“Firmin Brothers, there is no escape. Lay down your arms and exit the building with your hands above your heads. Submit yourselves peacefully into custody and there shall be no violence; resist and face the God-Emperor’s wrath,” said Arnold Yoxall, disinterestedly. He put down the amplifier affixed to the turret cupola of the Taurox Prime and rested his chin in his hand.

  Watching from his position in the alley beside the target building, Marsh Silas just smiled. For weeks, they had hunted the Firmin syndicate through the kasr and systematically destroyed their safe houses, clubs, and warehouses. Bloody Platoon had recovered almost all of the stolen materials, racked up a decent body count, and even managed to take a few prisoners.

  But now, with the Firmin Brothers cornered in their last bastion, the men had lost their enthusiasm. Gangers were hardly a worthy foe for Kasrkin and years spent draft dodging had left them poorly trained and ill-disciplined. Although an easy mission was a pleasant change, it had become busywork. Marsh hadn’t even brought his platoon out in force, instead cycling through two of his squads at a time and augmenting them with troopers from the support squads.

  Yoxall’s 1st squad was dispersed among the Taurox Primes that cordoned off the street in front of the building. They leaned against the guarded sides of the vehicles, chatting to one another as they waited for the go-order. Wit’s squad of Ogryn, led by Commissar Seegar, also hunched behind the APCs. Drummer Boy and 5th squad waited in the alley with Marsh, Hyram, Commissar Ghent, and Overton. The Major, clad in immaculate castellan’s carapace, checked his plasma pistol and nodded at the platoon leader excitedly.

  Marsh peeked out further. The fortified manse was a squat, square structure with three floors. There was a window on either side of the single, large door and two rows of three for each upper story level. He couldn’t hear much over the growl of the Taurox engines, so he glanced at his slate monitron. With a swipe of his finger he transitioned seamlessly to another window. The vital signs for the present Kasrkin were green and their heart rates remained steady. Except for Tattersall and Patterson the marksmen for 5th and 1st squads, who had just jogged up to the parallel rooftop to establish overwatch. Isenhour and his hellshot had joined them, but his heart rate indicated he was napping.

  Drawing back into the alley, Marsh turned and looked for Speakman. The recon trooper waited next to Drummer Boy, who lazily flipped the cap of his lighter off and on. A thin trail of smoke rose from his lit lho-stick. Rowley, who clenched an unlit lho-stick between her lips, padded down her chest rig. She noticed Drummer Boy, then snatched him by his collar, yanked him down, and pressed the end of her smoke against his. It took only a moment to catch and she flashed a cheeky smile at him. The sergeant shoved her away, causing the vox-operator to laugh.

  “Knock it off, we’re not on furlough,” said Marsh as he pointed at Speakman.

  “Well, I actually am,” joked Overton. “You should thank me for donating my free time.”

  “You should thank us for letting you come along,” muttered Hyram, who lit his own lho-stick and leaned on Marsh’s shoulder. “If regiment knew you were out here, there’d be a mountain of paperwork for me to fill out.”

  “But not for Ghent?”

  “I’ve been killing cultists, heretics, traitors, and gangers since you were soiling your crib, I go where I please,” grunted the Commissar. The old hands of Bloody Platoon snickered and held up their forefingers. Ghent flashed a rare smile and reciprocated the gesture.

  Speakman shouldered his hellgun and activated his handheld auspex. He took Marsh’s post at the corner and scanned the target building. A red light on the side flashed green and he leaned back towards Marsh. “Thirty heat signatures, sir,” he said, then smiled. “Hey, that enginseer might not say much but he does good work. It used to take a full minute or even a bit longer for a full detection, but it only takes thirty seconds now.”

  “He improved the coil in my Mk. 2,” said Drummer Boy. “I thought those red robes just maintained wargear, not improved it.”

  “I told you, Little Mac is a little different,” said Hyram. “He’s the best in the 10th. If he weren’t so keen to tinker and modify weapons, he would’ve become a tech-adept by now.”

  Marsh Silas rolled his eyes as he opened a package of chewing tabac and stuffed the brown contents behind his bottom lip. He moved back to the corner and looked around. The door remained closed and Yoxall drummed his fingers on the edge of the cupola in irritation. He picked the amplifier back up.

  “You’re starting to bore me, up there. This is your last warning: surrender or perish!”

  A tap on Marsh’s bulky shoulder plate made him turn. Hyram thumped his fist against his chestplate. His amiable smile had a way of lighting up his entire face. “You can’t hold a grudge against him for that,” he said kindly. “Little Mac was just following an order.”

