Chapter 1: Concrete Chaos

A flurry of las shots swished past Sergeant Merrick’s head, missing by mere inches. Instinctively, he threw himself to the ground of the bombed out shelter to avoid the fire. Head resting in the rubble strewn across the floor, Merrick shifted to his side to get a better view of his surroundings. Not much could be made out amongst the smoke and dust, but he could see the vague outlines of his squad members, hugging whatever cover they could find.

More weapon discharges passed through the pierced walls of the ruined building. Sitting upright, Merrick pressed his back against the wall, and shuffled along until he could peer out through the large gap where a section of the outer wall had been shorn off by an artillery strike. Slowly turning, cautious to make sure he didn’t expose his body, Merrick caught a glimpse of the battlefield stretching out before him. He didn’t like what he saw.

The House Vandis traitors had dug in on his side of the bridge connecting two hab blocks, and they were moving more troops and heavy weapons teams across to reinforce their fortifications. He could make out a few dozen Dogs unloading their supply trucks; mortars, autocannons, heavy bolters. Most of the company had fallen back further to the command points, but Merrick’s squad had trapped on the top floor of the shelter before they could retreat. The Hounds of Vandis were proving to be much more difficult to handle than the cultist hordes. If his team didn’t move soon, the Vandis Dogs would blow the building, with him still inside. More las fire lashed through the walls, barely passing by his right shoulder. Merrick quickly moved away from the gap and back into cover.

Sergeant Hurst, Merrick’s Second in Command, hugged the wall and moved as quickly as possible to Merrick’s side. His face was hidden by the breath mask built into his Carapace Armour. His voice
had a metallic tinge as it emanated from the mouth grill. “What are they up to Merrick? Why haven’t they kept moving?” he whispered.

Merrick risked another peak through the hole. “They’re setting up a barricade in this side of the bridge. It looks like they’re packing ordnance though. and not the kind that agrees with me. If we don’t move soon, we might as well move in for all the good it’ll do us. Has Alek been able to pick up anything? Is there any news from the other squads?”

Hurst grunted. “Some, none of it sounds good. Alek’s vox has only been able to pick up a few messages to Regimental Command. It seems that the Dogs have broken through the other bridges to Hab Block Tertius as well. Most of the 85th has pulled back to the Arminius Square. Captain Uther’s gathering the stragglers together with Commissar Connor.”

Merrick sighed in frustration, wiping the sweat off his forehead. “Well, we know where to run to, don’t we? Let’s ask the Hounds if they’ll let us go, I’m sure they’ll understand if we ask nicely.

“Look Merrick, I know it sounds bad, but if any of us are going to get out of here alive, we need to risk it.”

“Waddy, unless you want to try running the marathon against bullets, be my guest.”

Now it was Wadden’s turn to be angry. “If we stay here, we all die, Merrick. If we leave, at least some of us will live! We can’t do anything to stop them right now, we need to regroup! And stop calling me Waddy.”

Merrick frowned, and looked down at his chest for a while. He eventually sighed, and looked up. “Alright, fine Wadden, we do it your way.” He turned to look at the younger soldier with the Vox caster.
“Alek, get on the line with any squads you can. Tell them we’re pulling back to command.”

The Vox operator nodded, and set to work with his orders. Merrick looked around the room at the other grenadiers. “Everyone, start moving towards the stairwell, we’ll be able to stand upright once we’re away from those guns. Once we hit street level, start running, two by two. One person covers the other until we’re all across. Understood men?”

“Got it serge.” said Remer, one of Merrick’s weapons specialists. “Can I run with Vornas?”

Hurst tilted his head to the private. “Any particular reason, Remer?”

Remer shrugged. “Well, bullets disagree with me, and Vornas casts a big shadow.... you understand my meaning?”

Vornas, the larger man next to Remer, responded with an elbow to Remer’s shoulder. Merrick just stared at the private.

“Right then, boss, never mind.”

As quickly as they could, the guardsmen crept towards the stairwell at the back of the room. Catching their movement, the Hounds began showering the room with fire. Las bolts and autogun rounds ripped through the air above them, and the thunderous pounding of a heavy autocannon punctuated the world with a steady beat as the gun began blasting away. Several rounds smacked into the building, sending shivers up the infrastructure, but the supports held. As Hurst hit the stairwell, Merrick broke out at a run down the steps, trailing the squad.

More autocannon fire rocked the building, and dust shook out of cracks appearing in the support beams. The stairwell shuddered under the rumbling explosions, threatening to crumble into dust. Desperate now, the squad kept up their swift pace, moving as fast as they could to reach the ground floor. Merrick followed closely, leaping down a few flights to keep up with Hurst and the others. The building began to shake more violently with each passing moment. More guns must have been set up by the Hounds, and they all seemed to want Merrick dead.

A terrible creaking sound rang out from above. The sound of glass shattering, rockrete crumbling; the top layer of the building must have given out, and now it was coming down on their heads. Merrick shouted above the din. “Run! Get out of the building now!”

The squad burst into a breakneck pace, trying to outrun the crashing weight of the building collapsing around them. The stairwell was choked in dust, making it impossible to see. Down more and more flights of stairs, the grenadiers kept up the rush. It seemed like they went on forever, like the exit would never appear. Waves of panic cascaded over Merrick They would all die under the rubble.
They had to keep moving. More flights of stairs. They were going to die. They would never make it in time.

But they did. Like walking into the light, Merrick and his squad emerged from the building, into the smoky daylight of the war torn streets of Meridian. They were alive, but only if they kept moving.

“Come on men, keep moving! Two by two come on!” Merrick roared.

The grenadiers made a dash across the street. The Hounds, clad in their black and gold armour responded by pouring las bolts at the Guard as they fled. The squad responded with concentrated Hellgun shots, downing two of the heretics as they emerged from cover. Within seconds, the six grenadiers were across the street. As if on cue, the building collapsed behind them.

The large apartment complex came crashing down, spewing up dust clouds like a shockwave as it hit the ground. The heretics had set up their emplacements too close to the building, and many running for cover from the falling debris were caught in the avalanche. A massive plume of dust shot into the sky, temporarily obscuring the Hounds’ vision. This was their chance to run.

Across the street, Merrick and Hurst’s squad fell back. They began hopping from building to building, covering each other as they continued to fall back. Hellgun shots rang out, dropping any Dog brave enough to follow them. Continuing this pattern, Merrick and Hurst slowly moved away from the bridge and into the narrow streets. The grenadiers slid into a tight alleyway between two low hab buildings. Merrick stopped to catch his breath.

Panting, Merrick ordered Kippler, his spotter to check for trouble. Peering around the cornerstone, the sniper gave a thumbs up. The Hounds hadn’t followed them. Merrick sighed in relief. He turned to Alek. “Anything yet, Alek?”

“Not much sergeant.” said Alek, shaking his head. “Uther’s still holding out with about fifty troops. He says he can’t stay much longer though. The Hounds are starting to pour in faster each minute.”
Merrick slung his hellgun over his shoulder. “We shouldn’t keep him waiting then. How far back to Arminius Square?”

“We’re about three kilometres north of the square.” said Kippler. “We’d best move, I think the Hounds have caught up with us. I can see them coming through the smoke. I didn’t think they could move that fast.”

The squad swiftly made their way down the alleyway and promptly burst into the middle of a firefight. A handful of Guardsmen were huddled behind an overturned truck, trading shots with the Hounds moving down the street. They were bolstered by a Rhino, probably stolen from the local Arbites precinct. The hull was covered in sigils and icons of the Ruinous powers. The gunner atop the transport spotted Merrick, and brought the heavy bolter about. The gun began spewing high calibre bullets, scattering the squad. Merrick dived behind a car, and readied a grenade. “Kippler, on my mark!” he shouted. Kippler nodded, and readied his long las. “Now!”

Merrick tossed the grenade over the car, lobbing it into the center of the Hounds. As they panicked and leapt out of the way, Kippler sprung up, sniping the Rhino’s gunner between the eyes. His body slumped over the top hatch, his arms hanging lifelessly over the edge. Sensing their chance, the guardsmen across the street broke cover, charging the Hounds. Merrick and Hurst were close behind, leading their squad into the melee. It was quick and brutal: the Hounds were slaughtered in seconds from the confusion. Merrick personally put a round through the last heretic’s skull.

He looked at the other guardsmen. They were regular soldiers, unlike his grenadiers. Their leader had a familiar face. Merrick’s eyes widened with surprise. “Gren? Is that you?”

The soldier smiled, and pulled off his helmet, revealing a man in his mid thirties. “The one and only, Merrick, you know me. Why don’t we talk about this later, preferably indoors?”

Merrick smiled and shook his head incredulously. “I’d appreciate that. We’re headed back to Uther, care to join us?” he asked.

“I had the same thing in mind, friend. Let’s go.” Gren called to one of his troops. “Flinn, get the men up. We’re moving.”

The two squads broke off at a swift jog down the winding streets. Most of the Hive had been abandoned during the fighting, and the buildings were boarded up or bombed out. Merrick gritted his teeth in frustration at this whole mess. The 85th Vendoland had been deployed to retake the Urizen Spire a month ago. All it had gotten them was a prolonged engagement and more casualties than he cared to think about.

The street eventually opened up into a large square. They’d reached their destination. The Guardsmen guarding the center had entrenched themselves behind the stone walls surrounding the center fountain. Sporadic shots were coming from the other streets that converged on the square, indicating more heretic activity. Merrick vaulted over the low wall and headed for the Commissar. Connor was impossible to miss; if her cap and heavy jacket failed to attract attention, her screaming would. She was shouting litanies and shooting her las pistol into the oncoming Hounds.

“Victory through death! Your lives are already spent, make sure they were not done so in vain!”

The men fought on diligently at her words, though Merrick figured their enthusiasm had to do with something else. He found Captain Uther at her side, shouting into a vox pack. “Attention all 4th Company members, pull back to Arminius Square! We’re enacting a full retreat, I repeat, full retreat!” Uther looked up to see Merrick. “I’m glad you made it out sergeant major. Command has ordered the regiment to fall back to Capital Spire. Urizen is hopeless. Our casualties aren’t sustainable. We’re pulling out.”

Merrick nodded. “Is there anything you need me to do sir?”

“The 4th Company is to cover the 1st battalion’s retreat. Regimental Command has already pulled the second and third battalions back. Once everyone is here, we leave.”
Merrick turned to look at the sight of the incoming Hounds. “I think we were the last ones back sir, we didn’t see anyone but dogs behind us.”

Uther nodded slowly. “Then we leave. Commissar, order the men to retreat. Load the Chimeras.”

The transports opened their hatches and Merrick’s squad rushed aboard, manning the gun ports built into the framework. The 4th Company swiftly embarked, leaving the square to be overrun by the traitorous Hounds. The five Chimeras were fully loaded, and swiftly made their retreat towards the outskirts of Urizen. The transports rattled as they were peppered with shots from the pursuing cultists. Merrick steadied himself on a railing, and he peered out the rear porthole.

The cultists were swarming down the winding streets, chasing after them on foot. Most of them wore rags and wielded little more than sharpened sticks, but the sheer numbers of the corrupted Hive had proven too much. Jamming his hellgun through the port, Merrick fired a spread of warning shots to discourage their assailants. The crowd began to disperse, falling behind as they lost interest.

Merrick voxed the lead Chimera, “Captain, I think we’re clear. They’ve broken off pursuit.”

“Understood Sergeant-Major.” said Uther. “We will link up with 1st Battalion in minutes.”

The 4th company eventually met with the remainder of the 1st Battalion. Less than half of the twelve hundred strong unit made had it out of Urizen, and those that had were as battered as 4th. 2nd and 3rd Battalions hadn’t fared well either. The remnants limped through the outskirts of Urien towards the Dead Zone, the land between the spires. To the east, Capital Spire gleamed in the dying daylight. What might have been a pleasant sight was tarnished by the disastrous events of the day. The remaining members of the 85th Vendoland slowly limped home, unsure of their fates.

Elliah could see little inside the darkened troop hold of the Chimera. The light fixtures were dimmed to save energy, and the gloomy shadows they cast made her feel isolated, alone. Elliah had never liked being alone in the dark. People she should know turned into hideous distortions of themselves in this dim light. Faces that should be warm and comforting changed into gaunt, pale corpses, their eyes shrouded in long shadows. The air was stifling.

Elliah felt terribly cramped in here. She could not stretch her legs, or try and raise her arms without bumping another rider. She was alone, cramped, and scared. The reassuring hum of the Chimera’s engine was her only comfort. The vibrations at the carrier’s treads passed over bumps and rubble sent ripples through her body, pressed against the bulkhead. It wasn’t much, but it was reassuring, if only a little. Elliah had learned quickly that in the Imperial Guard, you had to take small comforts wherever you could find them.

Elliah Fayden had only recently joined the Guard. They all had. When the Imperium had come, demanding Artemis accept their tithe owed to the Emperor, she had volunteered with everyone else. The ships had come, massive craft, bigger than her village, and she had gone to them without question. She had never seen so many people before, millions of them, clambering up the colossal boarding ramps, unsure of what would lie ahead. But nobody complained. It was an honour to fight for the Imperium.

She remembered the training courses. Practice bayonet charges, proper fortification building, weapons maintenance, it had been a whirlwind exercise to whip the citizens into soldiers. The Commissars had run them ragged every day on their journey here. Meridian would be the Artemians first deployment. She was now private Ellia Fayden of the 31st Artemian Regiment, 6th Urban Brigade, 1st Battalion, 2nd Company. Ready or not, this would be their blooding.

The vox speaker broke the monotonous hum of the engines. “Attention all personnel, this is Brigadier General Tullassar Derim. We will be arriving at the 85th Vendoland’s forward command structure within ten minutes. Our objective remains unchanged: reinforce the forward positions and establish a subspace uplink to signal the subsequent relief forces. We have had no contact from the 85th’s Regimental Command, and we assume there is a communications blackout. Trust in your faith, trust in the Emperor. Derim out.”

On cue, the Company Captain spoke, “Final weapons inspection! Check your gear for any malfunctions or jams!” The command echoed as the lieutenants repeated the order throughout the Chimera. The dim lights suddenly grew brighter, moving to a yellow alert status, allowing the soldiers to work. Relieved by the removal of those horrible shadows, Elliah could finally look around the troop compartment without a feeling of dread. The hull was filled with the sound of clicks and bangs as the guardsmen ran over their lasguns. Elliah looked down at her own weapon, and set to work.

She removed the ammunition battery first, lifted the latch, and disassembled the rear section of the lasgun. Moving the casing to her side, she adjusted the focusing crystal to align properly. The Accatran model Lasgun was an excellent achievement for its compact design, but it required a high level of maintenance. The new Hotshot ammunition packs were powerful, but they tended to knock the focusing crystal out of alignment. A misaimed discharge could wreck the weapon’s inner workings.

Realigning the crystal, Elliah checked that the safety catch was sliding smoothly, and cleared some dirt out of the battery connectors. Satisfied, she reassembled the rear casing, sliding it back into the weapon’s frame, and locked the ammo clip back into its feeder. Weapon ready, Elliah lay back against the bulkhead, and waited for the signal to deploy.

She didn’t have to wait long. A klaxon wailed over the Vox castor, the lights turned red to indicate a ready status. At the Captain’s orders, the Guardsmen rose to their feet, and turned to face the rear hatch. The Chimera ground to a halt moments later. The voice of their driver sounded over the intercom. “Second company, prepare to deploy.” With those words, the rear hatch opened, bright light pouring in through the widening cap, blinding Elliah. She could hear the captain shouting again. “Second Company, deploy!”

Marching in unison, the Imperial Guard exited the Chimera. Adjusting to the light, Elliah looked up, and saw the Hive, and her eyes widened with astonishment. Huge spires that she assumed could only be filled with people stabbed at the sky, while massive effigies of heroic looking men clad in mighty armour adorned the streets like lampposts. Everywhere she turned, the world was filled with wonders. There were buildings large enough to house everyone in her county and still have room for more. It was a far cry from the low to the ground, agrarian society she came from on Artemis. The view was almost overwhelming. She snapped back into reality at the sound of the Captain’s barking voice.

“Company, break into squads and make for the command center. The Emperor protects!”

The words rang out, shaking Elliah from her awe induced trance. Eyeing Sergeant Polris, she quickly trotted to his position. Others followed. Finally, some familiar faces. Ariana, Enalya, Fenn, Jurek and Manrey all gathered around their sergeant. Polris spoke. “Alright, you heard the Captain, move to the forward position and reinforce the 85th. We’ll do this just like we were drilled to. Any questions before we get underway?”

Ariana, a stocky woman a few years older than Elliah, stepped forward. “Should we be expecting an engagement on our way to their forward base, sergeant? Was the Capital Spire swept before we got here?”

Polris shook his head. “We don’t have any solid intelligence on the area apart from our orbital scans. Our priority is to link up with the Vendolands. Until we get confirmation otherwise, treat this as an active combat zone. Anything else? No? Then let’s move. Jurek, you’re on point.”

The company set out on their march down the street. The Chimeras revved up and moved aside down the adjacent streets to allow those behind to deploy the next wave. Elliah moved to stand by Fenn. The two had struck up a friendship on the troop ship, an odd thing considering the disparity between the rural and urban centers from which they came.

“Can you actually believe the size of this place Fenn? It’s massive. You’re from Artemis’ capital, how does it compare?”

Fenn looked up at the huge buildings surrounding them. “I can tell you this: Meridian leaves Madrigal for dust by comparison. How did they build this place? Look, we’re not even on the surface. Past the railings it just keeps going down!” The logistics and money it must have taken to make this place, it’s.... I can’t even begin to imagine how it even works.”

Elliah gave a little laugh. “Sometimes it’s best not to think too hard and just accept things as they come. Either way, the grain harvester plants are nothing compared to this spire.”

“Hmmph, it won’t look so incredible once the bolts start flying and we all get killed.”

The gruff voice came from behind them. Elliah and Fenn turned to see Manrey following the pair. Elliah rolled her eyes. She had never really liked Manrey. He seemed off, and his constant pessimism put him at odds with several of the guard. Why should she or anyone else take him seriously?

“What makes you say that, Manrey?” Elliah asked dryly, already anticipating the answer. Manrey delivered his regular spiel of conspiracy theories.

“Sure, this place looks all nice and pretty, but we’re not here for the sightseeing. All nice and cosy on the surface, but when you get down to it, there’s something nasty underneath everything. I’ve heard stories about the Imperial Guard you know. They say that whole planet’s worth of people go and fight for years and years, and never go home. Even heard some stories that when they’re finished fighting, they go and kill off any of the survivors so there’s no witnesses afterwards. Mark my words: we’re all going to die here, one way or another.”

She sighed. Manrey was always on about pessimism, never an ounce of enthusiasm, Elliah thought. And those crazy stories about people being killed to cover things up, utterly ridiculous. They didn’t call Manrey a “Mad Hound” for no reason.

“If you’re so sure we’ll never see home again, then why did you join at the founding? It’s volunteer work.”

He grunted. “Yeah, that’s what they say, but then everyone joined anyways. I’ll tell you what it was: it was fear. You look nice and tidy if you volunteer, but if you refuse, then they start sending people. Asking around your home, see if you’re hiding something. Them Inquisitors will come looking for you, question you for why you feel you didn’t join. It’s no volunteer work, I tell you. You volunteer or you get arrested.”

“Whatever Manrey. Next time those big mean inquisitors you keep babbling about show up, you let me know.” she said dismissively, turning to look away.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you..... blind idiots.” Manrey muttered to himself, shuffling away.

“Quiet back there!” Sergeant Polris barked. “We’re nearly there, stay sharp.”

