A Lesson In Carrion: An Aasvogels Story

In a humid, hostile corner of the Imperium, dust and ruin rained down on four dead brothers.

The small redoubt jutted out from the vast jungle in the world around, a tiny fortress of ferrocrete and twisted steel amidst the gently burning sea of green. Little remained for its original purpose, and the structure was pockmarked and scarred with countless craters from assault cannon rounds and missile strikes, leaving it barely more than a collapsed pile of rubble and defeat.
 Laying among the remains were the bodies of four Astartes, space marines of the Imperium, but slain by Imperial hands. It is a testament to their raw resilience that they remained largely intact, despite the enormous holes in their sable-colored armor and huge chunks of their bodies blasted away by point blank explosions. But they were undeniably dead, or at least that is what their slayers were here to confirm.
 A figure melted from the jungle around the redoubt, passing through brush and branch without causing a single disturbance; a seemingly superhuman feat, given their prodigious size. His body was concealed behind a camouflaging cloak, only revealing his form as he stood up taller, raising a weapon from underneath. The dulled steel of a sniper rifle, the rare Consternator-pattern and deliberately browned with dirt and mud, spread the cloak wider, revealing the dichotomous black and blue armor beneath.

The Aasvogels had come for their quarry.

“Come forth, fledglings.” Scout-Sergeant Aastor Agyn made a subtle motion with his hand to the side. A Sign-language command, it would have been sufficient to summon his acolytes, but, as the good teacher he was, it always worked to remind them, especially the youth.
 Two figures poured from the forest, one to the left, one to the right. Of all the myriad of skills that Aastor would need to teach them, these neophyte marines were already masters of the hunt. They had learned to track their prey across the vast plains of Aasarikaan since before they could read or write, and had learned a patience and focused lethality that would be the equal of any marine anywhere. But they would need to master this art, while wearing their armor, and using the deadly weapons of their chapter…and as much, there were more philosophical things they must understand.

“Examine your surroundings, your examination begins now.” His voice was gruff, matching his weather worn face, hidden behind a bushy, poorly kept beard, but there was a joviality to it; he enjoyed the moment, and he enjoyed the chance to teach. The two scouts spread out, moving amongst the bodies, their motions practiced and quiet, as they began to glean what truth they could from the remains. This outpost had been identified and destroyed by Stormraven strike, and their role was to confirm their deaths; every member of this cursed chapter must be accounted for, and whoever survived, must be pursued. It was a small squad, just Aastor and his two scouts, but that is just how he liked it; he preferred the chance for a more one on one conversation with them.

“Four dead.” The first scout reported, a large, confident young marine named Vaaesh Norr. He was, perhaps how many saw it, the perfect marine; obedient, focused, and with a perfect memory, he would pass every test without fail. But Aastor saw something different.

“Which means we missed one.” The second scout was smaller, crouched low as he examined a body, considering it closely. Tonn Kaalis, many a scout-sergeant’s least favorite neophyte, but a favorite of Aastor. The marine was like a shadow, his skin so dark he could be mistaken for a Salamander, though his blood was Guilliman to the core. He had a habit – a bad one if you asked the Chaplains – of asking questions, a trait that the veteran sergeant quite enjoyed.

“Not necessarily.” Vaaesh snapped back. The two did not get along, another reason Aastor had pushed so hard to have them together. “You are assuming they are following the Codex Astartes, and as enemies of the Imperium we should make no assumptions.”

“All hunting is assumptions.” Tonn would rise to the challenge as he always did, and Aastor remained quiet, letting them squabble. “…and we have no evidence otherwise to suggest they deviate from the five- and ten-man squads that are standard procedure.”

“Nor do we have evidence there is a fifth marine.” The retort added a bite of scorn to the conversation, and Aastor smiled. “We are here to find facts, not presumptions.”

“Do you always abandon your hunts when the trail is ambiguous?”

“No, I simply do not waste my time on flights of fancy.”

Aastor grunted, drawing their attentions as he marched towards one of the fallen marines. Planting a foot on a shoulder plate, he kicked it upright, drawing their attention to the corpse.
“Fledglings.” He called out. “Identify our foe. Who are they, and why do they deserve our wrath?”
“Nullmarines.” Came the immediate reply from Vaaesh, who jumped at the opportunity to show off his knowledge, as Tonn slipped in, examining the body.
“Unknown Founding, specializing in void combat. Examination of gene-seed indicated genetic triggers from 6 separate primarchs, likely more.”

