Marsh Silas drew a deep breath. His fingers drummed against the leather letter carrier he held under his arm. Although his eyes were closed, he felt the air of Bloody Platoon around him—gazing, wondering, waiting. None of them spoke. Some lit lho-sticks; the metal lids of their lighters snapped open and shut. A booted foot tapped anxiously while a pair of hands tapped the edge of a desk. In the background, cogitators whirred and buzzed.

  Doors across the operations center opened loudly. Marsh Silas opened his eyes. Blue and green monitors hanging around the chamber glared brightly. Banks of augur arrays and comm-link stations lined the walls. Astra Militarum staffers and Administratum adepts pounded away at terminal keyboards.

  It was a familiar place. It was the same office in which he, Hyram, and Bloody Platoon registered their discovery after an ambush by the Marked Men. Osniah had been there; he had placed the jammer they recovered right on the table surrounding the hololithic projector. He held it right there in front of all of them. Just thinking of the damnable spy simply walking off with the jammer was enough to make him snarl. But that anger subsided, for he remembered Haight’s presence as well. He spoke so logically, so earnestly, so supportively. Marsh Silas knew himself; he had chosen to follow Haight’s lead not just because of the lives at stake, but for the man’s affable smile, amicable attitude, and keen interest in Marsh’s vision.

  The young platoon leader’s gaze fell and his brow softened. What an emptiness in his chest; a terrible hollow in his gut, a sorrowful sigh which passed from mind to body. But his jaw tightened and he looked back up. He did not want to appear apprehensive for this conference.

  A procession led by Prince Constantine, and Major Bristol filtered into the facility. With them was Captain Yori of the Emperor’s Shadows, dark and severe, yet awe-inspiring and strong. Captain Rhodes of the Gatekeeper walked in line with Sergeant-at-Arms Tanzer and her team of Breachers. It was the first time Marsh clapped eyes on the former; Rhodes was a distinguished looking nobleman a few years older than himself. He wore a crop of swept-back black hair and kept the sides and back shaved. He was narrow, but in possession of a quiet fortitude that came across in his deep, lavender eyes, chiseled dark skin, and the medals that lined his blue tunic. Navis Maritimum officers Captain Keleman of the Lance of the Totrium as well as Commander Sung of Tower of the Vigilant, and their cadres, joined the conference. Much to his surprise were a host of Militarum and Administratum logisticians. These were led by Romilly, clad in his official naval uniform. Bringing up the rear were the platoon leaders from the rest of 1st Company. Major Rosenfeld, the company commander, Gabler, and Prince Osgood stood out. Gabler smiled at Marsh Silas whilst the prince ignored him.

  They filed in. Rather than circling the projector, the different parties formed echelons around. Each and every group stood separately and apart from one another, often with so much space between them, a full squad of Kasrkin could have filled the gaps.

  Marsh Silas exchanged nods with those familiar to him and set his carrier down on the table. He opened it and organized his paperwork. Beside him, Hyram did the very same. When he finished, he stood up straight and smiled at Marsh Silas. His brotherly grin and confident violet gaze were more than enough.

  “Lords and ladies, officers and adepts, I thank you for coming,” began Marsh Silas. “I thank you also for your timeliness and dutifulness to maintain secrecy. As much as I wish to go on and adulate friends and fellow warriors in this chamber, I shall withhold for now, as we have much to discuss, much to do, and time is crucial.”

  “Provided there is any time left at all,” Major Bristol said.

  “It is never too late, dear Major,” countered Hyram.

  “The First of Minnath and the Marked Men move freely in the Cadian hinterland. Despite Osniah’s arrest and our repeated successes against the traitors, there is still a spy in the regiment who unfortunately has the ear of Warden-Colonel von Bracken. Armed with accurate intelligence, they will thwart and avoid us until they breakaway into land we cannot pursue them easily. But thanks to the efforts of one departed friend of my platoon, we now know where these enemy forces are.”