Fenn flashed a smile at Elliah and rolled his eyes. It was a new experience to be sure, but life in the Guard couldn’t possibly be as bad as the Mad Hound suggested. The Administratum Complex, the main base of operations for the Capital Spire, shot into the sky ahead of them, marking the end of the long stretch of road along which they marched. Elliah Fayden held her head high, and marched with pride towards their goal.


Merrick was sitting on the edge of a granite fountain, enjoying a moment of peace in an otherwise hellish existence. Hurst and Kippler were sitting with him. Hurst lay with his back against the fountain, eyes closed, but ready to move in an instant. Kippler was set on the pavement, disassembling and reassembling his long las. He’d grown very fond of the weapon over the past two years, Merrick noted. It paid off too. Soras had turned out to be one of the best shots Merrick had ever seen. From the moment he’d picked up that gun, he’d been blasting xenos left and right. The man had an almost unnatural sense of accuracy. It certainly made up for his lack of conversation.

Sliding off the edge of the faountain, Merrick dipped his hands into the basin and splashed some of the cool water against his face. He wiped away the layer of grime and dust from his face, and relished in the cool refreshment. It had been a quiet day for a change, with no major push from the Hounds. The 85th deserved a break after what had happened.

After the Urizen disaster, Command had the misfortune of taking a direct hit during a Vandis shelling. General Castille was gone, with most of the Colonels. Only a few of the Captains and a handful of Commissars had survived. If that wasn’t bad enough, the Hounds had followed them back to the Capital. Sporadic raids and ambushes in the night cycle had kept the remnants of the 85th on their toes. Things had gotten so bad that Captain Uther, one of the few remaining officers, had placed Merrick in charge of the 4th and 5th Companies guarding the Administratum Complex.

Uther and Commissar Connor would hold the Forge to keep it in check. Even though it would likely never work again after the damage that was caused during the Black Legion invasion, it was vital to keep the factory out of the traitors’ hands. The AdMechs had been trying desperately to fix the forge, but so far little progress had been made. The thought of how many had died pointlessly to secure that damned factory still soured Merrick’s thoughts.

Hurst suddenly prodded him in the shoulder. Merrick turned to face him, but Wadden was looking away down the street leading up to the fountain. He heard the rumble first, a low hum that grew steadily louder. Merrick peered down the length of road, and saw what Hurst was looking at. A massive column of soldiers, backed by dozens of Chimera transports, filled the boulevard that approached the complex. Hurst gripped his hellgun tighter.

Merrick was on his feet in seconds, hauling his Hellgun’s backpack onto his shoulders. “gak, I didn’t think the dogs would try a direct attack. Of course they’d have to do it when we’re not ready. Hurst, find the others and get Alek to warn the rest of the company. We’ve got company.” Kippler had almost instantly reassembled the long las, and had it pointing down the street at the column.

Wadden raised his hand. “Wait, Corporal, don’t fire. I don’t think they’re Dogs Merrick. This isn’t like them. They’d be burning buildings and running like madmen. Whoever that is, they’re professionals.”

“What?” said Merrick, “They have to be the Hounds, who else would it be? We’ve had no contact with anyone off planet for weeks. For all we know, the Hounds brought friends.”

Kipler spoke, “No, Hurst is right sergeant, they’re not wearing Vandis colours.” The sniper adjusted the sight on his long las. “Let’s take a look..... I see the Aquila! It’s the Guard. Heh, I can’t believe it, we’ve actually got reinforcements!”

“Thank the Emperor then,” Merrick sighed with relief. The tension that had built up was released just as quickly. This was the first sign of good news they’d had in weeks. “Waddy, go round up everyone you can. Let’s make our guests welcome.”

“Fine Merrick, I’ll go. But try to be nice, just for once? You never know, they might have brought a few Commissars with them who aren’t like Connor.” Hurst set off at a jog, heading for a cluster of soldiers set up further back towards the command center. Kippler lowered the long las and followed Merrick towards the oncoming column of tanks.

The Leman Russ spearheading the column and its following compatriots shared a drab bluish grey camouflage pattern. Merrick noted that they’d fit in better among the city streets than the 85th’s olive green fatigues had. The lead vehicle ground to a halt in front of him. The top hatch opened, and a middle aged man wearing a general’s battle dress climbed down from the turret. He had a finely combed moustache and a large scar across his chin. His eyes were narrow, giving the impression that he could only squint.

Puffing out his chest, the general spoke formally, with the air of one born into an aristocracy. “I am Brigadier General Tullassar Derim, Artemian 31st Regiment, 6th Urban Brigade. We are here to provide support to the 85th Vendoland and aid in the retaking of Meridian and her fellow planets within the subsector. Where is your commanding officer, Sergeant Major?

Merrick saluted, “Sergeant Merrick, 85th Vendoland, 4th Grenadiers Company sir.”

“At ease sergeant, where is your commanding officer? I should like to speak with him as soon as possible.”

Merrick hesitated for a moment before responding, “General, our main staff was killed in action two weeks ago. General Castille and the Regimental Command were caught in an artillery strike during our retreat from the Urizen Hive.”

“Then, who is in charge here?” Tullassar said sceptically, “What forces does the Vendoland have left?”

“Captain Uther took charge following the attack sir. He is the acting Colonel due to the extreme circumstances. Commissar Connor is currently organizing what is left of the regiment to cover specific points across the region. I’m the liaison to Governor Derosa, and as the senior non commissioned officer for the 1st Battalion, I’ve been given temporary command of the 4th and 5th companies.”

“You’re in charge here? We’ve been in transit for a month. Things can’t have gone so badly in such a short time! We expected the majority of the 85th to be on the frontlines.”

Merrick snorted. “Heh, General Derim, the Capital Spire, this is the frontline. You’d be surprised how much can change in a month. Emperor knows I’ve seen it happen on more than one occasion. The 85th is about a third of what it used to be. What we’ve cobbled together here is all that’s left of the Imperial Guard forces on Meridian. Until you showed up that is.”

Tullassar pinched his temple, and sighed. “Very well, sergeant. You are the leader here. I have at my disposal four thousand fighting men, and five hundred vehicles. I will have them bolster your defences. I wish to see Governor Derosa. Perhaps she may provide a better perspective of the situation.”

Merrick gave a grim smile, and spoke with a sharp edge of sarcasm. “Certainly general, might I interest you in some of the sightseeing opportunities around Capital Spire?” Merrick gestured to a half crumbled statue. “Over there is what’s left of a monument to the Blood Ravens for their defence of Angel Gate about two years ago. Of course, back then it still had its head and it wasn’t covered in bolter holes, and when the Forge still actually worked.”

Tullassar glared at Merrick, “Your sarcasm is not doing you any favours, Sergeant Merrick. I’d prefer it if we keep things professional whilst I am here. I don’t know how your regiment operates, but while I am in charge, you will act by my rules. Let us get on with it.”

“Certainly sir, I’m sure this will be quite the partnership we’ll have!”

“I certainly hope not.” Tullassar muttered.

“And, technically, I don’t follow your rules, sir.” said Merrick. “And I know the area better than you do, so it seems we might have to work something out. I’m a footslogger; I don’t have time for pleasantries. So tolerate me, understand?”

Tullassar glared at Merrick. “I will not take orders from you, Sergeant Major. Nor will I stand for your insolence. Governor Derosa will hear of this.”

“I’m sure she will.”

Chapter 3: Advisors and AdMechs

At the steps of Capital Spire's administrative offices, Hurst and the rest of Merrick's squad mates were waiting. Tullassar looked dismissively at the weary men as they walked by. Merrick grunted. He didn't think highly of the upper class twits who so often led thousands of men to their deaths. Castille's idiotic tactics had seen enough men killed that Merrick was determined to make sure his replacement wouldn't do the same. Still, reinforcements were a good thing, so Merrick tried to maintain civil around Tullassar. Sarcasm tended to sidestep high ranking officials.

Hurst marched towards Merrick and the General's retinue with the Daredevils in tow. Unlike the others, it looked like Hurst had taken the time to polish his armour plates. They shone brightly in the midday sun. Coming to a halt, he snapped off a perfect salute, which Tullassar responded with immediately. Tullassar seemed surprised. It appeared Wadden would get along with Tullassar better than Merrick would. He just rolled his eyes behind the general's back.

Tullassar seemed impressed with "At ease soldier, what is your name?"

Waddy responded instantly, "Staff Sergeant Wadden Hurst, 85th Vendoland Regiment, 4th Grenadiers Company sir. I command the secondary fire team."

"Brigadier General Tullassar Derim, 31st Artemian Regiment, 6th Urban Brigade, here to relieve your forces. I wish to speak with Governor Derosa immediately. You will escort my retinue as well. Officials can deal with the minutiae allowing me to ask the large questions."

Hurst nodded, "Of course, General. Squad, fall in." He eyed the trailing handlers. "Remer, Alek, you take the front, Vornas, take the rear."

"I'll take the back with Vornas, Hurst," offered Merrick. "You and the General seem like you have much to talk about." Merrick smirked, quickly hiding it when the General whipped his head towards him. Tullassar frowned, giving a small huff, before turning to his staff.

"Colonel Nolt, take over exterior operations whilst I am inside. Have the brigade reinforce the outer defensive lines, set the flares for supply drops. Contact me on Priority Vox Channel Primaris if anything happens. May the Emperor guide your footsteps Colonel."

A tall, lanky man in a colonel's uniform saluted, making the Sign of the Aquila before leading the officers to their posts. At his orders, they dispersed, lieutenant colonels heading towards their respective battalions, their retainers following them like a litter of pets. Merrick watched them go, envious. The officer's departure left the group with the Command retainers. The actual soldiers and leaders were off to do the fighting, leaving them with the fat, incompetent slobs who somehow ate their way to the comfy positions of power. He shook his head and fell into line beside Vornas.

"So Vornas, what do you think of our new guests? " He asked.

"It looks like the fat one's chin is trying to swallow his mouth." remarked Vornas dryly.

"Looks like a bunch of arrogant pricks to me," he muttered. "Luckily, his officers look smart. If this guy turns out to be a washout, at least they seem to know what they're doing."

"Well aren't you a cynic today serge."

Merrick grinned, "You know me, Vornas. I can't stand pompous jackasses. He'll have to impress me first."

Vornas thought for a moment, his expression hidden by his gas mask, "He seems like any other general, boss. Strong willed, proud, educated, and disregarding of his soldier's lives. You know the kind, the regular flavour of arrogance that always crops up in the command staff. Hopefully he'll last longer than Castille did."

"Anyone would be better than that fracking moron." said Merrick sharply. "For once, I wish that we had a proper leader, not these fringe buggers. It's no wonder the Imperium keeps losing ground out here, half our leaders are insane. Did I ever tell you about what it was like back in the 203rd, when it was just Alek and I? Our sergeant was a psychopath. He had us shooting up civilians when we should have been fighting Eldar. There was no skin off my back when he dropped dead. Served the bastard right for what he did."

"Got that right boss." laughed Vornas. "Sergeant Hurst seems to like him anyways." Vornas motioned towards the pair. Hurst and the General were having an animated conversation.

Merrick spoke, "Yep, with any luck, that'll keep us in his good books for a while. Let the aristocrats talk, and let the career soldiers do the fighting. I'm not saying that Hurst isn't a good fighter, though, but don't you ever get tired of listening to him sometimes when we're off duty?"

Vornas shrugged. "I tend to block out conversations when we're on break, boss. You try listening to Remer's theories. We should stick him on this General someday." They both chuckled, envisioning Tullassar trying to deal with their resident motor mouth.

The doors to the Administratum headquarters were old, huge, and creaked like the hinges hadn't been oiled in centuries. They probably hadn't. Groaning, they slowly opened before the entourage. Unlike the sparsely occupied boulevards outside, the massive hall was packed with workers, refugees, and officials. Scribes were diligently trying to organize lengthy relocation charts, Arbites officers were on guard detail to keep the refugees in line, and the refugees were shouting about ration shortages. Runners were hustling piles of papers and data slates across the hall, trying to keep things running smoothly. It was times like this that Merrick enjoyed the quiet outside world. The noise was unbearable.

Reaching the far side of the hall, the group entered one of the many elevators at the terminal system. Merrick felt the ground shift as the elevator ascended and quickly gained speed, zooming towards the top level of the Spire, Derosa's office. Light broke upon the glass windows of the lift, revealing the full expanse of the Capital Spire as the lift sped up the side of the tower. Peering below, Merrick could barely make out the shapes of the new troops.

Above the cloud line, Angel Hive's spires appeared as black spikes piercing a fluffy blanket, and the sun shone brighter than ever. Where the clouds broke, Capital Spire shot out in every direction, all the hab blocks and factories tapering upwards into the spire itself. Glowing crevasses bore deep into Meridian's surface, all teeming with life. Capital Spire was one of the last bastions of Imperial order left on Meridian. Angel Hive stood contested, with the blackened, corrupted Spire Legis sitting ominously in the south, encircled by great fires where the House Vandis insurgents had razed parts of the Hive.

The dull monotone of a servitor broke the silence. "Level One Thousand Five Hundred, Administratum command center, Governor's chambers. Please stand back as the doors open."

It was much more organized up here than in the reception hall. Throngs of Scribes worked steadily behind their large, wooden desks. The special sound dampening devices built into the wall kept noise to a minimum, but also gave the floor an air of stuffiness. The quiet alone was enough to satisfy Merrick and the Daredevils. He respected Derosa too much to complain, she had a good head on her shoulders, and her heart was in the right place. That alone was more than he could say for the planet's nobles.

Passing through an oak doorframe, the group strode into Derosa's office. Two lurching gun servitors flanked the doorway, multi meltas and heavy bolters trained on Merrick's men. He groaned inwards, if gun servitors were here, then the Magos must have dropped by with more complaints. Sure enough, the AdMech Techpriest, adorned in a red robe, cybernetic augmentations gleaming in the golden sunlight, was there, in a heated argument with the Governor.

"Governor, I do not understand why you persist in hampering my recovery efforts! This is a very delicate matter, one that only I am qualified to undertake!"

"Dolthem, as I have stated numerous times already, we are in no condition to mount an excursion to the outer reaches of Angel Forge! Top priority goes to maintaining the vital functions of the Hive and keeping the Manufactorum District from being used as a staging ground. The 85th is already stretched thin enough holding off the Ork raiders and Heretic cells without you demanding supplies. It is your responsibility to get the Forge back online, not the Guard's." Derosa noticed Merrick and the others at the door. She sighed wearily, "Now if you please, I have an appointment. Show yourself out."

Dolthem turned to view the new arrivals. His left optics cluster lit up. Merrick felt uneasy as the harsh light stared at him. "What is this then, Governor? You claim to have no further personnel to provide me, and yet here stand fresh subjects! Are they unavailable as well? Do not think you can overlook the servants of the Omnissiah. I shall have my expedition plans settled, one way or another."

Derosa snapped, "And when you do, I will be sure to congratulate you for such a rousing success. However, I haven't the time or the patience to listen to your ramblings any longer. You may show yourself out."

The AdMech stopped in the doorway, his optics glaring back at the Governor. "We shall speak again on this matter, Governor." he said coldly, voice tinged by the metal respirator fused into his skin. The gun servitors followed their leader out of the office, slamming the wooden doors behind them. Elena Derosa leaned over her high backed chair and sighed.

"You must be General Derim. Elena Derosa, Governor of Meridian and liaison to the Administratum. I apologize for my attitude with the Magos, general. The Adepts have been pestering me for days insisting I authorize a dig team to aid them in some excavation along the outskirts of Angel Forge. Management here is not what it used to be."

Derosa offered her hand. Tullassar bowed and accepted the handshake, "You needn't worry yourself, Governor. I have four thousand fighting men at your disposal. We're here to put things back on schedule."

"I shall be glad to have them. It has been some time since the Guard has been reinforced. The 85th and 46th Regiments have had their hands full, to say nothing of the Arbites Precincts and the Planetary Defense Forces"

Merrick saluted smartly. "It is our duty to serve, ma'am. No Dog will get by us."

"And for that I am deeply grateful, Sergeant Major, your services to the Subsector are admirable." She said, smiling.

Tullassar butted forward. "There appears to be a lack of security for your office, Governor. I can have a Stormtrooper detachment assigned to you for protection within the hour."

"That won't be necessary, General," said Derosa, shaking her head. "I have learned not to trust others with my personal protection, even the Guard. It nearly cost me my life once. I don't make mistakes twice."

"Then how do you plan on defending yourself, Governor?" said Tullassar skeptically.

"I have my methods." she said bluntly. She motioned to the large, open air room behind her desk, lined with luxurious chairs and couches.

It was Hurst's and Merrick's job to talk to the higher ups, so the other Daredevils wandered off to the veranda while the officials got to business. The group seated themselves on Derosa's large couches. Resting in the comfortable seat, Merrick looked at the governor. She looked like she hadn't slept for days. Her eyes still had that fiery determination in them, but she was looking more and more drawn every time Merrick saw her.

"Very well, General, I shall tell you what I can." she snapped her fingers. A thin figure in a deep blue robe appeared out of the dark recesses of her office, carrying a small metal box engraved with the Aquila. "My adept can provide the current tactical data you require, General. I can provide you with a summation."

One of the General's retinue cleared his throat to speak. He was a portly man, wearing a scribe's uniform that seemed three sizes too small, and he had a thin mustache and a double chin adorning his sweaty face. "Governor, do you think it wise that we have this discussion in the open? We are on the edge of a warzone, in the open air. Would you not rather have this conversation indoors where it is safe? As a woman, I am sure that you would rather be closer to your-"

Derosa cut him off. "I can assure you good sir, that we are perfectly safe here. The void shield installed in the building is strong enough to withstand orbital bombardments. It is strong enough to keep the traitors at bay.' Her tone was venomous. "Capital Spire is the safest place in Angel Hive at the moment. We are housing millions of refugees. Do you seriously think that I would have this assembly meet here if I was not certain of our safety?

The blubbery familiar was subdued. "Y-yes, of course your grace. I... apologize for my brashness."

"Good. But if you feel threatened by the smell of fresh air, feel free to make use of the scribe's offices. I'm sure they would be more suited to one of your... stature. Until then, do not feel the need to pass comments on matters you do not understand."

Incensed, the Scribe moved to stand. He was caught in his midsection by a sharp strike from the General's stick. Tullassar looked at the man with disgust, forcing him back into the seat with merely a stare. "I apologize for Zerick, my chief scribe is not well versed in social etiquette. Apparently I have yet to break him of his habits. Now, you had information to discuss with me Governor?"

"Yes General. I thought you should be aware of the delicate position we are in at the moment. Ever since the Black Legion attack last year, we have been dealing with an ever growing number of cults and traitorous uprisings. My predecessor, Gregor Vandis, currently holds sway over most of the major cults, and has been pushing to take back Capital Spire for months. Most of their forces are limited to Urizen Hive to the south. They also have a bastion here in Angel Hive called Spire Legis."

"We thought that we had regained control of the Spire last year during a protracted assault," said Hurst. "But the minute we pulled out, the insurgents just rose up again. We lack the numbers to keep Legis under control. What's left of the 46th has been on watch if they make any major pushes."

"And then there's Urizen Hive, further south. General Castille thought that the 85th would be able to establish control over the Hive if we took Urizen Spire. Cut off the head and watch the rest crumble. Cost us two thirds of the Regiment, as well as most of the officers. We're running with skeleton command structures, with NCOs like me covering until replacements can be found."

General Derim listened intently as they continued to explain everything they could. He hadn't asked any questions yet, but he was sucking up information like a sponge.

