THE TALE OF BELIAL

COUNTER-ATTACK

The operations room aboard the Unrelenting Fury was silent but for the hiss of the command comm. Master Belial looked at the speaker intently. He was dressed only in a ceremonial robe, his armour left with the Techmarines to repair the damage sustained during the retrieval of the ork power relay. Half-healed scars from his encounter with Ghazghkull marred his exposed chest and arms, bright welts against tanned skin.

Occasionally the static was broken by a background thump or muffled impact. The company captain blinked in surprise as a deafening crash resounded around the room.

‘Boreas?’ The captain’s repeated call brought no reply. ‘Brother Boreas, this is Master Belial.’

He listened for a response but there was nothing. Belial crossed to the control panel set into the wood-panelled wall and was about to cut the link when he heard a loud panting. Guttural voices could be heard in the distance.

‘Brother-Chaplain Boreas? Respond. Report your situation.’

There was a scraping noise and more panting. Suddenly a bass voice echoed from the speakers.

‘Dey’s all dead.’

Deep laughter reverberated around the room. Then came a crash and the link died.

Belial sighed and turned the comm dial to general broadcast.

‘This is Master Belial to all forces. Barrak Gorge geothermal station has fallen to the orks. It is likely the enemy will recommence teleportation reinforcements in the near future. All stations prepare your defences and stand ready for attack.’ The commander adjusted the setting. ‘This is Master Belial to Ravenwing Sergeant Validus. Join me aboard the Unrelenting Fury. I am sending a Thunderhawk to your position.’ He twisted the dial again without waiting for a response. ‘Brothers Uriel, Hephaestus and Charon, rendezvous at Sergeant Validus’s position for transportation to orbit.’

He stepped away from the comm panel and crossed to the holo-desk that dominated the centre of the chamber. The affirmatives from his warriors sounded tinnily from the comm behind him. Punching in coordinates, Belial brought up a fuzzy display of Koth Ridge and the East Barrens. Red icons blinked here and there, showing the last recorded sightings of ork forces. He brought up the chronometer tags and sighed again. Other than those inside Kadillus Harbour, the latest report was Boreas’s. The only others were his own observations at the East Barrens station, now six hours old. He peered at the digital image as if he might see the orks on the planet below.

‘Where are you?’ he asked quietly, rubbing his chin. ‘What are you going to do next?’

The Company Council was convened within the hour. Belial had stared constantly at the digimap while he had waited for his advisors, but was no closer to deciding a course of action. He sat now at the head of the display desk, elbow on one arm of the command throne, chin on fist.

Uriel sat on the master’s left, his black armour covered by a sleeveless bone-coloured robe. His sunken eyes constantly flicked across the faces of the others in the room.

On Belial’s right was the most senior Librarian in the force, Lexicanium Charon. Though of the lowest rank within the Librarium, Charon was attached to the 3rd Company as Grand Master Azrael’s representative and no doubt had the ear of the Dark Angels’ supreme commander. The psyker sat upright, palms together in his lap, eyes intent on Belial. The cables of Charon’s psychic hood burrowed beneath the skin of his scalp and twitched with the Librarian’s pulse, scratching against each other with every double heartbeat.

Beside the Librarian hunched Ravenwing Sergeant Validus, the longest-serving member of the 2nd Company present on Piscina. The black paint of his armour was heavily scratched and burnt, the ceramite underneath patched with fresh resin casts and welding. His winged helmet was on the table in front, an eye lens cracked, mouth-grille dented.

Last of those present was Techmarine Hephaestus, representative of the armoury. He looked strangely smaller than the others, having removed his servo-arm-equipped backpack and heavy shoulder pads. The Techmarine was at the display console’s controls, three cables snaking from the digi-desk to sockets in Hephaestus’s forearm armour.

‘There is another whose advice will be invaluable,’ announced Belial. He signalled to the robed serf sat at the comms unit. ‘Revered Venerari, can you hear me?’

A mechanically generated voice grated from the comm speakers.

‘I am here, brother. My experience is yours to share.’

‘Thank you, brother. Soon we will need not just your wisdom, but your strength and determination.’ Belial stood up and leaned on the edge of the large display plate, looking at each of his council in turn. ‘We face a tipping point in this war, brothers. We have held the orks at bay as best we can, but it may not be enough. It is still at least seven days before the rest of the Chapter will reach orbit. The orks have control of two power stations once more and will resume their previous level of reinforcement. Though we have bloodied our foes severely these last eight days and nights, we have no such reserves to draw upon. Casualties amongst the 3rd Company and other Astartes units under my command are at thirty-two per cent. The Piscina defence force reports nearly seventy per cent casualties, mostly in Kadillus Harbour.’

Belial stepped back and folded his arms across his broad chest.

‘We do not know exactly how quickly the orks can rebuild their strength for sure, or how soon they will attack, but we can be sure that the longer they wait, the greater will be the blow that lands upon us.’

‘Are all forces engaged, brother?’ Venerari asked through the chamber’s speakers. ‘Have we any other forces left to commit?’

‘There are Free Militia troops and tanks en route to Kadillus Harbour from other parts of the island,’ replied the company master. ‘We might have airlifted them to the city earlier, but the enemy’s possession of the defence laser rendered that impossible. Similarly, Ghazghkull’s occupation of the docks makes any transportation by sea equally difficult. Therefore these forces are travelling overland and will be expected in two days’ time.’

‘It is your hope that these forces will bolster the defence before the orks attack.’ Charon’s words were a statement not a question. ‘It is unwise to rely upon elements that are not directly under your control.’

‘And I do not intend to, brother,’ said Belial, sitting down again. ‘If we simply wait for the orks to build up their strength, we cannot stop them. They could grow in numbers for five days and have the far greater strength, sweeping away any forces we have in a day, before the Chapter reaches us.’

‘Perhaps the orks will attack early,’ suggested Uriel. ‘Excited by their success at Barrak Gorge they might continue their attack.’

‘Possible, but unlikely,’ said Venerari. ‘We know that Ghazghkull has demonstrated remarkable strategic acumen for an ork in the past, and his actions thus far have not demonstrated proof that he has lost that. This other warlord has also shown a certain amount of cunning.’

‘Indeed,’ said Belial. ‘It is to my shame that I underestimated the threat of the orks, and perhaps by doing so I have allowed them an advantage that we cannot now reverse.’

‘From what Naaman described, none of us could have imagined how the orks were reaching the planet,’ said Uriel. ‘You acted in accordance with the best teachings and doctrine of the Chapter. What we have faced is quite unprecedented. Not only have two ork warlords allied themselves to attack this world – which is in itself a strangely inconsequential target – but they have also mastered an advanced technology on a scale never before encountered in the ten thousand years of the Chapter. I am sure that Grand Master Azrael will not judge your actions harshly.’

Belial turned to Sergeant Validus.

‘Have the Ravenwing any fresher intelligence to offer this discussion?’ asked the captain.

‘No, brother, not at the moment,’ Validus replied with a shake of the head. ‘I have but three land speeders and a single bike squad left for reconnaissance, to cover several hundred square kilometres, and without orbital augury data. If you were to tell me where to look for the orks, we will do so, but we cannot patrol the wilderness endlessly or with any certainty.’

The company master chewed on the knuckle of his thumb as he considered this. His eyes darted to Uriel as the Chaplain sat forwards, hands on the wide table.

‘You could lead another Terminator strike at the East Barrens site,’ declared the Chaplain. ‘It is not a permanent solution, but it would delay ork reinforcements again and generate time for us to better prepare our defences.’

‘Or mount an offensive to retake Barrak Gorge,’ added Validus.

Belial shook his head.

‘The last attack was only possible due to Naaman’s planting of the homing beacon. It has been destroyed.’ He looked at Validus. ‘Unless the Ravenwing are capable of planting a new homing signal transmitter?’

Validus shrugged.

‘It is worth investigation, brothers,’ said the 2nd Company sergeant. ‘Sergeant Naaman succeeded through stealth; perhaps we will meet with similar success with speed.’

‘It is a delaying tactic and nothing more, brothers,’ said Venerari. ‘It is not without merit but it is not a lasting solution to the situation that we face. It may succeed again, but I do not believe that the orks will be tricked a third time. We would still require a more permanent resolution if we are to resist their attacks until the rest of the Chapter arrives.’

‘If it is even possible a second time,’ said Hephaestus. ‘It is likely the enemy have further fortified their base since the last attack. I rate the chances of a Ravenwing strike to be slim considering the likely level of opposition.’

The Space Marines sat in silence for some time, amidst an air of frustration. It was galling to Belial that he had been wrong-footed by two savages. He wracked his brains to find some other strategy that would turn the tide back against the greenskins.

‘May I make a suggestion, brother-captain?’ Hephaestus broke the thoughtful silence.

‘That is why I brought you here, brother,’ Belial replied with some irritation. ‘Speak your mind.’

‘While it seems problematic to prevent the ork reinforcements from arriving, there is another alternative,’ said the Techmarine. The holo-display whirled and zoomed in on the East Barrens geothermal station. ‘We have a single point of entry to target. Now that we have the precise energy signature from Sergeant Naaman, we have been able to locate the teleporter beam on the long-range scanning arrays. It has not moved from its previous site. It is a logical conclusion from the evidence so far examined that the orks’ arrival point on-world is fixed, for some reason we do not yet understand.’

‘We don’t know where the orks are that are here already, but we can be sure where any new arrivals will be coming from.’ Belial smiled at the realisation.

‘An orbital strike,’ suggested Uriel.

‘Negative,’ said Hephaestus. ‘Proximity to the power plant still presents a threat to the entire geothermal network.’

‘Thunderhawk strike,’ said Venerari. ‘A gunship can deploy from orbit, attack the reinforcements and then return to the battle-barge to resupply and re-arm.’

Belial’s fingers tapped an agitated beat on the desktop.

‘We have only one gunship remaining,’ said the commander. ‘If we lose it, we have only civilian aircraft left to us.’

‘That is where the Ravenwing will help,’ said Validus. ‘I can have a squadron of land speeders in the area within three hours. They can report on the enemy’s defences and any changes since we lost touch with Naaman.’

‘Very well,’ said Belial, standing up. The others stood with him. ‘We will prepare for a succession of aerial strikes. Sergeant Validus will coordinate the reconnaissance and provide on-ground observation for the attack. Brother Hephaestus, prepare the remaining gunship for a heavy-bombardment role. Brother Uriel, draw up a list of surviving battle-brothers with specialist gunnery training who can crew the Thunderhawk with Hephaestus. I will organise for them to be extracted from their current duties.’

The Space Marines nodded their assent. As Validus, Hephaestus and Uriel left, Charon stayed behind.

‘You have something to add, brother?’ Belial asked the Librarian.

Charon sat down again and nodded.

‘I detected an emanation from my brothers in the Librarium shortly before I arrived at the council.’ The psyker fixed Belial with a penetrating stare. ‘It is a message from Grand Master Azrael. I thought it better that I pass it to you in private.’

‘Very well,’ said Belial. He gestured for the Librarian to continue.

Straightening in his chair, Charon laid his hands flat on the glassy surface of the display table. Motes of energy danced along the wires of his psychic hood. The Librarian’s eyes darkened, the veins standing out in stark contrast to the whites, flickering with blue. With a shuddering gasp, the Librarian arched his neck and his eyes rolled back, showing nothing but a tracery of coruscating energy.

The psyker’s face changed. The features did not alter, but the Librarian’s muscles twitched and took on a different cant, approximating another’s face: Azrael, Grand Master of the Dark Angels. The jaw was set firmly, lips thin, cheeks drawn in. When Charon spoke, it was with the voice of the Chapter’s commander, his mouth twisting in imitation of Azrael’s mannerisms.