  This prompted Hyram to input several commanders to the hololithic projector. As he typed, and Marsh waited, he inhaled. Lauraine’s voice, crying his name, carried through his mind. He smelled the smoke, tasted the soot on his tongue, and saw the vile figures dragging her away. A mere private and a clerk, who had fought so heroically and toiled with such dedication. To die in such a sordid way after such valor and dutifulness filled Marsh with the deepest chagrin.

  Green lights flashed across his eyes, waking the platoon leader. A three dimensional model of the area of operations flickered into view. Hyram enhanced the central region of the province and ten red blocks, which Marsh Silas then pointed at. “These forces are locked in combat with one another while they seek to avoid our own attacks. They seek to escape as they no longer have a base of operations.”

  He withdrew the reports Lauraine gave him and held them up. “But that is what their true desire is: they do not wish to give up this theater and they mean to find a new camp. They seize facilities, hold them, but vacate when it becomes untenable. None afford them the distance and covertness the airfield and Port Ollan did. And I propose we give them one.”

  Heads turned, voices murmured. Marsh Silas held up his hand, then pointed at Cobb. The handler was sitting on a desk with Freya beside him. The dog tilted her head to the side and her tongue lolled out happily. “Desperate individuals make mistakes. Their fear blinds them to the acts of others. So, like a hunter and his hound, we must herd them. Cordons, thrusts, troop build-ups on their projected northward path. All efforts should be made to drive them south towards the sea.”

  Hyram fiddled with the console controls again. “But, we must keep these foes close together. Not locked as they are now, but in proximity,” continued Marsh Silas. “For I mean to bag the whole lot. We cannot afford either of these regiments to escape, their annihilation must be total, and to ensure such an outcome, it will have to be on ground of our choosing. But our ruse shall be to make them believe it is ground of their choosing. Once they are we want them, the trap will be sprung.”

  “Before you explain how it is you plan to destroy these foes, you had best show us the location you have chosen for this endeavor,” said Major Rosenfeld.

  Hyram, perceiving this, hit the final key. Once more, the projection enhanced to a peninsula due south of the latest enemy movements. It was small and its odd formation created a jagged kite shape that sat diagonally from the mainland. Its southwestern angle terminated in a point that ran due south, creating a short, stubby hook. A man-made, earthen causeway at the cape’s northern edge was its only connection to the coast.

  Overall, the peninsula was just above sea level, with rocky embankments leading down to thin shingle beaches. Muddy and with little vegetation, it appeared barren, rainy, and windswept. Drainage ditches followed the road on either side; halfway between the end of the causeway and turn were horizontal ditches which ran to the sides of the peninsula, allowing runoff to accumulate and drain directly into the sea. A single, straight road ran from the causeway before it hooked to the left on a westerly route. The road terminated at a small, unwalled radar complex.

  A two-story comm-link facility sat in the center. To remain inconspicuous to potential invaders, a long, defined path ran out from the center, transitioned into a trench, and led to a circular, rockcrete pit with an augur dish. Perpendicular and southward to the main facility was a Bastion tower; adjacent and west to the comm-link station was a rectangular blockhouse that served as a barracks. Behind the building was a series of subterranean storehouses indicated only by their reinforced rockcrete entrances that rose just above the surface. Beside the barracks was a single Skyshield Landing Pad. Creating an arc around the southern perimeter was a trench network that lacked bunks; three long trenches at its curves and center led out to Hydra Platforms.

  The only negotiable shingle beach was at the southern hook of the peninsula and it was fortified by two bunkers built into the embankment. They overlooked the thin strip of rocky beach and sandbag redoubts defended the path that ran between them. Two more bunkers, one on the cliffs overlooking either side of the shingle, overlapping fields of fire. Behind the main line were artillery trenches and emplacements, as well as two small barracks buildings and a storehouse.

  Everyone leaned in and examined the projection. Marsh Silas let them regard and digest it for some time. He motioned to Hyram, who added a holographic window filled with text.

  “This little rock is home to Comm-Link Outpost 47, call sign, Station Rapitur,” Hyram explained. “It serves as an early-warning beacon against large-scale invading seaborne forces as well as a relay for ship-to-shore communications. Although it appears lightly defended on the peninsula proper, that is because the majority of its fortifications are across the causeway on the coastal side.”