  Thunder rippled in the distance and the already gray, gloomy sky darkened over Kasr Proelium. The first drops of rain fell upon their helmets. Marsh spit onto the rockcrete pavement and faced the street again. “It’s not just him,” he muttered. “Sister Ruo insists on coming out with us and both she and Sister Lada continue to disrespect Jacinto.” The psyker, embedded with Drummer Boy’s squad, looked up quickly. He was haggard, distant, and his ashen-colored skin looked more sickly than ever. Fleming, the grenadier, stood beside him and put a brotherly arm around him. “I thought out of the lot, I’d get the least trouble for them. I have Ratlings who want to shoot, a Commissar who thinks she’s too good for the Kasrkin, and an enginseer who acts on his own accord. Oh, but did you know? He asked to come along the other day as well, to ensure his improvements were working. I thought I made my position, and theirs, quite clear.”

  “It’s almost as if ye told them one’s place is earned by merit and ability, and that whosoever fights with the Bloody Platoon must be the best,” said Fleming, sarcastically.

  “Don’t make me shove that grenade launcher up your arse,” growled Marsh Silas. He ignored Hyram’s chiding but knowing glance and looked past him. Holzmann stood behind the officers and his purple eyes remained fixed on his boots. “Eyes up, sergeant,” he grunted. The medic, blinking as if he had stirred from sleep, nodded hastily.

  “I wish these bastards would just give up already,” complained Cobb. He knelt and scratched a panting Freya behind her ears. “You would think they’d give up seeing this many guns on them.”

  “They’re gangers who were foolish enough to steal from the most heavily militarized planet in the entire Imperium of Man, nobody said they were intelligent,” said Hyram.

  “You know, there was only a pict for one of the Firmin Brothers,” said Rowley. “Did Romilly just not have one for the second or do you think there simply isn’t one at all?”

  “I bet the other brother is a mutant,” suggested Drummer Boy. Speakman, who had just put away his auspex, grinned and pulled out a notepad.

  “Would you put a couple Thrones down on that?” Helmeted heads turned, violet eyes flitted, and smiles widened.

  “Ten for the fuck-ugly mutant,” declared Drummer Boy.

  “Five against.”

  “Fifteen, not a mutie.”

  “Eight that he’s not a mutant but he’s still fuck-ugly,” said Rowley.

  “Let’s just keep it mutant or not mutant, eh?”

  “Fine, eight, not mutant.”

  “Twenty that he’s not a mutant,” exclaimed Overton. All the Kasrkin reeled. Marsh looked at him in equal surprise and the major shrugged. “What? I don’t get to partake in these kinds of antics anymore. I hardly get to be among the enlisted men these days.”

  “It’s a good life with us,” jeered Fleming. “Oh, seven that he ain’t a mutant. Jacinto?”

  “T-ten that he i-is a mutant,” betted Jacinto. Marsh cocked his head to the side and the psyker smiled playfully.

  “Hey, hey!” hissed Marsh Silas. The crowd around Speakman paused and looked up from the informal bookie. The platoon leader holstered Barlocke’s Silence, planted his hands on his hips, and glowered at his Kasrkin. He appeared at his full height then and his piercing gaze unsettled every one of his scions. “This is not the way for an elite warrior to act, especially not in front of a senior Commissar and a Cadian castellan!”

  Marsh let the words hang above their heads for a moment. The squad members gazed at one another uncomfortably. Speakman rocked on his heels. Hyram tapped Marsh on his chestplate.

  “Oh, come off it! Twenty-five, baseline human,” said Hyram as he helped himself.

  “Put me down for the same,” remarked Ghent, who enjoyed the jeers of the Kasrkin.

  “Now we’re really getting somewhere,” declared Speakman.

  All jumped and braced their weapons as gunfire erupted on the street side of the manse. Marsh pered around the corner as a burst of slugs showered Yoxall’s Taurox Prime. The squad leader cried out as a bullet struck the top of his helmet and ricocheted off. When the firing stopped, he stood back up in the cupola and examined the canteen he had just drank from. A large hole in the side caused the remaining water to leak out. Yoxall growled and lobbed the canteen at the house.

  “Right you fuckers, I’ll do you in for that!” He jerked the cupola to face the manse, cycled the pintle-mounted storm bolter, and unleashed a fiery burst that raked both the second and third story windows. 1st Squad and the Ogryn added their weight to the fusillade as did the overwatch team. Even Commissar Seegar exposed herself to slam rounds from her bolt pistol at the enemy.

  Marsh didn’t even need to ask for the handset, Rowley already held it towards him as she smoked her lho-stick. He removed the chewing tabac chunk and spit out the rest before he keyed it.

  “Avalanche Six, this is Red Six.”

  “Go ahead, Red Six,” came Rosenfeld’s voice, even and professional.

  “Taking fire from the target building, moving in to assault, over.”

  “Roger, terminate with extreme prejudice, over.”

  “Wilco, out.” He gave the handset back. “Drummer Boy, take Cobb and Freya and make ready to breach on the opposite side of the manse. Those imbeciles might try to test their fortunes against the Interior Guard’s cordon and I don’t want any of those men catching a round. Hold for my command. The rest of you, stay on my arse and let’s cleanse these vermin.”

