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Chapter six: And so his angels of death descend from the heavens and sow death and destruction

The Furia system was not a really special system. The planets did not hold any special resources or other militarily important factories. But they were located on one of the few stable warp routes in this quadrant. Therefore it was important that they were under the control of the Empire. Furia, the only habitable planet in the system, had fallen victim to the Orks some time ago. A comparatively small Waaaargh, but since the planet's PDF forces were neither well equipped nor numerous, they were overrun almost instantly. The SOS was picked up, but the mills of the Administratum ground slowly as always, and so it took years for the Astra Militarum to even respond, and the planet was already hopelessly lost by the time the Imperial Guard arrived.

The battles for the planet continued for almost a year now and there was still no victory in sight. Since Furia was the only habitable planet in the system, an Exterminatus was refrained from, because the planet should remain habitable. So the greenskins had to be defeated the old-fashioned way.

A cruel, brutal, bloodthirsty and long lasting ground campaign, against an enemy that counted several billions, constantly multiplied and reveled in it the harder the battle was fought. In orbit, a space war was going on at the same time, which was fought just as hard as the war on the ground. The orcs kept building new spaceships, partly from the space debris of the destroyed spaceships. They built them so quickly that the Imperial Fleet was almost unable to keep up with the destruction.

After a year of intense fighting, it was decided to ask for help from the Order to at least get control of the orbit so that they could better support the ground forces from the air.

While the Astartes of the Order would be used primarily in the orbital battles, the Wulfen would provide ground support in the offensive. Ivar and his Pack would be flung into the middle of the battle via drop-pod. Deployment via drop-pod was a specialty of the Astartes. Normal mortals would not even survive this type of drop. It took the physics of the Astartes to survive the high G-forces in the first place.

During the drop assault, the drop pods were loaded with up to eight Astartes in power armor and then dropped from high orbit onto the planet. During the drop, the pods were usually further accelerated by rocket engines, and it was not uncommon for them to fall toward the ground at speeds of Mach 14. This ensured that most air defense guns could not target the pods. Brake missiles were fired only shortly before impact to make the impact survivable, at least in theory. Often several pods were dropped, sometimes even automated weapon platforms that first created a kind of landing zone by being equipped with several synchronized heavy bolters and after the unbraked impact simply unloaded their magazines into everything that was in the vicinity of the pod.

This would not be the case this time. Ivar and his Pack would be launched in a single pod into the middle of the front line and from there they would leave a trail of destruction, distracting the enemy to allow the Imperial Guard to advance. They would lay down their lives in the process, restoring their honor.

As Ivar and his Pack walked through the narrow corridors of the Russ' suspicion, sirens sounded all around them. The Russ's suspicion was in combat. The hustle and bustle of the crew moving into battle positions and arming all the strategic nodes of the ship was an all too familiar sight for the Wulfen. They had already been in countless space battles. Not only their crew could send boarding parties. The greenskins were very well able to do so as well. They would not make it easy for the orcs if they dared to set foot on this ship.

The ship was shaken. Impacts of the orcs' grude weapons, too slow to be intercepted by the ship's shields. The sounds of defensive batteries trying to catch incoming projectiles filled the corridors. The high-pitched screech of the Russ' suspicions lances made the lighting flicker. It was a heated battle. The captain did not rely on finesse or sophisticated tactics. Such things did not help with the orcs. Sheer strength and superiority counted here.

Ivar turned off the main corridor and stood in a sparsely lit room. In front of him stood a drop-pod. The blue-gray paint had been mostly scraped off by countless missions, the underside blackened from repeated re-entries into the atmosphere. The crew was just putting the finishing touches on it.

"Drop-pod fueled, target region locked in, coordinates confirmed... Please board, my lords."

Was the brief feedback from the officer at the drop pod control panel. Ivar and his Pack boarded the drop-pod. The harnesses had been modified to accommodate them. The standard harnesses would no longer work, since they were not wearing standard armor. When they were straped down tightly, the sides of the drop-pod closed and the explosive bolts locked. The speaker inside came crackling to life.

