The assault carrier’s engines bellowed a guttural war cry to its occupants as the door gunner cleared his weapon and stood aside for the first man to jump. The interior lighting switched to green and in an instant the first men were up to the hatch and dropping two metres onto the expectant ground. Some troopers made to yell petulant obscenities as they launched out of the Valkyrie but their voices were lost in the screech of the vertical thrust engines and the heat of the exhaust wash made it impossible to look directly at them. Their captain didn’t concern himself with the shouts of his men. He knew they were smiling as they dropped into a warzone. He knew they were ready.
Nine Valkyries disgorged their lethal cargo in a matter of minutes whilst a flight of Vulture gunships took up an overwatch pattern on them. A student of Imperial markings might make out, through the dust and tracer rounds, that these airborne soldiers belonged to the 8th Macharian Rangers, 6th company. But picking out their officers was a task that only the Macharians seemed to understand. The rangers had landed in the centre of a major refuelling depot on the verge of falling to its attackers but within minutes of their arrival the tides of war were already changing. Vultures and Valkyries unleashed devastating salvos of rockets and explosive rounds into the seething ranks of the belligerent aggressors. Greenskins. Howling and roaring in their bestial manner it was easy to assume that they were no more than savages but their cunning had been proven over and over again in this war and the Macharians had learned to respect and fear their alien technology.
One man and a small escort made directly for the pool of chimeras the facility had been servicing and wasted no time in ensuring the vehicles were operational and secure. He carried no ostentatious wargear, he wore no decorated armour; the man looked for all the galaxy like a guardsman and his lasgun. But sharp eyes would see the deference paid to him by the fellow troopers that surrounded him. Dressed in tan fatigues with black assault vests and helmets the Macharians capitalised on their ferocious air support and took back the facility. The greenskins kept their distance from the depot but maintained a steady rate of fire on the defenders; reluctant to admit defeat so quickly. The Macharian in charge sent two men away from him before embarking on a Chimera with extensive communications antennae. The soldiers outside were already cheering their victory but the command Chimera’s rear hatch had been left open and they could overhear the radio transmission.
“Eagle 1 this is 8MR-6 actual. Facility Gathas Urilla is under imperial control. Xenos presence diminished but unrelenting. Request permission to take the offensive… Eagle 1 this is…”
“Negative 8MR-6 this is Eagle 2. We have a situation on the Uriah front; Eagle 1 is engaged and under heavy pressure. Abandon Gathas Urilla. I repeat Abandon Gathas Urilla. We need you to saddle up and fall back to quadrant alpha 212 to regroup with all other ranger elements… Eagle 1 is lost.”
1
Attempting to fathom the myriad intricacies of the warp was next to impossible for a mortal man. For an enlisted soldier of the Imperium it paid to put such seditious thoughts well out of mind. But aboard a vessel of the Imperial Navy it was a rare reprieve to escape the potent dreams, cold sweats and half heard screams that accompanied warp travel. Major-General Castor Verne had been sailing through the void for most of his adult life but the grinding claustrophobia had yet to wear off. His discomfort was compounded by the company he was forced to keep at the many regimental, naval and general staff banquets his position required him to attend. The raucous merriment and plentiful delicacies could not displace his memories of service as a mere combat officer and the rarity of anything approaching luxury during space travel. As a member of the 8th Macharian rangers, travelling aboard a star ship had inevitably involved extensive training regimes and close quarters battle drills. The commander of his regiment was similarly engaged in directing these exercises and Verne had always imagined that the general staff leading the battle group would be deep into research and tactical projections for the coming campaigns.
It had come as a great shock, then, to find that the main activities awaiting a general aboard a naval vessel involved socialising and carousing with the rest of the general staff. Being a low born citizen of Macharia he initially assumed that the blue blooded elements of high command were simply adept at affecting a relaxed image of themselves whilst behind closed doors they studiously prepared themselves for the brutal demands of combat. But as the ceremonial dinners progressed it became harder and harder for Verne to justify the apparent idiocy of his erstwhile superiors. One such fool was attempting to procure a cheer of admiration from the table as he recanted the tale of his steely bravery during the assault on the infamous Hill 93.
“By the thousands I say, the thousands! But my boys weren‘t going to let a cowardly artillery bombardment keep them down. I got them up and at the enemy I tell you! Put some fire in their bellies and your troopers will raise mountains.” Colonel Hastus of the 303rd Narsine Yeomanry sat back with pride as his table companions raised their glasses in salute to the rotund war hero.
Castor Verne simply stared into his Amasec and bit his tongue. Everyone in earshot knew that Hastus had been nowhere near the front lines and his method of encouraging the troops had been to have the commissars execute any man that refused to prosecute the attack. But unlike Verne most of the men at his table had never even seen what the frontlines looked like during an assault. Tacticians, Munitorium staffers, Priests and the odd regimental colonel who had been honoured with an invitation to dine with the general staff were all that greeted Verne’s gaze. Sighing with resignation he turned his eyes to the top table where Lord General Darius Passar sat with his high commanders. By all rights Verne’s rank entitled him to a seat with them but his inexperience, lowly background and highly unorthodox promotion had meant that Passar kept him with the lower orders until he had proven himself as a field commander. Verne knew he had ruffled more than his fair share of feathers with his meteoric rise through the ranks and whilst the generals under Passar’s command regarded him with near indifference the colonels of the many regiments serving in the battle group had rankled with outright contempt at the notion of a mere Captain being granted such favour.
“A toast.” Verne suddenly announced, surprising even himself. “To the heroes of Narsis.” The Major-General raised his glass and watched as his compatriots followed suit with amusingly surprised expressions on their faces. All except for Hastus who merely sat with beaming pride radiating from his child like grin. “To the heroes that died by their thousands that day and the boys who marched into hell all alone because their sergeants had been executed for trying to keep them alive”. The pleasant smiles had all faded from the faces of the dinner guests as one by one they realised that Castor Verne was far from being a gracious table companion. Verne himself had risen with his near-empty amasec glass held aloft. He considered his audience until his eyes fell on the now fuming Enoch Hastus. “Raise your glass, colonel.”
“Incredulous and …”
“Raise. Your. Glass. Colonel.”
Red with embarrassment and rage, the Narsine finally picked up his drink and followed the table in drinking it to the last drop. Verne sat back down and closed his eyes. He was by no means drunk but he was sure that was how the story would be told. The silence in the hall suddenly hit the general as he realised that everyone had heard him publicly admonish Hastus. Verne glanced around to see Duro Brant glaring daggers at him and he felt a little ashamed that his loud mouth was liable to get Brant into just as much trouble. Outwardly he just shrugged at the Cadian tactician and went back to carving up his grox steak. He felt a wave of relief as the conversation surged back into life around the room but made sure to keep his head down for the rest of the night.
At length the formal dinner was concluded and the various guests began to filter out of the great hall. But burying his head in the fine dining had proved to be a fruitless endeavour for Castor Verne as the inevitable approach of the Lord General’s adjutant signalled a certain reprimand.
“The Lord general requires your presence in his chambers” the thin hiss of the assistants voice told everyone in earshot there was no refusing this invitation and Verne didn’t even bother to attempt it. He merely stood up and made for the nearest exit with the whipcord of an adjutant stalking behind him. The short walk to the Lord General’s quarters had only served to inflame Verne’s indignation at the qualities of the old fools that passed for command staff and he made his entrance without ceremony. Verne simply barged into the room and came to attention in front of Darius Passar’s desk. To his credit the Lord General carried on pouring his amasec before reaching for another glass and nodding over Verne’s shoulder.
“Thank you Sykes that will be all.” He smiled as he offered a glass to Verne and watched the anger dissipate from the younger man’s face. “Command is a burden, Castor. You do yourself no favours by making enemies of your friends.”
“May I speak freely, sir?” Verne asked.
“That right is granted indefinitely” Passar replied.
“Sir, my respect for you and your achievements is unassailable but I have no wish to count butchers, incompetents and arrogant wretches amongst my friends.”
Verne stated his case to the room as he remained at attention and fixed his eyes on the rear wall. The Lord General just smiled and shook his head at the blustering certainty of youth. “Have a seat Castor, let us speak plainly. I did not call you in here tonight to chastise and rebuke. I have a mission for you.”
Verne stiffened in his chair at this. He was a seasoned veteran of multiple campaigns but he had yet to direct a combat action as a Major-General. “I am at your service my lord.” Verne eagerly proclaimed.
“Indeed you are.” Passar replied. “Our flotilla is, as you know, en route to the forge system Doriscus; the Ork invasion there is spiralling out of control. But Segmentum command has a problem at Massilla. We’re the only un-engaged and combat effective force anywhere near Massilla so the problem is now ours. It seems the mining colony has ceased its tithes to the Imperium and turned its back on the Emperor’s holy light. I say it seems this way because the administratum expedition to investigate the cessation of tribute never made its report. Last word from Adept Heinrik was fifteen Terran standard ago and all we got was a seven second burst of static on an emergency encryption. It looks bad, Castor; Bad enough to commission a planetary invasion. Massilla isn’t exactly a sector capital but its promethium reserves are huge. With full scale war in the Doriscus system we need to get that fuel supply up and running immediately.