"Unfortunately, there have been setbacks, some small, others unacceptable," said Derosa. "We lost control of Angel Forge due to a corrupting virus planted by the Black Legion. I've had repair crews and Mechanicus aid working for months to try and get the Forge back online, but some individuals seem more interested in exploiting the abandoned foundries for their own ends. The Forge is little more than a glorified barracks for most of the remaining Guard. If we cannot use it, nobody can. "

Tullassar scratched his chin. "I see, governor. And how do you wish to combat this threat? What resources do we still control?"

Derosa motioned for her adept to set the box on the table in front of them. The box opened, revealing a three dimensional projection of the Capital Spire. Several lines of data scrolled down the side of the image, statistics covering electrical outputs, crime rates, food shortages, and other information relevant to the Spire's operational status.

"As of last month's report, we currently control seventy five percent of Angel Hive," said Derosa, pointing to a particular data strand. The appropriate visuals glowed orange to indicate their position on the map. "Much of the upper city has been cleansed, but the Hounds have managed to entrench themselves in the underground tunnels connecting the outer hab blocks and other Spires. The close quarters fighting has made it impossible to mount a significant offensive against their outposts."

"Not that we're in any position to actually do anything about their strongholds." said Merrick, cutting in. "If I may, ma'am? The 85th Vendoland is a write off at this point. We currently have roughly thirteen hundred soldiers, split into company sized units stationed around key strategic areas. We're spread too thin to head any decisive attacks, so most of the action lately has been reactive to Hound strikes whenever they gather up the courage to take a stab at our defenses. We can't find their base, and they can't break out lines. It's ended up being a war of attrition, and we don't exactly have the manpower to hold them off forever."

Hurst spoke up. "The 85th is currently divided in two. One half is guarding the approach to Angel Forge, whilst our half has been tasked with defending the Administratum complex and the residential districts. Captain Uther is technically the highest ranking officer left, and he is leading the bulk of the regiment. The 46th Vendoland are holding the line against the bulk of forces coming out of Spire Legis while we do security detail. The bastards are natives, they know their way around better than we do. We're effectively stuck here until we can root them from their outposts."

Merrick snorted. '"Stuck" is putting it lightly. If we try to move more than two blocks they rain down hell on us with artillery, or a sniper gets a lock on us, or some gutter rats plant a bomb under out feet.. It's like the Eldar attacks all over again. We can't move without someone getting shot at. Hell, Alek over there should have died at least a dozen times from all the crap we've been through."

Alek perked up as he heard his name. He was sharpening a knife on his mechanical knuckles and slipped, slashing his hand. He made a small yelp and dropped the knife to the floor with a clatter.

"Indeed," scoffed the General. "Yes, I'm sure you all must have stories to tell. It is unimportant, Sergeant Major. Sergeant Hurst made the point clear without your addendum."

Derim's orderlies were glaring at Merrick. He rolled his eyes and ignored them. The only one who he considered a threat was the Commissar. Unlike Connor, Merrick doubted this man would be easy to get along with.

One of the General's aides, a man as thin as Zerick was round, leaned forward in his seat. "Governor, what should happen if the Administratum complex is attacked? How well prepared are we to withstand an assault?"

Derosa spoke. "As I said, the spire is surrounded by a number of void shields. Nothing short of a Titan's weaponry can break through our defenses. We are safe here, I can assure you."

Chapter 3: The Dog Bites Back

Far below Capital Spire's gleaming boulevards and lush gardens, the splendour slowly eroded into grime, rust, and crumbling supports, glowing sunlight changing to harsh service lamps and darkened alcoves. Down here, society and human decency had degraded into a level more fitting for vermin. The gutter rats scavenged while the hive gangers plundered. Down here, only the strong survived for very long. However, even the hardiest hive gangers scattered at the sound of marching footsteps. It could only be one of two things, neither of which agreed with the social food chain.

A band of Guardsmen picked their way through the refuse strewn of the lower levels. They were Vendolanders, their drab armour emblazoned with the 85th Regiment's colours. The smart ones knew to leave them alone. The idiots lasted seconds. These were men who had fought hand to hand with Tyranids and come out standing. Motioning for the group to stop, Sergeant Gren climbed the scrap pile to where their spotter stood, eyes glued to his binoculars. A sliver of sky broke the dark metal ceiling.

"There's a ship up top, that's for sure. It's over top of the Spire, but I can't get an ID on the vessel." The spotter adjusted the sight slightly. "You don't think that Vandis called for help, did you? I thought the Astartes had rooted them off the other worlds."

Gren took the binoculars from the trooper to see for himself. "Maybe not, Kreyn, but whoever's up there, we'll need to pay them a visit. Merrick will need to hear what Uther told us, one way or another." He handed Kreyn the binoculars and looked down to the others. "Could be good news lads, maybe it's one of the lady regiments, come to let us take a nap?"

Gren hoisted his lasgun. He grinned slyly at a young trooper. "Maybe young Flinn here will stop being a boy and start being a man, eh lads?" The squad laughed as Flinn shrunk into his armor, embarrassed. "Ah, cheer up, lad, I'm only fooling you. Come on, it'll be good to stop by The Bunker for a drink, am I right boys?"

"Aye!" shouted the squad, cheering. The squad headed for the service elevators, shooting for the top level. Once the lift was out of sight, the gutter rats poured out of the woodwork. A runner, no older than ten, darted from cover to cover, sticking to the shadows. A few turns, a couple ladders and drops, and he vanished into the dark bowels of the spire. The service lamps offered enough light to see, but not enough to stop him from running into the man's back.

The man, if he could be considered that, grabbed the child roughly and lifted him to eye level. "What do you want, runt?" it growled. "The Eye isn't to be disturbed, especially not by little gaks like you."

"Bu-but, I was told to tell him if I saw anything!" stammered the runner. "Please! He told me himself!"

"Oh did he now?" said guard mockingly. "Well, then I'm sure he'd want to see you, wouldn't he? Do you honestly expect me to believe something like that, runt? Even I'm not allowed to see The Eyes. He doesn't see anyone who isn't a Hound. You're not even gak worth stepping in. He really told you personally? Please."

"As a matter of fact, I did."

The guard felt a shiver run down his spine, his blood turning to ice in seconds. He dropped the child, his hands too shaken to hold him. The child scrambled backwards as black tendrils struck out of the darkness, enveloping the man and lifting him off the ground. Heavy, plodding footsteps preceded a pair of glowing red eyes, slowly coming out of the gloom. "And, if I might add, his information is worth more to my cause than your pathetic excuse for security."

Before the man could scream, his neck was snapped by the tendrils, and he was tossed aside. "I grow tired of waiting in these shadows, whelp. What can you tell me? Stand where I can see you. That's better. Now speak, or join the corpse over there. I have no doubt it will be larger when this is over."

The boy glanced nervously at the twitching corpse. "It's ready, my lord. Please, don't kill me, please. I, I also saw more of the Imperials moving through the city."

The Eye's frown was enveloped in shadow, but his glare shone brightly. "They've reconnected with their allies at the Forge then?"

"I don't think so. It was just one group, no more than twenty or so. They said something about a ship over the Spire. Is it yours?"

"No, it isn't. No matter, it just means more for us to kill. You said everything was ready? Then we must strike now. I will have Derosa's head before that fool Hassan. Tell your rabble to move, I shall ready the Hounds. By the day's end, Meridian will have her old Governor returned. And you will have your life back, child. All of you."

Up top, Elliah and Fenn were leaning against the bolter pit at the far end of the Administratum boulevards. Polris was on the line with Captain Harridan, while Manrey just stared out across the cityscape. Valkyrie contrails arced across the sky, trailing after their hosts as they funneled supplies down from the Gregorian, still holding over the city, and casting a welcoming shade. For a spire so high off the ground, it was surprisingly warm.

A brown parcel landed n her lap. Roland and Jurek hopped into the foxhole, tossing more packages at Fenn and Manrey. "Come on, eat up. Like the Primer says: 'Do not waste what the Emperor provides.' Eh Fenn, isn't that what it said, something along those lines, at least?"

Fenn shifted his helmet further down over his eyes. "Couldn't tell you," he said flatly. "I lost interest about halfway through and started drawing pictures."

Roland laughed. "I certainly hope it wasn't on the page you were told not to write on," he joked. Jurek just sighed and shook his head. "It's spiced grox. Some local recipe, I think. The guy selling the stuff just gave it to me for free. Must've been my good looks, wouldn't you say, Ellie?"

Jurek nudged Roland with his elbow. "I was there too, Ciaphas. And no, it wasn't free. I ended up having to pay for most of it."

Roland just shrugged. "Consider it my seniority perk. Corporal's orders, private. Now polish my boots if you aren't too busy."

Jurek just snarled and pushed the sniggering Roland away. Elliah broke open the package and started chewing on the spicy meal, Fenn opting to press his helmet further down his nose. "It's too hot up here," he complained "We're what, two miles up? I thought it'd be cooler. I feel like I'm running a grain harvester during the dry season."

"Apparently, it's something to do with the heat distribution," said Roland between bites. "This void shield's generator kicks up a lot of heat and then it gets caught inside the barrier. The refugees told me they usually vent it once a day to keep everything bearable. If you think it's bad up here, apparently in the lower levels can get so hot that the exhaust tubes can melt rockrete."

"Well then, install a couple bloody air conditioners, or put us in the Hab building over there. Why should we sit out here in the sun waiting for people to start shooting at us?"

"They're going to vent in a few minutes, stop complaining."

A loud creaking sound suddenly interrupted the argument. All the Artemians swung their rifles around to the disturbance. An old, rickety service elevator built into the Hab building rose out of the metal girders. The Guardsmen trained their rifles on the doors, waiting. The elevator opened, revealing around twenty men in olive green armour and fatigues. Both sides dropped their aim when they noticed the Imperial Eagle.

The group of Vendolanders approached hesitantly. One stepped forward. "Corporal Kreyn, 85th Vendoland, 7th Company. Identify yourselves."

Polris spoke. "Sergeant Polris, 31st Artemian, 1st Battalion. We're here to reinforce Meridian."

"Well, I'm glad someone's here, at least. This is Sergeant Heris Gren, our NCO. We're looking for the Sergeant Major."

"He should be back at the complex, Corporal," said Polris. "You probably know your way around better than we do. Why didn't you radio in?"

Gren approached Polris. "Vox silence, Colonel's orders. We've been expressly forbidden to discuss the matters with anyone apart from Sergeant Major Merrick. He was in charge here."

"Well, he's at the complex. We've got the whole area covered. It should be safe to walk around here."

"Sergeant, you'll soon learn that, on Meridian, nowhere is safe," said Gren, grinning. "Kreyn, take the rest of the squad ahead. Flinn and I will catch up. I want to go over some things with Polris here."

Kreyn nodded. "If you say so sir, just don't take too long, will you? A pleasure to meet you, Artemians, but we must be off. Men, move out." The Vendolanders marched off down the boulevard towards the complex's tower.

The rafters and gantries shuddered from the passing footsteps. The light was growing brighter, finding more spaces to bleed through the spire's metal skin. The upper levels were close now. Behind the gutter rat, the multitudes of vermin rose through the tunnels and chasms, writhing towards the surface like a boil bursting through pallid flesh.

A cargo lift was up ahead, guarded by a pair of PDF troopers. They didn't last long. The gutter rat looked back to the others, the ragged, the hungry, the desperate, the enslaved. No longer, the Eye would let them go, give them their world back. His promise, his word, he wouldn't go back on it now.

The boy caught a glimpse of the others as the lift rose. The black and gold armored warriors, their arms filled with explosives. The Hounds of Vandis themselves were here to help. The lift rose, blackness giving way to light, rising higher and higher until the gate retracted at last. The skin was finally broken, and the boil burst over the surface.

"So, you're the new blood eh?" said Flinn. Two of Polris's female troopers had returned, and Gren was watching the lad's attempts at charm with interest. "Enjoying the sights of Meridian? Crown jewel of the subsector, they say. Not that I'd agree with that sentiment of course."

"He does seem persistent, sergeant," said Roland.

Gren shrugged. "Ah, he'll learn. He's like a son to me. I'll watch out for him and my boys, but some things he needs to learn on his own."

"Like how to talk to women?"

"Precisely. You folk remind me of him a little. You're new to this, aren't you? I can tell if a regiment is on its first deployment. Your armour is still clean, for one thing. And you carry yourselves differently. You almost seem too optimistic."

Roland shifted forward. "You're suggesting we be miserable instead?"

"No, nothing of the sort, lad, I'm just saying that it's easy to tell you are new bloods. Give it time and a few life or death struggles and you'll understand what I mean."

"If you say so," said Roland, but the doubt was clear in his voice. Gren slapped him on the back before rising up. He nodded towards Sergeant Polris and started to leave.

"Come on Flinn, you can try your luck at the Bunker later. Kreyn's getting away from us." Flinn blushed as he hastily said goodbye to Ariana and Enalya, darting after Gren as he walked away. They hadn't made it ten feet before the explosion struck. Gren and Flinn threw themselves flat as several more ripped up the street.

Rubble rained down around the bolter pit. Elliah jolted upright, her ringing ears punctuated by a steady rattling sound. Autogun fire, she realized. She was soon aware of her hands moving, instinctively switching off the Lasgun's safety catch and bringing it up into a firing position. Roland and Fenn had done the same, while Jurek had hopped on the Heavy Bolter and was scanning for targets in the smoke.

Making a mad dash for the bolter pit, Gren and Flinn dived into the trench. Gren landed hard beside Roland, already bringing his lasgun up over the rim, firing blindly into the distance. "Heads down, guns up, and be ready to move!" he shouted.

Screams could be heard above the gunfire. Thick, white smoke cascaded along the streets like a wave of water, swiftly passing over the bolter pit. Polris swore, tossing his vox speaker aside. "The damned line is dead! Some sort of interference. I can't get through to command. We have to call this one in." Dozens of figures were starting to move through the clouds, firing erratically as they rushed towards the Guard lines.

"Sergeant, they'll know soon enough," said Gren, firing more shots into the cloud. "The Hounds drop smoke bombs before a charge. I suggest you pick up your gun and start shooting!" Several figures moving through the fog dropped to the barrage of fire from the lasguns and the heavy bolter. Inhuman wails rose above the sound of the shots as the horde swarmed past them. They weren't stopping, but they weren't targeting them either.

Elliah and Flinn continued pouring shots into the crowd. They weren't soldiers, she realized. Just a mob, armed with whatever they could get their hands on. They were cut down by the dozens, but there were hundreds more backing them up. Enalya shouted that the vox caster was working again. Reports were flooding in, all reporting the same thing: hordes of cultists, charging into Guard positions and sweeping towards the central complex.

Colonel Nolt's voice erupted from the speaker. "Attention, 1st Battalion, fall back to secondary positions at checkpoints Primaris, Secundus and Tertius! 2nd Battalion units, move forward to reinforce and provide covering fire. Outer defenses, fall back to checkpoints, I repeat, fall back to checkpoints!"

"Death to the usurpers!" cried the cultists. "For the glory of House Vandis, for our freedom!"

"Feh, feel free to die," muttered Gren. Leveling his lasgun, he dropped a half dozen more cultists as they dropped into the trench, finishing off the last with his bayonet. He pointed to the Hab block hugging the sidewalk of the boulevard. "We'll have more cover inside, and we can filter them into choke points as we work our way back. Go by pairs, we'll cover! Go!"

Elliah and Jurek broke for the entry as the rest of the squad unleashed volleys of dissuading las fire at the cultists. She kept her head down and ran as fast as she could for the entrance, willing herself to go faster with every step. The sound of autogun rounds whizzing past her frayed her nerves, but she somehow made it across the open stretch unscathed. Jurek slammed into the wall beside her.

The rest of the group followed suite, quickly jumping through the open hatchway, their footsteps trailed by gunfire. Gren threw Flinn through the door just before he dived through. "Shut it now!" he shouted. Roland quickly hit the door panel, and the heavy metal hatchway sealed shut. The dark skinned man then took his bayonet and jammed it into the controls.

"That should keep it shut, for now." he said.

Flinn shook his head. "Not for long. We've got to keep moving. If the dogs have somehow gotten inside the Void Shield, we need to let Merrick and Hurst know."

"Flinn, they probably already do know," said Gren. "Right now, what we should be focusing on is getting back to the checkpoint. We take things one step at a time, lad."

"Well, what are we waiting for then, old man?" said Fenneth. "They'll find another way in."

"Show some respect, private," admonished Polris. He quietly added to Gren, "He is right, however, Sergeant. They'll dog our footsteps all the way back to the checkpoint unless we deal with them now. Any suggestions or strategies you can come up with?"

Gren looked around the entry hatch. A smile grew across his weathered face. "Give me all your grenades, explosives, anything that will make a bang. Here, Flinn, you take half." Taking a melta charge, Gren slapped the device onto the hatch, running a wire from the busted access console to the charge. "You'll learn a few tricks fighting the dogs. Funny thing is, they never learned how to counter their own traps. Head inside, Flinn and I'll catch up."

Further inside, the Artemians entered a large foyer. A balcony overlooked the ground floor, which was dominated by a large wooden desk, covered with artificier systems. A lone servitor, long forgotten, continued to type on the broken consoles, unaware of the guardsmen's appearance. Gren and Flinn jogged up behind them.

"Ah excellent!" said Gren, eying the servitor. "Flinn, toss me a melta will you? Thanks. Get the bombs planted around the doorway, will you? Sergeant Polris, get your troopers into position."

Polris nodded. "Understood, Roland, Elliah, top center, Fenn and I will take the left stairwell. Ariana, Enalya, flank the doors, Jurek and Manrey, provide cover from the desk."

Five minutes later, everything was set. Elliah peered over the balcony railing. There was a muffled banging noise, followed by a loud bang. Gren's first booby trap must have gone off. The cultists would be here in moments. She tensed, gripping her lasgun tighter as she waited. Shouting voices grew louder. "Get that door open, whelp! Your lives aren't worth the rags you're wearing! If there's another bomb, you gaks will take it, not us!"

Behind the desk, Gren glanced over at Jurek and Manrey. It was typical Hound behaviour, sending the cultists in to sweep for explosives and take the brunt of the killing. The Hounds would follow up and clean house. Gren hoped that their little traps would be enough to hold.

Bang. The doors were blown open, and a dozen ragged cultists stormed into the room. Boom, the first bomb, hidden beneath a pile of trash was activated by the ignorant dogs tripping Flinn's makeshift tripwire. Three cultist troops were shredded by the frag grenade bundle. Then all hell broke loose. Flinn and Gren, hidden behind the desk, grabbed hold of the servitor and lifted the protesting construct into the air, tossing it into the crowd of disorganized Cultists, still reeling from the blast.

Boom, the servitor detonated, the melta pack turning the construct into a superhot projectile. Another two cultists were vaporized by the intense heat. The Artemians finally opened fire. The Cultists were torn apart in seconds, failing to get a shot off before the Guardsmen picked them off. There was a brief respite. Then, the Hounds charged. Caught unaware by their speed, Ariana and Enalya were killed before they had a chance to shoot. The black Carapace armoured troops lobbed a flurry of grenades into the room.

The explosives splintered the desk, leaving the four soldiers exposed to the traitors. "Covering fire! Troopers, fall back." shouted Polris. The troopers on the balcony opened up, forcing the Hounds to dive for whatever shelter they could gather. Jurek and Manrey obliged Polris's order, but Gren and Flinn had something different in mind. Elliah watched the two run at the Hounds. What are they doing, she thought.

Gren body slammed his target into the wall. Taking the stock of his lasgun, he bashed in the dog's faceplate before shooting him in the chest point blank. One of the remaining three Vandis dogs turned his aim towards the two Vendoland troops, but before he could get off a shot, his body was filled with lasgun punctures from Roland's precise shooting. The other two were swiftly dispatched by shots from Jurek and Fenn. The entire engagement had lasted twenty seconds. Flinn looked through the doorway. "It's clear. No more hostiles."