Ah, the arrogance, Aastor thought. To mix with so many gene seed histories. Only someone profoundly self-absorbed would think to meld so many origins and expect to emerge untouched. The Sergeant took a moment to admire the livery of the dead marine, the dull black, outlined in silver and grey. Their symbol was painted onto the pauldron, a circle, slashed through as if by a sword; a clever double meaning, symbolizing a killing blow, and an ancient symbol for “null.”

“Further condemnations: hoarding of archaeotech. Exceeding the maximum chapter size as determined by the Codex Astartes. Hoarding and use of xenos technology. Unsanctioned diplomatic engagements with Xenos….”
Vaaesh continued, prattling off with the surety and bile of an Arbites pronouncing judgment. Aastor had long since began ignoring him, instead paying attention to Tonn, who was fixating on the marine.

“What are you thinking, Fledgling Tonn?” He asked, watching the marine stare, as Vaaesh quieted in response.

“The marine had a purity seal.” Tonn said it with a certain uncertainty, gently brushing the strip of paper wax sealed to the armor. Miraculously, the seal had remained untouched by the assault, the proclamations of faith and fervor etched in ink and blood.

“And this bothers you?” Aastor asked.
“A seal is a symbol of duty to the Emperor, of an oath to purity and purpose. It has meaning.” Tonn kept his gaze on the armor, face narrowed in concern. Aastor could see the worry on his face, a worry he had witnessed many times before; it was not an easy thing to take the life of a fellow Astartes, even more so to hunt them with deliberation. Many preferred the aggressive reminder of their duty to instill focus, but the old scout thought a conversation would sit deeper.

“The shell does not determine the soul of a thing.” Aastor corrected. With other fledglings, they may find that the end of the matter…but not Tonn, and this made Aastor proud. “Would the Despoiler be any purer should he march in, covered in seals?”

“Perhaps a little.” Tonn grinned. Aastor laughed at the cheekiness of it, smiling as he resumed his interrogation.
“Does slaying this marine displease you, Fledgling?” Aastor pushed the issue, stepping closer.
“These marines likely died in full belief they were in service to the Emperor.”

“that is likely true.”

“And while I do not doubt our purpose, this death, gunned down at a distance, then hunted down while they are weak feels…dishonorable.” Tonn frowned as he said it, but Aastor continued to smile.
“A marine will need not honor nor glory, for service to the Emperor will be his satisfaction.” Vaaesh pipped in, proud as he interjected, eliciting an angry glare from Tonn.
“Spoken directly from the Codex! Tell me fledgling, are we wolves?” Aastor replied; rhetorical question, but it demanded response, as Tonn shook his head.
“No, we are Aasvogels. Vultures. Predators of carrion. It is not our way to hunt the healthy beast. We wait, and strike where they are weakest, and this is a matter of necessity.”

“Necessity?” Tonn wasn’t confused, but intrigued, curious. Aastor grinned, perhaps enjoying himself far too much.
“Yes, it is absolutely necessary. Answer honestly; how many chimeric marines could you fight, alone?”

The two scouts paused, looking at each other, then back to the sergeant, before Tonn finally answered.

“Perhaps…one.” Came the reply, and Aastor nodded, then continued. “Let us not be arrogant; these marines are as armored as we, and while it may be corrupted, their gene-seed wraps them in strength as we do too. And yet, we must defeat many times our number. How can be possibly hope to prevail?”

“By studying their every move, and striking when they are weak.” Vaaesh stood taller, pride pouring from him, as Aastor gave him a nod.

“Very good.” The Sergeant replied, trying to hide a mote of disappointment in his voice. Ending the discussion on a rote recital of theory was not his way, but perhaps there was another way to take advantage of the situation. The aged warrior shifted his rifle to one hand, moving to sit on a pile of rubble. He made a show of exhaustion and relaxation, pulling out a flask and popping the cork, taking a slow, laborious drink.
“Well, what are you waiting for fledglings!” He said after a moment of pause, wiping the droppings of water from his beard. “Tonn is correct, one of our foes remains.” He made a motion with his flask to the gathered group. “Find him.”