  “Naturally defensible, well-provisioned, and with a strong communication network, it would be an excellent area for either Traitor Regiments to hold until they reconsolidate, reorganize, and launch their next attack,” said Marsh Silas. “I propose we change our operations to direct them towards this location, force them onto it, bottle them up with a large-scale ground attack, then demolish it with orbital and naval bombardments. We will raze the outpost, but these invaders who have troubled us for so long will be wiped out to a man.”

  The attendees talked among themselves momentarily. Their expressions and tones were dubious. Marsh Silas then smirked. “To make the target all the more desirable to these desperate foes, I plan to use their own desire for information against them. Misinformation for one, and an offer for the other. Osniah is a bitter and vengeful creature; ratted out by the Marked Men, I will use his spite to make him cooperate. He will feed the First of Minnath with the facility’s location and draw them there to destroy the Marked Men once and for all. When they are committed, they will be in our pocket.”

  The conference grew hushed and looked upon him. Marsh Silas assumed a stately posture, folding his hands behind his back and raising his chin. “This is the whole of it. We lure them in, trap them with conventional forces, and erase this heresy with cleansing fire. I humbly tender this plan before you for input and approval.”

  They all studied the projection. Staffers filtered through the report that had been passed out. Whispers and murmurs passed between them. Heads nodded, eyes scanned.

  “It will not be easy to fool Haight,” Romilly said, holding his chin. But he nodded slowly and met Marsh’s gaze. “It would be best to target his associate rather than him. She will be more receptive to the ruse and will likely make a decision without consulting him.”

  “I trust you to devise the scheme, Warrant Officer; your information has yielded great results in our efforts,” said Marsh Silas.

  “It would be best to make the target even more enticing.” Romilly spoke with some of the logisticians around him. “A supply shipment of food, weapons, and tools will draw them out; a large crate of power picks will definitely entice them.”

  “I doubt we will obtain enough resources to create a meaningful supply drop, let alone find someone who is willing to let so much equipment go up in flames,” doubted Marsh. But Romilly smiled and held out his arms.

  “You see before you many of the faces you saved at Drasquez Tower and the supply depot; they will ensure you are denied nothing.”

  Marsh Silas blinked and smiled slowly. The men and women Romilly motioned to gazed at him gratefully. This modest mood transitioned into one of determination; their violet eyes glowed with confidence and they smiled cunningly. These souls were more than prepared to strike back at the foes who had tried to slaughter them, as well as give back to the man who had rescued them. All the platoon leader could do was nod gratefully.

  “I am ready to commit my flotilla for the offshore bombardment,” stated Captain Keleman. “These traitors will pay for trying to take my ship.”

  “My company and I will join the ground forces and augment their strength,” added Yori. “We will ensure the enemy will not break through our lines when they are forced onto the causeway.”

  “My only concern is that von Bracken will not be for it,” ventured Rosenfeld. “Even if he is, how can we maintain secrecy and move our forces clandestinely when the overall commander and authenticator for this operation is close with the remaining spy?”

  “You leave von Bracken to me,” growled Constantine. “He may be one for politicking and forging connections, and although he might be charmed, he is no fool. I will ensure he cooperates.” The prince stood at his full height and approached Marsh Silas. “Cross, this is a workable plan. It has variables and moving parts, but I believe its function is elegant enough for a successful execution. We will commit to it with all vigor.”

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  “Thank you, sir,” said Marsh. “Now all we need to do is inform the staff and the defenders to vacate at the appropriate time.”

  Prince Constantine’s ghostly smile faded. Marsh Silas’s own disappeared when he looked into the man’s single eye. Its glimmer was grave. Turning from the prince, his gaze ventured to the other members of the conference. Captain Yori maintained a hard, stoic glare while the naval officers averted any kind of connection. Bristol scoffed, folded his arms across his chest, and shook his head dismissively. Romilly, forlorn and disappointed, shook his head.

