//------------------------------//
// First Contact 
// Story: Gaunt's Ghosts (with Ponies!) 
// by Venter 
//------------------------------//

	"Fething Tyranids." Major Elim Rawne grunted, sharpening his chainsword on the transport deck of the Valkyrie troop transport ferrying them in from orbit. "Fething planet is locked off from the Imperium for half a millenia by a warp storm, and the first report we get on it is fething Tyranids." He looked around the transport at his particular detachment. Nearest to him was Commisar Hark. His right arm was an augmetic, replacing an original lost to hard fighting in an earlier campaign. Hark had a strong face, worthy of his title. He wasn't an original member of the Tanith first and only, but he had proven his mettle on countless actions with them since. 
To Hark's right was trooper Caffran, a Tanith native and possibly the best shot with a rocket in the regiment. Caffran was one of the few soldiers Rawne considered a friend; one of the few whom he, the man who trusted nobody, could trust. Caff also seemed to represent some kind of rekindled hope for the Tanith. He had taken up with one of the troopers who joined the regiment on Vervunhive, and the two of them had adopted a son, saved from the carnage of Vervunhive when the hive world was torn apart by war. 
Continuing down the line was trooper "Try Again" Bragg, an enormous bear of a man who was nearly the size of a space marine. Bragg earned his nickname by being a notoriously poor shot; still, his sheer size and physical power made him able to heft heavy weapons with ease, and was invaluable in melee combat. Bragg also had a reputation as a distiller, recreating the native liquor of Tanith 'Sacra' for the rest of the regiment. 
Beside Bragg was trooper "mad" Larkin, cleaning the barrel of his hot-shot longlas. Larkin was easily the best marksman in the regiment, and in Rawne's opinion possibly in the entire Imperial Guard. Larkin and Bragg had the sort of friendship which could only be tempered by the fires of war, a bond unbreakable by ceramite. It was Larkin who had coined the regiment's nickname - “Gaunt's Ghosts”. 
In addition to these five were six other troopers. Some were native-born of Tanith, others had folded into the regiment from Verghast or Vervunhive. All together they were just a single squad of the Tanith first and only, an ill-fated elite regiment of the Imperial Guard serving under the command of Colonel-Commisar Ibram Gaunt. The planet Tanith itself was no more; the same day that the regiment had been founded, a splinter chaos fleet razed the planet. Gaunt got the regiment off world rather than letting them die with their world. Rawne had still never forgiven him for it. 
“We don't know that it's 'nids, Rawne.” Caffran said. “Inquisition saw some some kind of shadow on the warp, and the Ordo Xenos decided it wasn't worth it to wait around for whatever was causing it to show themselves.”
“Fething Inquisition.” Rawne added. “Rumors of a Tyranid presence and all they send is three guard regiments. They tell us we're here as scouts, but I don't think the hive fleet is going to accept that explanation.” Harkin gave Rawne a pointed look. Most commissars would execute a trooper for such an insult to the holy inquisition, but a combination of respect for Major Rawne and a knowledge of where Rawne's distaste for the inquisition came from stayed his hand. 
Various runes began to illuminate in the transport cabin, low gothic messages letting them know that drop time was approaching. “Alright boys, listen up. In case any of you slept through the briefing, we're approaching the capital city of an unknown xenos race. This world was once Imperial, but a warp storm has kept the Emperor's light from it's surface for more than five thousand years. Gaunt and his team will be dropping a quarter mile West of us, and meeting up with us at the capital gates.” Rawne spoke with the surity of a veteran officer. 
“What about Mkoll and the scouts?” Asked Bragg. If brevity was the soul of wit, then Bragg was as witty as they come. 
“The scouts are looking into a potential fallback point. A forest to our Southeast; the trees may not be Nalwood, but Tanith can fething well still fight in the woods.”
“I don't like it.” Larkin spoke quietly. “Give me a forest against Chaos any day; but if Tyranids are here... I don't want to fight an animal where I can't get a clean shot at it.” He clutched his longlas, lovingly stroking the custom nalwood stock. 
“Shut it Larks. Anyway, our task is to make contact with the xenos and investigate the rumors of Tyranid presence. Xenos-filth though they may be, we aren't to attack the locals. If the 'nids are here, we'll need every ounce of help we can get. Not to mention the Ordos Xenos probably wants to look at the new race's prospects for auxiliary support in the guard. That said, if they attack you, light them up. Lasguns hot; we drop in thirty.” Rawne concluded his briefing, and the transport bay went silent. 