"Load secured. Pod ready to drop. Airlocks opening."

The mechanical whir of the drop mechanism could be heard loudly. They could feel the drop pod being lifted into the airlock. Then the drone as the airlock closed over the drop pod. After that, silence fell as the atmosphere in the airlock was pumped down.

"Drop in ten seconds."

Read the sober statement from the loudspeaker. The muffled sounds still transmitted to the drop-pod by the vibrations of the mechanism indicated the opening of the outer airlock. Ivar took a breath and closed his eyes. Even though he, like all the other Astartes of the Order, was downright addicted to the chaos of the battlefield, he didn't like dropping in a drop-pod. Too little control over what was happening, and relying on a servitor's calculations when it came to getting the brothers safely into battle was not always comforting.

At that moment, the retaining clips were released and the drop-pod shot off. Ivars brother Bannan howled his excitement into the drop-pod and the other members of the Pack joined in. Within seconds, the Russ' suspicion was so far away that it was completely lost in the throng of the space battle. The planet below them, on the contrary, was approaching so fast that it was frightening. As the drop-pod hit Furia's atmosphere, the rocket engines fired, accelerating the pod against the denser atmosphere. The Wulfen were pressed into their harnesses as the pod sped toward the ground. The drop-pod was shaken tremendously. The continuous roar and screech of the rocket engines were gradually joined by other sounds as the atmosphere became dense enough to transmit noise. Whenever a flak shell exploded near the pod, it was jolted and the eight occupants could feel the blast.

"ETA 15 seconds."

Came the announcement from the loudspeaker. Ivar gritted his teeth in about 12 seconds the retrorockets would ignite and they would be subjected to a short term stress of almost 25Gs. It was not uncommon for Astartes to break vertebrae during these landings. Only the power armor kept them operational. Ivar and his Pack, however, did not wear power armor.

"ETA 10 seconds."

At that moment, a violent explosion rocked the drop-pod and one of the side walls was blown off the pod. Ivar caught a brief glimpse outside.

Below them was a battlefield that stretched all the way to the horizon. Explosions flashed everywhere and dense black smoke lay over the entire land. The entire ground appeared as a billowing mass of bodies. These had to be billions and billions of greenskins.

*By Russ... this is impossible...*

Was his thought. Then the retrorockets ignited. The deceleration was so hard and fast that Ivar lost consciousness for a moment. When the drop-pod hit the ground, in the midst of the orcs, it buried a complete mob under itself and the shock wave swept the orcs within a radius of almost 20 meters off their feet. Then the explosive bolts were detonated and the sides of the drop-pod were opened to the sides with explosive force. The sides had not yet touched the ground when Ivar and his Pack already charged onto the battlefield.

Their howls drowned out the sounds of battle in the surrounding area, and for the first split second they met no resistance. The chain axes screeched and tore their way through the completely surprised orcs. When the moment of shock passed, the howls of the Wulfen were joined by the roars of the orcs.

"Waaaaaaargh..."

Was the universal response as the orcs threw themselves at the Wulfen. As was customary for orcs, they threw away their shootaz and grabbed their splitaz, pushing into the melee. Ivar and his Pack hacked and slashed, tore and bit their way through one orc after another. The bloodshed was glorious. The ferrous smell of fresh blood, the stench of adrenaline, and the electrifying feeling of living for nothing but battle and death filled Ivar.

And then he pressed the second button on his axe.

Within three heartbeats, the battlefield seemed to explode. His blood burned in his veins and his vision widened. He saw the smells of his enemies, he felt the air movements caused by their weapons, he heard their murderousness and tasted their lust for blood... Within moments, his metabolism accelerated so rapidly that his body was able to consume the energy normally available to it for several days in a few minutes. His howls shrilled across the front line he and his Pack held and he began driving his axes into his opponents at an incredible speed. The teeth of his chain axes didn't even have time to dig into the flesh of his opponents, he pushed the blades through his opponents just like that and shredded them without mercy. He felt no more pain, no more scruples, no more doubts, no more mercy, no more remorse, no more holding back. The only direction was forward. Forward all the time.

