Editing Trip Into Hell (Warhammer High) (section)

==Part 1. Invasion==
===Seadelant===
‘…Port Huron is a beautiful city, and I wish you and your cousins could see it, though Nocturne sounds like a blast. I still aim to meet up with you all at the specified location at the end of our respective tours, and look forward to seeing you all then. Give my best wishes to Rem, Alex, Freya and especially Jake. Make sure you treat him well! I look forward to your next E-letter.’ Julius Pius paused, looked over his E-letter to Venus on his Dataslate, and frowned. The timestamp on his letter read 2 227 347 M34. It had been several months since scholam had finished and his time at Imperator High had come to an end, several months since the daughters scattered across the Imperium and he had joined them in their exodus. He was now already nearly halfway across the Imperium, and was now outbound to the thousand worlds of Ultramar. His birthplace.
He was sitting outside the Portside Café, a pretty little establishment looking over both the water port and the space port parts of Port Huron, the capital city of the planet Seadelant. On one side was the sparkling sea, on the other the vast shapes of Starships anchored at the Spaceport, like a chain of metal mountains looming over the inner city. The café was almost the mirror image of a certain café on Terra, where he and his friends had gone several times before school ended, and where, a few months ago…no, better not to think about it. He would have to live with his mistakes, but he didn’t want to be reminded of them every few minutes. 

He sipped on his Caf, checked his letter several times, smiling to himself at his more, ''interesting'' comments. ‘Treat him well’, Venus would smack him one with a comment like that if she was here to read it. He was never one to pry, but those ‘laid vibes’ always got to him, and anyway if any one couple in the ‘royals’ deserved happiness, it was those two, even above his own relationship. He was one of the few who had never judged Jake for his humble roots, as his roots were every bit as humble were his famous father not taken into account, and Jake in turn treated him as a friend. Satisfied with his letter, he finally hit the ‘send’ button. It would be forwarded to the nearby Astropath Guild HQ, where it would be beamed offworld within an hour or two. That was done, now he could finish his drink in peace. 
He only had another two days here before he would board a transport for Ultramar, and his long lost Mother. What would he do there, what would he think when he finally beheld her final resting place? He didn’t want to think about it, any more than he wanted to think about the circumstances which had led him from Terra, the events which saw him miss graduation and have to stand before a civilian tribunal.

His train of thought was cut short as the Vox in the corner crackled, something cutting over the classical music wafting through the café.

“An unidentified object has dropped out of the Warp approx 240,000,000 Miles from the Planet, twenty-seven minutes ago. Long ranged probes have been dispatched, and system ships have been mobilised to investigate. We do not, I repeat we do not, know if this is friendly or hostile, and as a precaution we are issuing a blue alert. All citizens should make preparations in the event of further alerts, but there is no need to panic. That is all.” 

The Vox returned to its normal music, but it was now drowned out by the murmur of voices. Julius continued to sip on his Caf, but now he didn’t feel up for it. He had a queasy feeling in his gut, that this was no mere accidental translation, something bad was coming, and was once again about to be thrust into something he’d rather avoid. News like that was an unwelcome distraction for him. He had had enough of bad events affecting him and those he considered family, he wanted it all to be over, that damn gunman would be the last time something like that would ever happen. Crushing the empty hardfoam cup in his hand, he left. Hopefully, all things willing, it would be nothing and he could continue his trip in peace.



The Great Ocean was always unnaturally calm around Seadelant, which not only made it into one of the most important waystations between Segmentum Solar and Ultima Segmentum, astride the largest and most stable warp route between the two Segmentums, but also made it into a perfect location to meditate, to drift through the great ocean and clear one’s head, the reason Ahzek Ahriman was there. It helped that it was close to Prospero, and had been brought into compliance by the XVth Legion during the Crusade shortly after Magnus had reclaimed his Legion. The locals, awed by the civility of the Thousand Sons after compliance was achieved and they were liberated from their tyrannical overlords, gladly accepted aid from Prospero in rebuilding their war damaged cities. The city reminded him greatly of Tizca,"The City of Light", perfectly designed, every building aesthetically pleasing and perfectly fitting into the urban environment. An inner wall separated the more ugly new construction from the remnants of the old city and the Spaceport, and an outer wall in turn separated that from the countryside. The clifflike edifices of docked starships loomed far above the city, though cleverly the city plan meant the vast shadows cast by them did not keep Port Huron permanently wreathed in shadow. Most of the starships were passenger or cargo ships, with a single pair of Sword class Frigates being the only Military ships currently docked there.

The locals were very happy to be hosting the Chief Librarian of the Thousand Sons legion, and in the time he had been here, he had been invited to feasts and meetings, where his every word was treated as sacred gospel, irritating him. He was here to relax, to get away from Prospero and the duties of the head of the Corvidae. He’d already completely rearranged and catalogued the Corvidae Library, explored the hinterlands of Prospero and meditated in the Reflecting Caves beneath the Pyramid of Photep, and yet his mood hadn’t lightened. Finally he had accepted an invitation to travel with the Gladius-class Frigate Hapi to deliver some crystals to the Seadelant Astropathic guild, and when the Frigate had left he had stayed behind.

The big news currently filling the airwaves, and the minds of everyone in the city was this mystery object which only a few hours earlier had debarked from the Great Ocean. He had felt the ripples as it emerged into the material plane, waves of psychic energy gently washing over him, soaking him in excess power. He would have to shed that as soon as he could. Probes had been dispatched to find out what it was, but he could also find out, far more thoroughly and subtly than the devices of the Mechanicum ever could. He needed some sort of distraction, and a way of testing his aetheric connection.

He closed his eyes, recited the Enumerations and freed his body of light from his flesh. He could scout out the orbital intruder far better than the probes and ships, and without any potential inhabitants ever noticing him. Ahriman also hoped to catch a glimpse of things to come as well, even now after all this time he still hadn’t repaired his link to the future, and his powers of scrying were still at their lowest ebb since Aghoru. The lack of connection bothered him, was the Primordial Annihilator still haunting him, even now long after the shooting was done and its plan foiled?

Onwards and upwards he flew. His subtle body soared, effortlessly breaking free of the planet’s gravity and departing into the inky night of space, heading straight towards the distant space object slowly plummeting towards the planet.

The sun was a fading disc of light above him, and he flew ever upwards, spreading his arms like wings as he bathed in the warmth of the invisible currents of energy that permeated every corner of this world. The world below was a faint blue dot, a jewel set against the black curtain of space, at once so fragile and yet so precious.

The space object now loomed before him. As he had expected, it was a Space Hulk, the remnants of asteroids and ships sucked into the Great Ocean and fused together over millennia. There might be old tech from the dark age of technology on board that Hulk, objects the Adeptus Mechanicus would kill to obtain. Unusually, the Space Hulk was blazing with etheric Energy, far more than it normally should do, and it took a few seconds for it to hit Ahriman what that energy was. It was as crude and powerful as a flamethrower, and every bit as potent, setting the Hulk ablaze aetherically. He had seen that energy before, on many hundreds of battlefields, and as lingering traces on Ullanor. Only one race had that seemingly mindless potency. The Greenskins, the Orks. The galactic plague which could never be totally erased, not matter what the Emperor did. Millions of individual Orks infested the hulk, some manning semi-concealed weapons turrets studding the bow and flanks of the Hulk, others brawling with each other in cavern sized room or marching up and down the kilometres long network of tunnels worming their way through the Hulk. In what appeared to be the Hulk’s command centre, a bevy of massive Nobs and Warbosses poured around a crude screen, showing an image of Seadelant. Unseen, Ahriman looked on in Horror. This was a full on invasion force, the sort rarely seen in Imperial Space since the Crusade ended. The unmanned Navy probes speeding towards the Hulk were dead things, though the operators on the planet’s surface didn’t know it yet.

Before his aetheric eyes, the very moment the probes entered the range of the Hulk’s prow Gun batteries, those guns blazed, and one by one the probes were torn apart by the flurry of large calibre shells sent their way. If they didn’t know the hulk was hostile before, they certainly knew it now.

He returned to his physical body so hard several bruises blossomed upon his body. He groaned as his flesh ached with the stress of his body of light’s rushed reintegration. Ahriman used his heqa staff to push himself to his feet. The vox set on the windowsill of his hab crackled into life.

“This is an Urgent update. Our probes have scanned the target; however they were destroyed before the scan could be completed. Enough data was recovered before the probes were destroyed to ascertain the identity of the assailants, and we now regret to inform the identity of the unknown Object as an Ork Space Hulk, which will reach our orbit within a day and a half. Distress calls have been sent, and System Ships and Defence Monitors mobilised. We are upgrading our alert status to Amber, effective immediately.”

