Trip Into Hell (Warhammer High)

The following article is a /tg/ related story or fanfic. Should you continue, expect to find tl;dr and an occasional amount of awesome.

This article contains PROMOTIONS! Don't say we didn't warn you.

The Grimdark version of Someone else. ‘s Warhammer High story, Road Trip.

Prologue

The lone planet sat suspended amid the turbulent ocean of the Warp, a beautiful blue and white globe suspended against the mirror universe flowing beneath it. The eddies and flows of the warp rippled unusually softly around the lone planet, as if unwilling to disturb its peaceful solitude. Suddenly an object, a massive object appeared within the warp, cast up from the unknown depths. It did not sail through the empyrean the way other ships did, so much as push its way through like an angry bull Grox. The bow wave of the object flushed out the many void predators which infested the Great Ocean, fleeing from the object’s approach. From some unknown depth, a mighty intelligence turned a shard of its attention to the object, and the serene planet. The intelligence was always planning, always scheming, and always looking for another opportunity to play out with the mortal realm. It had done so recently, an unforeseen opportunity which had come close to failure due to the intervention of its great enemy. But that enemy wasn’t here now, wasn’t able to interfere with this new scheme. Here was a chance to wound his foe, spread his taint, and secure a new pawn in the eternal game he played. Here was no ordinary pawn; here was a pawn with very, very good connections, connections which could bring the enemy to his knees. With a faint nudge, the tides of the Warp were shifted, and the object’s path was diverted towards the nearby planet. Another nudge and the dwellers within that object noticed the planet, and began to make preparations. Let the mortals deal with this new threat, while he worked the strings unseen. And so it was that a world was pushed into war…

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 school finished, 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. 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 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 Prospero City, 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 Panxers 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.

“Persson. Oll Persson, Ser.” Julius used his mother’s maiden name and his father’s long standing nickname. Better not to be known, for if he was doubtless he would be refused and forcibly evacuated.

“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 Persson?” an attractive young woman with long blonde hair and a round face 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 threw her a snappy salute.

“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 Persson, 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, I have schooled alongside Roberta Guilliman the heir to Ultramar herself and 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?”

“Persson. Oll Persson 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 Panxers 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 Panxers 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 Panxers 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 Panxers 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 Panxergrenadiers, 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.

Part 2: Occupation

The War Room on Terra

Buried deep with the Imperial Palace on Terra, the War Room of the palace was the central hub of the entire Imperial War Machine, a massive open space full of Logic-Engines, scanners, operators, analysts and strategists, and even with its own specialist team of astropaths to send coded messages to warfleets and armies far away. One wall was dominated by ‘the board’ a huge flatscreen rendition of the entire Imperium with small red lights for active warzones. There were a few too many of those on there now. It had been constructed after the Crusade ended, in order to centralise military command, which before had been disjointed between the hundreds of Crusade Fleets reconquering the galaxy in the name of the Emperor.

Warmaster Horus Lupercal stood before the massive round Holo-Desk which occupied the centre of the room, staring intently at the images displayed upon it, analysing vast amounts of tactical data sent from conflicts waged all across the galaxy. One particular area had almost his full attention, one lone planet which now held the centre of attention, for all the wrong reasons.

A figure in golden armour entered the room flanked by two of the Custodes, and Horus did not need to look up to know who it was.

“What is the situation?” The Emperor asked as he came closer.

“No doubt about it, this is a potential catastrophe. We should have seen that Seadelant wasn’t fortified enough, wouldn’t be able to stand against an invasion of this magnitude. And we can’t establish contact thanks to the psychic ECM the Hulk is producing.”

“I should have seen this coming.” The Emperor mused. “The recent rise in Ork raids on our shipping; this was a natural outgrowth of that.”

“It’s horribly ironic. We sent the final order, mobilizing nearly a third of the Navy and several Legion Fleets in order to burn the Orks off of the Imperium’s lanes of trade, and no sooner do we do that than an Ork hulk drops out of the warp astride the single most important warp-lane in the entire Imperium, the Terra-Ultramar Road. Forget about the void walks, now that the road is cut, all traffic between Terra and Ultramar has to take an alternate and more treacherous route which adds weeks if not months to the travel time and drastically increases the risk of losing ships to the warp. Already I’m hearing complaints from the Chartists and the trade unions about disruptions.”

“I’ll speak with them on that one. Let’s see how much they complain after that.” Horus nodded. “And all this on top of those Ork pirates we’re trying to destroy in the void walks, those sightings of Daemonships near Cadia and now the Dark Eldar have begin raiding around the Armando Cluster. Conquering the Galaxy was one thing, holding it something else.”

The Emperor walked around the table, examining the data Himself. Horus had no doubt that if he’d missed anything, the Emperor would point it out. It was a skill which had saved them many times in the past, on Gorro and other places when the Crusade was new and he was the Emperors only son.

“These delays are unacceptable, we can’t give the Orks a chance to dig in and consolidate. The Thousand Sons are closest to Seadelant, have they sent word?”

“Brother Magnus has promised the third and fifth Fellowships, they are being mustered and trained on Prospero as we speak. Most of the other legions are occupied with various duties, I’ve sent out messages to then all to see what troops can be spared, but I hold out little hope. I need to enquire with brother Vulkan about the Salamanders troops stationed on Nocturne; we need every soldier we can get to respond to this.”

“I’m seeing him later this afternoon about his daughter’s trip; I’ll bring it up then myself. What about your own legion?”

“I’m sending the first, second, fifth and tenth companies, the ones stationed here on Terra as an honour guard. I don’t need them here, and the others are too far away to respond in time.”

“Giving the Mournival a break?”

Horus smiled. “I fear I may have worn them out, they need some time away from me.”

“And what about the other matter, the one Angela brought up?”

“I inquired with the astropaths around Ultramar, but no sign. Unless he got off the planet in time, he’s still on Seadelant.”

“Does Isis know?”

“She does, though she and Julius haven’t spoken much since the incident in the Petitioner’s City she did receive a copy of his itinerary from Oll. Unless I receive actual news, I see no need to fill her with false hope or false fear regarding his survival. She’ll understand. You know I told her I would never stick my neck out for him again, and now it seems I’ll have to. How things turn out.” Horus remembered the look on her face when he told her the news, the look of shock mixed with horror. He’d tried his best to reassure her he would be in no danger, though he knew that was a lie, and she knew it too.

“About the petitioner’s city, have you spoken with Kurze about hunting down this ‘Babuk’? I can’t have someone experimenting with forbidden gene-tech on my very doorstep.”

“I have mentioned it, but Kurze wants to wait for Ahriman to return, says he’d rather do it with someone he knows, and who knows the foe. As close to sentimentality as I’ve ever seen the Night Haunter.”

“And speaking of Ahriman, he’s commanding the defence of this planet in person, isn’t he?”

“Yes. I was startled when I found his identification rune on the transmission. Seems like he was there to get away from Prospero. The way he’s going, I expect he’ll end up on Angelus before long, as far away from Terra as it is possible to get.”