‘Master Belial. I do not have to press upon you the importance of the situation on Piscina. Know that it is my will that this world is denied to the orks, at any cost. I have faith in you and your company, and you should know that deliverance from these foul beasts is almost at hand. The Techmarines believe they have identified an area of space that is the source of the teleportation beam bringing reinforcements to the planet. It is my belief that at least one ork-occupied hulk is in the system, and carries forces that will test the strength of the entire Chapter. The orks must not be allowed to gain a significant hold on Piscina. If your best efforts and greatest sacrifices are not sufficient to contain the alien menace, it is imperative that the orks be denied a landing in true strength. I trust that you will take any measures to ensure this.’

Azrael-Charon’s face turned away for a moment and then returned its unearthly gaze to Belial.

‘You will receive confirmation of these orders by standard communication before my arrival. Praise the Lion.’

Shuddering again, Charon let out an explosive breath and slumped forwards. Opening his eyes, he looked at Belial with his normal face.

‘I take it from your expression that you comprehend the intent of the Grand Master’s command,’ said the Librarian.

‘I do, brother,’ Belial replied with a nod. ‘It is better that Kadillus is destroyed than fall into the hands of our enemies.’

‘Very well, brother,’ Charon said. He stood up and bowed his head in deference. ‘I will leave you to make the necessary preparations for that event, and the means by which we might avoid it.’

Belial’s eyes followed Charon’s back as the psyker left through the heavy door. A blinking light on the comm panel attracted his attention.

‘You heard that, Revered Venerari,’ said the company master.

‘I did, brother.’

‘Why is it that he felt it necessary to remind me of my duty?’

‘Do not take it as an admonishment. Lord Azrael wishes you to know that you have his full support for whatever actions you take.’

‘We will not fail. We are Astartes.’

‘The Lion is with us, brother. In his name we will triumph.’

The light winked out and Belial was left with the comms-tech. The youth, his face impassive, turned to the captain.

‘Do you have any further orders, master?’

Belial thought for a moment, fingers stroking his chin.

‘Send for the gunnery captains. They have preparations to make.’

Half a dozen serfs bustled around the terminals of the operations chamber, moving from one console to the next as they calibrated the comms arrays and updated the scanner data for the digimap. Belial stood immobile amongst the activity; now clad in his dark green armour, power sword at his waist, an ivory-coloured robe hanging to his knees, red Deathwing icon embroidered upon the left side of its chest. Charon and Uriel were with him, sitting patiently at the display slate.

Through the murmurings of the serfs Belial could hear the reports from the ongoing fighting in Kadillus Harbour. The company commander listened subconsciously to the fragments of information being related by the Space Marines and Piscinan officers around the docks and power plant, content that nothing had significantly changed. He had issued orders for the Emperor’s forces to hold their positions and continue to contain Ghazghkull’s army so that he could devote his full attention to the upcoming Ravenwing mission.

Now and then he delivered a short series of orders into the comm-piece hung on the collar of his armour: directing squads to areas that were weak, or replacing fatigued troops with fresher forces. He did this without effort or reference to the digimap, his conscious thoughts contemplating the situation at the East Barrens plant.

Validus’s voice cut through the others from the main speaker.

‘Five kilometres from target.’

‘Filter all other transmissions,’ said Belial as he sat down in the command throne.

He shared a glance with Charon and Uriel. All three turned their attention to the holo-display. A flickering rune denoting the land speeder squadron moved across the representation of Kadillus east of Koth Ridge.

‘Activating long-range augur. Ravenwing-Two, increase separation to one hundred metres. Sequenced upload of scan data commencing.’

The hololith strobed for a few seconds, the rendered topography of Kadillus warping as the stream of data was integrated into the display. When the image had settled Belial could see several clusters of fresh runes dotting the hillside ahead of the land speeder squadron.

Timing was the key. The Ravenwing squadron had three tasks to complete: locate the enemy forces around the landing site, provide on-ground targeting links for the Thunderhawk attack, and engage the air-defence weapons that had shot down the company’s other gunship.

‘Belial to Hephaestus. Launch gunship and begin atmospheric descent.’

‘Confirm, brother-captain,’ replied the Techmarine. ‘Launching in five seconds. Attack route established. Weapons armed.’

‘Scanner returns increasing in density.’ Belial could sense the tension in Validus’s voice. ‘Identification problematic. Whatever the orks have done to the power station, it is causing havoc with the augur. Ork vehicles present, category unknown. Visual confirmation required.’

‘Gunship launched, brother-captain,’ said Hephaestus. ‘Decreasing orbital velocity to six kilometres per second. Gravitic grip deployed. Atmospheric breach in three minutes. Time at target will be eighteen minutes.’

Two metres above the digital surface of Piscina, a small icon representing Hephaestus’s Thunderhawk appeared. It hovered in the air, far too distant for its speed to be scaled down to the display. Belial touched the comm activation rune on the panel set into the tablet in front of him.

‘This is Belial to Validus. Gunship is on its way. Update on scanner and comms interference from the ork modifications. Do not engage enemy.’

The commander tapped a finger on the display slate while he waited for his message to relay down to the surface and the Ravenwing sergeant’s reply to return to the battle-barge.

‘Was it wise to launch the gunship before target confirmation, brother?’ said Uriel. ‘There will be little opportunity to abort the mission if there are no–’

Validus’s voice cut through before the Chaplain could finish. Belial held up his hand, silencing Uriel.

‘Interference is resonating from volcanic deposits,’ said Validus. ‘We will have a clearer signal once we clear the ridge. Orders, brother-captain?’

Belial checked the chronometer.

‘We have fifteen minutes until last-chance abort of mission, brother. Enemy must not be alerted to your presence. Cross the ridge in six minutes and provide report. Engage enemy defences in thirteen minutes. Confirm.’ The company commander looked through the translucent hololith at Uriel. ‘If we wait for confirmation, the delay from launch to attack is too long and would allow the orks to respond to the presence of the Ravenwing. Pre-arranged, absolute abort signal is “Angel’s fall” and every member of the squadron is authorised to issue it. Hephaestus will re-direct to Northport the moment that code is issued, without compromise.’

Excitement was growing inside Belial. Though he was not directly involved, he could feel the familiar rush of battle building up. Calling on decades of training and experience, he kept himself calm and held back the urge for action. It was Belial’s patience that had first made him suitable for command, and he needed every ounce of that same patience during this critical mission.

He barely heard Validus’s confirmation message as he considered the possible outcomes and options that would unfold over the next fifteen minutes. Like an actor rehearsing his lines, Belial ran through different scenarios and his responses: what he would do if the ork numbers proved too few to be worthy of attack; his orders to Hephaestus if contact with the Ravenwing was lost; targeting priorities if there was sufficient enemy presence to warrant the completion of the mission; the threat threshold of enemy defences he considered too much of a risk to the Thunderhawk if Validus deferred the abort option to his commander.

All of this and much more Belial considered and analysed and streamlined so that he would be ready whatever happened. Detached from the action, the stimulants coursing through the captain’s system bombarded the neurons firing in his brain rather than flooding his limbs with physical power. Each and every consideration was crisp and precise, analysed in detail and memorised for future recall. Every thought opened up a sequence of possible consequences, which brought on further thoughts. A cascade of decisions, probable outcomes and subsequent decisions filled Belial’s mind.

He looked sharply at Charon, his heightened awareness drawn by a slight movement from the Librarian. Charon returned Belial’s focussed glare with a calm expression. The Librarian darted a glance at Belial’s armoured hands, which were clenched into fists atop the display slab.

Belial’s nostrils flared as he took a deep breath. He relaxed his hands, interlocking his fingers in front of him. He smiled at Charon and signalled his gratitude with the slightest dip of his head.

The Master of the 3rd Company looked at the chronometer. Two more minutes had passed.

‘Time on target, six minutes,’ reported Hephaestus. ‘Undergoing atmospheric braking and energy capture. Weapons test arming complete. Awaiting targeting data from the ground.’

Belial checked the holo-display. The Thunderhawk was levelling out of its steep descent and blazing towards the East Barrens at several times the speed of sound. Validus’s squadron had encountered scattered ork infantry but had swept through the patrols and were due to crest the ridge above the geothermal plant at any moment. He looked at the comms panel in anticipation.

‘Validus to Master Belial. Enemy casualties at sixteen, no friendly casualties. We will achieve unimpeded augur coverage and visual sighting of the enemy in ten seconds. Energy waveform matches that of the teleporter prior to your removal of the relay device, brother-captain. It is reasonable to assume that the enemy have restored their previous level of reinforcement.’

There was a crackle of static, most likely caused by an inter-squad communication.

‘Collate squad comms,’ Belial told the technicians. They fussed at their dials and switches for a few seconds before the voices of the Ravenwing pilots and gunners hissed over the speakers.

‘…earing due east, brother-sergeant. Three enemy light transports heading directly to our position.’

‘What of the air defences, brother?’ This was from Validus.

‘Negative at the moment. Medium-calibre weapons and… Wait! There is something behind the power plant. Moving south-east for a better view.’ The silence made the seconds creep past. ‘What is that?’

Another voice cut through.

‘Sergeant, have visual sighting on a vehicle-mounted rocket battery. Two of them, in that stand of trees eighteen hundred metres north-east.’

The first voice returned.

‘Brother-sergeant! Sizeable missile system located south-east of the geothermal station. Looks to be anti-air capable, but who can say for sure with ork technology?’

More hissing from overlapping comm-frequencies filled the room. Everyone, Space Marine and serf, was frozen in place, awaiting the next report. Hephaestus’s deep voice resounded around the chamber.

‘This is Hephaestus. Weapons armed. Target sighted. Final manoeuvring for attack run. Lock-on in fifty seconds.’

Belial checked the chronometer ag ain. It was twenty-eight seconds until Hephaestus could pull out of his attack run and avoid any defences at the East Barrens plant. He decided against signalling Validus for a decision – by the time the message reached the Ravenwing sergeant and was answered there would only be a few seconds to issue an order to the plunging Thunderhawk. He had to trust Validus’s judgement.

Nothing was said for three seconds and then Validus broke the quiet.

‘Ravenwing-One to Hephaestus. Angel’s fall! I repeat, angel’s fall! Enemy air defence too dense. Abort attack run.’

Belial could imagine the roar of retro-jets firing as the Techmarine hastily altered course. The glowing sigil in the hololith turned sharply as the gunship banked away from the power plant.

‘Hephaestus to Master Belial. Abort code received, abandoning attack run. Redirecting to Northport landing facility. Weapons deactivated. Awaiting further orders.’

A tense silence filled the operations chamber. It was broken by a broadcast from Validus.

‘Ravenwing-One to Master Belial. Enemy are responding to our presence in strength. What are your orders?’

Belial activated the comm in front of him.

‘Perform a recon sweep of enemy forces as best you can and withdraw. Take up preparatory position fifteen kilometres west of the East Barrens station and await further instruction. Confirm.’

The company master sighed and looked at Charon. The Librarian’s expression gave away nothing of his thoughts. Uriel was gently rapping the knuckles of his gloved hand against the edge of the display desk, a sign of frustration.

‘Ravenwing-One to Master Belial. Confirm orders. Withdrawing fifteen kilometres west. Avoiding contact with enemy.’

‘So that is the end of that,’ growled Uriel. ‘What do we do now? Validus has confirmed that the orks have been able to connect the Barrak Gorge power plant to their teleporter and reinforcements have resumed. It is only a matter of time before the orks feel they have enough strength to attack again.’

Belial said nothing. He bowed his head as he thought, avoiding the inquiring gazes of Uriel and Charon.

‘You have the Grand Master’s orders, brother.’ The Librarian’s words were quiet but insistent.