I‘m giving the campaign to you, Castor. You are going to take six regiments and bring that world back into the war effort whilst I go on to pacify Doriscus.” Darius Passar let the order hang for a moment and drank deeply from his glass, paying little attention to the quality of the rare vintage. Verne kept quiet too as he considered the enormity of what was being stated. At length he met Passar’s gaze and broke the silence.
“Forgive me sir but it was my understanding that you didn‘t bring me here to punish me.”
“Don‘t test my limits boy. I gave you that rank sash and I can take it away so stow the petulance and speak with purpose.” Passar growled.
“Sir, you cannot seriously expect me to be happy with assignment to a backwater death trap whilst you head for glory as the saviour of the Mechanicus. Even if six regiments were enough to comfortably secure an entire planet I’m still going to be carrying on a sideshow whilst others perform the Emperor‘s true work.” Verne pleaded. “Send General Tyrion or Bakka if you must but give me a chance to prove myself worthy of your trust, let me…”
“You young fool, Castor.” Passar interjected. “It’s precisely because I have faith in you that you‘re taking on this task. Massilla’s only continent might not look like much but its the oceans that hold its worth. Promethium, lad, enough to slake the thirst of the Doriscus system almost single handed. You’re a solid tactician, Castor, but you’ve yet to learn the unassailable importance of grand scale logistics. Without Massilla the Ork war, my war, will degenerate into a massacre.”
The Lord General finished his drink and stood up before Verne could register any more complaints and continued. “Get some rest, you‘ll be briefed in full over the next few days so you‘ll need to get your retinue in order. Oh and don‘t make me tell you twice about the importance of respecting your fellow officers. It won‘t be friendly advice next time. Dismissed.”
“Sir” Verne clicked his heels and bit his tongue on the way out. His brisk pace building speed as his quiet, curse-filled muttering built up into a tirade of self abuse. By the time he made it to his cabin he was gesticulating to an imaginary audience as he recanted the likely list of regiments he was going to be burdened with. “I can see it now, that fool Hastus and his Narsine whipping boys shoring up my centre whilst my striking arms depend entirely on penal legionaries and hive scum.” Verne punctuated his rant by slamming the access panel to his room. “The only soldiers at my disposal, the only men I‘ll ever be able to rely on will be a single platoon of Macharia‘s finest. A fine force to take on a planet‘s worth of heretics, we‘ll…” Verne halted midstream as he came face to face with his adjutant and bodyguard, Staff Sergeant Kai Grundy.
“A pleasant evening then sir?” Grundy smiled.
“Worse.” Verne retorted.
“I might have guessed, I heard you coming a while off. Who did what and what did you do to him?” The grizzled soldier jested with the rascal humour of a juve.
“Nothing so simple as that Kai. Although I did make a fool of Colonel Hastus when he tried to tell a war story.” Verne allowed himself a smile as he unclipped his pistol belt and handed it to his aide. “Bunch of prissy old spectators. Not a single functional weapon amongst them; I swear there‘s enough gold decorating the cutlery that passes for blades on this deck to re-gilt the Holy Throne.”
“I‘m sure, sir. They wouldn‘t let you bring your lasgun then?” Kai remarked as he placed Verne’s pistol and war knife in the well stocked weapons cabinet.
“You jest but I‘ve always felt that wearing military gear without carrying any weapons is an exercise in futility. If they want us to look like soldiers then we should be in proper uniform. If it’s a pleasant, peaceful and formal occasion then why can‘t I just wear a suit? Its not as if anyone is going to forget that I‘m a Major-General.” Verne paused as he realised that could very well happen in his own case.
“Begging your pardon sir but I would guess that most officers wouldn‘t appreciate an occasion where they couldn‘t wear their shiny ranks on their well pressed sleeves”. Grundy wasn’t smiling anymore as he hung Castor’s dress uniform up and set the boots aside to polish later.
“You‘re right about that but keep that talk between us, alright? I can‘t have you getting yourself shot or sent off to collect a fancy new explosive collar.”
“Whoever would watch your back then?” Grinned Grundy.
“Exactly. There are only so many Rangers left at my disposal these days. I Won‘t have them taken without good reason. Although at this rate you might well remain under my command as a penal legionary.” Sighed Verne.
“How‘s that then ,sir?”
“I‘ve been given command of a minor battle group. No don‘t get excited, this has punishment detail all over it… that or cleaning up a mistaken promotion. We‘re taking on a planets worth of traitorous PDF with four regiments and to make matters worse we‘ll be doing it without Naval support.” Verne cursed again as he removed his undershirt and exposed his lean physique.
“Which regiments and what world? Might not be that bad a job with the right tools.” Grundy chirped.
“Some piss poor mining world called Massilla. Barely any landmass from what I‘ve heard but thousands of off shore promethium rigs that we need to keep safe. No idea which regiments we‘re being given but I get the feeling its not going to be a brigade of Cadians.” Verne said as Grundy simply shrugged his shoulders.
“Get some rest sir. Things will look better in the morning.”
“Very comforting, Staff Sergeant, just like home… that’s all for tonight, dismissed.”
Verne watched the hulking warrior slope out of the room with his dress boots in one hand and a data slate in the other. Peace didn’t suit Grundy. Throne, peace didn’t suit any of them anymore. Verne poured another drink and tried to think of something else but the war to come and wars past were all that would remain.
2
Admiral Darion’s Combat Information Centre was an uncomfortable place for a ranking Guard officer. The Baroque command throne made it clear in no uncertain terms that the pretty rank sashes and stripes of the footsloggers meant little to nothing on this deck. Grundy walked in behind Verne with his worrisome Tactician, Brant and immediately felt lost amongst the sea of ratings busying themselves with the running of the ship, Trajan’s Spear. There seemed little point in the overhead lumen lamps with so many tactical, maintenance and navigation screens flaring up across the room. But Grundy didn’t think his opinions on anything would be given much credence at this point so he resolved to keep his mouth shut and at least attempt to fit the image of a respectable officer’s adjutant. He simply kept pace with Verne and followed him to meet with the admiral himself.
“Major-General Verne, welcome to the bridge.” The admiral stood up almost as soon as he noticed the guard officer’s approach and, in an appreciated gesture of respect, descended his dais to shake hands man to man.
“Admiral Darion, good to see you again. Would that we could meet more frequently.” Verne Smiled and, behind him, so did Grundy. As a Major-General’s assistant he was privy to a great deal of information including the lamentably minor involvement that the navy would have in the war on Massilla.
“Yes, well as you know that won‘t be happening any time soon” sighed Darion “My Lord Admiral tasked me with delivering you to this… objective and to return to the main fleet with all due haste. It is against my objections that I can only set you down on Massilla but if it proves necessary the Navy can give you one days bombardment to clear a landing zone and perhaps a few targets of opportunity.”
“The task force thanks you for your efforts and for my part I understand the demands of our superiors aren‘t always what we would desire ourselves.” Verne was putting on a brave face but Grundy knew that even after weeks in transit, the young commander’s heart was still roiling in anger and apprehension at the task that had been assigned to him.
“Well, we‘re coming up to Massilla and translation to real-space will begin shortly. We‘re approaching from near the edge of the system so we can get a good look at what sort of enemy presence we‘re dealing with. Intelligence has it that Massilla relied upon Imperial Navy patrols to keep its shipping lanes open so we shouldn’t be encountering an enemy fleet but I don’t want to take any chances with their emplaced planetary defences.”
“Good thinking,” snorted Grundy without thinking. The admiral, tactician and the Major-General both turned to regard him in silence, Verne in particular with a meaningful look. “Apologies sirs.”
“Don‘t mind my adjutant, Admiral, he‘s just keen to get to grips with the enemy I‘m sure.”
“Of course,” Darion smiled “We‘ll be in amongst them soon enough. Are your regiments in good fighting order? After translation we estimate a forty-eight hour period before we are in position to begin an attack.”
“Ready as they‘ll ever be. As soon as we confirm hostile intent we’ll get them loaded and set for a combat drop.” Grundy could feel Verne’s teeth grinding as he described the ground force’s dispositions. In truth he couldn’t quite fathom how his commander could be so vexed but he was less familiar with the regiments selected than he would have liked. In either case Grundy was just relieved that Verne was keeping his frustration under control in front of all these prim navy gentlemen. Like it or not Castor Verne was the senior Guard officer of this expeditionary force and Grundy feared a break in top level morale was only going to filter down to the boys at the front.
“Well then, I‘ll let you get to your preparations. I‘m sure you understand I have many of my own to take care of. You will be informed as soon as we establish contact with Massilla Prime” Darion said before making the sign of the Aquila and returning to his post. Verne matched the salute and made for his own quarters but as soon as they had left the CIC Grundy was forced to stop the General and produce his data slate.
“Begging your pardon sir but you have several meetings to attend to before the regimental briefings can begin.” Grundy said.
“He is correct,” chimed Brant “The head of the Commissariat detachment has been requesting an audience with you for some time now and it is getting very close to zero hour. Then the Cardinal will also require a moment of your time to go over the necessary blessings and rites of battle that a new campaign requires.”