Ahriman could barely believe what he had just heard. They expected to take the monster out before it reached the planet! They hadn’t seen the monster with their own two eyes; they had no idea of the storm about to break upon them. The only way they could stop that hulk while it was still in space would be with an entire squadron of Battleships with a few Battle Barges in support, something that was very much absent from Seadelant’s orbit. The planetary defences would be swept aside within a few hours and the Orks would land, in the tens of millions. He had been taken on a tour of the cities defences, and while they were carefully laid out and capable of defending against a limited drop, they were woefully underequipped for dealing with an invasion of this magnitude. They would need him and his special gifts if they were to survive the onslaught until relief arrived. Ahriman stared at his armour, resting nearby. The last time he’d donned it, it was to hunt a supposed Chaos taint with the Night Haunter. And look where that got him! Was he about to make another such mistake? Even if so, without his insight this planet would fall, and a vital link in the chain holding the Imperium together would be severed. That would aid the Primordial Annihilator far more than anything he could do here. His mind made up, he began to don his battleplate. Once again, Ahzek Ahriman was going to war.

===Taking Command and Signing Up===
The Seadelant military command building was located beside the Governor’s palace at the very top of the hill the city was built upon. Like most of the buildings, it resembled a rounded pyramid with an observation dome on the top. Ahriman all but crashed through the door, briefly acknowledging the existence of the sentries before barging past them, ignoring their admittedly half hearted protests. What mortal would argue with a Marine in Battleplate, who obviously meant business? He reached the main room, patterned on a starship’s command deck with rows of screens above security consoles along the walls and a single massive window overlooking the Spaceport. An image of the Space Hulk was projected on the large Holodesk situated in the centre of the room, with several aides pouring over the fragmentary data the probes recovered. Graf Trakeria, supreme commander of the Seadelant PDF stood there flanked by the Planet’s Senior Astropath and Governor Shroe. Instead of talking about potential invasion scenarios or plans for defending the planet, they were talking about the last load of messages sent out before the distress call, with the Astropath apparently concerned about one outbound for Nocturne of all places. He had no time for that sort of thing; he needed to force some sense into them before they made a mistake which would cost the Imperium dearly.

“Lord Ahriman, we’ve been hoping you would join us. Of all the things that could happen, we had to get a full on Ork Space Hulk bearing down on our planet. What were the chances of that?”

Ahriman needed to cut to the chase, but as gently as possible. He didn’t want to offend them, or simply cut over them and take over. He was no arrogant Word Bearer or Emperor’s Child. “Believe me, there are many worse things that Hulk could have been. A Hellship for one, but that’s beside the point. The point is there’s 50 million Greenskins on that hulk, heading straight for this planet with one aim in mind: conquering and looting this world.”

“50 Million? How do you know exactly?”

“Because I saw them with my own eyes.”

“What do you mean, you…oh. Oh.” He hadn’t advertised his psychic potential to them, but they all had heard of his reputation. They just hadn’t expected it to be demonstrated in such circumstances.

“Yes. I’d like to hear what your plan is for dealing with this invasion. You’re sending the Defence Monitors out at the Hulk?”

“Yes, as well as every system ship we can muster. We would have the two Frigates up there with them, but both are not yet fully refurbished. A blasted shame the Mars Class Battlecruiser Thunder’s Fury left yesterday, else we would get the use of its Nova Cannon against the Green Menace. We don’t want the green scum setting foot upon our world, not in a thousand years. Why, do you have something with that plan?”

“My apologies Madam, but yes I do. Being honest, your plan is stupid. Foolhardy and stupid both.” He ignored the shocked expressions on their faces, and the looks he was getting from those personnel elsewhere in the room. They had to know. “That hulk is several kilometres across and studded in hundreds of guns, and you think your Defence Monitors can hope to destroy it? A great admiral once said that shooting Nova cannons at a Hulk was like ‘Like throwing eggs at a stone wall.’ You have no ability to damage the hulk before it reaches orbit, it’s just too big and powerful. And though the Orbital Defence network is stronger, even that will do little but slow it down. You’d need the combined fire of several Battleships and Battle Barges to destroy it, and I don’t see any around. Fortunately it has no escorting ships with it, so I’d suggest you withdraw the Defence Monitors until relief arrives. No sense in having them destroy themselves and doing little to stop the Hulk. No, the Greenskins can’t be stopped in orbit; they will have to be held here, on the ground, until a real military force can arrive to assist us.” He let that sink in. this was a time for harsh truths, nothing else would suffice.

Governor Shroe glared up at him, or at least tried to. “How can we stop an Ork Invasion on the ground? The total PDF numbers only 100,000, and that’s spread across the entire planet. They’ll get overwhelmed within days!”

“What Guard Regiments are currently here?”

“We have the Caorst XVI Charxers headed to Cadia, and the Belladon fifteenth, Perdix Hunters thirty-ninth and Tanith fifth ‘Larisels’ all headed to the Sabbat Worlds.”

“A Tanith Regiment, eh?” Tanith had supplied very few Regiments, but every one of them was worth its weight in gold. It was said the Emperor Himself intervened with the commander of the celebrated first regiment, the ‘Ghosts’ was court marshalled for disobeying an order which would have seen most of his regiment destroyed for no gain.

“Lord Ahriman? What would you do if you were in my place?”

Ahriman thought about it for a few seconds, each second stretching to minutes in his mind as he calculated feverishly. With the limited troops they could not hope to fight outside the city, and with those defensive walls… “We hold the outer walls for as long as possible, and when it becomes untenable to hold them any longer we withdraw to the inner walls, and there hold them off until relief forces arrive. Given the importance of Seadelant as the main hub between Segmentum Solar and Ultima Segmentum, I expect relief will arrive within two weeks or so, warp travel time permitting. We only need to hold that long, and with careful force positioning and maximum use of every available resource, I am quite confident we could do that.”

“And what about the civilian population?”

“Evacuate as many as possible on the docked civilian and cargo ships. Have them sent a safe distance away. Everyone else, pull them into the central city. If the outer walls should fall…”

Graf Trakeria and the Governor stared at each other for a few seconds. He could clearly read their auras, fear at the foe bearing down upon them, uncertainty as to what they were to do, and a growing sense of apprehension. This was a situation neither of them had ever expected to be in. Finally Graf Trakeria addressed him.

“Lord Ahriman, we know little of war, or our greenskin foes, but you do. Though this goes against tradition, I wish for you to take my place as supreme commander of the Seadelant defence forces.”

Externally, Ahriman stood impassively. Within, he was conflicted. Though he had wanted them to see sense, he didn’t want them to give him the job of defending the planet…or did he? Pride was something he had removed long ago, reaching that moment of full ego-extinction which allowed him to fight as impassively as a robot. But since the crusade ended, that pride had re-manifested itself, and try as he might; he could not fully remove it. And now he was being offered this, command of an entire world’s defence. What would Lord Magnus say to him? He imagined the crimson king; a supernova made flesh, the very essence of the great ocean coursing through him. He would take the reins; bend every fibre of his being to doing his duty, and saving this world. That made up his mind for him.

“If that is what you wish, fine, I will take command. I’ll need you both though; your troops may be a bit reluctant to take orders from me, and the civilians will need to follow my instructions. Together, we will save this world!”

He could notice the almost imperceptible twitch in his right hand. The fate of this world now rested on his shoulders. A small part of him rejoiced, but that feeling was submerged beneath a tide of grim resolve. He had work to do, if this world was not to fall under the green tide.



The skyscraper sized barrels of defence lasers poked their iron snouts out of massive underground bunkers, the shadows they cast lying long and heavy over Port Huron. That seemed a fitting allegory to Julius as he made his way through the now deserted streets of the Old City. A once shining city of light and colour was now under a shadow, the shadow of the approaching Space Hulk, and the millions of Orks within, all lusting after the planet. All day civilian transports had departed from the Spaceport and the Seaport, carrying thousands away from the planet and the city respectively. Once again he wondered why he wasn’t on board one of those transports, leaving the planet with the rest of the civilian population, and why he was about to do something which many would construe as ‘stupid’, and which could easily get him killed.

Because, like it or not, he felt he could make a difference, by doing this he could atone for his sins, for nearly having the girl he loved killed and for seemingly ruining his relationship with her. He didn’t even know if they would stay together after this, they hadn’t spoken since that torturous grilling in the Emperor’s office and Julius didn’t know if she had forgiven him or not. For a long time, once he had finally stripped away the mask she wore in public and beheld her true face for the first time, he had felt that they would remain together. She may have found his beliefs kind of weird, and could never quite grasp why he chose to remain celibate, but they had got beyond that, they knew each other’s strengths and weaknesses, and each acted as an anchor for the other one. And now he was cut loose from that anchor, and he was drifting with no idea where he was going, apart from the office building a short distance up the road. He had been brought up with the full knowledge of what war truly was like, and had no illusions about the hell he was about to descend into. There was every chance he wouldn’t make it.

The queue outside the offices was relatively long but fast moving, and it wasn’t long at all before he was inside and standing before a short, plump man in a PDF Officer’s uniform.
“Name.” he said without looking up.

