It is the 41st millennium. For more than a hundred centuries the Emperor has sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Earth. He is the master of mankind by the will of the gods, and master of a million worlds by the might of his inexhaustible armies. He is a rotting carcass writhing invisibly with power from the Dark Age of Technology. He is the Carrion Lord of the Imperium for whom a thousand souls are sacrificed every day, so that he may never truly die.

Yet even in his deathless state, the Emperor continues his eternal vigilance. Mighty battlefleets cross the daemon-infested miasma of the warp, the only route between distant stars, their way lit by the Astronomican, the psychic manifestation of the Emperor’s will. Vast armies give battle in his name on uncounted worlds. Greatest amongst His soldiers are the Adeptus Astartes, the Space Marines, bio-engineered super-warriors. Their comrades in arms are legion: the Imperial Guard and countless planetary defence forces, the ever-vigilant Inquisition and the tech-priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus to name only a few. But for all their multitudes, they are barely enough to hold off the ever-present threat from aliens, heretics, mutants - and worse.

To be a man in such times is to be one amongst untold billions. It is to live in the cruellest and most bloody regime imaginable. These are the tales of those times. Forget the power of technology and science, for so much has been forgotten, never to be re-learned. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in the grim dark future there is only war. There is no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of thirsting gods.

‘The more I learn about these aliens, the more I come to understand what drives them, the more I hate them. I hate them for what they are and for what they may one day become. I hate them not because they hate us but because they are incapable of good, honest, human hatred.’

Inquisitor Agmar

PROLOGUE

If ever there were an abomination given form, it was the tyranid hive ship. Cassius could see it clearly through the armoured windows above the launch bays. Less than three hundred kilometres away, the hive ship was a blot against the bright orb of Argo Secundus’s primary moon; an impossibly vast, half-coiled mass of chitin and flesh. The Chaplain could not see the damage wrought by the battle-barge’s torpedoes and cannons but knew from experience that the alien creature’s armoured form would be pocked and split from plasma blasts and shell detonations. Feeder tendrils, each dozens of kilometres long, trailed from the prow of the hive ship, and a miasma of frozen ichor surrounded the wounded craft.

Though injured, the hive ship was still a threat to the planet below. It was too close to Argo Secundus for further bombardment; if it were further crippled the hive ship would disgorge its mycetic spores onto the world in a last, desperate detonation to despatch its cargo of bio-constructs. Long, hard experience had taught the Ultramarines this, so the commander of the battle-barge had known when to stop the attack, just short of that self-destructive orgy of seeding.

The next strike would be the riskiest. Cassius and his warriors would board the hive ship with virus charges and melta detonators, to cripple the synaptic corridors along its dorsal nerveways. With these pathways severed, the hive ship would not be able to launch its thousands of spores, trapping the creatures aboard. The strike force would withdraw and the Ultramarines flotilla would complete the hive ship’s destruction.

It sounded simple, this breach-and-destroy mission. Like all Space Marine Chapters, the Ultramarines had perfected starship assault tactics over their long history, and in recent decades the Codex Astartes had expanded with the experience of fighting the tyranids.

In practice, it would be a tense, bloody action. The tyranids excelled at close quarters combat, even more so than the Adeptus Astartes, and the Ultramarines task force would literally be entering the heart of their nest-ship. Speed and precision would be vital.

Leaving the gantry, Chaplain Cassius made his way down to the launch bay below. His black-painted armour glowed with a dull, ruddy aura in the pre-launch lighting. In their blue livery, the seventy-two Space Marines of his command waited beside four boarding torpedoes, ready for the order to embark on the transport missiles. Cassius knew that in the neighbouring bay, three Thunderhawk gunships were readying to lift off, carrying another assault force that would conduct an initial strike against the energy cortex located in the underbelly of the hive ship.

Striding across the mesh decking, he opened a vox channel to address his force. The Ultramarines turned in unison to face their venerable leader, raising bolters and heavy weapons in salute as he stopped at the top of the ramp leading up to the closest boarding torpedo.

‘Hail the Emperor!’ Cassius declared, the call echoed over the vox-net by his warriors. ‘Praise the primarch! Today we go into battle against the worst kind of foe. We know this enemy well, for they came to our own world, to glorious Macragge. On the snowy tundra and the windswept plains, our brothers and forebears gave their lives to defeat the tyranid menace. This foe, this filthy xenos plague, brought our Chapter to the brink of annihilation, but we prevailed. It is our duty to protect mankind against such alien horror, but to face the tyranids is more than a duty; to destroy them is more than a matter of honour and glory. It is our right!

‘There are countless foes that beset the worlds under our aegis, but it is for the tyranids that we must unleash our greatest hatred. The threat they pose is nigh immeasurable. Dozens of worlds we have lost to them. That would be reason enough to eradicate them, to seek them out at every turn and wipe them from existence. There is another, grander reason to be proud of their extinction. The foe we destroy today is a pitiless, unthinking devourer of worlds. It is an alien intelligence that is beyond our comprehension because it is incapable of any act other than destruction.

‘We are the Emperor’s Angels of Death, but in raining death upon our enemies we bring safety and prosperity to mankind. The tyranids are a malaise of galactic proportions that do not negotiate, do not barter or surrender. Only the utter annihilation of every tyranid organism will see this threat ended; only with the most ruthless hatred will we prevail against them.

‘It is not our battle-barges and bolters, our lascannons and melta bombs that will bring us victory. These are merely devices of destruction. It is our will to wield them without compromise, to unleash righteous devastation in the Emperor’s name, which will bring us victory. Hate these foes! Hate them with every fibre of your being. Hate them in your hearts and despise them in your souls. Purge them with flamer and sword and rejoice at their deaths.

‘There are some men, weak philosophers and cowards, who say that hatred clouds the judgement. They are wrong! Hatred gives us purity. Hatred gives us focus. Hatred gives us our purpose. Board now the vessels that will take us to the foe and make us the instruments of the Emperor’s vengeance and listen to my words of hate. Bring your thoughts to bear on this tale as you prepare for battle against this noxious enemy.

‘Let me tell you of the cleansing power of hatred. Listen to the story of Styxia and know that hatred is our most potent weapon.’

CHAPTER I

The bureaucrats of the Departmento Munitorum called it Phagolitic Xenos Threat Omega-seven-octa; the men and women tasked to fight the invading aliens simply called it Hive Swarm Gorgon. The first sign of the hive swarm’s approach had been the encroachment of the so-called Shadow in the Warp over the Styxia star system. Blotting out astropathic communication, eclipsing the holy light of the Astronomican, the might of the tyranid hive mind had swathed Styxia and the surrounding systems with psychic darkness. Astropaths of the affected worlds had broadcast general alarms as the Shadow had enveloped the populated star systems to the galactic east of Styxia, where Hive Fleet Kraken had splintered after the great battle for Ichar IV.

The warp shuddered with the dream-messages of the astropaths. Attuned psykers within hundreds of light years were assailed by images of all-devouring maws and grasping claws. A filthy umbra tainted everything, creating a serpentine, coagulating mass of hysterical ravings and apocalyptic vistas that drove many astropaths to madness and suicide; their last words ranted warnings of a terrifying beast of the abyss arisen to consume the galaxy.

Then there had been silence; black and impenetrable.

The Chief Librarian of the Ultramarines, Tigurius, had felt these panicked waves through the warp and known well what they presaged; as had other astropaths on waystations and monitoring posts across the sector. The Ultramarines were not the only force to have heard the cries for help suddenly snuffed out by the all-consuming advance of the tyranids: the Imperial Navy and Imperial Guard were being mustered for battle at Styxia. The quietude that had followed the eclipsing of the beleaguered astropaths was filled by message and counter-message that commanded the raising of regiments and the redirection of fleets.

Knowing this, Tigurius relayed the matter of the unfolding situation to Marneus Calgar, his Chapter Master, aboard ship en route to a campaign against the orks rampaging through the Vortengard Spiral. The flotilla came together at Arensis, the first of several staging stops to keep the vessels together on the seven hundred-light-year journey to Vortengard. Knowing that further progress would take his warriors away from Styxia, the Chapter Master called a pause before the next warp translation and brought together his trusted advisors – members of the Librarius, his company captains and Chaplain Cassius, most venerable of the Chapter’s warriors.

From across the fleet they gathered on the flagship, the Octavius.

They formed their quorum in Calgar’s personal chambers, to discuss their response to Tigurius’s communication. Their meeting took place in a small hall, lit by hanging rosettes that gleamed with golden light reflected from marble pillars flanking the chamber. The walls were painted with murals depicting famous scenes from across the realm of Ultramar: the pillared underground halls of Calth; Kronor’s immense furnace-spire whose summit burns brighter than the local star; rugged mountains swept by lightning storms on Espandor; Guilliman’s solace lodge amongst the forests of Iax; surf-cutters chasing a giant aquatic beast on Talassar.

The floor was made of heavy tiles of obsidian and granite, each inlaid with a gilded insignia in the shape of an inverted omega: the symbol of the Ultramarines. The council table stood at the centre of the room, also dark in colour, circular in shape and large enough for twenty Space Marines to be seated around it. Before each chair was a sigil carved into the top of the table and set with shining silver to mark the position of the council attendees: Master of the Fleet; Master of the Watch; Chief of the Librarium; Chancellor of Macragge; Master of Sanctity and many others. It was not often that every seat was filled, such were the many demands that split the Chapter across the Eastern Fringe. Today would not be such a day, though nearly a dozen captains and other high ranking officers would be in attendance.

The ceiling was decorated by tiny glass beads that formed a mosaic of the Seal of Macragge – a wreath-crowned eagle between scrolled insignia that had been the mark of Konor, foster father to the Ultramarines Primarch Roboute Guilliman. It had become the badge of office of every Chapter Master since the old Legion had been split; a mark that was now the privilege and the burden of Marneus Augustus Calgar.

Sitting on a heavy, high-backed chair, the Chapter Master of the Ultramarines waited patiently for his warriors to attend him and make their statements of allegiance and dedication. He accepted the liege-words of each warrior with a simple nod of the head. His hands, encased in the massive Gauntlets of Ultramar, lay in his lap unmoving, though his stillness of body was not matched by his eyes. These moved quickly, taking in the faces and expressions of all who came into the hall, reading their mood and intent by long experience and close companionship. Of the Chapter Master’s disposition there was little sign, except perhaps tightness in the jaw and a slight downward curl of the mouth that hinted at some disquiet.

Armoured in their full war panoply and accompanied by their entourages of servitors and serfs, the command council attended to the words of their Chapter Master. Each knelt and spoke words of fealty, flanked by banner bearers and helots carrying weapons and other relics appropriate to the rank and duties of their master, before taking their station at the large table that filled the centre of the hall.

Calgar’s explanation of the situation was brief and to the point: the Ultramarines were already committed to the battles at Vortengard and other Imperial forces had responded to the menace at Styxia. It was his view that the Ultramarines should continue on their set course and defer the defence of Styxia to the Guard and Navy forces already being despatched.

‘The matter seems to be in hand,’ said Captain Ixion, commander of the Seventh Company.

‘Styxia is an agri-world, home to less than five million souls,’ pointed out Captain Agemman, who held the title of Regent of Ultramar, second in authority only to Calgar. ‘A thousand thousand times that number are threatened at Vortengard. Our priorities are clear, we must not be distracted from our current course of action.’

‘Had we rebuilt ourselves to our full complement from the devastation at Ichar IV, we might respond,’ said Pulo Astersis, a veteran Techmarine who was the most senior member of the Armoury present in the fleet and hence de facto Master of the Forge. ‘Still we await replacements to the vehicles and armour lost in that conflict.’

Cassius growled his displeasure and the eyes of all the Space Marines around the table turned in his direction. The Chaplain stood up and leaned forwards, resting the knuckles of his armoured gauntlets on the polished black marble of the table. Like the table, the Chaplain’s armour was jet black, only his left shoulder pad painted in the blue of the Ultramarines. Skull devices adorned his armour amongst a welter of wax-sealed purity parchments, and at his hip was chained a copy of the Liber Ultramar: the roll of honour of the Ultramarines.

He was the oldest warrior of the Chapter, not including those who had been chosen for the honour of internment in a Dreadnought. Cassius’s skin was thick and leathery, heavily scarred from centuries of fighting. His short-cropped hair was pure white. His right eye had been replaced by an augmetic substitute decades before, and the red lens of the bionic glittered in the lights of the hall.

‘You wish to say something?’ said Marneus Calgar, waving a hand to invite Cassius to speak.

‘It is not my place to countermand the wishes of this council, but I have words that need to be heard,’ said the Chaplain. His voice was deep, his words spoken quickly but clearly. ‘Who knows better than those seated here what devastation the tyranids can unleash? Who but the Ultramarines has the experience and the knowledge to defeat this threat? More than that, who above the Ultramarines do the people of the Imperium look to for salvation from this alien menace?’

‘We cannot fight every foe, no matter how much we might desire it,’ said Agemman. ‘Always we must weigh up the price of action. Styxia cannot be considered a more important cause than the hive-worlds and manufactories of the Vortengard Spiral.’

‘In material terms, you are correct,’ said Cassius, moving his gaze from one Space Marine to the next, until his eyes met those of Marneus Calgar. ‘Yet it is not our place to make purely material judgements. We are the Ultramarines, Primogenitors of many hundreds of Chapters, spiritual leaders amongst the Adeptus Astartes. Our actions resonate across the galaxy, for good or ill. What are we to say if Styxia falls to the tyranids? It was a battle not worthy of our attention?’

‘You do not know that Styxia will fall,’ said Agemman when Calgar offered no reply. ‘Nor can you say for certain that our intervention is necessary to prevent its fall. Styxia is unremarkable.’

‘Perhaps your detestation of the tyranids clouds your judgement, Cassius,’ suggested Captain Ixion, his voice mellow despite the accusation behind the words. ‘You seek retaliation in opposition to strategic necessity. Our judgement must be of sound military basis, not founded upon emotion and personal desire.’

‘Yes, I detest the tyranids!’ said Cassius, thumping a hand to the tabletop, causing the whole slab to shudder. ‘It is no bad thing to hate our foes with passion and conviction. You speak at this council to provide rationale and strategy. I am your inferior in this regard and do not gainsay any statements that have been made. If we are to resolve ourselves entirely by cold logic and logistics, there is no argument.’

‘Yet you have another view?’ asked Ixion

‘I am Master of Sanctity and it is for the honour and spirit of the Chapter that I speak,’ said Cassius. ‘If we do not fight at Styxia, then where would we do battle? If each action is weighed only on the merits of risk and reward, what of our reputation and the example we set?’

Cassius stepped away from the table and crossed the hall to where a broad bookcase stood beneath a tapestry showing the north facade of the Macragge senate house. The Chaplain took the first volume from the top shelf, a hefty tome the spine of which barely fitted into his giant hand. Carrying the book, he moved around the table and placed it in front of Agemman.

‘The Codex Astartes,’ said Cassius, stroking the book with a reverent gesture. ‘Penned by the primarch. Show me, Severus, where in the wisdom of Guilliman are we told to put logic before honour?’

Captain Agemman did not rise to the bait, but instead glanced at Calgar for support. None was immediately forthcoming, the Chapter Master seeming content to keep his thoughts to himself for the moment while his subordinates aired their differences of opinion. Whether he had made up his mind and was gauging the mettle of his officers, or was genuinely waiting for them to conclude their counsel, was not obvious.

‘I can turn to the pages that tell us not to waste the lives of our warriors in the cause of vanity, if you like,’ said Ixion, reaching across the table for the Codex.

Cassius’s hand met the captain’s just before Ixion grasped the book, fingers gripping the other Space Marine’s wrist. The Chaplain locked his eyes to those of the other Space Marine, his expression stern rather than angered.

‘I know the pages of which you speak,’ said Cassius. ‘It is not a fool’s errand that we face. It is not vainglory to support the soldiers and ships of the Imperium.’ The Chaplain released his grip, picked up the Codex Astartes and returned to his chair. ‘If not Styxia, then where? There is always some other threat, some other world to be saved. You are correct: we cannot be everywhere at once. Yet we are expected to be. What world is important enough that we would always leap to its defence? Macragge? What if Terra were under threat, would we defend even Macragge? We do not weigh the lives of men by their numbers and we do not judge the worth of a world simply by its strategic significance.’

‘To what advantage would we send our warriors into this campaign?’ said Agemman. ‘If not strategic, nor personal, what end do we serve if we were to respond to this call above all others?’

‘We give hope,’ Cassius said quietly. ‘Ever has it been that the Space Marines are too few to conquer every threat. Yet the truth of our existence and the hope of our intervention steels the hearts of lesser warriors and lends strength to their conviction. They hold out against impossible odds and offer up prayers to the Emperor that the Angels of Death will come. They fight harder, knowing that if they do so we might intervene. Mankind believes our Emperor to be a god, and that is both foolish and blind. Yet they also believe the Adeptus Astartes to be the instrument of His will, and that is not so ignorant. I cannot say whether the Emperor answers prayers thrown up in desperation, but I do know that the Ultramarines reply to calls for aid if it is possible. To not answer that cry for help threatens to shatter something far more precious than ore worlds and hive factories: faith in the Space Marines.’

There was no word raised from the captains against the powerful argument spoken by the Master of Sanctity. Ixion shook his head slightly as Cassius looked directly at him, while Agemman lowered his eyes, unable to meet the Chaplain’s gaze. The council turned to Marneus Calgar, who had remained attentive but dispassionate throughout the exchange.

‘We cannot abandon our war against the orks,’ he said, raising a hand as Cassius opened his mouth to offer argument, silencing the Chaplain. The Chapter Master looked at Cassius. ‘Oaths have been sworn to defend the people of the Vortengard Spiral. However, it is not right that we abandon Styxia to the uncertain care of the Imperial Guard. Our expertise could prove vital in such a campaign.’

Calgar stood up and walked around the table to lay a hand on the shoulder plate of the Chaplain.

‘Cassius will lead a task force to Styxia. Company-strength, drawn from across the Chapter,’ Calgar continued. ‘One hundred Space Marines should be enough of a command to make the presence of the Ultramarines felt. Does that suit you?’

‘It does,’ said Cassius with a nod. ‘I shall ask for volunteers.’

‘No,’ said Agemman. ‘That would be unfair. There is not a battle-brother in the Chapter who would not follow you to war, and I would not have those who are not chosen feel that they have been judged against. We shall draw a force from amongst our companies sufficient for the task.’

‘As I warned, materiel is scarce,’ said Astersis. The Techmarine stroked his chin in thought. ‘Some Rhinos and Razorbacks could be spared.’

‘Take the strike cruiser Fidelis as transport,’ said Calgar. ‘It has sufficient berths and craft to effect a landing for one hundred warriors.’

‘Your faith will be rewarded,’ said Cassius. ‘A hundred Space Marines is a force that will baulk any foe. The glory of the Ultramarines will be maintained, our honour upheld.’

‘I will look unkindly upon unnecessary heroics,’ said Calgar, his expression grim. ‘We cannot afford heavy casualties at this time. I trust you not to spend the lives of the Chapter’s warriors without good cause. Do not disappoint me.’

Feeling chastised, Cassius dropped to one knee and bowed his head to his Chapter Master.

‘Your disappointment would be the most severe castigation I could suffer,’ said the Chaplain. ‘We will not fail.’

CHAPTER II

At first encounter, Cassius thought the defence of Styxia appeared shambolic. Once the Fidelis had transitioned back into realspace and gained full sensor reports, a more coherent pattern emerged and the Chaplain evaluated his assessment of his new allies.

