Hyram was right; they did have to fight it all week and more.

  The fighting of that morning proved to be the start of a series of brutal, wheeling attacks all along the lines. Combat became far more frequent, even more so than the high-intensity action that first took place after the Black Legion’s arrival. In those earlier months, battles were hard-fought but there were lulls. Major assaults occurred only in the mornings and sometimes at night. Now, there were huge battles at dawn, midday, dusk, and at night depending on how heavy the earlier fighting was. Artillery barrages on both sides were quite constant and trench raiding became a nightly affair.

  No man’s land was gone; the entire plateau had become a massive array of trenches with sometimes only fifty to a hundred meters of unclaimed ground between them. Everywhere, there were huge shell craters, blasted out pillboxes, half-destroyed bunkers, collapsed trenches, gun positions, and sinking vehicle hulks. In between bigger battles, pockets of Astra Militarum troops and Adeptus Astartes fought with the Band of Dusk and the Traitor Marines over these small pieces of ground. Each one reclaimed gave them avenues to attack to the main lines, always in flux.

  On the ridgebacks, Astra Militarum troops and their foes dug in. Massive tunnel networks, mirroring those in the underground fortresses which ran through the mountain ranges north of Kasr Sonnen, turned the ridges into a series of holdouts. Fighting there was apparently bitter, closely fought, and resulted in great cost. Mining operations were underway. Every so often, the Imperial troops detonated a mine underneath an enemy position, creating gaps in their defenses and obliterating many of the troops. The Iron Warriors, accustomed to this manner of warfare, gleefully responded with their own mines. Entire bunker complexes sometimes disappeared.

  Troops still poured into the Imperial camp and the other blocking positions. But the enemy received reinforcements as well. Reports began to refer to the area of operations as the ‘Sonnen Perimeter,’ as the Astra Militarum force had effectively surrounding the heretics position which now stretched across the plateau, onto the ridgebacks that bordered the east and western sides of the valley, the road network, and the hills to the north. But each day, the Sonnen Perimeter grew, like a casket of water beginning to bulge from overfilling. Lines did not area but they did bend.

  Although the Imperials purchased some ground, often at high costs, the grim realization that the enemy was gaining more land was settled in. When they were able to rip a piece of territory from the heretics’ hands, they could only hold it for so long. Cadian Shock Troops, Interior Guard Regiments, and Youth Regiments, greatly used to overrunning many hostile invasions in the span of a few weeks, grew accustomed to this protracted siege which approached its third month.

  All fought very hard but Marsh Silas knew their morale could never peak like it did before. Tactical victories were well and good—dead heretics and denying ground to the enemy reminded an Imperial soldier his opponent was not invincible. But the lack of strategic triumphs weighed heavily on the minds of even the most common, inexperienced Whiteshield. They were losing the high ground and all knew what kind of disadvantage that put them in. The cordon grew smaller and smaller. Victory was inevitable, but it just seemed so far away.

  At the very least, the men were still excited to have Hyram back at the head of his platoon. His absence felt longer than it actually was. Although the man was still quite stiff and was getting used to the bionic plating that kept what was left of his arm attached to his torso, he was fighting as hard as ever.

  “I thank you for getting my men through it. You’ve handled the men well.”

  “We did not succeed in destroying their stronghold, nor did we hold Elevation 142.”

  “But you got both platoons out in one piece. Even that fellow Afdin’s platoon did not suffer. That is the real victory these days.”

  They trundled down a dirty, heavily shelled trench in the rear. The bombardment had shifted a few minutes ago to the west so they were free to move around now. “Foster and Fleming have made full recoveries; Ledford will be with us within a few days. You didn’t lose anybody during any of those terrible attacks while I was gone. You should be proud.”

  “Proud? Throne, I’m just grateful the Emperor saw us through those days. I credit Him the Highest. Didn’t have much to do with me.”

  “Don’t you always shy away,” Hyram complained. “You say I will be a regimental commander one day, but I believe we both will. Emperor’s eyes, what a dream.”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. One day at a time.”

  “One battle at a time.”

  “One war at a time.”

  “How’s the wound?”

  “Well, I can sit again. Still more comfortable to sleep on my stomach though.”

  “She makes for a decent pillow, doesn’t she?”

  Marsh laughed sarcastically and pretended to punch Hyram, who was cackled and feigned as if he were going to dodge. Then, they chortled together and continued strutting along, standing so close their shoulder plates sometimes bumped together.

  “So, Captain Thule seeks us once more.”

  “If it isn’t another mission, I’ll be very surprised.”

  “What will it be; raid, ambush, assault?”

  “If he’s asking for Shock Troops, then it will be a mission we can really cut our teeth on. Although, one I don’t have to catch an explosive round for.”