Polris sighed in relief. "Report, who have we lost?"

Jurek checked the two downed soldiers. He looked up, shaking his head. "Ariana and Enalya are dead, sir. I've just got a cut from the table. Two down, the rest walking."

Polris looked downtrodden. "I see. Corporal, mark their loss in the charts. Grab what you can off them. We move out in five minutes." The Artemians nodded and began to gather the equipment off their fallen comrades. Gren gave Polris a sympathetic look, and put a hand on his shoulder plate.

"Don't think it gets any easier," he said quietly. "It never has."

Merrick was on his feet with his Hellgun trained on the door the moment the alarm klaxon began wailing. The meeting with Derosa and Tullassar's retinue felt like it had gone on forever, and he'd resigned himself to relaxing in the Governor's fancy couch while she and the Artemians discussed logistics and supply movements. Merrick wasn't a pencil pusher, and Waddy was more than willing to argue strategies and tactics in his stead. The alarm was enough to get his attention.

"What is that noise?" asked Zerick nervously. The fat scribe was somehow soaked in sweat despite the cold air system keeping the room at a refreshing temperature. "Are we under attack? I thought you said we were safe, Governor!" he wailed. The rest of the Daredevils followed Merrick's lead, taking cover behind furniture and aiming their weapons towards the entrance as well.

"Perimeter breach sir," answered Wadden, "anything gets inside the building without clearance, the whole system goes off. This hasn't happened before. We covered the building."

"But that means they could be here at any moment! We have to move somewhere safe. A panic room, an underground bunker, anything! Why don't you-" Zerick received a swift smack by General Derim, knocking the ball of a man to the floor.

"Zerick, perhaps we should send you first. I'm sure your incessant blubbering will draw their attention away from the high value targets." Tullassar turned to Derosa. "With your leave, madam, I should like to deal with this matter."

Derosa agreed. "Indeed, General. Good luck and Emperor be with you."

Merrick smiled at the general. "I may just come to like you yet sir."

"Don't push your luck sergeant major. You are just as disposable as the rest." retorted Tullassar. "My Commissar shall stay behind to ensure you and the retinue remain safe, Governor."

"I understand, General." nodded Derosa, before turning to Merrick. "Sergeant Merrick, ensure the safety of the Spire."

"With pleasure ma'am, we'll do our best, like always. Daredevils, move out! We'll clear this building room by room if we have to!"

Tullassar brandished an ornate Bolt Pistol and a Sabre hilted Power Sword. Flanking either side of the door, the Daredevils, activated the access panel, and rushed into the room. No hostiles, but several whimpering scribes, cowering beneath their desks. Moving swiftly, Merrick's troops and Tullassar worked their way through the level finding no signs of any Vandis traitors.

Merrick activated his vox channel. "Ma'am, this is Sergeant Merrick. This level is clear. We're going to scour the lower floors."

"Understood Sergeant, proceed with caution," responded Derosa. "General, your Colonel has sent out a distress signal. A large cultist force is engaging your forces along the Capital Gardens. I've put the Arbites forces on full alert. They will aide your sweeps."

"Governor, if you have a vox link to Colonel Nolt, tell him I want a two companies inside on the double, clearing floors upwards. We will meet in the middle."

"Message sent General. I will patch Colonel Nolt through to you personally so he may keep you updated."

"Thank you, Governor. Sergeant Major, proceed. We have wasted enough time on this flor already." Derim strode towards the elevator bank. Merrick might have had faith in Derosa's ability to keep building functions operational, but he was still hesitant to step into a metal box during a crisis when there were perfectly good stairs. But then the thought of clearing out fifteen hundred levels diving deep into the underhive stairwell by stairwell made the decision for him. The Daredevils piled into the lift, beginning their long sweeps.

Over the complex's vox speakers, Derosa's emergency message was being played over the sound of the alarm klaxon. ATTENTION, ALL IMPERIAL PERSONNEL. HOUSE VANDIS SOLDIERS HAVE BREACHED THE COMPLEX. ENGAGE AND DESTROY ALL HOSTILES. I REPEAT, ENGAGE AND DESTROY ALL HOSTILES. No point in trying to surprise the dogs, thought Merrick.

The Administratum Complex tapered into the Governor's tower, the top fifty floors far more narrow than the lower levels where the Hounds had no doubt made their strikes. Several teams of arbiters had already scoured the floors before Merrick and the squad had arrived. After confirming that the tower was clear, the Daredevils, bolstered by teams of arbiters, descended into the main complex. They made their first contact with the dogs on the 1312th floor. Hell, it'll take days to cover the whole damn building at this rate. The Administratum Complex went deep into the ground of Meridian. Only the top two hundred and fifty floors were on the Capital Spire's "surface".

The Arbitrator Captain introduced himself as Talros. He had fifty arbiters fitted with riot gear and heavy suppression shields. "We are honored to fight alongside the Guard this day," said Talros. "Those that have sided with House Vandis will know the full penalty of Imperial Law before this is done. We shall assist in whatever ways we can."

The lift slowed to a stop, groaning under the weight of its passengers. When the doors opened to level 1312, the arbiters formed a shield wall and stormed the clearing, Merrick's Daredevils close behind.

The gutter rat curled up against a half destroyed wall and tried to block out the pain. The noise was unbearable, but the blood was worse. He sat there cradling the stump where his left leg had been. Around him, hundreds of corpses littered the streets and gardens of the Captital, more joining the growing pile every moment.

They had made swift progress at first. The Hounds' explosive handiwork had torn up the streets underneath the Imperials' outer lines, and they Vandis loyalists had surged over the Guardsmen's defenses like a wave. It was all going just like The Eye had said. They could win back their freedom, Imperial reinforcements or not.

Then they had reached the actual Guard forces. The lackeys had dug in and had torn apart the first wave of Vandis supporters in seconds. The rat had been caught on the edge of a mortar strike, costing him his leg. The child grimaced, biting his lip until it bled as he tried to hold back from screaming. They would find him then, and kill him. He had to stay quiet, wait for more loyalists... try again. They would be free.

"Where's Kreyn? Corporal, are you here?" called Gren. He grabbed a passing Artemian. "Have you seen any Vendolanders, son?" The trooper shook his head. Gren grunted and let him go.

"Sarge, they're not here," said Flinn, looking left and right.

"I can see that lad!" barked Gren. "They should be here, that's the problem!"

The two Vendolanders had made it to Checkpoint Primaris, one of the three major focal points where they were funneling the cultists into concentrated Imperial defenses. The Artemians had erected heavy barricades along the boulevards, backed up by several Chimeras serving as mobile bunkers. But there was no sight of Gren's troops.

Roland and Fenn jogged up to him. Roland handed him a printed vox report. "The vox casters managed to get through to the other Vendoland squads with the codes you gave us. The ones covering the gardens and the southern approach haven't seen them, Gren."

Gren crumpled the report and tossed it aside. "Check them again. They have to be somewhere."

Roland and Fenn shared a glance. "We'll get on it, sir." said Roland at last. Gren crossed his arms, pacing back and forth. Polris sighed and approached Gren. The man was seething, giving Polris pause.

"Sergeant?" he said. "Sergeant, you should consider the notion that they were killed. It is harsh, I know, but it is a possibility."

Polris realized his mistake when Gren's fist struck his chin. Gren advanced on him as he recoiled, jabbing a thick finger into Polris's face.

"Don't you lecture me about my boys, Polris!" said Gren. "You keep your little meat shields in line and maybe they'll live. My boys have been with me for two years. They know how to look after themselves. If they aren't here, it's because somebody messed up. It's my responsibility, not yours. So go play soldier, and let me handle my own squad."

"Is this how you handle it then?" snapped Polris. "You just spout out advice like some sagely old veteran to the new guy, but you don't bother to listen to it yourself? I just lost two soldiers today, and I'm dealing with it better than you seem to be."

Gren gave Polris a look of pure ice. Flinn took a few steps back. "You listen to me, Polris," he said, sneering. "You and your troops will last a week at most. Those that survive, they'll last a month. My squad has lasted for two years. I know they are alive. You don't last two years on the frontline without growing some skin. I'd trade a hundred of your sad excuses for soldiers for just one vet from the Tyrannic War. You last that long, and then come back and tell me they 'might' be dead again."

Polris stared at the older man, then turned and walked away without a word. Gren unclipped his helmet and ran a hand through his wet hair. He tossed the helmet aside and slumped to the ground, given a wide berth by the other guardsmen. Unsure what to do, Flinn opened his mouth to speak, but Gren raised his hand.

"Get out of here, lad," said Gren, trying to keep his voice steady. "Just... just go. They need all the rifles they can get." Flinn gave Gren a pleading look. Gren ignored it and shouted at him. "Go! Get moving, private, that's an order!" Flinn picked up his step and jogged over to the barricade. Gren's head hung low, trapped in thought, trapped in guilt. He had failed them.

Level 1312 was a large, open air veranda flanked by a wide balcony that swung around the lower clearing. The floor itself was a garden of sorts, filled with exotic, and in at least one case, lethal, flora from neighbouring Typhon Primaris. Dozens of refugees had taken shelter among the plants. The Cultists were bolstered by Vandis Hounds themselves. The Arbites had rushed into the clearing with their riot shields while the Daredevils snapped off shots at the insurgents. Merrick split the squad into their fireteams and took his group along the left balcony, Tullassar following close behind.

Around two dozen Vandis troops had set up on the far side of the balcony, their heavy bolter chugging as it fired into the refugees and arbites below. Dozens more swarmed across the clearing, stabbing and slashing at the Imperials with makeshift clubs. Talros's Arbiters took cover behind whatever they could find, shielding the civilians behind their large shields. They could handle the cultists, but the Hounds would be a problem. The gun had to go, or the Arbiters would be cut apart.

Hurst's fireteam crept along the balcony towards the gun, while Merrick drew their attention from the other side. He had Vornas lob a couple grenades into the cultist mass, while he and Alek took potshots at the Hounds. Tullassar fired his bolt pistol over the railing, smiling when he heard the scream of the round's victim. "I hope you know what you are doing, Sergeant. I don't think I can summon a tank from behind a park bench, and our odds are rather slim."

"Hurst knows what he's doing, General," said Merrick between shots. "As long as the Hounds are shooting at us, they aren't paying attention to him. They'll take care of it."

There was an explosion. Merrick peered over the railing to see Remer whooping like an idiot and setting distance records for cultist tossing. "Or, they could all be blown up by a blithering jackass," Merrick muttered to himself. The General just sighed. Remer and Hurst were mopping up the remains of the gun crew, while Kippler had turned his focus to the ringleaders of the cultists below.

"For Vendoland and the Emperor!" shouted Merrick. The Daredevils fired volleys into the cultists. Talros had managed to pull the refugees behind his Arbitors, and they formed a shield wall, perforated with bolters. The heretics began to scatter, getting cut down by the sheer volume of gunfire. Vornas lobbed a grenade into a clump of cultists, taking half a dozen in the explosion.

"How do you like that you frakking bastards!" shouted Vornas gleefully. "Did I miss any of you? Here, have another!"

"Hey, Vornas, it almost sounds like you're having fun," said Remer over the vox. "Did the cogboys do something to your brain while you were asleep?"

"Shut it, Remer." said Hurst. "Focus your mouth on the cultists. I doubt they have a defense against weaponized bs."

Hurst sighed. Despite his best efforts, Vornas and Remer were like two overactive hunting dogs, always eager to fight, or in this case, cause major property damage. Remer's antics had already set fire to the balcony. Merrick popped two dogs in the back while they fled. The traitors were scrambling to get to the stairs, away from the one-sided fight and further into the bowels of the complex. Merrick pulled down his rangefinder, scanning what was left of the Hounds below. He found the target instantly. Covered in black and gold armor, the Hound looked like a Black Legionnaire wannabe. He had to be the one leading the cultists. They were all flocking towards him as he broke for a service door. They made a convenient screen from the Arbiters.

But not from Merrick."Soras, you're up," he said. Kippler fired, catching the spiky traitor in the head as he dove for the doors. The shot splattered the contents of the dog's helmet across the clean walls of the atrium.

"Nice shot Soras."

"My pleasure boss."

"But Sarge, he missed one," laughed Remer. "Second to the left, fancy bandolier. Bet you can't hit him, Sor."

Kippler glanced sideways at Remer before calmly turning and snapping off another heretic's head with a perfect shot. "You were saying?"

Remer either didn't hear Kippler over the sound of gunshots, or he was too wrapped up in trying to break as many things as possible. Merrick opted to assume the latter. Seeing the contents of their leader's skull painted across the wall, the remaining Vandis troops fled into the side passage. They would easily be boxed in now. Talros's men moved to pursue them, and the Daredevils regrouped catching their breath. General Derim's hand was to his ear, listening intently to his vox bead. He nodded and switched off the feed, turning to Merrick.

"A well executed manoeuvre, sergeant major. Though your grenadiers soldiers could stand to learn some discipline." he said, eyeing Vornas and Remer arguing behind Merrick. "Still, we have a job to finish. Our forces will be adequate to secure the compound. Colonel Nolt says that the exterior attack has been rebuffed. I suggest we proceed.

"Yes sir, General." said Merrick. "All right boys, let's hope they've rolled out the welcome mat!"

The heretics had sealed the door behind them. The Arbiters were setting breach charges when Merrick's squad met them by the service hatch. Something seemed strange, however. It was too quiet, not like the lull after a battle, where you adjusted to normal sounds, but like an absence of sound altogether. The breach charges blasting the door open sounded distinctly muffled, and a faint but steady ringing was filling Merrick's ears. Something was wrong.

When they rushed into the room, he saw why.

"Oh hell," said Merrick. "Hurst, get Tullassar in here now."

"I thought they had all left," said Remer uneasily. "You think one of them might have stayed behind?"

"I didn't think they'd have stuck around after that thrashing they took, but there's all the evidence we need Lenham." said Kippler. "What do you think boss?"

"I think we should wait for the General to have a look at this."

Chapter 5: Into the Underground

"Right, what just happened?" said Fenn to nobody in particular. The Hound's guns had suddenly stopped. The smoke that had hindered the Artemians vision was receding, and with it, all traces of the cultists. During the fighting, they'd heard the screams of pain, and witnessed the explosions that had downed dozens of hounds. Where bodies should have lain slain, there was nothing, not even a trace of blood. It was as if the dogs hadn't been there at all.

"Beats me," said Roland, shouldering his lasgun. "I didn't think a disappearing act was one of the traitor's talents."

Elliah checked the charge on her Lasgun, just to be on the safe side. The street had fallen eerily quiet, the only sound being the confused murmurs of the Guard, poking out of their barricade. Captain Rodan was on the vox with command. The other chokepoints had gone dark as well, no sign of the Vandis heretics anywhere. Rodan's adjutant handed a sheet to Lieutenant Berk, who saluted before walking over to Elliah's squad.

Berk gave the sheet to sergeant Polris. "Colonel wants to see you, sergeant, and the two Vendolanders as well. Don't keep him waiting. We've got a truck waiting for you."

Flinn tapped Gren on the shoulder. Gren said nothing, but he shrugged and stood up to follow the Artemians. His face was set in stone, his eyes dead, emotionless. He was simply moving through the motions as usual as they piled out of the truck and made for the command tent. Flinn was nervous to speak to him, unsure how he would react.

The Colonel was a man in his mid-thirties. His slick black hair contrasted with his pale face. However, his most prominent feature was his flaring green eyes, sunken into his face. His speech was terse, to the point and blunt. "Where did you encounter the Vandis force?"

Polris gripped his helmet at his side, and nodded. "We were near the outer defensive line when it happened. Our position was on the southern precipice, just before the descent into the lower levels."

"And you two," he said, pointing to Gren and Flinn, "What were you doing that far out?"

Gren said nothing, simply staring at Colonel Nolt. "I asked you a question, soldier. Answer it."

Gren still said nothing, meeting Nolt's stare with a blank face. Flinn spoke up. "Sir, we were returning from a reconnaissance mission for Captain Uther. With the hive infested by cultists, finding safe routes between here and Angel Forge has been a priority.

"And you just so happened to arrive moments before the Vandis group struck? Without noticing that you were followed, no less? To me, that sounds like you are either grossly incompetent, or more likely, you led them here on purpose."

Gren snapped to life, slamming his fist down on the Colonel's table. "That is a lie, you fething bastard!" he shouted. "Do you fething think I would let my own men die so a bunch of savlars and gutter trash could walk around, killing my friends, my family? They're dead because of those traitors, killed without firing a shot. And you dare to accuse me, accuse Flinn here, of leading them back to ambush you?

"We were on patrol for three fething weeks, picking our way through gak and wreckage just trying to get back here. Where were you then, eh? Where were you when we were sniped at by a lunatic hiding in a mound of dead children he and his friends had spent the day setting up just for us to see? Where were you, when Mory was trapped in a building with a horde of cannibals while we were stuck outside, only able to listen to his screams as they ripped him apart while he was still breathing?"

Gren's face was as red as Mars, and he continued. "I've spent the last two years of my life fighting what seems like every other fething Xenos in this bloody galaxy, not to mention the heretics and mutants infesting this planet. And you just sit here, in your fancy, shiny new uniform and accuse us of being turncoats. We just saved one of your squads for His sake, you ignorant bastard."

Nolt stared impassively at Gren, patiently waiting for him to finish his tirade. After Gren finally settled down, Nolt spoke calmly. "And you survived all this?"

"Of course we fething did! Why the hell would I tell you otherwise?"

"There are always reasons, soldier. However, I doubt that a traitor would have put as much effort into his story. He probably would have taken a shot at me the moment he entered the tent. Luckily for you, your trigger discipline is better than your temper."

Nolt indicated slightly behind him. Flinn glanced there and noticed the Commissar standing silently in the corner, brandishing his laspistol, waiting for a signal that never came.

"Honesty is a rare trait, sergeant. And I am sure that sergeant Polris here is grateful for your intervention. However, it seems I did not receive the answers I was hoping you would hold. You may leave. But before you do, I have to tell you: had you not been entirely honest with me, you would have ended that little scene five minutes ago in a matter of seconds. Keep that in mind the next time we meet."

Gren barely turned his head back to Nolt as he stepped outside. "To be honest sir, we've seen enough crazy gak around here that it pays to tell the truth. Something you should keep in mind before you go accusing someone of being something he isn't."

Inside the Administratum Complex, the main foyer was a mess. Talros's Arbiter teams had their hands full organizing a triage for the wounded. Hundreds of people had been wounded in the attack, with the death toll rising by the dozens as the Arbites struggled to handle the steady flow of new victims. Merrick and Hurst oversaw the chaos from the balcony above.

"Black Legion still hanging around, attacks on the inside of the defensive line, they're getting bolder Merrick. And if they've got a Sorcerer leading them, we could be seeing another Spire Legis." Hurst took his helmet off and ran a hand through his short, blond hair. While most of the 85th had decided to grow it back, Merrick had opted to keep shaving. It didn't pay to have your hair whipping your face in the middle of combat, he thought.

"Well then, I suppose we'll just have to roll out the welcome mat, Waddy. Wouldn't want their pauldrons to get itchy waiting for us, now would we?" joked Merrick half-heartedly.

"Wadden. You know, Merrick, one day I wish you could be something other than cynical or sarcastic." sighed Hurst. "Maybe you should try being serious? Perhaps worried by the idea that the Archenemy is here? No?"

"I know, I know," said Merrick. "You don't think I'm worried Hurst? Of course I am. Last time the Chaos Marines showed up, it was one massacre after another. I don't want to see it happening again, but I know it's going to. Would you want to go to sleep every night thinking about how terrible tomorrow will be, or would you try to make the best out of a bad situation?"