“The Cardinal? What does he need me for?” Protested Verne. “He‘s going to prattle on about saints and soldierly duty no matter what I say to him.”
“Yes but he‘s going to need to know when he supposed to do it.” Offered Grundy.
“It would also be prudent to visit Adept Larsson of the attached Mechanicum forces. It would be the proper form and it is always well to keep the Martian priesthood happy“.
“I suppose you‘re right about that. Rangers wouldn‘t be anywhere if the cog boys didn‘t keep our rides running eh Grundy?”
“Right you are sir,” Smiled Grundy. The Macharian Rangers utilised multiple ground based transports as well as Valkyrie gunships during airborne assaults and as a result they had maintained a small but well equipped detachment of Mechanicum Tech priests to keep their motor pool serviceable. As such the Macharians soon shed the usual guardsman’s suspicions of the mysterious red robed priesthood but this didn’t stop them keeping on the traditional Guard nicknames.
“I might remind you that ‘cog boy’ is not a phrase that a Major-General should be seen bandying about.” Brant stated with a tone that brought the Macharians back to the present.
“We‘ll work on that. For now bring me whichever Commissar wears the biggest hat and Grundy you keep your mouth shut this time.” Verne marched off towards his temporary office as Grundy clicked his heels, stalked after him and tapped away on his data-slate.
Lord Commissar Miervich was not a man of many words but those he did choose to share were far from endearing. Grundy didn’t like the way his drawn features were cast into shadow by the wide brim of his Commissarial cap. After all, a pale figure swathed in black cut a sinister figure already. But add the sunken eyes of a cold blooded killer and you could tell Miervich leaned heavily on the use of the stick rather than the carrot.
“I trust you will be requiring my expertise at your war councils Major-General?” Miervich sat back in his chair and flashed an unnerving smile at Verne sitting behind his desk.
“I’ve been looking over your file Lord Commissar and it appears as though your duties place you firmly in the rear echelon. I don’t believe I could bring myself to drag you from your work in the remonstration of ill-discipline for the sake of military strategy. Perhaps you have a representative that you’ve assigned to a frontline regiment that you’d like to have in attendance instead.” Verne reciprocated the smile and Grundy hoped to the Throne that Miervich would stay out of the way.
“Having fought in over thirteen planetary campaigns I’m clearly the most experienced Commissar in the detachment and wouldn’t dream of letting you walk into this fight without my expert guidance.”
And I wonder how many of those campaigns saw you fire a shot in anger Mr Miervich thought Grundy.
“I cannot refuse such a generous offer Lord Commissar,” said Verne through gritted teeth.
“No,” smiled Miervich “You can’t.”
“Well that’s sorted then, all I need is your report on the dispositions of the Commissariat in our taskforce and what changes need to be made if we jump.”
“If? Major-General,” Miervich started. “A colony that refuses to pay its tithes is a colony that will be, must be judged harshly by the Emperor’s servants.” The Lord-Commissar had placed his hands on Verne’s desk in order to lean over the sedentary Major-General. “What exactly is it you’re intending to do when we translate?” Sneered Miervich.
“I intend to re-establish the Imperium’s tithe and bring Massilla back into the God-Emperor’s light of course.” Verne had locked eyes with the menacing Commissar and dropped his voice to a low growl. “When a colony goes dark the first protocol of an intelligent tactician is to re-establish contact before we make a threat assessment. You might have surprisingly high clearance, Lord Commissar, but until we identify aggressive intent you will be confined to policing whatever drunks and layabouts you can find in the troop holds.”
“As you will Major-General. Just be advised that the eyes of the Commissariat watch all ranks of the Imperial Guard.” Miervich let the threat hang for a moment then produced a sealed document and left it on Verne’s desk as he stood up. “For the most part the regiments are adequately supervised by my colleagues but a few additions will need to be made here and there.”
“It will be attended to presently, good day Lord Commissar… and good luck if we jump.” Verne rose to shake Miervich by the hand and then watched him leave before collapsing back into his chair.
“Well shit that’s all we need. A condescending old man with a license to disobey and execute anyone he likes. You’ve got to wonder why they even bother becoming Commissars if military command is so damned desirable.” Verne sighed.
“Actually sir I don’t believe they have a choice in deciding…”
“I know damn it, Brant I know! The old fool is still going to cause problems if he doesn’t respect my position.”
“Well sir.” Grundy hesitated, the ingrained fear of commissars never easy to shake. “Given his track record we might not see much of him anywhere near the front as soon as the fighting starts.”
“I’ve yet to meet a coward in the Commissariat, Grundy. He isn’t afraid of a stray bullet, from either side…”
“Yes sir,” Grundy agreed “but it seems to me that he enjoys punishing the guilty more than fighting the enemy. As soon as he gets the choice I think we’ll see the back of him.” Grundy said, keeping his voice low just in case.
“Yes, well in either case the best course of action in dealing with the Commissariat is to simply not give the bullies any excuses.”Mused Brant as he tapped away on his dataslate. Verne and Grundy shared a look of amused surprise at the straight laced tactician’s near seditious comments. Looking up from his work Brant shrugged “Nobody likes Commissars. Even other Commissars…”
This bought a hearty laugh out of the Macharians until the office door opened and Cardinal Len Tarmost presented himself. The chubby collection of robes was bedecked in ostentatious affectations of faith and his rosy face was smiling before he even sat down as he fed off the room’s mirth. “Well this seems to be a rather jolly meeting eh? Sharing a joke or two before we plunge into the Emperor’s divine work I expect!”
“Yes indeed Cardinal,” coughed Verne. “We’re champing at the bit as you can tell.”
“How did he get up here…” muttered Grundy.
“Wonderful! Absolutely wonderful to see such heroes of the Imperium revelling in the slaughter to come! I consider myself most fortunate to be counted amongst the expeditions participants,” squealed the priest.
Grundy was unsettled by the pudgy man but managed to keep his eyes from widening in disbelief. This was either his first combat mission or the Cardinal was a truly sociopathic madman.
“Your enthusiasm is certainly welcome” remarked Verne as he glanced over at Grundy. “If we do indeed go to war then the days ahead will be strenuous but I’m sure you’re ready to attend to our gallant soldiers’ spiritual needs.”
“Quite so, general! I have been informed that the expedition will begin in earnest soon and I wanted to grant the Emperor’s blessing to our troops.”
“My troops will begin the embarkation process as soon as we get word of Massillan aggression. Staff Sergeant Grundy has the details but for now we must attend to our preparations. I’m sure you have rituals of your own to consider.” Verne watched the spirits of the priest buckle as the threat of war receded to just a possibility before the good Cardinal finally took the hint.
“Ah, yes of course general. I will be eagerly awaiting my summons for the embarkation ceremony.”
“Good day Cardinal.” Verne said as the jangling collection of jewellery and robes made his exit. “And good riddance to another useless burden.” he added once the hatch had sealed. “Embarkation ceremony? Here’s hoping the fat bastard can muster up a decent speech because that’s all I’ll ever need him for.”
“Actually sir the Cardinal travels with an escorting detachment of Battle Sisters from the order of the Sacred Rose; certainly enough to make a difference in a crisis situation.”
“You mean the sort of crisis situation like Moriah 17? Exactly the sort of crisis situation that uppity ecclesiarchy types have a habit of creating when they mix with our Guardsmen?” Verne was being petulant but Grundy couldn’t blame him.
“With respect sir, the Major-General has a point. The sisters are a force to be reckoned with, there’s no doubting that. But from what we’ve seen they’re just as likely to turn on you as bolster the line. No sense of humour you see,” winked the staff sergeant.
“It’s a little more complicated than that” assured Verne. “Back with the Macharian 8th Grundy and I served in an airborne push to circumvent the trench network of Moriah 17’s main continent. The plan to link up with friendly ground forces after the drop was scuppered after we realised our intelligence was catastrophically incorrect.”
“That’s one way of putting it,” murmured Grundy.
“Well, long story short, we were cut off and surrounded but we dropped in enough force to set up an isolated defensive position. At first we were glad that the Sisters of the Argent Shroud had deployed with us. Their expertise and armament scared seven warps worth of hell out of the thrice damned heretics. But time wore on and the men began to grumble, as soldiers always do.”
“But them sisters don’t grumble. Not one bit.” Grundy’s interruptions appeared to shock Brant who had yet to come to terms with the staff sergeants excessive familiarity. But Verne nodded enthusiastically and gestured to his grizzly compatriot.
“Exactly! You couldn’t even bemoan the lack of supplies without suffering admonishment from one of their Sister Superiors.”
“The Emperor provides all things, right?” Grundy mimicked.
“Right. But that was nothing compared to how it ended up. It seems the sisters took a shine to our commissariat attachment and decided, since there were so few Commissars involved in our drop, that they would pick up the slack.” Verne explained.
“That didn’t sit well with our lot. Something not right about being turned out by non-guard.” said Grundy.
“Right and we had enough to worry about with the traitorous Moriah PDF shelling away at us. Imagine trying to keep a company together under a protracted assault whilst a collection of Emperor bothering zealots who aren’t even part of the Guard’s command structure drag your men to the brig and question your faith on a daily basis.” Exclaimed Verne.
