Chapter 21: Space Husky
"Some say we're stupid and ridiculous. Others call us barbaric and crude. But before the wolf arrives, the wolf pack's appearance is always a lie."
— Broken Claw, Bjorn
Taylor returned to camp and settled by the warmth of the fire, savoring a rare moment of calm beneath a darkening sky. His eyes drifted toward the freshly repaired Ferenstein, and he allowed himself a small hope: maybe his chances of survival had improved.
The boys of Class 15 crowded around, eager to hear what he had seen.
Truth was, Taylor had watched little more than a gathering of larger Imperial Guards engaged in their usual tactical meeting.
To Taylor, every soldier was a war machine forged to serve the Emperor's will. The famed Ultramarines or other Space Marine chapters were merely organizational bodies designed for killing.
He said little but lifted an old Imperial Guard manual, grinning. "Let's sing an old Skadi folk song—'How Can We Forget Terra?'"
It was a well-loved but mysterious anthem, said to be written by a powerful Skadi noble long ago. Historical records of the song were sporadic, missing for over two thousand years.
Exactly how much the song had changed over the centuries, no one knew. Yet it persisted as the only nostalgic thought Skadians had of Earth.
Taylor smiled softly. "Tonight, let's gather 'round fire and feast. No amount of rest can turn back the clock to where we should be."
"Better to spend the night well."
He muttered under his breath, "Stop hiding it! Bring out your secrets—get those snacks from your packs!"
His order sparked laughter and rapid rummaging. Soldiers began pulling out treasured snacks—rich dried meats, rare sweets, and even a bag of marshmallows to toast. Bottles of fine Amsett whiskey glimmered in the firelight.
This was why soldiers dreaded political commissars searching their packs; they carried their valuables close at all times.
Roasting marshmallows and drinking whiskey together felt oddly surreal—but Taylor liked it.
He slipped away to the logistics section, spending some coin to acquire genuine snacks.
Dealing with mortal soldiers serving Space Marines proved harder than anyone imagined.
But when a few golden throne coins changed hands, their faces lit up like children's.
Taylor sighed wryly. Even in Macragge—the bastion of Ultramarines—soldiers needed money to defend their families and loved ones.
He laid out snacks from Macragge and nearby agricultural worlds on a plate, heating it over the crackling fire. The boys devoured the feast with joy.
The boisterous night grew louder as bravado took hold. Some swore they could fight a greenskin with bare hands; others claimed impossible sharpshooting feats.
One grinned widely and swore he could tear open a Zerg brute—and use its exoskeleton as a toothpick.
Taylor frowned deeply.
"Zerg Hive Storm? Brothers, even joking, there's some line. Are we really in a galaxy with Zerg swarms?"
Suddenly, a scratchy voice broke in.
"I saw one."
Heads turned toward a towering figure approaching from the shadows.
Silver armor gleamed dimly. He wielded a long, dirty blonde whip, his mouth marked by fang-like teeth. He was easily two meters tall—a typical Space Marine build—bearing the wolf's head icon on his shoulder, starkly different from the Ultramarines' blue.
With a grin, he called out, "Hey, why so serious? Keep drinking."
Class 15 fell silent. No one noticed the arrival, but Taylor's eyes widened.
"The Son of Russ—the Space Wolves Chapter."
The massive man chuckled deeply. "I'm a lone wolf now, living with the Ultramarines."
"They're too rigid. No booze, no barbecue. Protein blocks are their meals."
"The only time they relax is in battle. And believe me—their battle barge is far worse than your little ricket."
He gestured toward the patched-up Ferenstein proudly.
"This masterpiece? I want to take it back to Fenris and show my brothers."
Amber eyes gleamed as he fixed Taylor with a smile.
"So, are you the Empire's hero?"
The wolf's casual words echoed like a street gang's slang.
Taylor laughed, playing along.
"No heroes here—just brothers. Let's forget titles and just eat and drink."
The wolf laughed with him.
"The night's beautiful, but blood rides the wind. I like you. You've got to live."
Taylor blinked, then smiled.
"This is our Space Marine camp."
The wolf sniffed the evening breeze deeply.
"The orcs are more cunning than expected. We dealt a heavy blow, but they won't quit. The more cornered a beast, the more savage and terrifying it becomes."
He raised his head, smelling something in the air.
"Greenskins."
Taylor followed his lead—detecting only his comrades' sweaty feet and the strange mix of roasted marshmallows and sauce.
He grimaced. "Who put barbecue sauce on the marshmallows? What a waste!"
The wolf laughed. "That'd be me. Tastes like Fenris's secret wine!"
Taylor winced internally, promising never to visit that frozen death world.
"No way it's a paradise—and anyway, I'm not going there."
Just as Taylor prepared to enjoy the night, rustling came from the brush.
He bared his teeth and shouted, "Stop! Put out fires. Pack up. Something's coming!"
The wolf smiled, readying his grenade launcher and chainsword.
"You're sharper than I thought."
Taylor whispered, "Shh... that's how I stay alive. Stay quiet now."
The wolf's eyes gleamed with hunting instinct.
Suddenly, Taylor heard movement nearby and ordered his soldiers to load into the vehicle swiftly.
Two strange figures darted silently around the forest's east and west flanks.
The wolf froze briefly, then barked, "Enemy this way!"
Taylor leaned out of the observation hole.
"I'm not going off course!"
He cursed inwardly. Everyone here was Space Marines—how was it his turn to navigate?
His only goal was survival—even if it meant challenging the enemy head-on.
But soon, the car jolted violently.
Taylor scrambled out, shining a promethium lantern.
Ahead, a few sneaky greenskin special-forces crouched behind bushes, explosives primed.
Taylor released a thunderous roar that shocked the attackers.
The Space Wolves Marine smelled greenskin blood and laser fire, parted the grass, then burst into laughter.
"I didn't expect mortals to spring traps like these!"
Taylor, scowling, gripped a heavy bomb and fired at his foes—cursing his misfortune silently as he fought once again.