  “Knight-Lieutenant, it pains me to speak, but we cannot risk our enemies learning of the plans. They might be desperate, yes, but Haight is smart. He knows when to play his hand and we must avoid him at all costs. If we issue a communique to the force to vacate, he will hear it; even if we veil it with code, he might be wily enough to see through the ruse. For your plan to work, we must—”

  “He means we have to sacrifice the staff and the Interior Guardsmen defending the station,” Prince Osgood said. He shook his head. “I do not like it, but it must be so, Cross.”

  It is either a pitched battle in the hinterland or let them escape to the north, where they will scatter and spread their ilk even further,” added Rosenfeld. “I do not condone this act. The garrison and the staff know they could at anytime lay down their lives, and we have now selected that time.”

  Marsh Silas’s violet eyes widened. He looked around the room, aghast and pleading. His hands fell on the edge of the projector and he was momentarily bathed in the weak, sickly green light. Slowly, he shook his head.

  “No,” he whispered to himself. He stood up, smoothed out his tunic, and nodded. “No, I will not let that happen.”

  “Knight-Lieutenant, I have accepted the plan—you may not withdraw it,” Prince Constantine said. His left eye bore into Marsh Silas.

  “There must be another way. A way that does not let these brave men and women perish under our own guns,” Marsh implored.

  “I do not see it,” said Bristol. “What are a few hundred lives of the Interior Guard compared to the destruction of traitors?”

  “It is easy for you to say so, Major,” snapped Marsh Silas. “This is not your plan, it is mine. The lives of brother and sister Cadians are in my hands. I do not spend lives in that way, sir.”

  “Need I remind you that you are a Cadian officer?” Rosenfeld barked. “You are a leader and oftentimes, a leader must sacrifice a few for the success of a mission.”

  “No one is more aware of that than I, sir. I have sent men to their deaths before. I lost friends and subordinates alike at Kasr Sonnen and Army’s Meadow. Even Lauraine’s death is my responsibility. But it is my duty as a leader to ensure that lives are not so needlessly wasted, and this, this, is a waste.”

  “To you, perhaps.” Bristol pinched the bridge of his nose, held up his hands, and strode towards Marsh. “Cross, I understand. You hear me? I understand. You do not wish harm upon these comrades. But this is the time for reason, not soft hearts: you cannot save everyone.”

  Marsh Silas, who had looked away, brought his gaze back to the Jakal. His brow furrowed and his teeth bared. He walked up to the Major and met his eyes.

  “Yes, I can. I can save everyone and failing that, I will save as many as I can.” Marsh Silas faced the congregation and held out his arms. His face grew hollow and solemn. “At least, I must try. They are worth trying for. For too long, we’ve looked at our divisions. Astra Militarum, Militarum Tempestus, Adeptus Astartes, Navis Maritimum, Navis Imperialis, Naval Intelligence, Interior Guard, Kasrkin—we may bear different titles, ranks, badges, uniforms. But that does not erase the ties that bind each and every one of us: our Emperor and our humanity.”

  Marsh Silas pointed to his platoon, assembled behind him. “I have Kasrkin from all over this planet, yet we are all Cadians, and humans yet. There you see a psyker whom we call brother, a Commissar we call a teacher, a preacher who tutors all, men who have fought alongside each other since childhood and others only for a few years. Men who have never worked with the Navy before, never worked with the Astartes before, but we have all toiled and persevered. Together; just as the squads of a platoon must work together, so too must our institutions! The uniforms and stations matter not; we are all the Emperor’s platoon.”

  He closed his eyes and took a breath. “We have gained success not just by working together, but by working for one another. We have not just fought for ground or ships or supplies or targets, but for one another. No, something higher; we have made a mission out of people. We fight, suffer, and die for one another because it is worthwhile.”

  Repeatedly, he pointed at the faces throughout the room. “You, you, and you, all of you, are worth it to me. I would lay down my life for you, not just because you are fellow warriors, but because you are my fellow man. You are not pawns, you are not assets, you are people. Every person has a purpose and a meaning, and I will defend that worthiness with all that I have and more. I will go to this place alone if I must and I will get those people out.”