"Merrick, there's a difference between being an optimist and being irritating to the point where you could be executed for talking back to the wrong person." Hurst gave him a playful nudge. "Besides, that's what we have Remer for."

They both gave in and laughed for a while. The elevator bank behind them opened up, revealing Governor Derosa and Tullassar's retinue. Merrick and Hurst nodded as she approached. She was straight to business. "We've found the entrance they used to enter the complex." she said briskly, "The Hounds of Vandis forced their way through the lower levels, near the water recycling system. Their retreat appears to have been aided by a Chaos Sorcerer, as you and your men discovered."

Merrick crossed his arms, "And how does that explain the troops outside? I thought you said that the Void Shield was covering the whole spire. How'd they get in?"

"We are currently reviewing the details, sergeant major, but I assure you that you will be informed."

"Indeed," said Tullassar. "We should mount an immediate attack to root them out of their tunnels, gentlemen. I shall provide as many troops as I can muster. However, I would request that you join us, Sergeants. The 85th Vendoland understands the workings of Meridian better than I, and you would make valuable scouts and tactical advisors."

Merrick cocked an eyebrow. "So wait, you want us to be the meat shields that tell you where to stick your Basilisks?"

"If you die doing so, then yes, Sergeant major. I will see to it that Colonel Nolt relinquishes the 2nd Company from perimeter duty. Have your men ready in twenty minutes Sergeant Major."

"I don't suppose I get a vote in this, do I?" muttered Merrick.

"No, you don't."

"Right."

Tullassar walked away, his aides trailing after him. The Commissar grunted as he marched past Merrick. Merrick just shrugged and ignored him.

"Sergeant Merrick, I understand your frustration with command, but please allow the General to do his job." said Derosa. "Sergeant Hurst, I wish you good luck on your task. It would be a shame to lose any more men than we have to."

"Thank you ma'am," said Hurst, bowing politely. "With your leave, Merrick, I'll gather the rest of the squad."

"See to it, Hurst." said Merrick. Hurst nodded curtly, and walked away.

"I have business to attend to, Sergeant Merrick." said Derosa. "I will leave you to your duties."

"Always a pleasure ma'am, I'll get to it." said Merrick, smiling.

Merrick stepped down from the balcony, into the throng of people below. He caught sight of Alek, helping one of the Arbiters perform a field triage. For all the lad's shortcomings as a soldier, he was an excellent medic. It was sort of a requirement, since Alek suffered an inordinate amount of injuries. He was however, lucky that his fingers had already been cut off. He they not, he certainly would have the way he was wielding the surgical knife.

"Hey, Alek!" he called. The private looked up from his work. "Get together with the rest of the squad, we're moving out."

"Right sir, just let me finish this and I'll meet you there!" he responded. While he walked away, Merrick heard a gasp of pain. Alek had sliced his hand with the scalpel, and he was bleeding profusely. Merrick shook his head. Just another scar to add to his collection.

"That's a nice model Lasgun you've got there, girl. Accatran carbine is it? Good close quarter weapon. And it's equipped to use Hotshot Rounds. Never used them ourselves, but they'll be perfect for this job. Sure is some fancy kit you have. Here you go."

The bald sergeant offered Elliah's gun back to her. His name was Merrick. Like Gren and Flinn, he looked like he'd seen his fair share of combat already. They were in the Complex's armoury. There was more than enough ammunition and gear for the 2nd Company. "It's meant for punching through ceramite and other heavy alloys. They said we'd be fighting Chaos, so they equipped us properly for it."

Merrick chuckled, strapping his carapace armour to his thighs. "Heh, if you Artemians stay long enough, you'll be fighting far more than Chaos soon enough. Here, hand me those greave plates."

Fenn sidled up beside Elliah. "So you're Sergeant Merrick? Gren told us about you outside. He said he had to tell you something. I think it was a message from some Captain."

Merrick looked up in surprise. "Gren's alive? He hasn't called in for weeks. We'd thought they'd been killed on his way over. Is anyone else left? Darcy, Mory, anyone like that?"

Elliah chimed in. "Gren and a man called Flinn are still here. The rest of the squad was hit by an explosion in front of us. He was really broken up about it."

Merrick looked crestfallen. "Damn. Well, at least Gren and Flinn made it out. I can't do anything for the dead, but I can make sure the living live longer. Did they have a response then?"

"Yeah, they said that they got through, and Captain Uther sent a message back with them." said Elliah. Merrick seemed to cheer up a bit.

"Well then, I suppose tonight at the Bunker, he can tell me. Emperor knows we'll all need a drink the way today's been going.

There was a loud clanging noise. A tall, lean sergeant called Hurst was banging on the side of a carapace plate like a makeshift bell. He couldn't be any more different from Merrick. The man looked like he should be an ranking officer, not some low level NCO. But, in the Guard, all were equal. Nobility or common heredity played no role for the foot soldiers.

"Right, come on then, listen up!" Hurst shouted. "I am Sergeant Wadden Hurst of the 85th Vendoland. Due to our affinity with the surrounding area, General Derim has assigned us to be your guides for this assignment. As you all know, the Vandis forces attacked the Capital Spire, using underground tunnels to burrow in. Governor Derosa has identified the source of their breach, and we are going to shut it down. Mine and Sergeant Merrick's squad shall take point. The rest of you will follow behind. Our goal is to kill any hostiles still down there, and seal the breach. Simple enough.

"It is a maze of tunnels down there," Hurst continued. "So do not separate from the group. It'll be close quarters fighting, so we've been issued flamers. Use these beacons as your guides, and stay close. Any questions before we start?"

One of the Artemians raised his hand. "Won't the flamers give away our position to the Hounds sir?"

"Unfortunately yes," said Hurst. "However, during our experience fighting the Hounds of Vandis, we know how they'll react. If they see our lights, they will shoot. And a lasgun isn't exactly stealthy, now is it? Be ready for an ambush, but expect to hear them before you see them."

"Understood sir." said the trooper, satisfied. Elliah noted Merrick's little grunt of amusement. He didn't seem to be taking this seriously.

"Any other questions?" asked Hurst. "No? Then let's move out! Break into your squads and follow me."

The room burst into movement, troopers moving to their assigned squads. Sergeant Polris was waiting with the rest of their group when Elliah and Fenn arrived. "Right, you heard the man. Weapons check out and we're ready to go."

Chapter 7: Duel in the Darkness

It was pitch black in the lower levels. Due to the constant conflict across Meridian, most of the power outside of the vital zones had been shut down or rerouted. Derosa had insisted help be provided to the worst regions first, leaving Capital Spire a lower priority. Elliah felt like she was inside the Chimera again, trapped in the encroaching blackness, surrounded by people she couldn't recognize. The only thing lighting their way were the flamers ahead and the occasional spot lamp. The short bursts of fire periodically illuminated the dark corridors, casting an orange glow across the decaying walls.

"Keep close by. We haven't encountered any Hounds yet, but an attack could come at any moment." said Hurst over the vox. "According to the maps, we should be entering a larger chamber up ahead. We'll spread out there."

Well, that was a welcome relief, thought Elliah. The two hundred strong company had been reduced to an awkward shuffle as they pushed deeper into the water recycling center. Being able to walk without someone bumping into her at every turn was something to look forward to.

Fifteen minutes later, the Company continued down the hallway before finally coming into the open chamber. Following the spot lamps, Elliah could see the ceiling far above. Multiple passages stretched out in each direction. It was going to take forever to scour this place if they had to cover every corridor. And still everywhere, the darkness seemed to seep in to envelop her.

Hurst handed his chart table to Merrick. The hololith display of the recycling facility showed they were in one of the maintenance hubs for the tunnels. Hurst pointed to one of the tunnels. "This one intersects at a second chamber here," he said. "They circle around one of the storage tank warehouses. That just so happens to have a direct link to the surface, just by the edge of the Lake Aradine reservoir. It's perfect for moving large numbers of troops from the undercity."

"Right, and then from there, it could let them spread throughout the upper spire," surmised Merrick. "That would also explain how they could attack inside and out at the same time. But that also means we could be facing a lot more cult boys than we thought."

Hurst looked grim. "Well," he sighed. "If we can identify them at least, then we can get word back to command, and they can collapse this place from above."

"With us in it."

Hurst ignored the comment. "It's about fifteen hundred meters east, Merrick. We can split into two groups to take the warehouse from both sides."

"Sounds right. Let's get them ready." Merrick turned to the company. "Okay, we're going to split into two teams. Half and half, one group goes with me, the other with Hurst. We'll cover more ground that way without sacrificing firepower. Remer, Alek, you're with me, Kippler and Vornas are with Hurst. Everyone else, fall in."

The Artemians split into two groups. Merrick continued. "The dogs probably have themselves dug in around one of the storage tank warehouses. It'll be open, but I fully expect them to be waiting for us. Flamers and Meltas in the front, and don't be shy with grenades. Any traitor loving dog you see gets a bolt through the eyes, got it? Let's move."

Merrick's night vision goggles really helped with the darkness. The Artemians were stuck with flashlights and flamers, but there was little he could do about it. Ahead, the dripping passageway opened up, allowing the detachment to fan out. Underneath their feet, the sound of running water told Merrick they were getting close.

"So Alek, looks like you've got a new one." said Remer, eyeing Alek's hand. "Where'd you pick up this latest cut?"

"Surgeon's knife," said Alek. "slashed my palm."

"Well, just another one for the collection then, eh? A cut like that, what would you say, two weeks?"

"Two seconds if you don't shut up." said Merrick. Remer had started the squad's trend of treating every supposedly fatal injury that Alek survived as another year they'd live. So far, they were up to ten. "You can compare later. Eyes forward."

Hurst's voice came over the vox. "Merrick, we managed to pull up some more floor plans for the old waterways. You should be coming up to one of the storage tanks if the plans are accurate. It'll be on your right."

Water sloshed under their feet as they continued. "Getting wet here, Hurst. I'd say you're right. It's also getting brighter up ahead. The water's green." The water flowing along the side of the walkway had a faint green glow to it. It was throwing off a surprising amount of light.

"Hmm, must have been a chemical leak somewhere," said Hurst. "I wouldn't touch it, it's probably flammable. Emperor knows what toxins it could release if ignited."

"Roger that Hurst, keep me posted." He turned to the troopers following him. "Spread out. We've got more room and more light. No sense in us huddling together waiting for a grenade to drop."

He raised his hellgun, flanked by Remer and Alek. Behind him, the Artemians split into their fire teams. They rounded the corner on their right. There should have been a doorway there, leading into the warehouse. Instead, there was a large, gaping hole, scarred black from an explosive charge.

"I like what they've done with the place boss." whispered Remer. "A bit much, but the black trim is quite nice."

"Shut it, Remer. On three." Merrick, Alek and Remer planted themselves on either side of the former doorway. "One, two, three!"

The Daredevils sprinted into the room, Remer firing a grenade into the darkness where the cultists might be hiding. A sharp crack responded to their entry. Merrick was caught in the chest by a las bolt, blasting him off his feet.

The room suddenly was illuminated by lasgun fire. Elliah instinctively ducked as the lasers pierced through the air around her. Beside her, Roland had yanked Fenn down onto the slimy, wet surface of the floor. She dropped down beside them, her lasgun ready to fire.

The Hounds had come out from behind the water tanks. The moment after Sergeant Merrick had dropped, dozens of the black armoured fiends rose from their hiding spots, gunning down the Artemians as they desperately rushed for cover. Several Artemians were killed instantly. The rest had consolidated together and had begun to fire back at the cultists.

"Flamers to the front!" shouted Polris above Elliah. Manrey and Jurek brought their flamers forward, the thick trails of flame snaking out towards the heretics. Four hounds were caught in the flames, their flesh melting into their armour. One of the men, still aflame, started to run towards them, screaming at the top of his lungs. Elliah filled the man with shot after shot, but he kept running.

Polris pulled out his bayonet, attaching it to his carbine. The burning man leapt at the sergeant, flying through the air. Polris dropped to his knee and braced the gun against his chest, pointing upwards. The Hound was skewered on his spike. The cultist flailed his burning arms, trying to grasp at Polris's face. Polris pushed the man aside, ripping his mask off as he did. He immediately wished he hadn't.

There was no face underneath, just a swirling mass of flesh that bled and pulsated. A gaping maw with sharp teeth emerged from the horrible swirling chaos, and latched onto Polris' head. Elliah could only watch while the Hound mauled her sergeant. Polris' screams were muffled as the Hound swallowed his head, lifting the man off the ground with the bayonet still embedded in its chest.

The stunned Guardsmen looked on in terror as the mutated heretic lifted Polris's writing body into the air, blood spewing from its mouth.

"What are you waiting for?" snarled Manrey. "Shoot the blasted thing! Kill it now!"

The Artemians poured las fire into the flaming hellspawn. Polris was dead, and the beast would soon turn to them. Elliah managed to shear its left leg from the body, dropping the Hound to the ground. The rest of the group pummelled its remains with shot after shot, until the monster lay motionless.

Merrick was on his side, breathing heavily. He felt a stinging pain in his chest where the shot had impacted. Looking up, he saw Alek crouching over him. "Just stay still sir! I can fix this if you stay calm!" the boy shouted, panicking. He turned his head left. Remer was covering them, lobbing grenade after grenade into the traitors, punctuating each shot with an insult.

"You bastards think you can just blast my fething boss?" *Boom.* "Think again, dogs!" *Boom.* "Oh I missed one, did it?" *Boom.* "Not anymore!"

Merrick winced, holding his side. It hurt to speak. "Alek, I can wait. Get on the line with Hurst, tell them to get the hell over here!"

Alek looked terrified, but he did what he was told. "Hurst, we have enemy contact! I repeat, we have enemy contact! Merrick is down! We're pinned down!"

The screaming Hounds mixed with the explosions of grenades and the piercing shriek of las fire to create a cacophony of noise that echoed through the tunnels. The traitors continued to pour into the room, while more Artemians kept dropping. Definitely more than they were cut out for, thought Merrick.

A slight hum filled his ears. Then, the noise of battle started to ebb away, being replaced again by that muffled silence from earlier that day. The, the laugh started. A hissing, metallic laughter filled with contempt, and growing ever louder. A voice spoke.

"Pathetic, loyalists. Truly pathetic. To think, we were pushed from this blasted planet mere months ago by the likes of you. Is this truly the greatest that the False Emperor can muster? No Blood Ravens will come to save you this time, whelps. You are alone, and I am your end."

Elliah ripped her helmet off, and pressed her hands to her ears, trying to block out the voice. It ripped at her mind, tearing at her sanity even as she struggled to block it out. Others were doing the same, ripping off their helmets and crying from the pain. The voice uttered that horrible laugh again.

"Oh, it is futile trying to ignore me, fools. Your minds are my playthings, your souls are my currency. What do you say, followers? Should I make an example for their parents to see?We must certainly leave something for their masters when they find their corpses."

A swirling purple mist filled the room, crackling with the energy of the Warp. From it emerged a massive figure, clad in robes with arcane heraldry, and wearing demonic armour adorned with the Eight Pointed Star. The Chaos Sorcerer exited the Warp portal, and looked across the chamber with a sadistic smile.

"My my, to think that weaklings such as yourself could best my brethren, let alone that fool Vandis's rabble." he said in a sickeningly patronizing tone. "I suppose your punishment should be more fitting of your stature than just a quick death, wouldn't you agree?"

The Sorcerer walked amidst the carnage, lifting screaming guardsmen into the air on tendrils of fire as he passed. "Know that I am Crowley, Sorcerer of the Black Legion. We were once two, now I am one. Only the strong survive, as I am sure you have all been taught. Allow me to continue your 'education'."

Merrick struggled to look up, still clutching the hole in his armour to stop the bleeding. It was those eyes. He remembered the eyes. That Sorcerer from Spire Legis. Those flaming red eyes were unmistakeable. It was him, still alive. Crowley stopped, staring down at him.

"You recognize me, whelp?" said the Sorcerer mockingly. "You wear the colours of those who drove us aside. Perhaps I recognize you as well." The flaming tendrils wrapped around Merrick, lifting him up to face the Sorcerer. His arms were pulled apart, his wound bleeding freely.

"Such courage, to look me in the eyes. Most usually turn aside when face with me. But not you, it seems. So disrespectful. I should fix that. Perhaps I will burn those eyes from your skull. Does that seem like an appropriate punishment for one who would look at me without fear?".

The mutants hollered their enthusiastic response. Remer and Alek looked on helplessly while the Sorcerer toyed with Merrick. Merrick grunted as the tendrils squeezed tighter, forcing the air out of his lungs. Crowley chuckled. "You heard them, whelp. Time to burn." Merrick spat in the marine's face. The Sorcerer's smile turned into a mask of rage. "I'll make sure it is slow."

Merrick found himself staring into two glowing red holes as the Sorcerer's energy made the air swirl and crackle around them. A deep, rumbling laughter filled his ears, thousands of sick and twisted voices joining in an unholy chorus. The sound resonated in his head. He kept his eyes open, not wishing to shut them. If this was to be his death, he'd face it without faltering. Merrick craned his neck forward and met the traitor's face with a steely glare.

"Gaze into oblivion."

CRACK.

Merrick hit the ground with a thud. Above, Crowley was stumbling backwards. A massive hole had been carved into his forehead, spilling that flaming red light like blood. A terrible roar erupted from the sorcerer's lips, a mixture of pain and rage.

CRACK.

This time, Merrick saw the shot, and recognized the noise. It was the sound of a Long Las Rifle, firing at full power. The bolt hit Crowley at a forty five degree angle, slicing his neck. Merrick looked up. Kippler was set up on one of the gantries overlooking the warehouse floor, loading a new energy cell into his sniper. Hurst, Vornas, and a hundred Artemians came bursting into the room, Lasguns firing on full auto.

The battle erupted once again. this time with the Imperials on the offensive. Elliah stumbled upright, pulling other troopers to their feet. Roland was shouting orders. "Cover the wounded! Get up come on! For the Emperor!"

Vornas ran over to the Daredevils. He grabbed Remer and Alek, hauling them to their feet. "Didn't think you'd be one to start a fight without me, Remer. I'm jealous. It seems I missed the fun."

Between blasts of his grenade launcher, Remer quipped back. "You should be extra jealous, Vornas. Someone got a shot off on the boss, and we got a class presentation from mister burning head over there."

"Oh that's different then." said Vornas. "I'm not jealous, just angry."

The Sorcerer's broken face continued to spew red light, but he was steadying himself. Dozens more Hounds and regular Vandis foot soldiers poured out from the tanks, whooping and screaming and firing their guns recklessly into the growing melee. Hurst ran one dog through with his bayonet before rifle butting a second. He eyed Merrick crawling along the ground, clutching his side. A trail of blood followed him. "Merrick, I'm coming!"

Hurst killed two more of the Hounds, sprinting to his downed friend. He skidded along the floor before coming to a stop beside Merrick. "It's alright, Merrick, I've got you." he said sternly. "We'll get you out of here as soon as we can!"

The sorcerer had stabilized himself, and what was left of his face contorted into an image of pure rage. "YOU DARE!? I AM CROWLEY, I AM ONE, I AM ETERNAL! EMBRACE THE WARP EVERLASTING!" His hands glowed with warpfire. Doombolts, psychic bursts of warp energy, shot from his fingertips, consuming dozens of the Artemians in unholy fire.

"Bring that fether down!" called one of the Artemian sergeants. A veritable light show of lasgun bolts convened on the Sorcerer, piercing his ceramite armour in several places, revealing more and more of that horrible, red glow. The Sorcerer swept his staff like a farmer's scythe, bisecting a group of guardsmen too close to him. Their bodies expanded and burst when they hit the floor, showering the chamber in blood.

