In the time since the Third and Fifth Companies had last seen the landing zone, Sergeant Verigar’s men and the scores of servitor menials that had transferred down from low orbit had certainly been busy. The base camp had spread out across the desert, a wide outer circle of sentry turrets and portable defences securing the approach on all sides. Fifth Company Tactical squads had taken up position around the perimeter, and they cheered as the returning Stormravens of the Third circled in to land in the centre of the camp. Everything was blanketed by a layer of grey ash, so thick that the Ultramarines’ boots left huge prints behind as they disembarked.
The wounded were rapidly assisted or carried to the medicae, where Apothecary Dionys of the Fifth Company oversaw the patching up of their wounds. The Third had lost thirty-nine brothers at the fall of Sigma Fortulis, a bitter price to pay for any Space Marine company. Though none spoke a despairing word out loud, a silent but unmistakeable pall of sorrow hung over the fortified landing zone.
Cassius knelt by Brother Pythius, who lay stretched out on the ground. Pythius belonged to one of the Devastator units that had been stationed on the upper level of the fortress, and his leg armour was fitted with bracing plates to compensate for the weight of the lascannon he carried into battle.
Pythius’ breastplate, helmet and shoulder guards had been removed to show the massive acid burn that had dissolved a chunk of his chest. It was a hideous wound. Tyranid bio-acids were horrifically effective, and few who suffered such a direct hit survived. Pythius was of solid and strong stock even by Space Marine standards, a factor that made him worthy of carrying one of the Chapter’s heavy weapons. Even so, he was fading.
Cassius read the stricken warrior’s life signs from the panel on the forearm of his armour. Dionys had already ascertained that one of Pythius’ hearts and two of his lungs had been destroyed, and the advanced clotting agents of Space Marine blood had not been enough to prevent massive blood loss. Cassius lifted one of Pythius’ eyelids and saw the pupil remain wide and black, even in the glare of Kolovan’s merciless sun.
Somehow he still drew breath, but it was shallow and gurgling. Blood welled up in the yawning mouth of his wound with each inhalation. Pythius had been among the Ultramarines to storm the Basilica of Lord Phenoborra and slay the living blasphemy that nested inside. He had bested two Praetors of Ulixis in duels during the ten-yearly gathering of the Ultramarines’ successor Chapters.
He would not see a battlefield again.
Cassius let Pythius’ eye close. ‘We will see the end of sorrow and defeat,’ he said. ‘We will see the end of mourning for our lost. But we will not see the end of war, nor of our duty to fight it. Lesser men bemoan the terror of death, that we shall die with our duty undone. But we know that there shall be a final battle. The Emperor shall marshal all those for whom he has wept, and the Great Enemy shall be defeated at the end of all things. Stand beside the primarch and the Emperor, Brother Pythius, and never truly die.’
Pythius’ remaining lung quivered and sunk, and was not re-inflated. His mouth hung open, and in the ruination of his chest wound, his one heart stopped beating. His armour automatically dispensed stimulants to start it again, but Dionys had already ministered to Pythius and found no way to counteract the massive damage he had suffered.
At least they had recovered his body. Soon Dionys, who was currently tending to less catastrophic wounds, would extract Pythius’ gene-seed, and this battle-brother’s story would be over.
‘One more for us to avenge,’ said Captain Fabian. He had watched Cassius ministering to the dying Pythius in silence.
‘I will remember his death the next time I meet the enemy in battle,’ said the Chaplain.
‘We cannot all see our fallen brethren as fuel for the fire,’ said Fabian. ‘Most do not try to find ways to use their deaths. We just mourn them.’
‘I mourn them, too. I feel every death as you do,’ replied Cassius. ‘But I must make every death another reason for revenge, so each battle is a personal one.’
‘That must make it easy for you, when our lives are lost on your initiative.’
Cassius stood up and stepped away from Pythius’ corpse. Captain Fabian’s face had been dressed and the stump of his arm sealed with synth-flesh. His remaining eye stared at the Chaplain unblinkingly.
‘The Swarmlord had to die,’ Cassius said.
‘We had our orders,’ said Fabian. ‘You had my orders. On Macragge we all bow to your authority, but this is my company and my orders were to hold the fortress. Your veterans left their post, Lord Chaplain, and the lower levels were overwhelmed. We could have held on if you had been there to rally them. We could have broken the tyranids. Good men like Brother Pythius might still be alive.’