  Behind him, he heard boots upon the rockcrete floor. He turned and found Bloody Platoon assembling around him. Hyram drew close and put his hand on Marsh’s back, then faced their opposites with a resolute smile. Walmsley Major, Walmsley Minor, Monty Peck, Foley, Wulff, Metcalfe, Werner, Yoxall, Drummer Boy, Babcock, Honeycutt, they stood together. Fremantle approached with Jacinto at his side; when the young psyker momentarily balked, the Commissar ushered him forward with a hand on his shoulder. Then, Jacinto filled his chest with air and appeared tough. Cobb strode up, picked up Freya, and held her on his shoulder in the curl of his arm. The dog barked once and wagged her tail. Even Isenhour lit his lho-stick and joined the group. Messer, Valens, Clivvy, Logue, Tattersall, Crazy Stück with his rambunctious smirk, and Rowley pressed into ranks.

  Marsh and Hyram were jostled as Cornelius put his arms around them. He flashed a big white smile that split his dark beard.

  “Hic manebimus optime!” he declared in High Gothic. “This lodge is best. Bloody Platoon stands with its commander, for his cause is our own. Our duty is to defend humanity, and we shall defend it by saving lives.”

  The various officers and staffers looked upon one another. Gazes had fallen, faces had turned away. Captain Rhodes suddenly came forward and gripped the edge of the projector.

  “How would you do it?”

  Marsh Silas looked at his men, then approached the projector. He scrutinized it, the holographic image reflected in his eyes.

  “Romilly, Haight might detect a communique ordering an evacuation, but not a troop rotation order. If you can orchestrate the Interior Guard regiment defending the location away prior to the enemy attack, and make it appear as if the replacement force is delayed, this will make the target appear all the more enticing for these forces. This will undoubtedly draw them in.”

  “But you cannot do the same for the Administratum and Militarum staff of the facility,” the intelligence officer said. “Will they not be killed?”

  “I know both the Marked Men and the First of Minnath. They have demonstrated they are keen to take hostages. If they do not have to kill, they will not; unable to mount a defense, the staff will surrender. I would prefer if the Marked Men took them, as the First of Minnath might use them as shields whereas the former will prefer to mine them for intelligence before they enact any cruelties.”

  Marsh pointed to the peninsula. “If the Marked Men take the peninsula first, the First of Minnath will attempt to take it. When they attempt to take the causeway fortifications, that is when the conventional forces will spring the trap and bottle them up. Then, it becomes a matter of timing.”

  He drew his finger across the projection to a three hundred meter expanse of land between the Hydra Platform pits and the sea cliffs. “A high altitude, low activation grav-chute night drop. We come in above the augur array’s range, free fall, and land on this flat ground. In darkness and rainy conditions, the flare of the grav-chutes should go undetected. We will eliminate the trench, subdue the facility, and evacuate the staff by air. Once they are away, we will exfiltrate by Valkyrie and when all Imperial forces are clear, the bombardment will commence.”

  Romilly’s eyes sparked with inspiration.

  “You’re right, Knight-Lieutenant. I know just how to craft this deceit. Oh, yes, I will ensure that the Marked Men will take the bait. Getting the Interior Guard out of there will limit the amount of exposure you face and the time it will take for an evacuation. I am with you; if I can help save these lives, I will.”

  “One platoon cannot go it alone. My men and I will go also,” said Lieutenant Gabler. She came around the projector and highlighted the cross ditches. “It will only be a matter of time before the alarm is raised. After we eliminate the anti-air defenses, we will cut the road and ensure any forces dispatched from the causeway will hit our blocking position.”

  “It will be hard to destroy tanks and armored personnel carriers without heavy weapons,” murmured Osgood. He seemed entranced for a time but then roused himself. “My weapons platoon will drop also and hold the road.”

  “I read earlier reports regarding the Battle of Hill 277. The Marked Men escaped with much of their anti-aircraft equipment,” Captain Rhodes said. “Even with a blocking position, the airspace might prove too hot to maintain air superiority long enough to completely evacuate any forces.”

  “It might be prudent to take the shingle,” Keleman said. He came around and highlighted the beach defenses. “Not only will this provide a secondary extract, it will allow us to move more troops onto the peninsula.”

  “I would volunteer my platoon for the act,” Gabler said gravely. “But I hesitate to leave Osgood’s troops without infantry support.”