“If the Kolstec grenadiers didn’t eventually break through and re-establish a secure frontline we probably would have ended up killing each other” Grundy finished talking and looked over at Verne who refused to comment then back to Brant who seemed entirely certain that a brigade of Commissars were about to haul them all away for seditious grumbling.
“I see,” spluttered Brant. “We can but hope they restrict themselves to the close protection of the Cardnial. But, for now, if we could attend to the potential combat drop? We still have to brief the various regimental commanders on our assault strategy. And the mechanicus adept in charge of our attached priesthood should be seen at some point.”
“Invite him to the briefing,” grunted Verne. “The sooner we get these incessant meetings behind us the better.”
“But Major-General the meetings aren’t going to stop once we get to the surface.”
“Oh I know.” Grinned Verne, “But when we hold council at the frontline only the ones who have a purpose will show up.”
3
“I’m giving you six full regiments. Two armoured, four infantry.” The tone of Passar’s voice betrayed his opinion of the fighting force’s strength and Verne made an attempt to appear soldierly and determined but his consternation must have been obvious. Passar paused for a moment then reached into his pocket for a cigar. His adjutant, Sykes, immediately appeared with a light for the Lord General then retreated back to the shadows of the stately office. “Meanwhile I will be carrying on to one of the worst conflicts in the Segmentum with a frustratingly depleted battle group… Now Massilla was a quiet world at the best of times and Imperial contact was limited to the acceptance of promethium tithes and the occasional naval patrol; so intelligence is, as you’d expect, scant. At last contact the planet didn’t have a System Defence Force so your naval support will be largely limited to transportation. I need all ships of the line for the fight in Doriscus so even if you do encounter an ad hoc fleet you’re going to have to improvise and adapt to the situation quickly. The planet doesn’t have much in the way of landmass or urbanised civilisation but there are three hive cities where resistance is likely to be concentrated. It is imperative that you capture Massilla Prime and restore the link to the ocean’s promethium rigs. This may involve the capture of several alpha rigs off the coast so I’m re-tasking two navy tactical wings to your command. You’ll need to establish a secure landing zone for them and set up an effective airbase immediately. Massilla will be a far easier nut to crack after you grab air superiority. Are you following me Castor?”
Verne was torn between despair for the task that had been assigned to him and indignation at such obvious tactical advice but he had no wish to disappoint the Lord General.
“To the letter, sir. Do I have permission to request fire support from the navy before a combat drop?”
“Yes. But let me make this clear, lad. The only objective you have is to secure the promethium. That is your one and only task. If you destroy the rigs you will have failed me. If you destroy the processing plants at Massilla Primus you will have failed me. And if you dally in the prosecution of the war you will have failed me. But know this, if you start a war with an Exactis Extremis world without investigating alternate solutions you will have failed the Imperium and the Emperor himself. I do not need to remind you of the penalty for such a crime.”
“No, sir” swallowed Verne. “I will secure the supply lines as expediently as is possible. May I ask what forces I will be receiving?”
“You aren’t receiving anything” Snorted Passar. “You take charge of the Emperor’s holy soldiers in his stead until such time as they are needed elsewhere. Never consider your troops possessions, Castor. This is an important lesson for the day, you understand?”
“Yes Lord General” lied Verne.
“Good. You must not grow too attached to the men whom you order into death…” Passar’s eyes glazed over momentarily as he stared past Verne but quickly reverted back to their hawkish fix on the younger man’s face. “You want to know who is going to be doing the fighting then? Well there’s you and yours of course; you were granted a platoon of Macharian Rangers on your promotion weren’t you? Good lads there but I daresay you’ll need more than a platoon for a planetary invasion. You best keep Brant around as well; he’s a bright tactician and you haven’t attempted to complain about him so that will be that. Admiral Darion will command the flotilla that gets you to Massilla and you will be safeguarding the 6072nd and 5056th Navy Tactical Wings during the mission.”
“And the Guard, sir?”Verne tried to affect a patient interest but couldn’t help himself.
“Yes the guard. You’ve got two armoured regiments; the 13th Framlingham Armoured Company and the 72nd Tyrennian Artillery. They’re a little green but you’re going to need the big guns on this one.”
“Thank you, sir.” Verne hadn’t heard much about either regiment and this, he considered, was a far better prospect than the alternative.
“Now there’s no use blowing holes in the enemy line if you can’t exploit them so I’m assigning the 45th Pyran Dragoons to you.”
“The Pyran.” said Verne through gritted his teeth. Mechanised warfare was Castor Verne’s bread and butter and he was glad that this arm of warfare would be open to him but the Pyran had a terrible reputation for pomp and arrogance that clashed with the more unsavoury regiments. “Am I to understand they will be bringing their mounts with them?”
“The Pyran honour guard will also be under your command, yes. But you won’t see them riding horses in battle, lad. You think the Macharians are the only mechanized infantry worth a damn? Fix that attitude boy or you won’t walk off that planet.”
“Sir.” Nodded Verne.
“Right. I’m also tasking the 21st Necromundan Recon to you. They’re a handful no doubt but you’ll be seeing hive warfare and you won’t find better infiltrators this side of the Pacificus. I’m actually loathe to let them go but I’ll have less use for them than you.” Verne took this appointment with a smile as he had met Colonel Klight of the Necromundans before and found him to be good company in an officer’s mess.
“Now you’ll be needing line troops to get the hard work done. The remnants of the 75th Kanak are yours as are the 303rd Narsine Yeomanry.”
Verne closed his eyes in disbelief. “The Narsine, sir? And a gaggle of barbarians? Is this some sort of lesson or test of my character?” Verne pleaded; all pretence of stoicism abandoned.
“The Narsine will provide the bulk of your infantry forces, Castor and you will be glad to make use of them.”
Not as glad as you are to see the back of them thought Verne. “Right you are, Lord General. Right you are.” Inwardly Verne raged but the hairs on the back of his neck told him that Passar was inches away from having him demoted and flogged. “I am honoured by your trust, Lord. Massilla will be ours once again.” Verne relaxed a little as Passar dropped his shoulders then made the sign of the Aquilla.
“Your other appointments will be given to you via communiqué. Go with the Emperor.” Verne stood up and made for the exit. “Oh and Castor?” Passar’s words froze him in place. “A Major General is a good liar. You need to do better.”
Verne shook the thoughts of his Lord and Master from his head. Standing outside the ship’s strategium he needed to compose himself before he gave the final briefing to the assembled staff. He had kept most of them in the dark almost entirely due to the fact that he was loathe to discuss strategy with a staff of colonels who detested his position. Verne slammed a fist into the bulkhead to bring himself back to reality and smoothed back his hair. “Fuck this.” He breathed as he motioned for Grundy to open the room’s hatch. With a final sigh, and a nod to the impatiently bobbing figure of Brant, Verne made his entrance and noted with some satisfaction that the entire room came to attention without needing to be prompted. The room had been darkened to facilitate the hololith projector that dominated the centre of the Strategium’s round table. The tactical projection of Massilla and its vast oceans cast an azure hue over the room’s inhabitants.
“Ladies and gentleman, honoured adept,” intoned Verne as he paced to his seat. “Let us not waste time with endless introductions; we need to cut to the heart of the matter. Fifteen minutes ago we established contact with Massilla Prime where governor Tarquan demanded we vacate his stellar jurisdiction in the name of the Emperor. We believe the message we were given was broadcast throughout his and presumably the other hives on Massilla. Tarquan went on to threaten us with the same fate as the last heretics that threatened his planet. Attempts were made to explain the loyalties of this task force but Massillan defence batteries just opened up at extreme range. Obviously they didn’t hit anything but it would seem the governor has lost his way. You were all aware that we were being sent on a combat patrol to Massilla but now we’ve got hostiles this has been upgraded to a planetary invasion.”
The room didn’t erupt into feverish rabbling but a squeal of delight from the red faced Cardinal just about covered a snort of jaded derision from Commissar Miervich. Sitting next to the Cardinal was a dour faced battle sister who shunted the excitable priest into submission. Verne didn’t even remember including the ecclesiarchy in his summons but it was too late now anyway. One man, who could only be the Hetman of the Skull Takers, banged a fist across his chest with excitement and the resulting clatter of the bones that dangled from his headdress earned a few dark looks from the Pyran and Narsine colonels.
“When do we begin the bombardment?” asked Miervich.
“Lieutenant Hanwei if you please” said Verne as he gestured to a young navy officer in a prim and pressed uniform.
“Thank you, sir. Our long range sweeps indicate that the Massillan PDF has likely entrenched in its major hives and presumably garrisoned its alpha rigs out on the great ocean. This implies that…”
“Thank you Mister Hanwei” Verne interjected.
-“That’s Lieutenant to a Guard officer!” Hissed Brant.
“What Lieutenant Hanwei is dancing around” sighed Verne “Is that the Massillans are presenting no targets of opportunity to our orbital guns. They’re hiding out where they know we won’t risk shooting. On the rigs, in the hives…”
“It was my understanding that only Massilla Prime housed major processing facilities.” Miervich was back on his feet with venom on his tongue.