Still silent, Belial adjusted the display controls to widen the scope of the hololith, until it showed the huge area encompassing Kadillus Harbour, Koth Ridge, Barrak Gorge, Indola and the East Barrens station. He looked at it for some time, staring at the runes highlighting the last reported sightings and strength of the orks.

He sighed and rubbed his chin. Only now did he meet Charon’s purposeful gaze.

‘I am not yet ready to concede Piscina to the orks,’ said the company captain.

‘Then you will prepare for bombardment, brother,’ replied Charon.

‘Not yet.’ Belial shook his head and stood. ‘There is still one path we can explore. An aerial assault has been ruled out, but we are not without other weapons.’

Belial spread a hand across the Dark Angel figure emblazoned on his chest plastron.

‘Ever since the orks arrived we have been trying to keep the enemy at bay. No more. I see now what we should have done from the outset. We are Space Marines! We are the sharp tip of the Emperor’s spear; the cutting blade of the Emperor’s sword. We attack, surely and swiftly, and sweep all before us. Ghazghkull has made us a garrison, a defence force, and we have paid the price for allowing that. No more! We will do what we were trained to do; the purpose for which we were created. We attack!’

He pointed at the ork dispositions on the display, his gauntleted hand passing into the fuzzy hologram.

‘While our forces have been stretched thin, we should not over-estimate the strength of the enemy or the concentration of their force. They have been defeated at Koth Ridge and paid a heavy price for their assault. Though Boreas ultimately failed us at Barrak Gorge, the orks suffered there also. We cannot be disheartened by the setbacks we have endured, for the enemy have not had such success that they are guaranteed victory.

‘It took the orks several days to build up the army they needed to attack Koth Ridge. If we strike now while they are divided, while fresh forces are still arriving, we can capture the East Barrens geothermal station. I saw for myself the slow progress of their reinforcements. If we cannot shut down the teleporter in its entirety, we can establish a position of strength overlooking their arrival zone and destroy them as they arrive.’

‘From where will the forces of this attack come?’ asked Charon.

Belial paced.

‘We must take a risk. Fresh Piscina defence forces are arriving at Kadillus Harbour in the next few hours. We will give over our positions in the city to these soldiers and create a strike force.’

‘What you suggest will weaken the defence of Kadillus Harbour.’ As usual, Charon simply stated the facts with no hint of reproach or opinion.

‘We will trust to our allies to hold Ghazghkull in place,’ said Uriel. ‘If done under cover of darkness, there is no reason for the enemy to suspect that our lines have been reduced.’

‘Better than that, they will think them strengthened,’ said Belial. ‘I will contact the commander of the reinforcement column and instruct him to enter Kadillus Harbour with as much show of strength as possible. I cannot imagine that Ghazghkull has a clear picture of what is happening outside the city. The sight of newly arrived troops and a minor offensive will convince the enemy that they are isolated and that we are preparing for the final attack.’

‘It is a worthy plan, brother,’ said Uriel, growing more animated the more he thought about Belial’s course of action. ‘When we destroy the ork landing site, we will be free to return to Kadillus and purge the city of the filthy xenos, as we should have done from the outset.’

Belial directed a sharp look at the Master Chaplain.

‘You believe I was overly cautious in my earlier actions, brother?’

‘I do not judge your actions with the benefit of hindsight, brother,’ said Uriel.

‘It sounds as if you do,’ replied Belial. ‘If you had concerns that I was being somehow timid in my reaction to the ork attack, why did you not speak to me?’

‘You misunderstand me, brother,’ said Uriel. ‘You acted to contain the ork menace in Kadillus Harbour and committed the greater part of the company to that effort. You could have sacrificed the city for the short term so that we might avoid getting divided and embroiled in the desperate stalemate that ensued. It was a choice of priority; neither option was better or worse than the other.’

Clearing his throat, Charon stood up and held out his hands, palms facing his two companions.

‘The past is set, the future is not,’ said the Librarian. He concentrated his attention on Belial. ‘Do you consider this attack to be the best course of action, brother?’

Belial raised his eyebrows in surprise.

‘You think that I have concocted this plan simply to avoid the alternative?’ The company master sighed. ‘I would avoid any cataclysmic solution to the situation by any means that present themselves, but this is not simply a fool’s errand. It is our duty to protect Piscina, whatever the cost.’

Annoyed by the suggestion, Belial stalked back and forth a few paces. His eyes fell on Uriel.

‘Brother-Chaplain,’ said the captain. ‘These are your orders. You will remain aboard the Unrelenting Fury and take command in my absence. I will lead the attack on the East Barrens plant. If the attack fails, you will order the Unrelenting Fury into low orbit to destroy the defence laser site in the city, and also Northport. You will then commence bombardment of the East Barrens facility to destroy the orks’ source of power. If this proves insufficient to halt ork reinforcements, you will do the same at Barrak Gorge and, if ultimately necessary, the power plant in Kadillus Harbour. When the Chapter arrives, the orks will be stranded on this world, no matter the cost. Ghazghkull and his filth will not escape again.’

Uriel’s brow creased in thought.

‘Is there not a high risk attached to orbital bombardment, brother-captain?’ said the Chaplain.

‘There is,’ replied Belial. ‘Confirm your orders.’

‘Confirm, brother-captain. I will assume command of the Unrelenting Fury and use orbital bombardment to halt all ork reinforcements to the planet.’

Belial rounded on Charon.

‘Do you have any other questions, brother?’

The Librarian pursed his lips as he thought.

‘No, brother. I will join you in the attack on the East Barrens, if you concur.’

‘Your presence will be a great boost to our forces, brother.’ Belial looked at the two of them. ‘We will be victorious, brothers. The Third Company will not be remembered with shame for letting the orks take one of the Emperor’s worlds from his domain.’

He nodded for the Librarian and Chaplain to leave.

‘I have many preparations to make, brothers. I will reconvene the council when I have done so.’

When they had left, Belial sat down in the command throne and took a deep breath. It was a gamble: the lives of his warriors for an uncertain chance of victory. He gazed at the digimap and knew that there was no option; the alternative would simply be a stain upon his honour too dark to bear.

Dismissing his sense of foreboding, Belial focussed the hololith on Kadillus Harbour and started to analyse the disposition of the Imperial forces, looking for areas he could pull out his Dark Angels.

Lumbering servitors with hydraulic lifting arms thudded across the hangar deck carrying boxes of supplies to the waiting Thunderhawk. Their blank eyes stared straight ahead as Hephaestus stood on the gunship’s ramp, directing the loading work with clipped commands in the language of the tech-priests. Slack-jawed, cables and pneumatics puncturing their flesh, the servitors trudged up the ramp to stow their loads while robe-clad serfs amended manifest slates.

Chapter staff from the armoury restocked the gunship’s weapons caches and lockers with extra bolters and chainswords, power axes and flamers, heavy bolters and lascannons. The fighting of the previous days had demanded all of the resources of the battle-barge, but Hephaestus and his attendants had stripped the hold bare of every bolt, power pack and weapon that could be found. Even the non-Astartes crew of the Unrelenting Fury had given up their store of lasguns and shotguns and flak armour so that the Free Militia in Kadillus Harbour could be re-equipped.

This was the last of four runs down to the planet that Hephaestus had organised. At Northport, armoury crews were assembling two forgotten Rhino transports that had been found by the Techmarine on a delve into the deepest storage bays. Some of the long-range comm dishes had been removed from the battle-barge’s on-board array to replace the primitive sets the Piscinan commanders had been using, while one of the ship’s plasma reactors had been re-routed for several hours recharging fuel cells for sensors and heavy weapons.

As he watched the activity from a balcony above the flight deck, Belial knew that this was his last push for a decisive victory. He was sure of his plan; the alternative was to continue to fight a desperate war of attrition with an enemy who could constantly replace their losses. Defeat was certain if he followed that path.

There was more than simply strategy to recommend the attack to Belial. If the 3rd Company was to fail here, it would not be whimpering and bleeding from a thousand cuts, but in the furnace of battle, taking the fight to the orks. Weaker men would have called it vainglory, but Belial knew better. His Space Marines would fight even harder knowing that they faced victory or death. All of the surviving eighty-two Astartes under his command would rather decide their fate with a daring assault than be forced to fight on beneath the ignominious cloud of inevitable defeat.

The clump of boots on the mesh floor of the balcony announced the arrival of Charon. The Librarian’s face was hidden in the shadow of his robe’s hood, but his eyes glittered with psychic energy. From a sling across Charon’s chest hung a long, double-handed blade; its pommel was a single crystal the size of a Space Marine’s fist, fashioned in the likeness of a skull.

Seeing that the loading of the Thunderhawk was almost complete, Belial checked his own wargear. He unhooked the displacer field generator from his belt and inspected the power supply display. Shaped like a knight’s shield embossed with the head of a lion, the displacer field contained a proximity detector and compact warp-shift engine. When activated by enemy attack, the device would snap Belial into the warp for a fraction of a second, depositing him back into the material universe unharmed, reappearing a few metres away from the threat. It was an arcane piece of equipment, and despite the constant attention of the Techmarines was temperamental and did not guarantee absolute protection.

A holster attached to Belial’s right thigh with magno-clamps held the company commander’s bolt pistol, loading with seeking ammunition Hephaestus had scavenged from surviving stores in the catacombs of the basilica in Kadillus Harbour. Three more magazines of the precious bolts were carried in pouches on Belial’s belt. On his left hip he carried a plasma pistol, with a spare canister of fuel for the weapon. On a strap hanging across his chest, the captain carried grenades: fragmentation grenades for clearing out enemy positions, krak grenades for breaking armour and anti-tank melta-bombs.

There was not a foe that Belial could not destroy with these weapons, but he had one more: an ornate power sword. Its hilt and pommel were made in the shape of a gilded dark angel with upraised arms, a miniature copy of the sword extending along the blade, outspread wings forming the crosspiece. Belial drew the weapon from its malachite-studded scabbard and pressed his thumb to the rune upon the angel’s chest. The sword thrummed into life, forks of energy crackling along veins of obsidian smelted into the adamantium blade.

It was not simply a weapon, it was a symbol of Belial’s authority and experience. Grand Master Azrael had gifted the sword to Belial, bestowing upon him the honour of bearing one of the few relics to survive from ancient – lost – Caliban. As he gazed into the white fire of the sword’s power field, Belial remembered the deeds that had earned him that honour.

That had been a fierce battle also; perhaps even harder than the challenge he now faced. His foes had been renegades, traitor Space Marines who had turned their backs on their duty to the Emperor and broken their oaths of loyalty. Their commander, once a company captain like Belial, had fallen to the Dark Angels master, and his army had been torn asunder by Belial’s warriors.

Belial could think of no better tribute to the sword than to plunge its blade into the heart of Ghazghkull. The promise of vengeance against the warlord who had brought Armageddon to its knees, despoiled Piscina and threatened Belial’s reputation sent a thrill of excitement through the Dark Angel. He would stare into the ork’s eyes as it died, just as he had stared into the eyes of Furion as the renegade’s life had leaked away through the ragged cut across his throat.

‘We are ready,’ said Charon, snapping Belial out of his reverie.

The master looked down into the flight bay and saw Hephaestus at the Thunderhawk’s controls. The serfs and servitors were clearing the launch deck. Red warning lights flashed and a low siren sounded as the inner doors of the flight deck opened with a hiss of escaping air. Air flowed into the exposed lock, sweeping up scraps of wire and tatters of cloth that had been littering the deck.

‘There is another still to arrive,’ said Belial.