Above, Kippler picked his targets carefully. His aim was unfaltering, and wherever a shot landed, it was soon followed by panic from the Hounds. Up here, he could see where the Hounds were coming from. Several of the water tanks were empty, and looked like they were being used to hold troops. More kept spilling out from further into the warehouse. None of them had taken to the gantry yet, letting him continue to harass them unimpeded.

The Artemians pulled back from the melee to distance themselves from Crowley's rage and the mutant cultists. Warpfire continued to cut through them, tearing apart soldiers effortlessly, but the Hounds were beginning to falter. Under the steady stream of las fire, they were more cautious, consolidating around their incensed leader. Elliah continued to trade shots with the hounds, staying low.

Remer and Vornas stood side by side. Vornas was going berserk, killing every heretic in his field of view, with no regards for his own safety. Wielding his grenade launcher like a blunt club, he crushed the head of a Vandis soldier with it, before throwing the broken weapon at the traitors.

A krak grenade burst inside the broken launcher, shrapnel piercing the supports for one of the water tanks. The tank collapsed, sending a cascade of green water sloshing across everyone. An errant flamer burst hit the surface, igniting the flammable chemicals. Suddenly, the whole room was aflame.

Remer turned casually to Vornas. "You finished yet? Or should we take out the ceiling supports to make you feel better?"

"I don't care, just melt these fethers!" he roared in response.

"I WILL REND YOU APART IN MIND AND BODY! YOU WILL NOT LEAVE HERE ALIVE!" screeched Crowley, now covered in flames and buckling under the repeated las fire. The sigils and markings across his armour were now twisted and mangled, and he looked less a figure of knowledge and power, and more a brute, barely containing his 'human' form. "WITNESS OBLIVION!"

Elliah began to feel the ground shake beneath her boots. The flaming water was swirling around the Sorcerer, the flames reaching ever higher the closer they were to the apex of the whirlpool. "Elliah, get back from there!" Fenn and Roland grabbed her arms, pulling her away from the growing vortex. The room was shaking, the rusting supports beginning to snap under the tension.

Kippler packed up his rifle and sprinted for the stairs. He reached the bottom just as the entire section ripped off, caught in the whirlwind. He rushed over to Hurst, and the two hauled Merrick to his feet. Hurst shouted to the remaining guardsmen. "Everyone, pull back! The place is going to collapse! Move, move!"

The Hounds and Vandis troops, confused by their imploding leader, ignored the danger and stared at the spectacle. As it expanded, they were dragged inwards, into the twisting inferno. Elliah stole one last glance behind her before sprinting for the exit. The Sorcerer was still visible in the middle, screaming with countless voices. She then rushed after Roland and Fenn into the darkness of the side tunnels. The blackness seemed much more enticing now.

"Come on, faster, faster!" shouted Hurst, moving as quickly as he could without hurting Merrick. The Daredevils were the last ones out. Remer, Alek and Vornas were up ahead corralling the Artemians forward. He and Soras were bringing up the rear, hauling Merrick.

"Kippler, melta bombs!" said Hurst. Kippler nodded without a word. Turning back, he lobbed two explosives back into the chamber. Without looking back, they ran.

Inside the chamber, amidst the flames and swirling energies of the warp, the currents of wind caught the two melta bombs, drawing them into the center of the mass. Circling Lord Crowley as if caught in a drain, the melta bombs spun closer and closer. Finally, one of the devices struck the Marine in the remnants of his face.

Several hundred yards away, the fleeing Guardsmen heard the deafening blast. Then, the tunnel was filled with a huge blast of dust and water, swiftly overtaking them. Then all was silent.

Two hours passed in the darkness. The remains of the company made their way back to the Administratum Complex's lower levels. There was a sound up ahead. The weary guardsmen readied their weapons, prepared to take another attack. Exhausted, Hurst called ahead. "Identify yourself!"

A familiar voice responded. "Imperial Guard, 85th Vendoland! Respond!"

"Imperial Guard!" said Hurst, a smile growing across his face. "4th Grenadiers and 31st Artemian!"

The sound of footsteps echoed through the halls. Elliah and her squad could see spot lamps and helmet lights in the distance, coming closer. When they arrived, she was greeted with the faces of Gren and Flinn, along with several more soldiers wearing Vendoland green. She breathed a sigh of relief, and slumped against the wall in exhaustion. They were safe.

Flinn smiled. "Fancy meeting you down here, miss. I think I mentioned that we should grab a drink. You still up for it?" He offered her his hand.

Elliah accepted his grip, and he hauled her to her feet. "I think I'll take you up on it."

"Wonderful," he beamed.

"Make that two of us, lad." said Gren softly. Merrick slowly turned his head upwards, and gave a weak smile.

"It's good to see you, Gren."

Gren returned the smile. "And you, friend."

The Dark Future

"I assumed he would last longer than that." said the figure. The warrior before him stared out the shattered window across the burning remains of Hive Urizen. "I am disappointed."

"Crowley was a fool, and his arrogance was his undoing. He is no great loss. He served his purpose."

"Are you sure of that, my Lord Hassan?" said the hooded man. "In every way, his plan failed utterly. What do we gain from his delusions?"

"Without Aleister, he was nothing but a pawn." explained Zephus-Hassan coldly. "I let him think he was on his own, the last great hope for the Black Legion to turn around a failed crusade. Crowley's failure only serves to strengthen us. It was sufficiently distracting for our Imperial neighbours. The panic caused by his little escapade drew back their forces watching Spire Legis. What they took from us by the lives of thousands, we took back without effort."

"You are quick to use your brothers to your own ends, my lord." said the robed man.

"He was not my brother." snapped Hassan. The robed man recoiled. "I do not share that misguided sense of kinship with others. All that matters is that Crowley is dead, and the Imperium knows we are still here. Let them gather. Let them lick their wounds. I matters little."

"Of course, Hassan."

"Listen to me, worm. I want you to be ready when I call, understand? You will be used, just as he was. And when I call, you will answer, and you will play your part."

"Yes, my lord. For what you have offered me, I would give nothing less than my life. It is a small price to pay."

"Good. Then I leave you to your games. Everything that transpires from this day forward is merely a means to an end. And unlike fools such as Crowley or Vandis, I have the virtue of patience. Go now, I wish to be alone."

The robed man bowed, and quit himself of the room. Hassan looked down over the ruins of the Spire. Whether it took a single spire or the entire planet, he would attain his goal. The target was in his sights. Only the field needed preparing.

CITY SLUMBER, MIDNIGHT THUNDER

Road Rage

"Talon 3 reporting in, sweep completed. No suspicious activity."

"Talon 4 reporting in, minor activity, nothing serious."

Dorin sat in the cockpit of his Sentinel, listening to the vox as his squadron sounded off. It was late, and Talon Squadron had been on duty for the past eight hours. He yawned, rubbing his eyes. Things had been quiet lately. Routine scouting runs between Capital Spire and Spire Legis were his day to day business. He had lost count of how many times they'd done this run.

Ever since the Black Legion invasion, Spire Legis had become a hotspot for cultist activity. While the initial push by the Vendoland regiments had temporarily brought it back under control, things soon fell apart once again. Nowadays, attacks on Legis were more of a containment effort, to keep them from spilling over into the other regions before the Guard could muster enough troops to stamp them out permanently.

"Talon 6 reporting in, sweep finished. No new activity."

Dorin spoke. "Roger that, all Talons fall in, we're heading home." He fired up with Sentinels engine, and the large spotlamp cast a bright light immediately ahead of him. Turning around, Dorin pushed the Sentinel into a steady jog along the raised boulevard. Between the towering hive spires, the cityscape of Meridian was much flatter. A person could view the steady incline of raised buildings the closer to the center they got, but for the most part, things were low to the ground.

It was convenient for sure. When they weren't dealing with the Vandis heretics, Guardsmen on Meridian had to deal with the constant threat of Ork looters, as well as the occasional Eldar scouting party. The elevated roadways and flat ground gave them the chance to spot ambushes before they happened. It never hurt to be too careful.

Dorin caught sight of another Talon's spotlamp, and he moved to join him. Other lights across the landscape homed in as well. Before long, all six Sentinels had regrouped. The sky was completely dark now. With all vital electricity going to the main spires, the streetlamps were dead, and they had to rely on their own lights for guidance. Moving at a quick pace along the highway, the glowing lights reaching into the clouds marked Capital Spire's location in the distance.

The squadron was making good time. Dorin was looking forward to a nice shot of amnesac, a couple rounds of Regicide, and a long, warm bath. After eight hours inside a cramped cockpit with barely enough room to scratch himself, small comforts felt like the blessing of the Emperor himself.

"Talon 1, this is Talon 5. I have movement on my scanner." Dorin was snapped out of his thoughts, immediately alert.

"Talon 5, identify them. What is it?" he ordered. It could be an Ork party, and that was the last thing he wanted to deal with at night.

"Looks like... fifteen signatures. They're civilian vehicles sir: One hauler, five half tracks, and nine personal transports."

Dorin frowned. "They're out after curfew. Talon Squadron, fan out across the highway and power up your spotlamps. We'll halt them for questioning."

"Roger that sir." responded the drivers. The bipedal walkers spread out to cover the lanes. Lighting up their spotlamps, the highway was illuminated for a good 300 yards. The incoming group of vehicles slowed down and stopped before the squadron. The Talons trained their multilasers on the bigger vehicles. Dorin unlocked his top hatch, and clambered out, laspistol in hand. His vox speaker amplified his voice.

"Attention, Imperial citizens. You are in violation of curfew. Exit your vehicles and identify yourselves for questioning. Failure to comply will be met with deadly force."

There was no response from the convoy. No hatches opened, nobody stepped forward. Frustrated, Dorin continued. "This is your last warning, identify yourselves, or suffer the consequences of your actions."

Still no reply. Dorin dropped into his seat. "Talon 3, fire a warning shot across the hauler. Show them we mean business."

"Roger sir." The sentinel snapped off a multilaser shot, missing the hauler's cabin by inches. That ought to make them see reason, thought Dorin. The door to the hauler opened, and a person stepped out onto the truck's side platform. Dorin spoke into his vox again.

"Raise your hands and turn to face us. If you do not comply, you will be fired upon."

The man stepped into the light. He was nothing special. He wore a heavy coat that somehow still struggled to keep his fat contained. The man was silent. "Identify yourself," ordered Dorin.

The driver still said nothing. He just turned to his cab and nodded. Far ahead on the highway, there was a flash of light that temporarily backlit the convoy resting in front of the Sentinels. Then, the explosions started.

A missile slammed into the side of Talon 3, the blast knocking the walker off its feet and setting it alight. A second hit the ground in front of Talon 2, engulfing the Sentinel in the explosion. Several more missiles began falling all around the Sentinel squadron, who promptly began backpedalling out of the impact zone.

"Talon Squadron, return fire!" shouted Dorin, "Convoy is hostile, I repeat, convoy is hostile!"

The transport's headlights activated, and the vehicle began to accelerate forward. The hauler took up half the highway, while the rest of the civilian vehicles fell in behind the behemoth.

"Talons, turn tail! Get out of its path!" shouted Dorin. Desperately, he turned his Sentinel about and pushed it into a full run. The hauler was gaining on them. Talons 5 and 6 were too slow to start, and the hauler smashed into them like a freight train, running down the fragile walkers and smashing their cockpits under its heavy wheels. Only Dorin and Talon 4 remained, sprinting at a breakneck pace to outrun the hauler.

"Jump the divide, quick!" he shouted. The hauler was nipping at the Sentinel's heels. Their only chance would be to jump the divide between the separated highway, and get back to the Spire. It was a narrow chasm, but to fail meant dropping to certain death. Between falling three stories and being crushed under an industrial shipping vehicle, Dorin was weighing his options.

There was a bend coming up in the highway. This was their chance. The jump was a straight shot for them now. Dorin pushed his walker to its limits, the foot claws barely touching the ground before springing forward again. He looked behind him, and smiled. The Hauler would have to slow down to take the turn, and they'd get away. Dorin slammed the throttle forward as far as it would go. Reaching the corner, the two remaining Sentinels pushed off the ground, making their leap.

Dorin was aware of a number of things happening at once. He felt the sound of his heartbeat, the hum of the Sentinel's engine, and the sinking feeling in his chest when he realized that the Hauler wasn't stopping. The two sentinels were halfway across the chasm when the Hauler struck them from behind.

Talon 4 was clipped by the hauler, sending it tumbling below. Dorin's walker was hit like a bug on a windshield, pressed against the hauler's blunt fenders. The truck smashed into the road on the other side, skidding to a halt. Dorin was thrown forward from the fender, sliding into the rockrete barrier on the other side. The force of the crash threw him from his seat headfirst into the canopy. Something snapped in his body, and he couldn't feel anything below his neck. The tumbling wreck eventually came to a stop.

Smoke rose out of the crumpled Sentinel. Dorin couldn't move his body at all. His spine had severed, he was paralyzed. The adrenaline was wearing off, and he was slipping into shock. The last thing Dorin saw in his fading vision was the truck driver holding a gun, aimed at his head.

A Little Scrap Never Hurts

"I must say, it is surprising how quickly situations can change, isn't it?" said Wadden Hurst. "I suppose we have the Emperor to thank for that." Hurst took a sip of wine, and reclined in his high backed chair. The Officer's Club was a nice change from the dusty streets, and he relished the chance to wear his dress uniform.

"Indeed, Sergeant." said Brigadier General Tullassar Derim. "I find that in the grand scheme of things, fate tends to lend its hand to those who rig the deck in their favour. Were it not for our contributions in solidifying a defensive hold on the Capital Spire, things might have turned out much differently."

The other officers nodded in agreement. Beside Hurst, Alek was fidgeting in his seat. Sergeant Hurst had invited him to come along, and he'd been too nervous to say no. Hurst himself had been invited by General Derim. So he was an invitee for an invitee. That made things awkward for Alek. He looked down at the grox steak in front of him, barely touched. His cybernetic fingers gripped a dinner knife, and he reluctantly cut himself a slice.

Colonel Orias Nolt spoke. "I don't think you give our men enough credit, General. While our initiative was indeed a deciding factor, I remain confident that we would have been able to hold out for a long enough time on our own."

"You're too proud, Orias." said Tullassar sternly. "There is one thing to be proud of your own men, and another to spit in the faces of those who offer you help. I'll not stand for inter-regimental rivalries."

"Of course, General." said Orias. The man's hawk like features betrayed any sincerity in his apology. Alek resented him for it, but he kept to himself.

Hurst turned to the other officers, "Commander Lorald, your Dyneemek detachment was the first to arrive after the Artemians, yes? What do you make of the situation?"

Lorald stroked his moustache thoughtfully. "I'd say it is a grim scene. I mean, this meal is a nice comfort, but the regular soldiers go out to die by the hundreds every day. I'm sure you understand that personally Sergeant. I know what it means to lead people to war, but something doesn't feel right about this place. It feels like there's something else at work here that we cannot see. Something behind the scenes, I feel. It makes me uneasy."

'"Behind the scenes?"' laughed one of the Corinthian Officers, "Is there someone behind the curtain over there running the show?"

The whole table burst into laughter. Lorald glared at them, but he stayed silent. It wasn't worth arguing with drunken fools. Hurst's vox bead started ringing in his pocket. He sighed. "Excuse me for one moment." he said, standing up from the table. He walked behind a row of decorative plants for some privacy.

"Hurst here, what is it?"

"Hurst? It's Captain Uther. I'm trying to reach Merrick, but he isn't responding on his vox link. Do you have any idea where he is?"

Hurst shook his head. "No sir, I'm not sure where he is. I could pass the message along for you."

"That would be excellent, Sergeant. I appreciate it. Make sure to tell Merrick about how difficult this was for you."

Hurst smiled. "Will do sir."

"Again, thank you, Sergeant."

Hurst sighed. So much for a nice dinner, it seemed. He sat back down at the table. "I'm sorry gentlemen, but I must take my leave, I have to relay a message to my colleague, Sergeant Merrick."

Alek looked up from his food. "I could take it, sergeant," he offered. "I know where Sergeant Major Merrick is too."

"You would do that, Alek?"

"Yes sir, it's no problem at all!" said the boy, almost too enthusiastically. His eyes were pleading to Hurst to let him go. The sergeant smiled and shook his head.

Hurst chuckled. "Very well then, off you go. Tell the Sergeant Major the trouble you had to go through, put him on edge a bit."

"Will do sir." said Alek, half sprinting to the exit. The officers watched him trip over a vase of flowers in his rush to leave. "I'm alright!" he called. They gave a collective hmph, and went back to their conversation.

"That boy has a mean streak of bad luck, doesn't he?"

Hurst whistled. "Oh, like you wouldn't believe."

"Come on Merrick! Kick his ass!"

Merrick ducked under the Catachan's swing, and planted his fist in the man's gullet. The giant staggered back from the blow, but didn't fall. The two circled each other in the small, caged off ring. Sweat poured down Merrick's back. They had fought nonstop for ten minutes, and it was beginning to take its toll on both of them. The crowd cheered them on, bets were placed, drinks were spilled, and fights broke out. This was The Bunker, where the infantry went on their off duty hours. The Catachan sprung forward again.

He was a big man, with dark black skin. The Catachans were expert jungle fighters, and they were waiting to ship out to Typhon any day. They spent their spare time drinking and fighting in the pit rings, taking on all comers. He sidestepped the Catachan and kicked him from behind, pushing him into the cage's metal bars. Merrick leapt onto his opponent's back, and grabbed him in a full nelson. The Catachan suddenly threw his head back, bashing Merrick in the face.

Merrick recoiled from the blow. The next punch hit him in the nose with a sickening crunch. He found his legs swept out from under him, and he landed on the ground hard. The Catachan raised his hands in victory, and stood over Merrick, smiling. He kicked him in the side. "Get up, our fight ain't over yet."

Merrick coughed, but smiled right back at him. "Actually, I think it is." Merrick's foot shot out and caught the bigger man squarely in the groin. A painful gasp went through the crowd. The Catachan wheezed out a pained moan while Merrick scrambled to his feet. Balling his hands together, Merrick brought his fists down on the back of the Catachan's head. The man dropped like a stone, whimpering on the floor. Merrick took a deep breath, and pounded his fist in the air. The crowd cheered, and the winners collected their bets.

Alek arrived at the Bunker, and gently pushed his way through the crowd. The air was smoky, and it smelled of piss, but he felt more comfortable here in the crowded bar than at some sterile, upper class dinner party. On his left he saw the fighter's pits, lowered into the ground. The Bunker was set up with a balcony overlooking the fighter's pits, and a wide walkway encircling the center.

He heard someone call his name. Looking up, he saw Borik Vornas and Lenham Remer waving to him from the upper level. They were shouting something at him, but with all the noise, he figured it would be better to see them in person than to try long distance communication. Weaving through the mixed crowds and up the stairs, he found his way to his squad mates. Kippler was sitting at their booth, wiping down his bayonet. He grinned when he saw Alek stumble towards them.

"Lost your appetite, Alek?" he asked.

"Sort of," said Alek, grabbing a drink as he sat down. "Got a message from Captain Uther, and I offered to send it along to Merrick. The officers made me a little jumpy. Smelly and gritty is what living's supposed to be like, not fancy dress uniforms."

Vornas stepped back from the railing and slapped Alek on the shoulder. "That's more Hurst's style anyways," he laughed. "If his blood were any bluer, we'd call him a Tau!"

Kippler snickered. "That's true enough. Tully seems to like him, not many NCOs get to play dress up with Generals. "

Alek looked around. "Where is Merrick anyways?" he asked.

Kippler tilted his head towards the railing. Remer was shouting at the top of his lungs. "Come on Boss! Break his fething jaw! I've got fifty thrones on the line, you realize? Drop him hard!"