The Emperor had been very angry with his sojourn through the Hive Tops and the Petitioner’s City; Horus could almost see the anger that day. No wonder Ahriman wanted to get as far away from that as possible. However he being on Seadelant was a lucky stroke, with his psychic mastery and strategic genius, Horus couldn’t think of any Astarte more suited to leading the defence of a Planet.

An analyst dashed up to Horus with a data-slate in her hand. Horus took it, scanned it and handed it back with a frown.

“So, none of the Alpha Legion can be spared either. This just isn’t getting any better. We’re scraping the barrel to find troops to respond to this threat, and even with the troops I can currently drag up, it will be at least a month before the force can be fully mobilised to reach Seadelant. We’d better hope they can hold out that long.”

There was a pause, before Horus added. “I feel at least one of us should command this in person.”

The Emperor didn’t have to ask what ‘one of us’ meant. It had been a while since many of the Primarchs had held field command, only Angron and Russ still did it regularly, because those two were ill suited to much else.

“Mortarion is still angry, still full of rage after what happened to Morticia, and he’s sitting at home doing nothing. I would suggest him.”

“You know how much he hates sorcery; he and Ahriman won’t get on.”

“I’ll speak to him on that one myself. No matter how much he might disagree about Magnus and his Legion’s methods, he’ll do what I tell him.”

Horus decided to change the topic. “How’s Remalia, Venus, Freya and their friends little excursion going?”

“They are on their way to Fenris even as we speak.”

“Good, very few of the Greenskin scum around there; they’ll be safe, or at least as safe as you can be on Fenris.”

The Emperor snorted, a sound which startled many of the analysts.

“When this is over, I intend to get Dorn or Peturabo to refortify the planet to ensure such a thing doesn’t happen again. We were sloppy, the fact it was far from any potential threat made us lax, and now we’re paying the price. But first we need to liberate that world.” The Emperor left without another word, while Horus turned his attention back to the escalating situation.

Fire from the Sky

Day seven of the Ork Invasion. Four days since they had tried to take the walls by storm, and had been repulsed by the brave actions of the Imperial defenders. In all that time since, apart from the constant, irregular shelling, the Orks had done nothing, just stayed in their encampments. Ahriman could afford for them to do that, with the vast bulk of the population either lifted offworld of shipped to other cities, they had enough food to last for a year or more of siege. The Orks trying to storm the city, that was what he was concerned about. He had spent the last few days visited the sections of the wall where the towers had connected, and spoke with the surviving troops there, raising their morale and lifting spirits. If only his own spirits could be so easily raised.

Right now he was at the Astropathic Guild HQ, on the other side of the main Autoway from the PDF HQ. He was once again trying to enquire about whether any news of the Relief force had arrived, and so far the answer seemed to be the same one it was every other time, no. The Orks by their mere presence were interdicting the most important tradeway between Solar and Ultima, and that was hurting the entire Imperium, not just Seadelant. The Emperor Himself would deem this one top priority. And yet the Astropaths could get no word on when the relief would arrive. Ahriman was almost tempted to go out himself, to send his body of light out there to find out, but he knew that would be suicide. He was not as strong as Magnus, and even he had difficulties sometimes. The great Ocean was no-longer as safe anymore, not with the knowledge of what lurked within its depths.

For a Corvidae, lack of knowledge was the worst curse, and he was the head of the entire Corvidae Cult, by extension the greatest master of scrying the future outside Magnus, the Emperor and the Eldar. And all that power counted for little here, could not dispel the fog clouding his foresight nor shake off the doubts flitting through his mind.

There was a bang on the door, and a PDF runner burst in.

“Lord Ahriman, Graf Trakeria requests your presence immediately. There has been a development.”

“A development?” Ahriman immediately cast his mind outwards, towards the PDF building. The control room was afire with the auras of those within panic, fear and apprehension not seen since the invasion began. They were all concerned about movement detected coming from the Hulk in orbit. His mind them soared skywards, to the source of the commotion. The atmosphere vanished and the eternal night of space enveloped him. There was the Hulk, an evil wedge of space rock and ancient ships fused together by the power of the Great Ocean. Several Space Roks, hollowed out asteroids fitted with drives, guns and crew quarters and turned into mobile gun platforms provided escort for the hulk, and even a squadron of Brute Ramships constructed from the space debris left after the Hulk’s arrival shoaled beside the Hulk. This was all perfectly normal, what were they worried about?

Suddenly something flickered at the edge of his aethersight, almost hidden by the psy-inferno emanating from the Hulk. He approached closer, risking the fire in order to get a better view.

It was then that he saw it.

Roks. Four small asteroids plummeting towards the planet, towards the city they matched the rock structure of the Hulk clearly. The Orks were trying to bombard the city into submission. With a snap he returned to his mortal flesh and without a word of explanation left the building to the questions of the Astropaths.

“They’re throwing Roks at the city!” Governor Shroe lamented when he entered the room.

“I know. The lack of progress must be frustrating them, and when Orks get frustrated they bring out the big guns.”

“You know Ork Accuracy; if they’re trying to knock down the walls with Roks then their warlord must be stupid. The chances of one getting a direct hit are billions to one, and Lord Ahriman can vector the Plasma Missiles and Defence Lasers to shoot them down long before that anyway.” Graf Trakeria was more cocky, more self confident thanks to Ahriman. She hoped to capitalise on his successes, get some glory off his coattails. He couldn’t care less with local politics, he had more pressing issues.

“Deploy the defence lasers and notify the astropaths. I’ll link my mind with theirs, and we’ll shoot down these Roks.”

He could feel the blast doors opening and the guns emerging from their silos across the city. He removed his Astartes helmet and placed the archaic psy-helmet onto his head. Swiftly he linked his mind into the Matrix and began to track the strings of fate, finding the one he needed. When he found the Roks on the strings of fate, he smiled. Two of them were going to land many miles away, the usual Ork shoddy accuracy meaning those two could be ignored. The third would hit the bay, causing a massive tidal wave if it couldn’t be vaporised in time. The final one would land closest to the walls, if not inside them altogether. That would level half the city within a few seconds, and he would take priority in its destruction. In his mind’s eye he watched them start to burn as they entered the atmosphere, rushing faster and faster as gravity took its iron hold. Their courses ran true, and under his direction the defence lasers locked onto empty sky. Tracing the strings of fate, he could see the Roks impacting into the ground, see the devastation they would cause, and he began to follow the strand of fate backwards, pulling it back, pulling it back…fire. He could not see the beam, but he could feel it as it lanced upwards into the sky. Its aim was straight and true, and with barely any effort it vaporised the rok into so much dust. A few seconds later the other rok met the same fate.

“Stand down. You’ve done it again my lord. You’ve saved the city three times now. When this is over, you will be hailed as the savour of Seadelant.” Her good mood was cut short when one of the vox operators yelled out.

“Contact! Another incoming object bearing 7-14.”

Graf Trakeria scanned the readout. “7-14? That’s nearly the horizon line. Where the fuck did that one come from?”

