[i]On Terra they had began, all clad in storm-like grey, from Terra they had marched, to make the tyrants pay![/i]

Terra, the planet that none of them would ever see again – each of them taken from the warlike stock of Albia at the unification of their homeworld...only young Kazimir having been plucked from Barbarus, his features those gaunt and sallow ones so familiar upon the now damned world.

Many of those they now accompanied would have known the name of the 'Death Guard', the Fourteenth Legion, but few of them would have noticed the fact that – beneath the flaking and battered black paint of their Mark Three and Four suits of power armour, beneath the stencilled and embedded Aquila of the loyalist Astartes – the paint to be found there was grey, that of their right arms a deep crimson, and upon their right shoulders the faint marking of the sun and skull of the legion that they had once been.

Squatting on one of the more minor roads, the systems of his armour still whirring even when not in motion, Ferreus awkwardly twisted his head about to take in the several other members of his squad, the helmet stuck in place but his eyes able to glance from side-to-side through the eye-slits before him; all was ready it seemed, bolters cocked and loaded, even the Multi-Melta hefted about by the largest of his squad ready to be deployed at a moments notice. It was a weapon that, unless they could find further ammunition for it, would eventually need to be discarded, no matter how much Brother Tihomir loved it.

“Look!” Hissed Sergeant Gentian, thrusting a large finger in the direction of battle, several figures making their way toward the château and the distinct sound of older variants of armour mingling with bolter fire, the [i]thrump[/i] of grenades, and the [i]ra-ta-ta ra-ta-ta[/i] of automated defence turrets. They had been told that Château Thorn was no normal fortification, and the intelligence turned out to be good.

“So, it begins.”

With a grunt of effort and an exhalation of air the nameless Astartes returned to his full height, dusk – their natural ally – setting in even as they moved, helmets auto-senses picking out mortal figures and targets even as he began to advance on the château with his squad fanning out into a semi-crescent to either side of him.

Although he, and by connection his squad, had been charged with the taking of the rooftop – a strategic position indeed, and not one to be given up lightly – he could see dozens of uniformed traitors milling about the larger bulks of Rhino APCs. AS far as he knew [b]those[/b] were the true targets, [b]those[/b] were what would carry them to the heart of the enemy and from there to final glory...[i]metal boxes[/i].

“Gentian!”

There was a sudden halt and lowering of their bulks as the Legionnaires took a knee halfway between their objective and their former cover of the surrounding woodland, each as black as the night and probably for that reason alone – as well as the added 'distraction' on the other side of the fortification – not being shot at, Ferreus gesturing for the Sergeant to kneel by him.

“Open a channel with the other squads, I have sighted the APCs; shall I engage, or do we proceed to the roof?”

Too long had he been a follower, but nor was he truly a leader, so for now he would wait.