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“For those we cherish, we die in glory!”
The battlecry rose above the sounds of bolter fire, screams and the hissing of Tyranids. The Lamenters were surrounded by chitinous horrors, their yellow armor stained with blood and ichor. One battle-brother fell, then another and another.
Chapter Master Malakim Phoros could feel tears running down his cheeks, watching the men he thought of as sons die, but knowing it was worth it. The civilians had had enough time to evacuate, and for those millions of lives, every one of his 400 men would gladly lay down their own.
But it was grim. The Tyranids had them outnumbered, trapped in a narrow valley with monsters pouring down and in from every side. The marines were fighting back to back, many already heavily wounded... their transport had crashed on landing, and since it was the only way back up to their ship, it looked like the Lamenters were doomed to a final stand.
A Haruspex dived towards them, great wings blotting out the sky. Malakim raised his ancient Inferno Pistol, praying to the God-Emperor that he could at least destroy this one last beast before it took out more of his men...
CRASH!
The Tyranid monster staggered in the sky, then fell as its wings crumpled. The drop-pod had struck the center of the monster’s spine, the momentum of atmospheric entry slamming the winged behemoth down, crushing a massing swarm of gaunts with its bulk.
“What?” A young marine beside Malakim gasped, eyes wide beneath his shattered face-plate.
"Into the fires of battle!” a voice cried, amplified by a powerful Vox set. “Unto the Anvil of War!"
The drop-pod opened like a blooming flower, and Marines clad in vibrant green strode out. Flamers roared, blasting the surrounding xenos with cleansing fire. Another drop pod slammed down, then another and another. Hundreds, filling the sky like falling stars... it was glorious.
“The Salamanders!” One Lamenter cried in joy and relief.
A cheer went up from the bedraggled defenders, as grim defiance turned to hope. They fought with fresh vigor, striking down monster after monster with renewed strength.
——
The battle was still long and bloody, but at the end the Marines were victorious. Malakim stood, his Glaive Encarmine finally still after swinging for hour after hour.
A gigantic marine in ornate, ancient armor strode across the battlefield, its emerald ceramite patterned with golden flames and bearing a halo of blazing fire. This must be Tu'Shan himself, the Chapter Master of the Salamanders. The Regent of Prometheus reached up to remove his helmet, revealing a pure-black, bald head. His face was criss-crossed with scars, but his crimson eyes were kind.
“Thank you, Brother,” Malakim said, holding out a gauntleted hand. “Without you-“
“No,” Tu’Shan said, gripping Malakim’s hand, then pulling him into an unexpected hug. “Thank you. You saved many lives this day.”
How rarely had Malakim heard words of true gratitude, let alone from another marine? His chapter was so used to being betrayed, abandoned, spit upon...
Something, some sharp shard of tension, buried for centuries in Malakim’s breast, shattered in that moment. The chapter master broke down, unseemly tears flowing from his eyes. At least they were hidden behind his helmet...
But then he heard something pattering against his armor. The Lamenter looked up, and saw his opposite number was also weeping, open and unashamed.
All around them, marines were holstering weapons, removing helmets, pulling one another into relieved embraces. The Salamanders outnumbered the Lamenters almost three to one, so many of the yellow-clad marines were surrounded by comforting arms from all sides.
“Why-“ Malakim asked, but Tu’Shan silenced him with a pat on his back, a smile through the tears.
“All know your valor,” the taller Marine said, hugging Malakim even tighter, “and your suffering. This is truly the least we can do for those who have sacrificed so much.”
Malakim tore off his own helmet, meeting the Salamander’s eyes with a look of unspeakable gratitude. He buried his face against that warm, hard ceramite, uncomfortable but somehow comforting.
They stayed that way for a long time.
——
The stars twinkled above the now-quiet planet, lighting the field with a soft silver glow. The ground was littered with blazing, golden bonfires, each surrounded by clusters of marines. There were jokes, and songs, and laughter Malakim hadn’t heard from his men in decades. The sizzling of meat filled the air with delicious smells, and Tu-Shan cut his new friend a massive plate of the freshly-cooked roast.
“Salamander steak,” he explained, “the mighty beasts of our homeworld. We only eat it after a great victory.”
“Thank you,” Malakim said humbly, before tearing into the first unprocessed food he had eaten in years. Marines weren’t supposed to care about such things, but he had to admit that it tasted fantastic. The mouthful warmed him from the inside out, both his stomach and his hearts.
“And this,” Tu’Shan waved over a chapter serf bearing a large, steaming pot. “Is a treasure I have been saving from Terra itself. An ancient drink of kings, called hot chocolate.”
“I do not deserve such kindness,” Malakim protested, even as a great mug was pressed into his hands. The dark brown liquid smelled incredible, and contained strange, floating white cylinders that were slowly melting into it.
“You deserve everything, brother.” Tu’Shan said, clapping his new friend on the shoulder. “Everything.”
Malakim nodded, tears welling up in his eyes again. He sipped the hot chocolate, and the taste was rich and sweet and creamy. For the first time he could remember, he was safe, and loved, and home.