  “You are free to assault those fortifications, Lieutenant,” Captain Yori stated. Slowly, he walked around the hololithic projector and loomed over Marsh Silas. His hard gaze suddenly softened. “You went through great lengths to keep my Astartes from suffering under the First of Minnath’s artillery. We were prepared to sell our lives however dearly, yet you ensured none of us fell. Once, I thought this strategy, but I see now that this is a product of your own beliefs. You combine doctrine with ideals: this, the Emperor’s Shadows can respect.”

  He stood beside Marsh Silas and faced the rest of the crowd. “Once the initial anti-air defenses are down, I will deploy a strike team to support Prince Osgood’s blocking position.”

  Sergeant-at-Arms Tanzer suddenly jumped to her feet and tapped the side of the projector.

  “Captain Keleman, you said your flotilla can facilitate landing craft?”

  “Aye, they can!”

  Tanzer looked at Captain Rhodes, who nodded at her. Tanzer pounded her fist into her palm, her noble veneer replaced by eager battle courage.

  “Then, once the beach is secured, I will lead my Breachers and a detachment of armsmen onto the shingle. My force will hold the landing sight and my team will provide additional reinforcements.” She came over and stood among Bloody Platoon, as did her Breachers. Many familiar handshakes were exchanged between the warriors.

  Captain Rhodes conferred with Captain Keleman. After their hushed discussion, he approached the hololithic projector.

  “I am prepared to lease as many of my armsmen for the operation, who will be conveyed by Captain Keleman’s ships.” Captain Rhodes walked around and took Marsh’s hands. “You saved many lives at Port Narak, mine among them. You did not know me, you have never heard my family’s name. Your men bore wounds, you took to the sky and made yourself a shield between me and the enemy. If you believe in doing so much for so few lives, then I am ready to commit to this worthy cause. I give you my word, I will withhold the bombardment until no loyal soul remains on the peninsula.”

  Marsh Silas looked between Gabler, Yori, Rhodes, and Tanzer. Confidence, belief, kinship. He saw it all in their eyes, as well as in the eyes of Keleman and Romilly, the many ordinary Kasrkin, the officers, and the staffers assembled around them. The cadres created by the initial arrival had steadily thinned out. A complete and perfect circle had formed around the hololithic projector. Everyone stood shoulder to shoulder, feet firmly, and their gazes resolute.

  Casting his eyes to Prince Constantine, Marsh Silas waited. The dark prince regarded the assembly with an apparent frankness. Not disbelief, not indifference, not condescension, just a straightforward appraisal. He turned back and extended his hand.

  “Very well. Both your plans are approved. Captain Hyram, Knight-Lieutenant, you are assigned joint command of the operation; if you and all these many souls wish to serve the few, then I shall not stop you.”

  “To save many lives, few lives, or even one, is worthwhile, sir,” Marsh assured him.

  “One life, perhaps, can make all the difference, can’t it?” said the Prince. Finally, he smiled and released a breath. It might have been a laugh. His single eye grew wistful and lost but eventually it came back to Marsh Silas. “I will come with you.”

  “Well, I will not pass up an opportunity to come face to face and barrel to barrel with the enemy again,” huffed Bristol. He poked Marsh Silas’s chest. “But if your ass is imperiled, don’t expect me to risk my hide coming out to save your own.”

  Marsh Silas, happy for his plan to be accepted, just laughed dry. As it subsided and his smile faded, he approached the console once more. He gazed at the little peninsula dangling off the Torium Coast. A mere speck of insignificant rock, known only to those who dwelled upon it and those who gazed upon its projection.

  “For too long, we have been led about and cast about in different, disparate directions,” he said. “We have been divided by foes old and young, subjects of their insidious wiles and atrocious plans. But now, we stand united as the Emperor intended; now, we put into motion the end of this heresy. Now, it is time for my plan to begin.”

  Marsh Silas closed the hololithic projection and the image winked away. With Bloody Platoon and their comrades in tow, he marched towards the entrance; hands curled into fists, shoulders hunched, heads forward, eyes aflame, and upon his face, a cunning, confident, crooked smile.