Their landing was less than a minute ago and they had already covered over 100 meters, behind them the bifurcated orcs writhed in mortal agony. Ivar and his brothers didn't care. As long as there were victims to kill in front of them, they did not look back. This did not go unnoticed by the orcs. As much as they loved the fight, simply being slaughtered was not the goal.

"Boss... da... da... thingies dere, they're not really fightin'..."

Complained one of the Boys to his Nob, only to get a fist smack.

"Jus' 'cause dem thingies dere is grumpin' the other boyz, don't mean they're gonna grump us too. Gimme dat stickbomb..."

That was just before the wulfen to Ivar's left was ripped apart in an explosion. Ivar didn't even react, but pressed the rune on the hilt of his axe harder as he cut through another row of orcs. When even the death of two more Wulfen by explosions and the sheer superiority of the greenskins could not stop the advance of the rest, the orcs who were in the immediate vicinity of Ivar and his Pack began a panicked retreat.

"Run... Run... if we run away now we can fight again tomorrow..."

Much to the chagrin of their nobs, this panic also made other mobs in the area uneasy and within no time the front line fell apart.

"Do Is has to do all by meself..."

Cursed one of the larger nobs, brandishing his splita. Ivar met him halfway and threw at him the remains of an orc that he had just ripped the head from his shoulders.

The orc's war cry mingled with the rabid howl of the Wulfen and was accompanied by the screech of his chain axes. The orc's strength was so immense that he managed to knock one of the axes out of Ivar's claws. Ivar countered and severed the orc's hand at the wrist. There was more anger than pain in the greenskin's scream, and the orc took advantage of the moment until Ivar had raised his axe again and rammed the stump into his stomach.

"Silly git, do ya really thin' dat's going to stop me?"

Saliva flew after Ivar as he took a step back. Ivar shook his head and grinned. The first opponent that was worthwhile.

*Father... do you see me?*

He charged forward again and swung the axe. The screeching of the teeth on the steel of the splita hurt his ears. The orc, like Ivar, seemed to take great pleasure in the duel. Force-wise, the orc was indeed superior, but Ivar was faster and basically unharmed. Most of the blood that caked his fur was not his. Ivar dodged or parried his opponent's powerful blows. The orc's maniacal laughter and the fact that he was able to hold his own against the Wulfen for "so long" showed the other orcs that the battle was not yet lost, and so they redoubled their efforts. Ivar's Pack continued to make up ground, but held back a bit to prevent Ivar from being surrounded.

To make up for his disadvantage in strength, Ivar grabbed his axe two-handed and slammed into the orc's weapon.

"You are strong... but I is stronga..."

Shouted the orc and took another swing with his stump. This was what Ivar had been waiting for, he timed the blow exactly and in the gap created by the attack he led his counterattack. It was not so much a scream as a laugh that escaped the orc as Ivar split him from groin to shoulder. The two halves of the giant opponent fell to the side and Ivar separated the splita from the orc's hand.

Triumphantly, he lifted the orc's oversized, lopsided axe and roared his victory across the battlefield. When his boys saw the death of their leader and saw that his assassin also wanted to wield his weapon against them, they finally took flight. Ivar gave chase for a moment, but the drugs were already wearing off. He looked at the activation rune on the hilt of his axe and pressed it several times, but nothing happened. He felt upward to his neck and found that the tubing was completely shredded. He bared his teeth; in the meantime his death had been closer than he had thought. His Pack stood on the plateau littered with bodies and limbs and weapons, and Ivar joined them. They looked like him. Covered in blood all over, umpteen minor wounds covered their bodies, parts of their armor damaged or gone altogether. Ivar signaled his problem and earned mocking laughter.

"They're fleeing... should we go after them?"

Asked one of the other Wulfen. Ivar shook his head.

"They'll be back..."

A movement in the corner of his eye caught Ivar's attention. An orc cut at the hip was crawling toward them. Laughing wildly, he pulled himself over the bodies of his fallen cronies. His guts had already spread over several meters of the battlefield. He held a large combat knife in his hand and greed burned in his eyes.