  They flowed around the corner and hugged the wall of the manse. Yoxall dismounted and led 1st squad to the opposite side of the door. Isenhour’s hellshot rang out, and a body fell from an upper story. Marsh flashed a thumbs-up to the opposite roof. The Ogryn continued to provide suppressive fire, devastating the upper story windows with their roaring ripper guns. Marsh pointed at Yoxall, made a fist, and mimicked yanking a pin from them. In unison, they pulled fragmentation grenades from their chest rigs, pulled the pins, and lobbed them through the broken first story windows. Both detonated simultaneously, sending clouds of dust and glass back out. Grenadiers Fleming and Dodge stepped back and hit each of the upper windows with a shell from their grenade launchers. More dust showered the squads. Hellguns blasted on the manse’s opposite side.

  “You know, I was thinking about your problem with the Sisters,” said Hyram over the detonations. Marsh, crouched, twisted halfway around.

  “Really? Right now?” he asked, incredulous. The grenadiers’ fire stopped and then he gave a thumbs-up to Yoxall. The squad leader ordered his breacher, MacNile, to put a blasting charge on the door. “You can’t possibly be serious.”

  “I’ve gotten to know the company Astropaths quite well,” said Hyram. “Merriweather and Aralyn are twin sisters and they’re very reliable, much like dear Jacinto. Merriweather has been eager to get out into the field more instead of being cooped up at headquarters. She’s professional, but Aralyn is quite lovely. We’re due to increase our complement of Astropaths soon, so I could transfer them to the platoon for battle seasoning. After all, showing and proving ourselves is how we succeed.”

  MacNile ran back and Yoxall cupped his hand around his mouth. “Loud noises!” he cried.

  “The last thing I need are two more new faces,” said Marsh, hastily. All ducked and put a hand on their helmets. The charge detonated and sent up a heavy cloud of gray rockcrete dust. Marsh drew Barlocke’s Silence once more and flipped the fire selector to fully automatic. He reached the door first and was about to throw another grenade inside when he realized it was still intact. A test kick revealed that it was still locked up tight. He waved the Kasrkin back and they assumed their positions along the wall. “Rowley, tell Drummer Boy we have a negative breach and to hold fast. Hey MacNile, what the fuck was that!?”

  “Sorry sir, I thought the charge was strong enough!”

  “Clearly, it was not!”

  “If you wanted something more volatile, sir, you should have brought Crazy Stück!”

  “Sorry but I wanted some of us to live! Get another charge up there!”

  “I’s got it, sah!”

  All watched as Wit ran from behind the Taurox Prime and charged at the door. The gangers finally mustered the courage to return fire and hit him with a burst of autogun slugs. Rounds peppered his heavy flak armor and a few grazed his gigantic, exposed arm. But Wit kept on running and with a roar, threw his muscular shoulder against the door. A massive dent appeared in the metal plating. He punched it twice, rocking it off its hinges, and then he punted it right into the manse. He stepped back and politely motioned towards it with his hand.

  Marsh blinked, stupefied, but shook himself from his stupor. “Let’s go, Bloody Platoon!” He led them to the door and they flowed inside. But Marsh paused and raised his thumb to the Ogryn. Wit lifted a confused eyebrow and tilted his head to the side.

  “Are ya mad, sah? I jus’ wanted tah help…”

  “No! That means a good job! Come on, follow me!”

  The interior had been ruined, with furniture shredded and false planking on the rockcrete flooring ripped up. What wasn’t absolutely demolished lay overturned. Glass covered the floor and their boots crunched on the shards as they spread out through the foyer. A large staircase dominated the center of the room, although its steps led to the rear of the building. Two entryways on either side led to separate chambers.

  Just as Yoxall’s squad activated their helmet lamps, feet pounded down the steps. Five gangers bolted for the rear door. Marsh ordered the Kasrkin to hold their fire as the enemy opened it. They were greeted by a volley of hellgun lasbolts and were decimated into a pile of severed limbs and singed bodies.

  “Aquilas coming in, aquilas coming in!” Drummer Boy yelled with his squad. “Clear!”

  “5th Squad, go right, Yoxall, take 1st left, go. Seegar, Wit, you and the Ogryn hold with us,” ordered Marsh Silas. “Cover the stairwell.” Wit and his Ogryn moved in first while Marsh followed with his command squad. Holzmann, just to his right, kept looking between the stairs and the room on the right. The tip of his boot caught a popped plank and he tripped so hard he lost control of his Mk. 2. Marsh Silas grabbed him by the back of his collar and pulled him up. “Pay attention!”

  “Sorry, sir!”

  Marsh stood beside Wit and pointed his ripper pistol up the stairwell. Hyram sidled up beside him and turned to face a different section of the room. “Think about it, Sy. Exposure to a few more psykers, especially ones we rely on for communication, may help them come around.”

  “Or it might make the Sisters quit the platoon entirely and then the proposal will fail,” said Marsh. “Are you really still on about this?”

  “Why browbeat them into changing their views when you can show them otherwise? It will be good for everyone to see that there are some psykers who stabilize themselves with piety, loyalty, and brotherhood. Isn’t that right, Jacinto?”