“Parsson. Oll Parsson, Ser.” Julius used the last name of an old friend of his mothers, and his father’s long standing nickname. Better not to be known, for if he was doubtless he would be refused and forcibly evacuated. His father’s name was famous across the Imperium, doubtless people would make the connection if it was known.

“Ser? You’re from the Thousand Worlds?”

“Yes Ser. I was on my way back, but the damn Greenskins have interfered.”

“Weapons proficiency?”

“All standard patterns of Lasgun and Autogun, as well as Hellguns, Bolt weapons and Needlers.” He was actually trained in far more than these simple weapons, but best to keep that to himself.

“Bolt Weapons?”

“It’s the Thousand worlds of ''Ultramar'', Ser. The XIII trains us well.” What Julius didn’t mention was Vulkan’s Hellpistol, concealed beneath his Greatcoat. Though that weapon now had several bad memories attached, it was still a perfectly crafted and deadly firearm, and would serve him well in the unlikely event an Ork came at him.

The PDF officer rapidly scribbled on a sheet of paper, before handing it to him for his signature. Julius paused, pen held over the paper. He could still back out, get on a transport and flee to safety. What would Isis say, were she here with him? They were each other’s moral compasses; every time Isis had to do something on the student council she would seek him out first, to get his opinion on the matter. Throughout all her struggles with Roberta, it was he who had stood by her, and never let her down. She wouldn’t back down then, and neither would he now, even if it was over between them. He signed his name.

“Congratulations.” the Officer said in a less than congratulatory tone. “You have just been enrolled in the Civilian Defence Auxilia, for the duration of the Emergency. You are assigned to Munitions Escort, please report to outer wall gate 1-5.” He handed Julius an armband with ‘CDA” monogrammed in gothic script. And just like that, Julius was a soldier.

===Welcome to the Team===

The outer walls of Port Huron were abuzz with activity. Normally, apart from a few PDF patrols and sightseeing tourists, the walls were deserted. But now the walls were abuzz with the sound of soldiers making ready. This particular section was being held by the PDF and their troopers stood upon the walls, some resting and awaiting the coming storm, others scanning the silent sky with spyglasses and Magnoculars, or tending to wall mounted Autocannons and Heavy Bolters as well as their own personal weapons. Heavy weapons were being manhandled into position, and several troopers were excavating Mortar Pits with Jackhammers, digging into the Rockcrete surface. In the midst of all this, Julius looked around for the CDA team he had been assigned to. He was sure he was at the right place, just east of outer wall gate 1-5.

“Are you Parsson?” an attractive young woman with long blonde hair, a pixie-ish face and a short, turned-up nose wearing a CDA armband and a black bodyglove gestured at him, beckoning him over. She was standing beside a C-80 Cargo Hovertruck, several others offloading crates of ammunition behind her. He noted she was slightly shorter then he was, about 5' 3¼" high, though she looked older. He threw her a snappy salute.

She chuckled. “We’re not professional army, no need to do that. Certainly not for me, though our section leader will definitely want one. I’m Summer. You must be the offworlder, welcome to 4th section, Munitions Escort Brigade. We ferry the ammunition from the bunkers to the walls, freeing up the PDF to fully man the walls. Guys, this is Oll Parsson, the offworlder recruit we were informed about.”

He swiftly learnt the names of his fellow CDA Troopers. The broad one with the thick Tanith accent and the blue tattoo over his eye was Flynn; the son of a Nalwood trader who’d set up shop on Seadelant. The dark skinned one was Scvott, the troop leader. The first thing he did was throw a salute at Julius who took a few seconds to realise he had to return it. Scvott didn’t seem impressed by the delay, but was very welcoming to Julius. Finally the tall, bulky and rugged one was Dyllion, a dock worker who nearly crushed Julius’s hand in a vice like handshake, pointedly ignoring military protocol and Scvott’s disapproving looks. They were all curious about the stranger who had joined them.

“Oll? Is that short for Ollanius, like the great war hero?” Flynn asked.

Julius admitted it was, leading to the others all talking about his heroics, or rather Scvott talking about them and Dyllion shaking his head. Julius concealed his blush as best he could, even now he still couldn’t shake off his father’s influence. He convinced them to ‘call me Oll’, which set his mind at ease.

“Come on you lazy sods, back to work.” A voice came down from the walls, and the group returned to shifting crates from the C-80, Julius immediately joining in. As they worked, they conversed, most of them directing questions at Julius.

“So, Oll, you come from the Thousand Worlds of Ultramar. Have you seen real Ultramarines?” Scvott asked.

‘I have seen far more than Ultramarines’, he thought to himself. ‘Roberta Guilliman the heir to Ultramar herself was my nursery mate and I schooled with her sister-cousins, they are practically family to me’. But instead he made up seeing them a few times, but always at a distance. He had come out to get away from that life, and he would keep it under wraps. They were all awed by his tale, Flynn commenting he’d have made a good Space Marine, to which Scvott replied with an assumption about Flynn which made them all laugh, and Flynn responded with a string of colourful insults. These people were growing on Julius.

Suddenly the sky was lit up by a new sun, a bright glow cutting through the azure dome of the heavens. The glow continued for a few seconds, before it began to fade and the sky returned to its natural colour.

“Some poor, brave bastards up there just bought it.” Flynn sniffed. Later Julius would learn of the brave crew of the station who let the Orks board them, drew over a million of them into the station before overloading the station’s reactors, taking the Orks with them and earning every crewmember a posthumous Iron Star.

“That only means one thing.” Julius said as the glow died away. “The Orks have reached our orbit, and most likely will start landing within a day or two, they’ll only hang around long enough to locate where our troops are positioned, so they can get to the fight straight away.”

“Do they teach you these things in the Thousand Worlds?” Scvott sounded slightly jealous.

“We have the Ork Empire of Charadon on our doorstep; there are always border clashes and the threat of a Waaagh! We take precautions.”

The last crate of munitions was offloaded and stacked beside the Ammo lifts on the wall. Scvott called up. “Truck’s empty sir, what next?”

“We need another three cases of LG-04, two of HEFG 09, four cases of AAAFSDS, and one DVD-V LD12-0223. Then we should be done, at least until the Greenskins land and the bullets start flying.”

“What the fuck?” asked Dyllion.

“Lasgun powerpacks, Frag Grenades, Anti-air Autocannon sabot rounds for the Hydra emplacements and a holodisk on standard defensive Anti-Ork tactics so the men can brush up and know what to do. I know the Munitorium use the most stupid numerational systems designed by man, but we have to live with it and you’d better get used to these terminologies, they’ll be ruling your lives for Emperor-knows how long. Now hustle up, the greenskins won’t wait around for you.”

As fourth section clambered aboard the hovertruck, Julius thought about Venus, Remalia, Freya and their beaus, and what they must be getting up to. They only had another two days on Nocturne before they would be heading off for Fenris. Would he have a story of two to tell them if he survived this.

“They’d better be having a better time than I am.” He murmured to himself.

“Who are you talking about?” Julius realised his murmur came out a little bit too loud.

“Just some friends of mine, they’re on their own trip, but unlike me they weren’t lucky enough to have an Ork Hulk show up on their doorstep.”

“Luck is a curious thing.” Summer commented. “Just when you think you’re out of it, it comes back to you. With luck, this will all be over soon, and we can all get on with our lives. Now come on, let’s get that last shipment up here.”

===The Sky is Falling===
The Sky was falling. Explosions painted the sky, burning wrecks plummeted to their destruction, and streaking blasts of anti-aircraft fire stitched bright traceries across the heavens. Ahriman felt them all moments before they happened, felt the air part as Roks plummeted through the atmosphere, felt the heat as Plasma Missiles flew up towards the descending Roks, felt the crunch as Defence Laser beams smashed those Roks into pebbles. He was in the command centre, or more accurately his body was in the command centre, wearing an archaic helmet he’d cobbled together using materials from the Astropathic Guild, allowing him to share his precognitional abilities with the Astropaths he’d had stationed at each Defence Laser battery and the Plasma Missile silo command centre, as well as sending small snippets to individual Pilots and AA gunners should the need arise. He’s practiced with them all for several hours yesterday, and while the experience hadn’t been entirely pleasant, it was now paying off. His spirit, his body of light, his ‘mistflesh’ as the Wolves called it was flitting across the battlespace, seemingly everywhere and nowhere at the same time. As he stood there facing the invasion, jerking images of the future blazed in his mind. Those images he used, bending and changing them to his benefit. Once, this had been simple enough to do, but now he was ever mindful of the Primordial Annihilator, one aspect of which had mastered the manipulation of the future thousands of years before man had even contemplated there being such a thing as the future. Now he had to be careful, keeping feather-light touch, and ever mindful for any sudden shifts in the currents of the future, which could suggest external influence. But his main focus was manipulating the strands of fate to his, and the planets advantage. This close to the present, such sudden changes would be easy to find, and it was a simple matter for the Master of the Corvidae to pluck them from the aether. Every time he did, he sent a pulse of warning to the Astropaths, who in turn sent it to the gun crews, who used this priceless information to ensure every shot counted. Under his guidance, not a single Defence Laser beam, Plasma Missile or AA flak burst was wasted, every shot bringing a target down. That alone couldn’t stop the invasion, but it thinned the ranks of the enemy nicely and ensured no Roks went through the shield and flanked the city walls, upsetting his complex defence plan. 