He left the balcony with a nod to the technicians behind the armoured glass of the launch control chamber. A set of steps led down to the flight deck, their stone worn down by generations of Space Marines. Belial told Charon to board the gunship and crossed to wait by the main doors leading to the hangar’s accessway.

The double doors rumbled open, hauled apart by two gigantic pistons. The decking shuddered as Revered Venerari stepped through, blocking out the light from the corridor. Swaying slightly from side to side, Venerari stomped into the flight bay, his armoured form towering over the company master.

The Dreadnought stood twice as tall as Belial and was as broad. Thick slabs of armour protected the central sarcophagus where the physical remains of Brother Venerari hung suspended in a tank of artificial amniotics. Connected to the massive suit, the Dark Angel walked and fought again, saved from death by the genius of the Apothecaries and Techmarines. Enclosed within his second body of ceramite, adamantium and hardened steel, Venerari was connected to his hydraulic limbs through a mind impulse unit that mirrored the nervous system of a normal Space Marine. The interred veteran sensed the world through augurs and scanners. So he had lived for the last eight hundred and seventeen years, following four hundred and six years as a battle-brother. Unless finally slain in battle, Venerari was to all intents immortal.

For a non-Astartes such a fate might have been terrifying, but for a Space Marine it was not only a great honour, it was an entirely natural extension to a life of battle: one that a Space Marine served enclosed in a suit of armour, connected to his vital systems through the miracle of his black carapace. A normal Space Marine saw and heard the world through his autosenses, and was just as much a machine as a man. The only difference between Belial and Venerari was that the captain could take off his armoured skin.

‘Greetings, brother,’ said Venerari, his voice grating from external speakers set into the ornately decorated sarcophagus; his vocal cords had been destroyed by the eldar power blade that had almost taken Venerari’s life. The artificial voice had no change in pitch or pace, but Belial could still sense the gravitas of the veteran’s words.

‘I thank you, brother, for joining us in this endeavour. Your might as well as your wisdom will surely bring us victory.’

Venerari lifted up a huge four-fingered hand and a shimmering blue aura surrounded it.

‘It will be good to fight the orks again, brother. It is I that must thank you for allowing me the opportunity for fresh glories. The enemy will not live to regret the day they dared the wrath of the Dark Angels.’

Servos and pneumatics hissing and clanking, the metal ringing under his clawed feet, Venerari strode across the deck and up the ramp of the Thunderhawk. Following behind, Belial raised a fist to Hephaestus in the gunship’s command deck and engines whined into life, the noise increasing as it reverberated from the walls of the flight bay.

Belial jogged into the Thunderhawk and slammed his palm into the control stud to bring up the ramp. The gunship shuddered as Hephaestus increased the power to the engines. Easing his way past the bulk of Venerari, Belial made his way to the cockpit and strapped himself into the harness beside Hephaestus. Through the canopy he saw the outer doors of the launch bay opening, vapour forming as the air within the flight deck streamed into vacuum.

The stars were blotted out by the dark silhouette of Piscina IV, the planet’s atmosphere glowing to the right with light from the system’s star. Day would not dawn over Kadillus for three hours. When it came, it would herald a day that would see bloodshed unmatched by anything the orks had yet witnessed.

The fury of the Dark Angels was about to be unleashed.

Colonel Grautz was waiting for Belial at the edge of Northport’s main apron. Landing lights blinked in the pre-dawn dark. As the company master stepped off the Thunderhawk’s ramp it closed behind him with a whine. Within a few seconds the craft was already lifting off again, heading for the defence line at Koth Ridge with its vital supplies: though Belial was set on victory in the East Barrens, he would not leave his back unguarded.

The Piscinan commander and his staff gazed in astonishment as Venerari stomped past, the Dreadnought’s metallic voice subdued as he talked to Charon who was walking beside him. Belial cut straight across the landing pad and strode up to Grautz.

‘Is everything ready, colonel?’

Grautz broke away from staring at the Dreadnought and focussed on Belial. The colonel was in his early fifties, most of his lined face hidden behind a thick salt-and-pepper beard, wisps of grey hair sticking out from beneath a high-peaked cap emblazoned with the Imperial aquila. Grautz held himself straight and was considered tall by normal standards, but his eyes were barely level with Belial’s collar. Those dark brown eyes looked up and saw a distorted view of the colonel in the lenses of the master’s helm.

‘Everything is as you ordered, Master Belial.’ Grautz was softly spoken but there was a stolid timbre to his voice. It was his world that had been attacked. ‘We launched an offensive through the east docks an hour ago. My troops are moving in behind a cordon of tanks while your warriors are withdrawing to the east gate. It looks like we’ve stirred up the orks and they’re preparing to retaliate. It’s going to be a long day.’

‘It will be a short day for some, colonel,’ said Belial. ‘Let us hope that it is not for too many.’

Grautz grunted and nodded.

‘We will keep the orks where you need them,’ he said. ‘Though we owe the Dark Angels much for what they have done to protect us, Piscina is not without its own men of valour.’

Belial looked into the colonel’s eyes and saw them glistening with pride. The captain had no doubt that Grautz would make his men fight to the last if necessary. After the disappointment at Barrak Gorge, Belial was pleased to see that there was someone else on Piscina who understood how important this war had become.

‘I have every confidence in your men and your ability to lead them, colonel,’ Belial said quietly. ‘The Dark Angels know that there is strength in Piscina, and not just on your neighbouring world. For six thousand years we have used your world; today the Dark Angels fulfil the oaths made and pay their part of the bargain.’

‘I have an armoured column standing by to follow you to the East Barrens,’ said Grautz. ‘If you need them.’

Belial shook his head.

‘The offer is appreciated, colonel, but not necessary. Your tanks are not fast enough to keep up with our advance. Keep them here in the city in case Ghazghkull makes an attempt to break out.’

‘You think that your attack will be so swift?’ The colonel made no attempt to hide his doubt. ‘There are still orks between Koth Ridge and the East Barrens.’

‘There are, colonel, but we do not intend to fight them all,’ replied Belial. ‘We are Space Marines: strike swift, hard and sure. Our force will cut through the ork army and descend upon the East Barrens like a bolt of the Emperor’s ire. Once we have taken the ork landing zone, we will defend it against all attack until the rest of the Chapter arrives. We will have time enough to destroy the orks at our leisure.’

Belial bent forwards and laid a hand on the colonel’s shoulder, his other wrapped around the hilt of his blade.

‘Today, my ally, you will see why the Astartes are called the sword of the Emperor.’

Exhaust vapours and the rumble of engines filled the air as the Space Marine column lined up on the Indola highway. The dark green livery of the Space Marines’ vehicles showed much wear and damage, but on each Rhino transport, Razorback armoured carrier and Predator tank, the Chapter serfs had laboured to repaint the Dark Angels insignia. The white winged sword gleamed freshly from a dozen hulls as dawn broke over the rocks of the East Barrens. A circling vapour trail through the orange-tinted clouds overhead marked the progress of the Thunderhawk.

In the lead Rhino, Belial left his seat and climbed up through the command cupola. He pulled himself up onto the upper hull of the transport and looked back at his company. Heat haze shimmered in the morning chill; grey smoke and billowing vapours hung like a fog about the armoured vehicles, lights carving nebulae in the fume, shadows softened by the strengthening light of the rising sun. The growl of engines brought to Belial’s mind the image of a hunting beast waiting to pounce, full of potential energy and terrible ferocity kept in check for the moment.

Hatches popped along the column as the vehicle crews and transported squads emerged to hear their commander’s address. Belial drew his power sword and held it aloft, blade glowing in the haze, shining from his polished armour.

‘This morning brings us to the day of glory we have been longing for,’ he declared. ‘For days we have laboured to keep back our wretched foes and have made them pay in blood for every patch of Kadillus that they seek to take from us. Now it is the turn of our filthy enemy to fight for survival.’

He swept his sword down to point eastwards.

‘It is to the new day that we attack, a fitting omen for the victory that will be ours. We will strike with the speed of a flashing blade and the strength of a crushing fist. No foe will stand before us and survive; no enemy will elude the ire of our weapons. Warriors of the Third Company, your brothers from the Chapter will learn of our actions today and they will be both proud and sad. Proud, that their battle-brothers fought with such honour and ferocity; sad, that they were not here to fight beside us and share in this great battle.’

Belial sheathed his sword and stalked to the rear of the Rhino, his boots ringing on the hull. His robe flapping in the strengthening morning wind, the captain stood with one hand on his sword hilt, the other resting on the holster of his bolt pistol.

‘We fight today with renewed purpose, brothers. Our mission is clear, our enemy known, our objective laid before us. We are the Lion’s sons of battle, raised for war and suckled on bloodshed. Today we fight not simply to fulfil our duty, but to punish those that seek to humble our honour. Today we avenge ourselves against those who have brought discord and anarchy to a world of the Emperor. Today we will give our foes the battle they seek, and teach them the folly of daring the wrath of the Astartes.

‘Above all else, remember the traditions of the Lion. We are the First. We are the Dark Angels!’

‘For the Lion!’ roared the answering cry from eighty throats.

Nodding with satisfaction, Belial returned to the hatch and lowered himself back into the Rhino. He sat in the command position and pulled on his harness, tightening the straps across his chest and waist. Activating the comm panel in front of him, Belial selected the channel set aside for the makeshift force he had tasked with remaining at Koth Ridge to bolster the Piscinan defence.

‘Brother Sarpedon, Brother Hebron, Squad Menelauis, Squad Dominus, Squad Annihilus and Squad Erinyes. Detach from column and move to your positions.’

Affirmatives echoed around the Rhino as the nominated Space Marines broke away from the company and moved out along the ridge to mingle with the Free Militia troopers staring with awe and anxiety at the Dark Angels force.

He turned in his seat and tapped the driver, Lephrael, on the shoulder. The Space Marine gunned the engine, the vehicle shaking with unleashed power. From external pick-ups Belial could hear the roaring response from the other vehicles along the road.

Belial switched channel.

‘Third Company, advance!’

The column rumbled down the ridge, following the Indola highway, picking up speed as they headed across the plains. Belial’s Rhino was at the front of the spearhead, and with him rode Charon and the battle-brothers of the master’s bodyguard, Apothecary Nestor amongst them. Behind followed two Predator tanks, twin lascannons in their turrets, heavy bolters mounted on armoured sponsons on each flank of their hulls. Following the heavily armoured Predators came more transports – two Razorbacks with heavy bolter gun turrets, each carrying a combat squad of five Dark Angels, and three more Rhinos with a full squad of ten Space Marines aboard each.

The Ravenwing squadrons – three land speeders and five bikes – surged ahead of the column on either side, following Sergeant Validus. Half a kilometre above, the Thunderhawk completed Belial’s force, Hephaestus, Venerari and an Assault squad on board.

Each was represented by a glowing rune on the tactical display to Belial’s right. It had been a difficult task to extract his warriors from the front line in Kadillus Harbour but they had managed the withdrawal without alerting the orks to what was happening. Two hours of hectic reorganisation had followed, with Belial reassigning the survivors of reduced squads to new sergeants, and promoting two of the battle-brothers to lead the ad-hoc combat squads being carried in the Razorbacks. Weapons and ammunition had been redistributed as needed, while the Apothecaries and Techmarines had worked their way through the force, treating wounds and repairing armour.

The 3rd Company had suffered, but they remained strong.

Belial was filled with a sense of freedom he had not felt since the orks had fallen upon Kadillus with thunderbolt surprise. The responsibility to protect Kadillus Harbour and the uncertainty of what the orks were up to had weighed heavily upon every decision he had made. All of that was forgotten as the Dark Angels raced down the road towards Indola. He had a force worthy of any commander, and an enemy to destroy. The sudden simplicity of everything was a thrill almost as great as the surge of excitement brought about by fighting a foe face-to-face.