  “I-I agree with H-Hyram, sir,” said the pyromancer. “They n-need more t-than me.”

  Calls of ‘clear,’ came from the other rooms. Kasrkin dropped chemical lights in each one to mark them. As they returned to the foyer, Ghent came up to Marsh. “You know there’s probably some arsehole up there with a shotgun or heavy stubber ready to kill us.”

  “I know it. Cobb, send Freya.”

  “Yes, sir!” The dog handler took Freya by the collar and unhooked her leash. “Find’em!”

  Freya shot up the steps, her metal front legs pounding along. She circled up the next well that led to the second floor. There was a growl, a ferocious bark, and then terrified screaming. “Dog on bite!” shouted Cobb and he went first. Holzmann started to follow but Marsh pulled him back.

  “You stand back, the medic never goes first!”

  They ascended the steps and secured the landing. Cobb had already thrown the ganger on the floor—Freya had mauled the assailant’s arm. “Got this one alive, sir. You want me to wrap him up in the Taurox?”

  “We’ve already snatched plenty of prisoners and I don’t feel like filling out any more paperwork,” said Marsh, tiredly. Cobb stood up, pressed the barrel of his hellgun to the ganger’s head, and squeezed the trigger. He leashed Freya while the Kasrkin fanned out into the adjoining corridors. Doors were kicked in followed by frag and flash grenades. Teams stormed in and cleared each room. Hellguns thundered, heavy meltaguns and light plasma cannons sizzled. One ganger managed to sprint out of one room, but Valens leaned out and lined up his meltagun. Zap! A burst of golden energy charred the enemy’s back and threw him onto the floor with an inglorious thump.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  Marsh checked his slate monitron again. All vital signs were green. He took a breath and walked back to Hyram, who covered the stairs with the Ogryn. “These Astropaths, can they fight?” he asked reluctantly. His brother’s delighted grin filled him with immediate regret.

  “They served in the mercenary company of a Rogue Trader in the Koronus Expanse before they were deposited on Cadia. They’ve both seen action against cultists, ferals, Orks, and even Aeldari. Both have quite remarkable powers.”

  “I’ve read the Expanse is quite a treacherous place. If they cut their teeth there, then…”

  Commissar Seegar opened a closet on the landing and two gangers burst out at her. She drove her growling chainsword through the chest of one but wasn’t able to draw a bead on the second with her bolt pistol. Unable to free her blade, she was forced to drop both weapons and snatch her attacker by the throat.

  “They gotz the Commissar!” shouted Wit, and leveled his ripper gun.

  “Hold your fire! You’ll hit her!” ordered Marsh. Nobody could line up a shot. When Holzmann tried, Ghent had to force his hellgun barrel down. Seegar’s bolt pistol slid across the floor, kicked away during the struggle. But the Commissar headbutted the ganger, knocked him into the wall. She turned him around, dragged him towards a broken window, and slammed his forehead repeatedly on the sill until he went limp.

  The Commissar put her hat back on and glared at the Ogryn. “Never, ever, point those damn guns at me again, you hear?” The Ogryn nodded quickly.

  “Second floor clear,” said Yoxall as he emerged from the left corridor with his squad. “No sign of the Firmin Brothers.”

  “One floor left; that narrows it down,” said Ghent. “Let’s get this done.” Without waiting for a command, he marched up the steps of the final stairwell. Just as he did, an autogun barrel jutted into his face from above. He immediately grabbed it aside as the ganger fired a shot. Ghent struck the man across the face with the side of his bolt pistol, then threw him down the stairs. The ganger managed to stagger back to his feet, but Jacinto merely snapped his fingers and set the man afire. Screaming, the burning man thrashed around until Hack kicked him out the window.

  A second attacker ran down at Ghent but the Commissar hit him in the throat with the flat of his hand. Grabbing the stunned opponent, Ghent charged up the stairs, across the third floor landing, and tossed the ganger out the window. The short scream was followed by a crunchy smack. Just as he turned, a third attacker ran at him with a sword. Overton, having just bounded up, caught the ganger’s sword arm, pressed his plasma pistol into his belly, and squeezed the trigger several times. Hot, blue plasma melted the ragged man’s abdomen and severed him in two.

  The castellan casually discarded the torso on the floor. He pointed at a heavy blast door on the right side of the room. “I hazard that the Firmin Brothers have locked themselves in.”

  “Well, there won’t be much between them and us in a moment. Yoxall, Drummer Boy, clear the opposite corridor while we…” Marsh heard heavy footsteps thudding across the floor. Wit was charging at the blast door. “Halt!” It was too late. The massive Ogryn threw himself against the door several times, denting and bending it. He pushed on it so hard that he ripped the entire entrance out of the wall and pushed it down. Muzzle flashes flickered in the dust and Wit’s left arm was shot half a dozen times.