Ahriman saw a flickering image of a Dakkajet shell punch through the belly of a Thunderbolt Fighter, and sent a pulse of warning into the matrix. 
No sooner had his warning been sent than Thunderbolt banked sharply. Mere seconds later, a stream of shells tore empty air and exploded harmlessly above it, and the Thunderbolt responded with its chattering Autocannons, sending the Dakkajet down in flames.

The last few hours had been hectic, ever since he had felt the shift in the aetheric currents which betrayed the Roks and Landa’s leaving the Hulk, bound for the planet’s surface. Everything had to be in place, everything had to be right. Many people had cursed his name, but better that then them getting killed. He had always been a bit of a perfectionist, something which had not made him popular with many of his students, but in war that perfection achieved Victory. Fulgrim and his warriors may endlessly quest for perfection, but the Thousand Sons embodied it.

This was something entirely new for him. There were occasions during the Crusade where Astartes took command of Imperial Army forces, usually during long campaigns far from support, but never had an Astartes taken command of the defence forces of an entire planet. He knew there would be an inquiry and a reckoning, but he could deal with that when it happened. As his Space Wolf friend Ohthere Wyrdmake once told him ‘burn those bridges when you come to them’. He’d heard from Wyrdmake just a few days previously, he’d been making preparations for when the Lady Freya returned to Fenris as part of that little trip she was going on with some of the other Daughters. Unbidden, the old saying, ‘There are no wolves on Fenris’ entered into his mind, and his body snorted, alarming the Vox operators clustered around him. 

His heightened sensitivity to the immediate future gave him an unmatched situational awareness. He could see every aircraft and every Rok in the clear blue skies, and feel the fears of the PDF Troopers and the Guard manning the walls and watching the unfolding spectacle. When the ancients talked about omnipotent gods, they had no idea how right they were. He flew with the lone squadron of Thunderbolts stationed planetside as they busily played cat and mouse with the heavy Ork Landas, knocking down as many as possible while keeping the Ork Fightas and Dakkajets at bay.  He stood with the PDF troopers as they stared up at the sky, or mentally prepared themselves for the upcoming battle. He skimmed over the shield as shells from orbit and shards of Rok clanged and bounced off of it. What on the outside seemed like total chaos, to him was a graceful ballet, every piece of the defence moving in harmony. It was a dance of potential futures, an endlessly shifting current of the possible and the real, blending, separating and combining in a tempest of time. It was as close as Ahriman ever felt to total perfection.



War is hell. A saying as old as war itself. Julius had read that saying many thousands of times, in many thousands of ancient works. But one thing you never read, that the ancients never said was that war was beautiful, even if that beauty was dark, harsh and inhuman, repulsive and yet attractive at the same time. These thoughts passed through Julius’s mind as he watched the fireworks blaze far above him. Shells, debris and other flotsam and jetsam of battle smacked and bounced off Port Huron’s voids, the endless flickers and flashes of energy emanating from them lighting up the sky like a stormy aurora. The contrails of Imperial and Ork aircraft formed vivid patterns high above the city as they duelled in the autumn sky. He couldn’t see much more, where the Orks were landing or what they were doing was a mystery to him, and being honest he didn’t much want to know. He had his duty, keep the troops supplied, and that would be what he would do, when the time came. There was nothing for them to do now until the bullets started flying, and so he sat there, watching the world ripping itself apart. Around him his section similarly stared open mouthed at the sky like awestruck babes, mirroring his own expression. He’d lived on Terra, seen the Emperor Himself, had tea with the Primarchs and gone on trips with all their daughters, and yet this sight, this sight which could herald his own death still filled him with awe.

“This is shit I’ll tell my Grandchildren about.” Dyllion murmured as a Rok was vaporised by a direct hit far above them.

“Yeah, if you live long enough to have grandchildren.” Julius added. He’d swiftly warmed to his squadmates, and they to him. They’d spent the night swapping stories around a Promethium burner, as the shields continued to bear the brunt of the enemy’s inaccurate planetary bombardment. Flynn was Tanith born and bred, his father a Nalwood trader who had set up shop here to take advantage of traffic on the Void Walks and the Terra-Ultramar road. He also proved to be a genius with machines, spending a lot of time tinkering with the C-80s engine trying to remove the speed governors, someone who on a different world would have been swiftly indoctrinated into the Mechanicum and trained as a Tech-Priest. He and Farah would get on like a house on fire, were they ever to meet.

Scvott was a pilot cadet in the Seadelant PDF, who hoped to join the Imperial Navy and see the Galaxy. He had aspirations for command, though his commanding antics did little to impress Julius, he wanted to be firm but kind and couldn’t quite manage either.

From what little they could wheedle out of him, Dyllion was the son of a dockworker at the spaceport. He spoke little, cursed often and had seemingly no respect for Scvott as a leader, but behind the colourful insults was a strangely reassuring presence, and of all of them he was the strongest physically.

Summer though, she spoke little and didn’t speak about her past. She always seemed slightly distant, but as the only woman among them Julius could hardly fault her for that. In fact, he kind of knew how she felt, for so much of his life he’d been the minority, outnumbered by the Imperial Daughters, who he’d been brought up with. In fact, this was the first time he’d been with a bunch of peers who were not the sons of nobility or the upper classes, these people were more like Jake than anyone he’d met before. He idly wondered what Jake’s reaction would be when he told him about this.

He noticed with interest the camera crew standing on the wall nearby, filming the spectacle for the planetary news services. They finished and headed down the wall and towards where they were lounging. Noticing the CDA bands on their arms, they detoured over towards them.
“Excuse me, we’re with the Seadelant Broadcasting Corporation, the SBC, and we’re looking for people to interview. Keep up morale and all that.”

They exchanged a few questions with an enthusiastic Scvott and more down to earth Flynn, while Summer politely declined and Dyllion’s comment was not fit for broadcast. As they turned to Julius, Scvott mentioned to them that he wasn’t from Seadelant, he was an offworlder.

“Oh, you are? Who are you then, and where are you from son?”

“Parsson. Oll Parsson Ser, from Calth in the Thousand Worlds.”

“Ultramar? What’s an Ultramar boy doing here on Seadelant?”

Before his mind could fully process the question and connect with his fictional back-story, he said “I was on my home from a trip to Terra.”

There were audible gasps from his squadmates. He’d clean forgot he’d deliberately not made mention of Terra at all, only that he was a native of the Thousand Worlds, and he’d been visiting relatives elsewhere. Now he was up for it.

“So, you were on Terra when that awful shooting incident happened to the Lady Morticia. Is that comparable to what’s happening now?”

Julius winced. That was the one think he had been hoping to avoid.

“They are two very different things Ser. The assassination attempt on the lady Morticia was a tragedy for the entire Imperium, and she could easily have died. This though, if the worst comes to the worst many thousands, maybe millions could die. Does her life count for more than those lives, is her importance greater than all those who are willing to lay down their lives to defend our Imperium?” Julius didn’t quite know where that came from, but he spoke it with such passion that he saw the film crew were moved.

“I’m not trying to lessen her ordeal, or make it sound frivolous, I’m not. But that is a rather stupid question to ask right here, right now. The Daughters are important, but they’re not here now standing shoulder to shoulder with the brave men and women who are about to face the Greenskins on the battlements yonder. Leave them out of it, and focus on the men and women who count those who will die for your world. I’m an offworlder who volunteered to stand with this planet’s native sons and daughters in the defence of their world, your world, and I honestly couldn’t be more proud.”

All of this poured out of Julius without him quite realising what he was saying. All his frustration at the last few months poured out.

“Thank you very much for that, Oll. Your story will be an inspiration all over Seadelant.” And with that, the film crew departed, somewhat hastily as a shell landed against the shield close by. 

When they were gone, Julius found his squadmates clustered around him, demanding answers. “You’ve been to Terra? Why didn’t you tell any of us?” Summer demanded.
“I didn’t think it was important. I know I’ve caused a stir already, I didn’t want make a bigger one.”

“Well you failed on that count, Oll. Your face is going to be plastered all over the SBC now, the brave offworlder standing in defence of our world alongside its native sons. Good propaganda, very stirring.” Flynn dodged Julius’s throw, laughing.

“You’re an offworlder too Flynn.” He retorted.

“Yeah, well I’ve been living here for nearly five years. Whereas you were just passing through.”

“So, you’ve seen Terra? What was it like?” Summer added.

Julius had to think of that one for a while. “A mixed bag. Some parts, like Startseite and the Merican hives were nice, but there’s still poverty, even on the very doorstep of the Emperor’s Palace, and the atmosphere is still heavily polluted despite the years of Geo-Engineering. It’s not the perfect place everyone thinks it to be, in fact I’d rather live here than on Terra any day.”

