For Imperium Eternal

“They were going to lynch an innocent man, no judge, no jury. Perhaps it was horrible, I must have thought so at the time. Ha, I don't even remember now, it isn't important any longer. Just another execution. It was the first time I let the darkness claim me. I was unarmed, but a youth. There was a lot of them, they had clubs and knives- They were like chaff. So slow, so weak, so frail. The pop of breaking bones. The shrieks of pain. The stench of fear. The taste of blood in the air. I'd never felt more alive. I couldn't care less for the life saved, it wasn't worth the effort. But that thrill, that was something different. It was invigorating, exhilarating. And in that moment I knew- knew I was a damned man.”

Salazar Aktan, SNC Captain, reminiscing about his youth.

"Varga, Moss, you'll be coming down there with me. When we dock, we must be ready for anything. Sylas, you are staying with the ship in my stead," Albrecht spoke quickly as the Straggen began its final approach to Astina, the headquarters of the Confederate navy.

Varga smiled in anticipation, stretching the scar that ran the length of his jaw in a hideous grin as he shouldered his Mk 43 assault rifle and hung a sharpened entrenching tool from his belt. Moss was more reserved, simply nodding and slinging his own rifle into position. Normally, it would have been Sylas coming with him, not Varga, who even the brusque Albrecht viewed as impulsive and crass. As his second in command and aide, Sylas was far more stable and helpful, but not today. He had been leveled with accusations of treasonous activity upon his return to port, and had defended himself vehemently. The result had been an order for him to report here, to Astina, to face judgment. He had officially been stripped of all command, Anders and Sylas had been place in charge in his stead, ordered to deliver their dissenting captain to the trial. But that was not how the battle-group functioned. For all intents and purposes, Albrecht was still very much in control. His men were far more loyal to the captain that had fought by their side for decades rather than some far off bureaucrats in Astina. But Albrecht had remained dutiful, and had obeyed orders, even now, to face judgment.

"Sylas, if anything goes wrong, if you get news that I am convicted, you are in charge of the Straggen, do as you see fit,” it was painful to admit, but the nagging feeling that the court martial would turn sour had not dispelled.

Without warning, the door slid open, admitting Anders, who had remained on the bridge.

“Sir. There is a report. The governor of Fas. The head of the Savas Bay region. He was slain.” his words were quiet, but Albrecht could sense there was something underlying the mans words, something he did not want to mention.

“What else?” he had no patience for dancing around the issue, not normally, and especially not now.

“Several Red Blade operatives were killed alongside him. It would appear that he had been attempting to deal with them, taking bribes and such, working with them, some were those we had been hunting,” Anders licked his lips. Albrecht had never known him to show signs of nervousness or concern. If anything Gabriel was even more sangfroid than he was.

“They killed him?” he asked.

“No, it was one of our own, a Confederate commando. 513^th Special Deployment. 'Razor Section'. The governor had betrayed them to the Red Blades. Only one man survived, a lieutenant. Their commanding officer. He killed the governor. He killed him singlehandedly,” Anders added.

“How did you come by this information. Why wasn't I told earlier?” he slitted his eyes as they approached the Straggen's bridge.

“He and his ship was picked up by our fleet. He's on the comms now. He wants to speak to you. Rambling on about some sort of betrayal, he says the his higher ups knew and did nothing,” the young captain hesitated, wondering whether or not it would be prudent to continue.

It annoyed Skor greatly to see him continue to hide something so obviously.

“He'll have to wait until after the trial. Perhaps his immediate officers were compromised, who knows,” he said, before adding, “Anders, you still have something to say. What aren't you telling me? Quickly.”

“Sir, he didn't just kill the governor, he killed his whole household, butchered them to the last. Guards. Servants. Men, women. Children,” Albrechts second in command shook his head in horror and disgust.

“How do you know this? Perhaps it is a mistake. How can we be sure?” Albrecht couldn't believe it, that a servant of the Confederacy could fall so far.

But Gabriel instantly dispelled his hopes, the pain all too obvious in his voice as he spoke, “Albrecht. There is no mistake. Salazar told us himself.”