  The pair walked through the open blast door of a rockcrete bunker which served as the Blood Ravens’ command post. Inside, servitors and serfs tended to various equipment. An augur array was being tended by Tech-Marines, their various Mechadendrites from servo-cords to bulky claws, operated knobs, tapped keys, and lifted new appliances. Some toiled in front of a Master-Vox set, monitoring various Militarum and Astartes channels for updates. Serfs cleansed bolters with various oils and incense. Others pressed new wax to purity seals on the power srmor of many Blood Raven warriors. Also present were Imperial Fists battle brothers and Scout Marines under the command of Captain Galen. When Marsh Silas met the Space Marine’s eyes, he bowed his head respectfully. The response was a curt but equally amiable nod.

  Captain Thule stood with his usual retinue in front of one Vox-sets.

  “…no, Chapter Master, I am not attempting to defy you. I am merely explaining that the prevailing circumstances of the siege necessitate our continued presence on Cadia.” He closed his eyes briefly and shook his head slightly. A few moments later, he opened his eyes once more. “I understand that engagements with the Black Legion are not encouraged. But we cannot ignore the threat they pose to this area of operations. If the Blood Ravens depart now, it might very well aid the very enemy we are trying to defeat!”

  “I admire Captain Thule and the Blood Ravens under his command,” Captain Galen whispered to Marsh Silas. “But I have grave misgivings about his Chapter Master. What leader would not encourage his Astartes to smite that most inglorious and dangerous of foes?”

  “Perhaps, he believes such an engagement to be too dangerous,” suggested Hyram

  “Dangers must be overcome and sacrifices made if we are to fulfill our missions.”

  “And our destinies,” Marsh Silas whispered. Thule finally noticed the two Guardsmen waiting patiently with their helmets under their arms. “Apologies Chapter Master, but an urgent matter has arisen. I must attend to it immediately. Over and out.”

  The Blood Raven stomped over to the pair of Guardsmen and peered down. “Thank you for coming so swiftly. A target of opportunity has just revealed itself.”

  He brought them over to a tactical display adjacent to the augur array. The display shifted to a bird’s-eye view of the area of operations and zeroed in on a section of trenchworks near the ever-shifting frontline. “Iron Warriors and Black Legionnaires supported by the Band of Dusk, drove elements of the 95th Cadian Regiment out of these works the previous night. Janus of the White Consuls has observed that the Black Legionnaires have pressed on to support an Iron Warriors flanking action to the west. We are funneling more reinforcements in that direction to draw their heavier units away from the center. This will leave the Band of Dusk warriors who are still occupying the position without substantial support. We shall seize these works and use it to penetrate their center with a swift armored strike.”

  Thule stepped away from the display. “I have already spoken with Captain Giles. To attack this fortification with the full might of our force would be preferable, but such a movement will be too conspicuous. It’s riskier, but we shall make do with a smaller combined force. I will take both your platoons as well as a handful of my Blood Ravens and Captain Galen with his Imperial Fists. The rest of your unit and my Astartes will be held in reserve, as well as the 5th Altridge Company. Once we’ve seized the position, they will advance to support us.”

  Marsh and Hyram agreed and a two-pronged attack was decided upon. Bloody Platoon would approach through the broken, easterly communication trenches would steadily merge with the center and would attack the Band of Dusk via the trenches. Hyram’s weapons platoon would provide support to pin the enemy down. Once they were engaged, the Blood Ravens, holding off one hundred meters to the south, would strike quickly from across open ground, their superior power armor protecting them against the enemy’s heavier weapons.

  “To your post. We’ll move out as soon as you are able,” Thule ordered.

  “We are honored once more to share the battlefield with you,” Hyram said, placing his fist over his heart. Marsh Silas repeated this gesture as well and both men bowed their heads respectfully.

  “And the Blood Ravens are proud to share in this glory with the men of first…” The Force Commander exchanged an amused glance with Captain Galen and lips twitched into what seemed like a smile. “…the warriors of Bloody Platoon.”

  Marsh Silas could hardly disguise his glee.

  The two friends practically ran back to their dugout to rouse the men! Everyone was scattered around the half-destroyed bunkers, fighting holes, and vague trenches, smoking, eating, and maintaining their wargear. They were in a nonchalant and lackadaisical mood, including the men slumped against the slopes of mounded earth who were keeping watch. As errant enemy artillery shells fell around the immediate area, often showering them with clots of earth and muddy puddle water, they didn’t flinch or show much irritation.

  “Look sharp!” Marsh called as he and Hyram barged into their midst. “We’ve got a working mission, Shock Troopers! Lease up your frags and charge packs! Assault loads only; if it can’t shoot, stab, blow up, or bludgeon a heretic, leave it behind! Now, listen up!”