Four hive ships had entered Styxia several weeks earlier. One had been destroyed by the great effort and sacrifice of the system defence ships and the first elements of the Imperial Navy flotilla that had been despatched. Two others had been intercepted and turned away from the most heavily populated world, Styxia Prime, though they remained dangerously close to gaining orbit over the world.

The fourth had not been stopped. It was dead now, a gigantic carcass with a slowly depleting orbit that looked like a small, shrivelled moon circling Styxia Prime. Its destruction had been too late, however, and a huge mass of tyranids had made planetfall.

Still ten days from Styxia, Cassius ordered the Fidelis to approach at full speed, ignoring the ongoing cat-and-mouse encounter between the Imperial vessels and the two functioning hive ships. All attempts to separate the tyranid vessels from one another had failed, and the battleship and two light cruisers tasked by the Navy to halt the invasion simply did not have enough firepower to take on both foes at once. Navy reinforcements were supposedly only days away, including two battle cruisers, but there was a fear that Gorgon had not yet revealed its whole strength and other hive ships might appear at any time.

The first priority was to secure the main city of Plains Fall, which formed the hub of the agri-world’s exporting capability. A city-sized starport, Plains Fall was the only vaguely defensible position on the entire planet; the rest of the population was spread thinly across the farms that provided cereal and grox meat to hungry hive-worlds light years away.

Although the Imperial Navy had not fared too well in its initial defence of the system, they had safely transported two Imperial Guard regiments to the surface before the tyranid landing: the Astcarian Fourth, a heavy infantry formation which had been bolstered by a company of Imperial storm troopers; and the Cadian 308th who had been despatched from their home world on the other side of the galaxy two years before, in response to the battles against Hive Fleet Kraken in the build-up to the war for Ichar IV.

In overall command of the Imperial defenders was General Arka, who Cassius had met before in the aftermath of Ichar IV. This heartened the Chaplain a little, as Arka was known as a capable commander and Cassius’s own experience of the man had been positive. Three days from orbit, the two were able to hold a conference of sorts.

It was during this brief council of war that Cassius received further good news. Several Titans of the Legio Fortitudis had been brought to Styxia, including two massive Warlord-class machines. The only deficiency that Cassius could see was a lack of airpower and orbital supremacy. With the Imperial Navy unable to destroy the remaining hive ships for the time being, the troops on the ground were wary of further enemy planetfalls. Though the arrival of the Fidelis was a little boon in this regard, the strike cruiser was mainly fitted out for orbital assault rather than engaging other starships. The bulk of her space was taken up with launch bays and drop-pod cascades, her weapons geared towards providing orbital bombardment of a dropsite prior to the Space Marines’ assault.

During their short conversation, Arka invited Cassius to join him at Plains Fall to assist in the defence of the city. The decision had been made to pull as many inhabitants as possible back to the city, sacrificing the fields and grox farms to the tyranid swarm. Crops could be re-seeded and herds re-stocked in a short space of time, but the massed orbital elevators and docking facilities at Plains Fall would take decades to rebuild if they were overrun and destroyed.

The city had grown around three gravity lifts that soared up into the clouds. Each metres-thick cable was still working, offloading the last harvests to cargo haulers waiting in orbit, the bulk carriers elevating thousands of tonnes of raw foodstuff every few minutes while empty carriages descended. Scores of warehouses the size of hangars encircled the lifters, supplied by a steady stream of crawlers that entered along the dozen roads radiating from the transit hub like spokes of a wheel. Each highway was lined with teetering tenements housing thousands of stevedores and teamsters, overlooked from an artificial mount by the white-walled palace of the Imperial Commander, Sevastin Goul.

Fourteen landing aprons were arrayed around the central complex, linked by a maze of elevated highways and railroads that teemed with trucks and locomotives. Steam and smoke and exhaust fumes billowed around the city, creating a hazy fog that drifted lazily into the cloudy sky.

As soon as the Fidelis had attained low orbit, Cassius took a Thunderhawk down to the city. As he descended towards the main dock, the forces and preparations of the Imperial Guard were evident all across Plains Fall.

Earthworks tens of metres high were being erected around the whole of Plains Fall. Prefabricated bunkers were shipped into position slung beneath enormous tetracopters. Engineer and pioneer teams hundreds-strong dug kilometres of trenchworks and excavated dozens of revetments for mortars and heavy weapons. At each of the twelve inroads, fortified bastions were growing up from the bare earth, studded with weapons turrets and firing ports, covering the open approaches into the city.

Storage sacks had been filled with dirt and sand to make bagged enclosures on the top of the flat-roofed buildings, manned by the Guardsmen under General Arka’s command. Columns of Leman Russ tanks prowled further out along the highway, while at the limit of vision, squadrons of Sentinel walkers patrolled back and forth, waiting for the first approach of the tyranids.

The Titans of the Legio Fortitudis stood guard to the north and west: a Warlord Titan at each highway supported by smaller Warhound Titans and hundreds of Adeptus Mechanicus skitarii in Chimera transports and eight-wheeled armoured cars. The adepts of the Machine-God had brought with them batteries of strange-looking weapons mounted on four-legged walking machines. Cassius recognised some of the artillery – sonic cannons, plasma launchers, lightning generators and more mundane shell-firers – while others were a bewildering array of tubes, cables and dishes whose purpose was unknown to the Chaplain.

Imperial Navy forward ground officers and Departmento Munitorum quartermasters marshalled the effort, and it was from one of these that Cassius’s pilot received confirmation that General Arka had made his headquarters in the Teamster Guildhouse near to landing pad quatros. Directions were given and the Thunderhawk touched down in a spume of plasma and smoke in the north-west of Plains Fall.

Striding down the Thunderhawk’s ramp, Cassius found himself greeted by a contingent of Cadian officers in long coats and peaked caps. Their uniforms were dark grey mottled with ochre, and every one of the five men had at least a half-dozen honour badges pinned to their breasts or stitched on the sides of their caps. No aristocratic officer class here, as was found in many Imperial regiments. These were Cadian commanders, raised on the most embattled world in the Imperium and promoted purely on merit and ability.

‘I am Colonel Taulin,’ one introduced himself: a short, wiry man with a thin, grey moustache and bright blue eyes. ‘General Arka’s aide-in-chief.’

Cassius nodded in greeting as the others stepped forwards and gave their names. Taulin waved to a half-track staff car parked at the side of the apron. Two gunners manned heavy stubbers in a compartment at the back, their weapons trained towards the sky.

‘We have had sporadic gargoyle attacks for the last two days,’ explained Taulin, noticing the object of Cassius’s interest. ‘No great numbers, just scouting forces we think.’

Without comment, Cassius followed the man to the vehicle and vaulted over the side into the space between the gunners, the half-track rocking on its axles from his weight. The officers sat down on the padded benches in front as the driver gunned the engine. Taulin twisted in his seat to continue the conversation.

‘Sorry we couldn’t find something a bit more dignified to convey you to the general, but all of the Chimeras are being used to ferry as many refugees as we can find into the city.’

Cassius tested a thick-sided ammo crate and found it sturdy enough to use as a seat. Still he towered over the other men as he looked down into the wood-panelled seating compartment.

‘Do not bother yourself in that regard,’ said the Chaplain. ‘I expect to be treated with the minimum of ceremony and pomp. We are all soldiers of the Emperor here.’

‘Of course,’ said Taulin, stretching an arm along the back of the bench. ‘General Arka would have met you himself, but we have just received word that contact was lost with a storm trooper patrol about eighty kilometres to the west. The general is coordinating our response.’

The staff car bumped off the apron access ramp onto a potholed roadway that headed west towards the edge of the city. To either side, doors and windows on the column-fronted grain stores were being barricaded, while more Guardsmen set up anti-air weapons atop silos and vast storage tanks.

‘Arka is a man attentive to detail, if I remember him correctly,’ said Cassius

This raised an unexpected laugh from the cadre of officers.

‘Yes, he is very keen on detail,’ said one of the lieutenants. ‘Arka would pick the target of every man and woman under his command if he were able!’

‘I hope he realises that my force will operate with autonomy from the general command structure,’ said Cassius. ‘I will discuss strategy with him, but the operational implementation of our agreed plan will be my decision alone.’

‘The general expected as much,’ said Taulin. He pointed at a building a little way ahead with a wide portico at the front reached by a flight of shallow stone steps. Numerous communications masts and dishes had been set up on the roof. ‘Our headquarters, Chaplain.’

A Leman Russ Demolisher was parked up by the entrance, the short but wide barrel of its howitzer directed up the street. A platoon of storm troopers in heavy carapace armour coloured a deep red, hellguns held across their chests, stood guard at the top of the steps. Their faces were hidden behind the black visors of their helms, reflecting the front of the building opposite as they watched the new arrivals disembarking from their vehicles. Their lieutenant gave a shout and they came to attention, presenting their weapons amid the clash of booted feet.

Taulin gave a fly-swat of a salute in return as he took the steps two at a time, trying to keep up with the long stride of Cassius, the other command orderlies trailing behind the pair. The Chaplain stopped and placed his fist against the Imperial aquila emblazoned across the gorget of his armour in a return gesture.

The interior was the same as Cassius had experienced countless times before; a mess of people and equipment that seemed to be teetering on the line between calm and anarchy. The doors to the guildhouse opened on to a tiled lobby, and through open archways to each side could be seen groups of Guardsmen clustered around vox sets, analytical cogitators, map tables and hololithic displays.

The soldiers of the Emperor were dressed in a variety of uniforms. Amongst the grey-and-tan of the Cadians were bright splashes of deep blue trench coats, which Cassius presumed were the colours of the Astcarians. Here and there, the sombre black of the commissars was present, watching over everything with stern expressions and hawk-like vigilance. Half-machine servitors babbled streams of information from the vox traffic, while young boys in tight overalls ran to and fro carrying messages from one command staff to another. A few tech-priests monitored the metriculators and sensor banks, their red robes standing out amongst the darker fatigues of the Guardsmen.

Taulin paid no attention to the throng, leading Cassius to another flight of steps that swept up from the far end of the lobby to the storey above. At the top, he turned and walked around a mezzanine overlooking the foyer, taking the Chaplain to a broad set of double doors leading to a room above the entrance.

Inside was a stark contrast to the activity below. The chamber was obviously some kind of meeting hall for the guild – their badge of crossed cranes was emblazoned at one end behind a stage of dark wood, with worker team banners and plaques mounted to either side. Chairs, cabinets and other furniture had been carefully stacked in front of the long row of high windows overlooking the street, leaving only the light from a huge chandelier at the centre of the hall.

In the wide space, General Arka had set up two distinct areas. On the stage had been mounted a larger projector mechanism, attended by a pair of servitors and a junior lieutenant. On the sheet-like screen beneath the guild seal was displayed a map of Downland, the continent on which Plains Fall was situated. Under the direction of the lieutenant, the servitors interfaced with their device, overlaying runes and sigils onto the chart to represent Imperial positions and the possible locations of the tyranids.

Cassius had studied the topography of Styxia Prime whilst travelling through the warp on the way to the system. It had three major landmasses, the largest of which was Downland, covering nearly twenty-eight million square kilometres. Many thousands of years ago, sometime during the Dark Age of Technology, the first human settlers had come to this world and re-ordered the planet to their liking. Mountains had been levelled, seas filled in and rivers diverted to create a land of pastures and gentle uplands. At the heart of Downland were four artificial volcanoes, delved into the earth to bring forth nutrient-rich expulsions that were conveyed by land and water to the mega-farms.

The hills around these volcanoes had been seeded with fast-growing trees to provide hard timber, and it was from this dense wood that many of Styxia Prime’s buildings were constructed, with only the largest and most important edifices, such as the starport and governor’s palace, being supplemented with ferrocrete panels and ornamented with sandstone blocks quarried from the coastal cliffs.

Plains Fall was located to the east of the continent; its name derived from the thousands of square kilometres of flat fields that surrounded the city. The highways that converged on the city traversed the length and breadth of Downland, crossing hundreds of rivers and canals. For much of their length, the carriageways were raised up on enormous piles fifty metres above the ground, enabling crops and livestock to be grown beneath and allowing the highways to traverse irrigation waterways without interruption. The longest of these stretches, the so called Minoran Gradient, lifted one of the east-west roads to the central highlands, not touching the fertile earth for two and a half thousand kilometres.

A cursory glance at the strategic map confirmed to Cassius that General Arka was concentrating his forces to the west of the city. Sensor reports had shown that the majority of the tyranid spores from the dying hive ship had landed in the volcanic uplands. There was nothing to prevent them ravaging the lands further westwards – there being no settlement or natural feature upon which to form a defensive salient – and so Arka had rightly drawn a cordon across the highways leading from the highlands to Plains Fall, to intercept any swarm-broods advancing on the city. The rest of Downland would be sacrificed for the survival of the world’s only major conurbation.

A much smaller, more primitive, map was mounted on a wooden easel in front of the stage, depicting Plains Fall itself. It was a mass of colour, showing defensive lines surrounding the city and the labyrinth of communication and supply lines linking the growing fortification complex together. Around this map were about a hundred seats arranged like an amphitheatre, empty at the moment with no briefing in progress.

Far from the stage was a communications area. Several vox-sets were lined up on wooden trestle tables, manned by staff officers and attended by more youthful runners. A single cogitating machine stood close at hand, spewing mathematical reports on ribbons of paper, which were then passed to a waiting tech-priest to decode. The tech-priest’s robes were marked with sigils that Cassius knew identified him as a lexmechanic – a statistical analyst who was expert at extrapolation and prediction. His hood was thrown back, showing the bulky metallic implants in the left side and rear of the tech-priest’s skull, linked to the cogitator by three coiled cables. Processing the data-flow from scouting reports and orbital surveys, the lexmechanic translated this pure data into something comprehensible to a group of officers uniformed with the badges of the general’s staff headquarters.

Not far from these aides was the commander himself, immediately recognised by Cassius. The general was a tall man, with narrow shoulders and a somewhat chubby face that looked too big for his body, made to look all the fatter by the thick bushes of his greying sideburns. He removed his forage cap and stroked a hand over his balding head, sweat gleaming in the artificial light. His drab uniform was crisply pressed, his left sleeve stitched with a long line of battle honours, his right breast coloured by the ribbons of more than twenty medals of heroic service. He moved slowly, with a stiffness that spoke of aging joints and old battle wounds, but his gestures were as neat and meticulous as his appearance, if somewhat laboured.

Arka was in conversation with a group of agitated-looking officers from the Astcarian Fourth, the gold frogging and gilded buttons of their dress uniforms a stark contrast to the general’s nondescript battle fatigues. The general noticed the arrival of the Ultramarines Chaplain and dismissed his audience with a few words and a crisp nod of the head. A few seconds later, he was waving for Cassius to join him.

The general extended a hand in greeting, which Cassius shook gently, careful not to hurt the aging officer.

‘It was with some pleasure that I learned the Ultramarines had heeded the call to arms,’ said Arka. ‘When I learned that it was the revered Chaplain Cassius in command, I thanked the Emperor profusely.’

‘I was surprised that you are still on the Eastern Fringe, general,’ said Cassius, releasing Arka’s hand. ‘Pleasantly surprised.’

‘Thank you,’ said Arka, nodding in acceptance of this rare praise. ‘As we just missed out on the fighting at Ichar IV, I decided we should look for another war. This is our third encounter with the tyranids so far. I do not expect it to be our last.’

‘I see that you have your strategy well in order, general.’ Cassius waved a hand towards the briefing area. ‘Do you have any request to make of me?’

‘I do, I do,’ said Arka. He gestured to Colonel Taulin, who had briefly conversed with the lexmechanic and his liaison officers. Cassius noticed that the general’s knuckles were red and swollen, the skin thin over his fingers. Many a man in his position would have undergone anti-agapic therapy or other rejuvenat processes, but Arka was clearly determined to grow old and die within his natural span. As long as this had no effect on his mental faculties, Cassius was content to accept this foible without comment.

‘It seems our early predictions were correct, general,’ said Taulin, handing a schematic to his commander. ‘Storm trooper and Sentinel patrols have confirmed significant tyranid infestation in the sixth quadrant of the highlands. Vanguard organisms have been seen moving eastwards towards the city in the last two days. The closest was fifteen hundred kilometres, moving along the main highway.’

‘I would like you and your warriors to take the forepoint position at the heart of the predicted line of attack, Chaplain,’ said Arka. He handed the schematic to Cassius. ‘Three rivers and the highway intersect at a staging post called Cordus Via, some seven hundred kilometres west of here. The topography will force the bulk of any attacking force to convene. If Cordus Via can hold for a few days, it will allow us to finish the defensive perimeter closer to the city. It will be the hardest fighting, I expect. How strong is your force?’

‘I have a complement of one hundred Ultramarines,’ said Cassius. ‘I concur with your plan. We will hold the lynchpin at Cordus Via to stall any advance on the city.’

‘You’ll not be alone,’ said Taulin. ‘The Warlord Titans Victorix and Dominatus Rex are to be stationed in that quadrant too.’

‘Even better,’ said Cassius. ‘I will have my warriors drop directly to Cordus Via and will meet them there. We will have the position secure within five hours.’

‘Are you sure you want to land so soon?’ asked Taulin. ‘It will take the Titans at least twelve hours to reach their positions.’

‘Then it is even more important that someone is ready to guard the crossing,’ said Cassius. ‘Unless your reports are woefully inaccurate, we should not expect any significant enemy force to arrive before the Titans. I know that General Arka prides himself on the quality of his intelligence, and so I expect to meet only minimal resistance, if any. We are quite capable of dealing with any tyranid advance until the Legio Fortitudis reach the line.’

‘Are you sure you do not want any extra assistance?’ said Arka. ‘I could spare some storm troopers. Maybe move up some of the Astcarian self-propelled guns?’

‘That will not be necessary, general,’ said Cassius. ‘We operate best when we have full autonomy. Having to guard your forces will only present extra complications.’

Taulin laughed at this, but his humour quickly wilted under the stare of Cassius.

‘I shall provide you with all of the relevant logistical data, Chaplain,’ said the colonel, looking away. ‘Comm net frequencies, contact protocols and such.’

‘Thank you, colonel.’ Cassius gave a nod to Arka and Taulin. ‘If I require anything else, I shall let you know.’

‘The Emperor protects,’ said Arka. ‘May He watch over you, Chaplain.’

‘You should have no fears in that regard,’ said Cassius. ‘We are the Ultramarines, the Emperor’s chosen.’

CHAPTER III

Situated at the confluence of several fast-flowing rivers, Cordus Via was predominantly a long arc of the highway supported by spire-like struts that thrust up from the floor of the plains. It formed an intersection of several smaller elevated roadways that stretched hundreds of kilometres to the north and south, linking the mega-farms with the arterial route. The bulk of the settlement was made up of storage towers, a refuelling depot and thick-timbered accommodation blocks for passing convoy teamsters.

Just a hundred metres west of the waystation, three rivers joined at a mighty cataract, plunging some two hundred metres down a gorge. The roar of descending water sent constant vibrations through the settlement, an oppressive noise that blotted out all other sound.

The lead elements of Cassius’s force, three tactical squads led by Sergeants Dacia, Heletis and Octanus, had made planetfall less than thirty minutes after the Chaplain’s conference with General Arka. They had reported the site empty of inhabitants, though over the following hours, three columns of refugees passed through while the task force’s Thunderhawks had shuttled more forces from orbit. Questioning the fleeing farmers, the Ultramarines learned that the isolated farmsteads in the low hills to the west had been attacked by scattered tyranid broods some twenty hours earlier. The refugees had managed to fend off or escape the initial assaults for a short time, before abandoning their farms to head to Plains Fall.