  Marsh ran up behind the Ogryn, grabbed him by his belt, and pulled him back behind the undamaged wall. As he was guided away, Wit emptied his ripper gun into the chamber. Rowley tossed a flash grenade inside and all shielded themselves from the blinding light. Cries of pain rang out from within. One man, bleeding from his eyes, ran out with a fragmentation grenade in his hand. Hyram led the charge, activated Lilias’s Fist, and leaped at the ganger. He landed a blow with his power fist right at the deranged fellow’s shoulder, separating his arm from his torso. The arm landed on the floor, the rigorous hand still wrapped around the grenade.

  Joining his friend, Marsh shot down several more staggering figures until the room grew still. The dust settled and the Imperials fanned out on either side of him. They picked over debris and fired into twitching corpses. At the end of the room, they came across a crumpled body. Hyram turned him over and examined a pict on his slate monitron. “Aye, it’s the elder Firmin.”

  “And the other?” But Marsh’s question was answered by a scraping sound and tinkling glass. A man who had been trapped underneath a scrap of canvas attempted to crawl further into the room. All gathered around as the platoon leader whisked off the sheet and kicked him onto his back. “Well, in all my soldier’s life!” Staring back up at him was a misshapen fellow with patchy hair, one eye larger than the other, dog-like teeth, and a cracked, wart-covered, hound-like face.

  “Emperor’s teeth, Firmin the Younger is a fuck-ugly mutant!” laughed Drummer Boy.

  “Eight thrones, down the drain,” muttered Rowley.

  “Eight!? I just lost fifteen!” complained Wyndham, the 5th squad plasma gunner.

  “Glory t-to Him on Terra,” exclaimed Jacinto. “Y-you all b-better pay up.”

  Marsh fired a single slug through the mutant’s head. He turned around and holstered his weapon. “You can collect your winnings later. I want a final sweep of the building. Rowley, scalp the Firmins. Take picts of the bodies for confirmation, then burn them. Let’s get back to Fort Carmine.”

  ***

  Marsh and his unit trudged back from Fort Carmine’s motor pool. The rain had passed and the day began to brighten. Lho-sticks hung from almost everyone’s lips. Some drank from their canteens while others unwrapped ration bars. While these might have been flavorless bricks of layered, amalgamated nutrient paste, they were still enough to fill a man’s stomach. Lighting the contents of his pipe, Marsh contented him with his fine tabac.

  “I’m going to regiment to make my preliminary report,” said Hyram. He took the scalps from Rowley and tucked them into his belt. “I’ll need your after-action report by eighteen-hundred.”

  “Aye, brother.” The two tapped each other on the shoulder before Hyram ventured towards headquarters. “Seathan?” The executive officer turned, tired but curious. “I’ll give the Astropaths some thought.” Hyram smiled and left, the fresh breeze playing with his blonde locks

  It was a prospect better than any he had come up with yet. His words could only sway Ruo and Lada so much. He did not want to force them, either. If they were to truly accept psykers in the same unit, they would have to come to those terms themselves. Hyram was right, as he usually was; their way was to prove it.

  “It’s jus’ a few scratches, Hole-man, ain’t nuffin’.” Wit trundled by with Holzmann at his side, still attempting to render first aid on the wounds. Marsh’s brow furrowed and he took his pipe from his lips.

  “Sergeant, you still haven’t gotten the bleeding under control?”

  “I’m sorry, sir, I’ve never worked on an Ogryn before,” said Holzmann, red and flustered.

  “You better learn, sergeant, and fast too,” growled Marsh, loudly. This wasn’t working out well. Perhaps, he could send him to the fort’s medicae department for training. But would anybody there have operated on Ogryn as well?

  He started to smoke again as the platoon crossed the campus green. The door to Fifth Row opened and Hospitaller Ruo appeared. She hurried over to the platoon, clearly observing each individual as she did. “Is anyone wounded?” she asked when she drew closer.

  “Wit took some rounds to his arm. Holzmann has him.” Ruo’s soft face wrinkled with disbelief and her brown eyes remained dubious as the medic and his charge passed by. When they were out of earshot, she motioned back towards them.

  “I thought Honeycutt said he was the best man for the role.”

  “He is, and Honeycutt is rarely wrong.” Marsh took off his helmet and ran his hand through his sweaty blonde locks. “Holzmann can fight, and he’s brave. But he’s new to the Kasrkin, and methinks he’s keen to make an impression. That’ll unnerve anyone and he’ll just make mistakes. And he hasn’t operated on abhumans before. I’ll have to send him for training, but I can ill-afford to have the platoon’s senior combat medic away for long.”

  He noticed Ruo’s falling gaze. She seemed hesitant yet thoughtful. Her eyes searched for something in the fragrant, freshly cut grass. Shaking her head slightly, she squeezed her eyes shut, and sighed. “Sir, I know much more than basic first aid, why don’t you let me train him? I can set aside time each day for coursework.” She clasped her hands together. “And you could let me come with you on the next mission. My presence might calm him, knowing that I am able to assist.”