There was a pause, a moment of consideration before the two scouts realized their task, giving each other a glance before spreading apart, moving through the remains, using their training, their experience, their gene-wrought intellect, to build a picture of their quarry, and where he may have gone. He could see the wheels turning in their heads, as they examined the remains of the Nullmarines, their surroundings, and the forest beyond. Aastor couldn’t help but feel a small swell of pride as he watched their diligence, their focus; they would make fine Aasvogels in time.
“The chimerics were defeated with aerial fire, from a position they now know isn’t secure.” Vaaesh spoke first, standing up, holding his bolter with a certain confidence. “With their position defeated, they would react strategically. Knowing that their position is compromised, they would retreat back to their allies, seeking shelter in deeper jungle, preferably lower ground, to avoid detection.”
“Very interesting assessment, fledgling.” Aastor leaned forward, resting against his rifle like an old man with a cane. “Do you agree, Tonn?”

“…no.” The shorter marine shook his head, holding a piece of broken shrapnel. Truthfully he would have been surprised had Tonn not disagreed; not the least for the animosity between the two of them…and because Tonn could see things that others missed. Vaaesh bristled at his fellow marine’s response, standing a little taller.

“Well…why not?” Aastor sat up, trying to hide his excitement. “Vaaesh’s determination is sound.”

“But it’s not what happened.” Tonn stood up, holding a small rocket in its hand, immediately familiar to those present as a standard-issue Astartes krak missile, useable in their launchers. “This redoubt was stocked with ammunition, most of which detonated, but I can see ammunition for bolters…”

He pointed to one on the ground.

“Heavy bolters…”

He pointed to destroyed emplacement against the side of the redoubt.

“…and Grav-cannons and grav-guns.”

He pointed last to the weapons on the ground.
“There’s no evidence the weapon was destroyed, which means there was a missile launcher here…and he took it with him.” Tonn looked up proudly, and Aastor returned that glance with an approving nod. But Vaaesh was less convinced.
“So he has the missile launcher then, that doesn’t speak to its location.” He retorted…but there was a curiosity in Vaaesh’s voice, the vitriol sublimating into interest, which made the Scout Sergeant smile.

“But it speaks to his intent!” Tonn was getting excited now, animated with the thrill of the hunt as he stood up straight. “If he had intended to hide, he would have carried a bolter; easier to move safely through the forest. If he had intended to return to his chapter, he would have taken one of the graviton weapons, as they are more valuable, more precious. But he chose the missile launcher, which means he’s-“

“Going to try and shoot down the Stormraven.” Vaaesh filled in, all manner of spite in his voice gone, lost himself to the excitement as he grabbed his weapon and stood closer. For all of it, the veteran simply watched, letting the education unfold. “He’s not abandoning his post, he’s finding a new position to attack.”

“Which means he’ll want a position that gives him a better view of the sky, far enough from the redoubt he can avoid any follow up but close enough to strike at a second pass…” They were working together now, Tonn had found the way, but it was Vaaesh’s turn to take them home.
“Scout-Sergeant.” Vaaesh turned towards Aastor, who looked up, offering a blithe “hmmm?” as if he was unaware of what was going on.

“I know where the survivor is.” He continued. “He would have taken up position half a klick south, where the rise of the hilltop would give him overwatch over the surrounding airspace. If he left immediately after the attack, he would almost be there by now.”

“Very good fledglings! Very good.” The sergeant rose up from his position, lifting up his rifle as he looked over the two scouts with all the pride of a father, taking a moment to bask in their success as his own. “Come now, we have quarry to hunt.”

Without a word, he stalked towards the forest, the two scouts falling into line behind him.

“Scout-sergeant?” Tonn spoke quietly, to the left of Aastor. “Yes, fledgling?”

“What will we do when we get there?”

“Why, we will kill him, of course? Aastor replied with a chuckle.

“And should he surrender to us, unwilling to fight fellow Astartes?” Tonn asked, tilting his head. Aastor smiled once more, as he lowered down, slipping silently into the jungle.

“Then we shall kill him, even easier.”