Cassius’s gunship arrived just as dusk was settling. The last Thunderhawk run was being completed, another of the strike cruiser’s three gunships touching down beside the Chaplain’s transport on the wide, black surface of the main highway. A devastator squad disembarked, their heavy weapons in hand, and were met by Sergeant Dacia – as the most senior sergeant in the force, he had been marshalling the defence in Cassius’s absence.

Dacia’s blue and white armour was covered with litany parchments and purity seals, testament to many battle honours. Along with his squad from the First Company, Dacia had been amongst a new generation of Space Marines promoted from the other companies to serve as veterans after the heavy casualties suffered against Hive Fleet Behemoth. They wore standard power armour for this engagement; the highly valued Tactical Dreadnought suits so closely associated with the First Company were in short supply too and had been taken with the Chapter Master for hive city-fighting in the Vortengard systems. The shortage of Terminator armour was a constant reminder to the veterans of the sacrifices made by their predecessors, and Cassius expected his First Company squad to be exemplars to the rest of his command.

Dacia acknowledged Cassius’s arrival by raising his storm bolter in salute. The setting sun glinted from the weapon’s gold casing as the sergeant lifted it to the brow of his white helm. Cassius responded to the gesture, bringing a fist up to his chest. As did all Chaplains, Cassius wore the black livery of purity, only his left shoulder pad remaining blue to signify his allegiance. Atop a golden crux terminatus badge – a legacy from Cassius’s days in the First Company – the Chaplain bore the Ultramarines symbol fashioned from snow white stone, hewn from the same quarry as the majestic pillars and halls of the Chapter’s fortress-monastery on Macragge. The symbol was riveted to the left pauldron by bolts made from shards of the crozius arcanum wielded by the previous Master of Sanctity, Agai Paulus, who had fallen in battle against foul xenos warriors in the Halo Stars.

The Chaplain considered Paulus’s fate a noble one, and was resigned to his own death at the hands of the tyranids some day in the future. A day long to come, he was sure. Styxia would not be his last war.

Cassius had been in constant contact with his second-in-command throughout the deployment, and the sergeant’s assessment of the position and his disposition of the Ultramarines force had been faultless, guided by the teachings of the Codex Astartes. While Dacia directed the devastators to their place in the defensive cordon, the two Thunderhawks lifted off; one to return to orbit for refuelling, the other to begin air patrols around Cordus Via. Dust and vapour billowed across the roadway from the plasma jets of the departing gunships, momentarily obscuring Cassius’s vision. The autosenses of his armour switched to a thermal scan, the vents of the Space Marines’ power packs flaring brightly against a backdrop of reds and blues.

‘Heletis and a combat squad are performing patrol two kilometres west,’ Dacia reported as the cloud dissipated. Cassius joined the sergeant as his view reverted to a normal-spectrum image. Dacia turned towards the buildings of Cordus Via and pointed to each Ultramarines placement as he continued. ‘From the roof of the dormitory building, two of the devastator squads cover the western and northern approaches. This third one will be at the fuel storage tanks of the waystation, providing support fire to the south. We have Corilinus’s assault squad in mobile reserve at the power plant, and a full-strength cordon of tactical brethren patrolling in combat squads. There are three subterranean chambers located beneath the warehouses to the north, with gate access from the garage complex beside the highway off-ramp. I’ve had all but two sealed and set with plasma charges. The others we can use as sally ports if necessary, to encircle any tyranids that breach the inner compound.’

‘Vehicle pool in the garage?’ said Cassius. The two of them began to walk down the highway slip road, which turned a lazy circle down to the tightly-packed buildings.

‘No,’ said Dacia. ‘Too difficult to defend, with the highway passing directly overhead. I have the Razorbacks at the roadway intersections to provide point support. The Rhinos are laagered two hundred metres south, should we require a withdrawal.’

‘There will be no withdrawal, sergeant,’ said Cassius. ‘We will hold Cordus Via.’

The sergeant hesitated in his stride for a moment before continuing on towards the waystation.

‘It was my understanding that we are to delay the tyranid attack only. I have read the Imperial Guard reports. The tyranids have landed in strength on this world. We do not have the resources to halt any advance completely.’

‘Nevertheless, we will not be surrendering Cordus Via to the enemy. That is my command.’

‘As you say, Brother-Chaplain,’ said Dacia. ‘We stand ready to lay down our lives in the defence of this place.’

Before Cassius could say anything further, a sharp noise echoed up from the buildings. It was the unmistakable crack of a bolter being fired, followed by several more shots.

‘Brother Liades is down!’ Sergeant Augustin barked over the comm. ‘Tyranid infiltration organism in warehouse six, south-west corner. Pursuing.’

More firing erupted dully from the outskirt of the settlement as Dacia and Cassius broke into a run.

‘All squads in south-west sector to converge on Augustin’s position,’ snapped Cassius. ‘South and west patrols increase perimeter to overlap with established routes of displacing squads.’

Affirmatives drifted back over the comm net. There were no more bolter shots until Cassius and Dacia had linked up with the sergeant’s squad, who had been stationed where the slip road met the ferrocrete apron of the refuelling facility. This time the firing came from Cassius’s left, to the north; the sound of several bolters being fired in unison.

‘Another lictor here!’ came the report from Sergeant Octanus. ‘We discovered it before it had been able to hide. Enemy destroyed. No casualties. Continuing patrol.’

‘I’ll start a second sweep to the north,’ said Dacia, signalling to his squad to move out.

‘Yes, sergeant,’ said Cassius. ‘I will join the southern perimeter. I want a street-to-street, room-by-room search. When the main attack comes, we cannot afford any enemies to have secreted themselves behind us. Stay alert.’

Armoured boots pounding on the ferrocrete, the Chaplain ran down the street, heading to the main throughfare that cut across Cordus Via. He listened to the reports of the squads converging on the lictor’s position in warehouse six. The building was already quarantined, each exit covered, but the tyranid creature could well have gone to ground to launch another surprise attack inside. Locating it would be perilous.

Though he was running fast, Cassius was still scanning every street, alley and building he passed. His eyes flicked across empty windows and shadowed doorways and passed over the roofs and balconies, missing nothing. His ears strained against the thunderous background noise of the cataract, his suit’s autosenses doing their best to filter out the blanketing cacophony.

Cassius stopped suddenly, pulling free his bolt pistol with his left hand. With his right, he slid his crozius arcanum from his belt and pushed the activation stud. The winged skull-shaped head of the weapon shimmered with the red light of its power field as Cassius turned to his right and looked back at an alleyway he had just passed, his intuition telling him something was wrong. Examining the alleyway more closely, his gaze fell upon that which had sparked his subconscious: a line of darker patches leading across the alley to an external ladder that ran up the side of one of the warehouses. Magnifying his vision, the Chaplain’s suspicions were proven correct. The dark patches were splashes of liquid.

One of the river banks was located less than fifty metres away from where he stood. None of his Space Marines had been into the water, so something else must have crossed the river, leaving the trail of drips in its wake.

‘This is Cassius,’ he said over the comm. His eyes roved over the facade of the warehouse, finding the identifying plate next to the wide doors. ‘Possible sighting, warehouse three.’

‘Squad Dacia will be with you in two minutes, Brother-Chaplain,’ came the first reply.

‘Negative, sergeant,’ replied the Chaplain. ‘Continue to sweep the north sector. I will call for assistance if required.’

Rather than follow the infiltrator up the ladder, where it might be lying in wait on the roof, Cassius entered the warehouse through a side door. It was dim inside, the open space lit only by a few narrow windows at ground level. Activating his thermal view, the Chaplain looked left and right, seeking any anomalous heat signatures. The warehouse floor was almost empty, only a few empty crates stacked along one wall. Metal steps ran up to the upper storey, ten metres above his head, where the clerks’ offices would be located.

Still checking the shadows as he advanced, Cassius crossed the freight floor towards the stairway. He was aware of the loud thudding of his boots on the ferrocrete, but there was nothing he could do about that. Reaching the bottom of the steps, the Chaplain holstered his pistol and drew out a frag grenade from his belt.

‘Ground floor clear,’ he told his warriors. ‘Continuing to upper level.’

Thumb poised over the primer rune of the grenade, he ascended quickly, taking the steps three at a time, the cavernous warehouse ringing with his heavy tread.

He stopped just a few steps from the top and tossed the grenade ahead, suspecting that the lictor might be poised to attack as he emerged from below. Two seconds later, the warehouse echoed again with the crack of its detonation, shrapnel clattering against the walls and floor, the top of the stairs illuminated by the flash of the blast.

Hurling himself up the last few steps, Cassius came out onto the upper floor with bolt pistol readied again, the glow of his crozius bouncing back from thin walls peppered with grenade shrapnel. Spinning on his heel, he checked the passageway behind him but saw nothing in the gloom. By the gleam of his weapon, Cassius navigated his way towards the north side of the building, glancing into cubicle windows as he passed, finding nothing. He came to a ladder leading up to a small access panel in the ceiling. As far as he could tell, the hatch had not been opened for some time. There was rust around the lock-bolt and undisturbed cobwebs on the ladder.

It did not mean for certain that the lictor was still on the roof, though it seemed increasingly likely. There could be other ways into the warehouse from above. Still on his guard, Cassius continued his circumnavigation of the offices, the outer wall on his right hand side.

Coming to a place where another corridor met the outer walkway from the centre of the building, Cassius paused once more, checking each approach. As he glanced behind, he thought for a moment that he saw movement in the darkness; a smudge of deeper red amongst the mist of heat left by his armour.

Suddenly feeling that he was being observed, Cassius did not look back to verify what he had glimpsed, but instead stepped into the central corridor. He knew that the lictor would attack as soon as it thought it had been discovered, but until then would stalk its prey for the most opportune moment. At such close quarters, the Chaplain knew that the lictor would be able to strike him down in an instant if it had the chance to attack. Somehow he needed to gain the upper hand, to manoeuvre into a position from which he would be the hunter.

Stepping backwards at the same steady pace he had been walking before, Cassius moved away from the junction, pistol raised towards the outer passageway. He knew he would not get much warning of the impending attack. The lictor’s skin was covered with chameleonic scales that blended with the environment, and its exoskeleton was capable of masking all but a small fraction of its body heat. Sound would be the best detector, but with the whole warehouse quietly thrumming with the pounding of the nearby cataract, it would be almost impossible to detect the scrape of a clawed foot on the floor or the rubbing together of chitinous plates, even with the Chaplain’s superhuman hearing and the aid of his armour’s autosenses.

Lictors had been evolved by the tyranids to be stealth incarnate, and their oversized claws made them experts at ambush attacks, slicing apart their victims before they even knew they were in danger. Such an organism was a threat to even a power-armoured Space Marine, but it would be even more deadly if it remained undiscovered and was able to attack whilst the Ultramarines were dealing with the first wave of assault organisms that were surely following the pheromone trail it had left in its wake.

It is behind me again.

The thought came to Cassius from nowhere, a message sent to his reasoning mind from some animalistic, instinctual part of his brain.

He turned and fired without questioning the moment of intuition, the muzzle flare of the bolt pistol illuminating the monstrous form of the lictor as it stretched up to its full height, nearly a metre taller than the Space Marine. Its main attack claws were drawn back overhead, serrated edges glinting sharply in the blaze of light. Its face was barely two metres from Cassius, faceted black eyes gleaming with dozens of tiny reflections of the Chaplain. Its maw was a bundle of tendrils writhing like a serpents’ nest, tasting the air. Hand-like claws flexed at the ends of its lower appendances, while sharply taloned feet were curling, digging into the stone of the floor to increase the beast’s purchase for the killing blow.

The bolt hit the lictor in the left side of its abdomen, blowing out a hand-sized chunk of chitin and flesh.

Even as he fired a second shot, Cassius dived to his left, crashing through a flimsy door, a moment before the lictor’s scythe-like claws flashed down in an instantaneous reaction to the Chaplain’s attack. One claw smashed into the ferrocrete where Cassius had been standing; the other caught him a glancing blow on his right greave, scoring a jagged gash through the black armour, exposing the suspensors and stabilising gyros within.

Falling to his back, Cassius had his pistol pointed at the doorway within a double-beat of his hearts, ready to fire again.

The doorway remained empty for several seconds, but Cassius knew better than to believe the lictor had fled. Its presence known, it was biologically programmed to finish the hunt, eliminating all witnesses to ensure it could disappear once more. Cassius had seen such attacks first hand on Macragge and Ichar IV and half a dozen other worlds, and read treatises detailing the same from others who had faced the tyranids. He would not be fooled by a few moments’ pause.

Then the lictor came on, ripping a hole through the wall to Cassius’s left rather than coming through the doorway, scattering chunks of plasterite across the room. The tyranid creature burst into the clerk’s chamber at the heart of an expanding cloud of dust, jabbing wildly with its scythe-talons, ripping gashes across the floor.

Surging to his feet, Cassius narrowly avoided the next attack, the illuminator’s desk behind him detonating in a shower of wooden splinters, coloured inks splashing across the floor and walls. The Chaplain swung his crozius, one wingtip of the powered mace’s head burying itself into the wound opened by the Chaplain’s first shot.

The lictor made no noise as it spasmed in pain, lashing out with its lower set of claws, tearing three lines across Cassius’s right shoulder plate. Twisting the crozius arcanum deeper into the lictor’s innards, the Chaplain pushed himself closer to his foe, underneath the deadly sweep of the beast’s upper limbs. He brought up his pistol and fired into the cluster of feeder tentacles pawing at his helmet. The lictor’s head split apart from within, spraying thick ichor and globules of brain matter across Cassius’s armour.

Still off balance, Cassius found himself borne to the ground by the weight of the dying lictor, the servos of his armour whining in protest for a moment before he crashed sideways into the bare ferrocrete. He lay there, pinned down by the lictor’s corpse, the floor beneath him vibrating gently from the roar of the cataract while the creature above twitched and spasmed.

With a grunt, Cassius managed to heave himself onto his front, pushing the lictor’s body aside. Gaining his feet, the Chaplain fired three more rounds into the creature, targeting the brain stem, secondary neuroprocessor at the base of the spine and the ventricle chambers within its abdominal cavity.

‘Enemy destroyed,’ he announced over the comm. ‘Be vigilant. The first attack wave will not be far behind.’

CHAPTER IV

As day became night, a total of four lictors were discovered and destroyed inside the Cordus Via perimeter, though not before accounting for the death of two Ultramarines and the serious injury of three others. Brother-Apothecary Valion converted a floor of workers’ dorms into a field surgery, located close to the centre of the settlement, but his ministrations were not enough to keep the wounded brethren battle-ready. The dead were relieved of their battle gear and ammunition and along with the wounded were taken by Thunderhawk back to the strike cruiser. Cassius marked the names of the fallen in his battle litanies that night, and reminded the rest of the strike force that there was no greater honour than to die in battle against the enemies of the Emperor.

With the sky swiftly darkening, Cassius faced a thorny decision: whether to bring the outer patrols closer to Cordus Via or not. The further the patrolling squads – three of them in total – were from the settlement, the more warning and information the main force would receive in the event of a tyranid assault. Counter to this, the likelihood of any patrol surviving such a first encounter was greatly reduced if they were beyond the range of swift support from their battle-brethren.

Cassius and Dacia discussed the matter in person. They met in a small outbuilding attached to the refuelling depot, which Cassius had dedicated as a battlefield chapelry. One of the Chapter’s battle banners was laid over a cluster of tables and such small relics as Cassius had been able to bring with him were placed on this makeshift altar: a silver goblet that Roboute Guilliman had drunk from during his first meeting with the Emperor; the knife of Antonius Galeus, a much-revered Chapter Master of the Ultramarines; a second-revision copy of the Codex Astartes; and a claw from a tyranid hive tyrant, gilded and engraved by Cassius himself, taken as a token of the victory at Macragge.

The two of them stood on opposite sides of the altar, and addressed each other over their external speakers, not wishing to air their disagreement over the comm net. Cassius had granted audience to the veteran sergeant in recognition of his status as second-in-command, but had made it plain that he was all but set on keeping the patrols at long range.

‘There is no advantage in keeping our patrols so far from assistance,’ complained Dacia, leaning forwards onto the altar. ‘If we are to keep Cordus Via from being overrun, every warrior must account for the highest toll of the enemy. Our patrols will be swiftly destroyed by any large tyranid force, for little advantage to our strategy.’

‘We cannot risk the enemy coming upon us unseen,’ countered Cassius. He was irked that Dacia was second-guessing his strategy in this way, though it was the role of a veteran sergeant to provide guidance and advice to his commanders. ‘We also cannot afford the tyranids discovering some other route to Plains Fall; one that bypasses our position here.’

‘So it is your intent that our patrols will be discovered, and in that way attract the tyranids to Cordus Via?’ Dacia shook his head slightly and there was incredulity in the metal-tinged voice that came from his helm. ‘You would use our battle-brothers as bait?’

‘A harsh assessment, brother-sergeant,’ replied Cassius. ‘I have no intent to allow our patrols to be killed. They will withdraw immediately upon contacting the enemy, bringing the tyranids down the highway and into the strongest part of our defence.’

‘I am not convinced that we could not achieve such an end in other ways, without the attendant risk to our patrol squads.’

‘If you have a suggestion to make, sergeant, I will be prepared to give it audience.’

Before Dacia could voice his alternative plan, the comm crackled with a priority signal, cutting across the routine report transmissions that had been flowing back and forth between the Space Marine squads.

‘Light source from the east, Brother-Chaplain,’ said Sergeant Capilla. The sergeant led one of the devastator squads stationed atop the highest dormitory block. ‘Estimate they are five kilometres away and approaching.’

‘Understood, brother-sergeant,’ said Cassius. ‘Sergeant Dacia and I will join you shortly.’

The Chaplain walked around the altar and gestured for Dacia to follow.

‘I believe we have a third option to resolve our difference of opinion,’ said Cassius, switching back to external address. ‘A lure that will ensure the tyranids attack here, but will not place our patrols in unnecessary danger.’

From their vantage point atop the tenement, the Ultramarines could clearly see the approaching Battle Titans. Beams from four massive searchlights blazed across the fields, mounted sixty metres above the ground atop the carapaces of the walking war engines. Smaller spotlights illuminated the windswept crops beneath the advancing behemoths, while the helmet-like command bridge of each Titan was lit from within, viewing canopies glaring like ruby eyes in the darkness.

With ponderous strides, the Warlords covered the ground effortlessly, stepping over walls and farmsteads without hesitation. Canals and irrigation ditches proved no obstacle either, bypassed by the massive legs of the Titans. The dull thump of each immense footfall could be heard more clearly, and silhouettes resolved into more detail, as the Warlords came closer.

Each was a humanoid metallic beast, hunched over beneath an armoured carapace of adamantium and plasteel. Two gigantic weapons were mounted upon the back of each Titan and hung from hardpoints either side of chamfered bodies where a man’s arms would be. Triangular banners hung from these arm weapons, flapping and swaying with every stride, and another standard was slung on thick chains between the legs of each Titan.

The machine on the left, Victorix, was armed with two multiple rockets launchers atop its carapace, each rocket held within the gigantic cylinders containing several dozen warheads capable of obliterating entire companies of infantry and smashing armoured vehicles. Victorix’s right arm was a squat, thick weapon surrounded by coiled pipes and bundles of cables: a plasma cannon powerful enough to level buildings. Its left was a multi-barrelled gatler that could spew forth a stream of titanium-tipped shells each several times larger than a Space Marine.