“And Calth? What’s that like?”

Julius smiled vaguely, while trying to remember from the Holos what Calth was actually like. “A lot like here. Your world reminds me of Calth, the clean air and bright sky, which is one reason I’m glad I’m able to help you protect it. I can imagine what it would be like if Calth came under attack, and was ravaged by some enemy set on slaughter and despoilment. I’d rather die than see that day, for either of our worlds. Now come on, we’ve had our time in the spotlight, didn’t Flynn have that joke about the Eldar…”

===To the Walls===
The plains outside the city were on fire. Not a physical fire, but a fire of Aetheric energy, and to Ahriman standing on the walls it felt like he was standing in the doorway of a furnace, feeling its raw elemental heat blasting against his body. Outside the walls, beyond the reach of the Imperial Artillery, even beyond the range of the Caorst Bombards, the heaviest siege guns on the Planet, the Ork host was assembling. All night he’d felt the mass of Greenskins grouping together, their leaders mustering them. As they came together, the fire grew, fed and fanned by the proximity of so many Greenskins to one another, until it became an uncontrollable firestorm, whipping the Orks into a furious frenzy. They knew where their enemy was, their enemy couldn’t escape, and they would stomp them flat. The sound of machinery had kept half the city awake as the Orks assembled Siege machines for breaking the outer walls down and the acridic stink of the exhaust fumes from their engines could be clearly smelt from the walls. The reality of what was happening to then was now fully sinking in, and he’d heard reports of small scale riots from the inner city, and even a suicide or two, which didn’t make Ahriman’s mood any better.

Ahriman was among the Seadelant PDF on the western wall sector, raising morale by his mere presence. He had detached himself from the psychic matrix which had allowed them to destroy so much of the initial landings, but some twenty million Orks and many thousands of tanks and war engines were now planetside, and those defences would no longer be of any use in stopping them. No, he would set an inspiration and lead them from the walls, examine the strings of fate and reshape them at the source, alter the battle as it raged around him.

Though he’d requested his name not be broadcast or mentioned, news had spread by word of mouth. A Space Marine leading them was something which could not be hushed up, and they had heard so many stories of the Great Crusade, and how they had been liberated from the Xenos which had enslaved Seadelant during Old Night. Wherever he went, he was greeted with cheers, and a forest of salutes. As he strode along the walls, the troops stood in solid ranks, each trying to outdo his or her peers and look good before the Marine.

“Sir?” Ahriman turned to face the man who addressed him. It was a trooper of the Planetary Defence Force. “Speak, trooper,” Ahriman replied.

“Sir. If we survive this, my lord, what will become of us?”

‘What will become of us?’ Ahriman considered the man’s question for a second. He could see the fear clouding him, clouding all of them despite seeing him before them, and knew that he had to banish that cloud, give the man some hope. “That I do not know. Time is fluid, and no future is set in stone. There is no inevitability that the Orks will win here, and by your very being here you change the future course of this battle. Do you hear that?” he amplified his voice so the other troopers could also hear him. “Even the smallest pebble can change the course of a rushing river, and by the same measure any one of you can change the entire course of this war. Never doubt your importance to the final victory here, one man or woman, one bullet or lasbeam can make all the difference. With men and women like yourselves at my side, how can we ever lose?” the man smiled, the fear dissipating from his aura and some of his fellow cheered. That feeling carried with Ahriman as he left the walls and headed for the old city and the command centre. He was not one for inspirational speeches, he didn’t have the talent for it like the Word Bearers, Sons of Horus or Imperial Fists did. He would stand with them, and by his actions be an inspiration. 

He would have ample warning when the Orks decided to make their move, he would feel it aetherically long before any reports reached him, and he needed to check with Graf Trakeria and Governor Shroe about the evacuation plans and any replies to the distress signals sent, if they had burned through the Aetheric ECM the Ork Hulk was broadcasting. Quite how the Greenskins were able to perform such a feat he had no idea, even after many years of research how their collective Psychic field actually worked was something which still stumped the Imperium’s top Psychomancers. Lord Magnus could work it out, if he wasn’t always busy elsewhere.

The city was a ghost town, the streets deserted. A few days earlier, this city was full of life, and its Warp Signature was bright and vibrant, glorious to behold. Not anymore. The ghostly echoes of how it used to be still lingered, a faint hint of life in an otherwise dead city.

The Command Centre within the inner city was an inversion of the rest of the city, bustling with hectic activity. Several Hydra Flak tanks in the Gunship Green colour of the Caorst Charxers were parked outside to provide air cover, while runners dashed out the doors every few minutes, sending classified messages from place to place, to command bunkers within the outer city and the Spaceport. Ahriman knew every order even before it was sent, he had drafted most of them himself and every one was telepathically sent to him for approval.
Every head turned when he entered the room, a giant in crimson armour. Removing his helmet, he addressed Graf Trakeria. “Morale is satisfactory down on the walls. A fair amount of apprehension, but that will evaporate when the fighting begins. Is everything in order back here?”

“Yes Lord Ahriman. You know my lord; I may have had my doubts at first, but the show you put on for us when the Greenskin scum were landing has convinced me. We destroyed nearly a third of the initial landings, and suffered comparatively few losses ourselves. With you leading us, I am almost supremely confident we will be able to hold out until relief arrives!”
“Never be confident of anything. The tides of the Great Ocean can shift and change at any moment, and we must be ready for that. Speaking of that, has there been any word on the relief? The Astropaths sent distress calls for nearly half a day before the Orks shut them down.”

“We caught a snippet of something shortly before the curtain came down. Very fragmentary, mentioned ‘delay’, ‘available troops’ and ‘Salamanders’, which did not install much confidence in us save mention of the XVII Legion. We hoped you would shed light on it my Lord.”

Ahriman took those words into his mind, reached into the Great Ocean and began to unravel them. Though much was lost, he pieced together a very rough picture, and it wasn’t a pretty one.

“It seems there are not many active troops available near us, and they’re scrambling to assemble a relief force. That means we may have to hold out for longer than I anticipated.”
He heard a few curses around the room, and almost all of the auras flamed red with frustration.

“Don’t worry, my plan is sound and with it we should be able to hold out for several months to a year, ample time for relief to arrive. Any delay is inconvenient, but this is war and we have to make do.”

The flares subsided, but there was still an air of discontent in the building. Nothing Ahriman could do about that though, he could change many things but not these circumstances. He spent the next few minutes checking the reports on the food stockpile, the power grid, the integrity of the Voids, and other minute but important details so often overlooked by supreme commanders. He began to feel more at peace with the world, until as he was discussing De-Salinisation of sea water in the event of a long siege, a report rang out across the room.

“Movement! The Orks are on the move!”

Ahriman cursed. He hadn’t felt the Orks leave their encampments. He extended his mind out beyond the walls, and was hit by another revelation. They were only a few kilometres out, half the distance he had expected to detect them at. The inferno of the Ork Psy Field suddenly hit him full force, sending his body of light straight back to his flesh. Everyone noticed him shudder, and at the same time the scanner operators detected the oncoming horde, and their reaction mirrored his own.

“Shit! How did they get so close without us noticing it?”

“Where is the damn artillery?”

“Attention, attention, we have incoming all across the line, respond over!”

“Enemy artillery hitting the Voids!”

There was no need to use his precognition abilities to tell what the Orks were doing. They would only move in one direction, straight towards the walls. In behaviour, Greenskins were nothing if not predictable.

“My Ladies, Gentlemen, I leave overall command in your capable hands. Follow my plan, and all should go well. The troops on the wall need inspiration, and I just about qualify.”
He paused long enough to jam his helmet back on his head, and then he was gone.



“Here they come!”

The call was echoed across the walls, as the storm broke before them. Troopers rushed into positions, screaming commands or encouragement at each other. The ‘click’ and ‘chink’ sound of weapons being readied and the rattle of ammunition being loaded rose in intensity.
Julius sat in the rear of the C-80, knowing that any time soon they would be sent on their first supply run. This really was it; he was in the middle of a war. Andrew would be so jealous. Let him be, when he gets his first taste of real war we’ll see how jealous he feels when there’s things out to kill him, he’s scared stiff as a board and feels like he’s about to vomit.

As the chaos raged around him, he tried to detach his mind from the troubles at hand and focus on something which had been bugging him immensely. His surprise interview with the SBC had left him feeling cold, after he had seen it broadcast the next day. Had he been a tad too harsh? He didn’t quite realize what he had been saying until it was too late, all that rage and frustration spilling out like a breached dam. He would have a lot of explaining to do if he got out of this alive, to Lord Mortarion first. He could explain it was meant to raise morale at the local level, and was in no way indicative of his true feelings, even when deep down it may have been a bit too close to those for comfort. What had happened to Morticia affected them all, himself included, and though most of the others were now over it he wasn’t, all thanks to the Petitioner’s City. Because of his stupid idea, he’d damn near got Isis killed, and he couldn’t get over that. He’d hoped leaving Terra and going to Calth would sort things out, but instead he had got caught up in this.