Alek peered over the edge. Sure enough, Merrick was down in the fighter's pit, now squaring off against Mad Hound Manrey from the 31st Artemians. Merrick was the bigger of the two, while Manrey was hunched over like an ape. Merrick grabbed the surly man's knee as it was brought up and twisted it sideways, flipping Manrey over in midair. Down on the ground, he stomped the Mad Hound in the chest. Manrey gasped for air. The crowd burst out cheering again.

"Yeah, that's right you frakking monkey!" shouted Remer, whooping with glee at the prospect of his winnings. "Nobody messes with the Boss! Adamantium grade balls, he has!"

Merrick was sweating hard. Stripped to his undershirt, his clothes were drenched. He'd had enough for one night. He pushed through the adoring crowds. The chants were nice, but he had to call it quits for now. Clambering up the stairs, he plunked himself down with the rest of the Daredevils, grabbing Alek's glass and taking a long swig. He scratched his side irritably.

"You know sarge, it won't heal if you keep peeling it off." chastised Kippler.

Merrick groaned. "Ah, I don't care, Kippler. I never liked synthflesh anyways. How was the fight from up here?"

Remer hopped down from the railing. "Well, I'm up a hundred thrones, thanks to you, Boss. You sure you couldn't get another round in there? Three for three and I'd buy us a night at the Guardswomen's barracks." Noticing who was approaching, he continued, "Or, one kiss from everyone's favourite Commissar. Would you be up for that, ma'am?"

Commissar Connor stood there with a look of curious disgust for Remer. "If I was on duty, private, I'd see you shot for that remark. I'll let it slide this time."

Connor wasn't in uniform. She simply wore a plain black officer's jacket with the red sash, but nothing formal. She wasn't here on business, thought Merrick. "So, ma'am, what brings you to The Bunker this fine evening?"

"Rest, recuperation, and refining my feel for the infantry." she said, sitting down.

Merrick frowned. "You psychoanalyze your troops on your time off?"

"Yes, I find it helps to understand what makes them tick before I am told to lead them into a warzone."

Remer cut in. "And there's no better way to do that than to share a couple drinks with the regiment's most handsome member, right miss?"

"Go soak your head, private."

"I thought the Captain was getting that treatment already..." muttered Remer.

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that, private. Drop it."

Alek perked up at the mention of the Captain. "Oh, that reminds me, Sergeant. Hurst wanted me to relay a message to you from Captain Uther. It sounded important."

Merrick sighed. "It never ends, does it? Fine, I'll take the message. You want to come along, ma'am? If it's important you should probably hear it as well."

"I agree, Sergeant Major. You lead the way."

Dawn was beginning to creep over the Spire, the first few rays of light penetrating the darkness of the lower levels. It was only marginally cooler outside. The Bunker was on the lower levels of the Capital Spire, near the heat distribution plant. The air was heavy and wet. Merrick took his vox bead from his pocket and attached it to his ear. Connor did the same, and switched to his frequency.

"Merrick here, what's this about Captain?"

"Merrick, Get your squad up to HQ, and get them prepped for an assignment. We've got a situation that needs to be dealt with."

"Right sir, we're on our way."

The Administratum Complex seemed to change function every time Merrick visited the place. It was either a refugee camp, a military headquarters, or a half abandoned warehouse. Sometimes it was even an office building. Right now, it looked like a mixture of everything.

The Daredevils had geared up during the ride over, now wearing their full carapace armour. The dull green paint job was chipped and worn from the constant combat of the last year. It was only now that they had managed to get a real break from combat for any amount of time.

The 85th Vendoland were now the lead scouts for the entirety of Meridian's armed forces. Merrick figured that that's what Uther wanted them for. Some Vandis troops were probably spotted trying to cross the dead zone between the spires, so they'd have to go in and check it out for a potential attack.

They found Uther in the communications room. Hurst was already there in full kit. The wide, low ceilinged chamber was lit by the glowing blue charts emanating from the dozen tactical map tables spread throughout the room. Comm officers and servitors bustled around the tables, inspecting archaic paper maps beside state of the art holocharts.

"Right, what's the job, Captain?" said Merrick, pushing his way to the table. The charts were showing the area between the Capital and Legis, commonly known as the Dead Zone. It was a flat industrial wasteland, completely abandoned during the Tyranid invasion, and now acting as a buffer between the two warring Spires. Uther marked a spot on the map, an elevated highway.

"Four hours ago, we picked up a distress call from one of the Kydoran Sentinel Squadrons. Apparently, they were attacked by civilian vehicles moving through the dead zone, and they managed to kill his entire squadron."

Merrick frowned. "Why'd they leave him then?"

"He told us his Sentinel was clipped in midair, and he fell down the chasm separating the lanes of the road. So far as they knew, he had died."

'Command wants the 85th Vendoland to scout the area out, in case the Vandis forces are setting up shop in the Dead Zone. If they are, we need someone to mark out the areas for bombardment and air strikes."

"And that's where we come in, is it?" said Merrick.

"Precisely, sergeant major. The Artemian 6th Urban Brigade has been assigned to the mission as well. They will provide transportation for the operation. Your units appear to work well together. Additionally, the Kydorans wish to avenge their comrades, and have offered a Sentinel squadron for support."

"That should give us enough guns in case things get hairy." said Merrick with a wry smile. We'll head down to the loading bay."

"Good luck sergeant major. May the Emperor guide us to victory."

Old Faces, New Threats

The Munitorium bay was a cavernous hole carved into the northern side of Capital Spire. The troopers had taken to calling it "The Gulch." The Gulch was serving as the drop-off point for the Imperial forces deployed to Meridian. The floor of the bay was teeming with activity, trucks steadily moving in and out of the Gulch, laden down with munitions.

. Merrick and the Daredevils were busy loading their gear into the recon vehicles. Merrick looked up to see the Artemian company approaching them. He recognized some of their faces. A grin crept across his face when he saw the man leading them. The dark skinned man shook his hand and returned the smile.

'Good to see you again, Corporal,' said Merrick.

'That's actually Sergeant now, sir,' corrected Roland. 'Artemian policy. If your officer is killed in action, you automatically assume his post. If you survive the engagement, the promotion is made official.'

'Huh, doesn't sound very efficient. You could end up with someone like Castille in charge.' Merrick let the disdain for that name drip from his words. "Just don't get your head ripped off, alright?"

Roland smiled. "I'll do my best sir."

The recon group's vehicles included Salamanders, bikes, and several Tauros jeeps, all coated with the blue grey pattern the Artemians wore for urban combat. The Kydoran Sentinels stood in stark contrast, with a garish yellow paint job better suited to irradiated deserts than cityscapes.

Remer and Vornas were lifting a multi las power pack onto the Salamander, chatting. "Looks like we get to fight with the boys in blue again, eh Bor? Fancy that, a mixed gender regiment, you don't think that one lass recognizes me, do you?"

"Which one?" muttered Vornas, grabbing another pack. "The tall leggy one who planted her boot in your face, or that little raven haired girl that took a shine to old Gren?"

"You know the one, that Fayden gal. Ellie, Elle, or something like that."

"So the second one," said Vornas. "Who also punched you in the stomach, and isn't interested in the slightest."

"That's just what you think, Bor. One day you will see I'm right."

Vornas scoffed. "The day that happens is the day you will get Connor into bed."

"Sooner than you think, Vornas."

"Whatever."

Hurst emerged from the driver's cabin. "Pack it up, we're moving out in five minutes," he said. "Don't want to keep the cultists waiting any longer than we have to."

The Artemians loaded onto their vehicles and began to head out. Merrick clambered into the back of the Salamander, closing the hatch behind him and cloaking the squad in darkness. The scout pulled them into line behind the others. The driver called back to the Daredevils over the vox. "The name's Torvin. I hope you don't mind, but I've been told to tell you to hold onto something."

Before Merrick could respond, the engine revved, the Salamander lurching forward and knocking him off balance. Torvin let out a whoop as they veered around the corner of the Gulch, one set of treads in the air. Capital Spire slowly leveled out into the flat expanses of the Dead Zone. The convoy had passed from the safety of the spire into an open warzone.

It was midday by the time the group reached the site of the attack. The endless roads and suburbs of the upper hab spires were monotonous but deadly. Every street could be an ambush, every city block a potential trap. It was slow going until they reached the highway. Up here above the sprawl, they were more exposed, but the Guard's air superiority kept them relatively safe.

The convoy came to a stop in front of the scene, fanning out to cover the entire road. Torvin pulled the Salamander to a stop beside one of the twisted Sentinels. Merrick and the Daredevils filed out of the darkened cabin onto a sun scorched expanse of asphalt. The Artemian Captain dropped from his vehicle and began issuing orders.

"Get to work pulling whatever you can from the cockpits," he said. "Have you got a tech specialist, Vendolanders? We can share the data."

Hurst stepped forward. "We don't technically have a specialist, but there's nothing a knife and some steady hands can't handle. I'll get started on the first Sentinel."

The pilots were still inside, their corpses trapped in the crushing metal embrace of their smashed cockpits. The cultists were too lazy to haul them out, but they had taken the time to carve sigils and unholy glyphs into their exposed skulls. Hurst steeled himself and crawled in.

The smell was terrible. Rak beetles had already begun boring into the poor soul's body, secreting a foul smelling odour as they did. Hurst flipped out his combat knife and slid the blade into a crease in the console, prying the auspex scanner loose. Pulling himself out of the wreckage, scanner in hand, he moved onto the next sentinel, doing the same.

The sun was sweltering, the light reflecting heat off of the rockrete surface of the road. Hurst sat in the shadow of Torvin's Salamander, and started working on the scanners. Using his knife like a screwdriver, Hurst pulled the casings off. Stepping inside the Salamander, he connected the exposed ports of the scanner to the vehicle's onboard cogitator. A blue light emanated from the vehicle's video screen.

"Right, what have we got, Waddy?" said Merrick, looking over Hurst's handiwork.

"I thought you'd stopped calling me that," muttered Hurst. "Still, I think we've got something. I'll start the playback."

The video screen showed a somewhat garbled transmission of the Sentinel's recordings. The squadron had come to a halt along the highway, where they were confronted by several vehicles. The squadron leader was calling to them, when the whole scene became backlit by something behind the convoy. Moments later, the image began shaking from the impact shockwaves of a missile barrage. The camera turned tail and began moving swiftly along the highway after three other Sentinels. The image cut to static soon after.

Hurst unplugged the scanner and set it on his lap. "Well, that explains what happened to them. Now all we need to do is find out why, and where those trucks were going."

Modren carefully pushed his sentinel over the rubble strewn across the highway. The weakened surface was cracked and depressed where years of wear had taken their toll. Modren was itching for a fight. He wanted these pricks to pay for spilling Kydoran blood. Fresh tread marks lead away from the site, leading towards the large hab block dominating the southern length of the highway. This could be it.

He spoke into his vox. "Dragoons 16 and 17, report back to Command. We've got a potential lead on the target's source."

The pilots signed off before peeling away from the squadron. "The rest of you, follow my lead. No sense in leading our allies into a death trap without scouting it out first."

The rest of the sentinels continued to drive towards the Hab block. The Dead zone had been left to decay during the Black Legion's invasion, and the continued insurgency had left the region to languish without recovery efforts. The hab block was pockmarked with gaping holes and crumbling buttresses, exposing its innards to the harsh sunlight.

The squadron came to a stop on an outcropping overlooking the building. Modren powered up his auspex and began a scan. The whole area was supposed to be abandoned. Of course that wouldn't stop urchins crawling in wherever they could. But then, urchins didn't carry high grade military equipment, like the ones that were sounding alerts across his console. They'd found them.

"Not the smartest if they didn't decide to relocate after pulling a stunt like they did." remarked Hurst. "I doubt it's Vandis troops. They're too smart for this. It's probably just a cultist cell, or they're offworlders like us and don't know the territory."

Hurst passed the binoculars over to Roland. The Artemian pressed them to his eyes. "What am I looking for, exactly?"

Hurst angled the binoculars for Roland. "See that entrance, between the two winged buttresses? That's where the Kydorans saw their signatures. Lots of munitions in there. Merrick, give me the map, would you?" Merrick passed the hololith chart to Hurst. "Here we are, Hab Block Altis. It looks like this was one of the PDF munitions dumps from the Coalition War. It's been abandoned for nearly six years according to Imperial records."

"Could they have found something inside?" asked Roland. "Was anything left behind?"

"Possibly," said Merrick. "The Vendoland Regiments were moved in after the war to aid in the recovery efforts, but we never did find every cache. We were dispersed over the subsector. Look at all the good that did us."

"I've got movement," said Kippler, not looking up from his scope. "Three, second floor, just passed by the crumbled section."

"Can you ID them, Soras?" said Hurst, peering over the lip of the outcropping. The sniper shook his head.

"Too fast to tell," he said. "No heraldry though. The Cultists like big spikes and I didn't see any."

Merrick spoke. "Roland, vox Captain Dalton. See what he wants done."

Alek pulled up his Vox kit, handing the caster to Roland as he dialed in the frequencies.

"Captain, this is sergeant Emol. The Vendolanders have confirmed the Kydoran's suspicions. They don't appear to have any outer defences, but the interior may be set up for an ambush. What are your orders?"

"Send the Daredevils in first, then follow at your own discretion," said Dalton. "I don't want this getting out of hand, so we will lock down this Hab Block if we have to."

"Understood Commander, Sergeant Emol out."

"Hey, Sergeant Hurst, I have a question."

Hurst sighed. "What is it, Private Remer?"

"Well, I don't act like I'm a military genius or anything, but a sergeant is a non-commissioned title right?"

"Yes."

"And Sergeant Major is the highest non-commissioned title you can get, right?"

Hurst rolled his eyes. "Yes, what's your point, Private?"

"Well, it was just on my mind sir, but how did you manage to get into that officer's dinner last night? I thought you needed to be a ranking official."

"If you must know, Private, General Derim invited me."

"Oh." said Remer, somewhat subdued.

"Did my answer disappoint you somehow, Private?"

"Well," started Remer. "It just seems rather boring, really. We were having bets on how you managed it. Kippler guessed that you'd tampered with a servitor to put you on the reservation. Vornas was betting on bribery."

"And what did you think, Remer?" said Hurst icily.

"I was guessing that you broke into a grox pen, set them loose in the kitchens, thus causing enough chaos that the servitors would be called to help the chefs capture all of them before they eat the entrees. After that, you would knock a lieutenant unconscious and steal his uniform, but the uniform is too small! So your commanding officer comes up to you and demands to know what you are doing, and reprimands you for uniform violations, but you head butt him and steal his uniform instead! Then you break into the dinner and nobody's the wiser. It's the perfect infiltration!"

There was an awkward silence as the squad kept walking. Hurst eventually spoke. "Just how drunk were you three last night?"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," mumbled Remer.

"Remer, if you put as much effort into practical things as you did with your imagination, you'd be the next Patron Saint of the Imperial Guard."

"Much obliged, Sarge."

Hurst rolled his eyes again, and clipped on his gas mask. Merrick just chuckled and kept walking. Annoying as Remer could be, his eccentricities could be amusing. Merrick thought back to one of his earlier stories. Something about Space Marines riding on bears, whatever the hell those were.

A side entrance to the Hab Block presented itself. It was a small door, no bigger than a maintenance hatch, the same dull grey colour as everything else on Meridian. Flanking the door were Remer and Vornas. Kippler had his Long Las trained on the entrance, while Hurst applied the detonator. The device burst, blasting the door off its hinges and propelling it inwards. Vornas lobbed a flash bang inside, and the Daredevils piled in.

The room was clear. Steadily moving through the smaller antechambers, Merrick's men delved deeper into the abandoned Hab Block. The hallways were dimly lit by the emergency lights, and the air was filled with dust. They could hear voices and the sounds of machinery in the distance. The squatters were close by. Merrick put Kippler on point, scouting ahead with his long las for any incoming opposition. Kippler peered through a doorway leading to the machinery workshop, and raised his hand. Merrick sidled up beside him. "How many?"

"About twenty, working on one of those big industrial transports." whispered Kippler. "Maybe six guards, the rest look like workers. They're loading something big into the cargo hatch."

"Even if these aren't the guys we're looking for, they're still stealing Imperial tech. That's enough reason to shoot them." Merrick pointed at Vornas and Remer. "Knock on the door for me fellas."

"Right boss, should we go in with the witty one liners, or the other witty one liners?"

"Remer, right now, you could use your mouth as an improvised explosive device for all I cared, just get in there!" snarled Merrick.

Remer and Vornas looked at each other and shrugged. Vornas kicked the door down and Remer fired a pair of krak grenades into the shop. The room was suddenly filled with a web of Las discharges as the Daredevils stormed the room. Two of the engineers were bisected by the furious fusillade, and the rest dived for cover. The security guards, obvious in their experience, immediately dropped behind cover, blind firing with their autoguns to discourage the Grenadiers.

The workers broke from their hiding spots, making a run for it. Kippler managed to snipe two of them as they popped their heads out from behind boxes. Merrick flipped a work table, spilling its contents over the floor. Alek dove behind it, but not before stepping on a nail thrown from the workbench. He gasped sharply with the pain, but to the boy's credit, he didn't drop his gun this time. "Alek, on three, we push!" bellowed Merrick over the gunfire. "One, two, THREE!"

Using the table like a battering ram, Merrick and Alek charged towards the security guards makeshift bunker of boxes and workbenches. The table shielded them from the autogun bursts, leaving a trail of dents across its metal underside. The battering ram worked, breaking up the nest of guards. Merrick and Alek threw the table at them, using the temporary distraction to blast them at point blank.

In the midst of the firefight, several of the workers had scrambled for the transports. A large industrial hauler's engine was revving up. Hurst, flanked by Remer and Vornas, raced over to the Hauler. Two engineers were shot dead and the trio clambered onto the truck's cargo container. The truck burst forward, knocking them off balance. The three Daredevils fell backwards into the open hatch as the truck made a run for it.

"Kippler, driver, now!" shouted Merrick. Kippler brought his long las to bear, but it was too late. The truck smashed through the flimsy garage door and left the three remaining Daredevils in the dust.

"gak! gak, gak, gak!" yelled Merrick. He pulled Alek to his feet, and jammed his vox bead into his ear. "Captain Dalton, we've got a problem. A truck just pulled out of here carrying three of my men."

Dalton responded immediately. "We've got units in pursuit, Sergeant-Major. Stay where you are and secure the Hab block. My squads have been meeting resistance in key areas."

"Like hell I'm going to leave my squad on their own!" cursed Merrick.

"That is an order, Sergeant-Major. Stand down."

Merrick killed the vox link and spat at the ground. "Well now what?" he said.

Kippler stepped forward, shouldering his gun. "As you said, boss. Like hell we're leaving them behind." He nodded to the back of the shop.

The workers that hadn't made it to the truck had been running for the back of the shop. Merrick saw why. "Oh, I like your thinking, Kippler."

"You know they'll probably court marshal us for disobeying orders, boss," Kippler pointed out.

"Feh, he's not my Captain, is he? Let'em try."

By Fury's Speed

The command center was going haywire. Uther's adjutants were getting swamped with incoming reports, and he was dodging request after request as he shoved his way towards the vox terminal. "Get me a line to Captain Dalton, now," he ordered the operator. "I want to know what the hell is going on out there! And get back, you fools, give me some space!"

The adjutants obliged, but only after a few forceful shrugs influenced their decision. What was Merrick thinking? He would never abandon an assignment like this, and he certainly wouldn't get Hurst to go along with it. The operator offered him the caster. "This is Captain Uther, Vendoland 85th. Captain Dalton, do you want to fill me in on what my troopers have done?"