  “I told you already, you are not here to fight.”

  “I won’t be fighting. I will be tending to the wounded and tutoring your medic.”

  “Take him under your wing, but leave the other matter alone for now.” Ruo’s eyes hardened. Slowly, she turned and watched Holzmann and Wit approach the barracks door. Again, her eyes fell and she chewed her bottom lip. Eventually, she shook her head and jogged after them.

  “Sergeant, hold a moment. Let me talk you through the treatment…”

  Pausing, Marsh watched them disappear into Fifth Row. His lips parted enough that his pipe threatened to fall from his mouth. But he scoffed and took another puff. He clipped his helmet to his belt and started to follow.

  “Still alive, are you?” Marsh smiled as his mother walked up from behind. Faye reached up and took him by the cheek. Her violet eyes scanned up and down. “You’re in one piece. Good, if a ganger had wounded you that would’ve been most shameful. Crosses don’t suffer meager criminals.”

  Instead of responding to her jape, Marsh merely leaned down and embraced her. Whatever Faye planned to say next was reduced to a surprised gasp. But she returned the gesture and kissed him on his temple. “You’re still a sweet boy,” she said as they parted. Faye sharply raised her finger into Marsh’s face, causing him to recoil. “But not as sweet as you used to be. You place that Sister in a difficult position.”

  “I do no such thing, I merely hold to the boundaries of my proposal,” defended Marsh Silas.

  “You’re as obstinate as you are foolish. A hospitaller is as much a warrior as a healer.”

  “I am obstinate? She refuses to treat abhumans and psykers.”

  “She’s not perfect, but no one is. Believe you me, in a fight, she will do her duty.”

  “I’ll bet my boots if I take her out, she’d let Jacinto bleed to death if he were wounded.” Distant gunshots cracked through the air. Marsh’s head snapped up. “What’s that?”

  “Autorifles, are ye deaf?” mocked Faye. “Master Sergeant Walmsley took the Ratlings shooting. They’re out at the range now. Don’t make a face, you gave him leave to, remember?”

  Marsh wordlessly ventured to the range with his mother beside him. Fort Carmine had expanded over the past year and a new facility, accessible by an archway in the northeastern curtain wall, led to a demi-fortress. Although somewhat smaller, its walls and spires were just as tall and they bristled with heavy weaponry. The training facility provided basic lasrifle and grenade ranges to shoot-houses and lecture halls. It was another of Hyram and Marsh’s proposals that had seen the Red Banner Regiment sharpen their skills without having to waste time going to other depots.

  Those members of Bloody Platoon who hadn’t been on the operation were gathered around the lasrifle pits on the eastern side. Gabler of 3rd platoon even stood with Walmsley Major and Wulff at the end of the range. All five Ratlings stood, crouched, or lay prone as they fired at four-hundred meter targets. Each time they fired, one of the Kasrkin, acting as observers, cried, ‘hit!’ The others hooted, whistled, and clapped. Some even passed out packets of lho-sticks as bets.

  Fenton the Lag reclined on his back, placed one hand on the back of his head, and braced the rifle barrel with his toes. He carefully lined up a shot and squeezed the trigger. The round struck just off-center of the bullseye. The Ratling cackled as Kasrkin applauded. Carey wet her sights, fired a shot, struck center, but her follow-up shot struck the same hole. Again, there were cheers. But it was Tolly who drew the most attention. She stood with her back to the range with the rifle braced over her shoulder. As she examined the target with a palm-sized mirror, she carefully adjusted the weapon. Her tongue just hung out past her lips. Tolly discharged the rifle and the bullet hit the top of the bullseye.

  Everyone whistled and clapped. Tolly put the weapon on safe, set it down on the table, and held out her hands. Her fellow Ratlings and even a few of the Kasrkin shook her hands or shoved choc-bars into her palms. “Thank ye, ladies and gentlemen, thank ye! I’ll be performin’ for the rest o’ the week!” she joked. She noticed Marsh Silas and held out her arms. “There’s the boss! We’ve jus’ been puttin’ on a little show for the boys!”

  Walmsley Major, amused and smiling wide, walked up to Marsh. They exchanged quick salutes and handshakes. “I tell you what, sir, these Ratlings can shoot. I always heard about it but I never quite believed it until now.”

  “If this is what they can do with basic autoguns,” said Gabler, “then I be wanting to put some sniper rifles in their hands. Maybe even a long-las. I might get myself a few Ratlings at this rate.”

  Marsh Silas did not quite hear him. Tolly’s smile was bright and cheerful; the other Ratlings mirrored her expression. They practically glowed and happily accepted lights from the Kasrkin for their lho-sticks. The longer he stared, the quieter it grew. Marsh Silas then heard revving chainswords, rattling heavy bolters, the whistle of artillery shells, and tens of thousands of war cries. The torture of Sabinus the Imperial Fist flashed through his mind, followed by the knife that ended Captain Galen. He saw Barlocke disappear into that horde of cultits and Yeardley the Whiteshield fall into the snow. The bodies of men like Bullard and Cuyper rested in Army Meadow’s yellow flowers. There was Afdin and the bodies of the 45th Altridge Regiment. Carstensen shoved the men of Bloody Platoon aside and fired her bolt pistol as the heavy stubber rounds ripped into her.