Cold fear drenched Ahriman, as if a sudden revelation had been made to him and him alone. He was an Astartes, and he was supposed to know no fear. It had all felt too simple, too easy. The new Rok was coming in at too low a trajectory for a Defence Laser to get a lock, and it was too close for a Plasma Missile to hit it. He began to track the strings of fate to find out where it would impact, only to be struck cold when he hit its strand. He had followed all the strings of fate, and he’d missed this one, missed it cold. He didn’t realise what just happened to him until he noticed everyone in the room staring at him with shock. They had never seen an Astartes fall to his knees before.

“Evacuate the walls.” He said in a dry whisper as he climbed to his feet.

“Pardon my lord?”

“I said evacuate the walls!” Ahriman’s voice rose to booming pitch. “That Rok is about to rip a hole a mile wide in the outer walls, and nothing we can do will be able to plug the gap once it’s opened. We have to order a general retreat to the inner walls, or else lose everything.”

“Can’t we do anything? Why didn’t you see this?” Trakeria insisted.

“I failed. I…failed.” Those words hurt Ahriman to say, but say them he did. Again. “In just over two minutes the walls will fall. If you do not order the evacuation now, the city falls, the planet falls and the trade route is cut. The whole Imperium will suffer if you do not act now.”

“Surely you overestimate. These are Orks you’re talking about, they couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn with a…”

“Order the evacuation NOW!” his heqa staff burst into flames as he drew deep from the Great Ocean and bloated up his aura, and everyone in the room cowered before him. His anger was swiftly snuffed out as he realised what he was doing. He had never lost his temper quite like this before, not since Ohrmuzd had…no, he would not think about it. He jammed his helmet back on and turned to go.

“Where are you going?” Trakeria demanded.

“To put my finger in the dyke and hold back the sea.” And Ahriman was gone.

The Walls Fall

Julius once again found himself sitting in the back of the C-80, just shy of the walls. There would be a worn patch in the back by the time this was over, given how often he sat there. They had aided in the cleanup after the battle, an unpleasant experience Julius had no wish to repeat or even think about and which even now sent occasional shudders down his spine, and since then done little apart from lounge around and occasionally ship a load of shells to the artillery, who were busy trying to shell any enemy artillery spotters to little effect. His father once told him army life was ninety percent boredom and ten percent terror, and now he understood.

As he sat there, he saw Summer walking along with Scvott, listening to him talking about something. They nodded at him as they passed, and Julius could swear he saw Summer gesturing at him, though in greeting or something else he could not make out. As she left he realised he was holding his breath, and sheepishly he let it go.

Summer, always Summer, she had damn well got under his skin, and not entirely in a good way. Ever since that Keiter had done his deed, a renewed crackdown on Emperor Worship had begun across the Imperium, a new wave of violence directed against anyone who seemed to be too enthusiastic in their veneration of the Emperor. And now he was privy to her secret, and she to one of his. Thinking back to that moment in the Hab, he had to admit she bluffed her way out of it very well. Had he let it go a bit too easily? Cathericism was one thing, venerating the Emperor something completely different. Emperor Worship was illegal across most of the Galaxy, the only reason it wasn’t illegal at the Eye was because it stopped worship of the Darker Powers, something not even the Emperor was willing to tamper with. She was treading on dangerous ground, and could easily get herself into a lot of trouble, and him with her now that he was privy to her beliefs.

Why should he care? When this was all over he would leave this place and never see her again, and no-one would be looking too hard for an Emperor Worship with several million Orks banging on the front door. All he had to worry about was coming through this unscathed, surviving something which had already killed thousands. Any one of those could have been him; any of those could become him, death was all too easy around here, a stray shot, a stray shell, an Ork with an axe, any of those would bring him down with no effort. Still, he couldn’t get her out of his head. She had moved in and set up shop, and no matter how hard he tried to expel her she wouldn’t leave his thoughts. Maybe she was a response to the horrors he was seeing all around him, focusing on her meant he wasn’t thinking about the possibility of his own demise. That thought comforted him, and he almost laughed at how absurd this all was. He then hushed up as he remembered the last time he’d felt like this, travelling through the Palace with Isis on the way to ask Horus about Keiter. That had set off an avalanche which even now he still couldn’t dig himself out of. So many thoughts, he felt his head would explode from them shortly if something didn’t happen. Such a bad choice of words.

Suddenly, the world blew up. There was a bright flash which while initially obscured by the walls grew brighter and brighter until it outshone all else, and as Julius rose to his feet to investigate its source, a massive explosion and shockwave picked Julius up and threw him out the truck, down the road and into the side of a building. Almost all the air was driven out of his lungs, and his sight vanished behind a black shroud. He vaguely felt things hitting him, and he wondered if this was it. Was this how it was to end, with him having no idea about what had just done him in?

Through the haze he heard someone shout his name, his fake name. Blindly he reached out his arm and felt someone grab it and haul him to his feet. He staggered, but the mystery person kept him upright as he rubbed his eyes and his vision slowly returned to him. Summer was the one holding him steady, and there was concern on her face. Beside her, Scvott rubbed his eyes and tried to peer through the cloud of dust and pulverised rockcrete. Julius’s battered mind tried to process what was happening, why Summer seemed so concerned about what had happened to him, but that processing went out of the window when the smoke cleared enough for him to see what had just happened.

There was now a gaping hole in the outer wall, the adamantine cladding reduced to so much twisted metal, and most of the buildings closest to the walls pulverised by the blast effect. The shield crackled as it tried to reconnect to the missing wall pylons, and Julius could almost make out the gaping hole above mirroring the hole in the wall. As his mind tried to process what was just about to happen, he gave out a four letter word echoed across the length of the perimeter wall.

Fuck.

The Orks now had a literal open doorway into the city, a route straight into the heart of Port Huron. All the blood shed to defend the walls had just been rendered moot in a few fell seconds, all the effort to hold the city from the green tide, pointless.

“What the hell just happened?” Scvott sounded as shocked as Julius felt, his veneer of command slipping.

“The Orks broke through. As simple as that.” Julius could barely make out his own words.

“We should fall back, find someone with a vox and find out what our orders are.” Summer seemed the only one to have kept a clear head. As they watched, PDF troopers started to fall back past them, some in a near panic, others more coolly. That seemed to argue in Summer’s favour.

“Looks like we’re in the shite now.” That was Flynn, his usual attitude gone. Beside him was Dyllion, who seemed even more grim than usual as he stared at the gaping hole, a few choice curses slipping from his lips. For a few minutes all they could do was stare at that hole and watch as more and more panicked PDF troopers streamed past them.

“They’re not going to abandon the outer city; they’ll fortify the approaches and turn that hole into a killing ground, like with the Siege Towers. They’ll need us to keep them supplied with ammo. We should stay here and do what we can for them.” Scvott seemed to have finally found his voice, but his proposal stung Julius, who had to respond.