‘With the Swarmlord still in command of the xenos?’ replied Cassius. He did not raise his voice – he had not raised it in true anger against a fellow Ultramarine for many years. It was enough that he wore the colours of a Chaplain, and had the shattered face of one who had seen every form of war. ‘We robbed the hive mind of its most potent weapon, and we destroyed a foe whose death will inspire the whole Chapter for years to come.’
‘You think I care a damn for inspiration? We could have held the fortress, Cassius!’
‘You do not know that, captain.’
‘No, I do not. Because I never had the chance to find out. Now thirty of our brothers lie dead and Kolovan is no closer to deliverance! What does it matter how inspired we are if we cannot fight as one?’
‘Slaying the Swarmlord is the direst blow we could strike against the xenos,’ said Cassius, still keeping his voice level. ‘You know its history, what it is capable of.’
‘You did not fight to drive off the xenos!’ snapped Fabian. ‘You fought for yourself! Because you wanted revenge, and that meant more to you than your duty!’
‘If you wish to call me out, captain,’ said Cassius, ‘then Lord Macragge will hear you in the Chamber of Corrections. For now, you waste our time. The fighting is not done.’
Fabian’s body language suggested he was about to shout Cassius down, or even throw a punch. But the moment passed, and he said nothing.
‘When we have despatched the xenos and have returned to Macragge, Chapter Master Calgar will hear your protestations,’ said the Chaplain. ‘Until then, we must bury our differences. In unity we are strong. These are the words of the Codex Astartes.’
‘So they are,’ said Fabian. ‘But when the time is right, I will have words of my own.’
Fabian swallowed whatever more he had to say, and turned away to rejoin the brothers of his company, who were tending to their wargear. There was no time for extensive repairs. They would all bear the scars from Sigma Fortulis for some time yet.
‘Lord Chaplain,’ said Sergeant Verigar, who had waited for Fabian to leave before approaching. ‘There is news from the Adeptus Mechanicus.’ Perhaps he had heard the exchange, perhaps not. Cassius chastised himself for allowing that confrontation to happen in public.
‘I was informed,’ said Cassius. ‘What do the tech-priests of Ryza have to say?’
‘That’s just it,’ replied Verigar. The two missing fingers of his hand, blasted off by the flesh-eating bio-ammunition of a termagant, had been replaced by crude, claw-like bionics. It was basic work compared to the flesh replacements that could be fashioned in the apothecarions of Macragge, but it would allow him to hold a gun. ‘The magos wishes to speak with our commanders personally. He says that his research team has been working on potential biological counters to the xenos. Though he used quite a few more words than that when he described it to me.’
‘What do you think of this tech-priest, sergeant?’ asked Cassius.
‘It’s not my place to say,’ Verigar replied. The sergeant looked over the landing pad with its wounded Ultramarines. Some had lost limbs, some would not fight again on Kolovan. One or two might never fight again, in spite of the apothecarion’s expertise. Verigar sighed. ‘I just don’t have much time for Mechanicus double-speak today, Lord Chaplain. The Kraken has taken too many of us here.’
‘Then you will rejoice all the greater when they are cast into the void.’
‘I hope so. He’s waiting for you in the holomap chamber.’
Magos Uranios Rothe had installed himself with his servitor retinue in the chamber the strike force commanders had used to scrutinise the surface of Kolovan via the holographic projector. The servitors stood beside him holding the various implements of office – his staff, a datapad set in a panel of ornate hardwood, and a heavy cog-shaped medallion. The air in the chamber was hazy with the oily incense constantly exuded by Rothe’s mechanical body. Captain Galenus stood nearby, and gave Cassius a grim nod as he entered.
‘It is good to see you again, Lord Chaplain,’ he said. ‘You have earned great glory for our Chapter by killing that xenos monstrosity.’
‘Captain Galenus,’ Cassius said. ‘Fine work at the faultline. Now let us see what our guest has to say.’
The magos had not acknowledged Cassius as he walked in. The targeting lenses on the gun-servitors whirred as they focused on the newcomer.
‘So,’ said Cassius after a long moment of silence. ‘Finally the Adeptus Mechanicus takes an interest.’
‘You are the one called Cassius,’ said Rothe, finally acknowledging the Chaplain.
‘Lord Chaplain Ortan Cassius of the Ultramarines. Master of the Reclusiam. Defender of the Soul of Macragge.’
‘Low Gothic is too inefficient a language to convey the full complexity of my title. I am Magos Rothe, that will suffice.’
‘The magi of Ryza have focused their efforts on defending their own system,’ said Cassius. ‘I was led to believe Kolovan was outside their zone of interest. And yet you are here, and your coming here was not without risk. So I must ask why.’