Unseen inside his helmet, Belial smiled.

The Dark Angels swept down from Koth Ridge and were halfway to the Indola complex by mid-morning. The reports from the Thunderhawk and Ravenwing confirmed Belial’s expectation that there were no orks directly east of Koth Ridge: the company had an open route all the way to Indola.

The abandoned mine was almost certainly occupied by the orks. Only the day before as Validus’s squadron returned to Koth Ridge, the Ravenwing sergeant had detected significant enemy around the half-ruined installation.

Twenty kilometres from the mine head, Belial had to make a decision. The column could leave the highway and move cross-country through the East Barrens, ignoring the ork presence; or the Space Marines could follow the road to its terminus at Indola and clear the orks from the compound.

The first course of action would ensure the column reached the East Barrens intact and as speedily as possible. Belial weighed up whether any time lost in attacking Indola would be compensated by destroying an enemy that would otherwise be left behind his line of advance. With compelling strategic reasons for both attack and avoidance, Belial reverted to his instinct. It gnawed at him to leave an enemy with uncontested control of a position, and it seemed to the captain that he was simply leaving the orks at Indola for the rest of the Chapter to deal with. If nothing else, destroying them now would save the Dark Angels time later, when the orks might have scattered into the wilderness.

‘Master Belial to Brother Hephaestus. Conduct a recon fly-past of the Indola complex and report. Confirm.’

‘Confirm, brother-captain. Will commence fly-over in nine minutes. Stand by for report.’

The column sped onwards, tracks biting at the worn surface of the highway, dust trailing behind the armoured vehicles. The morning sky was cloudless and sunshine illuminated the plains as if to provide bright witness to the approaching battles.

‘This is Ravenwing-One. Wreckage on the road ahead, two kilometres east of your current position. No enemy detected. Will circle to provide perimeter watch until your arrival.’

The column slowed as it neared the site. Clambering into the command cupola, Belial increased the magnification of his autosenses. Less than a kilometre ahead he saw the tangled remains of two vehicles, one a battle­wagon, the other a smaller half-track. From what he could see, they had crashed headlong into each other. The bodies of several orks hung limply from the wrecks.

It looked like a typically clumsy ork accident, but Belial had been tricked by the orks before and was not going to take any chances. He signalled his force.

‘Company halt. Caliban’s Wrath and Hammer of Judgement provide flank protection. Transports form up into double column.’

The two Predators slewed off the road and took up positions to either side of Belial’s Rhino, their weapons pointing to the north-east and south-east. Behind their guns, the Razorbacks and Rhinos drew up together, shortening the flank of the column.

‘This is Belial to Ravenwing-One. Confirm lack of enemy.’

‘This is Ravenwing-One. No enemy present. The only orks within a kilometre of here are rotting, brother.’

Given the unreliability of sensor reports on previous missions, Belial remained cautious.

‘Advance in formation. Gunners in position, direct weapons for circuit defence.’ He switched to the internal comm to speak to Lephrael. ‘Advance at twenty kilometres per hour. Divert power to cupola.’

‘Confirm, brother-captain.’

The Rhino slowly picked up speed, the other vehicles keeping pace with Belial’s lead. To the left and right, the Predators bumped across the uneven ground, turrets swivelling in arcs from the front to either side, gunners scanning for targets. The servos of the cupola beneath Belial whined into life. Taking holding of the storm bolter mounted on the cupola ring, Belial swung the weapon to each side to check it was moving freely. Behind him, other Space Marines were doing the same, rotating their weapons to cover the convoy in all directions.

As the column neared the wrecks, Belial could see the dust cloud of the Ravenwing bikes off to the left and the blurred black shapes of the land speeders to the right, circling around the crash. Had they detected anything, they would have reported immediately.

‘Stop us twenty metres short of the wrecks,’ Belial told Lephrael. He kept the storm bolter trained on the twisted vehicles as the Rhino slowed to a halt. Nothing moved. Belial addressed the force. ‘No threat detected. Move around the wreckage and reform in rapid-deployment formation on the other side.’

Locking the storm bolter in place, Belial dropped back inside the Rhino, slamming the hatch shut over his head. He returned to his command position as Lephrael turned the Rhino off the highway and ploughed through the dust and grass to avoid the crashed vehicles.

‘If I did not know better, brother, I would think that you are showing some nervousness,’ said Charon, joining Belial in the cramped front end of the transport.

The captain kept his eyes on the tactical display as the icons shifted around the blockage on the road and fell into a single line again behind the accelerating command Rhino.

‘I have made too many assumptions already, brother,’ Belial replied once the column was under way again. ‘I committed the sin of underestimating our foes at the outset of this campaign; it is not a mistake I will repeat at its conclusion.’

‘A good lesson, to be sure, brother, but do not start to second-guess yourself. Doubt leads to hesitation…’

‘…hesitation leads to defeat,’ Belial finished the maxim. ‘Do not be concerned, brother. I am not afraid to take decisive action.’

As if on cue, the comm crackled into life.

‘Primary sweep of Indola complex completed, brother-captain,’ said Hephaestus. ‘Confirm enemy presence. Infantry, fifty to sixty in number. Several field guns of unknown design, hidden in buildings covering the two main gates. Awaiting orders.’

Belial considered his options again in light of this intelligence. There was no way to mask the approach of the Space Marines: the column of dust being left in their wake made sure of that. He had to assume that the guns covering the entrances to the compound had anti-tank capability. That would mean disembarking and attacking on foot, which would slow down the advance even more.

‘There is another option, brother,’ said Charon.

Belial could not tell whether the psyker had read his thoughts or simply understood him well enough to guess them. He swivelled the chair to look at Charon.

‘Make your suggestion, brother.’

‘You are not restricted to ground combat,’ said the Librarian, lifting a finger upwards.

‘The gunship has limited ammunition,’ said the commander. ‘It might be a waste to expend that resource on this matter and not have it available for the main assault.’

‘Brother Hephaestus has more than the guns of his Thunderhawk to commit. Consider a combat drop under covering fire of the column.’

The plan had merit. Belial could draw the ork defenders to the column with a diversionary attack, leaving the enemy vulnerable to a Thunderhawk deployment in the heart of the compound. Caught between the two forces, the orks would be quickly destroyed.

‘Very well, brother, it is a bold move and today will be decided by aggression and determination.’ He turned back to the comm and signalled the circling Thunderhawk. ‘Master Belial to Brother Hephaestus. Have Sergeant Arbalan and Revered Venerari prepare for aerial insertion. Stand by for further orders.’

‘Confirm, brother-captain. Awaiting further orders for Thunderhawk insertion.’

Belial nodded for Charon to return to the main compartment. The commander punched in the company channel and activated the comm.

‘Pre-battle checks, all squads. Column to assume standard spearhead formation two kilometres from Indola compound. Advance to within five hundred metres and engage enemy forces with all weapons. Squad Arbalan and Revered Venerari will arrive by Thunderhawk into the compound three minutes after engagement commences. Upon completing the insertion, Brother Hephaestus will provide aerial support and column will attack in force. Confirm.’

As the responses of the vehicle crews and squads buzzed back through the comm, Belial allowed his excitement to grow. After so much frustration, and a night of meticulous, focussed preparation, the 3rd Company would soon shed the first blood of this new battle. Indola would be retaken, next the East Barrens, and from then it would be inevitable that the Dark Angels would control Piscina again.

The guns of the Predators heralded the attack, lascannon beams converging on the brick and metal guardhouses flanking the compound’s main gate. Behind the two tanks, the Razorbacks peeled to the left, their turret gunners laying down a curtain of fire with heavy bolters. Belial stood in the Rhino’s cupola a few metres back from the Predators, finger resting on the trigger of the storm bolter.

To the right, the Devastators of Squad Vindictus took up a firing position beside the Hammer of Judgement, their missile launchers and autocannons directed at the compound. At a signal from their sergeant, the Space Marines opened fire, two missiles streaking away to detonate inside one of the gatehouses while the autocannons punched holes into the brickwork of the other.

Beyond the fence Belial could see orks pouring from the central building, shouting and firing their guns to raise the alarm. Evidently the orks had not been as watchful as the commander had expected. Through the sight of the storm bolter, he followed a whip-wielding ork herding a number of gretchin into a roughly dug emplacement. A few seconds later, the muzzle of a large-bore cannon peeked out through a gap in the dirt heaped around the position.

Belial pulled the trigger, sending a stream of bolter rounds into the emplacement. The bolts sent up a cloud of grit and dirt as they exploded against the wall. The field gun fired, belching flame and smoke, hurling a shell over the Caliban’s Wrath to explode thirty metres behind the Space Marines. Belial fired again, knowing that he was unlikely to hit anything but the torrent of bolts would interfere with the gretchin gunners’ reloading and aim.

The Razorbacks were pouring their fire into the second storey of a half-ruined building halfway along the compound fence. Lethal shrapnel and ferrocrete shards cut through the greenskins sheltering behind the remnants of the wall. With a blaze, a ball of plasma erupted from the building and ripped into the ground short of the closest Razorback. At a warning from their driver, the combat squad within spilled from the main hatch and took up firing from a few metres away.

The guardhouses had been so riddled with fire that nothing could have survived. The one on the left had collapsed, its sheet metal roof trapping any orks that had been inside. Another flurry of lascannon fire from the Hammer of Judgement seared through the corroded steel.

‘Move on to secondary targets,’ Belial told the Predator crews. ‘Watch that warehouse to the right.’

The tanks’ turrets and sponson guns swivelled to comply with the commander’s order. Belial swung the storm bolter around to aim at the orks targeting the Razorbacks, adding his fire to the torrent screaming from the transports’ heavy bolters and the guns of the disembarked squad. A pall of dust was enveloping the perimeter of the compound, thrown up by dozens of bolt-round, missile, autocannon and heavy bolter impacts. Belial switched to thermal view to see through the murk and continued firing, targeting the bright glimmers of heat in the ground floor of the building.

Belial’s autosenses picked up the incoming roar of jets as the Thunderhawk circled for its final approach. Screaming in from the north, the gunship came to a stop over the compound, hovering on pillars of fire. As the Thunderhawk descended the assault ramp in its prow opened, disgorging the Assault Marines of Squad Arbalan. Jump packs flaring, they bounded away from the landing aircraft, heading towards the other gate.

The cannon Belial had been targeting opened fire. With a clang that could be heard over the mass of gunfire, the shell slammed into the Hammer of Judgement’s turret, bouncing away from the sloped front, leaving a deep furrow in the armour. In response, the gunner turned his weapons on the emplacement, twin beams of laser energy stabbing over the mounds of earth sheltering the gun crew. Something erupted into flame and a moment later Belial saw the small greenskins clambering out of the dug-out. They were too late, as the cannon’s ammunition exploded, sweeping the entire gate area with flying red-hot metal.

‘Attack speed, column advance!’

Dirt spraying from their tracks, the vehicles of the Dark Angels powered towards the compound. The Thunderhawk touched down between the main mine head building and the gatehouses, bullets ricocheting from its hull. Venerari lumbered down the ramp, his power fist crackling, missiles streaking from the armoured pod on his other weapon mount. Fire engulfed the orks as the Thunderhawk lifted off, cruising low over the buildings to bathe the compound with its plasma jets.

‘Go left!’ Belial snapped to his driver as he saw a group of orks fleeing between the burning buildings of the mine. He jabbed the general comm button. ‘Company, follow your commander!’

Lephrael slewed the Rhino towards the greenskins as Belial opened fire. Bolts ripped past the chainlink a moment before the Rhino crashed through, lurching over the raised plascrete foundation holding the fence in place. The transport rocked and skidded over the stone-strewn ground but Belial compensated for the movement, firing a burst into the retreating orks, cutting down two of them. Behind him the roar of storm bolters echoed from the ruined walls of the compound buildings as the following crews opened up at the orks loitering within.