“Stay? Here? Look at that breach, it’s wide enough to drive a ‘Steel Fury’ Baneblade squadron through. No way will they be able to hold it indefinitely; the Orks will flood it with troops, tanks and worse. I want to fight, I don’t want to throw my life away needlessly, and if we stay here that’s exactly what we will be doing.” Scvott turned to face Julius, hands on his hips. “Am I, or am I not in command of this section?”

“You are ser.”

“And does that not mean that I give the orders?”

“Yes, but…”

“No buts. We’re staying right here until we receive orders telling us otherwise.” Julius was stunned by that decision. Was Scvott trying to get them killed? He’d read plenty of books, been instructed by Horus and Guilliman themselves on the ways of war, and here he was, his advice being ignored out of hand by someone just because he was an offworlder. Hell, Flynn was also an offworder, born on Tanith, but they listened to him often enough. Couldn’t he see that no matter what, eventually the outer city would fall to the Orks and they would be better off getting behind the inner walls now rather than trying in the chaos of a fighting withdrawal?

“The offworlder does have a good point, and he is from Ultramar, they do have the best military academies there…” Summer again. What had changed her attitude towards him? “Look, as team leader my authority must be respected, that is the only way we’ll be able to operate. I’m sorry, but my order stands.”

Ahriman thought it would be bad by the time he got down there, but he was wrong. It was worse. The blast had sent him reeling as he ran down the main road, but he had been expecting it and so it didn’t slow him down. He wouldn’t head straight to the breach, he needed back up if he was to hold it long enough for the troops to evacuate the outer city, and he knew exactly who to ask.

Commissar Lord Günter was issuing orders to the Tanith troops when Ahriman reached him, Plasma Pistol in hand. He seemed remarkably calm given what had just crashed into the wall. “Lord Ahriman, what the fug just happened? A fireball just came over the horizon and slammed into wall sector B-2. No-one can contact the PDF Commander in that sector, and now it seems there are orders for a general retreat to the inner walls. Can you please give me some concrete answers?”

“The Orks have used a Rok to break down the outer wall. Very soon the Ork horde will pour into the outer city, and there is nothing we can do to stop them. However if the whole city isn’t to fall, we need to hold them off long enough for the troops to fall back to the inner wall.”

“And let me guess, you want the Larisels to take part in this glorious last stand, am I correct?”

“Only those who volunteer for it, and it will not be a last stand, more of a fighting withdrawal. We simply have to hold the breach long enough to allow the troops to get behind the outer walls, the artillery especially. Those Bombards must be allowed the time to pack up and get behind the walls, else our heaviest guns are lost.”

“My Lord, I’ll ask around, but I know the Tanith, and this sort of insanity appeals to them.” Before too long, Günter had nearly two companies worth of Tanith troops ready to hold the breach. Ahriman led them towards the breach, trying to rope in as many men as possible to join them along the way. He was more successful than he thought he would be, several platoons of Belladon troops, a heavy weapons company from the Perdix Hunters and even a Panxergrenadier platoon from the Caorst Panxers with two Malcador Tanks in support all joined him. The others under his instruction headed for the inner walls and safety. They reached the breach to find it abandoned the PDF troopers all gone. Ahriman knew it wasn’t their fault, they weren’t used to war the way the Army troopers were and something so shocking shattered their morale. The Commissars would have a field day. However Ahriman did note several CDA troopers near a C-80 Hovertruck on the other side of the breach. He couldn’t see them clearly thanks to the lingering smoke, and the aetheric interference from the impact was clouding their auras, but the fact they were brave or stupid enough to stay put spoke volumes.

“Get those CDA auxiliaries to ferry us some ammo, we may as well make some use of them. Priority on Heavy Bolter rounds, we simply have to keep the Orks from reaching close combat. If that happens, the breach is lost.” A Belladon runner set off towards the CDA members, while the troops took up positions around the breach. Being able to see it with his own eyes for the first time, Ahriman was taken aback at how big the breach was, and why there was so little damage to the ground before it, making passage through it easy. No Ork could ever make a shot with that much accuracy, it was simply impossible. Something else had to be at work here. Ahriman cursed himself; he was letting his paranoia get the better of him again. This was Orks, only Orks, nothing more. As if knowing what he was thinking about, the scanner operator called out, “The Orks are on the move! ETA half an hour.”

“Let’s give them a welcome they won’t soon forget.” Ahriman rose through the Enumerations, and soon was detached from the seriousness of their situation, able to clearly and logically see what had to be done. He gave his orders, and watched as the troops rushed to fulfil them.

Heavy weapons troopers from the Perdix Hunters ran to cover the breach, while troopers constructed makeshift barricades and the two Malcadors moved into position covering the breach. The Panzergrenadiers deployed their Chimeras to provide heavy weapons support to the dismounted infantry, and the Tanith Snipers set up hides all around, a few deploying on the walls themselves. Every little piece moved into place, and Ahriman almost smiled as he saw the strings of fate moving into position, his position. Once again the smell of exhaust fumes and the low growl of the Ork horde wafted over the walls as the green tide approached. They were moving slower this time, but what need did they have to run? They had a great big hole inviting them into the city. The Orks weren’t even bothering to throw artillery shells through the breach in the shield, so confident were they. Well, he would make them pay for that confidence.

Closer and closer the horde came, as the troops laboured to make sure they would pay. Several Perdix Engineers set up mines and remote explosives concealed among the rubble, some razor wire was strung before the Tanith positions an everyone laboured to ensure their foxholes were deep and comfy enough. Now the horde was close enough to see the individual Trukks, Battlewagons and even the hazy form of a Stompa pounding its way towards the breach. The troops held film, but he could feel the tension and fear. This wasn’t like holding the walls; here they would have vehicles and War Engines coming at them as well as normal Orks.

Suddenly the ground started to tremble, catching Ahriman off guard. Were the Orks trying to tunnel in as well? As the rumbling grew closer, Ahriman breathed a sigh of relief as he saw one of the three Caorst Baneblades coming down the street towards them.

“Baneblade Furious Thunder here sir. We figured you would need our eleven barrels of hell if you hope to hold this breach.”

“Much appreciated Lieutenant, we’d be delighted to have the best Caorst has to offer fighting beside us.”

The Baneblade nestled itself in between the Malcadors, forming the centre of the defensive position, a perfect counter to the incoming Orks. Ahriman began to breathe a little easier, maybe they would be able to hold long enough for the lower city to be evacuated and the lower Defence Laser to be disarmed so the Orks couldn’t use it. Now the Orks were almost at the breach, so close you could pick out the Nobs leading them, and their rhythmic chanting filled the air, guttural words in an almost incomprehensible tongue. The aetheric fire they emitted wafted in through the breach, and Ahriman could feel it the way someone could feel the heat from sitting too close to an open fire.

The troops locked and loaded, but he could still feel the fear coming off them as they saw clearly the horror facing them.

Ahriman recalled a quote from a leader of Old Earth and lifted his voice so every army soldier could hear him. “The patriot volunteer, fighting for his country and his rights, makes the most reliable soldier on Earth,” he cried, lifting his Bolt Pistol and aiming it square at the leading Ork as it entered the breach, and with a single shot putting it down. The storm broke once again.