Rothe’s mostly-human hand reached for the hem of his hood and drew it back. The face underneath it was a mask of ghostly-pale skin patched around metallic components. Rothe’s eyes were brass-rimmed silver orbs without pupils, linked by circuitry to the steel hemisphere that took up half his skull. His mouth was a lipless slash in his face, atrophied with inaction, for his voice was projected from a grille mounted over his larynx. The impression was that of a mummified corpse, resurrected and rebuilt with incongruous mechanical additions.
Both the magos and the Chaplain were, by any human standard, hideously ugly. For a moment Cassius saw his own face reflected in the sheen of Rothe’s bionics: the seared flesh, the pitiless mechanical eye. Each of them wore their mutilations with pride, though for very different reasons.
‘I fear I have yet to completely shed the manacles of the flesh,’ said Rothe. ‘One day the Omnissiah shall grant me freedom from the weakness of the body. But I have alterations enough for our purposes.’
‘And what are those purposes?’ Cassius was aware he was being short with the magos, but his dealings with the Adeptus Mechanicus had also taught him of their strange view of diplomacy. Among themselves they used infinitely complex honorifics and protocols of binary machine-speak, but with outsiders, they tended to lack the capacity for the normal interaction required to be basically respectful.
‘To cleanse the tyranids from Kolovan,’ said Rothe.
‘Ryza does not consider Kolovan a valid use of resources,’ said Cassius. ‘That much has been made clear from the responses to our communications with the tech-priests. If the Mechanicus intended to liberate this world, they would send me more than one magos.’
‘It is true that the planet itself is of no particular strategic value,’ said Rothe. ‘You have presumably come to the same conclusion. In any case, the civilian population is already dead. What is of great importance is the research that I have been conducting here.’
Cassius folded his arms. As good as he was at reading the body language and emotions of his battle-brothers, he could glean no information from Rothe’s expressionless face. ‘Tell me about this research.’
‘Our initial experiments involved the synthetic replication of an exogenic sequence, which was largely unsuccessful, and required a revised approach. For the second round of tests, we lined-’
‘Magos.’
‘Ah yes, my apologies,’ said Rothe. ‘Brevity. My research involved the design and refinement of various antiviral agents designed with the express purpose of altering the living tissue of biological life forms. Including xenoforms.’
‘“Altering?”’ said Cassius.
‘The initial thrust of our research was focused on the cure of various genetic maladies common amongst the Imperial population, but as we began to study xenos biology, we realised that our methods could be turned to a more aggressive purpose. One particular alien species studied was the Kraken strain of the tyranid genus.’
‘You say you have a biological agent we can use against the tyranids?’ asked Cassius.
‘It is still in the early stages of development,’ said Rothe. ‘It has not been field tested, and therefore I cannot claim empirically that it will work, but the theory is sound. It is an airborne antiviral designed to spread swiftly, and to invade and break down the organs of the target xenoform.’
Captain Galenus stepped forward quickly.
‘You have this agent with you?’ he asked.
‘No. The antiviral samples are all stored in secure holdings at xenopathology research base Zeta-Epsilon Twelve, located approximately one-point-seven-six kilometres beneath the city of Harienza,’ said Rothe. ‘The city has fallen. I have left a small retinue of bodyguards protecting the laboratory, but any attempt to extract my equipment would be futile. That is why I require assistance from the Adeptus Astartes.’
‘You’re saying this antiviral can infect the entire hive fleet?’ asked Galenus.
‘Indeed.’ Rothe may have smiled, but Cassius could not be sure. ‘Eventually. It will take several hours to spread through the atmosphere, but once an organism is infected, it will spread the pathogen to every creature it comes into contact with. The Kraken has placed itself in the path of the very weapon designed to kill it.’
The door opened and a swirl of ash soared into the chamber. Captain Fabian entered. He stepped to Galenus’ side, and clapped his fellow captain on the shoulder. His missing hand had not been replaced with a temporary augmetic yet, and instead rested in a sling at his side.
‘Throne, but it’s good to see you in one piece,’ said Galenus.
‘That, my friend, is a very poor choice of words,’ said Fabian. ‘So what does our honoured guest have to say for himself?’
The magos’ eyes blinked and whirred as he turned to Fabian, but Galenus cut him off before he could speak again.
‘Magos Rothe here claims to have access to a targeted biological weapon designed to destroy the tyranid xenoform,’ he said.
‘Truly?’ said Fabian. ‘Then why are we standing around?’