On the right, Dominatus Rex sported two such gatling cannons on its broad back. Beneath the crenellated carapace were slung two long-barrelled laser weapons that had been brought up into a locked position either side of the Titan’s head-shaped cockpit. Known as volcano cannons, the fifteen-metre-long guns were designed to destroy enemy super-heavy machines, but would be equally useful searing through the massed broods of a tyranid swarm or vaporising the larger bio-constructs Styxia’s defenders might expect to face.

Taller than the building on which Cassius stood, the Titans towered over Cordus Via. As well as the huge battle honour flags, each Warlord was strung with streamers and banners carrying the markings of the Cult Mechanicus. More than just weapons of war, these were idols of the Machine-God, wrought in sacred forge-factories to obliterate the enemies of Mars and its adepts.

Cassius had fought alongside Titans before, but had never encountered one of the metal beasts at such close hand. The thudding of their steps was loud even above the incessant sound of the cataract, every mighty tread causing the ground to shudder slightly, and with each stride came a symphony of growls, whines, hisses and clanking. By the light of their own lamps, the red-and-black livery of the Legio Fortitudis was plain to see, painted in broad stripes across the upper carapace turrets and the armoured plates protecting the Titans’ lower legs. Cog devices and half-skulls in bright metals marked the hard-angled surfaces of their bodies, gleaming in the reflected glow of the searchlights.

‘Princeps Jasyn of the Legio Fortitudis.’ The announcement was made over the strategic frequency chosen by General Arka for the disparate Imperial forces, the voice quiet, almost a whisper. Victorix raised its gatling cannon in salute, kill banner sweeping over a row of empty grain silos, its shadow passing across the tactical squad standing guard on the gantries around them.

‘Princeps Perthion, pleased to make your acquaintance, Chaplain.’ Perthion’s voice was deeper, tainted with a hollow ring that reminded Cassius of the artificial voice boxes used by his Chapter’s Dreadnoughts.

‘Your presence is welcome,’ replied Cassius.

‘We are honoured to assist the Adeptus Astartes of the Ultramarines,’ said Jasyn. ‘Where would you like us to fight?’

Cassius had been considering this matter for some time, and in discussion with Dacia as they had made their way to the tenement block, had formulated a plan.

‘I would have Dominatus Rex positioned on the highway, a kilometre to the west,’ said the Chaplain. ‘We have no weapons capable of covering the far side of the gorge to the north, but that will present little problem to you.’

‘Understood, Chaplain,’ said Perthion. ‘I will protect your flank from encirclement.’

‘And Victorix?’ asked Jasyn. There was something about the way the princeps used the name of his Titan, a familiar inflection, that made it sound to Cassius as if Jasyn were referring to himself.

‘On the southern flank, overlooking the refuelling depot and highway would be appropriate, princeps. Your sensor arrays are more powerful than anything we possess and will provide warning of the enemy’s approach.’

‘We will be your eyes and ears, Chaplain,’ said Perthion. A series of thunderous rattles preceded a drawn out, deafening hiss as the lock-bolts were released from Dominatus Rex’s volcano cannons. The immense weapons lowered into position with a creak and a clank. ‘And your fists.’

‘Blessed is the fist that strikes down the foes of mankind,’ said Cassius. ‘You will earn the gratitude of the Ultramarines for your actions.’

‘Blessed indeed is the artifice of the Machine-God, that a humble man might lay low so many foes in the name of the Omnissiah,’ came Perthion’s reply.

Cassius watched as the Warlords split, swinging away to their appointed stations. He had no doubts that the open highway and fields would be a killing ground for the war machines. There was no intelligence to suggest that the tyranids had managed to land their largest constructs, bio-titans that would be the match of the Adeptus Mechanicus machines, and the Chaplain was confident the men of Legio Fortitudis would destroy many hundreds, if not thousands, of the enemy as they approached Cordus Via.

The streets of the main settlement were a different matter entirely, too tight for the Titans to operate. Despite horrendous casualties, the tyranids would come on and on, driven against their foes by their instinct to devour. No approach was one hundred per cent secure, and the Chaplain knew that despite his immense allies, it was likely the tyranids would eventually reach the buildings and the fighting would become close and deadly.

That would be when his Ultramarines would prove their worth.

‘Sensor sweep detects multiple biological signals, four kilometres distant.’ Princeps Perthion’s warning was devoid of urgency, delivered in the same relaxed tone as his previously negative reports. ‘Estimate two to three hundred life forms.’

Dawn was still three hours away, the darkness broken only by a faint glimmer of stars through the cloudy haze and the beams of the Titans’ searchlights. The Ultramarines moved quickly into position, their autosenses allowing them to navigate the dark streets and alleys without hesitation. The thrum of powered armour, clump of boots, whine of power cells charging and click of magazines being checked sounded loud in the still night, echoing from empty buildings.

‘Moving to engage,’ announced Princeps Jasyn. Victorix shuddered into life, its weapons drawing up to the firing position. The ground trembled as the Warlord took two strides up the highway access ramp, the dazzling glare of the Titan’s lamps lighting up the ferrocrete surface.

Cassius had been in the makeshift shrine room when he had heard the news. Walking swiftly – the distance to the enemy and the intervention of Victorix made it unnecessary to run – the Chaplain crossed the street to the main worker tenement and ascended the narrow stairwells, monitoring the reports of his warriors over the comm. The devastator squads had been in position since their arrival, while the tactical squads fell back to the settlement from their patrol routes, taking up guard stations in the outlying buildings to the west and north.

Cassius emerged onto the flat roof of the dormitory block as Sergeant Capilla and his devastators set themselves along the raised parapet at the roof’s edge, overlooking the highway where it crossed the river confluence. Beyond them, Victorix was already several hundred metres along the carriageway, advancing at full speed.

‘First enemy wave, three and a half kilometres,’ reported the Titan’s princeps. ‘Enemy is dispersed along the highway and beneath, approaching at speed.’

To the south, on Cassius’s left, the low roof of a storehouse lit up with the blue fire of plasma as a Thunderhawk gunship lifted from its makeshift landing site. It soared several hundred metres into the sky before turning west, accelerating towards the incoming tyranids. As the blue flares of its engines grew smaller in the gloom, another light broke the sky: a plume of fire from the carapace of Victorix.

Three blossoms of red surged from one of the Titan’s missile launchers, streaking ahead of the Thunderhawk in a parabolic arc. Cassius almost lost their trail in the clouds, but picked them up again as the missiles descended. Each split into a fountain of white flashes as the warheads separated. A few seconds later, explosions erupted across a spread of ground around three kilometres away, creating a column of fire that blazed fiercely for several seconds, blotting out the Thunderhawk lights and Titan searchlamps. The crack of dozens of detonations rolled across Cordus Via a couple of seconds later.

‘Good hit,’ reported Sergeant Acheon from aboard the Thunderhawk. ‘Enemy hit with all ordnance. Heavy casualties inflicted, formation disrupted. They are not stopping. Advancing at speed. Commencing attack run, do not fire.’

‘Confirmed,’ replied Princeps Jasyn. ‘Weapons on hold.’

The blue sparks that highlighted the gunship’s position rose briefly and then dived steeply. The cannon atop the Thunderhawk’s dorsal mount blazed into life while wingtip heavy bolters blazed tracer rounds through the inky night and the lascannon in the craft’s nose spat beams of white destruction. Cassius’s autosenses dampened the flares of light, briefly turning the sky to a deep red, the weapons fire seen as pale yellow stars. Of the tyranids, nothing could be seen, though the commentary from Sergeant Acheon announced several dozen slain as the Thunderhawk swept over the enemy and then lifted away, plasma jets burning fiercely.

‘Establish command feed, full aerial sweep,’ Cassius ordered Acheon, and received the acknowledgement a few seconds later.

The Chaplain’s helm display flickered with static for a moment as the link to the Thunderhawk’s weapons surveyors established itself. When the image resolved, an inset in front of his right eye showed a grainy view from the circling gunship.

By the light of several pools of flickering plasma fire, obscured in places by patches of ashen cloud made of the bodies of the creatures that had been incinerated by the blasts, Cassius could see the tyranid foe. A sea of termagants was reforming, moving steadily towards the settlement. Each creature was smaller than a man, six-limbed and bent over. They scuttled forwards on their lower four limbs, their upper arms holding rifle-like organic weapons. Chitinous plates covered their backs and heads, long tails whipped back and forth as they ran.

Amongst the termagants were other creatures, with forelimbs composed of serrated blades, like smaller versions of the lictor’s claw-scythes. The hormagaunts sprang and bounded quickly between the flames, crossing the scorched ground in long leaps, swiftly moving ahead of the termagant broods.

As the Thunderhawk continued its slow turn, it brought into view larger creatures: tyranid warriors. These stood taller even than a Space Marine, six-limbed like all tyranid creatures but walking on two legs. Twin upper arms merged into pairs of wicked-looking boneswords and grotesque guns with maws that dripped venomous ichor. Cassius knew from hard experience that while the warriors lived, projecting their psychic might onto the lesser creatures, the termagants and hormagaunts would fight to the death, driven on by the gestalt power of the tyranid hive mind.

The leading broods had reached the highway and were pouring onto the cracked ferrocrete by the score. Some split off from the main force, several dozen termagants and a brood of five warriors, heading beneath the causeway as it rose up from the plains, directly towards the river.

‘Princeps Jasyn, another bombardment is required, four hundred metres short of last impact,’ Cassius spoke calmly, assessing the situation as it was revealed by the Thunderhawk’s artificial eyes. ‘Sergeant Acheon, another attack run. Target tyranid warrior broods in the rear and eliminate. Squad Heletis, move to the dock area beneath the highway. Be prepared with flamer and bolters to counter any enemy emerging from the riverside. Squad Xathian, take up a supporting position to the north of Heletis.’

Satisfied with the orders he had given, Cassius cut the command link as the Thunderhawk dived groundwards for another attack run. Once more the night sky was torn apart by the barrage of its weapons. When the gunship had completed its pass, Dominatus Rex launched another barrage of missiles, bathing the highway and its surrounds with a welter of plasma detonations.

Cassius signalled to Sergeant Capilla, who broke away from his devastator squad to attend the Chaplain. His helm was hung on his belt, revealing a wide-cheeked face criss-crossed with scars.

‘You have orders, Brother-Chaplain?’ the sergeant asked, nodding his head as a sign of respect.

‘It is imperative that the tyranids do not encroach upon Cordus Via, brother-sergeant. We cannot afford to fight a running battle through narrow streets and alleyways. Have your squad reposition to cover the quayside and be ready to open fire if Heletis and Xathian are forced to fall back.’

‘We would be firing close to our brothers,’ said the sergeant. ‘Is that advisable?’

‘Frag missiles and bolters pose little threat to our brethren but will reap a heavy toll of the enemy, sergeant. You have your orders.’

‘Aye, Brother-Chaplain,’ Capilla said, raising a fist in acknowledgement. ‘We will cover the withdrawal of Heletis and Xathian.’

Cassius kept his gaze on Capilla as the sergeant returned to his squad. Like Dacia, he was a veteran of many decades’ experience, and it was unlike Capilla to show hesitation when receiving a command. Cassius could not avoid the conclusion that Dacia and Capilla, and perhaps some of his other sergeants, were not wholly committed to the effort on Styxia. Perhaps Ixion or one of the other captains had issued instruction to the sergeants before they departed, regarding Master Calgar’s edict not to sacrifice the force. If they showed similar reluctance in the heat of battle it could cost even more lives, and ultimately victory.

Feeling vexed by the situation, the Chaplain resolved to speak with his senior warriors when the threat of the initial tyranid wave had been dealt with. He could not afford for there to be any doubt in the minds of his brother Space Marines. They would defeat the tyranids on Styxia, and though Chapter Master Calgar had ordered that losses be minimised, Cassius would not sacrifice a world for the sake of a few lives. It was the fate of every Space Marine to die in battle; Cassius had long ago accepted such truth. If the battle for Styxia could be won, he would win it, even if he had to give his own life.

Dismissing such disturbed thoughts, Cassius returned to his shrine chamber to contemplate the fighting ahead. He reverently touched each of the relics upon the altar table, whispering a benediction to those who would give their lives in the coming battles. He lowered himself to his knees, head bowed in meditation, listening to the reports from his warriors over the comm.

Cassius was not wholly trusting of the Titans and their princeps. They were powerful war machines, without equal on the ground, but their loyalties were to the Cult Mechanicus not the Ultramarines, and thus their agenda might change at a whim. If Arka or some other individual deemed them to be more useful elsewhere, Cassius would lose their support. It was best to plan for that eventuality; the Ultramarines were used to fighting on their own.

Such thoughts were interrupted by a communication over the command channel that had been assigned by Colonel Taulin. The Imperial Guard officer’s voice was quiet, broken by the static of distance.

‘Styxia command, seeking contact with Chaplain Cassius. Are you receiving our signal?’

‘Signal received,’ responded Cassius. He opened a panel in the sleeve of his armour and locked the command frequency; the back-and-forth messages from the Titans, Thunderhawk and patrolling squads reduced to a background whisper. ‘Transmit.’

‘Ah, good. General Arka has asked me to provide you with an update on the wider situation,’ said the colonel.

‘My strike cruiser has been monitoring all frequencies as well as ground movements,’ replied Cassius. ‘They will report if there is any matter that requires my attention.’

‘I’m sure they will,’ said Taulin. He coughed. ‘That said, General Arka wants me to tell you that considerable tyranid attacks are falling upon outlying positions to the north and south of Cordus Via. They are being held back for the moment. He requests that your cruiser receives coordinates for orbital strikes, should our forces be required to withdraw. They are just out of range of our guns at Plains Fall, you see. It would be a boon if we could count on your support when we have to draw our men back to the next line.’

‘“When” you have to, colonel? Do you not mean “if” you have to?’ said Cassius. In the quiet before Taulin’s reply, the Chaplain heard a report from Squad Heletis: tyranids sighted coming down the river bank.

‘General Arka has created a collapsing perimeter, Chaplain. I thought he had explained that. We cannot hope to hold the furthest positions indefinitely. An orderly withdrawal is far more preferable to a rout in the face of attack, surely?’ Taulin sucked in a breath, trying to hide his annoyance. ‘Can General Arka send coordinates to your strike cruiser, Chaplain?’

‘Yes, he can,’ said Cassius, only half-listening to Taulin as more information about the attack along the river was transmitted amongst the Ultramarines. ‘Liaise with Techmarine Pavorian aboard Fidelis. Tell him that command authorisation still resides with me.’

‘Thank you, Chaplain. With your cooperation, I am certain we can defeat this threat.’

‘Yes, we can and we will, colonel. Unless you have anything else you wish to discuss, I must attend to matters closer at hand.’

There was no immediate reply from Taulin, so Cassius cut the vox-link. He stared at the relics on display for some time, ordering his thoughts. He was used to dealing with doubt, in others though never himself, and his current assignment on Styxia would prove no different. Those in command of the defenders would learn not to doubt the valour and determination of the Ultramarines, and those under his command would learn not to doubt the wisdom and fortitude of Chaplain Cassius.

CHAPTER V

A little before dawn, Cassius received a communication from the Fidelis, warning of a new sensor reading encroaching from the west. Passing on this news to the princeps of the Titans, the Chaplain started on a tour of Cordus Via, to check the position of his troops and see that all was in preparedness for any attack.

The latter hours of the night had passed without significant incident. The first wave of tyranids had been held back by the combined power of the Dominatus Rex and successive air patrols from the two Thunderhawks supporting Cassius’s force. A few small broods of termagants and hormagaunts had made it as far as the stretches of river above the cataract, where they had been met by a counterattack of tactical and assault squads led by Sergeant Dacia and his First Company veterans. The Ultramarines had suffered no casualties, driving the smaller tyranid constructs into the swift-moving waters where they were easy targets for boltguns and missile launchers, or else were swept over the ninety-metre drop of the cataract.

Cassius met with two combat squad patrols on their way back to the garrison in the main dorm block at the bottom of the Minoran Gradient access ramp. They had been north to check for tyranid forces that might have crossed the rivers farther west, but had seen nothing out of the ordinary. The Chaplain was about to wave the Space Marines on their way when his vox crackled into life, an ident-cipher in his helm display notifying him that Princeps Jasyn was hailing. Cassius activated the vox and motioned for the Space Marines to remain where they were.

‘Revered Chaplain, I can confirm the sensor readings from your strike cruiser,’ said Jasyn. ‘We have aerial forces heading our way. Atmospheric distortion is increasing, but I would say four or five large creatures are en route to our position. We are also detecting a surge in land-based signals.’

‘A second ground wave, supported by harridans and gargoyles,’ replied Cassius.

‘Harridans, Chaplain?’ said Jasyn. ‘I have heard of the gargoyles; winged versions of the creatures we have just been slaughtering. What are these harridans? What threat do they present?’

‘Large constructs, princeps, thirty to fifty metres in length,’ said Cassius. ‘They act as long-range transportation for the gargoyle swarms, and are dangerous in the extreme.’

‘Let us hope that they are heading for Plains Fall,’ said the princeps. ‘General Arka’s anti-air batteries can take care of the problem.’

‘A valid point, princeps. However, we must be prepared for an assault here.’

‘We have some point-defence turrets in case the gargoyles try to swarm us, but other than that, neither Victorix nor Dominatus Rex are suitable for air defence. If the enemy land amongst you, our weapons will be useless.’

‘I understand that, princeps. We will deal with the harridans and gargoyles as necessary. See to it that the second attack wave of ground forces does not intrude upon the proceedings.’

Jasyn signalled an acknowledgement. As Cassius made his way back to the main dormitory block to command the coming engagement, he felt the ground shuddering as the two Warlord Titans moved into position to forestall the coming ground attack. The Chaplain had reached the main thoroughfare when he received a signal from Sergeant Capilla.

‘Airborne enemy sighted, Brother-Chaplain,’ said the sergeant. ‘Due west, three kilometres. Three harridans closing on our position.’

Cassius turned and looked into the cloudy skies to the west, magnifying his autosenses to full. He scanned the cloud layer and saw three dark spots approaching quickly, moving against the prevailing wind. The long-range visual equipment of the devastators was more accurate than the simple autosenses of the Chaplain’s armour and Cassius had no doubt that the report was accurate. He signalled Sergeant Menaton, whose squad was aboard the Thunderhawk currently running air cover for the force.

‘Sergeant Menaton, engage incoming targets at range. Keep distance to five hundred metres or more.’

‘Understood, Brother-Chaplain,’ Menaton replied. ‘We will keep our distance. Lascannons and battle-cannon primed for attack.’

The Thunderhawk was currently on the northern leg of its perimeter sweep. It banked left and roared over the highway, arrowing directly towards the approaching tyranid flyers, gaining altitude as it did so. Menaton was experienced enough to know that the harridans were weakest from above, and would have to descend several thousand metres before they could release the flocks of gargoyles clinging to their undersides like horrific infants suckling at the breasts of their monstrous mother.

Cassius entered the tenement and took the elevator up to the roof where sergeants Capilla and Therotius had prepared their squads, a battery of lascannons, missile launchers and heavy bolters pointed skywards while the bolter-armed brethren created a defensive circle around the heavy-weapons-armed warriors. Looking to the west, the Chaplain could see Sergeant Xathian’s devastators doing the same on the gantries around the storage tanks in the depot.

Quickly reviewing the dispositions of his other force, Cassius made a few adjustments, moving some of the tactical squads south of the highway onto the roofs of the warehouses where they could be covered by the devastators of Therotius. Corilinus and his assault squad moved quickly up to the raised highway, their jump packs flaring in the dim light as they bounded up the slope. From there they would be able to cross easily to the roofs of the lower buildings to the north and south, in response to the tyranid attack.