With a whine of hydraulics, the doors covering the top hatch opened outwards behind Belial. Climbing up to the firing steps, the commander’s bodyguard levelled their weapons at the buildings rushing past to either side. Bolts and balls of plasma flew in all directions, while bullets and laser blasts spat back from the orks’ guns.

Throwing his weight to his left, Belial brought the storm bolter to bear on a clutch of orks heading into a gap between a rusting storage tank and a thick pipeline. Corroded metal shattered as Belial opened fire. A cloud of rust flakes engulfed the running orks a second before the bolts found their mark, thudding into green-skinned limbs and bodies.

‘Purge the unclean!’ snarled Belial as he ejected the storm bolter’s spent magazine and reached down into the Rhino for a replacement. ‘Hunt them all down!’

The snaking column of Rhinos and Razorbacks weaved between the storage sheds, hulking machinery, ore hoppers and ferrocrete hab-blocks, weapons blazing. From just outside the compound, the Predators continued to blast away with heavy bolters and lascannons, levelling any cover that might hide a foe.

Bullets pinged from the Rhino’s hull and sprayed from Belial’s armour as a mob of orks fired from the windows of a burnt-out tower housing the main pumping works. The angle was too steep for Belial to return fire as the Rhino rumbled past, but it did not matter. The crews of the following vehicles turned their weapons on the greenskins, the hail of fire ripping through the windows and thin walls.

‘Brother-captain, this is Hephaestus. There are fifteen-plus orks leaving the compound to the north. Shall I engage?’

‘Negative, brother,’ Belial replied. ‘Sergeant Validus is patrolling that area and will deal with any that try to escape.’

‘Confirm, brother-captain. Continuing surveillance sweep.’

The column had reached the open area just west of the main compound building, where a few nights before Sergeants Naaman and Aquila had debated the nature of the ork threat. Back in the light, Belial switched off his thermal view and swung the cupola around to face the column.

‘Perimeter defence. Disembark squads for building clearance.’

He slipped down into the Rhino, Lephrael taking up his commander’s position at the gun a couple of seconds later. The command squad dropped down from the top hatch, the doors closing back over them as Belial opened the rear accessway. The company master was first down the lowering ramp, striding out into the bright morning sun. Around him, the Rhinos and Razorbacks formed a circle, guns directed outwards. The thudding of boots echoed around the strangely quiet compound as the squads disembarked. The Space Marines used their vehicles as cover while they aimed their weapons at the buildings around them.

‘Tactical squads, clear and secure your sectors. Check for basements, storage bunkers and other hiding places. Squad Vindictus, split into combat squads, remain in reserve to provide fire support. Report strong resistance immediately.’

The Space Marines fanned out across the compound, moving building to building with grenades and bolters. The bark of a gun or crack of frag grenades broke the stillness as the Dark Angels cleared Indola room by room, shack by shack, stone by stone.

Charon joined the company commander while Nestor left the squad to attend to the few Space Marines wounded in the intense fighting. The Librarian said nothing and his silence disturbed Belial.

‘You think this is a distraction?’ said the captain.

Charon shook his head, his eyes scanning the surrounding buildings.

‘I would not presume to think I am better acquainted with strategy. Is there any reason to doubt the wisdom of your action?’

Belial was not sure what the Librarian was implying. The master paced back and forth beside the command Rhino.

‘I feel that you are the eyes of Azrael upon me, brother. You profess not to judge me, yet I feel your constant scrutiny. I am aware of the errors I have made and I do not need you to bear witness to them.’

‘The interpretation is yours alone and not my intent, brother. Do not feel that you have anything to prove to me, or to Grand Master Azrael.’ Charon stopped Belial’s pacing with an outstretched hand. ‘If there is any judgement, it is yours. If you have doubts, they are of your own fabrication. What accusation do you think I could make regarding this operation?’

Tapping his fingers against the scabbard of his sword in agitation, Belial directed a long look at Charon. The company master examined his reasoning behind the attack on Indola and could find no flaw – except for a niggling concern that crept into his mind.

‘An uncharitable observer might report that I have indulged in this attack to delay the real battle in the East Barrens. This assault could be portrayed as a distraction, conceived to forestall the inevitable clash that will decide my future. Some might say it is a sign that I am fearful of confronting the resolution that awaits us to the east.’

‘But that is not the case, brother.’ Charon kept his words quiet and glanced away as if dismissing the comment. ‘There is a more problematic and direct cause for concern.’

Belial wanted to end the conversation. The Librarian’s statements probed at the master’s motives and forced him to confront the possibility of failure; or worse, the possibility that Belial would be the cause of defeat. To walk away could be an admittance of guilt. He forced himself to think rationally, pulling back his thoughts from the turmoil of combat so that he could think like a commander.

‘The orks are receiving steady reinforcements, and this delay will see their strength increase,’ he said. Belial re-examined the strategic options that had been laid before him and continued in a firmer tone. ‘While the time spent here will see enemy numbers grow, in balance it is not a factor. If we did not clear the enemy from this area, accepted doctrine says that we should leave a rearguard to protect against attack from this quarter. The growing strength of the orks is an unknowable quantity, while the loss of warriors for such a duty is defined. It is my belief that the benefits of keeping the entirety of the strike force intact outweigh any bolstering of the enemy force.’

Belial checked the chronometer, his agitation subsiding, replaced with renewed confidence.

‘I estimate it will take no more than an hour to fully secure the compound. That will leave us with just over eight hours of daylight to reach the East Barrens and prosecute the battle against the ork landing site. Though we are capable of conducting a night operation, it will be better to take the East Barrens station before nightfall to reduce the chances of any orks escaping.’

Folding his arms, Charon nodded.

‘You have everything under control, and nothing is amiss in your thinking,’ said the Librarian. ‘It is important that you recognise this.’

‘I do, brother,’ said Belial. He stepped up to the command Rhino’s entrance hatch but stopped just as he was about to duck inside. He looked back at Charon. ‘How is it, brother, that you see doubts when even I am unaware of them? Is that why Grand Master Azrael attached you to my command?’

The Librarian betrayed no emotion as he replied.

‘I see into men’s souls, brother, but not with any sense you do not possess. The Lion taught that we must know each other if we are to know ourselves. A moment’s hesitation might go unobserved and unremarked, but can be a sign of inner debate. A change of orders or sudden reversal of decision might be a symptom of failing clarity. These things I see, but not in you.’

Belial shook his head in wonder.

‘I am sure that you see more, brother, than you tell me. Has the conflict within me been so plain?’

‘No, brother,’ said Charon, smiling for the first time since he had joined Belial’s company. ‘I saw nothing in you that would suggest doubt or indecision. It is important that you understand that. You are an excellent commander and an outstanding warrior. Believe in your instincts and trust your judgement. They will serve us all well. Grand Master Azrael sent me to you not because he thinks you are weak, but because he thinks you are strong. He believes that you are destined for greater things, Belial, and you have given me no cause to make him question that belief.’

‘Why could you not simply tell me that at the outset? Why leave me thinking the worst for all this time, fearing for a verdict from my masters that was wholly imagined?’

Charon’s smile faded.

‘It is not our place to aggrandise each other, nor to set our sights on goals any loftier than the immediate task at hand. We must test ourselves each day; examine our loyalty, our attention to duty and our dedication to our brothers. There can be no complacency. We both know the dark road that leads from such self-interest.’

The company master glanced around out of instinct, knowing that Charon spoke of the Fallen: the secret that had been entrusted to him as a master and a member of the Deathwing. It was not the time to think about such things. Charon was right: he had more pressing issues to address.

It took a little more than the hour Belial had expected to clear Indola of the remaining orks. It was not the fighting that took up this time; the orks had been rocked by the attack and provided little concerted opposition. The delay came from disposing of the bodies. Hephaestus had insisted that the ork dead be burnt to ensure they posed no further threat to Piscina, which meant that the corpses had to be gathered up and pits dug for the cremations.

Three black pillars of smoke rose into the midday sky as the Dark Angels headed eastwards. It was unlikely that the orks would see the smoke so many kilometres away, but if they did Belial was not worried. It was his intent to draw into battle as many of the orks as possible so that they could be killed. If the greenskins were allowed to scatter into the wilds, it would make the task of hunting them down all the more difficult and would occupy the Chapter for more time. Better to eradicate them before they bolted for cover, Belial told himself.

So it was that the Dark Angels column rumbled across the undulating grasslands of the East Barrens like a dark green spear aimed at the geothermal station. Hour by hour the Space Marines advanced, no word of the foe from the Thunderhawk overhead or the Ravenwing outriders criss-crossing the plains. Having experienced the rush of battle so recently, the monotony of the journey nagged at Belial and he occupied himself with addressing some of the simple logistical issues involved in the attack.

His force had suffered only two fatalities in the battle at Indola – a Razorback gunner and one of Validus’s bikers – and a further seven Space Marines had incurred serious injuries that compromised their ability to fight. Belial had removed these battle-brothers from their squads and split Squad Laetheus to replace them, sending the wounded back to Koth Ridge in the Rhino thus made available. In effect he was one transport and one squad down on his starting force, but Belial considered he would have been forced to sacrifice at least one squad and possibly two as a rearguard if he had not cleansed the orks from Indola.

The attack had used up almost a quarter of the column’s ammunition, although at the end the Dark Angels had conserved their resources by using chainswords and fists to destroy the last few greenskins. Supplies had been redistributed between the squads and vehicles to ensure that they were evenly spread amongst the Space Marines.

Heavy bolter rounds were a particular issue, with nearly half of the task force’s cache expended during the assault. It was not unexpected: the anti-personnel power and high rate of fire of heavy bolters made them ideal weapons for fighting orks. The two Predators had sacrificed some of their supplies to ensure the squads had enough ammunition. It was a reasonable compromise, as the tanks’ lascannons would be more valuable in the coming battle if the enemy had significant numbers of vehicles and Dreadnoughts; the energy weapons were powered by the Predator’s reactor, a near-limitless supply of energy.

Feeling upbeat about the result of the coming attack, the commander turned his attention to events further out. As with the aborted air attack, he composed scenarios of the possible outcomes and what would be needed to deal with each of them. Defeat was not an option he considered. If that happened, Uriel’s orders were unequivocal and would be carried out to the letter.

More troublesome in a way was the possibility of a partial victory. The primary objective was to seize the geothermal station from the orks, dismantle their energy relay to stop reinforcements and hold against counter-attack. If it transpired that ork strength was sufficient to stop the Dark Angels achieving this, Belial was determined to set up a point of fire on the landing site so that any arriving reinforcements could be targeted before they could get away. That mission might well last until the Chapter arrived, in at least another four days. Depending upon the scale and frequency of the incoming reinforcements, such an operation would require considerable supplies.

The other unknown was the plan of Ghazghkull in Kadillus Harbour. Belial had no idea whether the warlord had any means of contacting the orks to the east or knew what had been happening outside the city, but it would be foolish to discount the greenskins holding the docks, power plants and defence laser site.

If all went well, the Piscinans could lift their perimeter on Koth Ridge and bolster their defence in the city, freeing the Dark Angels to concentrate their efforts in the east. If only a part-victory was obtained, the defenders of Kadillus would be committed on two fronts, seriously stretching their manpower and supplies. The commander made a note in his tactical log to contact Colonel Grautz to find out what other resources could be airlifted to Kadillus from the smaller islands of Piscina.

Hour-by-hour, kilometre-by-kilometre, Belial engaged himself in this distraction, breaking only to receive the regular, negative reports from the Ravenwing and Hephaestus. It was only at these times that he paid any attention to the chronometer and noted absently the shortening time until the attack would be launched.