Cassius shook his head. This was all so predictable.
‘Do you know how many times I have heard scientists tell me that they know a fool proof way to defeat the tyranids?’ he said, turning to the magos. ‘How many deadly viruses have been unleashed that would finally eradicate the xenos threat once and for all? And do you know how many of these miracle weapons have been successful?’
‘My Lord Cassius,’ said Rothe, voice-grille hissing with irritation. ‘I assure you that my research indicates a success rate of ninety-eight point eight-three-five per cent. Dispersed into the atmosphere in the correct volume, this strain will begin to break down the internal organs of every tyranid on Kolovan.’
‘This is worth a shot, Chaplain,’ said Galenus.
‘There is only one way to purge the xenos,’ said Cassius. ‘With honest sweat and blood, and with faith in the God-Emperor. You seek an easy victory, and that is a path to indolence and corruption.’
‘No,’ said Galenus. ‘It is not. It is a way to contain this threat before it reaches the core worlds. I admire your zeal, Lord Chaplain, but I beg you to think of the repercussions if the hive fleet finishes gorging itself here and moves on to another world.’
‘We have no assurance that this will work, captain,’ Cassius protested.
‘It is a tactical opportunity that we cannot afford to ignore,’ said Fabian. ‘I too would rather fight the enemy face-to-face in honest battle, but our responsibility to the surrounding Imperial worlds demands that we attempt this.’
Cassius shook his head. ‘We can follow this lead, brothers,’ he said, ‘but I tell you that I have seen this tale play out a dozen times before. Kolovan will be liberated with the blade and with the bolter, not with this virus.’
‘Actually, Lord Chaplain, it’s an antiviral,’ said Rothe. ‘The difference is subtle, but…’ He trailed off as Cassius turned his ruined face towards him.
With the tyranids to the east cut off by the newly-born Transadverican Gulf and those further west in confusion with the fall of the Swarmlord, the Ultramarines’ foothold was secure enough to begin landing the strike force’s heavy armour. Two squadrons of Predator battle tanks, under Sergeants Dovan and Fenikos, were dropped in reinforced lander pods alongside Sergeant Boreas’ trio of Vindicator siege tanks. Ancient Tessarchus, the Dreadnought who had served as captain of the Third Company before falling in battle, was brought down alongside the tanks to serve as both mobile artillery and a spiritual mentor to the battle-brothers of the Third Company. Beside them rested Peryton Prime and Peryton Secundus, the pair of Stormtalon gunships fully configured for ground attack. The Peryton squadron had provided support to the Fifth Company’s battles for many years and the craft bore its black trim.
‘The vehicles are fuelled,’ said Techmarine Herodus as he and Cassius watched the rows of tanks being made ready for the coming operation. ‘The rites of supplication will take less than an hour. Then we can begin.’
‘Have their machine-spirits singing in unison, as those of the Dagger of Macragge did at the battle of the Black Saint’s Rift.’
Herodus nodded in agreement. ‘Truly, I was inspired by the echoes of Mars that day. I shall pray as I did then, Lord Chaplain. The steel tide shall wash the xenos from this world.’
There was something of the zealot about Herodus. He had brought back with him from the traditional Techmarine’s pilgrimage to Mars a devotion to the machine-spirits of the Chapter’s vehicles and wargear. He functioned much as a Chaplain did, but to the insubstantial, obscure machine-spirits of the ancient cogitators in each tank and spacecraft. Cassius watched Herodus walk between the parked tanks with a vial of sacred machine-oil in one hand and a data-slate in the other. It did not take much to spur him on to redoubling his efforts in having the strike force’s big guns fire more efficiently than the crews alone could manage.
‘The ministrations are complete,’ voxed Herodus eventually. ‘The spirits are eager to feel their engines roar!’
‘Company, embark!’ ordered Galenus over the vox.
‘Third Company, to your transports!’ echoed Captain Fabian. The Ultramarines were already climbing into their vehicles as the engines turned over and the rapid throb of the gunships’ rotors rose in pitch.
‘Emperor’s own fortune be with you, Chaplain,’ said Galenus as he left to join his company.
Cassius reached his Rhino as the gunships were lifting off, soaring into the air on columns of exhaust flame. Two forces roared away from the landing zone. The larger, under Galenus and Fabian, was accompanied by the Predators and Vindicators, for they were expected to face the bulk of the resistance from the tyranid organisms already infesting the jungles to the north. They would be the armoured spear that would strike into Harienza, securing a beachhead for Cassius’ smaller force to make their way into Base Zeta-Epsilon Twelve and secure Rothe’s research. A cloud of dust was churned up from the rocky desert as the force advanced, the transports flanked by the tanks, with the gunships casting their rippling shadows across the ground ahead.