“If that is the case then why not obliterate the secondary cities and cut their PDF down to size before we even land?” Verne didn’t recognise this voice and scanned the blue faces of his staff to find out who was so eager to begin a massacre.
“Who said that?! Identify yourself!” Grundy barked.
“Colonel Tobias Cross of the 13th Framlingham Armoured, soldier. You would do well to remember your rank in a room full of senior officers.”
“As far as I’m concerned staff sergeant Kai Grundy outranks the lot of you in usefulness so you will address my adjutant with the respect he deserves. You there, Cross. You want to exterminate the population of a planet to make your work on the surface a little easier? Pulling the trigger from a distance? Sitting inside an armoured box? Yes that sounds like armoured company strategy to me. You should have been a Commissar, son.”
Verne shot a quick look at Miervich before he returned to savouring the young tank commander’s nervous sweat under the blue light of Massilla’s ocean. Verne kept a hand on the service holster strapped to his thigh for dramatic effect more than anything but a voice at the back of his head told him he might have need of the trusty autopistol before long. “Intelligence suggests that the enemy PDF might be hiding in the planet’s hives. All of which contain promethium processing planets by the by. Intelligence suggests that the Massillan PDF is hiding. We don’t know where. You want to start killing civilians and destroying infrastructure on a damned whim.”
“The planet has rebelled from the Imperium, major-general”. Verne watched Miervich’s eyes go dark. “There is only one punishment for traitors and heretics.”
“Indeed!” Verne recognised the bluster of Enoch Hastus, no doubt emboldened by the Lord Commissar’s objections. “What does it matter if we destroy a nest of virulent heretics?”
“Hear hear!” piped up Emmerson, clanking his various finery and medals as he banged a fist on the table.
Verne fought the urge to curse and instead reassured himself with a glance at Grundy; his hands ostensibly clasped behind his back but more accurately around the laspistol stowed on his belt holster. “It matters because our current intelligence suggests that the population of the planet are loyal.” At this a shaven haired bull of a soldier standing behind the seated colonels and tacticians perked his head up. Verne noticed the movement and watched the man run a scarred paw through his beard. “Tarquan opened fire on us, the administratum investigators and he’s ceased his tithes. He’s guilty as Horus and probably the whole government, senior officers and high society. But he wouldn’t be declaring his enemies as traitors to the Golden Throne if he wasn’t forced to lie about it. It seems to me that we’ve got a loyalist population that doesn’t even realise they’re living under a traitor.”
“You think that makes a difference?” Snarled Miervich. “The planet’s military opened fire on a vessel in his majesty’s Imperial Fleet, boy; you think that”
“Yes Lord Commissar I am thinking. I am thinking that this taskforce was assigned one mission. One mission alone. We are entrusted with the task of restoring the promethium supply to the war effort in Doriscus. We are not empowered to embark on a crusade of retribution. A loyalist population will aid us in employing unconventional warfare; keeping the hive infrastructure intact will get the promethium to the front lines faster and if you ever try to obstruct the mission of this taskforce again I will execute you for heresy.” Verne and Grundy had both drawn guns on the Lord Commissar who simply stared back with murderous indignation. Hastus and Cross had long since melted into the shadows of their seats along with the rest of the council. Only the battle sister seemed unmoved by the altercation whilst the Bull had his eyes firmly on the action and his arms crossed, baring lean muscle. The only seated staffer who was still leaning forward looked more like a guardsman than a colonel. He was dressed for combat in his charcoal fatigues and sported extensive tattoos on his forearms and face but none of this distracted from the gold toothed grin that glinted in the light of the hololith.
“Just like home” came a voice like trench knife through gravel. Verne had to fight to suppress a smile at Klight’s easy manner but another look at Miervich put the steel back in his heart.
“We are in agreement Lord Commissar.” Verne wasn’t asking.
“You think the Commissariat is afraid of your rank? You think the ecclesiarchy aren’t every bit as horrified by your concern for these heretics as I am?” Miervich spat as he sat down and placed his hands plainly on the table. “Tell us, Cardinal. Where does the church stand on the punishment for traitors and blasphemers.”
The pudgy rack of baubles and glittering trinkets had been staring agape at the exchange until he was dragged into the centre by Miervich. The attention and, what he assumed was, respect that went with it had instilled a sense of righteous purpose in his features.
“In ecumenical terms the course of action is quite clear in circumstances such as this. Our main priority should be to annihi…”
“What out holy minister is trying to say” interrupted the considerably more intimidating battle sister at his side. “Is that until we know we are dealing with traitors and heretics there are no traitors and heretics.” The sister punctuated her claim with a stern look at the cardinal and a nod of the head to Verne who could barely contain his suprise.
“Indeed… honoured sister.” He managed to intone before returning his gaze to the Commissar. “You’ve overstepped your bounds Miervich. Leave the strategy to the military. You’d be better served breaking up a card game somewhere. Out with you.” Verne inclined his head to the door and watched with anticipation as the seething old man shook back to his feet and stalked out of the strategium in pregnant silence.
“So if we aren’t going to bombard their defences how are we going to attack?” Asked the Pyran colonel, breaking the cloying silence.
“Knife work,” Stated Verne as he holstered his pistol “We can’t risk a bombardment but we need to silence some of their guns and clear a landing zone. So we go in quietly and do the job face to face. Well not face to face…”
“More like knife to back” smiled Klight. “My boys will be more than up to the job.”
“Easy there pretty boy,” rumbled the bull’s throaty retort. “This is SF work, the general don’t want amateurs messing up his plan. My team will have it done in 20 Terran standard…”
“Days?” Finished Verne. “I appreciate the quality of your specialists, captain and I’m grateful the Lord General re-tasked you to me but there’s too much ground to cover down there and less than a day to get the job done.” Verne was staring straight at the immense Storm Trooper captain and had to admit he was glad of the table that separated them. Passar had sent Verne a missive the day before his flotilla had broken off from the main battle group and it arrived in the hands of Captain Saul Kromvir, head of Storm Trooper detachment 63 of the 5028th regiment. The note had simply read ‘Don’t waste them’.
“You’re going to need Klight down there whether you like it or not so get used to it.” Verne managed to keep his voice at what he hoped was an authoritative level.
Klight snaked up out of his chair and turned away from Kromvir. “With respect Major-general I’m not sure sending us both will ease the fluidity of the mission’s operations. Which one of us is going to get command?”
“Neither of you” chuckled Verne. “I’ll be leading this operation personally.”
4
“With all due respect, general this is madness!” Brant chattered as he followed in the wake of Verne and Grundy’s heavy pace. The rest of the regimental staff had displayed a similar reaction although Kromvir seemed more amused than anything else. Verne had called an end to the meeting and simply given the taskforce its embarkation notice. Verne, Klight and Kromvir had departed swiftly to get their teams assembled and geared up but more likely, in Brant’s opinion, to avoid the indignant protests of the rest of the staff.
“If you were giving me all the respect I’m due you would not be badgering me so, Duro. I don’t know why you’re complaining so much I’m giving you a great honour in looking after the main drop.”
“But I’m just a tactician…” Brant protested feebly.
“And I’m just a combat officer, Duro” soothed Verne. “In any case you’re far more prepared for this sort of organisational task than I am. Just wait for my signal and make sure that everyone drops at the same time” the general paused as he opened the door to his cabin. “And that they’re all going in the same direction.”
Brant was well aware that marshalling a planetary invasion involved a great deal more than what Verne was suggesting and the enormity of the responsibility was beginning to strain his nerves.
“Straighten up, lad” laughed Grundy. “You’re Cadian aren’t you? Cadians are practically bred for war.” Grundy and Verne laughed away to themselves as they opened up the room’s miniature armoury and helped each other into their carapace armour. Brant meanwhile stood to the side, clutching his data slate and trying to remember the last time he held a lasgun.
“With respect, sir…” started Brant.
“Stop saying that” snapped Verne.
“What if you get killed down there?” Grasped Brant in a last ditch attempt. “Who is going to prosecute the campaign if you fall?”
“We just left a room full of men who all thought they could be doing this job better than me” grunted Verne as he cinched down his bootstraps. “If any of them actually gets a chance to prove it I’ll have departed to dine with the Emperor and won’t give a frak by then. Look Duro I know this isn’t what you expected but this is war and I’m finally getting a chance to actually do my job. I need you to step up now and carry the weight until everyone’s on the surface. Get to the bridge and work with Admiral Darion. I’ve already spoken to him and he’s confident you’ll get the drop sorted. Just don’t take any shit from those idiotic colonels…” Verne straightened up in his full battle gear. “But be polite to those Kanak barbarians. All of them.”
“As you say sir.” Brant hardly felt up to the task but it was clear the matter had been settled. A small glimmer of relief had sparked at the mention of admiral Darion’s assistance but the thought of ordering the Kanak high chief around had swiftly sent his stomach back into a knot. Brant stepped aside as the two soldiers made to exit the room and Verne paused to place an arm on the tactician’s shoulders.
“Its a good day for you today, Duro. You’re getting a promotion; by my reckoning this responsibility makes you acting… commander.”