  The platoon’s morale seemed to soared as he outlined the mission, their dirty faces splitting into smiles and their violet purple eyes lighting up. To be asked once again to aid the Blood Ravens in their mission, and one that could prove crucial to turning the tide, was a glorious task!

  Quickly, they set into action, dropping their rucksacks, extra belts, spare pouches, and unnecessary webbing. The lid of a supply crate was open and dozens of hands reached in for the grenades which sat in the layered trays. Isenhour, still with Bloody Platoon, passed out spare charge packs he recently ‘liberated,’ from a supply depot.

  As the platoon assembled Marsh saw Captain Giles and Commissar Ghent walking down the trench. He saluted quickly. “Seeing us off, sir?”

  “By the Throne, I’m coming with you,” Giles remarked, clapping his shoulder plate. He inhaled deeply and nodded, satisfied. “Smell that piled earth. I tell you, Lieutenant, I never thought I’d get to see a proper battlefield since my days as a platoon leader. When I was assigned to Regimental I-sec, I figured my fighting days were through. Seems the Emperor isn’t through with this soldier yet.”

  Giles passed him by and hailed Hyram, who was talking with Walmsley Major and his own platoon sergeant. Marsh was left with Commissar Ghent and the latter approached him.

  “Save some of your spirit for the days ahead,” Ghent said. “Don’t waste it all in one day.”

  Marsh didn’t even have time to reply with a, ‘yes, Commissar,’ as Ghent merely strolled by and went to the front of the column. He didn’t so much as glance over his shoulder. Confused, Marsh Silas stood there and watched him depart.

  He is trying to tell you not to be too hopeful. You know very well morale is tenuous at best.

  “Ah, but this is different,” Marsh whispered, turning away to hide his face from the others. “I can feel it in my bones, Barlocke. With the Blood Ravens with us, we’ll surely succeed.”

  You felt similarly about the attack on the hill and look what happened: the whole line collapsed and fell back dozens of kilometers. Marsh Silas snorted and rolled his eyes. “Come now, were you not always speaking to me of hopefulness? This fragment of yours has gotten quite somber these past few weeks.”

  How can I not be? This back and forth is too dreary. It reminds me too greatly of my battle against Amilios in his great fortress so many years ago. Such sieges are quite thrilling to read about, Silvanus, but it is another thing to live through them. This is your first siege: it will not be over quickly. Marsh waved his hand dismissively and joined the others at the head of the platoon. Drummer Boy finished reporting to Captain Thule and held up his forefinger.

  “Mission is a-go, sir!”

  “Noise discipline from here on out,” Marsh said over his shoulder. Hyram nodded and put on his brand-new helmet with a white crest atop it. For rallying the entire line while still wounded, the Lieutenant was given a vaunted medal: the Medal of the Pale Crest. Such medals accompanied Crests of Cadia—awards meted out to officers who displayed great acts in the midst of battle. The crest was attached to the top of the helmet and curved horizontally across. Coloration of the crest depended on the action; the Crimson Crest represented sacrifice, the Azure Crest equated courage, and the Pale Crest symbolized inspiration. If an officer lived long enough, there was a slim chance he would earn all three, granting the Golden Crest, the culmination of all three virtues.

  Bloody Platoon set off down a trench. At first, they walked at a jaunty pace with their weapons over their shoulders, as if they were about to start marching across a parade ground. Shells landed nearby but nobody really paid them any attention. These were just a part of the formal barrage that both sides were constantly engaged in.

  But then they came across wooden boards posted at the junctions between trenches. Painted in bold, black letter were phrases such as, ‘NOW APPROACHING FRONTLINE: STAY VIGILANT,’ ‘SECTOR SUBJECT TO ENEMY OBSERVATION: BEWARE OF ARTILLERY,’ and, ‘ACTIVE ENEMY SNIPERS: KEEP YOUR HEAD DOWN.’ Some found these warnings macabre, others humorous, but the majority found them to be quite obvious from the amount of decaying corpses and impact craters which pockmarked the land between various fortifications.

  Still, everyone took their weapon in hand. Intervals between the platoon opened up. Guardsmen moved at a half-crouch, their heads down and shoulders hunched. Heads swiveled back and forth. Nobody dared to peek over the tops of the trenches, now. When they came to a junction, the point men stopped and checked the corners. Occasionally, Bloody Platoon came to a halt to allow Yoxall to disarm a grenade bouquet or mine.

  They moved carefully, but swiftly and stealthily. These trenches were familiar to them now. Bloody Platoon and their comrades had fought the enemy face-to-face many times in these works. Sometimes, they were able to wrest control from the enemy and hold onto the ground for a while. Other times, they were forced away by enemy reinforcements. But neither they nor the enemy could hold too long in the face of reinforced troops. Each side had a stranglehold on the other but the grip could not be maintained for too long.