‘Brothers, think on your prayers and of our fallen!’ voxed Captain Fabian to the whole force. ‘Crush the xenos beneath our tracks! Break them against our guns! We have spent too much blood on this world. This is the deathblow, my friends. This is how it ends!’
Cassius had not spoken with Fabian since their altercation after the return from Sigma Fortulis. He had no need to explain himself further – he was the Lord Chaplain of the Ultramarines, and he was beholden to none save Chapter Master Marneus Calgar. And in any case, he had made the right choice. The Swarmlord had to die. It had overseen the destruction of the whole First Company during the Battle for Macragge, and it had almost slain Lord Calgar himself. The beast had fallen only at immense cost. If it had been left to mastermind the infestation of Kolovan this world would be lost.
Battle-brothers had fallen. Cassius would mourn them. But he had made the right choice, he was sure.
Cassius opened the commander’s hatch and put his head up to get a clear view of his surroundings. The two prongs of the strike force were making rapid time, the experienced drivers riding the Rhinos and armoured vehicles over the rises and falls in the broken ground. On the horizon to the north was a dark band of trees where the desert gave way to the humid forests fed by the hot springs and underground rivers of the region. Cassius could just make out the spires of Harienza reaching up to the level of the spore clouds gathering over the forest. This was his force’s destination, an administrative and cultural capital nestling among the folds of the rainforest. There had been no contact from the city since the Ultramarines landed, and according to Rothe its mortal defenders had quickly broken and scattered under the tyranid advance. Enemy resistance was expected. Survivors were not.
The Rhinos entered the treeline, and came onto the main arterial highway leading from Harienza. It was a wide, double-laned route, designed for the big cargo haulers that would normally be lugging ore and lumber to and fro between the coastal cities. Now it was choked with hundreds upon hundreds of abandoned vehicles, stretching before the Space Marine convoy as far as they could see. Some were gutted and burned, but most were parked gently in the line, doors open or windows smashed.
‘They tried to flee when the spores began to fall,’ said Remas over the vox. He was travelling in the lead Rhino with Magos Rothe and two of his gaunt, copper-bodied valet servitors. Cassius caught a glimpse of his black and yellow armour as the Rhinos rumbled around an upturned two-storey conveyor, lying in a field of shattered glass. ‘Futile. There was nowhere to hide from the xenos.’
‘No sign of any survivors,’ voxed Sergeant Tevian. ‘And no bodies at all. I can’t even see any blood.’
‘The tyranids do not leave corpses,’ said Cassius. ‘They consume it all, every scrap of biological matter.’
The Ultramarines’ convoy peeled wide again, leaving the rockcrete surface of the road as they swerved around a jack-knifed lumber hauler, oil still dripping from a rent in its engine. As they passed that obstruction, they saw the first of the roadside camps. They had sprung up behind the string of charred vehicles, makeshift shanties clustered around the towering trees, competing for the sliver of sunlight that fell where the road had been cut through the jungle. The humans had attempted to set up a perimeter. There were crude barricades of corrugated iron, and Cassius saw several mounted stubguns, now abandoned like everything else, shell casings and drum barrels lying scattered around them.
‘They fought,’ said Tevian. ‘Until the end.’
The Chaplain could picture the mortals’ last moments, those who still carried weapons firing wildly into the depths of the forest as the enemy struck the convoy in force, dragging away friends and family. Nowhere to run. Nothing to do but fire until their pitiful weapons ran dry, and wait for the tide of horrors to engulf them.
‘We are too late to help the people of Kolovan,’ Cassius voxed on the open channel. ‘They are lost. This planet is dead. Yet its death need not be in vain. Here the tyranid will burn in the fires of our hatred, and a hundred loyal Imperial worlds will be spared the horror of its degradations.’
They passed a small, humble two-seater, crumpled between two heavy goods vehicles. The passenger side door was open, and glass and shattered metal had spilled onto the road surface. Amongst the debris was a tiny metal model of a Warhound Titan, a child’s toy rendered with crude but charming detail.
‘That will be the legacy of Kolovan,’ said Cassius, ‘and we will not forget it.’
The ghost convoy stretched on. As the spires of Harienza loomed ever closer, Cassius began to hear the echoing report of cannon fire. The leading tank squadrons had engaged the enemy.