Satisfied that all was well, Cassius recited a liturgy of battle over the vox, preparing his warriors mentally for the fight to come. As he spoke the words of the second verse, a distinctive crack announced the firing of the Thunderhawk’s main cannon. Directing his attention to the harridans, he judged the tyranids to be less than two kilometres away. Lascannon flashes seared across the grey skies as the Ultramarines targeted the lead beast, the pulses of white energy punching through the creature’s immense leathery wings. Losing height, the wounded harridan turned sharply, dropping towards the ground. The Thunderhawk circled and fired again, this time striking the harridan in its rear quarters with a battle-cannon shell. Flesh and chitin rained down from the exploding wound, causing the harridan to contort madly, its wings spasming.

A flutter of smaller shapes spread from the beast’s belly, scattering in the high altitude winds as the gargoyles detached from the mortally wounded harridan. Some were swept away immediately, disappearing into the clouds; the rest spiralled quickly groundwards, eventually gathering into a coherent mass as they descended into lighter winds.

The other two harridans were stooping into long dives, readying to disgorge their own living cargoes onto Cordus Via. The whine of power cells charging drifted across the rooftop from the devastators as Cassius finished the third verse of the litany and raised his crozius above his head, the gilded tyranid skull at its tip glowing from the power field generator concealed within. The tyranids were less than a kilometre away, swooping swiftly towards the rooftops.

‘Let forth your righteous anger in the name of the Emperor!’ bellowed Cassius.

Just as the words left his lips, the vox chimed in his ear, signalling a communication from Princeps Perthion.

‘Revered Chaplain, sensor reports show excess of three thousand enemy heading our way,’ said the Titan commander. ‘Distance of two kilometres. We will destroy as many as we can, but we cannot guarantee total extermination.’

‘Understood, princeps,’ replied Cassius.

Two missiles streaked skywards from the launchers of Squad Xathian. Their contrails cut a converging path towards the closest of the two harridans. The beast’s wings had ceased beating as it glided down on its attack course. At this range, Cassius could see the multitude of smaller creatures grappled to its underside: a swathe of quivering pale flesh and dark red chitin plates. As the missiles veered towards the harridan, the gargoyles stirred into life. Spreading bat-like wings, they dropped from the larger beast’s underside in a cloud, scattering from the path of the incoming projectiles.

Both missiles struck the armoured head of the harridan, cracking thick chitinous plates and sending organic shrapnel flying but doing little real damage. Divested of its brood, the harridan plunged onwards. Cannon-like growths at the crooks of its wings spat forth a volley of living ammunition. As dark blurs, the projectiles flew towards Xathian’s squad; Cassius watched their trajectory as the large slug-like bio-shells dipped across the highway.

Hitting the tops of the storage vats, the bio-cannon volley exploded with a cloud of organic acid, spraying several of the Space Marines with highly corrosive slime and razor-edged chitin shrapnel. Ceramite cracked and melted, the bio-acid searing through the armoured layers of the devastator’s pauldrons and chestplates.

There was no time to consider potential casualties: the gargoyles from both harridans were now descending in a dark cloud while the grotesque mother-beasts beat their wings to regain height, turning towards the circling Thunderhawk.

More missiles converged on the incoming mass. Their time-activated fragmentation warheads detonated inside the cloud of creatures, scything through the winged creatures with loud cracks. As several gargoyles fluttered bloodily to the ground, the rest came on, heading straight for the highest building where Cassius and the others waited.

Heavy bolter fire greeted the descending swarm, joined a few seconds later by a fusillade from the rest of the squads’ boltguns. Bodies exploded, spraying severed limbs and thick ichor into the wind. Undeterred, the gargoyles folded their wings and dived, approaching at incredible speed.

More bolt-rounds detonated through the flock, sending crumpled bodies down onto the highway. Cassius readied his pistol and took aim, fixing on the leering face of an onrushing gargoyle. A spiny crest jutted from the plate of chitin above its brow and its wings were edged with vicious claws. The creature had been created to spend its existence solely in the air. A barbed tail lashed back and forth, between two atrophied legs connected by wing flaps to the uppermost pair of limbs, acting like a rudder. Like the rest of the brood, the gargoyle’s middle limbs were fused with a symbiotic weapon; a distinct species of its own integrated into the tyranid’s bony hands.

The brood opened their mouths in unison, emitting a screeching wail. Cassius’s ears buzzed as his autosenses filtered out the noise, the thunder of bolters and missiles suddenly muted. Beyond the swarm, the Chaplain caught a glance of a large shape following in the wake of the gargoyles; one of the harridans angling towards the tactical squads on top of the warehouses to the south.

Cassius fired when the gargoyle brood was thirty metres away, their shadows flitting across the Minoran Gradient. The shot hit the gargoyle in its right shoulder, tearing through ligaments and muscle. The tyranid’s wing folded up immediately and it plunged down, crashing into one of the huge highway supports.

Aiming and firing again, Cassius’s next shot passed through the wing of a gargoyle, the bolt-round punching a small hole through leathery skin but nothing more. And then the flock was on top of the Chaplain.

Plasma-like fire spewed from the mouths of the gargoyles, bathing the Ultramarines with green flame. Their bio-weapons spat volleys of beetles that rattled harmlessly against Cassius’s armour, the spatter of their impacts obscuring his livery with thick ichor.

He swung his crozius back-handed, the blazing head connecting with the body of a gargoyle as it swept past. With a blast of light, the energy field tore through chitin and flesh, almost ripping the creature in half. A wing flap slapped across Cassius’s helm as the dying beast speared into his shoulder, claws raking spasmodically across his shoulder plate in a welter of paint slivers and ceramite dust.

To Cassius’s left, Sergeant Therotius was hacking through the gargoyles, the teeth of his chainsword hurling gobbets of eviscerated flesh in all directions. The devastators used their weapons as clubs and struck out with gauntlet-enclosed fists, sticky bio-plasma burning on their armour where they had been struck. One of the battle-brothers collapsed under the attack of four of the creatures, falling to his side as bio-plasma ate away at his armour seals and scrabbling claws punctured the joints beneath his shoulders.

Cassius was at the beleaguered Space Marine’s side in five strides, swinging his crozius in a wide arc. The Chaplain’s blow swept two of the gargoyles from the fallen Space Marine, chitin and bones shattered by the impact. The other two creatures clawed and bit in a frenzy, still shrieking wildly, driven by instinct to keep slicing and gouging until their prey was dead. The Ultramarine’s armour held up against the assault for another couple of seconds, giving Cassius time to fire a shot into the head of one of the attacking creatures. Its skull exploded, sending the brow-horn spear-like into the side of the remaining tyranid.

Something hit Cassius in the back before he could despatch the wounded creature. Warning icons blinked in the Chaplain’s helm display, and his ears were filled with the scratch and thud of the gargoyle’s claws slashing at his backpack and helm. He turned quickly, trying to throw the creature off his back, but it had sunk its wing-claw into a heat exchange vent and would not be shaken free.

‘Brother-Chaplain!’ Cassius heard the warning over his external pick-up rather than the vox and swung around to see Sergeant Capilla with his bolter levelled at him. Cassius turned and dropped to one knee as a hooked claw scratched against the right lens of his helm.

The bark of Capilla’s bolter sounded over the screeching of the gargoyle; a shriek that ended abruptly with a wet spatter of ichor across Cassius’s vision.

‘Thank you, brother,’ said Cassius, pushing himself back to both feet, looking for foes. Only a few gargoyles were still alive, wheeling up into the air above the devastators, spitting bio-plasma.

Cassius took aim but before he could fire, an immense shadow fell across him. Looking up, he saw the massive head of a harridan, long claws trailing from its lower limbs. The Chaplain hurled himself face first into the rooftop as the metres-long scythe swept overhead, missing Cassius by a metre or less. Their focus on the gargoyles, the devastators did not react so quickly.

Even as Cassius shouted a warning, two of the Space Marines were lifted from the rooftop, speared through their torsos by the elongated claws. Capilla fired at the immense beast as it passed over, the detonations of his bolt-rounds appearing as small sparks against the bulk of the harridan. The creature was followed by a downdraught of air that swept up grit and dust from the streets and buildings, swathing the Ultramarines in a thick cloud. Cassius’s autosenses flicked to thermal in time to show the gargoyles dropping once more towards the devastators, hidden by the dust storm.

‘Enemy above!’ Cassius warned, but the cry was not needed. Therotius already had his squad prepared and the descending column of gargoyles were caught in a crossfire of heavy bolter rounds and exploding frag missiles. The dust cloud churned with whirring bolts and ichor pattered down on Cassius like milky-white rain.

A shockwave rippled through the dust as the Thunderhawk screamed past, its nose spitting las-bolts at the departing harridan, each shot tearing chunks from its ribbed underside. The gunship’s main cannon boomed out, hitting the ascending tyranid on its dorsal plates, and then both were lost from view again.

‘Casualty reports,’ snapped Cassius. A wounded gargoyle flopped and flapped a few metres away. The Chaplain crossed the rooftop and brought his crozius down onto the creature’s head, crushing its skull with one blow. ‘All squads, report in.’

The devastators had not fared too badly: one Space Marine killed, three more too grievously wounded to continue fighting. Several had suffered minor injuries from bio-plasma and gargoyle claws but nothing that could not be ignored for the time being. The tactical squads stationed across the warehouses had suffered the wrath of the harridan and had lost five Space Marines to its bio-cannons and deadly claws before it had turned its attention towards the battle atop the dormitory building.

Apothecary Valion was already making his way from squad to squad in the southern outskirts, tending as best he could to those who had been injured. Sergeant Augustin was amongst those that had fallen; decapitated by the harridan as it had overflown his position. Cassius reviewed his mental list of the Space Marines under his command to find a suitable replacement.

‘Brother Tyrius,’ he announced over the vox.

‘Yes, Brother-Chaplain?’

‘You are now sergeant, Tyrius. We will speak the rites of promotion together when the current attack has been thwarted. Assist in the reorganisation of the tactical squads, brother-sergeant.’

‘Thank you, Brother Cassius.’

‘Do not thank me, Tyrius. Just do your duty. Service is its own reward.’

‘Of course, Brother Chaplain. I shall bear the honour of the Ultramarines without faltering.’

‘Be sure that you do, sergeant.’

The wind was blowing away the dust cloud caused by the harridan’s passage, revealing the creature turning northwards, pursued by the Thunderhawk. Cassius was aware that he had received several reports from the two Titan princeps whilst he had been watching the harridans and fighting the gargoyles. He reviewed his communications log, listening to the contacts on fast-recall.

The next tyranid wave was still heading towards Cordus Via. The Titans had reaped a heavy toll with their weapons, but the foe were too numerous to destroy utterly. Several broods of tyranid warriors and smaller organisms had made it past the Titans’ bombardment and were heading down the highway and river.

The sun was barely above the horizon and the day would be filled with fighting.

CHAPTER VI

In the afternoon the clouds had burnt away, leaving Cordus Via baking beneath the hot sun. A haze of smoke drifted down the highway, the faltering winds bringing the smog from crop fields set ablaze by the guns of the Titans. Bounded to the north and south by the rivers, there was little danger of the fires spreading too far; in any case it was no concern of Chaplain Cassius. He was not here to defend the cereal fields, but to ensure the safety of the people sheltering in Plains Fall.

In the settlement, the Ultramarines Rhinos were put to work clearing the tyranid corpses choking the streets. A mass of lesser creatures had tried to overwhelm the defenders with their numbers, and several hundred had survived the gauntlet of multiple rocket launchers, volcano cannons and gatling blasters to descend on Cordus Via throughout the morning, to be met by the unflinching fusillade of the Space Marines. With earthmoving blades, the armoured transports heaped the twisted and burnt bodies of termagants and hormagaunts into grisly barricades between the warehouses.

Cassius stood on the Minoran Gradient looking down at the aftermath of the morning’s deadly work. Heat haze shimmered from the rockrete highway and fire flickered amongst the outbuildings as the combat squads of the Ultramarines moved through the settlement with flamers, seeking out surviving foes that had managed to get inside the buildings.

The cataract foamed pale green with alien fluids, the pool beneath the thundering fall of water choked with hundreds of tyranid corpses washed down the river. Sergeant Dacia and his veterans were using fragmentation grenades to dislodge the bodies acting as a dam across the river, blowing holes in the wall of dead piling up where the cataract narrowed to ensure Cordus Via did not flood.

The reports from orbit and the patrols of the Thunderhawks indicated that the tyranids had relented in their assault for the moment, pulling back more than ten kilometres. Cassius knew better than to think of them as mindless drones. The tyranids were driven by a compulsion to devour everything in their path, but they were not all simple beasts; alien intelligence directed their actions individually and as a swarm. Their hive ship destroyed, the tyranids that had landed were not an unending horde descending from orbit, and their strategy was still evolving. The Chaplain had fought this menace on more than a score of worlds, and they had never acted exactly the same, though there were predictable patterns, as with any foe.

Having tested the defenders at Cordus Via, and found them unbreaking, the mind guiding the tyranid assault was now seeking a means to circumnavigate the waystation. The Thunderhawks had reported flocks of gargoyles seeking passage to the north and south, but here the terrain was in the favour of the defenders, as Cassius and Arka had known it would be. The rivers were impassable further west of Cordus Via, except perhaps by the harridans and gargoyles and a few of the largest constructs.

If the mass of the tyranid swarm wanted to reach Plains Fall, it would either have to travel several hundred kilometres in a wide arc around the Ultramarines, or break through. There was little Cassius could do about the former strategy, and was determined that the latter would fail.

The Chaplain received a communication from General Arka as he returned to the settlement along the highway access road. The Imperial Guard commander did not have good news.

‘The orbital surveys from your strike cruiser show three distinct lines of advance by the enemy,’ Arka told Cassius. The general’s tone was quiet and determined, though Cassius’s keen ears also detected an undercurrent of tension; a strain in Arka’s voice that a normal man might not hear. ‘To your north, the enemy have made progress along the Altaen Gradient and Messian Highway. I have reinforced the Astcarian infantry stationed at Nexus Via with several squadrons of Leman Russ tanks and Basilisk artillery guns, but they are being hard-pressed to contain the attack and I would not expect them to hold out more than a day.

‘To the south, I have established a fortified line across the Captian Highway at Matis Via, in anticipation of the tyranids finding a way across the river at the Serenin rapids. It’s fast-moving but narrow, and I would not put it past these creatures to make a bridge of their bodies if needed.’

‘In short, general, you cannot guarantee the security of either our northern or southern flanks,’ said Cassius. It was a statement of fact, not an accusation, and Arka was experienced enough to take it as such.

‘That is correct, revered Chaplain,’ the general said with a heavy sigh. ‘There is little point in reinforcing further at Matis Via or Nexus Via; I would just be lightening the defence on the city to send more men to their deaths.’

‘I concur with your decision, general,’ said Cassius.

He had memorised the topography between the highlands and Plains Fall and could understand the general’s quandary. Once the tyranids had passed the outer line of defence, the highways arrowing directly towards the city would bring them together again in one mass, capable of overwhelming whatever fortifications were put in place. Matis Via and Nexus Via did not benefit from the terrain that offered Cordus Via protection from encirclement. Any man staying there against the full brunt of the tyranid assault would be on a one-way mission. Though sometimes such sacrifices were necessary, the chances of inflicting significant casualties, or creating a delay in the tyranid advance, were minimal.

‘There is no need to endanger your troops further, general,’ the Chaplain continued. ‘It is clear to me that our flanks will be compromised at some point in the next twelve to fifteen hours, regardless of the efforts of your men and women. Withdraw your forward forces to the main line at Plains Fall and ensure the defence of the city is at its strongest possible.’

‘I had considered the same, Chaplain, but I would not wish to leave you without any support. I am able to redirect some of those forces to Cordus Via.’

‘That will not be necessary, general.’ Cassius had reached ground level and turned towards his chapelry in the depot. Several tactical squads were reinforcing the buildings as much as they could with crates and containers from the warehouses, blocking up windows and doorways with heavy furniture taken from the administration buildings and dormitories. The depot, with its open ground and clear fields of fire, was to be the inner keep of Cordus Via’s defences, and if necessary the Ultramarines would make their last stand there.

‘In that case, might I suggest a withdrawal of your forces to the position I have created at Attan Terminus, about two hundred kilometres east along the Minoran Gradient? You’ll be under the protection of our big guns at the city wall, plus I can move more of the Legio Fortitudis to support your defence.’

‘That will also be unnecessary, general. The Ultramarines will halt the advance at Cordus Via.’

Cassius passed through the gate of the depot and glanced up at the devastators atop the silos to his left. He had noted the highly effective fire rained down by the squad during the last attack and resolved to mention the deed in his evening rites later.

‘Chaplain Cassius, as much as I respect your skill and experience, I think it would be unwise for your force to remain in its current position. Your position will be defensively untenable within eighteen hours at the most. There is no shame in moving to a more secure position, and to stay at Cordus Via would be suicide.’

‘Do not trouble yourself with the fate of my warriors, general, that is my concern alone,’ snapped Cassius. ‘I am not in the habit of throwing away the lives of Ultramarines, no matter what you might think of my stubbornness. When I arrived, you correctly identified Cordus Via as the lynchpin in your defensive strategy, and so it remains. We will not lightly surrender the advantages we have here.’

‘Apologies, Chaplain, I did not mean any offence.’

‘I am no more concerned with taking offence than I am with making a precipitous withdrawal, general. The Ultramarines have arrived at Styxia to ensure its protection, and that is what we will do, in the manner I best see fit. Unless you have anything else to tell me, I would prefer not to engage in further debate on the subject.’

‘Of course, you are in command of your forces, not I,’ said Arka. ‘I will keep you informed as the situation develops. Arka out.’

The comm cut abruptly, static hissing in Cassius’s ear for a moment before the connection was severed completely. The Chaplain grunted in irritation; he did not have the time or the inclination to deal with Arka’s sensibilities. He was one of the best Imperial Guard commanders Cassius had known, but even bearing that in mind, he was still only human.

The tyranids came again in strength after nightfall, and as in the previous night the fire of rockets and blaze of lasers split the dark skies. Unlike the first assault, the wave of tyranids did not come as one in a large horde, but instead advanced along the line of the rivers and highway in smaller broods, perhaps seeking to avoid detection. Such a ruse was pointless; the sensoria of the Titans could pick up the encroaching aliens several kilometres distant, and each brood was destroyed in turn as it came into range of the Warlords’ weapons.

Cassius was moving from squad to squad around the perimeter, ensuring not only that every warrior was alert, but also repeating his mantra that Cordus Via would not fall. As yet, the Ultramarines had not fired a shot in the latest battle, but there was no excuse for laxity; the vigil of the Titans was not perfect.

On the roof of a warehouse overlooking the cataract, the Chaplain met with Sergeant Dacia. His veterans waited in darkness, their eye lenses glowing in the gloom as they peered out across the starlit spume of the waterfall.

‘All is in order, sergeant?’ said Cassius, stopping beside Dacia as he stood at the ledge bordering the flat roof.

‘So far, Brother-Chaplain,’ replied Dacia. ‘Sergeant Octanus and his squad are mounting a patrol five hundred metres upriver, in case any lictors have passed the Titans.’

‘And the spirits of your men, they are strong?’

Dacia looked at his squad, arranged like immobile statues gazing westwards along the roof’s edge, bolters, plasma guns and heavy bolter held at the ready.