  “What a joyous time we are all enjoying,” said Marsh, forcing a smile. He picked up the autogun had just used and examined it. “Impressive, Lightfoote. Let’s see you do it again.” He threw the weapon at her and she barely caught it. The force was enough to knock her back a step. Her green eyes widened, becoming almost doe-like. “Up to the firing line, sergeant,” he ordered, tersely.

  As Tolly reloaded the weapon and prepared to fire, Marsh approached Lance Sergeant Logue. He held out his hand. Logue looked down at Marsh’s palm hesitantly and his eyes flitted towards the Ratlings, imploring. But Marsh’s hand remained outstretched. Reluctantly, almost painfully, Logue gave Marsh Silas his hellgun. Taking the small backpack mount, the platoon leader attached it to the back of his armor and returned to the rifle pit.

  “Commence firing,” he ordered. Just as Tolly’s finger slid into the trigger guard, Marsh fired a burst. It made her jump and discharge the weapon. The round struck on the outermost ring of the target. “You won’t even kill a half-starved cultist with a shot like that. Again!”

  Tolly hastily raised her weapon back up. Marsh adjusted the power output of the Mk. 2 to the highest setting. The Ratling fired a few shots before Marsh Silas unleashed another long burst. The noise was thunderous and overwhelming, causing Tolly to drop the weapon in shock and cover her ears. “If you can’t fire that thing straight, you’ll end up dead, sergeant. But if that weapon ever falls from your hands, it won’t be you on the ground, it’ll be one of your comrades. Pick it up!”

  She scrambled to grab the autorifle. “The enemy’s moving now, Lightfoote. They’re flanking on the right, you have to displace before they overrun you. Move it, soldier!” Tolly hurried to move down the range, but in her haste she tripped several times. By the time she reached the final pit, she breathed exasperatedly and her hands shook. “Why aren’t you firing!? Shoot, damn you!”

  He didn’t give Tolly a chance. Marsh fired a long volley from the hellgun that struck the target and reduced it to ashes. When he finished, he looked down at the Ratling, who breathed heavily and anxiously. Shouldering the Mk. 2, he snatched the rifle from her hands, ejected the magazine and ejected the round in the chamber. It popped out and he caught it. “This isn’t a toy,” he snapped, then turned to face the crowd. The rest of Bloody Platoon, including the Sororitas, Ogryn, Little Mac, Overton, and Ghent, had gathered during the entire affair. “And this is not a game.”

  He placed the weapon, magazine, and bullet down on the table, then removed the power pack from his back. Marsh shoved the hellgun back into Logue’s hand and then went over to Walmsley Major. “Shoot they can, but fight, they cannot. Get them off the range.”

  The platoon sergeant’s ‘yes, sir,’ was hardly audible. Marsh stormed through the crowd back towards Fort Carmine. His mother waited for him, arms folded across her chest, her violet gaze icy.

  “If I were your platoon sergeant, I would have put your ass on the ground,” she said.

  “I should have known this was a mistake.”

  “You shouldn’t treat anybody under your command like that for any reason, Silas.”

  “Mother, I am in no need of—”

  The fort public address system suddenly chimed. Marsh halted and looked up at the nearest speaker. “Now hear this,” droned Lord Commissar Debenhem’s voice. “All officers report immediately to the hololithic chamber at headquarters. This is a level two directive.”

  Marsh’s jaw dropped. “A segmentum alert,” he breathed. He broke into a run back towards the arch. He was soon joined by Lieutenant Gabler, her brown hair flying behind her. As they entered the main campus, they stopped briefly as dozens of platoon leaders as well as other junior officers sprinted towards headquarters. They joined the race, pushed through the entrance, and flashed their identification papers, but security operatives merely waved everyone along.

  “Is it another invasion?” asked Gabler. “A black crusade? If it’s a fight they want—”

  “It’s only level two, but something big is up. Come on!”

  The cavalcade pounded up the steps to the center of the tower. It was only at the chamber’s entrance that the flood meandered to a steady flow. Officers organized themselves by company and battalion, filling the circular room and pressing as close as possible to the railing that ringed the great projector. Control panels studded the dome-shaped machine which aligned with a reciprocating projector mounted on the ceiling.

  Marsh and Gabler shouldered their way in. Hyram was already there, standing beside Major Rosenfeld and First Sergeant Kaufer. Tall and black-haired, she appeared as pensive as the rest. Hyram waved the pair over and they joined their commanders. “It looks as though your report is going to have to wait for now, my brother,” said Hyram. He held up his hand before either one of them could speak. “I haven’t a clue what’s going on. Von Bracken is on his way now.”

  “You best not let your platoon remove their armor just yet,” said Kaufer, warily.