“That’s not a real rank, sir” sagged Brant.
“I know” winked Verne as he stomped loudly after Grundy.
“You think he’ll do alright?” asked Grundy when Verne caught up to him.
“As you said, Kai he’s Cadian. Plus all this shuffling of papers is much more his style. It’ll be good to get our boots back on the ground though.” Grundy could see the prospect of action had reinvigorated his master and he couldn’t deny that he felt the same anticipation. He was a straightforward man, suited to acts of straightforward brutality rather than filing and scheduling but something still didn’t sit right with this deployment.
“I’m just thinking sir,” considered Grundy. “That maybe we’re not combat troops anymore. Maybe our jobs have changed and so should we.”
Verne stopped in his tracks and turned back to his comrade. “Are you saying you want to stay up here and stare at maps?” Verne seemed positively aghast at the notion.
“No sir. I’m saying that maybe we should, even if we don’t want to because that’s what our duty has become.” The notion lingered as the soldiers stared at one another.
“Fuck that.” Verne grimaced. “I’ve finally got the chance to choose how I serve and I’m going to choose the service that I do best. That we do best. Right?”
“Right you are, sir” conceded Grundy.
“Good. Now I’ve got to brief Kromvir and Klight on their targets. I need you to assemble a ten man team. We’re going in quiet so there won’t be room for more than twelve of us. I’ll leave the choices up to you but we’ll definitely be needing demolitions. Get the lot of them to hangar bay seventeen in twenty minutes.”
“I’m on it. We’ll have those glory boy storm troopers looking like a PDF brass band next to us.”
“I’ll settle for nothing less” shouted Verne as he jogged into the bowels of the ship.
Grundy weighed up his options as he turned off towards the Macharian billet and quickly listed off his best infiltrators. Kai felt a twinge of guilt at referring to Verne’s guard as ‘his’ but as their staff sergeant he also felt a great deal of responsibility for the men and women under his command. Sentimentality was not an appropriate emotion for the task awaiting him, however, so as he swung the bulkhead open he bellowed his orders with the same barking clarity that he used on the battlefield.
“Platoon, attention! Combat mission! Wiesehofer, Kuhrt stow those cards and get into gear. The whole lot of you have a combat drop in less than 24. But a handful of lucky individuals are joining me for a trip to the surface right this instant. Balcer, Rollinger, Tuplin you made the cut; lucky lads! Carapace and webbing. Fighting gear only! Leave your packs here, the rest of the platoon will haul your bedrolls and clean underwear down in the main drop!” A flurry of whooping soldiers surrounded Grundy as he paced into the centre of the barrack room. Premature warcries and jocular insults punctuated the heavy clacking of armour buckles and webbing checks. “Weerdenburg, Sekunda, Briant you’re up. Get your shit together! Lazenby and Jacobs! You two lads are my prize draw winners! You’re on demolition detail so take your packs but keep em empty till we get to the armoury.”
Grundy watched with quiet pride as his team came together. They were lean and eager; ready for a fight. Their carapace armour bulked their profile out and made them an intimidating prospect but cleverly placed fabric kept the plates from grinding over each other and causing a racket when they needed to sneak around. But something was still missing from the picture and Grundy was running low on time.
“Come on you louts! We aren’t going on a picnic here! To the armoury with you, move!”
Grundy followed on behind them as the troopers filed out. He caught sight of several non-issue pistols holstered on thigh rigs or vest pouches and made a note to turn the culprits out for being so brazen with the illegal weapons. Naval Security didn’t look kindly on guardsmen travelling on their ships with guns at the ready but trophies and black market buys were usually secreted easily enough. There wasn’t any time for recriminations now though so Grundy let them go. The armoury desk clerk wasn’t about to start a witch hunt with the general’s honour guard; especially with the stonewall staff sergeant demanding the weapons. Lascarbines, grenades, a melta gun and demolition charges were all signed out for the strike team but Grundy didn’t need to fill his pouches with issue equipment. As Verne’s adjutant he was allowed considerable leeway on board the ship and he had taken an Elysian pattern ‘bullpup’ lasgun from the general’s personal armoury which he sported with an obvious pride.
“Right then now you’re all suited and booted you’re ready to kill! Hangar 17, double time! Move! Move!” Grundy chuckled to himself as the Macharians set off with hoots and shouts of approval. The rangers had finally been given a combat mission.
Duro Brant was hiding. Standing on the bridge of Trajan’s Spear was a somewhat conspicuous location to conceal oneself but, fortunately for the tactician, guard officers were only allowed in by invitation. Admiral Darion had looked kindly upon Brant’s unenviable position and allowed the young man shelter from the incessant barrage of indignant colonels and worried quartermasters. Colonel Emmerson of the Pyran Dragoons had been particularly infuriating with his insistence that a man of his position could not possibly take orders from a tactician. Brant had insisted in return that as ‘Acting commander’ he held the authority of a general but nobody appeared to take this claim seriously. From the bridge, however, Admiral Darion was able to corral the waiting regiments into their drop preparations through the judicious application of naval security. The black armoured navy specialists put paid to any potential sedition with surprisingly swift efficiency and a minimal body count. With the regiments in the process of ‘standing to’ the logistical preparations had taken precedence and the figures for the supply ships were currently dominating Brant’s attention.
“Commander, a moment if you please.” Darion had been using Brant’s new title with a surprisingly sincere tone. “Adept Larsson appears to require your attention.”
Brant left his station and wandered through the paths of hectic bridge crew. When he approached Darion he could see the tech priest’s hooded visage on one of the admiral’s many flickering monitors.
“Commander Brant. I require your assistance in the embarkation process.” Larsson’s voice came through the static wash with a barely perceptible difference. His mouth had long since been replaced with a vox grille so any communication from the Martian smith always seemed as though it was being broadcast over a relay.
“How can I serve? Honoured Adept” Brant replied with a newfound fondness for his title.
“Embarkation cannot proceed without the proper rites. The expedition’s commander must be present to accept the Omnissiah’s oath. Our sect is very particular on this condition. You are the current commander. You must be here.” The staccato bursts of communication from the priest left no illusion that he was asking for a favour.
“If I must, I must” replied Brant through gritted teeth. “I’ll be there presently.” Larsson cut the feed without any further communication and the screen winked out only to return shortly with an incoming message.
“Apologies commander but I must return to my duties” sighed Darion. “You should be able to make it there and back without any serious harassment.” The admiral smiled at him before turning away to address the new message. Brant meandered his way through the crew again and eventually made his way to a bulkhead where a waiting armsman waved him through. Brant felt his stomach knot up again as he crossed into what felt like hostile territory. The Mechanicus sanctuary was located in the lower bowels of the ship and was accessible by a few lift journeys but before Brant could choose the quickest route he rounded a corner and walked head first into the chest of Arl Strang, High chief of the Kanak Skull Takers. Brant jumped back almost instantly but froze when he realised who he was staring at. The man was a giant, covered in bone fetishes and intricate tattoos. His imposing frame all but blotted out the trail of Naval Security troopers that trailed after him and Brant had to wonder who the dark visored guards were actually ordered to protect.
“High chief” squeaked Brant.
“Acting Commander” replied Strang as he reached into the folds of a pelt and drew a serrated war knife.
“High chief!” Brant gasped as the hulking warrior stepped forwards and raised the knife. Brant was frozen in horror as his eyes locked onto the saw toothed edge of the savage weapon. Amazingly the armsmen watched in silence as Strang brought the knife up to a striking position. Brant barely had time to scream before Arl Strang brought up his other hand and sliced the warknife across his palm.
“My blood for your victory” Strang boomed and proffered the bloody knife to Brant. The tactician found his horror replaced with acute embarrassment as he contemplated making a blood pact with the red stained barbarian. Time seemed to stretch as Brant weighed up his options but before he could contemplate the possible blood diseases he was likely to contract an armsman piped up,
“Its a gift. Accept the knife to accept his oath.”
Brant sighed with relief and took the weapon sticky with Strang’s blood. “I… accept your oath high chief.”
“Good. I had been waiting. Now I go to war.” Strang bound his hand quickly and stalked off with his guards chuckling behind him.
Hangar bay 17 was cold and with only the Macharians on deck the scale of the attack quickly became clear. The Necromundans and storm troopers were launching from separate hangers and Grundy was slightly disappointed that his team didn’t get a chance to size up the supposed best of the best. But all heads were turned to the task at hand when Verne arrived and stepped onto a supply crate.
“Listen in rangers!” His call echoed around the near empty hangar bay. “You can probably tell by the size of our strike team that this isn’t going to be an assault drop. If you didn’t figure that out for yourself then the staff sergeant has picked the wrong men.” Grundy smiled as the Macharians shared a laugh.
“Our target is the defence battery control room for Massilla Tertius. The planet’s defences are simple but effective and we’re going in to gather intelligence and clear the way for the main taskforce. The laser battery is housed on a facility in the minor hive’s suburbs and, from what we can tell, doesn’t possess fortifications worthy of the name. Massilla Tertius is a small target but Emperor willing it will eventually serve as our beachhead. Admiral Darion has assured me that the planet’s orbital auspex arrays are a makeshift model designed for picking up large targets at a distance so we should be able to pass through undetected in these lighters. Even so, the admiral’s been kind enough to employ his military grade jammers to cover our approach. When we break atmosphere we’re going to have to hope the shuttle goes unnoticed or, in a pinch, passes for a local civilian craft.”