‘We are patient, brother,’ said the sergeant. ‘The enemy will come again, and we will be ready for them. There is no need to be hasty in our reprisal.’

Cassius sensed a slight rebuke in the sergeant’s tone, his words hiding some other meaning.

‘You believe that we should have withdrawn from Cordus Via, brother-sergeant?’ Cassius asked.

‘If you had consulted me, that would have been my appraisal, Brother-Chaplain. The site itself is of no value other than its location. Abandoning it brings no dishonour if by doing so we continue to fight effectively. Now it is too late.’

‘I do not understand your reticence, sergeant.’ Cassius noticed that Dacia had not looked at him yet during their exchange. The Chaplain laid a hand on the sergeant’s shoulder pad, and applied enough pressure to make the Space Marine turn. ‘Be forthcoming in your reservations.’

‘Our enemy knows what we know, brother,’ said Dacia, his voice barely a whisper. Cassius could see nothing of the Space Marine’s expression, but his voice was earnest. ‘They will have us trapped here soon enough and will exterminate us at their leisure.’

Cassius frowned inside his helm.

‘To hear you speak so, one would think we are already overwhelmed.’

‘I have been thinking about the riddle their latest attack poses. What is to be gained by their attempt at subterfuge? It is quite obvious that our defence is not hampered by the fall of night. Why then, would they come at us with dregs, sending their forces forward in broods small enough to be easily despatched? They have tested us with a full assault and not found us wanting; there is no logic, no matter how alien, that suggests this desultory effort will be successful.’

The Chaplain pondered what the sergeant said, his frown deepening further, though now with consternation rather than anger.

‘The enemy are keeping us occupied,’ said Cassius, and Dacia nodded. ‘Why have you only now brought this to my attention?’

‘The answer has only just occurred to me also, Brother-Chaplain. As you were on your way here, I thought it better to speak to you in person rather than broadcast the fact over the vox-net.’

Turning away, Cassius took a few paces, his boots thumping loudly on the boards of the rooftop. He did not waste time chastising himself for his oversight, but focused immediately on a resolution. Before any was forthcoming, Dacia spoke again.

‘There is also another reason for the piecemeal assault, brother,’ said the sergeant, glancing back to the west. A blossom of fire spread across the farmlands, its glow shining over the desolated fields. ‘It is a waste of the Titans’ firepower to strike down only a dozen foes with each shot.’

‘They expend our resources with their lives,’ said Cassius, following the statement to its conclusion. ‘While the princeps waste missiles and gatler rounds on termagants, tyranid warriors and carnifexes wait for their supplies to be exhausted.’

Cassius’s first instinct was to order the Titans to cease firing, in order to conserve their ammunition. He ignored the impulse, because if the Titans curtailed their attacks, it would fall to the Ultramarines to take up the fight and their supplies would be depleted instead.

‘It is a confounding situation, sergeant,’ Cassius confessed, reaching no firm conclusion. ‘At best, the Titans grant us more time, holding the mass attack at bay. While they still fire, the waiting horde is kept at arm’s reach.’

‘Yet every passing minute sees it more likely that our Imperial Guard allies to the north and south will be overrun, brother. We will be attacked on three fronts, and we will not be able to hold Cordus Via. Should we begin to withdraw, I would stake my honour that the tyranids will know it and come at us hard, harrying us all of the way back to Attan Terminus.’

‘We will not be so easily trapped!’ snarled Cassius, his anger directed at himself for being too stubborn to foresee this outcome. ‘Extend the cordon by five hundred metres and have the Rhinos and Razorbacks brought to the access ramp. I must speak with General Arka.’

Cassius strode away without waiting for Dacia’s reply or the inevitable questions the Chaplain’s orders prompted. He opened up a vox link to the command headquarters and as Cassius reached street level Colonel Taulin answered the communications request. The officer sounded tired, his voice a husky whisper.

‘Yes, revered Chaplain, how can we help you?’

‘I need to speak with the general now, Colonel Taulin,’ said Cassius. He crossed under the Gradient and in the background heard Dacia issuing orders over the tactical frequency. ‘It is imperative that I speak to Arka personally.’

‘The general is not at headquarters at the moment, Chaplain. He is doing his rounds at the defence line. Is it urgent?’

‘Of course it is urgent, colonel! Twelve Ultramarines have died in defence of this world so far, and unless I can speak to General Arka, their sacrifice and those to come will be in vain.’

‘I understand. I will try to reach the general for you, Chaplain.’

The vox buzzed for some time as Cassius returned to his shrine room and began packing away his relics. Touching them brought a sense of purpose and peace to the Chaplain’s troubled thoughts, reminding him that the Ultramarines had faced countless perils and still they had endured for ten millennia. To be connected with that history, to be part of the legend of Macragge, was comforting. In turn, he picked up each relic and spoke words of devotion to his Chapter and primarch, and then he wrapped each in soft cloth and placed them in their metal containers, lining up the boxes against one wall.

Arka had still not contacted him by the time he had finished, so Cassius switched vox channels to check on Dacia’s progress.

‘All transports are mobile, brother. I have arranged a collapsing cordon, devastators first, tactical squads second and the assault squad last, to fall back on the Rhinos and Razorbacks. If you would inform the Titans of our withdrawal, they will be able to cover us from the west. There is no sign of enemy to the east, if we are swift we will reach Attan Terminus without encountering any foe.’

‘You misunderstand my intent, brother-sergeant. Make ready to head westwards.’

‘Westwards, Brother-Chaplain? That is towards the enemy landing sites.’ As a Space Marine, Dacia could not feel fear but his voice betrayed confusion and consternation.

‘I am aware of that, as you know, sergeant. We will not be withdrawing from Cordus Via. We will be attacking.’

CHAPTER VII

The two Warlord Titans had moved back towards Cordus Via, overlooking the highway with their immense guns and rocket launchers. True to their oaths of obedience, the Ultramarines did not question their Chaplain’s command, but made an orderly withdrawal to their transports. A drizzling rain had started around midnight, droplets of water rattling from the hulls of the transports, reflected in the light of the Titan lamps. It pattered on Cassius’s armour as he left his sanctuary to join his warriors at the accessway.

As Cassius’s force readied to embark on the Rhinos and Razorbacks, Apothecary Valion appeared, accompanied by Sergeant Acheon.

‘Brother-Chaplain, may I speak with you?’ asked the Apothecary. Receiving a nod in reply, he continued. ‘There are twelve wounded in my infirmary, brother. Though they cannot fight on here, if given proper attention they will make a full recovery and return to the Chapter whole.’

‘You may take one Rhino, brother,’ said Cassius, anticipating Valion’s request.

‘Brother-Chaplain, a Thunderhawk would be more suited,’ said Acheon, who had obviously been brought along to lend weight to Valion’s appeal. ‘The road between here and Attan Terminus may be in enemy possession. Brother Caphon is fit enough to pilot if necessary, and a lift to orbit would not require any able-bodied brethren to provide protection.’

‘You also misunderstand my personal intent, brother,’ added Valion. ‘The brethren have been stabilised and I can induce their sus-an membranes to keep them secure until they reach Fidelis. I will be accompanying the attack, brother. I am sure you will need me.’

Considering his options, Cassius concluded that the Apothecary and sergeant were correct. The Thunderhawks were one hour from changing their rotation and it would be no further burden for the wounded to be taken directly to the strike cruiser on board the gunship returning for re-armament.

‘Very well,’ he said. A thought occurred to him as he reviewed what Valion had told him. ‘There are nineteen casualties under your care, Apothecary.’

‘I will administer the Emperor’s final mercy on three of the others, brother. If we are to leave, they will not survive being moved.’

‘The last four want to stay here,’ said Acheon. ‘Each of them has suffered serious injuries and they will no longer be suitable for combat duties with the Chapter. They request that they surrender their armour for return to the Chapter and they will defend Cordus Via for as long as possible. Of those that have fallen already, we will conduct their bodies back to the Fidelis along with the living so that they are not consumed by the foe.’

Taken aback by this, Cassius had to consider hard his options. The warriors he left behind would be slain, without question. His counterattack had already cost the lives of seven more Space Marines before it had begun. Yet such was the fate of a Space Marine, and Cassius hardened his heart to the decision. The tyranids had to be stopped, no matter the cost.

‘Their names will be entered upon the roll of honour and their sacrifice spoken of to the Chapter. I will speak to them myself before we depart and will conduct the rites of the fallen upon those who will not survive to see us leave.’

‘Thank you, brother,’ said Valion. Acheon nodded his own appreciation and Cassius felt a moment of strange pride in his brothers, and not for the first time. He was being thanked for allowing them to lay down their lives in the defence of the Emperor’s realm. Only the Adeptus Astartes could truly understand what an honour that entailed.

No sooner had Cassius finished dealing with Acheon and Valion when the vox-link chimed in his ear.

‘Taulin tells me you have something urgent to say, Chaplain,’ said General Arka. ‘Is everything all right there? I have to tell you, Matis Via has been abandoned. Sentinel sweeps indicate the tyranids have already reached the waystation there. Nexus Via is surrounded and will hold for no more than two more hours. I cannot give you any longer than that. If you plan to withdraw t–’

‘We will not be withdrawing, General Arka.’ Cassius manipulated his vox controls, bouncing his conversation with the general onto the Ultramarines tactical channel so that all of his warriors could hear what was said. ‘It is my intent to strike back at the tyranids. Our initial assessment appears to be in error. The tyranids have far greater numbers than we expected from a single planetfall, and thus I am forced to conclude that amongst the creatures that made it to the surface is a norn queen – a breeder. This is not a battle that will be won by attrition, even by the Imperial Guard.’

‘I would argue that point, Chaplain,’ said Arka. ‘We have a highly defensible position, massed tanks and artillery and tens of thousands of men. Plains Fall will hold for a generation if necessary.’

‘We do not have the luxury of time, general. The other hive ships in the system are still active and it is possible that further tyranid ships will be brought to the system to reinforce the attack. I am sending the Victorix and Dominatus Rex back to Plains Fall to assist in the final defence.’

‘A sane man would come with them,’ said Arka. ‘You cannot hope to destroy this horde by yourselves.’

‘A sane man would retreat, it is true,’ said Cassius, and these were the words he wanted his warriors to hear. ‘Yet a sane man would not gladly march to battle, nor wake up every day of his life hoping that day will see him plunged into combat with a nightmare foe. Yet that is the truth of the Space Marines. We are not men, and you cannot judge us by the standards of men.

‘The tyranids will grow stronger the longer we delay. I am sure of it. Once they have a grip on this world, you might fight for a generation, for ten generations, and never be free of the taint. This incursion is in its earliest stages, but I have seen planets where continents have been consumed and oceans drained dry by this many-headed beast. We have seen rocks scoured of all life by the tyranids, with not even bacteria or atmosphere left. Styxia is doomed to a slow, inexorable death if we cannot halt this attack in its infancy, and that is what I plan to do.’

‘I still do not see how you can hope to achieve any meaningful objective,’ said Arka. ‘I am the first to laud the power of the Ultramarines, even when few in number, but the foe you face is of an order of magnitude higher than anything I would expect you to overcome.’

‘And that is why I need you to promise support, general,’ said Cassius. ‘As a soldier of the Imperial Guard, you swore oaths to serve the Emperor. As commander of this force, you pledged alliance with the Ultramarines.’

‘Have I given you reason to doubt my resolve now, Chaplain?’ said Arka, sounding hurt by the notion. ‘Have I not offered you support since the moment you arrived?’

‘I need more than support, general, I need your faith; your faith in the Emperor, your faith in the Ultramarines, and your faith in me as the embodiment of both. We cannot hope to puncture this horde and survive on our own, but if your forces attack in support of our advance, we shall destroy the source of this threat and survive to tell of it.’

‘You want me to abandon the defence of Plains Fall?’ There was a long pause. ‘You ask too much, Chaplain. You remind me of my oaths, but I must remind you that I also swore to protect the three million people sheltering behind my guns.’

‘They are dead if we do not act,’ Cassius told the general. ‘It is better to strike now while the Fidelis has the upper hand in orbit than allow the tyranids free rein on the surface. If I show you it can be done, will you attack?’

‘I will,’ said Arka, the words slightly catching in his throat even as he made the promise. ‘How will you do that?’

‘All tyranid swarms are controlled by a hive tyrant,’ Cassius said. ‘They are the focus for the psychic connection that drives the creatures onwards. The Mechanicus refer to them as synapses; nodes of intelligence alongside the warriors and other larger creatures that instil the need of the hive mind into lesser beasts. We will slay the hive tyrant controlling the swarm on Styxia. The tyranids will be in disarray, for a while at least. If the Ultramarines can kill the hive tyrant, will the Imperial Guard leave their positions and attack?’

‘If you can slay the hive tyrant, we will be ready to push the advantage,’ said Arka. ‘Are you positive there is no further assistance I can offer?’

‘Just be ready to attack, general. That is all I ask.’

‘Very well, Chaplain. The Emperor will guide you to victory.’

‘By His truth and the wisdom of the primarch, we will prevail,’ replied Cassius.

Caught up in his discussion with Arka, Cassius had not noticed a group of five sergeants had gathered close at hand: Dacia, Heletis, Capilla, Xathian and Acheon. They were all looking at Cassius, and though their expressions were hidden by their helms there was something in their demeanour that irked the ancient Chaplain. Dacia stepped forwards.

‘Your plan is flawed, Brother-Chaplain,’ said the veteran sergeant. ‘The tyranid swarm covers tens of thousands of square kilometres. Even with scanning from the Fidelis, we will not be able to locate the hive tyrant before the main enemy attack reaches Plains Fall. We have less than forty-eight hours to find and destroy the hive tyrant.’

‘You have an alternative to suggest?’ snapped Cassius, looking at the cabal of sergeants. How long had they been whispering to each other, perhaps voicing words of doubt over his ability to command? It was now that the Chaplain understood what had irritated him about their demeanour. Their stance, the way they grouped together, spoke of defiance.

‘Brother-Chaplain, it is understandable that you wish to slay as many tyranids as possible, but your hatred of them clouds your judgement,’ said Capilla, slightly apologetically. ‘You are not thinking clearly.’

Wisdom tempered instinct again. If Cassius issued a direct order, they would obey. It was not only their duty, it was an act ingrained into their psyche from the moment that had been brought to the Chapter as youths. If the Chaplain spoke the right words, his warriors obeyed without question, like machines whose logic circuit had been activated.

Alternatively, Cassius could berate his subordinates for their craven behaviour. Their actions bordered on dissent, especially in the midst of a campaign. A verbal chastisement and threats of punitive action once they returned to the Chapter would be enough to bring the dissidents back into line.

Yet Cassius did not want to lead automatons into battle, nor to exert authority for the sake of it. For centuries he had looked into the eyes of warriors who had known they would die and were glad for it. He had come to know the minds and spirits of the Ultramarines, as a whole and as individuals. Dacia and his companions did not speak against Cassius out of disobedience, nor were they cowards. Such was an impossibility for the warriors of Macragge. The concerns they expressed were genuine, and their doubts had cause. Such concerns needed to be allayed, not crushed.

‘It is an honour for us all to fight in such fine company as we have here,’ said the Chaplain, keeping the force-wide channel open so that all could hear his speech. ‘We shall be lauded as the warriors that saved Styxia. What we do in the next day will echo down the centuries, marked in the roll of honour for eternity. The people of Styxia will know the names of their saviours and they shall praise them for generations to come.

‘But that is not why we will sally forth against this foe today. It is not for praise or recognition that we plunge into the tyranids as a dagger seeking their heart. It is not for glory or even honour that we attack rather than retreat. It is something far more than strategic necessity that leads us to place our lives in the way of harm rather than seek sanctuary.

‘We will find the hive tyrant and we will slay it. We do this for the Emperor and the Chapter. We do this because we swore oaths to defend the worlds of the Emperor against all threats, xenos and human, from without and within. We will do this because we were created to be bright stars in the firmament of battle.

‘We will not show doubt, we will not hesitate. How do I know this? Because we are Ultramarines! For ten thousand years our ideals have been the bastion upon which the survival of mankind has been founded. We are the exemplars, the bright beacon of war to whom all turn in darkness! It is our privilege to destroy these foes for the Emperor, and in His name we will cleanse the unholy stain from His realm. Our hate for this foe, our righteous loathing that brought us to this place, will be our sword and our shield, cutting down our foes and protecting us from fear.

‘Do I hate this enemy? Yes! A thousand times yes! I hate them with a passion that would scour worlds and extinguish stars. I hate them with a ferocity that breaches walls and topples towers. Yes, I hate the tyranids! I hate them because they slew millions who were under our protection. I hate them because they dared set their clawed alien feet on the sacred soil of Macragge, and defiled our home world with their spores and their beasts. I hate them because they killed my battle-brothers and brought Ultramar to its knees.

‘All of these are reasons enough to hate with a fire that melts adamantium and scorches the heavens. Yet I have one more reason to hate these creatures, one more cause to despise them with every fibre of my soul and every cell of my body. I hate them because they humbled us, the greatest Space Marine Chapter in the Imperium! We came so close to being destroyed; we, the light of the Eastern Fringe, the heroes of Ultramar, the sons of Roboute Guilliman, protectors of the Codex. We are the first amongst a thousand in the minds of a trillion trillion men and women and our light guttered and almost died – on our own world!

‘We endured but there is a wound inside my soul that will not heal, and its pain is more bitter than any scar on my face and any puckered mark upon my body. It is an injury that cuts me to my core, virulent with the putrescence of failure that lights a fever in my heart. I hate the tyranids as water hates fire, and I would be the same and extinguish their presence with mine.

‘To hold on in a glorious last stand is as equally pointless as retreat. A Space Marine owes it to the Emperor and the Imperium to give his life only at great cost to the enemy. To await one’s fate, to accept a death without meaning would be cowardice. I know the tyranids well and know how to hurt them; the Ultramarines will attack!

‘The task is daunting, but that is no reason not to attempt it. Remember this simple truth: Hatred finds a way. Where love for our brothers and Emperor might ultimately falter, hatred perseveres for eternity. It is the Emperor’s greatest gift to us and we have nurtured it in our hearts these long years of disgrace. Set aside your doubts and know that hatred will see us revenged upon this foe.’

‘Hail the Emperor!’ roared Dacia, slamming his fist to his chest in salute. ‘Praise the primarch! Honour the Chapter!’

The cry and salute were echoed by the other Ultramarines. There was a growl to the sergeant’s voice as he stepped up close to Cassius. Dacia dropped to one knee. Behind him, the rest of the command followed suit, paying obeisance to their commander.

‘Show us the foe and we will slay them for you, brother. Forgive us the doubts of these past days.’

‘There will be no more doubt,’ Cassius said, laying a hand on Dacia’s bowed head, ‘only death.’

CHAPTER VIII

The Ultramarines mounted up, full squads in the Rhinos, five-man combat squads in the heavily-armed Razorbacks. They headed slightly north of west, away from the Minoran Gradient, directly towards the volcanic uplands where the tyranids had made planetstrike. Behind the Ultramarines, Cordus Via was lit by the flicker of bolt-rounds and the blinding blast of the Titans’ weapons as Ultramarines and Legio Fortitudis continued the pretence of defending the settlement, drawing the tyranids away from Cassius’s line of advance.

Smothered by the dark, the engines of their transports growling, the Space Marines were kilometres away when Cassius received a final signal from Princeps Jasyn. The Titan commander’s tone was hushed.

‘No more defensive fire registering from Cordus Via, Chaplain. The last of your warriors has fallen. They took a heavy toll of their foes. We will honour their sacrifice.’