War is Hell

The whizz of a bullet sang past Julius’s ear as he carried a fresh belt of Heavy Bolter ammo to a Perdix Heavy Weapons Section. He no longer ducked anymore every time a bullet came near him as he had done when the battle first begun, he just kept on pushing forwards, the only thing on his mind doing the job he was required to do. If he stopped to think about what was happening around him, what could happen to him, he knew he would curl into a foetal ball and never get up, and what use would he be to anyone them?

He still thought Scvott’s decision was foolish, but at least now it was justified, and they were actually doing something to help. They had only made one supply run, the roads were choked with troopers and tanks making their way to the safety of the inner walls, and Flynn steamed as they got caught in traffic jam after traffic jam. It had taken them nearly an hour to get a single supply load from the inner city ammo bunkers to the breach, and there wouldn’t be the time for another run. Now all they could do was try to make that one load count. Flynn and Dyllion carried Battle Cannon ammo to the pair of Malcadors and Mortar bombs to the Mortars, who all used the ammo up faster than they could resupply it, while Scvott, Summer and himself kept the troops fuelled with small arms, dashing from the C-80 to the troops as fast as possible, dodging bullets to get the goods to the troops.

Julius had expected many things when the army arrived at the breach, but there’d been one big surprise waiting for him. The rumours he’d discounted out of hand were true, it was indeed professor Ahriman who was leading the defence, but not as he’d ever seen him before. When professor Ahriman had saved them in the Petitioner’s City, he’d found it amazing how he’d taken out all those thugs so quickly without killing a single one, but that was nothing next to what he was doing right now.

When they had left for their first supply run, Ahriman had summoned a massive wall of warpfire covering the entire breach, keeping the Orks at bay in a spectacular display which forced Flynn to drag him onto the C-80 as he was to engrossed in what was happening before him, and now an hour later he was in the thick of it. Between the blows from his staff and bursts of warp-fire from his gauntlets he was laying waste to the Orks, moving extremely gracefully for his size and armour, a painter painting in crimson. When this was over, Julius would have to seek out Ahriman, find out when relief would arrive, try and message Isis or Venus. He wondered what Ahriman would think of him being there, of them both being here at the exact time a Hulk arrived. Ahriman once said in class that there was no such thing as coincidence, and now Julius almost believed him.

Dashing the final few yards, Julius reached a Perdix Heavy Bolter team, and handed over the ammo belt. No sooner did they have it then the Heavy Bolter ran out of bullets. Swiftly they loaded the new belt in, and resumed firing. Julius dashed back for the truck, and the next load, bullets following him as he ran.

Summer was at the C-80 when he got there, her face smudged with soot and several tears in her uniform. And yet despite all that, Julius had never seen her more alive. She’d gone right into the thick of the firing, defying the heaviest fire in order to deliver her load. She’d even tossed a grenade into a Trukk as she ran past it, killing some of the Orks riding within. That fire which Julius had seen as she prayed in that Hab now filled her, and despite all the blood and sweat which stained her, she had never looked more beautiful.

Julius cursed himself. This was a warzone; he could die any minute, stop thinking about her that way.

“Oll, glad to see you’re still with us. The Tanith need some more Tread Fether rounds, which I assume means more missiles. I’ve got to get these Bolt Pistol rounds to that astartes warrior, what was his name again?”

“Ahriman. Ahzek Ahriman, chief librarian of the XVth Legion.”

“Wow Oll, you are full of useless knowledge. Might have to ask you a few questions about all this when the battle is done. Well, time waits on man or woman.” She turned to go, and then stopped and turned her head back to Julius. “And Oll? Stay alive out there. For me.” and with that, she dashed away once again.

He resolved that if he survived this, he would apologise to her for comparing her with Keiter. Keiter would never have selflessly risked his life the way she did, or spoken to him that way. Emperor Worshiper or no, she was insanely brave and dedicated to her job, and seemed to care enough to reassure him in the midst of the heat of the battle. If only the Imperium had more people like her…

Julius snapped out of it when a bullet flew close by. This wasn’t the time to daydream! He took up a crate of frag missiles and set off once again. A pair of black clad Tanith troopers crouched behind a section of ruined wall close to the Malcadors and Baneblade. One of them looked over Julius as he handed over the missiles. “I’ve got to hand it to you boy, you may be a civilian but you move and act like a soldier. Your CDA section should get medals when this is all over for doing such a fine…” he trailed off as the loud sound of something heavy stomping towards the breach pushed its way over the roar of guns and the chanting of the Orks. The massive hulking form of an Ork Stompa pushed its way into the breach, shoving aside the growing wall of corpses. The metal giant spat death from the many Big Shootas mounted all over it, while return fire sparked off its armour. The Stompa has what looked like a cannon mounted in the centre of the hull, and the Tanith troopers noticed it the same time he did.

“Belly Gun! Get the fuck down!”

Julius had no idea what they were talking about, but he followed suit. As he did so, he heard a flat hollow ‘boom’ as the belly gun fired. The massive belly gun shell serenely flew towards them, seemingly in slow motion. How the big, fat shell could even fly seemed a mystery to Julius. A hand grabbed him and pulled him further down.

“You idiot! Are you trying to get yourself killed?” one of the troopers hissed at him. Before Julius could apologise or answer, there was an ear-splitting bang and the air was filled with the shriek of shrapnel hissing through the air. The section of wall kept Julius safe, though he felt the wall reverberate with the impact of debris, and the whistle of more shrapnel keened over his head. When he was convinced the damage was done, he poked his head back up again.

The Imperial positions were devastated, much of the cover blasted apart by the massive explosion and the bodies of many Imperial troops scattered everywhere. Though he was by now inured to the sight of death, the sight of such carnage caused so swiftly left him with a sick feeling inside. The Stompa continued to move forwards like a victorious god, and Julius could almost imagine that the bestial face mounted on the head was smiling. There was a whoosh close to his ear, and the face vanished seconds later. The Tanith missile team reloaded with grim urgency, as scattered fire from the imperial remnants hit the metal colossus. The two Malcadors fired their battle cannons, the shells gouging holes in the stompas armour. The stompas arm mounted cannon fired, the shell missing the Malcador and smashing a nearby building to dust, along with the Perdix heavy weapons troopers sheltering within.

There was an answering ‘boom’ as the baneblade fired its huge cannon at the stompa. At that range it was nearly point blank, and the shell tore into the stompa before exploding, blowing the monster open. The imperial troops gave out ragged cheers, but they knew that the breach could no longer be held, and more and more Orks were pouring through. The soldier’s vox crackled, and he muttered something to his fellow before addressing Julius.

“A general retreat has been ordered, we’ve held the breach for over two hours and the army and PDF are now safe behind the inner walls. Find your squadmates and get to safety.”

“What about you two?”

“We’re staying. No Orks will pass us as long as we draw breath, and maybe we can buy you all some more time to escape. Now go. GO!”