  Eventually, as rain whipped across the ground, they came to a halt at a bend in the trench. Marsh was at the very front, crouching down with his fist raised in the air. He turned halfway around and flattened his palm—hold position—then pointed at Isenhour. The Scout Sergeant drew forward at a crouch, keeping to the left side of the trench wall. Much of the boards were rotten and barely keeping the mounds of soil which seemed to tower over either side from sliding back. Already, they had to overcome multiple slides into the trenches. So much earth had fallen back in they could hardly see the duckboards.

  Isenhour stopped at the bend, briefly looked back, and then pressed around with his M36. He slid out of sight. Marsh Silas glanced over his shoulder. Bloody Platoon stretched down the trench, so far that some of the squads couldn’t even be seen due to its twists and turns. Everyone was covering their zone, eyes monitoring the parapets and edges of the trenches or the various unoccupied gun positions for enemy movement.

  All that could be heard were the falling shells resounding like thunderclaps and the rattle of automatic weapons in the distance. There was an incredible detonation from the eastern ridge. Marsh turned to see a huge cloud of gray and tan smoke rising from a section of the hill fortifications. Someone had detonated a mine, although he couldn’t tell which side had succeeded. He prayed it was the Astra Militarum.

  He looked back just as Isenhour came around the corner. Marsh made two gestures with both hands, indicating he wanted the squad leaders to rally on him. In a moment, Holmwood, Mottershead, Cuyper, Wulff, Walmsley Major, and Foster all came up. Hyram and Carstensen also crouched with them.

  “Around the bend, it’s a straight trench for about thirty meters,” Isenhour said. “On the readout, there’s a small bunker system at the end, one facing the south, one facing the north, and one that serves as an anchor to the next trench. That next system is a parallel trench, so we’ll have to divide once we hit that bunker. There’s a crater abreast of us and an empty bunker ahead to our right that will allow supporting elements to fire along the enemy positions. No Traitor Marines in sight.”

  “Lovely. I’ll take it,” Hyram whispered. “Silas, give me some of your shooters.

  “Walmsley Minor, take your team, the mortar team, and the AT team over this trench with Hyram,” Marsh ordered. “Foster, take the other teams to the unoccupied bunker. Only move up to the bunkers when I’ve given you a signal. Wulff and Cuyper, take your squads with Walmsley Major and assault the trench from the outside. The rest of us will proceed down the trench head-on. Don’t start your attack until we’ve drawn their fire.” He caught his breath. “Holmwood, Mottershead, we’ll hit them with grenades first and then push with bayonets.”

  “We will join the spearhead,” Galen said. Marsh nodded and then pointed at Drummer Boy. The Voxman lowered his handset.

  “Confirmed, Captain Thule is waiting for your go.”

  Hyram inhaled deeply, shutting his eyes for a moment.

  “No time for prayers, the Emperor knows we hold Him in our hearts,” he said. Then, his violet eyes grew steely. “This is it. Today, there will be no excuse and no retreat. Move out.”

  All the sections hastily and quietly deployed. One by one, the teams moved up. Men gripped the pins of their grenades with shaking hands. Gone was their excitement and joviality; the cold professionalism that was required of a Cadian Shock Trooper had supplanted both. Marsh Silas breathed deeply. He tasted the wet air, damp soil, and acrid gun smoke drifting all over the plains.

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  He shouldered his M36, then unclipped a grenade and yanked the pin off. Everyone else did the same. They lobbed them forward and the explosions rocked the trench. Drawing his power sword and laspistol in the same instant, Marsh leapt up and charged forward. “For the Emperor!” he cried at the top of his lungs.

  1st and 2nd Squad surged down the trench. Wounded heretics who had just been a few meters away from them were slain. Those still standing were shot or cut down. Marsh led the way, stabbing with his sword as M36 barrels fired over his shoulders. Heavy bolter rounds and autocannon shells ripped over his head, slicing the Band of Dusk warriors whose positions were outside the trenches. Whenever they rose to jump in, they were cut down.

  Heretics came swarming down the opposite trench, shooting and brandishing clubs, swords, and knives. Grenades blew them to pieces; Cuyper and Wulff led 3rd and 7th right into their midst and entered a brutal melee. There was no time to stop and help. Marsh Silas and the others trusted them with their work and passed them by, pressing the assault. Individual fights broke out as the squads stormed dugouts and redoubts.

  Spotting a Heavy Stubber position near the end of the trench, Marsh Silas bounded around the corner and jammed his sword into the gunner’s back. He withdrew, stabbed him again in his side, and this felled him. But the loader grappled with Marsh, forcing him against the trench wall. Then, the gunner’s head exploded. Captain Galen rushed into the trench, crushing another heretic beneath his huge power armor boots, and swiftly dispatched several more with his bolt pistol. The Imperial Fist assaulted an enemy dugout, disappearing inside.