‘They will be remembered,’ replied the Chaplain. ‘Join the defence of Plains Fall, princeps. You have the gratitude of the Ultramarines.’

‘We will incinerate Cordus Via before we depart, to ensure the bodies of your dead are not defiled by these hideous creatures. We will re-arm and return. The Legio Fortitudis will lead the counterattack when Arka commands it and we will be reunited soon enough, Chaplain Cassius. May the spirits of your weapons stay true and may the Omnissiah grant you his divine knowledge to destroy this enemy.’

‘Ave Imperator dominus,’ Cassius said before closing the link.

He moved from the front of the Rhino to the main compartment, where Dacia and his squad were sat on the benches to either side; the seven surviving veterans were acting as honour guard to the Master of Sanctity. Cassius crossed to the rear door controls and lowered the ramp halfway. Above its rim could be seen the glow of Cordus Via burning on the horizon as Dominatus Rex turned its volcano cannons on the waystation. The depot ignited with a huge fireball that raced into the air, illuminating the gigantic war machines standing over the settlement.

‘We will avenge.’

Cassius turned to find Dacia and his squad had stood up, kept steady by their power armour actuators as the Rhino bumped over the burnt earth. It was the sergeant who had spoken.

‘We will avenge,’ said Cassius.

Dawn saw the Ultramarines more than two hundred kilometres from Cordus Via. Standing at one of the fore hatches of the Rhino, its mounted storm bolter tilted to one side, Cassius surveyed the ground ahead. The land rose steadily into a series of steep foothills, before rising higher still as the volcanic peaks thrust up from the fields and orchards. A dark smudge swathed the distance, which Cassius took to be ash from recent eruptions. The highlands constantly spewed new life to the surface, the influx of nutrients more than compensating for thousands of hectares of crops lost to flash fires and lava flows.

Kilometre after kilometre of cereal fields stretched to either side of the column of vehicles, swaying in the ever-present winds. Not far ahead, less than a kilometre away, the grassy young stems were thrashing more violently. Beyond, in a swathe that was several kilometres wide, there was nothing but dark desolation stretching far into the distance.

At the front of the convoy, Cassius’s Rhino was the first to come level with the tortured crops. From the vantage point of his cupola, by the light of the Rhino’s headlamps and the rising sun, the Chaplain could see a carpet of snakelike creatures with bulbous heads and pronounced mandibles chewing their way through the crop. Known colloquially as rippers, they were the primary means for the swarm to take on biomass; other tyranids had vicious jaws and fangs, but did not feed on flesh. Anything slain was left for the rippers to consume and return to the norn queens for reprocessing into new tyranid bio-constructs. The ripper swarm was like a conveyor belt, moving forwards, consuming and breaking down everything on the surface, while a steady stream of full rippers slithered back towards the mountains.

‘Our task has been set out for us,’ Cassius signalled his warriors. ‘We need only to follow the swarm back to its source and we will discover the location of the norn queen.’

‘The death of the norn queen will halt reinforcement, brother, but we promised Arka we would destroy the hive tyrant,’ replied Dacia.

‘I am confident, brother-sergeant, that if we threaten the norn queen, the hive tyrant will come to us.’

‘A good plan, Brother-Chaplain,’ said Dacia. ‘The beast will be lured to its doom.’

‘Squads Menaton, Heletis and Tyrius, use your flamers to set a blaze in the fields. We shall let the flames consume those beasts we cannot spare the time to destroy ourselves.’

Even as Cassius spoke these words, the Rhino reached the leading edge of the approaching swarm. Rippers hissed up at him from the ground as the transport’s tracks crushed carapaces and fleshy bodies beneath plasteel treads. Those vehicles that were equipped with frontal blades lowered them, carving wounds through the near-continuous mass of creatures, until the hulls of the vehicles were encrusted with gore and chitin.

Behind the Ultramarines, the flames grew, spreading to the north and south as the winds fanned the growing blaze. From track, blade and fire, thousands of rippers were slain, yet Cassius knew it was but a drop in the ocean of alien filth that still stained Styxia.

It took two and a half hours to pass through the main part of the ripper host. The further the Ultramarines drove, the more desolate became the land they passed. They had not seen crops for a hundred kilometres, and seventy-five kilometres ago the half-eaten remains of grox and unfortunate farmers had disappeared also. Here, two hundred and fifty kilometres behind the leading rippers, the creatures were gnawing their way into the dirt itself, draining it of nutrients, viruses and bacteria, sucking every last vestige of life from the increasingly parched earth.

It also became clear to Cassius that the darkness that engulfed the highlands was not caused by a cloud of ash. In the far distance, their bases beyond the horizon, large spore chimneys were spewing swathes of gloom into the sky. Dark streamers of spores lay like tattered cloth on the wind, stretching for hundreds of kilometres to the south and east. The microorganisms carried across the continent would work in conjunction with the rippers, breaking down all biomass to make it easier to consume by the approaching swarm.

‘Spore risk,’ Cassius warned the column. ‘Recheck ventilators and seals.’

Individual spores presented little danger to a person, especially a Space Marine, but an unarmoured human caught in a cloud would be slowly eaten away, skin first, then fat, then flesh, then bone, turned to a mushy pool of constituent elements. To breathe them in was agonising, even for a Space Marine, and the spores had a nasty trait of settling inside airways to replicate, choking their unfortunate host to death.

As at Cordus Via, the two Thunderhawks had been rotating combat air patrols around the column, ready to warn of any sizeable enemy force and engage distant targets if needed. On the ground, the spore cloud was still thin, but carried on volcanic updraughts into the upper atmosphere, the cloud was much, much thicker. The Thunderhawk pilots reported the filters on their engine intakes were becoming clogged with the tiny creatures, threatening their ability to fly. Rather than risk losing one of the craft, Cassius had to concede to the concerns of the crews and ordered the Thunderhawks to return to Fidelis to fit new filters and await further command.

Onwards the Ultramarines pushed, into the heart of the wilderness, into the dead land left in the wake of the Great Devourer. Kilometre after kilometre passed by with monotonous regularity, the only features left being the mound of a hill or the empty buildings of a farmstead. All vegetation had been engulfed, the land stripped to rock.

Night fell as the column passed one thousand and forty kilometres from Cordus Via. With no desire for comfort, their armour protecting them from bumps and bangs inside their vehicles, the Space Marines were able to advance at speed, their transport slowing only to negotiate some of the larger drainage ditches and irrigation trenches. The drivers turned off their lights, not wishing to attract attention now that they were approaching the heart of the tyranid drop-zone.

Two hours after sunset, Cassius was studying the scanner reports from Fidelis. The ground ahead was uncertain; the strike cruiser’s scans had been affected by the volcanic ash and the growing spore cloud, which acted as a blanketing shield against some of the vessel’s sophisticated surveyors. The Ultramarines needed to head further north, where there seemed to be the largest concentration of organic matter. He could be wrong – it might be some forest hidden from the tyranids in an ancient caldera, but Cassius’s instinct told him that combined with the heat register that had been detected, he would find the norn queen amongst the spore funnels three hundred kilometres north.

He was broken from his thoughts by a loud crack and a vibration that ran through the hull of the Rhino. He first looked to the sweeping scanner screen to his right, but all it showed were the haphazard heat registers of rippers returning to the spore funnels to throw themselves into the digestion pools surrounding the norn queen.

The driver, Brother Exeletus, cursed suddenly and brought the Rhino to a sliding stop as another resounding detonation shuddered the vehicle from front to rear. The vox-net filled with inquiries as the column slewed to a halt behind the Chaplain’s vehicle.

‘Hatches open, ready weapons for quadrant defence!’ Sergeant Dacia’s voice cut through the noise, silencing all chatter. ‘Locate source of attack.’

‘I saw something, a thermal flicker just before the impact,’ said Exeletus.

‘Where?’ demanded Cassius. ‘What sector?’

‘That is the problem, Brother-Chaplain. It was right next to us. I think we must have...’ Exeletus’s voice drifted away and he leaned forwards, peering through the driver’s vision slit. He glanced at Cassius. ‘There is another one. Off to the right, thirty degrees.’

‘I have it,’ said Dacia. The veteran squad had opened the double doors of the armoured hatch above the troop compartment and were on firing steps, bolters and other weapons ready to repel any attack on the vehicle. The sergeant dropped down from the open hatchway, causing the Rhino to rock on its suspension for a few moments. He pointed his bolter to the right. ‘Spore mines, Brother-Chaplain. Take a look for yourself.’

Cassius pulled himself up to the opening and looked in the direction Dacia had indicated, switching to thermal vision. Sure enough, several shapes resolved in his view. They appeared as bright red globes, trailing half a dozen tendrils of orange that faded to green. Increasing magnification, the Chaplain did a full sweep, turning around completely. He counted at least twenty spore mines within two hundred metres, and had seen the telltale glimmer of scores more further away. Focusing on one of the organic mines, he watched it drifting on the breeze, buoyed up by gases inside its spherical top. Its tentacles just touched the ground at their claw-like tips, so that it appeared to be walking, changing direction with flicks of its tendrils as its rudimentary sensory organs detected light, heat and sound.

It had started to head towards the convoy, drawn by the idling engines. Checking again, Cassius saw that several more were heading in the direction of the Ultramarines.

‘Lights on, move forwards,’ said the Chaplain. ‘Batten hatches, remote weapons only.’

He let himself drop to the floor of the Rhino, boots clanging on the decking as the veteran squad lowered themselves around him. With a wheeze of hydraulic pistons the overhead hatch doors closed. Cassius moved back to his command seat beside the driver and quickly surveyed the screens laid out before him. He activated the controls for the remote storm bolter situated on the hull above his head and another screen flickered into life, relaying an image from the weapon’s motion-pict. With steady movements of his fingers, the Chaplain brought the storm bolter to aim at a spore mine forty metres ahead. He thumbed the trigger button just as the Rhino lurched forwards and started to pick up speed. The mine exploded in a shower of hard carapace and acidic mist moments before the Rhino sped through the expanding cloud.

Elsewhere there were other detonations as the storm bolters of the other Rhinos and the assault cannons and heavy bolters of the Razorbacks shredded more of the drifting organic bombs. Directing the fire of his storm bolter ahead, Cassius ordered the Razorback gunners to cease their firing; it was best to conserve ammunition for more worthwhile targets they would surely encounter once the attack on the norn queen began.

Pressing on through the night and the spore mines, the column was sometimes slowed to a crawl by the weight of creatures in front, other times able to speed up the increasingly steep slopes. Despite the attention of the Rhino crews, it was impossible to spot every spore mine and destroy it if the column was to advance at any reasonable speed. Every few minutes a distinctive crack would sound as a Rhino or Razorback came too close to a spore mine.

Hunkered in their vehicles, the Space Marines were safe from harm, though the irregular detonations grated on Cassius’s nerves and every time the column was forced to slow it was irritating in the extreme. For all that Cassius knew, the hive tyrant could be half a continent away, though it seemed unlikely. The sooner the attack on the norn queen could commence, the more swiftly the hive tyrant would be brought forth from the horde and destroyed, relieving the pressure on Plains Fall.

Most of the night had passed when Sergeant Octanus reported that his Razorback had thrown a track and been forced to a halt. The other vehicles quickly drew up in a laager around the stricken transport, weapons directed out towards the moving field of spore mines. Only when the position was secured did Cassius open the rear ramp of his Rhino and meet Octanus beside his vehicle.

Successive spore mine hits had gradually worn through the track links, every detonation splashing a little more acidic compound onto the vehicles, every explosion eating away another layer of metal. The transports looked in a sorry state, most of their livery eaten through by acid, their ceramite plates blistered with sworls of melted, cracked ceramite. Octanus’s Razorback had been the first to succumb to the speedy advance and the constant erosion of the spore mine attacks, but most of the other vehicles were in much the same poor state. Some had perforated exhausts, others suffered from compromised tracks or damage to the road wheels concealed behind the slab sides of the vehicles and one of the Rhinos had acid damage to its running gear, making it hard to turn to the right.

Cassius ordered a full halt for repairs and replacements. It was necessary but frustrating – Cassius estimated they were perhaps only ten kilometres from the probable location of the norn queen. The sky above was swathed with dark clouds from the spore funnels, and what little starlight breached the fog of microscopic organisms showed the mountainous chimneys jutting in every direction.

Swinging lamps outwards and using the lights of their armour to augment their autosenses, the Ultramarines kept watch at the perimeter, but it was taxing work. Starting with Octanus’s Razorback, one vehicle at a time was brought into the middle of the laager to be examined and have repairs effected by Brother Sesiphus, a member of Dacia’s squad who served in the Armoury and would shortly be elevated to the ranks of the Techmarines.

The process was slow and laborious, but as the ever-increasing frequency of spore mine detonations at the perimeter indicated, there was no way to spare more warriors to effect the repairs. After two hours, only three of the twelve vehicles had been patched up by Sesiphus and the gunfire from the Ultramarines was ever more frequent. Through the strange web of the hive mind, the spore mines were being drawn in for kilometres in every direction; mindless but driven towards this threat at their centre. Now, the heavy weapons troopers were having to expend lascannon shots and frag missiles to keep the crowding mass of explosive organisms at bay.

‘We cannot hold this perimeter for another ten or more hours,’ Dacia told Cassius. Along with Capilla, the veteran sergeant had been summoned by the Chaplain for a brief council of war. ‘As it is, if we move on now it will still require considerable effort to clear a path ahead.’

‘We cannot proceed on foot, that would be just as dangerous,’ said Capilla. ‘Speed was our best defence against this threat.’

‘And speed is the greatest risk we now face,’ concluded Cassius. ‘If we push the vehicles too hard now, with the damage they have suffered, we could end up stranded again; perhaps in an even more compromised position.’

‘The longer we stay here, the more mines will be drawn to us,’ said Dacia. ‘We need something else, a decoy to move them away.’

‘What would you suggest we use as a decoy, brother?’ said Capilla.

‘My squad,’ replied the veteran sergeant. ‘There is room for the Master of Sanctity to travel with any of several other squads. We shall take our Rhino and draw the spore mines away from the perimeter, acting as a rod to lightning.’

The sergeant’s tone made it clear that his mind was already made up, but Cassius needed to be sure that Dacia and his men understood what they were advocating.

‘We will not be able to wait for your return, brother,’ said the Chaplain. ‘We must press on to the attack against the norn queen without further delays. Are you sure you wish to do this?’

‘We are not only sure, we are adamant, Brother-Chaplain. Only a direct order from you would prevent us. It is not a fool’s errand, nor a suicide mission.’

‘There is considerable risk, brother,’ countered Capilla. ‘It is likely that you will perish. Perhaps one of the other squads should fulfil the role, rather than our prized warriors of the First Company.’

‘To be the First is to be above all others, in regard and in risk,’ said Dacia. ‘I would no more send another squad to act in my place than you would keep safe your life rather than risk it in defence of your brothers. We are the veterans, who have seen this foe at close hand a dozen times and more. It is our right to do this, as well as our duty.’

‘Head south and return to Plains Fall if you can,’ Cassius told the veteran.

‘Not before we have succeeded in freeing the column from this incessant menace,’ said Dacia. ‘Unless you have other objections, brothers, we will depart as soon as we are able.’

Dacia nodded and sent the two Space Marines back to their squads. News quickly spread of Dacia’s decision and the First Company warriors mounted their Rhino with their names being praised by their battle-brothers, even as the guns of the force turned north and blasted a corridor through the spore mines for the squad to follow.

After the frenetic barrage, the guns of the convoy fell silent. The sound of the Rhino’s engines was loud in the sudden quiet. With no ceremony, the driver gunned the engine and left the safety of the laager, heading into the gap opened by the earlier torrent of fire. When the Rhino was two hundred metres away, disappearing into the night, it suddenly lit up with a blaze of muzzle flare. Top hatch open, the Rhino slowed to a crawl while the veterans opened fire sporadically, a source of harsh light and sharp sound and exhaust fumes for the spore mines to latch onto.

‘It’s working!’ shouted one of Therotius’s men.

‘Quiet there!’ Cassius snapped back. The Space Marine had been correct; the spore mines had halted in their inexorable glide towards the laager and were now slowly moving in the direction of the veterans.

‘I will summon a Thunderhawk,’ Cassius told Dacia over a command link. ‘It might not be able to find you in the fume, but I will call for it anyway and they will search for as long as possible.’

‘Thank you, brother, for your leadership, your faith and your devotion,’ replied Dacia. ‘I consider it one of my greatest honours to have served as your second-in-command. I will see you again in the Cathedral of Sanctity on Macragge.’

‘You will, brother,’ said Cassius. He saw the Rhino speeding up again and it was soon swallowed by the gloom of night and spores. ‘The blood of the primarch is strong in you, Dacia. Fight hard and long.’

Another brief spark of light betrayed the presence of the Rhino another few hundred metres away, seeming tiny in the blackness. A thermal sweep confirmed to the Chaplain that the nearest spore mine was more than a hundred metres away and drifting after the departing Rhino. There were some that would still cross the laager, but the perimeter could be weakened and the Space Marines put to better use aiding in the repairs.

‘No noise, let us get these repairs done quickly and quietly,’ Cassius told his warriors. ‘Honour their sacrifice with your diligence.’

CHAPTER IX

Once they had completed their repairs, thanks to the distraction offered by Sergeant Dacia and his veterans, the Ultramarines set off on their final thrust towards the spore funnels. Heading up into the volcanic highlands they encountered little resistance and by the time they were clear of the spore mine swarm, they were able to travel even faster, coming upon a handful of scattered broods; a few dozen hormagaunts and termagants without any synapse creatures to guide them.

Cassius travelled with Tyrius’s squad, lending his experience and presence to the newly-promoted sergeant. The Chaplain knew Tyrius well, having inducted him into the Chapter as a neophyte, monitored his progress through the Scout Company and awarded him his colours upon becoming a full battle-brother – as he had done for hundreds of other Ultramarines. Tyrius was quiet and competent, calm when sometimes others would grow headstrong, which made him ideal for leadership of a tactical squad; all of which the Chaplain felt no embarrassment telling Tyrius as the column delved into the heartlands of the tyranid landings.

‘What if the Guard don’t come?’ Tyrius asked. ‘Normal men are weak, cherishing their lives above honour.’

The question had occurred to Cassius, but it was not his concern any longer now that his force was committed to the strike on the norn queen. That Tyrius had asked it suggested the idea that the Ultramarines would be abandoned to the tyranid horde was in the minds of other warriors in the force too.

‘Some men are weak, that is true,’ said Cassius. ‘Yet some men are strong. You and I were once normal boys, with the hearts of men. We were chosen because we were strong, because we had courage and honour. Not all men with courage and honour become Space Marines. Some die with their potential unfulfilled. Others find a way to serve the Emperor by other means, as missionaries or Imperial Guard officers. General Arka is a strong man, and his men are dedicated to him.’

‘It is reassuring to know that our attack will have purpose,’ said Tyrius. ‘To expend our lives in completion of this mission and yet not ensure the protection of this world with our actions would be vanity.’

‘We stay until we slay the hive tyrant, that is all we need to do,’ Cassius replied. ‘Our foes will take time to recover, with their synapse commander destroyed. With the pressure relieved at Plains Fall, Arka will feel confident that the Imperial Guard can launch their counter-offensive. Our focus must be upon the hive tyrant, unfettered by all other considerations.’

‘Of course, Brother-Chaplain.’ Tyrius’s words professed understanding, but his tone betrayed an element of doubt.