Grundy tensed up at the notion of such an uncertain drop with no supporting aircraft. The idea of being shot out of the sky with nothing a man could do about it was unsettling to the infantryman in all of them.
“We’re dropping in a mile to the south and our path seems clear to the defence facility. The Admiral tells me his scanners are picking up substantial life signs in the area but there’s no way to tell if they are civilian or military. We’re hitting the surface during the night rotation so we should be able to sweep through the streets easily enough and I don’t want a single shot fired until I give the word. Its quite possible the facility is automated and all military personnel have been withdrawn into the hive. Hopefully we’ll know more about that when Klight’s infiltrators report on the situation in Tertius itself. The storm troopers have been dispatched to Tertius’ secondary battery installation with orders to neutralise high value targets and their ruckus ought to distract from our approach.”
The Macharians seemed to loosen up at the mention of this distraction operation and even Grundy felt a smile creep across his face as he imagined the havoc the glory boys would be sowing.
“This is a high risk mission but if we fail my replacement is likely to bomb this planet to dust and there won’t be many pieces left to pick up and ship to the Doriscus war effort. If that isn’t enough to stir your hearts then consider that the population on this world seems loyal to the Emperor. Without success they will be butchered.”
Verne stepped down from the crate and paced over to Grundy.
“Ready?”
“Eager, sir.” Came the practiced reply.
“Excellent. Feel a bit bad about dumping all the Grox shit duties on Brant but I guess its for the best. The old man barely handles any of the paperwork.”
“That’s true enough, sir. But the Lord General doesn’t make combat drops either” smiled Grundy.
“I’ll fight from the strategium when I’m old and grey, Kai” laughed Verne. “For now I’ll stick to what I know.”
“What you know, sir?” asked Grundy.
Verne slapped his adjutant on the shoulder as his expression turned cold “I know how to kill.”
5
The Macharians were the last to make the drop and whilst they were comforted by the news that the Necromundans and Storm Troopers had made it to the surface intact Verne was considerably more worried that the primitive auspex scanners on Massilla might get lucky the third time around.
“Two minutes to atmospheric entry.” Came the call from the cockpit and Grundy echoed the information over the squad’s communication beads. Sure enough the craft began to buck and sway with its cargo of soldiers rattling against their harnesses. Verne had been assured many times over the years that the heat shielding on Imperial Navy craft was more than adequate to preserve the mild temperature on board but he hadn’t made a single combat drop without feeling the air begin to boil as they tore through the skies. He wasn’t about to admit that it was nerves but a heightened state of righteous fury seemed every bit as foolish. Looking around he noted his team was largely gripping tight and keeping their heads down; there wasn’t much else for it on such a physically oppressive ride. The knowledge that enemy guns might blast them from the sky at any second usually kept men quiet in any case.
“Major gener… reporting in… enemy position” washed over Verne’s earpiece in frustratingly short bursts. The lighters position in the upper atmosphere was clearly interfering with communications but the roar of the craft’s entry would have made a clear broadcast practically indecipherable.
It’ll have to wait, thought Verne after considering a reply. In moments the dim light strips adorning the roof of the ship flickered into a deep red to inform the troops that they had made atmosphere. As the lighter banked to correct its course Verne could make out the scattered lights of hab blocks and vehicles.
“Five minutes” The pilot voxed. Nobody needed to ask what for.
Verne adjusted his com bead and opened a link to Colonel Klight. “21NR-1 this is 8M… this is Dagger actual, respond.” Verne cursed at forgetting to use his new call sign but he still smiled at the name they had settled on. There had been a saying in the Rangers that a dagger would solve pretty much any problem you could come up with and Grundy had suggested the title was apt for the major general.
“Dagger actual this is 21NR-1, 21NR-1 actual is currently unavailable… wait one…” The voice on the link was hushed but steady. The wait for ‘eyes on’ intelligence was excruciating to Verne as he desperately wanted confirmation that the populace had remained innocent. At length however his vox clicked back into life.
“Major-general, apologies for the delay” the honeyed voice of the Necromundan colonel sailed over the tactical net without pause for communication protocol.
“Klight” replied Verne, eager for vindication.
“Can’t be sure of too much at this point but the average factory drone’s life looks to have continued as you’d expect. We haven’t seen any imperial veneration out in the habs but there’s nothing to condemn out here either.”
“That’s to be expected out in the blocks” Verne sighed. “How long until you breach Massilla Tertius?”
“The hive ain’t got much in the way of fortifications but the main roads in are still going to notice us merry men wandering about the place. We’re going to have to go underground and in through the underhive; there’s never much law about down in the deep.” Verne could tell Klight was savouring his speciality. “Still it’s going to take some time to even reach the underhive let alone ascend. More than 20 Terran but it ought to get easier once you start the fireworks.”
“Understood, proceed as discussed and good luck.”
“Same to you, Castor.” Klight cut the link before Verne had a chance to respond but he reasoned it was probably better that way. Having the last word with a Necromundan was a frankly mythological affair. Before Verne could attempt communications with Kromvir’s Storm Troopers the shuttle bucked hard and forced him back into his seat.
“Thirty seconds!” Grunted the embarrassed pilot.
Verne couldn’t hear a word but smiled as he recognised Grundy muttering “amateur” to himself. The landing mercifully softened up as the jump lights switched over to green and the rear ramp descended. The Macharians were up and out of their harnesses before the craft had even touched the ground and within the minute the rangers had piled out of the craft and into an all round defensive formation with Grundy and Verne at the centre. They had deployed into a forest clearing thick with wet grassy fronds that flicked wildly in the lighter’s jet wash. The Macharians stayed down until the shuttle fired up its engines and headed back for the safety of its parent cruiser. When the roar of the ships engines had died away Verne got his team up and moving into the cover of the forest’s dark canopy. The night sky vanished under the thatch work of branches covering the Macharians in a pitch black embrace.
“Maintain light and noise discipline” hissed Grundy as Verne unrolled his poncho and ducked under the camouflaged material. Within his miniature tent Verne could switch on his lamp pack and orientate the team’s position on his tactical map. They had managed to land at the primary DZ and this put them an hour’s sweep from the target facility. If Verne’s strategy came together the Storm troopers would begin their assault just before the Macharians began theirs.
“ST-1 this is Dagger actual. Give me some good news, lads.” Verne clicked off and held his breath.
“Dagger actual this is ST actual. We’re proceeding as planned, zero resistance as yet but we’ve noted a few patrols nearer the target.”
“Any information on the enemy?”
“Too dark and too far. They’re mounted and manning regular sweeps around their facility but they’re moving in small numbers. PDF standard tactics.”
“They’re still afraid we’re going to flatten the area from orbit” smiled Verne as he felt the initiative slipping into his hands. “Inform me when you’re in position or if further intelligence comes to light.”
“Sir” clicked Kromvir. “Good to have you on the ground with us, sir. ST out.”
The bridge aboard Trajan’s Spear was beginning to calm down as the drop preparations neared completion and attention turned to the operation on the surface. Brant couldn’t help feeling that a successful mission would only embolden the major general into more reckless acts of aggression. But for now he just wanted to be rid of his new command so he settled in to waiting for updates from Admiral Darion’s crew.
“All shuttles reported back safely, Admiral. Insertion complete” called a bleary eyed lieutenant.
“Thank you mister Gaine,” answered Darion. “Commander Brant perhaps you might consider retiring to your chambers? We do not expect further contact from the surface until they have control of the defence facilities.”
Brant sighed as he remembered Verne’s insistence on leaving the orbital ranged vox gear behind. True the set comprised a considerable bulk but without it the strike force would only be able to contact the flotilla through stolen equipment. “I don’t expect it will be long before something goes wrong but I suppose a little rest will do me good.”
“Abandoning your post commander?” The snaking hiss of accusation froze Brant in place; too afraid to turn and face the inevitable features of Lord Commissar Miervich. “A tactician with acting command… very quaint but highly irregular. I had hoped to confer with the ship’s Commissariat representative but the fellow appears to have been avoiding me.” Miervich cast his eyes over the rapt bridge crew until he settled on the Admiral’s throne.
“Commissar Kanton spends the majority of his time on the lower decks with Naval Security where he can actually do some good, Lord Commissar. My bridge crew are as motivated a fighting force as you will find anywhere in the galaxy.” Darion didn’t even deign to stand up but instead focused his attention on the many monitors surrounding his station.
“That may well be admiral but I’m not here for petty infractions. Our glorious expedition is currently in the hands of a youth with no command experience.” Brant couldn’t see it but he felt the smile creep across Miervich’s drawn features.
“Major general Castor Verne has extensive combat experience including decorated service as an officer” noted Darion absent mindedly.
“I’m not talking about Verne, Admiral but it does amuse me that you equated my description with him. No I’m referring to that one; the boy without a weapon” pointed the Commissar.