The roar of discharging weaponry was deafening, lasers crackled and the stench of burning propellants hung thick in the air. Albrecht could see the incoming shvir disintegrating under the barrage of incoming fire, crumpling in heaps across the flagstones. The fight had come here, to the heart of the city, to the massive avenues of the capitol. Fauler had died to an alien tank, his shielding giving out to the massed firepower of the enemy. The militia had been shattered, incapable of holding against the overwhelming tide of shviri infantry and armor. Only a few scattered pockets still held, usually in areas where they were stiffened by the regulars and commandos. But even the army was beginning to fail. Slowly, surely, attrition was taking its toll. The shvir could make good their losses, the imperials could not. Broken bodies and wreckage lined the roads where the battle had been raging. The entirety of the old governing quarter was aflame with the light of thousands of guns.

“Shviri tanks, incoming!” One of the army officers shouted, diving into cover as another barrage of rockets came in.

“Moss, Mola take a platoon of infantry, stop them!” Albrecht snarled, his voice a rasping growl through the helmets speakers,”Hold your fucking ground!”

“We need to fall back, we're going to be overrun.”

“No retreat! We hold here!”

They had to. The cities only hope for reinforcement was through Helesa. It was at the cities outskirts, and the closest to friendly Imperial lines. But already, Sylas was reporting shviri attacks on their perimeter defenses. There were no reserves. Somehow, the pressure had to be relieved, and if it came at the cost of dragging the shvir into the charnel house around the capitol building, so be it.

There was nearly a platoon of soldiers waiting for him as they strode out of the hangar, surrounded by military police. Ornate arms and armor of the ceremonial guard contrasting sharply with the utilitarian, war-worn uniforms of Albrecht and his men. A trio of confederate officers stood at the head of the unit. One, he could recognize as the plump form of Sturer. The others he did not know, but the one at the fore was bedecked in epaulets, medals and various orders. The other appeared to be his aide, and held a small data-tablet, which seemed to constantly be drawing his attention, as if he was still unbelieving of whatever he was seeing. Their very aura was one of inflated importance. The smug looks and pompous glares filling Albrecht with disgust. Yet as the captain towered over them, he could see the large congregation step back at the sight of him and his two guards. Something was wrong, there were too many people here. Too many armed soldiers. Albrecht scanned over the group, searching for a clue as to their intent. It was all so amiss,

The captain himself had come unarmed, leaving even his pistol on-board the Straggen. Behind him, Albrecht could sense Vargas hand tightening on the spade at his hip, the minute change in his breathing. The man had always been blunt in his approach to every problem. The decadence, the arrogance. It disgusted him even more than it did Albrecht, knowing that this was the pompous scum that accused his commander of treason. Neither group seemed willing to speak. Finally, the man at the head of the official confederate delegation stepped forward, taking the tablet from his aide as he did so. “As of 1203, I Vice-Commandant Horath am placing you under arrest. A special committee has found you guilty of violating official rules of engagement, violations of human rights conventions and war-crimes. You are to be brought in under guard, effective immediately.”

“Guilty? There must be a trial! This isn't how things are done!” Varga snarled.

“You forget your place, soldier. Consider yourself fortunate that I do not have you arrested as well,” Horath responded coldly.

Albrecht gestured for Varga to be quiet as he turned upon the senior officer, “He is right, I demand a trial, I demand to see those accusing me of these violations. This is wrong.”

“The order for your arrest comes straight from central command, your ruthless conduct has damaged the work and livelihood of some of our most respected citizens, and harmed thousands of others. Now come in quietly, attempting to resist will win you no sympathy,” it was Sturer, as spineless as ever.

“I'm not going anywhere, law must be respected” Skor could feel his anger welling up, he struggled to keep himself under control.

“Seize him!” Horath had made his decision.

Albrecht had split seconds to make his final choice. A pair of guardsmen moved from the main group, the others began to reach for their weapons.

It was not a command, and yet it bore all the weight of one as the Confederate captain curled his lips up in a hideous sneer, uttering his response, “No.”