  With the sounds of Galen’s sidearm echoing behind him, Marsh continued up the trench. They had arrived at the bunker system. The Imperial Fist Scout Marines already breached the bunker on the left and were filtering inside. Marsh Silas found Arnold Yoxall at the bunker directly in the path of the trench. “What’s the holdup!?” Marsh asked his friend.

  “They barred the door, I’m prepping the charge!” Yoxall said.

  Clang! Marsh whipped towards the right. The door to the north-facing bunker flew open. A heretic ran out and was shot down. But a deathly, terrifying war cry rose from within the bunker.

  “Death to the False Emperor! Death to the False Emperor! Death to the False Emperor!”

  “Yoxall, the Band of Dusk are right on us!” Marsh yelled, jostling him by the shoulder. A few came running out. Marsh exchanged his sword and pistol for his M36 and started shooting. “Yoxall, they’re coming!”

  “I’m almost done!”

  “Hurry the fuck up, Arnold! Blast, I need another gun on them!”

  “I can only do one thing at a fucking time, Silas! By the Emperor, let me work!”

  “Now, Tatum!”

  Captain Giles and a flamer-wielding Tatum approached the bunker outside the trench. As the former fired into the backs of the heretics streaming out of the fortification, the latter went up the firing port, pressed the barrel inside, and squeezed the trigger. Flames burst out of the doorway and out of the other firing slits. From inside, the screaming was quickly drowned out by the roaring fires. For good measure, Giles lobbed a grenade into the flames.

  The pair jumped down into the trench just as Yoxall finished planting the charge. Everyone backed off and the demolition expert primed the detonator.

  “Mind your ears!” he called. “Loud noises!”

  The blast ripped the heavy door off its hinges. Captain Galen, having finished clearing out the enemy position behind them, rushed in with his bolt pistol. Marsh and his compatriots ran in after the Space Marine. Amid the swirling dust, Galen smashed heretics against the rockcrete wall, broke their bones with a single blow, and blew the rest to pieces with his sidearm. All the rest were finished off by the Guardsmen’s bayonets and lasguns. Bodies were strewn over bunks, stools, and scattered supply crates.

  Small groups of troopers trickled into the large bunker. Eventually, Carstensen emerged with the majority of the platoon.

  “The trenches behind us are secure, I’m having Mottershead remain to secure it. Captain Galen, would your Scouts be able to remain behind as well.”

  “Yes, Commissar, but I will be pressing on.”

  “Thank you, lord,” Marsh said. “Walmsley Major, is that everyone?”

  “Just about!”

  “Drummer Boy, get Hyram to move to their next position. Bloody Platoon, listen up! Captain Thule and the Blood Ravens are attacking the next section of trenchworks, it’s time for us to get into the fight. I’m taking the Command Squad and 1st Squad down the left, everyone else, you’re down the right! Check your charge packs. Ready?”

  “We’re ready!”

  “Let’s go!”

  Captain Galen kicked open the far door and they stormed out. Immediately, the Guardsmen threw themselves against a contingent of heretics trying to bolster a gun position. Ahead of them, Blood Ravens raced towards the parapets and stopped at the edge. Lasbolts flashed against their armor but the Astartes held their ground and fired their boltguns right into the enemy beneath them. Soon, the trenches filled up with bodies.

  It was a crush of men. Daggers and trench knives rose and fell. Blood splashed onto the black earth. Wounded enemies were trampled underfoot while injured Shock Troopers were dragged away. There were butt-strokes, barrel strikes, bayonet thrusts, sword swipes, and gunshots at point-blank range. Smoke swirled and rain billowed with the wind.

  The momentum of the attack seemed to carry Marsh Silas forward. He found himself at the head of the attacking force with Captain Galen. When the Imperial Fist diverted to attack a dugout, he pressed up to the corner of the trench and peered around. Above it, four heretics assembled a heavy stubber tripod to fire right into the lane where the parallel trenches merged. Darting around the corner, he killed them all with a few lasbolts.

  Clang! Ahead, one of the last bunkers opened up. A squad of heretics rushed out but at that moment, Captain Thule leaped into the trench with his thunder hammer. Those who were unfortunate enough to survive Marsh’s initial volley were splattered by the power weapon’s blows. Heads were reduced to pulp, legs were torn from the torso, and chests exploded.

  Thule didn’t want for his Blood Ravens, who were busily clearing out other positions with grenades and boltguns. He stormed into the final bunker alone.

  “With me, Cross!” Captain Galen ordered. “We must support the Force Commander!”

  Galen was through first and Marsh was right behind him. But as he went through, he was immediately grabbed by a hulking form. A large face with a mane of black hair draped over the right side of his head filled his vision.