At the mark of one hour until engagement Belial pushed his strategic plans to the back of his mind and focussed on the coming battle. Rapid and controlled ferocity would be the key. The Space Marines were masters of shock assault, and the coming confrontation would be a test of those abilities. It was too risky to charge directly in aboard the Rhinos: the orks had rocket systems capable of shooting at aircraft and it seemed reasonable to expect they had at least some anti-tank weapons positioned around the power station. Those air defences were also a concern in themselves, preventing a Thunderhawk insertion or attack run.

A plan slowly formed in Belial’s mind, the vague outlines of what would happen. Five minutes later, he called the column to a halt, thirty kilometres west of the ridge overlooking the geothermal station. He brought the squad sergeants and vehicle commanders together for a mission briefing.

‘We will conduct a four-phase assault on the landing site,’ Belial told the circle of Space Marines. Hephaestus and Validus listened in over the comm as they continued to circle the column to guard against attack.

Belial held up the dataslab connected to the command terminal in his Rhino and showed them a display depicting the area around the geothermal station. The geography was detailed, based on data taken by Naaman and the Ravenwing in their previous forays into the region. The runes marking out likely enemy dispositions were more approximate, based on old reports but the only information the master had available.

‘First phase will be Ravenwing reconnaissance to confirm enemy force and location. Second phase will be a Razorback and Predator strike against anti-air and anti-tank weapons. Third phase will be a general assault to seize key firing positions around the landing site, supported by Thunderhawk attack. Fourth phase will be a narrow-front assault against the station itself, coordinated with an aerial insertion.’

He paused, offering the assembled Dark Angels an opportunity to voice any comment or question regarding the overall plan. Nothing was said. When he continued, his fingers worked the keypad of the dataslab, bringing up lines of attack, arcs of covering fire and other tactical details.

‘Most of you fought beside me at Aggreon, and will recall our assault on Forgewell.’ There were a few nods from the sergeants. ‘The same principles apply here. The key element is establishing a base of fire as soon as possible. Once the Predators, Razorbacks and Devastators are in position, the rest of us can move on to take the main facility.’

Again he allowed any questions to be raised, and again there were none.

‘Initial attack formation will be cohortis rapida and individual squad deployments will be sent to your tactical displays. After that, it is a matter of how many enemy there are to kill and where we will find them. All non-intra-squad communication will take place on the prime command channel. Facing an uncertain foe, we must be alert and flexible to every opportunity and threat.’

‘Withdrawal rally points, brother-captain?’ It was Sergeant Livenius that asked the question.

‘There will be no general withdrawal or extraction,’ Belial said. ‘If we are unable to capture the geothermal station, we will hold any ground captured. We are not leaving the East Barrens until the orks are destroyed, one way or the other.’

‘Understood, brother,’ said Livenius. ‘No retreat!’

The call was echoed by the others.

‘Victory or death!’ Validus added over the comm.

Belial laughed.

‘Indeed, brothers,’ he said. ‘Today it truly is victory or death.’

The blast from the exploding ork missile carrier shook the ground. Mangled debris cascaded down onto the greenskins in a shower of metal and flame. With one target destroyed, the Hammer of Judgement plunged onwards to the ork landing site, lascannons cutting brilliant traces down the ridge. The Caliban’s Wrath followed close behind, heavy bolters thundering, slashing a swathe through the enemy camp. To the left – the north – the two Razorbacks of the column laid down covering fire whilst the combat squads disembarked into a defile running down the ridgeline towards the geothermal station.

Belial monitored the destruction on the tactical screen, the interior of the Rhino bathed with soft yellow light. The data from the Ravenwing reconnaissance had been ideal, pinpointing the concentrations of the ork forces and confirming that the anti-aircraft rockets had not been moved. It was a tactical nuance – the redeployment of defensive elements after an enemy encounter – that had been lost on the greenskins, and the Dark Angels made them pay with blood.

‘Master Belial to Brother Hephaestus. Elimination of air defences proceeding quickly. Take position to begin your attack run. Confirm.’

While the Techmarine’s confirmation sounded from the comm, Belial adjusted the display settings and zoomed out for a wider view. Collating sensor sweeps from the Ravenwing to the north and south, the tactical metriculators presented the commander with a view of the battlefield only a few seconds old. If he was attacking over a narrower front, Belial would have witnessed the action by eye, and been able to respond even more quickly, but the undulating ground and mile-wide attack made that impossible. Instead he saw his forces from the signatures of their identity transponders and looked at enemies that were nothing more than augur returns and thermal responses.

The main comm feed was a chatter of information as vehicle commanders and squad sergeants exchanged information and coordinated their attacks. The constant battle commentary was like a background hum, attracting his attention only when something out of the ordinary was reported. He would then spend a few seconds dealing with the issue before leaving his leaders at the front to carry out their orders as they saw fit.

It was not Belial’s place to interfere with the close-range squad actions, but to provide an omniscient guiding hand: steering the entire assault in the desired direction, keeping an eye on the wide picture for emerging threats and opportunities.

One such threat was growing in the outbuildings between the power station and the left flank of the attack. A battery of ork howitzers and mortars were tossing their shells up the ridge. The bombs were not strong enough to pose any genuine threat to the armoured hulls of the Rhinos, but as the transport rocked from another close blast, Belial did not want to take any chances. A lucky hit on a hatch or the breaking of a tread link would be enough to remove a whole squad from the fight.

‘Razorbacks, close and engage enemy artillery in grid omega-five. Keep them pinned down. Combat Squad Bellaphon, follow in and take up a position at grid omega-six. Confirm.’

Belial waited for the responses before turning his attention to the other flank, where the Hammer of Judgement was fast approaching the teleporter opening. Since the Space Marines had arrived, a steady stream of orks had continued to arrive through the portal and were massing in a copse of trees to the south.

The Predator’s rune flashed red in warning a moment before the commander, Brother Meledon, cut through the other comm traffic.

‘Engaged with anti-tank rockets from the south-east. Right sponson damaged, gunner unharmed. Request orders, brother-captain. Shall I push on to the last anti-air missile or pull back?’

Belial made the decision in a moment; the advantage of clearing the airspace over the plant for the Thunderhawk outweighed the possible loss of a Predator.

‘Advance and engage your target, Meledon. Caliban’s Wrath, divert to provide flank support.’

‘Confirm, brother-captain. Hammer of Judgement moving in on last air-defence missiles.’

‘Confirm, brother-captain. Caliban’s Wrath engaging enemy in the woods with all weapons. Hammer of Judgement clear to advance.’

Panning the display back to the left, Belial saw that the Razorbacks and combat squad he had sent forwards were doing a good job of suppressing the enemy artillery. It had been several seconds since the last shell had exploded around the Rhinos.

‘Hephaestus to Master Belial. On-station for attack run. Weapons armed. Targeting systems linked to Ravenwing spotters. Awaiting attack order.’

‘Confirm, Hephaestus. Validus, can you get a clear target signal on those transports to the north-east?’

While he waited for the reply, the commander touched the screen and focussed on the two Predators. The Hammer of Judgement was rounding a ruined building and would have a clear view of the last anti-aircraft missile in a few seconds. The other tank was engaged in a furious firefight with the orks hiding amongst the short trees; Belial could picture the screaming heavy bolter rounds shredding orks and foliage, lascannon blasts splitting twisted trunks while wild rockets flew out of the depths.

Belial reached a decision.

‘Master Belial to Hephaestus. Begin attack run. Primary targets designated by Ravenwing squadrons. Validus, can you confirm you have the ork transports in view?’

‘Apologies, brother-captain. There are two columns of ork vehicles to the north-east. Closest is less than one kilometre away, light vehicles only. Second is three kilometres away, two heavier transports and a battlewagon. Which do you wish to engage?’

‘Send the bike squadron to target the heavier vehicles for the gunship. Engage lighter vehicles with your land speeders. Confirm.’

‘Confirm, brother-captain. Bike squad despatched to target for gunship. Forming land speeder strike on approaching ork light vehicles.’

With a detonation that Belial could hear through the thick hull of the Rhino, the ork missile carrier was destroyed. The elimination of the orks’ last air defence was confirmed over the comm channel by the Predator’s commander.

‘Withdrawing to primary fire position with Caliban’s Wrath to provide long-range support. Confirm, brother-captain.’

Belial checked the display once more. The orks in the woods would have to wait to receive retribution until the Tactical squads could move in to clear them out: there was no point risking the Predators in the narrow confine of hills and buildings any longer.

‘Confirm, Caliban’s Wrath and Hammer of Judgement. Withdraw to provide fire support.’

The momentum of the attack was building as Belial had foreseen. With all of his force now capable of playing its part, the time was swiftly arriving to push home the attack. The commander gave the display one last scan to ensure there was nothing amiss, and signalled the Thunderhawk.

‘Master Belial to Hephaestus. What is your time on target?’

‘Hephaestus to Belial. One hundred and five seconds until optimal firing range. Still awaiting target confirmation.’

‘Belial to Validus. Report status of bike squadron.’

There was a pause while the Ravenwing leader consulted with the squad sergeant.

‘Validus to Brother Belial. Target acquisition in thirty seconds. Enemy vehicles now two-point-five kilometres away.’

‘Confirm, Brother Validus.’ As with the destruction of the air defences, it was time to pre-empt the probable result of the Thunderhawk attack. To delay further would risk losing the shock and impetus of the first assault. ‘Master Belial to all units. Commence phase three, general assault. Proceed to your designated attack points with all speed.’

He stood up and slapped his driver on the shoulder.

‘Let’s get going, brother. It is time to push forwards.’

‘Confirm, brother-captain.’

Belial pulled himself up to the cupola and threw open the hatch. His autosenses darkened as the commander emerged into the bright afternoon light from the artificial twilight of the Rhino’s interior. Taking a hold of the storm bolter’s grip, he checked the magazine and sighted on a cluster of rocks a few hundred metres away.

With a lurch, the Rhino set off, rumbling down the ridgeside, tracks grating through the thin soil, engine throbbing. The transport hurtled over a rise of rock and crashed down on the far side, but Belial’s armour and innate balance allowed him to ride the violent movement without problem. Across narrow gorges and around boulders, the Rhino sped towards the orks, other transports flanking it two hundred metres away to the left and right.

Belial looked up as Hephaestus’s Thunderhawk roared overhead, swooping onto the enemy reinforcements north-east of the attack. Fire rippled along the gunship’s wings a moment before four missiles streaked away to the north, leaving dark contrails cutting across the sky. The distant crack of the detonations echoed along the ridge a few seconds later.

Fire from the right attracted Belial’s attention. The outermost Rhino had run into a mob of orks trying to sneak up a gulley to retake their earlier position. Storm bolter rounds split the air as the gunner unleashed a series of short salvoes. The Rhino slewed to a stop, access ramp slamming down even before it had finished moving. The squad within burst down the ramp, Brother Cademon at the front, flamer in hand. Fire licked through the scrub while the bark of bolters added to the crackle of flames and the pained bellows of the orks.

‘Keep moving forwards,’ Belial warned his warriors. ‘I want every squad in position within two minutes.’

Just as the commander finished speaking he caught sight of a dark blur in the air. An instant later, something slammed into the front of the Rhino, showering Belial with paint and splinters of ceramite. The transport shuddered under the impact and bounced wildly over a rock as Brother Lephrael lost control for a moment. The vehicle skidded sideways down the slope, tracks churning up grass and mud.

Belial looked back along the estimated trajectory of the shell. He saw what at first might be mistaken for a rubbish heap: piles of rags, discarded metal, bones and broken bits of machinery. From under one pile protruded the long barrel of a gun, smoke drifting from the muzzle.