  “Atten-shun!” cried Sergeant Major Boatright, the first to enter the room. Hundreds of heels snapped together in machine-like fashion. Warden-Colonel von Bracken hurried in, followed by Prince Constantine and his immense staff. Major Bristol detached from them and sifted through the crowd until he reached Marsh Silas.

  “Tell me, Knight-Captain, how long has it been since you fought Orks?” he asked chidingly.

  “Don’t tell me the greenskins are on Cadia.” But Major Bristol snorted and shook his head.

  “I wonder if your little reforms will survive off Cadia.”

  At that moment, the officers were told to stand at ease. Romilly, now a Lieutenant-Heraldus, stood before von Bracken and his retinue. “At eleven-hundred hours today, Astropaths at Cadian High Command finished disseminating a distress message that appears to be a month old,” said the naval intelligence officer. “It was sent all the way from Segmentum Pacificus.” Murmurs ran through the crowds until Boatright and Debenhem ordered them all to remain silent. Menials activated the projector and a fuzzy blue image appeared. It took some minutes and a great amount of work to clarify the hologram. It finally appeared as a moderately sized planet. Holographic information panels appeared next to it, highlighting the few urban areas and different zones.

  “A large Ork warhost has invaded the Agri-World of Vellania,” continued Romilly. “Although not a true Waaagh, it is a sizable army of several hundred thousand Orks. It is a highly mechanized and armored Evil Suns force, and includes an aerial detachment estimated as an equivalent of two air wings. It is led by an Ork calling himself Mekboss Grog-Rod.”

  “It appears half of Vellania’s Planetary Defense Forces sallied out to the Ork landing sites on the Plains of Careen and were wiped out,” cut in Prince Constantine. “The surviving regiments pulled back to the capital city, Ebba, and other fortified settlements. Detachments from three Space Marine chapters—Guardians of the Covenant, Angel Guard, and Angels of Light—responded. Although they blunted some of the Ork attacks, the greenskins’ superior numbers forced them into defensive postures at Fort Serdan and Domitala City.”

  “The Orks have seized smaller settlements as well as the processing facilities for the planet’s main export, yarnau meat, and occupied the largest fortress, Fort Teale,” said Romilly. He lowered his data-slate gravely. “Hundreds of thousands of civilians are now besieged on the planet. Vellania itself is a vital source of sustenance for many planets. Millions, perhaps billions, could face starvation within a few solar years. It even supplies Hydraphur, which itself might be attacked. Ork aerial forces have detached from Grog-Rod’s forces and, per the last reports of the message, make way towards the Segmentum Fortress.”

  “Hydraphur has requested reinforcements from Segmentum Obscurus and Cadian High Command has responded in kind,” cut in Warden-Colonel von Bracken. “Already, multiple regiments muster and a fleet assembles in orbit. I have spoken directly with the Governors Primus and Secundus and offered the 10th Kasrkin Regiment’s support. Not a few squads, not even a company, but the entire regiment.”

  He slowly smiled, lifting his black goatee and brightening his violet eyes. “The Governors have agreed to my petition. The Red Banner Regiment has long defended the Cadian Gate, but it has been too long since a campaign has taken us nobly away from our natural borders. It is time for us to strike out, to be the point at the tip of the Cadian spear! We will go forth into the stars once more and make our mark, seize new glories, and smite old foes! When the Kasrkin of the glorious 10th march forth once more and snatches victory from the jaws of defeat, the God-Emperor shall shower us with rewards and everlasting glory! For the Emperor!”

  “For the Emperor!” many cheered. “For the Emperor! For the Emperor!” Cherubs fluttered over their heads, unfurling banners depicting the Master of Mankind. Some wailed triumphant holy songs and others dropped handfuls of flower petals atop the assembly’s head. But for every cheering or tearful officer in the crowd, there was another who appeared shocked and distant.

  Marsh Silas slowly faced Hyram. His eyes had widened and his gaze had fallen to the floor. Each breath was shallow and his chest rose and fell with great rapidity. As much as Marsh wanted to reach out and comfort his brother, he found his limbs too heavy to move. How his heart swelled, recalling that childlike wonder the faraway dream of venturing from his homeworld to fight in some distant warzone in the Emperor’s beautiful Imperium. Once, that fire burned brightly and even now he felt its embers rekindle in his heart. Yet, his breath caught in his throat and his heart beat faster.

  He felt a hand slip into his and squeeze tightly. Faye didn’t look up at him, she merely gazed at the hologram, her eyes glimmering with tears. As the crowd jostled and screamed, Marsh tried to speak. Whatever he said was drowned out by the cacophony. A new din, one of gunfire and screams, overtook it. He turned, looked back, and thought he saw familiar faces of those he loved. But in a blink, they were gone. Amid the crowd, he saw the pale face of Barlocke’s fragment. The ghost, hidden to all others, donned his wide-brimmed hat, and merely nodded. He smiled knowingly, darkly, and then faded.