  “Hello, Marsh Silas!” he seethed and threw him across the bunker. Marsh sat up as two Iron Warriors in silver armor threw Galen against the rockcrete wall. Two more attacked and attempted to restrain Thule, who was struggling to keep his grip on his thunder hammer. The one who had assaulted Marsh marched slowly towards him.

  “Consus seeks you,” said the gaunt heretic. He reached for the bolt pistol attached to his hip. “I care little for you, but my master decrees you are to be slain or brought to him alive.”

  “I was warned you were clever, Summanus,” growled Marsh Silas. The fear rose, but the anger in him overtook it. It was not bravery but fury, burning incandescently at this Traitor’s smug grin.

  “It is rare I meet a foe who knows me and I know them not. I toil while Consus gloats.”

  “Then it must sicken you as it sickens me to fight while the inadequate feast.”

  “Your tongue is sharp!” Marsh Silas glanced to his left. Thule duked it out with his opponents while Galen started to draw the upper hand. Summanus wanted to talk; if he could keep him talking, then it would buy enough time for reinforcements to arrive or the Astartes to overcome their foes. “

  “My blade is sharper.” Marsh drew his sword and activated the power cell.

  “Oh, do not rush to fight me. On the contrary, Marsh Silas, it frees me to do much work. Charm is a mere screen. Consus believes he uses me, but it is I who uses him. Real leaders devote themselves to their goals with naught by their mind.”

  “A good leader takes up both mantles, Summanus. Heart and mind together.”

  “Such mewlings. They entertain me no longer; your tongue is dull, too dull to entertain me whilst you purchase time.” Enraged, Marsh swung at Summanus but the traitor merely stepped aside. But then, Captain Galen kicked an Iron Warrior off, freed his pistol hand, and fired a shell into Summanus’s back. The war leader roared and dove at Galen.

  “Primus Six, this is Primus One-Six!” Marsh yelled into his micro-bead. “Traitor Marines in the final bunker, requesting assistance!”

  It was all he could say before the other Iron Warrior regained his feet and turned his attention on the Guardsman. Marsh saw him coming and swiped at his knee with his power sword. With his knee ravaged by the strike, he was practically dragging his leg along. But the Marine still moved along at a frightful pace for a wounded warrior and it took everything for Marsh to avoid his grasp.

  “Cross!” Galen trapped Summanus in a headlock and kicked the other Iron Warrior away. He wounded him with several shots from his bolt pistol. “Use your size, get under his reach!” Summanus broke the lock and tore into Galen again.

  It was the last thing Marsh Silas wanted to do! Distance was keeping him safe from the enemy Marine. But he trusted Galen. After gathering his nerves, he rushed in. He had to duck under a rotation by the Traitor Marine but managed to get close enough. Raising his sword high as he did, he brought the edge of the blade against the heretic’s sword arm. This cleaved through his spiked and studded pauldron and nearly ripped his shoulder off. Marsh turned his blade and ran the heretic through his chest, gored him, and pulled away. As the hulk collapsed, Marsh stabbed him several more times.

  He stepped away but was knocked off his feet. The other wounded Iron Warrior snatched him by his harness and lobbed him across the floor. The air left Marsh’s lungs flooded out but he still stood. He swung his sword and badly mangled the Traitor Marine’s knife hand before he was thrown back again. Each fall occurred with such force Marsh felt his bones ache.

  The Iron Warrior roared in frustration. Then, he reached across to his limp arm which dangled by a few tendons and exposed muscle. At first, he tried to pry his massive knife from his clenched hand, but could not reach. When he moved the arm swung uselessly around, getting in his way and the sword dragging on the rockcrete floor. Still picking himself, Marsh watched in horror as the Iron Warrior ripped his own devastated arm off. Flesh ripped and black blood ran from the exposed socket, but he did not seem to feel the pain.

  Marsh tried to come at him again even as he was still wheezing. The Traitor Marine tossed his detached arm at him and the weight was enough to stumble him. Before he could pick himself up, a heavy hand clamped down on his helmet and forced him to the ground. The helmet started to crack! Having lost his grip on his sword and laying on his side, he reached around trying to find a weapon.

  Across from him, Galen was also pinned by Summanus. Marsh Silas’s violet eyes met the Imperial Fist’s misty gaze. In that moment, he did not look resolute, steadfast, or brave, nor resigned or afraid. Instead, he seemed to manifest a kind of inner peace that brought a great calm to his worn, weathered, scarred face. Unable to bring his own bolt pistol to bear against the foe even as the enemy’s dagger descended on his head, he slid it across the rockcrete floor.

  “Glory to Him on Earth, for it has been a worthy battle,” Galen said just before the blade sank into his temple.