He wondered if they knew where he was, what was happening to him. Venus at least knew where he was, and her group might have an inkling what was happening to him, but would Isis and her cousins back on Terra know what was happening to him? He had grown up with them; they all considered him family, even cold Petra and spoilt Victoria had a soft spot for Pius, though by now that spot was buried deep. He had been the lone boy among them, until Imperator High when they discovered the wonders of boyfriends, and more and more often he’d found himself acting as chaperone to the other ‘royal consorts’, teaching them about etiquette and so on. He tried to stay on good terms with the consorts, but other than Jake and Andrew, he didn’t count any of them as close friends.

There was a deep rolling chain of booms behind him, and then a whistling sound overhead as the Basilisks opened up, spitting death at the oncoming horde. The shrieking roar of Storm Eagle rockets from the Manticores and the throaty whine of massive Bombard shells added to the din. Other Munitions groups would be supplying them with shells; he didn’t have to worry about that. Keeping the troops on the wall, as well as the wall mounted Hydras and Battlecannons supplied, that would be his problem.

The others came up to him. “Soon be in the shite offworlder, ready for it?” Flynn asked. Julius nodded half-heartedly. His stomach felt queasy, his breakfast disagreed with him.

“Scared, offworlder?”

“Of course. Giant green fungus monsters are about to attack this city. Aren’t you scared?”

“Hell no! What’s there to fear?”

“I’m scared.” Dyllion murmured abruptly. All the others looked at him in shock. Dyllion seemed the most fearless of all of them, to have him admit that he was scared, then again all of them must be scared, Julius thought. He remembered something his father once told when, when recounting a story about Ullanor. Taking his father’s words as his own, he said.
“I doubt there’s anyone here who’s not scared, even you Flynn must be scared somewhere within, even if you don’t want to admit it. I know I am, scared out of my wits. It’s a natural reaction, we’re all only human. Now come on, we have a job to do, and every little thing counts.”

Ahriman raced through the old city at transhuman speed, past batteries of Basilisks throwing shells downrange and Manticores sending missiles shrieking over the walls, past the single battery of Bombards parked in Liberators Square, past the Caorst Charxers lone Baneblade platoon, firing their massive cannons indirectly, past squadrons of Leman Russ and Malcadors waiting for orders and Chimeras with Caorst troopers lounging around them, until he finally reached the walls. The main gate and the surrounding wall area was guarded by troops from the Tanith Fifth ‘Larisels’, who despite being light infantry with few heavy weapons, and a junior regiment to the Belladon, Perdix and Caorst regiments, had been chosen for that position because they could be counted on to hold at all costs, and if by some disaster the falls fell they were well proven cityfighters.

Ahriman strode up the wall stairs four at a time, thoughts racing through his mind. He hadn’t felt the Ork horde move, somehow it had closed with the walls without him realising it. After his success during the initial landings he had dared hope he was free of the fog which had blinded him to the manipulations of the Primordial Annihilator, but it seems he was back at square one all over again. Was this to be his curse, no longer in complete control of his abilities? The most powerful Astartes psyker in the Galaxy, humbled?

Unlike the heavily fortified walls of cities bordering places such as the Eye of Terror, the Maelestrom or the various static Ork Empires, where the walls mounted massive artillery pieces for destroying Titans and the like, the heaviest guns on Seadelant’s walls were Battle Cannons, which while deadly were not heavy enough to face heavy war engines like Gargants. Fortunately he couldn’t detect any Gargants among the Ork forces, or anything heavier than a few scattered Battlefortresses and Stompas near the back of the horde. 
Black clad Tanith troopers were clustered tightly against the walls, checking and re-checking lasguns, watching the enemy approach through field glasses and quietly chatting with colleagues. They seemed remarkably calm and composed, but Ahriman could see the fear clouding their auras.

“Who’s in command here?” Ahriman called out to the nearest trooper, ever so subtly manipulating his aura to make himself appear more imposing, a tried and tested tactic to ensure orders are obeyed.

“That would be me.” A figure detached itself from a nearby knot of troops and headed towards Ahriman. It was a Commissar, the political officers which sometimes were attached to untested regiments.
To his credit, the Commissar did not flinch from the eyeless gaze of Ahriman’s helm, throwing a snappy salute at the towering Astartes warrior.

“I am Günter Wilhelm Victor Eberhardt Von Eisenstein, Lord Commissar, Tanith Fifth. The troopers call me Günter; it’s a lot easier that way.”

“A pleasure to meet you.” Ahriman said, noting the way his men deferred to him. This was no ordinary Commissar, who ruled through fear and didn’t care for the lives of his men. The Tanith seemed to have a miraculous ability to get assigned only the most reasonable Commissars, as well as near supernatural luck in battle. Another reason why they were the rising stars of the Imperial Army.

“Commissar… Günter. My precognition tells me the Orks will concentrate their push here, that this is the vital sector on the line. The Greenskins will throw everything they’ve got at your troops, and I need to know if they can hold. Are your troops up to facing this?” Ahriman gestured at the tide coming in towards them.
“They may look scruffy and unkempt, but there are few finer troops in the entire Imperium. The Tanith first have won more Battle Honours in the Sabbat worlds than most regiments did during the entire Crusade. Their Commissar, to be correct their Colonel-Commissar looks set to be the next Ollanius Pius. My Lord, if anyone can hold off the Green Tide, it will be these men and women.”

Ahriman turned to face out at the approaching Orks, reciting the enumerations as he did so he could distance himself from emotions and achieve perfect clarity. The Ork host was advancing, a solid wall of green stretching from one horizon to the next, an ocean of bodies advancing on the walls. Trukks, Battlewagons and Battle Fortresses rode above the horde like metal icebergs in the sea of green, partially concealed by the smog from engines and clouds of spore fog floating before them.

Among the host, towering over them were eight massive engines. Each was slightly higher than the curtain wall, and Ahriman recognised the basic design almost at once, an Orky rendition of an ancient siege weapon used on Terra, and later on places like Olympia, homeworld of the Iron Warriors. Belfries, or Siege Towers as they were more commonly termed, a way of scaling walls too high for ladders or grappling hooks. Some rolled along on wheels or track systems, thick black exhaust clouds billowing behind them. Others had thousands of chains attached, and were being pulled and pushed along by the Orks around them. Harsh bellows came from behind one, and Ahriman started when he saw it was being pushed by a pair of immature Squiggoths. Were there more of those foul tempered flesh mountains out there?

Flashes of fire erupted among the horde as the Basilisks, Manticores and Bombards of the Caorst Charxers shelled them. However the weight of fire seemed to be doing very little to slow down the foe, the Ork horde rolling on despite the weight of fire sent against them. Were the troops here in the open, they would stand no chance once the horde reached close combat. But here they had high walls to shelter behind, and as long as the Orks didn’t get a foothold on the walls, they would be safe. Those towers would give them that foothold, if they reached the walls.

“Have the wall Battle Cannons target those towers. Knock them down, and the horde will be stranded beneath our walls in the very teeth of our guns. The Artillery and Charxers can keep thinning the hordes ranks. Now!"

The Battle Cannon nearest to him zeroed in on the closest Siege Tower, and fired, swiftly followed by the others all along the walls.
The shells screamed towards the towers, but as the leading shell neared its victim, an arc of energy leapt off the tower, detonating the Battle cannon shell before it could strike the tower. More energy arcs leapt from the towers, detonating the shells in wave after wave.

“Those damn Towers have Power Fields!”

Detached from the chaos and emotion around him, Ahriman coolly remembered how power Fields worked. “Power fields don’t regenerate like Titan Voids. Keep firing, and sooner or later they will fail. Don’t let up, or we die.”

Shell after shell sped at the towers, and time and time again the Power Fields arced out to stop the shells before they could reach them. Every so often, a flare from one of the towers signified a Power field had failed.

Suddenly there was a bright flash from one of the towers as its final power field failed, and a few seconds later the top of it disintegrated under a volley of shells, scattering wreckage and bodies all around it. It continued to move forward for a few seconds, before grinding to a halt. Ragged cheers rose up from the troops on the walls. One down, seven to go. Slowly and inexorably the towers ground their way towards the walls, one metre at a time, shells still fired at them, power fields still absorbing shot after shot. A few minutes after the first, another tower’s fields blew and it was swiftly topped by a hail of shells.
There were still five towers and now they were too close to be engaged by the wall guns. Now the heavy weapons troopers began to fire their weapons. Missiles, called Tread Fethers by the Tanith blazed towards the towers, Lascannon beams stabbed straight through their armour, and Autocannons stitched lines of shells across their skin. Bodies of Orks fell out from the holes gouged by the weight of fire. Yet still they rolled on.