Albrecht swore as Wiedzmin's corpse collapsed to the ground, the rocket having punched clean through his chest plate. Mere moments later the firer was dead, a single rifle round through its thick skull, too little too late. A Cataphract died violently behind the SNC commandant, its turret slewing aside, sharp cracks and sputters emitting from within as the remaining ammunition cooked off. They couldn't hold much longer. Soon, the entire position would be overrun. Albrecht looked about himself, at the crumbling battle line. The order from Terr came through the comms net. A retreat had been sounded. He would not argue. The fight was being dragged into the old senate building and surrounding structures, ever deeper into the city. They had to draw the shvir away from Helesa. He could see the mechanized infantry mounting up into their carriers, falling back slowly, surely, retreating to their last lines of defense. Few of the tanks were still intact, he doubted they had much ammunition left regardless.

One of the shviri transports exploded, eviscerated by an armor piercing shell.

“Got one canister round left. Out of AP,” Moss shouted.

“Fall back, we'll draw them into the buildings. Stay low, don't get tied down,” the cycle of confirmations ran through the comms.

It was painfully shortened by Fauler and Wiedzmin's absence. Albrecht could hear his strides crunching against the rubble as he ran up the senate steps, shviri lasers still sizzling of his back armor. Dark clouds gathered in the sky above and wind whipped through the streets. The guns were falling silent as the two sides consolidated once more, readying for a final struggle. The commandant was the last to enter the halls of the vast governmental complex, leaping over the barricades that barred the entrance. Infantry massed inside for a final stand, taking positions at windows and various fire-ports. They could hold for hours here. The planets orbital star had begun to descend. Why wasn't Sylas reporting reinforcements yet?

What followed was a massacre. Varga had closed the distance in less than a second, moving with a lethal speed belied by his great bulk, the sharpened spade already swinging in a wide arc. Moss dropped to one knee, rifle spinning up to a ready position in the same time it took Varga to close the gap. His body barely moved as shot after shot rang out, utterly distinct from the panicked automatic fire coming from the military police and guardsmen.

Albrecht moved swiftly, bowling Horath over and drawing the officers pistol from its holster. In a flurry of shots, Skor had brought Sturer and officers aide down, not even pausing as he stood up and finished off the downed confederate. The die had been cast.

The fight in the hall didn't last long. Rifles clattered on full automatic, bullets ricocheting off the orbital docks steel walls. The fire of the military police and guardsmen had killed several of their own men as Varga used them as a human shield, keeping close to his foes to maximize the chance of friendly fire. The gleaming entrenching tool was lodged in a guardsman's neck as he wielded his rifle one handed, firing short bursts over the body of a dead military policeman. Moss stood a few feet behind him, still picking his enemies apart with controlled shots. The skirmish was over. It was time to retreat.

“Albrecht, the Galata is moving to engage, what the hell is going on? Shields up! Shields up! Break dock-” Anders cut in across the comms, his voice sounding shocked and horrified.

“We've been attacked! They left me no choice Anders. We're trapped down here,” Albrecht responded as he and his group backed off toward their escape.

“Hold station! Take them head on, everything into the shields! Albrecht, you better hurry, we can't hold this for long! They're blasting through the bridge” Anders shouted over the wail of the klaxon.

A destroyer could never hold against a cruisers firepower. Moss was bleeding from his leg, a through and through, but he didn't allow it to slow him down, it was a pitiful price to pay for the slaughter that had occurred. They had to reach the shuttle and escape. They had to retreat. Albrecht looked in horror at the dead and wounded surrounding them. What had they just done?

The infantry were screaming, burned alive in the scorching inferno as plasma fire consumed all before it. Only the commandos stood, invulnerable to the flames behind their suits of armor. The shvir had finally had enough, unleashing their bombers on the last imperial holdouts in the city center.

The shield fizzled and failed, the surface of his armor scorched and heated. It held, just barely. Warning lights blinked across Albrecht's helmet. His cloak was incinerated, only the chain and imperial cross remaining intact. They were being overrun, but the fight wasn't over, not yet. The commandant clenched Godsbane, the silver blade glittering in the firelight. The steel itself seemed alive, hungering for blood, even as the blue droplets along its length evaporated.