Julius took one last look back before he started to run. As he did, other troops all over broke cover and began to run for safety. Strangely, very few of them were wearing Tanith black. Were all Tanith troopers this balls out insane? He’d have to ask Professor Ahriman about that one once they got to safety. But he’d have to get to safety first, and ensure those brave troopers didn’t throw their lives away in vain.

Summer and Flynn were already at the C-80 when Julius got there, sorting through what was left in the cargo bay.

“You came through offworlder, and hardly the worse for wear. Here, take this.” Flynn tossed an object to Julius, who grabbed it out of the air and automatically checked it. It was an Autogun, Agripinaa Pattern, 8.25 with a twenty round box magazine. Julius was reminded of the immensely more deadly weapon concealed under his coat, and shuddered.

“Have we finally reached this point, when we need weapons ourselves? I thought as CDA we signed up because we wanted to help without bearing arms?”

“Look all around you. The army’s pulling back, and the fething Orks are pushing forward. We may run into a few roadblocks on the way to the inner wall gate, and I’d rather be safe than sorry. Even Summer has a weapon.” Summer responded with a gesture from her PDF issue Lasgun. “Now where the hell are Scvott and Dyllion?”

“They were delivering those shells to the baneblade last I met them.” Flynn said.

“We can’t wait too long for them, another few minutes and we leave, with them or without them.” Summer said with an air of finality which startled both of them. Every second dragged out as they waited for Scvott and Dyllion to arrive. The sounds of Imperial weapons fire slackened and faded, and the sound of the Orks grew and grew. Julius sat in his usual position in the back, Autogun resting on his lap. If any Orks tried to pursue them, it would be his job to keep them at bay. He wasn’t happy with being assigned that role, but he would do it anyway, and hoped the Autogun would be enough if it came to that. “Fire up that engine! Get us the hell out of here!” it was Scvott and Dyllion, running as fast as their legs could carry them. Dyllion had a cut in his forehead, and Scvott was clutching one arm in obvious pain.

“What happened to you two?” Summer asked as they bundled into the C-80.

“Fucking Orks. They blew one of the Malcadors just after we’d restocked the baneblade, and because of that idiot,” he growled, gesturing at Scvott, “We were too close.”

“They’re well and truly into the outer city now, we’d best make tracks before they cut us off.” Scvott ignoring Dyllion and trying to re-establish his authority.

The C-80 sped away, and swiftly they were enveloped by the buildings of the lower city as Flynn navigated them towards the inner wall gate. In the distance there was a massive explosion, loud enough to be heard above the din of battle.

“That must have been the Baneblade. Brave bastards, they drove straight into the heart of the horde, crushing Orks beneath their treads as they poured it on with their cannons. Those Caorst boys have balls.” So do the Tanith, Julius thought, and the Belladon, and the Perdix. Every soldier who willingly stayed behind there to die had balls. There was a roaring sound and several objects dropped out of the sky before them, forcing Flynn to hit the brakes. It took a split second for Julius to recognise what they were, and a shiver went down his spine.

“Stormboyz!” Julius yelled. Insane Orks who strapped rockets onto their backs in a parody of the Assault Marines of the Astartes, Stormboyz had a habit of exploding in flight, but were deadly assault troops all the same. And now they were in the way. Flynn spun the C-80 around as the Orks started running towards them, firing their pistols enthusiastically. Up close, the Orks were ugly muscle bound monstrosities, death in green skin, their close combat weapons seemingly to large and heavy for anyone to carry, yet they held them high. “Waaagh!” they screamed as Flynn hit the gas. As the C-80 began to pick up speed, they fired their rocket packs and began to speed after them. So much for leaving them in the dust. They sped down the street, the Stormboyz in hot pursuit. Julius had seen so many chase scenes in holo-films, but he had never expected to actually BE in one.

“Oll! Don’t just sit there, shoot at them!” Scvott yelled back.

Julius had almost forgotten the reason he was in the back, the reason he had that Autogun. He lifted said Autogun into position, aimed it as best he could at the pursuing Orks and thumbed the trigger. ‘Ratatatatat’ the gun sang as it kicked against Julius’s shoulder and spat out a burst of bullets at the stormboys. None of them seemed to hit, which was hardly surprising given how fast they were travelling, but it felt good to be firing back. He fired burst after burst at the Orks, and once saw one of the stormboyz falling back. Killed, injured or out of fuel? Julius didn’t know, but at least that was one less Ork out to kill them.

“Dammit, are we even heading for the inner wall gate?” Julius growled as they turned another corner.

“Ah’m trying to keep these fething green skinned bastards off our backs! Stop distracting me!” Flynn grunted as he sent the C-80 on yet another hairpin turn. One of the stormboyz missed the turn and crashed into the side of a building, but the rest kept on coming. Flynn was pushing the C-80 to the limit, treating it like a sports hovercar as he pushed it around corners and acted like he was in an episode of High Gear.

“Are we going to be doing this all bloody day?” Dyllion asked Flynn as they turned into yet another street.

“Given the fuel gauge, ah’d say we’ve got another hour in us.”

“But by then the Orks would hold the outer city, and we’d have no way of getting to the inner city.” Summer said. “We have to head for the gate, and hope that there are troops there who can help us.”

“She’s right; I’m damn near out of ammo for the Autogun and the Orks are coming closer. We have to make our way there, and trust the gates are still open.” Julius loaded in his penultimate clip for the Autogun, and loosened off another burst at the stormboyz. Bullets from the stormboyz pistols continued to whip past, but none of them ever connected. As the seconds wore on and they began to draw ahead of the pursuers, Julius began to feel a small sense of optimism. They would escape from this one, and live to fight another day. Julius had no idea what happened next. One second they were speeding along as normal, the next the floor fell away from Julius, throwing him out of the C-80. He fell hard, knocking the wind out of him. As he rolled over, he saw the C-80 was lying nearby, smoke billowing from its crumpled engine. Flynn, Scvott and Summer were running from it towards him. Then the C-80 went up in a blast of flame, throwing the others to the floor. Their method of escape was no more.

As they got up, the Stormboyz roared up and landed before them. There were only three now, but those three were more than a match for five confused CDA troopers. Summer, as brave and reckless as ever began firing at them with her Lasgun. The angry Orks ran towards her, weapons raised.

Julius could not, would not see her killed. His Autogun might be empty, but he had another weapon literally up his sleeve. He fumbled for a second, before drawing Vulkan’s Hellpistol and locking it on the leading Stormboy just as it was about to strike her a blow. Julius had been training with firearms since he was seven, when his father had brought him an air rifle. No-one could match him for accuracy; he had won every shooting competition since he was fourteen.

The Hellpistol beam made a shrieking noise as it lanced straight through the Stormboy, before its rocket pack exploded and destroyed what was left of it. The other two Orks turned to face him, but he had the upper hand now. Another shot dealt with the second Ork, and Dyllion put down the third one with a burst from his own Autogun. As they came over to Julius, he found the hand holding the Hellpistol was shaking like a leaf. He’d killed a sentient being like himself, actually killed it, even if it was only an Ork. He expected to feel something, joy or relief, but all he felt was empty inside, hollow.