Brant, a twenty-six year old man by Cadian standards, might have traded in his lasgun for a data slate when he was selected for the Scholana Tactica but he was still a certified guardsman of the fortress world.
“You have an issue with the drop preparations Lord Commissar?” Asked Brant as he finally turned to face his aggressor. “Until we receive word from the surface we’re going to be doing a lot of waiting around so I suggest you rest your bones.” Brant’s moment of courage had felt as though it would make an impact on Miervich but he simply stared the younger man down.
“And what happens if we don’t receive word, my boy? Who is going to lead this expedition when your master gets himself killed scrabbling around in the mud down there? You? You think you can keep those men in line when we’re alone on the surface and up to our necks in it? You’ve barely got control of them as it is. Cede control to me peacefully and I will see to it the proper chain of command is restored and the prosecution of this war handled properly.” The commissar hadn’t drawn a weapon but Brant felt a chill run down his spine as he looked into Miervich’s eyes. There was something unnatural there, something unhinged that spoke to violence as a very immediate possibility.
“That is enough” Darion finally stood up and descended from his throne. “Operational command is continuing smoothly and until we have notice of an issue on the surface the war effort is proceeding as planned. You haven’t uttered the words yet but if you choose to raise this to an official Commissariat judgment then be warned that you aren’t the first Commissar to try to take control of this vessel.” As Darion finished a detail of naval security marched into the bridge. “Gentlemen, escort the Lord Commissar to his quarters.”
“You’re gambling with an Imperial battle group, Admiral. It’s only a matter of time before these upstarts reveal their incompetency and we’re all shamed by their failure.” Miervich snarled these last words and gave Brant a final venomous glare before he swept off the bridge under his new guard.
“He’s become a serious problem.” Stated Brant.
“He has indeed” answered Darion. “Just don’t prove him right.” Brant didn’t need to know Darion all that well to see that Miervich’s assessment had struck a chord with the Admiral. Even Brant felt a twinge of guilt at the risks that Verne was taking with the battle group.
“What do we do about him?” Asked Brant with some semblance of hope.
“I’ve spoken to Kanton. Miervich commands the utmost loyalty from the Commissariat detachment. We can’t remove him without excising our entire Commissariat and we can’t simply kill him because… well lets just say the Catachan solution works considerably better in a ground war.”
“So?”
“So I recommend you remain on the bridge. Then when you get to the surface you can ask Staff sergeant Grundy about his favourite Macharian proverb.”
The Macharians picked up their pace when the trees began to clear and the barrels of the defence batteries began to emerge against the night sky. The towers of metal jutted crudely from the earth like dark obelisks belying the sophisticated technology housed within the facility. Verne tensed up as they approached the first urbanised areas of Massilla they had seen firsthand. The forest was giving way to a bleak suburb of quiet habitation stacks with an almost deserted network of roads connecting them. In the distance, Verne could make out the piercing beams of high amp headlights searching the night as they roved between the houses.
“Keep tight, low and quiet” whispered Verne over his com bead. “If we’re bumped here we might as well shoot ourselves. Patrols are going to scramble when the Storm Troopers strike so we need to cross this hab cluster before I send them in. This close to a defence facility these habs are likely filled with soldier’s families so consider it a hornet’s nest. Wiesehofer you’re on point. No shots unless it’s critical.” The trooper clicked a confirmation and signed a single column formation as he sloped ahead into the streets. The rangers zagged along the roads sticking to the shadows and back alleys where they could and dashing into cover when the noise of PDF patrol trucks warned of an impending approach. As they neared the walls of the battery Verne directed them away from the gates and diverted the team around the perimeter of the facility. The fortification wall was solid rockrete and stood over ten metres but the guard posts were mercifully infrequent and a near blind spot in their coverage was identified on the far side of the battery.
“Briant, take up overwatch on the left tower, Kuhrt you’re on the right.”
“Night scopes sir?” piped Kuhrt, a lanky guardswoman with several marksmanship citations.
“Yes but keep them detached, you won’t need them inside.” Verne patted them both on the soldier and marshalled the rest of his men into two groups of five. Sure enough, within minutes, Briant and Kuhrt had raised their hands for the all clear and Verne sent the first four Rangers with Grundy up to the wall. Their dull black outlines vanished quickly from Verne’s unaugmented vision but Briant gave the ok for their successful approach. Verne lingered in the shadows whilst the guards swept back over the terrain they had been ignoring before they opened up their blind spot for a second time and gave the rangers an opening. Verne led the low run across the dead ground with his back arched and hands tightly on his weapon to keep it from clanking against his armour. Even so the run felt as though he was shouting his position to the skies and he expected a condemnatory searchlight to open up on him at any second. But he kept his cool as he approached Grundy’s position and signalled the rangers to set up a breach point. Whilst Wiesehofer and Lazenby set to work with several melta charges Verne activated his com bead and raised Kromvir’s detachment.
“Begin” clicked Verne.
“Look west sir” snorted the bull.
At first Verne thought Kromvir had been making some sort of private joke but then the horizon of the night sky was pierced through by a pillar of flame that coloured the drifting clouds red with rage. Then the roar of the conflagration erupted through the atmosphere and set the rangers to sniggering. For a moment there was absolute silence before the sirens and searchlights burst into action off in the distance. A moment later and the primary facility was on alert, scanning the skies for targets. Now Verne was in his element, now the rangers armed their charges and stacked up against the facility wall as the melta charges seared through the rockrete like butter. With the noise of the facility standing too and the action of the patrol trucks racing off to the secondary installation in the west the melta blast’s relatively quiet detonation went unnoticed at first. The rangers were in through the perimeter and dashed several metres across to the battery’s housing structure before the guard towers noticed what had happened. But the strike team was in the building before anyone could react and this was all the Macharians needed.
“Sekunda, scramble that entry pad and keep any visitors out. The rest of you, eyes front. You’re weapons free.” Verne scanned the corridor ahead and breathed a sigh of relief at the lack of guard posts. It seemed like a civilian installation with little in the way of internal defensible positions but that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be a garrison of some kind.
“Set sir!” Sekunda shouted. How he always shouted… thought Verne.
“Good, there are other ways in and plenty of troops on the inside anyway so keep your rifles high and your eyes open. Grundy take Weerdenburg, Sekunda, Briant and Kurt. Get to their communications station and send word on our command encryption to Trajan’s Spear. Get them to begin the drop; by the time they’re in range we’ll have this gun spiked. Rendevouz at the control centre on my mark.”
“Right you are sir, Briant up front!” Bellowed Grundy.
Verne watched the fire team split off and head for the template configuration communications room. He had two flights of stairs and a forty metre corridor to reach the laser battery’s fuel cells. “Right the rest of you are with me, first we rig the cells then we try and take the control room. Here’s hoping we don’t have to blow ourselves up eh? Tuplin you’re on point. I want smooth not quick.”
The rangers fell into step with Tuplin leading the way, his lascarbine kept up to his shoulder with his eyes down the sights. Every ranger checked his corners with a fluidity that illustrated their experience so when the first of the Massillan PDF opened up on them from behind a stack of crates the rangers knew well to keep out of harms way. The Massillan’s were using issue lasguns and kept up an admirable rate of fire on the Macharian position but Tuplin had flicked fragmentation grenades around the corner before the garrison troopers even had time to consider a flanking manoeuvre. The blast rocked the hallway violently and streaks of gore lined the PDF position as the rangers surged round the corner. Verne took no pause for pity as they mopped up the shell shocked survivors of the blast with short, single blasts from their carbines.
“Keep moving!” Ordered Verne as they took the second set of stairs to the core. The last serious combat action that the rangers undertook had been on a dusty planet infested with green skins. It was strange to adjust from such belligerent monsters to these frightened boys. There was no fight in them but this suited Verne fine; as they hurried down the final corridor they saw discarded lasguns and helmets littering the ground. It seemed the Massillans thought they were under a considerably larger attack than reality presented.
“Demolition charges on the fuel stacks!” Directed Verne whilst he adjusted his com bead. “Kai, what have you got?”
“Nothing to write home about, sir. Communications surrendered without a fight. I’ve had them order a general retreat from the facility as a nice treat for us. You want any of them alive?” Laughed Grundy and Verne had to resist joining him.
“I suppose we’ll need the intelligence” Verne deliberately spoke up into the bead. “Restrain them, send the message then meet me at the control room. We need to make sure there aren’t any heroes lurking around.”
Verne clicked off and rounded up his fire team before double checking the charges and setting off. Three flights of stairs later the facility seemed entirely deserted and the control room’s door was wide open when they arrived. The rangers stacked up against the corridor wall; wary of leaping into the heart of the installation.
“Ready?” shouted Verne.
“Eager!” Came the reply and the two fire teams poured into the room from opposite ends. “Clear!” Yelled Grundy when the sweep was complete. Verne sauntered over to the firing console and flicked off all automated weapon systems then turned his attention to the radar screen. The pict feed was distorted and reset every few seconds to a blank but there was no mistaking the image. Even through the haze of Darion’s jamming signal the inevitable bulk of a planetary invasion force drifted closer and closer to Massilla.
Primarchs 