done. He caught a familiar scent on the air, and knew it was time.
Powerful strides brought Ranulf, a member of the Wolf Guard, Ragnar's own elite bodyguard, to the top of the hill to stand next to his Wolf Lord. Ranulf was the largest Space Wolf that he had ever known, gifted by the spirit of Leman Russ, primarch of their Chapter, with unparalleled strength. Ragnar thought that if Leman Russ returned to lead the Space Wolves, this Wolf Guard might be able to look the ancient primarch in the eye. More important than his size, Ranulf was one of Ragnar's oldest and dearest friends and the most trusted of his Wolf Guard, holding the title of battle leader, giving him command if the Wolf Lord should fall.
'Are the men assembled?' Ragnar asked.
'Yes, Lord Ragnar, your Wolf Guard awaits you,' Ranulf replied.
Ragnar turned and clapped Ranulfs shoulder. 'As well they should. I'd hate to have them finish the war without me. Ranulf, let's finally be rid of this Chaos filth.'
What's the current status?' asked Ragnar.
'For the most part, the heretics are scattered and disorganised, but some of them have fortified small strong points within Saint Harman. The Imperial Guard has kept them at bay, but they need us to break the final strongholds.'
'Good. The Imperial Guard commander remembered my instructions from the beginning of the campaign. He's saved the last for us to face in the assaults. Starting a war is easy, finishing it is hard.
We've got the hard part to do. These heretics have one last push in them.'
'M'lord?' asked Ranulf.
'My instincts tell me that they are luring us into a false sense of security. They haven't fought nearly as hard this time. We haven't even moved into the combat in Saint Harman. Our Space Wolves had to help the Imperial Guard to even gain a foothold in the other cities. On every other location on this planet, the Chaos worshippers fought tooth and nail, but here in the capital as their last stand, they are routed? I don't think so. They are in trouble, but a cornered animal is always dangerous. Of course, so are Wolves,' Ragnar grinned, exposing his long and sharpened canines. The gene-seed, which transformed Space Wolves from men to superhuman warriors, gave them many gifts. Besides their stature, standing half a metre taller than any man, the most outwardly visible sign was their extended canines. The older a Space Wolf was, the longer they grew. For a Wolf Lord, Ragnar was rather short in the tooth, but no one dared mention it to him.
The Wolf Guard stood ready. Three of Ragnar's finest warriors, Tor, Uller and Hrolf, awaited him. Unlike other packs, Ragnar's Wolf Guard each carried their own individual arms and weapons. The most experienced and reliable of all of his Space Wolves, they had proven themselves a hundred times over. Now, they would have to prove themselves once more, and each one relished the chance.
'You'll break up and go to the packs for this one. Each one of you will lead a pack. Ranulf, I want you and Tor to take Grey Hunter packs near my flanks.
Lillet' you'll move your men parallel to Tor. I'll be with the Blood Claws.'
Ragnar preferred to fight alongside the Blood Claws, the youngest and most restless warriors, newly initiated Space Wolves. They possessed a wild abandon, a raw desire for victory that required strong guidance.
Ragnar unfolded a map. Tor, your pack will flank my right. You will enter the city here and move north towards the Administratum sector. Ranulf you'll flank my left, on the edge of the merchant sector. We'll be spread thin, so stay alert.'
Ranulf, Tor and Uller took command of their Grey Hunters, the Space Wolves' tried and true veterans. Ragnar watched them leave. He had fought alongside all three countless times. However, Ragnar had just granted Tor the honour of joining the Wolf Guard. Ragnar knew he was ready for it. He just wondered if Tor knew it.
'What would you like me to do, m'lord Ragnar?' The sarcasm in Hrolf’s voice was so thick that a frostaxe could cut it.
'Hrolf, I'm sorry I thought you were dead,' Ragnar stated. The two men shared a long running joke, as Hrolf was by far the oldest member of the great company and Ragnar was the youngest of the Wolf Lords. Despite the difference in rank and age, Hrolf and Ragnar shared a strong bond of brotherhood.
'Haven't found the war big enough to kill me yet, Ragnar, and once I do, you'll have the Iron Priests wire me into the next available Dreadnought, because you hate going to war without me.' Both men burst into laughter.
One look at Hrolf's face said everything about the old Space Wolf. It was a map to his past, riddled with scars like landmarks from centuries of war, while his storm-grey eyes reminded Ragnar of the worst hurricanes on their home world of Fenris. Ragnar could see countless horrors and wonders reflected in those eyes. However, his huge smile stood out in contrast to his rough face.
Ragnar threw an arm around his oldest Wolf Guard. 'Old friend, once again I need you with your Long Fangs. Who else can best handle the heavy support? I'm assuming that you've scouted the best place to position your pack?'
'Aye sir, up on the ridge where you spent the morning admiring Saint Harman, and the ruins of the old spaceport shuttle pad there.' Hrolf pointed to the south-east ridge, which jutted from the tree canopy, and then to the south-west.
'Looks perfect, Hrolf, in fact you're in luck, someone positioned my Long Fangs at both locations.' Ragnar admired Hrolf’s initiative. 'Should anything unexpected arise you'll have enough firepower to shift the balance back in our favour.'
The Space Wolves moved into the city on foot, making their way first through the burning industrial sector. The air held the scents of blood, decay, smoke and death, along with burning toxins from destroyed machinery. Beneath it all, Ragnar could separate one scent from the others: the sickly sweet taint of Chaos. The enemy was here. The hairs on his neck rose.