“Where did you get that fancy weapon offworlder?” Scvott asked, or rather demanded.

“An heirloom from my Grandfather. He fought alongside the XVIII Legion during the last years of the crusade, and was granted this before the Angelus Triumph. It still works perfectly.” A half-lie, hopefully one they would swallow.

“It seems you have many secrets offworlder.” Summer smiled knowingly. Julius tried to smile back, but all he could do was grimace. That fall had hurt. He knew he would be black and blue with bruises come the next day.

“We can’t stick around; the commotion will likely attract more greenskins, and we’re in no fit condition to fight them.” Scvott said.

“But where will we go? We can’t walk to the gate now; the Orks will have cut us off long before we reach there. I don’t even know where we are.” Julius said.

“The lower city, close to the southern climbs. I know this place well, and I know exactly where we can go to hide.” Flynn started off, followed by the rest of them. As they went, Julius took one last look back at the burning C-80. There would be no worn section in the back anymore, just another hunk of burnt out wreckage. The analogy seemed apt for his entire experience on this once peaceful world.

Into the Underground

The sound of Orks filtered through the streets, hounding the rag-tag bunch of CDA volunteers as they followed Flynn through the winding streets. Julius had the feeling that Flynn had no idea where they were going, but he trusted that the Tanith native would see them through. He knew the famed reputation of the Tanith, and besides he had no other choice in the matter.

“Ah, here we are.” Flynn had stopped near a deserted alleyway, with a sewer entrance at one end. What did he mean, they were there?

“Here, follow me.” Flynn lifted up the manhole cover, and slid into it. Was he serious, would they hide in the sewers? The Orks would be into them like a shot, and he knew common protocol was to blow them if the outer city fell so the Orks couldn’t outflank the walls.

“You’re first offworlder.” Scvott pushed Julius towards Flynn and the sewer. Julius scowled, but he followed Flynn down into the abyss, lit only by the faint light of Flynn’s Lamp-Pack. Halfway down the ladder, Flynn simply disappeared. Julius blinked, and blinked again before a hand popped out of the wall.

“In here.” Flynn whispered as he came closer. It was a passageway concealed beside the ladder, almost impossible to notice unless you actually knew it was there. Julius swung himself into the passage, waved at Dyllion who was next in line behind him to follow, and then followed Flynn down the passage. He had to crawl, but it fortunately wasn’t too cramped. For what seemed an age he crawled along, Flynn’s lamp-pack lighting the way. Julius saw light at the end of the tunnel, a small amount of it. He emerged into an open space the size of a rugby field. There were lights in the ceiling, and a large board showing a faded map of the city on one wall, though on closer inspection that map had to be several centuries old, the Port Huron there was barely recognisable as the city above them. A steel door at the other end of the room led out.

“What is this?” Summer asked once all of them were inside.

“When the Xenos Overlords ruled Seadelant, the human resistance build dozens of underground bunkers where they would live and rest under the very noses of the Overlords. Most of them lie forgotten, but not this one. This one I found while exploring a year or so ago, and I’ve more or less turned it into my man cave, more or less.” He laughed as his own lame joke. “There’s still a lot of stuff in here left over from the resistance movement, so we can make the most of it. This is the planning room, where the resistance would have planned their attacks. Follow me.”

The Bunker complex proved to a lot more, well, complex than Julius had expected. There were separate rooms for resistance fighters to sleep, nearly 30 of them all up, a command room dominated by a metal table, and even a garage which Flynn had filled with tools, parts and the disassembled chassis of a Hovercar. The stores room still had a fair number of cans of food, which Flynn predicted would last them several weeks or more. The armoury was the biggest surprise, with two locally made heavy stubbers and several ammo drums, as well as several PDF issue lasguns and a Lasgun powerpack recharger. Scvott summed it all up.

“We’re stuck behind enemy lines, and there’s no way we can reach the safety of the inner walls now. The PDF will have blocked off the sewer access points as well, keep the Orks out. But at least we have all this, food, water, weapons and a place to sleep. We can safely stay here until the relief force arrives.”

A couple of hours later once they had all settled in and he had finished offloading his gear into his room and exploring the base, Julius knocked on the door of Summer’s room a few over from his own. He had said to himself that if he survived the breach, he would apologise to her for comparing her to a madman like Keiter, and now he was fulfilling that promise. She opened the door to him, and let him in. all of the rooms were quite small, and yet her one was very tidy. The cot was made, the shelves set with neat piles of musty old books that must have dated back decades, and the large scented candle from before resting on an empty ammo crate. Julius felt slightly uncomfortable, and resolved to get straight to the point.

“Look Summer, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking recently, with all that is going on. We could have died so many times out there, and it makes you think.”

“I’m so sorry about what I’ve said earlier, about comparing you to Keiter. I tarred all Emperor Worshippers with the same brush. Now I can see now you’re nothing like him, and I feel like a fool. Can you forgive me?” Summer patted her bed, and Julius sat down on it. “The Emperor protects, Oll. He protected me during that battle, he protects me now. And he protects you, though why I can’t tell.”

“I don’t know if I need his protection, and he has many more problems on his plate than worrying about me.” A memory of his anger when he had confronted Isis and himself over the Petitioner’s City incident crossed his mind, and he shuddered. Summer didn’t seem to notice, and she continued.

“You’re lucky, in a way. You’ve never had that void inside your soul, that feeling that there must be something more to life than all this.” She gestured at his Catheric Crux. “Before, I had it all. I wanted for nothing, and yet I never felt more alone, more lost. And then I found the truth, found the Emperor. Of course when my parents found out, they disowned me. Not in public mind you, too focused on their public image to have it stained by the revelation that their daughter was a follower of the Lectio Divinitatus. No, the quietly cut me off and said that I had been sent away, when in reality they had simply turfed me out. No matter where I go, I can’t practice my faith openly. I feel like I’m persecuted for it.”

“You ARE persecuted for it. Imperial law has the Lectio Divinitatus as illegal, and all who follow its teachings.”

Summer simply looked at Julius and replied. “You should be in the same boat as me. Honestly, I find it almost hypocritical that you Catherics escape persecution, whereas we don’t. We both believe in religion, ergo we are both opposed to the Imperial Truth, and we are both breaking the Imperial creed. The only difference is my god is alive and well on Terra, I could actually see him. Have you seen your god Oll?” There was no hostility in her voice; no sense that she was ridiculing his faith; it was simply a question, nothing more.

Julius thought for a moment, and began, slowly at first, but soon he spoke with earnest fervour. “No, no I have not. But sometimes I feel Him. He’s been there for me for as long as I can remember, and though I may neglect Him sometimes, He’s never neglected me. My friends all find it strange that I believe, but I don’t let that get to me. I have faith that He’s there, that He has a plan for me, and that when my time comes He will welcome me with open arms.”

Summer smiled at him, a smile full of warmth. “I feel the same way about the Emperor. We’re not that different, are we? We both have faith in a higher power, and we both know others don’t like our beliefs.”