He stood alone, a halo of coruscating flame wreathed his stationary form. No, not alone. Not until the end. Boots crunched across the rubble as the silent, ragged line slowly formed on his flanks. The last of the flames slowly died down across their armor. All that could burn had been reduced to ash. The first valkir rushed through the doorway, firing at the heavily armored soldiers still standing in their path.

The ragged line did not waver. Motors started up one last time, spinning barrels up to speed. Laser cutters crackled to life. Combat knives and Akarns were drawn. Albrecht's imperial cross glinted, the fire having only cleansed it of all impurity. Helesa needed time. The Imperium needed more time. Seeing the shviri infantry leaping over the rubble in their hundreds, the SNC commandant silently wondered how much longer they could hold.

“Will he live?”

It was the question that hung on Albrechts mind as he entered the Straggen's medical bay. The man lay on the operating table, eyes covered with a bloodstained rag, the corners of his mouth twitching feebly as Albrecht entered.

“I'm not dying yet,” Anders said, his speech slurred from the pain killers.

“You got the ship off the docks, you saved everyone here Gabriel, I am indebted,” Albrecht looked down at the pathetic remains of his helmsman, his face grim and concerned.

“Albrecht, you are leading us down a dangerous path.”

“It had to be done,” Albrecht said, almost silent.

“I know. But this path, it's leading us into darkness. For me, it already has I guess, ha ha,” Gabriel chuckled weakly, barely moving the stump of his arm.

“We'll be entering the Massian Gulf within the next twenty-four hours. We should be able to get provisions and repairs there,” the captain said simply.

“No, they'll expect that. Albrecht, the Confederacy won't pursue, but do you think the clans will hold back? They can't have a man like you on the loose,” Anders was weak and weary, his words little more than a hoarse croak.

“Then we will hit first. We still have the strength. The battlegroup is still loyal, all our vessels are responding. They will follow us,” he said decisively.

“So they will. Albrecht, do what you think is right, we are lost, but perhaps we may yet find the way. Go away, let me rest, perhaps I will be thinking clearer once these damn drugs are out of my system,” Anders feebly waved him away with his remaining hand.

“Thank you, Anders,” the senior captain bowed his head and strode out of the room, leaving Gabriel to his delirious musings.

The exo suits reactor detonated violently, immolating the surrounding shvir and only adding to the conflagration that now engulfed the old senate building. Moss was gone. None of the commandos responded to their comrades death. There was no time for sentimentality. The aliens were seeking to isolate the commandos, to bring them down one at a time. The imperials were being driven back, deeper into the massive chamber. Their armor protecting them from the shviri small arms, they stood their ground. There was nowhere to retreat. Viscera splattered the ashes of the structure as the three remaining commandos fought their way through the shvir. Every motion measured, every bullet well spent, every weapon swing a death knell.

“Left flank. Incoming!” Albrecht shouted through the comms.

He never had time to see if Mola had managed to respond. Some of the valkir had scattered into cover, sniping at the surrounded commandos. They were nothing against the commandos as long as they kept them at range. Grenade fragments clattered against armor plating. His assault rifle jerked in his hand as he fired, the exo controlling the recoil flawlessly.

“Rocket launcher! Albrecht, move!” Varga suddenly shouted.

He saw the shvir just in time, lifting a bulky looking anti tank piece and centering it on the SNC commandant. His left hand swung up protectively, an all too human reaction, even as the bright flash emitted from the weapons barrel. All Albrecht could feel was the pain.

“Captain Skor, delighted to make your acquaintance,” the graying politician reached out and shook Albrecht's hand.

“Mr. Alleri,” he nodded once in response, sitting down opposite the old man.

The man had to be over three centuries in age, the soldier thought.

“Miss Stella Marks, a close ally of mine in these past few years, I would have never been able to track you down and contact you were it not for her,” he indicated the woman sitting alongside him.

Albrecht looked into her eyes as he shook her hand, seeing the light of conniving intelligence there. They were both judging, gauging each other. She was searching for something in his face, but he could not recognize what. In turn, she held his gaze, something he had seen very few people do.

“A pleasure,” she said, tactful and diplomatic.

“Much the same,” he responded, the delivery significantly less convincing.