===First Taste of Combat===

Julius was sitting with Flynn, listening to him wax lyrical about the Vulcanor 16 Twin-Coupled Multi-Burn engine mounted in the Chimera, wondering how anyone could find Tank Engines so interesting in a situation of literal life and death. It must have been his way of coping, of forgetting what could all too easily happen to him, to both of them.

The Orks were now close enough to be engaged with Lasguns, and the constant bellows of “First rank, fire! Second rank, fire!” was accompanied by the ‘crack’ of Lasgun volleys, and the ‘whizz’ of Ork Big Shoota rounds flying overhead as the Orks returned fire. It was loud, hectic and chaotic. Julius had no idea what was going on in the wider battle, or whether the Orks were winning, or the Imperials.

Above the roar of weapons and scream of soldiers a voice came down from the wall, loud and clear above the din.

“All right civilians, time to earn your keep. We need six crates of M-K 214 Krak Missiles, eighteen Lascannon Powerpacks and four crates of Battlecannon APHE shells, on the double.”

“Right everybody, this is what we signed up for, lets to it!” Scvott yelled.

They all bundled into the C-80, and with a loud hum it took off and headed for the nearest Ammo Bunker. Flynn was a wild driver, roaring through the deserted streets of the outer city with reckless abandon. If it was a conventional ground car, Julius suspected they would have had an accident, and he felt sick for the entire trip, added to the sick feeling brought upon by the war raging around him. Flynn’s speed notably slackened when they reached the inner walls, and were waved through the inner gates by several PDF troopers. The Bunker was hectic, surrounded by C-80s being loaded with ammo and soldiers standing guard, and the silhouette of a Hydra providing cover. Every few seconds, a C-80 sped off for the walls with another load of bullets and shells.

The wide passageways of the bunker were full of CDA volunteers and some PDF and Army troopers carrying weapons and ammo back and forth.

“Six crates of M-K 214 Krak Missiles, eighteen Lascannon Powerpacks and four crates of Battlecannon APHE shells!” Scvott yelled at the Munitions officer. He typed into a Holopad, and half an agonising minute later several Servitors rolled up, each carrying a crate or box of Ammunition.

It took three trips to get it all into the C-80, Julius paired with Dyllion as usual. Dyllion was relentless, no sooner had he dropped of one crate then he’d headed back for another, and Julius found himself hard-pressed to keep up, let alone hold the heavy boxes off the ground. As a dock worker, he must have handled worse before, though not under these circumstances. No sooner was the munitions in the Truck, then Flynn kick-started the engine and took off, Julius hanging on for dear life.

Julius and Dyllion sat in the back, trying to keep the ammunition steady as Flynn cut every corner and broke every speed limit getting the ammo to the walls. From what he could see, Flynn wasn’t the only one cutting corners to get his cargo into the fight.

By the time they reached the walls the widening battle’s effects were being felt, there were several bodies lying upon the walls, and the sounds of battle were augmented by the screams of the wounded, a sound which thoroughly innerved Julius. With practiced efficiency, they swiftly unloaded the crates from the hovertruck and carried them over to the wall mounted ammo elevators. Once the platform was fully loaded, it took the crates up to the walls where the solders could distribute it themselves.

One of the PDF Troopers on the walls suddenly fell back and landed with a ‘thump’ beside Julius. Julius stared at him for a second, long enough to notice the ruin where his face was, 
the empty cavity splashed with blood and brain matter, before he started to retch. He may have felt bad when Flynn was driving, but now he really was sick. If he hadn’t forgone eating that morning, he would have vomited his guts out. Even so, he was heaving and retching. The stories his father had told him never mentioned this, never mentioned retching your guts out over a man with his face blown off, never mentioned the screams of the wounded and moans of the dying. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and it was Scvott.

“Come on Oll, we all feel the same, but we have a job to do, a duty to perform.”
Duty. The constant in Julius’s life, and even now its grip upon him was still as tight as ever. As he retched, that face, the face of Isis Lupercal entered his mind, and with her in his thoughts, he steeled himself. She would have stood, regardless of what was happening around her, and so would he. She had always been his inspiration, the steel in his backbone even now when she was cut off from him, and maybe no longer with him anymore. 

He staggered to his feet, paused to try and catch his breath, and with Scvott helping him, he returned to the C-80. He would make many more runs that day, but he’d survived his first taste of real war, and seen the horror.



The assault had begun barely an hour ago, and despite everything the Imperium had thrown at them, the Orks had reached the walls. Now up and down the walls sheets of Lasgun fire was being directed at the horde, and the Orks were firing back as the real battle begun. Close range fire had toppled and gutted two more towers, but three of the Siege Towers were going to reach the walls, and the Orks would spill from them like water from a burst dam. Fortunately Ahriman always had a backup plan, and with a few code words spoken into his Vox, it was implemented. Barely fifty metres north, one of the siege towers loomed over the walls, so close you could almost touch it, its shadow lying heavy across the walls. The troopers on the walls were blazing away at it with their Lasguns, Plasma Guns and more, to little effect apart from some scorching on the armoured boarding ramp. The tower mounted big shootas were providing covering fire, and already there were several bodes splayed out on the wall, the blood oozing away in red rivers while their comrades fought for their lives.

“Commissar, who holds that section of the wall?” Ahriman gestured at the tower.

“Captain McCollum’s D Company my Lord.”

“Come with me, they will need our assistance. Bring as many troops as possible with us, they will be needed.”

The troops stopped firing madly the moment they saw the towering Astartes standing before them, ignoring the Big Shoota shells whizzing past him.
“Don’t waste your ammo shooting at the tower; it can’t be destroyed this way. We will have to blow it up from the inside, once the ramp lowers. Form a perimeter, and when the Orks try to disembark we cut them down. Then a few demolition charges into the tower and the tower is destroyed.”

The troops swiftly gathered around the tower, carefully concealing themselves for the Big Shootas mounted on it. The tower creaked forwards, until it was leaning against the wall. From inside, the guttural chants of the Orks could clearly be heard.

With a creaking smash, the tower’s ramp dropped onto the battlements. “WAAAGH!” came the cry from within, raw and primal, and the Orks emerged, weapons held high. The Aetheric blaze of their energy came with them, buffeting the auras of the troops on the walls, sapping their will. Not for long. 

Ahriman raised his bolt pistol and opened fire, followed by Commissar Günter’s plasma pistol and the Lasguns of the Tanith in a sheet of las-fire. The leading Orks were cut down, and as more and more stormed out of the Tower, they were cut to shreds. Soon the ramp was slick with blood. One lucky Ork made it through, and cut an unlucky Tanith Trooper in half with its Choppa before it took a frag grenade to the face. But for every Ork killed, two more took its place, and soon more and more reached the Tanith lines before being killed. The toll began to mount.

Ahriman’s Bolt Pistol clicked empty, and he realised that was his last magazine. He was empty, out of rounds. Holstering his pistol, he took up his heqa staff and reached for the Great Ocean. A pulse of destructive energy channelled along the length of his heqa staff tore into the leading Orks, tearing them to shreds. He began to throw blast after blast into them, but even that could do little to stop the torrent now pouring from the tower.

“Troopers, fix bayonets!” Commissar Günter bellowed. He activated his Chainsword and leapt at the nearest Ork. The Tanith troops around him also charged into the fray. Were they trying to get themselves killed? No Prosperine Spireguard would ever do something so rash. Ahriman had to help them, save them from themselves.

The first swing of his heqa staff took three Orks to pieces and his second blow tore another from skull to crotch in one fluid move. He threw himself into the thick of the fighting, a whirlwind of Aetheric fury. A Nob, one of the Ork minor warleaders tore a Tanith trooper in two with its Power Claw, and turned towards the Commissar. Ahriman’s heqa staff swept out, its copper and gold bands rippling with fire, and cleaved the Ork in two with a single blow, his return thrust taking the arm off another Ork about to kill a Tanith. He tore through the Orks with blazing swipes of his staff and bursts of aether-fire from his gauntlets, his crimson armour now splattered with gore. The Tanith troopers had never seen its like before, and they fought even more fiercely beside him, stabbing with their ‘straight silver’ bayonets and clubbing with the butts of their Lasguns. Though they were slight compared to the Orks, they fought with a strength and fury which made Ahriman proud. 

As he fought, struggling to maintain the Enumerations and keep himself detached, he imagined what Magnus would say if he could see him now. ‘Very subtle Ahzek, very subtle’ he would say in that wisely amused voice of his. Of course, if he was he he’d have torn that Hulk to pieces in orbit, long before it could land troops. No point thinking of might-has-beens, not now.

Ahriman fought with rigidly controlled discipline, each blow precisely measured and weighted to cause the maximum amount of damage for the minimum effort and exertion. That was the secret to the Thousand Sons, they did not waste energy the way the Wolves or World Eaters did. Everything was done with perfect focus, and precise effort.
Ahriman swung his staff in a two-handed grip, laying about himself with crushing strokes, tearing the Orks asunder. There seemed no end to them, no stopping the horde pouring forth. Ahriman normally fought divorced from the concerns of emotion that compromised his clarity of combat, but that hadn’t been the case for a long time, and right now his mind was swamped with the competing fires of anger and hate. Anger at his weakness, and hate for the foes despoiling this world.