They could see Canterlot through the windows, it's towers and minarets quite foreign to eyes accustomed to gothic architecture. None of them spoke a word, the silence unbroken until the transport bay door began to open. It was the sort of silence that always preceded a potential combat situation, quiet as the graves they might be in by the night's end. They slid down wires from the Valkyrie, hitting the groudn with camo cloaks flowing around them. The camo cloak was one of the Tanith's signature pieces of equipment, together with long straight silver warknives. To the west they could just make out the faint glow of the other Valkyrie's engines, their output muted in an effort to remain concealed.
The squad made it within a hundred yards of the Canterlot gates before they burst open, three dozen royal guard spilling out clad in armor and carrying an assortment of swords and spears. The few unicorns in their midst bore their weapons magically; the rest held them in their mouths. The unicorns took point – having magical carrying capacity left their mouths free to talk. 
“I'm not sure what you're doing skulking about the front gates at this hour, creatures, but I suggest you turn back.” The lead unicorn said. His armor was particularly ornate, the front portion of the breastplate bearing the sun and moon crest symbolizing Celestia and Luna.
“Better idea. How about you drop your little bits of scrap metal there and take us to your leaders without a fuss?” Rawne responded. He had a confident grin that masked several points of confusion. Firstly, these creatures apparently spoke near flawless low Gothic, despite having been cut off from the empire for five millenia. Secondly, they appeared to be talking horses, some of whom were psychically active. 
“Last I checked, we've got you outnumbered and out-armed. We're 24 to your 11, and we've got swords and spears – you've got knives and funny looking sticks.” The lead unicorn shot back, his voice conveying confidence to match Rawnes.
“Larks – why don't you show him what our funny sticks can do?” Rawne said with a devilish grin as he looked to the master sniper. Larkin shouldered his longlas and let out his breath. A sharp crack rang out as a bright crimson beam tore the night's darkness apart. It went straight through the head of the lead unicorn's spear, out the other end, and ended up burning a hole halfway through the right eye of a Starswirl the Bearded statue. “Now, I'll say it again.” Rawne turned back to the guards. “Put. Down. Your. Weapons.” One by one the guards began to disarm, until only the lead unicorn was left clutching his mangled spear with a field of magic. 
“Celestia forgive my guards if they won't stand up to you, but I swore a oath to protect.” The unicorn said, hooves digging into the ground. 
“A noble gesture.” A new voice rang out, intimately familiar to the Tanith. Rawne's upper liip curled a bit in a snarling expression; the rest of the squad, however, felt their courage and confidence soar. The voice's owner, Ibram Gaunt, stepped forward. “But a wasted one. We aren't here to fight you, and I promise we will not harm your queen as long as we aren't attacked first.” 
“Princess.” The unicorn corrected him, but begrudgingly let his spear fall to the ground. There was something about Gaunt's voice that he trusted. Rawne had an obvious malicious streak which made him come off less than trustworthy; Gaunt, on the other hand, had an air of nobility about him. He had long sharp cheekbones befitting his surname, and wore a black Commissar's cap together with a Tanith issue camo-cloak. 
“Smart move. We aren't your enemy today. I am Colonel Commisar Ibram Gaunt, of the God Emperor's Imperial Guard.” Gaunt gave the unicorn a courteous nod, presuming that a handshake would be meaningless to a creature without hands. 
“Long Spear.” The unicorn returned the nod. “Second in command of the Canterlot royal guard.” It took Gaunt several seconds to figure out that Long Spear was the pony's name, and not some sort of bizarre codephrase.
Behind Gaunt nine more guardsmen and an odd robed civilian were falling in with Rawne's team, for a total of 22. Brin Milo, the youngest of the Tanith and Gaunt's personal adjutant was among them. “By the throne, it's a talking horse. And a psyker to boot.” Milo said, staring slackjawed.
Agun Soric, another member of Gaunt's company corrected him. “Not a Psyker.” Soric had a very effective sense when it came to psionic matters; more than once, Gaunt had suspected him of being a psyker himself. That said, he valued Soric as a guardsman far to much to voice such thoughts, particularly with the black ships of the Inquisition in orbit. Psykers were not permitted to exist freely among the Imperial Guard; if an Inquisitor decided that Soric had the gift, he would be taken for the painful process of sanctioning. 
Long Spear led the group past the front gates and through the streets of Canterlot. The Tanith caught glimpses of large colorful eyes peering out at them from beneath windowshades, vanishing the moment any of them tried to make eye contact. Long Spear looked at Gaunt curiously, the royal palace now looming before them. “You said you weren't our enemy today... what about tomorrow then?” The unicorn asked. 
Gaunt looked back and up at the black plated Valkyrie, already flying back up to dock with the ships in orbit. He could vaguely make out the stylized =][= symbol of the Inquisition on it's side. 
“That remains to be seen.”