“And you must be Salazar Aktan. Your reputation precedes you. How many was it that you killed on Fas, forty-five?” Senator Alleri inquired pointedly, nodding in the mans direction.

The sallow faced soldier smiled, baring his teeth in a feral grin, “Forty-seven.”

The captain could see miss Marks slit her eyes slightly as she scrutinized Albrecht's second in command, her eyes glancing at the human knuckle bones hanging around Salazar's neck. The corners of Alleri's mouth merely twitched upward at the remark, amused by the statement, holding Salazars gaze for a few moments before turning his attention back to Skor.

“Albrecht, I know you are not one for idle chatter, so let me speak plainly,” the politician said, and Albrecht could sense his companions amusement, they had very different ideas of plain speech, but he knew Salazar would remain silent, “The Confederacy is dying, and the shvir are coming. Even the most positive of intelligence gives us thirty years at most, a mere flicker of time I'm sure you agree. And we are not prepared.”

“Ironic, coming from a professional revolutionary, and the founder of the Confederacy no less,” Albrecht said icily.

“A hundred fifty years ago was a different time. But now we need unity. Albrecht, to put it simply, I am dying. At best, I have a few decades. But I do not plan to die knowing everything I have fought for has gone to hell thanks to bureaucratic imbeciles,” Scipio Alleri said simply.

“And what would you have me do? I'm a mercenary, not a revolutionary,” the captain answered.

In response, the politician merely smiled, amused by the remark, “And yet you're no ordinary mercenary, are you? I've read your background. You were in charge of the operations that helped clear the Meringian sector of pirate and cartel operations. 74% drop. But something went wrong. Confederate deserter, but never turned to piracy like so many others of your ilk. Even the work you do, for a soldier of your caliber the reward is nowhere near adequate. Defending Mal IV was of no gain for you. You've even taken this ”

“My reasons are my own,” Albrecht responded icily.

“I'm sure they are, Albrecht, I'm sure they are. But it bothers you, does it not, the corruption, the terror, the collapse? The Confederacy is falling apart,” Alleri still hadn't wiped the smile off his face, “Albrecht, I intend to end the Confederacy. The Imperium will be brought back. It must be done. But there are many who oppose this move. I will need a strong right hand to secure order. Many of the aristos, the nobles and god knows how many political groups wanting their say. They will not be happy, but they will have to be brought to heel. You control the single most powerful, and uncorrupted, military unit in the sector, we need your support. It is as simple as that.”

“So you want me to be an executioner? To enforce your rule. A rule of terror?” Albrecht snorted in disgust.

“I suppose we are. But ask yourself Albrecht. Is there any other way? You know as well as I that they are corrupt. The people can be convinced, fooled if need be. Those who profit from the decay however, those are a tougher proposition,” it was Stella Marks who spoke, steepling her fingers and eyeing Albrecht coldly.

It disgusted him, everything being implied. The idea of such insurrection, the casual way in which they discussed such an overthrow. To them billions of lives were but pawns in a grand game of politics.

“Albrecht. You will be guaranteed anything you desire. If you need ships, weapons, supplies, men. All can be provided. Your support is not something we take lightly,” Scipio spoke eloquently, like far too many politicians that Albrecht had met.

But what they said was right. The Confederacy was damned. He had seen it himself.

“Albrecht, we are ready to meet your demands. Miss Marks and her people can provide you with any intelligence you need. It will be surgical,” Alleri implored, his voice soothing and calm.

“What is your opinion of this matter? Captain Skor? Will you join our movement?” Stella was cordial yet cold.

An arrogant air surrounded her. The aura of someone who already knew their job was done, and done well. He had seen that same emotion radiate from Salazar after a difficult kill. She already knew he would say yes.

“If I join you in this- Movement, as you so succinctly put it. There will be one condition, and you accept it if you want my help.”

“Name it,” senator Alleri said, like a wolf ready to pounce.

Stella didn't even blink, those two emerald eyes observing all that unfolded, once more, she knew what he was about to ask before he did so. She had studied him well.