The fight wore on, and Ahriman began to slacken. His every movement was leaden, his thoughts dull and slow, his armour now covered in gashes where he had been too slow to avoid a blow. The Great Ocean was a potent force in combat, but the toll it took upon a warrior was equally potent, and that toll was weakening him the longer the battle continued. His focus was now on simple survival, his consciousness stretching no further than the next enemy to be slain.

Ahriman’s concentration slipped, and a blow from an Ork boy knocked him down, throwing his heqa staff aside. He barely dodged a blow from the Ork’s axe, and struggled to regain his staff. He grimly realised that he could die here. He had hoped that the Tower would act as a bottleneck, allowing them to hold off the Orks long enough to destroy it, but he had been mistaken. Too many times these last few months he had been mistaken, ever since the vision of a cackling god and a fateful bullet came into his mind. An Ork jumped onto him, and he struggled to free himself from the green brute’s grip.

Suddenly a massive explosion knocked him flat, threw the Ork off of him. As the smoke cleared, he struggled to his feet, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Was it a Bomb Squig? An Artillery shell gone wrong? When the smoke finally faded, he saw for himself.
The Tower was gone, twisted metal girders all that were left of it. It slowly sank onto his battered mind. It was gone! Someone had blown it has he had planned!

The few Orks left on the walls were swiftly dispatched by the vengeful Tanith. Commissar Günter came over to him; his longcoat tattered, face bleeding from a cut to his jaw and smoke emitting from his Chainsword’s motor.

“My Lord, the Tower is down. Trooper MacIntyre sacrificed himself to blow it sky high. I intend to request he get a Posthumous Honourifica Imperialis, and I hope you will countersign that. Permission to give the men some rest?”

“Permission granted. The Orks can’t climb the walls; they can’t get in here now. They’ve earned that rest.”

Of the other two towers Ahriman learned when he reviewed the after action reports that evening. The southern tower hit the wall in the Belladon Sector, and after nearly an hour of back and forth fighting, finally the Belladon troops succeeded in demolishing the upper tower section with Demo Charges. The northern tower hit an area manned by the PDF, where after a bloody fight the Orks succeeded in carving a foothold. If it wasn’t for the intervention of a company of dismounted Caorst Charxergrenadieres, the walls could nearly have been lost. Over four thousand Imperial troops were killed that day, a drop in the bucket compared to the losses on other worlds and in other campaigns, but Ahriman felt every loss. It was men and women like MacIntyre who saved the city that day, those who were willing to sacrifice everything to deny the Orks their victory. They were the ones the Imperium was built for, they were the ones he was fighting for, and they were the ones who would win or lose this war.

===Lectio Divinatatus===
The night was dark and cool, a refreshing contrast from the chaos of the previous day. The Orks had been held off, thanks to some hot shot who was leading the defence, and who had held off an entire Siege Tower’s worth of Orks almost singlehandedly. There was a plethora of rumours about him, every one more ludicrous than the last, from a reincarnation of Ollanius Pius, to some visiting Space Marine. The most ludicrous of all was that it was Professor Ahriman, or Lord Ahriman as they called him, who had come here from Prospero for some reason and was active in the defence of the city. Though Prospero was very close to Seadelant, Julius would have heard if Ahriman was here, and Ahriman would have sought him out likewise.

Whatever the reason, the Orks had now fallen back to their encampment outside the city, out of the range of conventional artillery, and now their own super heavy artillery were busy throwing shells at the city’s shields in a pointless exercise which nevertheless was having a psychological effect on the defenders, the endless ‘crump’ of the shells impacting on the shields keeping the troops awake, and sending flickers of energy running across the shields from where each shell landed.

Julius sat in the small garden outside a former residential hab, abandoned by its owners and pressed into service as a Barracks for the CDA. The others were asleep within, but try as he might he could not get any shut-eye. There was too much in his head, to many thoughts and feeling he could not exorcise which were robbing him of his sleep, leaving him tossing and turning in his PDF issue sleeping bag. By sitting outside, watching the shells fall and the stars wheel overhead, he felt he might be able to clear his head.

By now, Venus and co would be on a ship bound for Fenris. Lucky them. Though being fair, Fenris had some nasty beasts of its own, Thunderwolves, Ice Fiends and worse. At least they’d be staying around the Fang, and not heading for the world ocean where Kraken and Sea Dragons prowled. He’d read about Fenris, and his father had visited there once with Lord Russ. When he’d asked about it, and also asked naively about the whole ‘there are no wolves on Fenris’ thing, his father only said ‘a hard world breeds hard people, and Fenris is the hardest of all,’ and he’d left it at that.

Suddenly a flicker of light caught Julius’s eye, a faint light in the gloom coming from the building across from the Hab. Later on he couldn’t explain what motivated him to get up, go and investigate, but investigate he did.

Julius tip-toed into the building, thankful he wasn’t wearing his heavy combat boots, so he wouldn’t betray a sound. He followed the faint light through the building, until it came to a partially closed door, with the muffled sound of a voice coming from within. Alarm bells rang in Julius’s mind, and for a brief second he thought about turning and heading straight back out, but his courage overcame his doubt, and he opened the door.

Inside single lit candle resting on an empty ammo crate illuminated the room, a sweet scent coming from it. Julius wondered how that candle was able to shine such a bright light. Summer was crouching before it, the light seemingly catching in her long golden hair. She was saying something aloud, reading from something. In her other hand she held an icon, a small figurine of the Emperor. Now that he was closer, Julius could clearly hear what she was saying, “The Emperor of Mankind is the Light and the Way, and all his actions are for the benefit of mankind, which is his people. The Emperor is God and God is the Emperor, so it is taught in the Lectio Divinitatus, and above all things, the Emperor will protect...” she stopped abruptly, sensing something behind her.

She turned and stared at Julius, her surprise swiftly masked behind a hardened face. She knew exactly what he was thinking, could see every though as it crossed his face.

”Summer, what are you doing?”

“What does it look like?”

“You’re…one of them. One like Keiter. A…a…”

“An Emperor worshipper. Is that what you’re trying to spit out?” Julius had no reply to that.
She carefully placed her Icon and copy of the Lectio Divinitatus down, stood up and walked over to Julius, staring him down the whole time. There was fire in her eyes, and even her walk was different. It was like she was suddenly replaced by a totally different person, someone who was more forceful, full of spunk, full of fire.

Several things flashed through Julius’s mind as he saw her approach. First, how dangerous she now seemed. If she had a weapon with her, Julius had no doubt she would use it, and with her physique, she could most easily kick his arse without using any weapons at all. Secondly the air of authority she seemed to exude, pinning him down by her mere presence. And finally, how attractive she was, well built, well muscled, her long golden hair and eyes afire. He hoped Isis would forgive him for that final thought.

Face to face, Julius forced himself to speak. “You know how many laws you’re breaking, going against the very Imperial Establishment, being part of an underground wellspring that wishes to establish the Cult of the Emperor, against His will.”

“Said the Viper to the Mamba. You may ridicule my faith, but you neglect to mention your own beliefs.”

In a single deft move, she reached over and pulled out the object which hung around Julius’s neck. Julius started, but Summer was too fast for him, snatching his Crux from around his neck.

“I saw you reaching for that when you saw that body. You’re a Catheric. You believe in a God, the same way I do.”

“Well at least my God isn’t on Terra telling people he isn’t a God, and persecuting anyone who believes otherwise. You know you’re breaking the Imperial Creed.”

“And you’re not? He hates any worship, if your namesake Ollanius Pius hadn’t stood up to him, you would be in the same boat as me. Stop acting so high and mighty.”

With a few words, Summer had cut right to the bone. His faith wavered every so often, and was never as strong as his father’s, but he still considered himself a Catheric. He was eternally proud of what his Father did, making a stand and convincing the Emperor to allow them to worship openly. Isis never intruded upon his faith, and sometimes met him after services for study or other activities. But no matter what, he always knew that he was a deviant, and even his closest friends like Jake still found him odd because of his beliefs. She noticed his changing expression as realisation sunk in.

“We’re not so different, are we?”

“No, I suppose we’re not.” Julius had to admit. Her fierce look softened, but she was still more animated and alive than he’d ever seen her before. This was the real her, unchained and unleashed, and Julius pitied anyone standing in her way.

“Tell you what, I won‘t mention your Cathericism to anyone if you don’t mention my Emperor Worship. Deal, offworlder?”

Julius had no choice but to agree. “Deal.” He shook her hand, amazed by how warm it was, and without another word he turned and left her. That touch would stay with him as he tried to sleep, and he spent another night tossing and turning in his sleeping bag, even more thoughts added to the maelstrom roaring in his mind.