"... When I grump you, then I'm da new boss..."

Chuckled the orc as he came closer. Ivar turned to face him. The stab with the knife was easy to parry, Ivar simply kicked it out of his hand. The orc didn't care much, he grabbed Ivar's leg and pulled himself towards him. The look in Ivar's eyes as he activated his chain axe and decapitated the orc was filled with boredom.

Ivar looked off into the distance where the orcs were regrouping. If you could even say that about orcs. When he saw the flash of light, he and his Pack reacted instinctively and scattered.

Where they had just been standing, several artillery shells hit in quick succession.

*This was amazingly accurate for orcs...*

The Wulfen got up, raised their weapons and howled their disobedience to the Orcs. They would not be killed so easily... Not SO easily!

But before they could advance further, or another attack by the orcs could occur, the entire hill that lay before the Wulfen exploded.

The thunderous roar of the engines filled the skies above the battlefield as several Thunderhawks raced over Ivar and his Pack. With guns and missiles they harassed the orc forces while another Thunderhawk landed behind the five Wulfen. It was not one of their own. It was black, and the hated mark of the Inquisition was emblazoned on its fuselage. As the side door of the aircraft opened, a man in a far too large coat with a far too impressive officer's cap exited the Thunderhawk. He was accompanied by two Deathcult assassins, and the laffette-mounted heavy bolters of the thunderhawk held the Wulfen in their sights. The Inquisitor headed straight for them, while behind them his squadron made a massacre of the orcs.

Ivar sighed and bent his knee. There was no point in resisting. On Fenris, it was different. The Inquisition was reluctant to set foot on their home planet, but everywhere else, an Inquisitor outmatched them. His Pack reluctantly followed his example.

"What abominations the sons of Fenris have let off the leash this time. I would do better to kill you right here and now before you endanger the morale of the troops."

Clamored the inquisitor as he approached. His companions had their weapons raised.

"Get up... get up... it does not behoove you to show weakness to the enemy."

He shouted, and Ivar was only too happy to comply with his request. He stretched to make himself look a little taller. When the Inquisitor was finally with them, the other Wulfen stood around Ivar as well.

"Why are you here? Shouldn't you and your insane Brothers be in orbit keeping the peace? We can take care of ourselves down here just fine. What have you guys been up to, anyway?"

Ivar looked to his Pack, who shrugged. Ivar tried the simple signs, but the Inquisitor just looked at him like he was a Grox and there had just been a flash of lightning.

His companion stepped forward and translated for him.

"My lord. These are Astartes of the Order who repent for their failures. They shall fall in battle."

This seemed to interest the inquisitor greatly.

"These are supposed to be Astartes of the Order? Real Astartes? I mean the Sons of Russ are indeed more animal than man. But THESE are not Astartes."

Ivar rolled his eyes and instinctively held back one of his brothers who had already taken a step forward. He began signaling again.

"While cleansing a chaos cult, we were cursed. We are here to repent, as tradition demands."

Translated the assassin.

"Chaos cult... Oh how apt. Probably the same one active in the background here."

The Inquisitor took out a parchment on which a rune was drawn.

"This one?"

Ivar's gaze darkened. He and his Pack nodded slowly.

"Splendid... splendid... You won't find them here. They are further north. We are on our way there, but..."

The inquisitor pointed vaguely in the direction from which the orcs seemed to be coming.

"... This rabble is blocking our way."

Ivar growled and lowered his head. The Inquisitor, however, seemed very amused.

"We can't bring a whole army north, I'm afraid, but now that we have some... how shall I say... expendable... shock troops here..."

He turned to his Thunderhawk and gestured with his finger to follow him.

"... We will give you the opportunity to jump off directly over their temple... The opportunity to thank directly the idiots who got you into this mess. ... Eww it's still alive..."

As he passed, the inquisitor drew his bolt pistol and shot an orc that was still twitching.

Ivar and his Pack followed the assassins to the Thunderhawk.

Once inside, the door was locked and the engines howled again.