“I will have complete control. I will have the last word on anything you wish to be done by my soldiers. My men, and any others who may join, will follow my orders and that of my successors, and not that of any other. We will serve this Imperium of yours, if it will truly be as you promise, fight and die for it if need be. But on our own terms,” Albrecht spoke forcefully, staring straight at the withered old politician before him.

Surprisingly, Scipio Alleri's lips twitched upward, a cold, cynical smile, eyes glinting with amusement, “We would have it no other way.”

The agony was almost blinding. He was bleeding. His left hand severed, a ruined stump, having stopped the rocket from striking his chest. And yet he still fought. Godsbane sang through the air, cleaving another shvir apart at the midriff. They were all dying. There was no escape.

“Sir, Cataphracts's are coming in. Thirteenth Armored is incoming! Reinforcements!” Sylas was shouting over the comms, the roar of gunfire still echoing behind him.

He needed to stand, to rise from where he had fallen. Two shvir were rushing him, attempting to find a weak spot in his armor. Albrecht cut one down with a single sword stroke, the alien hadn't even tried to parry him or avoid the blow. The other thrust a bayonet at him, the long blade aimed directly at the commando's neck. It was all over.

Varga came in with a roar, short handled axe decapitating the attacking shvir in a spray of blood and gore. Indomitable and loyal to the last. He grabbed his commandants sword arm, dragging him upward, the squeal of servos straining a mere whisper in comparison to the chaos around them.

“Get up Albrecht! We fight! There is still blood to be shed!” he bellowed over the din of battle.

Mola limped towards them, his suits right leg torn and sparking. They were battered, broken. Time was running out.

“Back to back. Unto the end,” Albrecht nodded once, turning to face the incoming shvir.

“Unto the end,” Mola mirrored his words, the sputter of the tortured machinery keeping him upright even more pronounced as he turned.

“It has been an honor, Albrecht,” Varga pivoted away with a flourish, his suit still fully functional and nearly undamaged.

The black rock was struck by the tide, surrounded from all sides and battered by their enemies. Albrecht saw Mola fall, his armor rent and torn, the damaged leg finally giving out. The charred remains of his tabbard disappearing beneath shviri boots as he toppled over. Somewhere behind him, Varga was still hewing his path through their foes. Albrecht was weak. Blood pattered against the ash choked ground. His blood.

He was too slow. They had been surrounded. The shvir separated him from Varga. A plasma projectile seared through the segmented plate on his midriff, fired at pointblank there was no way the alien could have missed. The commandant could feel a sharp burning pain, see the valkir soldier who had brought him low. His attacker got no time to rejoice as Albrecht cut the things legs out, driving Godsbane deep into its chest. He could not stand. He was leaning on his blade for support. Varga was saying something. His ears were ringing, it was all a far away echo. Lasers still pattered off his armor with their familiar sizzle.

Sylas' voice crackled over the comms, “Sir, we have your position. Re-routing seventh to you now.”

They would be too late. They would fly straight into a trap trying to save dead men.

“No”, he could feel the cold spreading through his body, time itself seemed to slow.

“Sir?” Sylas didn't want to believe it, Albrecht knew.

“Hold your ground. Hold Helesa. Find us- Find us after,” Albrecht could feel his breathing becoming shallow, painful.

All was dark. Albrecht realized he had closed his eyes. Their lids seemed oh so heavy, drawing closed of their own volition. Varga was still shouting something, he could have been a galaxy away, echoing in his mind. He forced his eyes open. He was a knight, an imperial knight. A shviri captain was rushing him, seeking to put him down at last, to slay the crippled warrior, kneeling, resting upon his own sword. Albrecht clenched his hand, he could no longer feel if it responded, if it answered his call. But he could sense that it closed around something, around the hilt of a sword. Godsbane with a will of its own, pulling Albrecht into his opponent. His final enemy. The faceless valkir officer rushed at him, emitting a guttural roar. Albrecht pushed up, his blade feeling no resistance as it passed through the shvir and up through its spine. Simultaneously the alien weapon pierced Albrechts armor at the shoulder joint, biting deep, a killing blow, severing the simple chain around his neck. The commandant slumped, suit crumpling against the ash strewn ground. An imperial cross fell to the dust, clattering for a second as it bounced around, before finally lying still.