‘Belial to company. Anti-tank weapon three hundred metres to the east. Suppressive fire.’

The commander opened fire with the mounted storm bolter, loosing off single rounds in the direction of the anti-tank gun. Other bolts whirred against the field piece from the left and right.

‘Keep going,’ Belial told Lephrael. ‘Close the range.’

A puff of smoke, a sharp crack and the scream of the shell speeding overhead were the only results of the orks’ next shot. Belial slapped his palm against the fire selector of the storm bolter, shifting the weapon into rapid-fire mode. In three-second bursts, he walked the salvo of bolts across the opening into the pit dug beneath the rubbish piles. He could see nothing of the results, save for the flashes of the bolt detonations.

A distinctive thud broke the air from above: the battle cannon of the Thunder­hawk circling high above. Belial detected the screech of the descending round just before the whole rubbish tip disappeared in a flash of fire and smoke.

‘Target destroyed,’ Hephaestus announced over the comm. ‘Hephaestus to company. Commencing first attack run on landing site. Do not proceed ahead of ascribed positions. Repeat, commencing aerial fire support on the landing site.’

The Rhino sped forwards again under Lephrael’s guidance, cutting between two massive boulders. The ground was rapidly levelling. The first buildings of the geothermal complex were only two hundred metres away.

The comm buzzed with squads reporting that they were in position. Firefights erupted to Belial’s left amongst a row of empty fuel tanks. From even further north, the distinctive blaze of plasma and the white trails of missiles cut the air: the Devastators were in position overlooking the power plant itself and providing cover fire.

A hundred metres from his objective, Belial dropped back inside the Rhino. He glanced at the tac-display to confirm what he had seen from the cupola: phase three of the attack was well under way and progressing well. He turned to Charon and the other Space Marines in the main compartment.

‘Disembarking in thirty seconds. Ready weapons.’

The Rhino rang with the sound of magazines being slapped into place and chainswords whirring as the bodyguard tested their weapons. Amongst the noises from within, Belial heard something rattling against the hull from without.

‘Small-arms fire, brother-captain,’ Lephrael assured him. ‘Stupid orks don’t know that bullets won’t do a thing to us.’

‘Where from?’ asked Belial. In a crouch, he moved up beside the driver and peered through the vision slit.

‘Two-storey building thirty degrees to the left, brother-captain.’

There were at least a dozen orks at the windows of the building, muzzle flares flashing from their long tusks and red eyes. Belial turned back to the others.

‘Prepare for building breach. Ready grenades.’

The commander had taken a step back towards the main compartment when Lephrael gave a shout. A red light winked on the console in front of the driver.

‘Projectile detected!’

Something heavy slammed into the right flank of the Rhino, the explosion tilting the transport off one track for a moment. Lephrael wrestled at the controls, hissing curses.

‘By the Lion, what was that?’ Belial demanded, hunching over the tactical display.

All he could see was a thermal register seventy metres away, between two low buildings. He hauled himself back up to the command cupola and looked for himself. In the shadow of the alleyway was an ork Dreadnought-class walker, a rack of missiles mounted on one shoulder, a power claw hanging from the other. It advanced into the light as another rocket slid down a feed rail into the launcher.

Boots clanging loudly, Belial dropped into the Rhino. He punched the activation rune of the transport’s hunter-killer missile system. Above him, next to the cupola, the firing case of the launcher extended itself from the hull. Belial flipped the switch that opened the launcher, while his other hand turned on the artificial eye mounted into the missile.

The feed fuzzed into life on a small screen above the controls just in time to show the smoke trail of another rocket passing a few metres in front of the Rhino, which was still speeding towards the ork-held building.

Belial swivelled the launcher until he caught a glimpse of the ork walker stomping forwards. He thumbed the fire switch and the Rhino rattled as the hunter-killer missile streaked away. With deft movements, Belial guided the hunter-killer towards the Dreadnought, eyes fixed to the small circle of the pict-feed. The missile curved around and straightened under Belial’s command; with his final touch the view dipped towards the hip joint of the machine.

Pipes, cables and pistons came closer and closer on the screen, and then the display went dark. The detonation of the missile sounded through the open hatch above. Belial pulled himself up to check the results of the hit. Bullets from the orks in the building pattered around him as he watched the Dreadnought topple to one side, leaking thick smoke and oil, one leg sheared away, the rocket launcher driving point-first into the dirt.

Seizing hold of the storm bolter, Belial turned the weapon on the orks holding the upper storey of the building, sending steady bursts through the broken windows. The Rhino ground to a stop a few metres from the remnants of the main doors, one of the pair hanging haphazardly from a single hinge, the other nowhere to be seen, probably stolen.

Charon and the command squad needed no order from Belial to deploy. The rear hatch slammed down and the Rhino rocked from side to side as the six Space Marines charged out. Belial fired off another burst and then pulled himself fully out of the cupola. Unholstering his plasma pistol and drawing his sword, he ran to the side of the Rhino and jumped down, landing in a puff of dry dirt, feet sinking into the ground.

‘Sons of Caliban, with me!’ he called to the others, plunging into the shadowy interior of the building.

Tactical acumen swept aside by natural ferocity, the orks abandoned their superior position in the upper floor and raced down the stairs to confront the Space Marines. Belial fired a ball of plasma into the mass of green-skinned beasts pouring down the steps, while the commander’s honour guard fanned out around him, bolters and plasma gun thundering.

There were more foes than Belial had realised as the green mass continued to crash down on him: at least two dozen orks, three of them huge specimens that towered over the others.

Charon dashed past the Dark Angels master, force sword in both hands, his whole body swathed in a mist of blue and black. The orks’ bullets melted into mist as they touched the Librarian, leaving a trailing glitter of metal particles in his wake. He swept his sword effortlessly through the first alien, parting it from waist to shoulder in one blow. Charon caught a jagged axe-head on the guard and twisted his wrists, sending the point of the gleaming blade through the ork’s face.

Not to be outdone, Belial sprinted into the mass of greenskins, pistol spitting another blue blast. He opened the throat of an ork with a short cut, barged aside its falling body and rammed his sword through the chest of a second. He smashed the pommel into the face of a third, sending it reeling back into its companions.

One of the ork leaders shouldered its way through the throng, a bloodstained cleaver-like blade in both hands. As it swung the cumbersome weapon back, Belial pounced, slashing his power sword into the beast’s ribs, the shining blade parting muscle and bone and internal organs in one cut. Though grievously wounded, the ork was not down. Its cleaver swung at Belial’s head with deadly momentum.

An instant before the blow struck, the captain’s displacer field activated. Belial’s stomach lurched as he was shunted into warp space; for a fraction of a second he was surrounded by a cacophony of wailing, screaming and shouting while his limbs shuddered with unnatural energy and his eyes danced with swirling light of every colour.

Reality reasserted itself with a popping of air pressure. Belial found himself a few metres back towards the doors. His senses took half a second to adjust, by which time he was already pounding across the bare stone floor, sword raised for the next attack.

Charon was surrounded by a pile of gently smoking body parts. An ork ducked beneath the Librarian’s sword and lunged at his groin with a serrated dagger. The blade scraped harmlessly from Charon’s armour. He let go of his sword with one hand and grabbed the ork’s outstretched wrist in his fist. Psychic energy snarled across the ork, skin charring, fat bubbling as the psychic power fizzed along tendons and blood vessels. The greenskin collapsed, convulsing wildly, steam rising from melted eyes, frothing blood pouring from its nose and ears.

Charon kicked the corpse aside and took up his sword in both hands, ready for the next foe.

The fighting was brutal and swift, but not entirely to the favour of the Space Marines. By the time the last ork was dead, Apothecary Nestor was already tending to Brother Mandiel, whose right hand had been sheared off by an ork blade. The armour of the others showed numerous cracks, scarred paint and bullet holes as testament to the fury of their foes.

‘Secure the rest of the building,’ said Belial, leaping up the stairs.

There were bodies on the upper floor, and two orks wounded by Belial’s storm bolter fire. They looked up at the Space Marine with beady red eyes, one clutching a ragged hole in its gut, the other trying to heave itself up on its remaining leg.

Belial’s power sword made short work of the crippled greenskins.

Surrounded by calm for a moment, Belial linked in his autosenses to the tactical cogitator in the Rhino outside. The view through his right lens was replaced by a miniature version of the battle map. Minute eye movements scrolled the display, allowing Belial to see what had happened while he had been fighting. With his left eye, he looked through a cracked window pane, confirming what the map was showing.

The other squads were in position, forming a semicircle around the geothermal station and the portal. Battle-cannon craters broke the open ground around the teleporter site, while fires burned in several of the other buildings, smoke drifting lazily on the breeze. The portal was still active though; as Belial watched, it bloomed into life and disgorged a pair of trikes, their heavy weapons opening up on the Space Marines almost immediately. The Predators on the ridge overlooking the landing site returned fire, lascannon shots lancing down to blow up one of the trikes; the other swerved wildly and disappeared into the rocks and gulleys further south.

Belial could not see the whole of the power plant from where he was standing. He moved into the adjoining room. The roof was low and sloping, but a ragged hole gave him a better view. He could see orks moving around the transformer blocks, and on the maze of gantries and ladders above the station, now protected by crudely welded metal sheets and piles of rocks and junk: from his earlier foray when he had stolen the power relay, the orks had learnt the importance of keeping the Space Marines away from their precious energy transmitter.

Charon joined him, stooping beneath the rafters.

‘The battle goes well, brother,’ said the Librarian.

‘Well enough,’ said Belial.

He switched off the tac-display and hailed the other squads.

‘Belial to company. Tactical report by unit. Casualty and supply details.’

In turn, the sergeants reeled off the statistics. As he heard the reports, Belial realised that the swiftness of the assault had been a great success, but not without a price. There was not a squad that was at full strength, and two of the Tactical squads had lost half their number securing the buildings at the centre of the landing site.

He looked again at the power plant, trying to guess the number of orks within. Several hundred, he reckoned, and they seemed more than happy to keep themselves hidden away. The Techmarines’ analysis of whether a Thunderhawk attack was as risky to the geothermal network as orbital bombardment had been inconclusive. Without that support, taking the station would be bloody work indeed. If the Dark Angels tried and failed, they might lack the strength to contain the reinforcements still arriving.

Belial looked at Charon. The snap of bolter fire and crack of lascannons could be heard across the landing site, answered by the rattle of ork guns. The roar of Hephaestus’s Thunderhawk passed overhead accompanied by the sound of heavy bolters.

‘Would it be weakness to change the conditions by which we judge victory?’ the commander asked.

‘It is the nature of war that we must continually revise our expectations and objectives,’ said the Librarian. ‘It would be weakness to affirm victory simply for quiet contentment, but it would be folly to strive for the unachievable and risk what has been gained. What are you considering?’

‘I think that it is a greater duty to contain the orks until Grand Master Azrael arrives with the rest of the Chapter,’ said Belial. ‘It would be hubris to try to destroy them in a vain demonstration of commitment. While we must have the strength to fight alone, we must not forget that we are a brotherhood. We can be proud of what we achieve but cannot allow pride to master us and drive us to act for the sake of reputation alone.’

Belial took a deep breath, looked at the power plant again and opened up the command channel.

‘This is Belial to company. Mission accomplished. Abort phase four. We will not be assaulting the power plant. Maintain positions, fortify defences and destroy any enemy that opportunity presents.’

The landing site belonged to Belial. That was victory enough. All that remained was to keep the orks occupied until the Chapter arrived to sweep them away. If the orks wanted Kadillus, they would have to come and take the landing site back.

The Dark Angels would be waiting.