‘I know that it can be unsettling to rely so heavily upon a fragile and uncertain alliance, sergeant,’ Cassius told Tyrius. He opened up a company-wide channel to address the rest of the force. ‘Success, and our honour, must be placed in the hands of others at times. So it has been since the time of the Imperium’s beginnings. The Ultramarines are a powerful force, but even when mobilised in its entirety, our Chapter numbers but a thousand warriors. A thousand Space Marines can accomplish many things, but they cannot achieve everything.

‘There are perhaps one million Space Marines to defend the Imperium, and as old wisdom would have it, that is but one warrior per world that owes fealty to the Emperor. So has it been, from time immemorial to today, that the Space Marines must be the tip of the spear but the Imperial Guard are the weight of the haft behind it. We are the sabre that slashes, they are the hammer that smashes.

‘This is as true in Vortengard, where our brothers fight, as on Styxia. The Ultramarines cannot win this war by themselves, but it is our task, our purpose of existence, to make it possible for the Imperial Guard to bring victory. If one does not believe in this idea, one must doubt the Chapter’s duty to the Imperium as a whole.’

With these stern words ringing in their ears, the Ultramarines pressed on. When daylight came, Cassius mounted the cupola in the roof of the Rhino to examine the surroundings. The spore-fume was thick, blanketing the bare rock and filling the air. The blue of the Rhinos and Razorbacks was hidden beneath a layer of the filth and Cassius was forced to continually wipe the lenses of his helm as the column sped on through the murk.

Despite the spore gloom, it was possible to see the immense chimneys rising up ahead and to either side. Like the volcanoes upon which they were erected, the spore funnels were conical in shape, spewing out a steady stream of blackness as an eruption vomits ash. Passing close to the base of one such structure, which reached up at least two hundred metres above Cassius, the Chaplain saw that it was still under construction.

The chimney was a mass of writhing biomatter: grub-like growths and metre-long worms entangled each other in a mass of slimy strands, while six-legged crabs smaller than a thumbnail knitted together the hardening xeno-silk, followed by more larvae that excreted processed organic matter in dribbling rivulets, encasing the structure with a hardening outer covering.

Absorbed by his study of this activity, Cassius at first did not notice the monstrous apparition looming out of the spore fog in front of him. A warning from Sergeant Menaton drew his attention forwards, where the column was slowing to a halt.

The norn queen squatted amongst the spore chimneys, equally as mountainous in its bulk. The flanks of the monstrous brood-mother were covered with a swarming layer of rippers; hundreds of finger-sized larvae slipping from cord-veined incubator tubes while engorged, full-grown adults dragged themselves into puckered digestive tract openings to be absorbed back into the genetic material from which they had been spawned.

Intestinal tracts like thick cables hung between the norn queen and the surrounding funnels, dripping with alien fluids. Like perverse celebration decorations, amniotic sacs hung from these organic chains, each foetal pendulum swaying with a life of its own. Four stunted limbs tipped with claws hugged the creature’s upper body, which was covered in segmented plates that expanded and contracted slowly as other organs half-concealed within contorted and spasmed.

Ovipositor tubes spat out streams of fist-sized, mucus-covered eggs that were manoeuvred into piles around the norn queen’s haunches by hundreds of fibrous vestigial tentacles. Here they were tended to by flat-bottomed slug-like nurturers that arranged the eggs into neat rows, their slime trails soaking nutrients into the nascent creatures within the leathery casings.

At the summit of this fleshy hill was a small head, no larger than that of a tyranid warrior, with six plates at its crest and black eyes. Slowly the head turned towards Cassius and his convoy. Glancing to his left and right, the Chaplain saw immature termagants and hormagaunts emerging from ichor-encrusted cocoons, while clusters of the fully grown creatures lurked in shadowed tunnels woven into the fabric of the spore chimneys.

Cassius had never seen the like of this horrific vision. The norn queens usually kept aboard the hive ships, and fed upon a devoured planet through massive capillary towers lowered from orbit. The plight of the hive ship had obviously forced the tyranids on board to eject in their entirety, and the norn queen had somehow survived the descent to Styxia’s surface. Adapting to this harsh environment, the brood creator had manufactured new organisms to cope with life on the surface.

‘How are we to destroy such an abomination?’ asked Sergeant Xathian.

Along with his devastators, the sergeant had disembarked from his Rhino, their heavy weapons trained upon the massive norn queen. Around them several tactical squads had drawn up a defensive perimeter, though as yet the termagants and hormagaunts had not attacked.

‘We are equipped with beacons to assist in teleportation operations,’ said Cassius. ‘Their signal can penetrate the spore-fug and reach the Fidelis. The Fidelis can recalibrate her weapons augurs to the teleport signal and fire through the cloud with accuracy. Sergeant Therotius, begin a survey of the area to calculate the most suitable impact sights for orbital bombardment. I want the queen and as many funnels destroyed as possible.’

‘One cyclotronic torpedo would level this whole region, Chaplain,’ replied Therotius.

‘And render a hundred thousand hectares of farms barren for centuries, sergeant,’ Cassius said. ‘There is no point in protecting Styxia if we are to destroy its infrastructure. Bombardment cannon only.’

‘Affirmative, brother. I will assess the attack zone,’ said the sergeant.

A bolter shot rang out to the left as one of Squad Heletis opened fire on the lurking termagants. In response, several of the creatures charged into view, their weapons spitting a hail of gnawing grubs that cracked into the armour of the Space Marines.

‘Squad Octanus, provide close support to Sergeant Therotius,’ snapped Cassius. More bolt shots sounded as the Ultramarines engaged the emerging tyranids. ‘Knives, fists and swords! Conserve ammunition, brothers, there will be deadlier foes to face before we are victorious today.’

For two hours the Ultramarines fought back the increasing numbers of attackers, the buzz of chainswords and wet impacts of fists on flesh becoming a monotonous backdrop to the Space Marines’ work. Under the guidance of Therotius, six teleport homing devices were placed, three of them close to the norn queen itself, three more at structurally weak points on the half-finished spore towers around the beast. The norn queen seemed oblivious to their intent, unable to comprehend the importance of the knee-high transmitters with their signal arrays and blinking lights.

Cassius was in contact with the crew of the Fidelis throughout the operation, bringing the strike cruiser into position above the highlands and ensuring the weapons sensors were locked on to the correct signals. When all was prepared, the Ultramarines boarded their transports for the withdrawal.

Before the lead vehicle had travelled more than a few metres, the vox-net was alive with warnings as the vehicles’ auspexes detected a massive surge in readings. Concealed by the organic thatch-work nature of the spore chimneys, hundreds of beasts had been able to approach the Space Marines undetected. Cassius put it down to coincidence rather than design that they had chosen this moment to launch their attack, pinning the Ultramarines in place and so preventing Fidelis from opening fire.

Ordering the breakout, Cassius took hold of the Rhino’s storm bolter and laid down a curtain of fire to the left, gunning down the first waves of lesser creatures as they boiled up from subterranean tunnels criss-crossing the whole landing site. The auspex in the cabin below him was pinging wildly, registering heat sources and movement all around. Cassius swung the storm bolter in a half circle and cleared the passage entrances on the other side as the driver slammed the Rhino into motion, running over a cluster of hormagaunts that had been preparing to leap onto the front of the vehicle.

The column roared out with the fume of exhausts billowing in their wake and the thunder of bolter fire rebounding from the spore funnels. A red and white mass of creatures converged on the Ultramarines from every direction, and the crack of spike rifles and fleshborers engulfed the convoy. Heavier venom cannons smashed the armour of the vehicles, splashing highly corrosive acid into the interiors to melt through gear chains and control cables.

Half a kilometre from the norn queen, Cassius was forced to call a halt when Squad Capilla’s Rhino suffered a catastrophic malfunction. Flames and smoke burst from its transmission system, sending the transport crashing into one of the boulders scattered along the side of the volcano. At a word from the Chaplain, the rest of the column came to a stop, forming a perimeter of fire to allow the stricken Space Marines to disperse into the other vehicles.

The delay almost proved costly, as more and more of the larger tyranid constructs closed with the Ultramarines. A hulking carnifex, as large as the transports, stormed from one of the cavernous openings in the chimney foundations, bellowing bio-plasma at Squad Heletis’s Razorback. The twin lascannons in the vehicle’s turret spat back two stabs of white light as the carnifex lumbered into a charge, its claws ready to rip apart the transport. Striking the beast in the abdomen, the lascannon beams seared through its armoured plates and reinforced endoskeleton, severing a leg. More fire converged from the other vehicles, turning the fallen carnifex into an exploding mass of flesh and ichor.

Down the flank of the volcano sped the column, almost reckless in their haste to get to the minimum safe distance. They were still two kilometres short, a flock of gargoyles not far behind, when Cassius signalled Fidelis.

‘This is Chaplain Cassius. Authorisation is given to initiate planetary bombardment. Target coordinates as established. One round at each signal.’

It took a few seconds for the command to reach orbit and the reply to return. Cassius could barely make out the words over the roaring of the Rhino’s engine and the thundering of the storm bolter in his grip.

‘Please confirm, Chaplain. Our sensors indicate that you may still be in the blast zone.’

‘Open fire, in the name of the Emperor!’ bellowed Cassius. ‘Annihilate everything on that mountain!’

More than a minute passed before Cassius saw the first streak of white against the black fume of the spore cloud. Descending from orbit, the bombardment shell was little more than a directed meteorite weighing eight tonnes. Its ablative entry shielding burned off, flaring like a second sun for several seconds, and then it disappeared. Cassius picked up the dark blur twenty seconds later a few kilometres above the spore funnels.

The shell needed no high explosive; the kinetic energy of its descent from orbit was enough to generate a blast that ripped open the flank of the spore chimney it struck. Punching through the tyranid edifice into the rock below, the bombardment shell created a shockwave that rippled along the mountainside, toppling the spore funnel.

Twenty seconds later the second shell hit, on the other side of the norn queen. And then the third struck, and the fourth. Pounded from above, the volcano was breached, its outer layer of rock smashed apart, newly created fumaroles belching forth hot lava.

The fifth shot ripped through the norn queen, shredding its bulbous form from within, sending splinters of carapace hundreds of metres into the air. Around their brood-mother, the tyranids died in their hundreds as the sixth and final shot slammed into the ground, igniting gases gouting from the dead breeder-construct so that flames roared into the heaving sky, mingling with the ash and magma of the volcano’s eruption.

Borne upon the detonation’s shockwave, an avalanche of smoke, spores and flame spilled down the volcano, rushing after the Ultramarines in a towering wall. Cassius gave the order to close hatches scant seconds before the wave hit. It engulfed the convoy in a swirling mass of debris and fire, blotting out sensor signals, clogging engines and swamping tracks. Shuddering to a halt, the column was half-buried with dust and grit in seconds.

As the gloom dispersed, Cassius opened up the cupola hatch again and surveyed the damage. Several transports had been upended by impacts, tossed like stones across the mountainside. He called for a casualty report and was saddened and angered to hear that three battle-brothers had died; the main door on their Razorback had jammed, allowing them to be engulfed by red-hot ash that baked them to death despite their armour’s environment systems. Of Squad Heletis, only two Space Marines had survived; manning their cupola weapons they had been able to leap clear as their Rhino had been swept into a gorge by the volcanic tide.

It was clear that the convoy would be going no further. Every vehicle was bogged down; even those still working churned their tracks uselessly through the drifts of ash, unable to gain purchase enough to pull themselves free of massive chunks of chimney wall, solidifying lava and hurled boulders.

To the south and east, the spore cloud was already dispersing across the plains, but the sight they revealed was no comfort to the Ultramarines. As far as the eye could see stretched a tyranid horde; countless enemies converging on the devastation at their landing site.

‘See, my brothers?’ shouted Cassius, pointing towards the coalescing swarm no more than two kilometres away. ‘We draw their bite from Plains Fall.’

The pattern of the attack was familiar to all; the smaller creatures coming on in a vast wave, buying time for the larger beasts to approach. The tumult of the volcanic eruption had left the convoy scattered, so it was around the five operational Rhinos and one Razorback that the Ultramarines rallied.

Cassius knew their number: sixty-two warriors, including himself. He did not think it too few for the task at hand.

‘Remember, save your shots for the largest creatures!’ he commanded. He lifted up his crozius and its head lit up with the gleam of the power field. ‘They will come and we shall slay them.’

With the vehicles acting as strongpoints in the line, the Ultramarines formed up to await the living tide that now surged up the mountainside towards them. Missiles and lascannon blasts streaked out over the horde, as the devastators targeted their weapons at the broods of tyranid warriors and carnifexes striding up the slope. Before these beasts came a surging, undulating mass of red chitin and pale flesh, scores of termagants and hormagaunts rushing heedlessly towards the Ultramarines, urged on by the presence of the synapse beasts.

‘What is it to be a Space Marine?’ asked Cassius, reciting the first line of the Macragge Catechism of Hate. He had penned the catechism himself after the defeat of Hive Fleet Behemoth and the words had been taught to the Chapter during numerous sermons since.

‘It is to be death!’ came the reply from the throats of his warriors.

To the left and right, chainswords screeched into life and knives were drawn from sheaths. Fists were clenched in readiness to greet the wall of tyranids streaming towards the Ultramarines position.

‘What is it to be death?’

‘It is to be the destroyer, the end of all things.’

‘What is it to end life?’

‘It is an honour, to be the executioners of the Emperor.’

Cassius loosened his grip on the haft of his crozius as the lead broods of the swarm converged on his position at the centre of the line. Around him, bio-ammunition exploded on the armour of his warriors but he paid the fusillade no heed; his entire focus was on the creatures in front of him. Beyond the mass of small tyranids he spied his target, a looming monstrosity thrice his own height, with an enormous crest and jutting dorsal spines: the hive tyrant.

The Chaplain took a step forwards and swung his crozius, crushing the skull of the first hormagaunt to leap at him. Around him, the Ultramarines advanced a pace, their weapons tearing through the first wave of tyranids.

‘Why do we fight?’ roared Cassius, the sentiment of every question and answer burning through the core of his being.

‘To protect the Imperium and deliver mankind from the evil of the xenos, the mutant and the heretic!’

‘What is the xenos?’

‘A blight to be purged!’

‘What is the mutant?’

‘A cancer to be excised!’

‘What is the heretic?’

‘A shame to be expunged!’

Striking out left and right, Cassius advanced, the tip of the spearpoint driving towards the heart of the tyranid swarm. To his left, the jump packs of Squad Corilinus flared as the sergeant led his warriors on a charge against a brood of tyranid warriors. To the right, the devastators took up position again and opened fire with their heavy weapons, while a constant barrage of heavy bolter, storm bolter and assault cannon fire flew overhead from the cordon of vehicles, punching a hole in the tyranid mass ahead of Cassius.

‘What is the bolter, the flamer, the missile?’

‘The incarnation of destruction, by which we bring about the death of the Emperor’s foes!’

‘What is the armour, the helm and the shield?’

‘The embodiment of our faith, our determination given form.’

The squads were firing their bolters now, cutting down the tyranids by the score, ripping into the enemy like a blade plunged into an unprotected gut. Here and there along the line a battle-brother fell, slain by the claws and fangs of the enemy or killed by the venom cannon of the hive tyrant or the bio-plasma of carnifexes, but still the advance did not falter. As a single entity, the Ultramarines pushed further into the foe, united by their hatred, bound to their fate by the words of their Chaplain.

‘Who is the primarch?’

‘Our father, our guide, our king!’

‘Who is the Chapter Master?’

‘The primarch’s regent, to whom we swore oaths, the voice of the Emperor in the mortal world.’

‘What are our oaths?’

‘The steel that binds our lives to the Emperor.’

‘What did we swear?’

‘Our lives are as nought in the vision of the Emperor, save that by them we shall destroy all foes.’

Erupting beasts of flailing, hooked tentacles appeared amongst the Space Marines, fired by the barbed stranglers of the enemy. The ground ruptured in fountains of dirt and rock as tunnelling raveners burst from below to swallow Space Marines in their gaping maws. The roar of bolters reached its climax as Cassius’s catechism came to its own crescendo, his voice a bellow above the din of weapons and screech of dying tyranids.

‘What is the fate of all foes?’

‘To perish in the fire of battle and be cleansed from the galaxy.’

‘Who will prevail against the darkness?’

‘The Ultramarines!’

‘Who are the swords of the Emperor?’

‘The Ultramarines!’

‘Who are the sons of Macragge?’

‘The Ultramarines!’

This last shout came not just from the external speakers of the Space Marines, but entered Cassius’s ear over the comm. A row of explosions tore through the tyranids as missiles streaked down from the skies, followed a moment later by the white-hot stab of lascannons and the bloody eruptions of heavy bolter fire.

Plasma jets screaming, the two Thunderhawks of the Fidelis raked across the enemy, leaving swathes of dead aliens in the wake of their guns. The two converging lines of fire met around the hive tyrant. Cassius watched as the synapse creature straightened, turning its venom cannon towards one of the approaching gunships. A las-blast punched through its chest a second before heavy bolter rounds stitched a row of cracks along its armoured plates. The fusillade culminated in two titanic blasts within moments of each other, as the gunships’ dorsal cannons both fired, eradicating the hive tyrant in an incendiary detonation.

The destruction of the hive tyrant was greeted by Cassius with a triumphant shout.

‘For the Emperor and the primarch! Death! Bring death to our foes!’

EPILOGUE

The Thunderhawks and boarding torpedoes of the Ultramarines blazed across the firmament, heading towards the crippled hive ship. In the lead torpedo, Cassius hunched in his seat, strapped across his chest by the massive bulk of the safety harness. His hands were fists upon his thighs and inside his helm his lips were drawn back in a snarl as he remembered the battle of Styxia.

General Arka had not only held to his oath, he had exceeded his promise. No sooner had the Ultramarines set out on their search for the hive tyrant than the Imperial Guard had sallied forth from Plains Fall, their commander showing utter faith in the Ultramarines. The lead elements of Arka’s army had joined up with Cassius’s force only three hours after the bombardment of the landing site.

Styxia had been cleansed after a further seven days of hard fighting, but Cassius had known from the moment the hive tyrant had fallen that victory was assured. Of the Space Marines who had travelled to Styxia, forty-three returned to the Chapter uninjured, and a further twenty-six would fight again for the Lords of Macragge. Sergeant Dacia had briefly been made captain of the Ninth Company, but after only three more battles had fallen against the orks of Vortengard.

Cassius turned his head to look out of the tiny viewing port in the nose of the torpedo. The sight of the hive ship filled him with disgust. There would be no respite until the tyranids were annihilated, no peace amongst the stars whilst the inhuman menace remained. Their destruction had become his purpose, and he gloried in the execution of that particular duty more than any other.

Activating the command vox, Cassius stared with hatred at the hive ship and asked a simple question:

‘What is it to be a Space Marine?’

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Gav Thorpe is the New York Times bestselling author of ‘The Lion’, a novella in the collection The Primarchs. He has written many other Black Library books, including the Horus Heresy novel Deliverance Lost and audio drama Raven’s Flight as well as fan-favourite Warhammer 40,000 novel Angels of Darkness and the epic Time of Legends trilogy, The Sundering. He is currently working on a new Dark Angels series, The Legacy of Caliban. Gav hails from Nottingham, where he shares his hideout with the evil genius that is Dennis, the mechanical hamster.

A BLACK LIBRARY PUBLICATION

First published in Great Britain in 2012 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd., Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.

This edition published in 2014 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd., Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.

Cover illustration by Jon Sullivan.

Maps by Adrian Wood.

© Games Workshop Limited 2012, 2014. All rights reserved.

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ISBN 978-1-78251-463-3

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