The Mordian Campaigns

Ch-13: Sidelined

Havelock's POV

The aftermath of the campaign was finally upon us. My men and I were ordered to garrison ourselves, removed from further engagements. The task of clearing out Heretic forces fell to the Kriegsmen—a decision I found deeply flawed. The Krieg guardsmen were ruthless, their methods uncompromising. They would wipe out enemy forces no matter the cost, even if it meant sacrificing their own lives or the lives of civilians caught in the crossfire. Brutal, mechanical, and disturbingly indifferent.

Yet it was not my place to object. My regiment was severely depleted after countless battles. Mordian sent us reinforcements, but they were raw recruits—freshly minted guardsmen. The sight of them arriving stirred something bitter in me. They were so young, so unaware of what awaited them. The veterans weren’t kind; they saw these recruits for what they were—fresh meat for the grinder. It was harsh, but it was true. Most of them wouldn’t survive their first skirmish, and there was nothing I could do about that. You can’t shield everyone from the inevitable. It’s a truth of war I had long accepted, but accepting it never made it easier.

What gnawed at me most was the thought that one of those boys could have been my son. Alaric. He must be seventeen by now—the last time I saw him, he was barely a teenager. I remember the look on his face as I left for this campaign. He was the only one who didn’t cry. He didn’t say much either. He just stood there, stiff, like he was trying to be strong for me. Or for himself. I don’t know. I don’t let myself think too much about it—about him. It's dangerous, indulging in these thoughts, especially out here where distraction can get you killed.

But then there’s Elara... She knew from the start what it meant to be married to a soldier. She never made me promises she couldn’t keep, and in return, I couldn’t promise her I’d come home. That’s the way it’s always been. Yet even with that understanding, the goodbyes never got easier. I can still see her face that day—brave, composed, but underneath it all, I knew how much it cost her. She’s stronger than she looks. Sometimes I think she's stronger than me.

I don’t often allow myself to linger on thoughts of home, but in the rare quiet moments, when the gunfire fades and the air is still, they slip in. I think about them—my children, my wife—about what I’ve missed and what I may never return to. I push those thoughts away as quickly as they come, but they never stay gone for long.

I I was sitting in my temporary quarters at the garrison where my remaining men and I had been ordered to stay. With my regiment sidelined from further engagements, we were left to handle clerical duties, supporting the Kriegsmen as they swept the city. These tasks ranged from supply inventory to logistics—mundane responsibilities typically handed off to non-combatants. It was thankless work, but it was necessary for the campaign to continue.

Despite this shift in duties, I made sure to drill my men regularly, refusing to let them grow complacent, even though the theatre had grown quieter. I wanted them sharp, ready for anything. But truth be told, the regiment was a shadow of its former self. Too many of our men had been wounded, killed, or gone missing, and those who remained were cobbled together into new companies, led by what few officers and senior enlisted we had left.

In moments like these, I couldn't help but think of home—my wife, Elara, and our children. Elara, with her unshakable grace, ran the household with the same quiet strength she used to manage her duties as Duchess of Argius. I missed her more than words could express, and I knew the children did too. Our eldest son was already following in my footsteps, serving in the planetary defense force, while our second son showed more interest in aristocratic duties, just like his mother. My eldest daughter had dreams of becoming a naval officer, and the youngest… well, she was still free to enjoy her childhood, carefree for now.

Thinking of them helped me keep my focus. No matter how dreary or mundane our current situation seemed, I had a reason to stay sharp—to make it home. My mind wandered to other matters,

---

I leaned back in my chair, the creak of the wood and metal filling the silence of my quarters. My thoughts drifted from my family to the larger battle unfolding elsewhere in the city. The Salamanders and the Kriegsmen—two forces so different in every conceivable way—had not been sidelined like we Mordians. While we were left with logistics and clerical work, they were continuing the brutal task of clearing out the remaining Chaos forces, sweeping through the depths and more urban areas of the city where civilians still hid in fear.

The last I’d heard, T’kell and his Salamanders were pushing deep into the heart of the city, working side by side with the Death Korps of Krieg. That alone worried me. The Kriegsmen, while relentless and effective, had little regard for human life—whether it was their own or the lives of the civilians caught in the crossfire. To them, total war justified any and all losses. The Salamanders, on the other hand, were different. They were Space Marines, true, but they were the rare kind who cared about the lives of the people they fought to protect. They saw value in human life, something the Kriegsmen did not.

It was a dynamic that was bound to cause friction. T’kell was a stoic warrior, but he wasn’t blind to the suffering around him. I could only imagine the tension as his men pushed through the civilian-filled areas of the city alongside soldiers who saw civilians as little more than obstacles.

I had to admit, my feelings toward the Astartes had shifted. At first, there had been a deep-seated resentment. The Mordian Iron Guard had fought this campaign with discipline and sacrifice, only to be overshadowed when the Space Marines arrived. It was hard not to feel small in their presence, hard not to feel like our blood had been spilled in vain when they strode onto the battlefield with their superhuman strength and nearly indomitable armor.

But serving alongside T’kell had changed that. Over time, I came to see the Salamanders differently. They weren’t like other Astartes chapters. They fought with compassion, with a sense of duty that extended beyond mere victory. T’kell, in particular, had a quiet dignity about him. His actions spoke louder than his words—always focused, always calculated. He had saved more of my men than I could count, often going out of his way to ensure they made it back alive.

The bond between us wasn’t one of friendship, not yet. But there was a respect growing there, an understanding. Despite our differences, we had fought side by side, and that forged something stronger than I had expected. I wasn’t sure where T’kell and his Salamanders were now, but I found myself hoping they were still holding true to their ideals in the face of the Kriegsmen's cold pragmatism.

I stood up, pacing the length of the room. Somewhere in the city, T’kell and his Salamanders were fighting in the depths, where the buildings were crumbling and the shadows ran deep. The civilians there had little hope, and if it weren’t for the Salamanders, I feared the Kriegsmen would see them as expendable. It was just another reminder of how brutal this war had become. Still, knowing that the Salamanders were down there, trying to shield those who couldn’t protect themselves, gave me a strange sense of comfort.

I could only hope that the Salamanders way of preserving life would out way the the brutal way the Kriegsmen conduct war. All I could do was hope that would be the case, but for some reason I had faith in T'kell.

End of the chapter