  Marsh caught the bolt pistol just as the armor of his helmet began to crumble into pieces. He pressed it to the helm of the Iron Warrior and squeezed the trigger three times. The grip on his helmet loosened just enough. Sliding away and picking up his sword, he thrust it at Summanus. The warband leader cried out as it glanced across his chestplate. Marsh went to shoot him with the bolt pistol but Summanus ran by Thule and retreated through a breach in the far side of the bunker. Thule had one of his attackers under his arm while the other attempted to strangle him. Letting go of the former, he drew his dagger and jammed into the Iron Warrior's head. As the body crumpled over, he held out his hand.

  “Gun!” Marsh Silas hefted the bolt pistol. Thule caught it and expended the last shells while bellowing a war cry. The Iron Warrior fell back, dead. The Blood Raven went to the breach, gazed out, then reentered. “Summanus fled.”

  Marsh ran over to Galen and knelt beside him. Blood was leaking from his temple. His eyes were closed and his mouth was closed, almost as if he was sleeping.

  “No, no, no…” Marsh whispered, picking up his head and holding him in his lap. “…Emperor, please…”

  “It is done, Cross.”

  Marsh looked up with tears in his eyes. Thule gazed down sorrowfully. “We shall bring him back to his battle brothers. But in this instance, we must stand ready. We have taken this ground and now we must hold it. It is time to bring up the rest of our—”

  “Brother Captain!”

  It was Endymion. The Blood Raven hurried in with Lieutenant Hyram, a number of Guardsmen, and several other Astartes. Immediately, their eyes fell to Captain Galen. Marsh Silas shook his head towards Hyram, who spoke on his voxman’s handset.

  “What do you mean the Altridge Guardsmen were pulled back…whose orders? Their colonel!? He knows we’re out here! You tell them…” Hyram’s eyes found Galen’s body and his expression grew as pained as Marsh’s.

  “Speak swiftly,” Thule said to Endymion.

  “Chapter Master Kyras has been attempting to contact you. He is ordering you to disengage and leave the area of operations immediately.”

  “Inform the Chapter Master that disengaging at this moment is an impossibility.”

  “Brother Captain, Chapter Master Kyras has mandated that if you do not remove from the planet with all our forces at once, your command of the 4th Company will be relieved.”

  Thule’s gaze hardened and he pursed his lips, though he betrayed no further emotion. To Marsh Silas, he seemed as cold and still as one of the statues along the memorial pavilions in Kasr Sonnen—proud, stoic, and alone.

  “Inform the Chapter Master…” Thule finally began. Endymion suddenly approached him, holding up one hand and shaking his head.

  “Davian, I know what it is you wish to do. But think of future battles to come. How many battle brothers will perish without a leader they not only know but trust?”

  Thule gazed at his friend for a long while and finally his gaze fell.

  “Captain Giles, Lieutenant Hyram, it is my regret to inform you that the Blood Ravens will be withdrawing. Pull your men back to their original positions.”

  “Captain, please!” Marsh implored. “Do not go, we need you!”

  “I am sorry, but I can refuse my Chapter Master no longer,” Thule said. “Endymion, see to it that Galen is taken back to our lines.”

  The body was taken away and Hyram helped Marsh to his feet. The two friends approached Thule before he left.

  “If you must go, I understand, but do not make us leave, too,” Hyram begged. “We fought well for this ground and now we must hold it!”

  “Without the support of my Blood Ravens, you will all be wiped out in the first counterattack if you do not flee. You shall not be slain in a task that has become impossible to complete. I have issued a general withdrawal: I expect you to obey.”

  Unable to meet their gaze, Thule cast his gaze downward and followed his Space Marines out of the bunker. As the enemy’s counter-barrage began to fall outside, the Imperial Guardsmen sadly followed them. Tears cut through the dust on their faces. Marsh Silas and Hyram lingered for a few minutes longer, not so much out of shock, but a collective unwillingness to give up when they had lost so much already. Eventually, Hyram took Marsh by the arm and led him out.

  ***

  One by one, the Thunderhawks bearing the ebony emblem of the Blood Ravens ascended into the evening sky. Those awaiting liftoff from the rear-area airfields continued to board Space Marines and their equipment.

  Marsh Silas, with Hyram and Carstensen, followed Captain Thule towards one of the final transports. He had requested their presences personally. Awaiting them was an array of other Blood Ravens, lined up on either side in a ceremonial fashion. Also present was Captain Evander of the White Consuls and Chaplain Anato who had taken command of the Imperial Fists remaining in the area of operations. Both were waiting at the beginning of the two opposing ranks of Blood Ravens. All three exchanged courteous bows.

  “Captain Thule.”

  “Captain Evander. I hereby relinquish the duty of Force Commander to you. May the Emperor guide your hand to victory.”