“Yeah, we are. We are.” Julius could say no more, there was nothing else he could say. He politely took his leave, returned to his room, and sat down hard on his cot. Summer was so far removed from Keiter; Julius could hardly believe they held the same beliefs. She didn’t act holier than thou, she didn’t use her beliefs as an excuse the way Keiter did, she didn’t consider herself better than other people because of her faith, and what to Julius was the most important of all, she didn’t ridicule his own faith, she accepted it. And she didn’t accept it with that air of distaste he had come to expect from his days at Imperator High. Even Isis found his beliefs unusual. She’d never accepted them as gracefully as Summer did; it had taken time for her to come to terms with his faith. He’d never had to think about his faith this way before, as the only other person who could be compared to him in that regard was Faith Aurelian, and she hadn’t been a shining example for faith, no pun intended. For the first time since he arrived on Seadelant, he took out his Crux, knelt down at the foot of his cot, and began to pray.

“So that’s it?”

“It would seem so my lord. Thanks to your efforts, we got over ninety percent of the PDF and eighty-seven percent of the Army out before the Orks broke in. Even in defeat you still saved the day.”

Ahriman didn’t feel like he had saved anything. The outer city was now infested with Orks, occupied by the foe. The inner walls were heavily garrisoned by the Army and PDF, and the repositioned artillery had just begun to throw shells into the occupied sections to deny the Orks cover and kill as many of them as possible, but the inner walls were also shorter and less steep, making it possible for the Orks to climb them with grappling claws. The task of defending what was left of the city had just got a whole lot harder.

Ahriman stood in Huron’s square, where the artillery was setting up and beginning to fire once again, and weary soldiers were trying to catch some rest. The aide had presented him with the complete casualty report from the Ork breakthrough, and though the news sounded good, nearly two thousand troopers had been killed in the defence of the breach, and during the desperate rearguard action as they fell back to the inner wall gate. Most of the Tanith troopers had elected to stay behind when he had given the retreat order, and buy some more time with their lives. For so many years he’d heard about the reputation of the new Tanith regiments, but only now was he truly appreciating it. If only there had been some regiments of them during the Crusade, maybe it wouldn’t have dragged on for so long. He’d already approved the list for posthumous medals, and it was getting longer by the day. Nearby, Commissar Lord Günter cursed loudly as several medics treated him. His arm had nearly been cut off when he had gone one on one with a Meganob, the Ork equivalent of a Terminator. Amazingly despite his injury he had bested the Meganob, felling it with a Plasma Pistol shot to the head, although the blow had cut all the way to the bone, and Günter wouldn’t be fighting fit for a week or more. He hoped Tanith morale wouldn’t suffer because of it.

“Heads up my lord, the Graf approaches.” Graf Trakeria was heading towards him, escorted by a pair of bodyguards with Hellguns. He could see the anger smouldering in her aura, though whether that was directed against the Orks, or him, he couldn’t tell. Either way it didn’t bode well. Trakeria came up to him, nodded very briefly, not very convincingly, before coming straight to the point. “Well my lord, thanks to you the loss of the outer city wasn’t a complete catastrophe. We salvaged something from that mess.” Emphasis on the We, she obviously didn’t like the direction his command was taking and wanted to remind him that she nominally commanded the cities defence alone. “The Governor isn’t happy though. Your artillery is now reducing her city to rubble, the city you pledged to protect.”

“And the Orks are pillaging it as well. You don’t think I know? My sight was blinded, and this was the result.” There was bitterness in Ahriman’s voice, after the glorious chaos of the battle he felt empty inside and the full weight of his failure. In battle he was the master of his destiny, outside of it he felt his failures keenly. He should have seen that Rok coming, seen it long before it did its damage. But once again his sight had failed him, as it had been failing him ever since that vision, what seemed like years ago. Since then he had exchanged his teacher’s uniform for his crimson armour, fought the dark side of Terra with the Night Haunter, saved two brave but foolish teens from certain death, and left Terra in disgrace as a result of all that. The greatest astartes psyker ever, disgraced before the Emperor Himself. How the mighty have fallen.

Trakeria pressed home her advantage. “Lord Ahriman, are you sure you’re up for leading the defence now? You’ve done all you can, and done a damn good job of it. You hit the landing force hard, and were a great help in destroying the towers. But it seems your powers are no longer working as well as you wanted; given you let that Rok slip past your sight. It might be time you gave command back to me. I’d be glad to keep you on in an advisory role, but I’m human, and from what I hear I understand the stresses of command better than you seem to do.”

“If I hand over the defence to you, the city will fall in less than a week.” Trakeria stared at him, open mouthed at his snub, but he wasn’t finished. “You have no experience of real battle; you’ve spent this whole time commanding from that bunker, not facing death alongside the men and women. I respect your authority, and have consulted you before every decision I have made, but I alone have seen all the Greenskins are capable of, and I know what they’re likely to do now that they hold the outer city. What do you know of war, beyond the books you’ve read?”

She took a step back, then another one, her mouth opening and closing but no words coming out. Ahriman was sick and tired of people questioning him because they thought they knew better, and this woman was only the latest in a long line stretching back many years. She had to face the hard truth, they were on a knife edge, and one false move would see the fall of the city, and the planet with it.

“We’re in for a long siege now, and as before our only hope is holding until relief arrives. I can ensure we hold, but only if you let me have freedom of action. I will keep you informed as before, but you won’t try to meddle. Is that quite understood?”

“Yes my lord.” Trakeria visibly deflated, and she turned and slunk back towards the PDF building, her guards following. Ahriman had enough on his hands already, without political intrigue to add to the burden. He didn’t want to have to watch his back as well as his front, one enemy was enough. If he damn well survived this, he would head out somewhere where no-one could disturb his meditation. Angelus sounded good at this time of year.

“What was that all about?” Günter asked, his injured arm now in a sling.

“Just the Graf needing a few reminders.”

“Oh? That bad eh?” Günter looked uncomfortable in bandages, and Ahriman could see him grimace every time he moved his arm. “Technically a Commissar is a Political rank, but I have never been one for politics, too much mess and confusion. Give me a foe I can face, a weapon in my hand and I’m as happy as a Grox in the mud.”

“The same here. We never had to worry much about politics during the Crusade. Everything was so much simpler back then.” Ahriman turned to go, and then stopped as a thought entered his mind.

“By the by, those CDA troopers who were helping us at the breach. Do we know if they made it?”

“I can check my lord, but it doesn’t seem likely. I never saw them after you gave the retreat order, and they would have been mentioned in the reports.”

“That’s ok. It was only a thought.” Another five lives sacrificed to the Green Menace. He didn’t know why, but there was something about those five civilian volunteers which had interested him. The woman in particular, she had run past a bevy of angry Meganobz to resupply him with shells for his Bolt Pistol, and he had even seen her take out a Trukk full of Orks with a frag grenade while supplying ammunition to the Belladon troops. Back then as the war raged around him he felt like there was something deeper to these mad civilians, something which might tie in to the fate of this world, another string of fate gently tugging at him, reminding him of futures to come. Now that too was gone, and all he had left were those endless, nagging doubts.