  Thule then turned to Anato. He carried his thunder hammer and the bolt pistol taken from Captain Galen. He held the latter up, but Anato held up a gauntleted hand.

  “This weapon was known to him as ‘Stalwart Companion.’ In these months, Imperial Fist and Blood Raven have fought side by side and shed much blood together. If this weapon be placed in my charge, I bequeath it to you, most honorable Blood Raven.”

  “It is with honor that I accept. Stalwart Companion shall be entered in our armory and Galen’s sacrifice will be remembered in our Chapter’s history.”

  The ceremony between the differing Chapters concluded. Bidding farewell, Captain Evander and Chaplain Anato took their leave. Thule turned around and gazed at the three mortals before him. “Please line up. Reclusiarch Mikelus, come forward.” A massive Chaplain in black armor with a white skull helm joined Thule, bringing a small chest adorned in purity seals and parchment bearing the icon of the Blood Ravens. The trio waited; Marsh was in the center with Hyram on his left and Carstensen on his right.

  “Lieutenant Hyram, Commissar Carstensen, Lieutenant Cross, I hereby declare you and your men friends of the Blood Ravens forever and for all time. We wish to honor your courage, dutifulness, and martial skill.”

  He reached into the chest and pulled out a circular, golden medal with the edges designed to portray the rays of a sun. In the center were six planets clustered together in the shape of a hexagon with a raven in the center. The ribbon bore six colors; red, black, white, blue, green, and tan. Marsh could only assume this was tied to the six planets portrayed in the medal. “I bestow to you all the Golden Aurelian Star. It is awarded for showing valor and gallantry in the name of the Blood Ravens’ ideals and duties beyond what is expected of our battle brothers and fellow servants.”

  Thule pinned the medals to their tunics and they saluted sharply. Thule nodded in return, then looked down at Marsh Silas. “Silas Cross, the Blood Ravens have not forgotten your brave efforts to seize the Dark Mechanicum’s unholy tome several months ago. Your courage and your belief in the pursuit of knowledge is in keeping with the traditions and beliefs of this Chapter. You are hereby presented with the Order of the Seeker.”

  The Captain pulled out a round, silver medal with a stark white ribbon. It was quite a simple looking medal, with an open tome of many pages being the only emblem portrayed in the center. Thule fastened it to his tunic and when he finished, placed a heavy hand on Marsh’s shoulder. “This is the lowest of our orders, but perhaps it is one that best exemplifies our Chapter’s creed. It is with knowledge that we serve the Emperor and the Imperium. To gain knowledge, you must be willing to learn, and in your eyes, I see that desire. Never let that desire desert you, for it is both sword and shield in this age of war.”

  “I promise, Captain Thule,” Marsh Silas said quietly. “I pray we will meet once again, both as teacher and pupil, and as two friends.”

  “Such a day would be one I would look forward to,” Thule said.

  “I wish there was some gift worthy of your honor, sir, that I could give you, but I can find none. Forgive me, for I am but a plain and simple fellow.”

  “There is naught to forgive,” Thule said. He then ran his hand over the head of the thunder hammer. “Cadia was once just a name to me and my Blood Ravens. A name of great honor and worthy of respect, of course, but in the likes of a story passed down through the ages. To have fought here for so long, I can see the stories are all true and more. My Blood Ravens and I are honored to have shared in these battles with proud Cadian soldiers. As testament of yours and your people’s courage, this thunder hammer shall be forever named the Hammer of Cadia. It shall be wielded in the name of the Emperor and the comradeship between the Blood Ravens and Cadia.”

  The flaring transport behind him caught his attention. Thule glanced at Mikelus who nodded, turned, and approached the ramp. All the other Blood Ravens turned sharply and followed him, two by two. Thule gazed back at the three soldiers before him.

  “I bid you farewell. Fight well, and if you must, die well.”

  “My lord,” Marsh said just as he turned. “That Inquisitor I spoke of. He told me that many Astartes do not worship the Emperor of Mankind as a god. Rather, merely as the pinnacle of what humanity can be.”

  “Do you intend to ask which of us is right?” Thule stared at him. It was not deathly or cold, merely the ambiguous stillness of the Adeptus Astartes.

  “Nay. I think it matters not who is correct and who is not, so long as we both serve Him and the Throneworld. I fight for Cadia and so much more. It is a fight I will never give up.”

  The Captain’s eyes met Marsh Silas’s and held his gaze for a few moments.

  “Knowledge is power, guard it well.”

  Thule turned, his cape swishing behind him. He ascended the ramp and did not look back. It closed, and the Thunderhawk ascended. Its engines lit up the encroaching night and cast a wind that blew Marsh’s and his compatriot’s hair back. The lights started to fade into the purple sky and in the wake was left a darkness without so much as a star to hold it at bay.