Dalton's speech was brisk. "According to your sergeant, half his squad was trapped on a moving transport, and they moved to pursue it using an unidentified vehicle. My men are still securing the Hab block. The place is crawling with hostiles."

"Oh for the love of, where were they heading?" demanded Uther. "Is anyone able to support them?"

"I've sent Lieutenant Modren's Kydorans to follow them. A fat lot of good a Sentinel is going to be trying to keep up, but they were the only units I could spare."

Uther wiped his forehead of sweat. "Is there anything else you can tell me?"

"Yes sir, I fear this is much worse than we anticipated."

Uther leaned over the console, lowering his voice. "How much worse?"

Wadden groaned, sitting upright. The carapace armor had done its job, but he still ached. He looked around. He was inside the cargo container of the fleeing transport. Hurst could hear the hum of the engine, and he felt the bumpy highway through the truck bed. "Vornas, Remer, are you there?" he said.

"Here," said Vornas, his voice coming from behind a pile of crates. "I've got Remer with me."

"And I must say, Bor, you make an excellent cushion. I'm fine by the way, helmet or not."

"Shame, you could have had some sense knocked into you."

"I knew you cared about me."

"Shut it," said Hurst. He looked around the container. The flatbed was filled with crates, but the main cargo appeared to be three long cylindrical containers. "Any ideas on how we get out of this mess?"

Remer leaned against one of the long tubes. "Well, not falling in here in the first place would have been the place to start." He looked up, "Right now I'd say our best bet is to get into the driver's cabin. This container looks like it's self contained. We'll have to go up and over the top, then drop onto the truck itself to get in though."

Hurst was only half listening. His focus was on the long tubes. "Private, do you know what you are leaning on?"

"Not really, no."

"I was being rhetorical you idiot. Get off that thing, now." Remer put up his hands and backed away from the tube. "That, private, is a Deathstrike Missile Warhead. This truck is filled with atomic weaponry."

Remer and Vornas glanced at each other, then down at the truck bed. "I hope our driver knows that, sir. It's getting awfully bumpy."

"Alek, what's our heading?" called Merrick over the wind whipping through the open topped jeep. In the passenger's seat, Alek was pouring over a hololith chart of the Angel Hive freeways. Kippler was on the multilas turret, holding onto the gun and praying the webbing holding him in didn't give out as they tore down the road.

"We're heading northwest, boss," he said. "This highway takes us along a route between Capital Spire and Legis before merging into the trans-hive mega roads."

"They could go any direction they wanted to by then. We'll have to catch them before that happens."

"Right boss!"

The Tauros was a little rusty, but given the condition of the workshop, the recon vehicle was surprisingly well maintained. Dalton's troops could take the building, but the truck was Merrick's priority, orders be damned. The fact that the people holed up in the hab block had the vehicles in the first place was troubling, however. Merrick put behind his guilt at abandoning the Artemians, and kept driving.

The sun cracked road dissolved under the jeep's tires, kicking up large dust plumes as they sped along after the fleeing transport. Below the highway, the last vestiges of human civilization gave away fully into the irradiated Dead Zone proper. But it was not empty. Something had caught sight of the movement along the road. And that something grinned, kicking his bike into action, raising his blade and letting loose an unmistakeable howl.

"WAAAGH!"

Hurst grabbed hold of Vornas's hand and pulled himself out of the container. Keeping low to avoid losing his balance, Hurst crawled along the surface of the container, slowly moving forwards. Remer was keeping watch on the edge, a pair of binoculars pressed to his eyes while he surveyed their surroundings. The truck wasn't slowing down, but it also wasn't trying to throw them off. Hurst guessed they didn't know they were there.

He and Vornas reached Remer. "We drop down onto the latch and work our way around to the door," said Hurst. "Our priority is keeping this thing from crashing, but I want to know where they were going with their cargo. So don't shoot the driver, just remove him."

Remer nodded. "Got it boss," he said. He then pointed behind them. "What about them?"

Hurst looked around. The highway had suddenly become awful busy. Around twenty vehicles were pursuing them. Their ramshackle construction was enough to identify them as Orks. The sudden zipping of bullets passing overhead just confirmed it. "Keep them off the truck if you can, you two," said Hurst. "I'll take the cab before our driver gets us all killed."

"On it, sir." Remer and Vornas swapped out their frag grenade belts for krak grenades, snapping the drums into place on their launchers. "I'll take the bike on the left, Bor. You take the trukk."

The Orks were closing in fast. Their vehicles were plastered with garish red paint and skull sigils that made convenient targets. With their first volley, Remer and Vornas caught their targets easily. Remer's grenade tore through the bike's front wheel, tossing the Ork over his handlebars as the chassis kicked forward. A green and red smear coated the road where he skidded to a halt.

The other Ork raiders veered to avoid the crash, letting Vornas's grenade explode on the front grill of the trukk. The engine's blast took out the driver, and the Orks holding onto the sides began to bail out, either falling to their deaths or leaping to other vehicles to continue their pursuit. Remer had to give it to them, they were tenacious. That just meant he had to try harder.

That was being made all the more difficult by their driver's erratic behaviour. Remer was struggling to stay still enough to fire while the transport swerved wildly to avoid the Ork shots. The idiot was going to die from a crash before an Ork bullet got through his thick metal cab. The Ork bikes were already faster than the hauler, swerving was just going to slow him down. Between a nuclear explosion and a high speed collision resulting in a nuclear explosion, Remer was hoping that Hurst could get things under control.

Hurst had been hoping the same thing. Then the bastard had jerked suddenly, throwing him off balance. He held onto the container's railing with both hands, trying to stay flat to the left side of the truck. The rockrete barrier was coming distressingly close. He kicked out ineffectually, hoping that somehow his boots would keep him from being crushed.

He began to shimmy along the railing, moving towards the cab. The railing was slippery, not helped by his sweaty hands. The truck was struck from behind with a loud clash. One hand slipped, and he swung around. Hurst gasped as his wrist was twisted, but he held on despite the pain.

The Orks were swiftly overtaking the transport. A second War Trukk pulled up alongside them, its side covered in Orks swinging hooks and roped barbs at anything they could latch onto. The driver of the truck veered into the Orks to push them off. Instead, the Orks just used the opportunity to leap onto the truck. Remer snapped another grenade belt into his launcher before promptly darting along the container away from the xenos.

Vornas got one shot off before following him. The greenskins piled onto the container, brandishing knives the size of cleavers and even bigger guns. Remer swallowed, glancing from the pressing orks to Vornas and back. "Any ideas, Bor?"

"I was hoping you had something actually," said Vornas uncertainly.

The Sentinels pounded across the ash wastes, following the growing trails of smoke along the highway. Modren pushed the squadron to their machine's limits, bounding across the land. He barely felt the walker's feet touch the ground before it sprang forward again. They had to get ahead of the truck and find a way to bring it to a stop.

The smoke clouds were worrying. Modren had no idea if the traitors had found friends on the road, or if something else was happening. There had been reports of movement along the trans-hive roads, far outside the Kydoran's operating zone. They had no idea what was out here, information being distributed on a need to know basis.

He tried his vox again. "Sergeant Merrick, Modren here. Respond damn you!" The Vendolander hadn't answered a single hail since they'd set out, whether because he couldn't respond or he didn't want to. Modren didn't know what to think. He smacked the console in frustration and kept the Sentinels going.

Switching channels to the squadron, he spoke again. "Alright boys, the Daredevils aren't going to give us the time of day, so from now on, we're on our own. Follow heading mark two-five. It's an access ramp that will take us over the highway. The road bends east about twenty kilometers ahead, so we'll cut across to get ahead of them, then we blow the overpass. One way or another, that truck is stopped, and Kydoran blood is avenged!"

Merrick weaved in between the scrap strewn thoroughfare. Seemed the Orks had taken an interest to the transport as well. They weren't doing a good job however, but he never thought much of Ork planning to begin with. They were just another obstacle. A large, green, gun laden obstacle.

The specks on in the distance were quickly growing into the large, distinctive shapes of the Ork raiders. "Soras, take out the wheels!" said Merrick. Behind him, Kippler powered up the multilaser. Alek set down the hololith chart and readied his hellgun. The whir of the multilaser rose to a droning whine. Kippler fired.

True to his reputation, Kippler scored an impressive number of hits. The nearest Bike was shorn in two by the flurry of shots before the Orks even knew what hit them. They wouldn't get so lucky again. Noticing their comrade's demise, two more bikers dropped back, flanking either side of the Tauros. Merrick veered into the biker on the left, forcing the Xenos to back off.

Alek was struggling with his Ork. The slavering Xenos had taken a chance and swept in close enough to start swinging his knife at Alek. Alek was simultaneously trying to shoot the Ork and deflect the knife with his hellgun, achieving neither with any grace. The Ork howled and swung at Alek again, who sank into his seat and raised his gun. The knife lodged into the hellgun, sparks flaring out of the barrel.

Kippler paled. "Alek, lose the gun! Now!" This was bad. Las weaponry was sturdy and reliable, provided the weapon wasn't breached. Then, the gun turned into a bomb. An overcharged lasgun was comparable to an IED when it exploded, enough to destroy a vehicle. And a hellgun was worse. Alek struggled to remove his backpack while the Ork wrenched both his knife and the lodged gun away, still connected to the backpack cables.

Frantic, Alek ripped his glove off, revealing his mechanical fingers. The sharp metal edges of the fingers cut through the harness, finally tearing the backpack free. Alek let out a gasp as the backpack caught on his right shoulder. The Ork pulled away, grinning madly. Alek looked up and saw that laughing maw become embroiled in flames, the hellgun blasting apart in its face.

"Nice one!" said Kippler, breathing a sigh of relief. Now he just had to focus on Merrick driving like a madman. The boss was forcing the second Ork into the barrier. Merrick jerked the Tauros into the bike, though it looked like the spiked contraption was doing more damage to the jeep than to the Ork. The blades scraped into the edge of the Tauros. Kippler brought the multilaser around and pummeled the Ork. Merrick pulled away, leaving the driverless bike to smear itself along the pavement.

They finally caught up with the transport. Two Ork Wartrukks had latched onto it. Surprisingly, however, the number of Orks actually on the transport was substantially less than the number splattered across the highway.

Hurst pulled himself around the container and finally breathed easy. Sure, the truck was traveling dangerously fast for its cargo, and there was the several large greenskins crawling over the container, but, he had some footing on the platform hitch. His Hellgun had torn loose from the backpack while he'd held onto the side, leaving him with just his Laspistol. So things were going well, given the circumstance. He hoped that the same could be said for Remer and Vornas.

"I've got twelve, Remer, you're getting slow!" called Vornas. The Orks couldn't get close to them, eating grenade after grenade that blew the filthy Xenos into tiny bits.

"Eat a holy hand grenade Bor, I'm busy." Remer ducked under the Ork's swing and beat his spent grenade launcher into the beast's abdomen. It didn't do much but it made him feel happy. The Ork barely flinched before throwing a punch that hit Remer squarely in the chest, flooring him. So this was death then. He thought there would be more fear and soiled clothing involved. The Ork raised its blade, poised to ram it through Remer's breastplate. He closed his eyes.

And nothing happened. There was the sound of gunfire, but with Orks around that was hardly unusual. It was the lack of a large chunk of metal being repeatedly thrust into his chest that seemed absent. Remer popped one eye open. The Ork was missing, and the others had either jumped off the container or lay splattered across it. Beside him, Vornas shared the look of confusion.

Peering over the side, they realized what happened. As if dropped out of the sky by the Emperor himself, there were Merrick, Alek and Kippler, zipping alongside the transport in a Tauros and dishing out some serious shots at the Orks.

Modren's Sentinels reached the overpass minutes ahead of time. Their shortcut across the ash wastes had paid off; the convoy was still well behind them. "This is it lads, take out the supports."

The Sentinel squadron opened fire, spewing multilas shots and autocannon fire into the thick rockrete foundations and rusted c-beams. The ancient roadway began to crumble under the sustained barrage, until visible cracks began to appear in the overpass's structure. Modren ordered his men to halt, and the squadron backed off.

The bridge broke, splintering in several places as the weakened supports gave way under the weight. Thirty tons of rockrete and titanium collapsed into a massive heap, spilling over the highway under a huge cloud of dust. Modren leaned back in his cockpit, satisfied. Let those filthy traitors pass through that, he thought.

Hurst wrestled with the driver, throwing punch after punch at the man and throwing him off the wheel. The driver pressed himself against the side of the cab and kicked out with both feet, knocking Hurst back. Hurst's laspistol was long gone in the struggle, leaving him with only his hands and feet to hold off the driver. Keeping the truck from crashing into anything and sending everything around them up in a nuclear firestorm complicated things. Hurst lashed out again, beating the man across the face with his metal plated glove.

His attacker recoiled from the hit, bouncing back and trying to shove Hurst off the steering wheel. Fed up, Hurst grabbed the man and brought his helmet down with a hard crack. The man slumped down onto the cab floor. Wadden sighed in relief.

The Orks were still out there, peppering the truck with shots. Hurst didn't have a chance of outrunning them. He would pull the truck around and head back towards Imperial territory. That was their only chance. There was an interchange up ahead, Hurst could see the rising bridges creeping up above the road. He pushed the truck as fast as it would go.

Kippler sprayed lasfire over the truck one last time, making sure no Orks left up there would get back up. Merrick gunned the engine on the Tauros, speeding ahead of the truck to deal with the Orks in front trying to block their path. He gave a thumbs up to Remer and Vornas as they passed, Remer pumping a fist in return. They could do this. Wartrukks were peeling off from the fight, but the bikers were more persistent.

Kippler revved up the multilaser again, peppering the nearest bike with shots. The biker was a big one, the Boys' Nob leader. The dark green Xenos's bike was emblazoned with garish red paint and spiked decals. It was a much tougher and better put together machine than the others. It would be a tough nut to crack with their current firepower.

The Nob dropped his speed and pulled up beside them. The damn thing was grinning, thought Kippler. Rather than pull a gun, the Ork was just holding beside them. The Xenos spoke in broken Gothic. "'Ere we go! Dis iz what I've bin waitin' for, sumfin fasta! Come on, Humies, show me wot you'z got! WAAAAGH!"

"Is he serious!?" shouted Alek as the Nob pulled ahead.

"Not as serious as I'm about to get, open up Kip!" growled Merrick.

Kippler shook his head. "No good boss, I can't dent that thing. Run him down before he thinks his idea through and changes his mind."

"Frak this!" said Merrick. The Tauros shot forward. Merrick rammed the jeep into the Ork's rear wheel, trying to spin the bastard. The bike was too heavy, and the Ork peeled away laughing.

"Hehehe! Ya Humies 'ave got sum teef! Come on, bring it!" The Nob angled into them, and the two vehicles became locked in a pushing match. Merrick pushed against the Nob, who happily backed off before bashing into them again and again.

This close, Kippler couldn't get a shot off, so he stayed focused on the road. They were traveling under the overpasses, and a large curve was coming up. Several Ork bikes screamed around the corner, before pulling to a halt. The truck and the dueling vehicles zoomed past them. Kippler looked back at them before turning forward again.

His eyes went wide. "Boss! Pull back, now!"

Hurst saw the rubble too late to stop. Keeping himself from panicking, he hit the emergency release for the trailer and prayed to the Emperor that it would land safely. He braced for impact.

Vornas and Remer stumbled as the truck pulled away, leaving the trailer skidding dangerously fast along the road, its hinges carving deep scars in the pavement. "Jump!" shouted Remer. The two guardsmen threw themselves from the container, hitting the ground hard, still being dragged along by momentum. Remer rolled over and covered his head just as the trailer pitched to its side. This was it.

Modren winced when the truck hit the blockade. The front end smashed through the rubble, tearing itself apart as it did. Whatever was left of the truck slid to a halt in front of them, a smoking metal hull, streaked with blood.

Broken Things

Remer groaned. Being thrown violently seemed to be the punishment of the day. "Vornas, I'm going to marry whoever designed Carapace plate," he mumbled. Unfortunately, he couldn't feel anything other than agony in his legs. Alive they might be, but not without something to show for it. His left leg was twisted at an unnatural angle, and it screamed to him. Remer bit his tongue until he tasted blood on his lips and felt stinging tears welling up in his eyes.

Vornas looked a little less beaten. He sat up and fumbled through his pack. "Hold on there, saint, this'll help." Vornas grabbed a syringe that seemed comically tiny in his large hands, and jammed it into Remer's leg. Remer's eyes bulged as the sedative flooded his body, forcing his leg to go numb. "The pain will be dulled, but we've got to get you to a hospital. I'll try to set it, but no promises."

"Saint, eh?" said Remer, his speech slurred. "I could get used to that. Lenham Remer, Patron Saint of the Imperial Guard. Nice title, don't you think?"

"Remer, you stay awake, and I'll make you Saint of the whole Imperium. Now stay still." Vornas got to work setting his friend's leg. For all he knew, there was internal damage, but he could only focus on what he could see with his own eyes. "Just stay with me."

Remer gave him a thumbs up, his head swimming in the drugs. "No problem, Bor. Where's the boom? I thought the warheads would go off for sure."

"Consider yourself lucky then, hold still." Vornas continued to work. He needed Alek for this sort of thing. A crap shot but a better medic than Vornas would ever be. He looked around, trying to see where Merrick and the others had stopped.

Alek stayed back while Soras and Merrick moved in on the Ork bike. With his gun gone, there was little he could do without getting in the way. The other two would be able to deal with the Ork well enough. He hoped.

Merrick nodded to Kippler, and the trooper circled around the bike, keeping his distance. The Nob lay on the road, streaks of blood showing where he had hit the ground. But the xeno was still moving. Kippler didn't hesitate to start firing as the Ork leapt upright, axe in hand. Several shots dented the brute's armor, while the ones that struck flesh it seemed to ignore.

Kippler started to run. The Nob followed, swinging his axe after him. It was deceptively fast for something so big. Merrick opened up, firing his hellgun on full auto, desperately trying to put the Ork down. Kippler would be a dead man if he didn't. He shouted at the Nob to get its attention, punctuating his insults with volleys of shots. The Nob didn't stop.

The Ork was enormous, standing half again as tall as Merrick and three times as wide. To him, a hellgun would just be an annoyance. They needed something bigger, or a way to get a clearer shot on the bastard.

Kippler jumped aside from the Ork's lunging thrust, darting behind him and running back towards Merrick. There was about fifty meters between them. He was giving Merrick an opening.

Merrick thought quickly. He switched the gun's setting to single shot, and adjusted the power output to maximum. Regulations stipulated that overcharging was prohibited due to the wear and tear on the gun's workings. He didn't care much for regulations, and a fully charged shot might be the only thing that could bring the Ork down.

Kippler had closed to twenty meters. Merrick lined up his shot. The rampaging Ork's gaping mouth presented a nice target, but Merrick waited. The gun might only get one shot before frying itself, and he couldn't miss.

Fifteen meters, Merrick gripped the trigger. Fourteen, thirteen. He inhaled, anticipating. Ten meters. Kippler threw himself to the ground. The Ork raised its axe, bellowing. Merrick fired.

The orange beam burned so brightly he had to squint. The shot sheared the Nob's face in half horizontally, disintegrating the Ork's skull, leaving only an ash covered lower jaw behind as the remainder of the brute's body crashed into the pavement.

Merrick offered a hand to Kippler, righting himself. The two looked around. "Where's Alek?" asked Kippler. The boy was nowhere in sight. They turned to the truck crash. The trailer had overturned and halted against the barrier, while the truck itself had wrecked itself colliding with the wall of rubble.

Merrick realized what happened. "Hurst," he said, before he started running. Kippler was close behind.

Merrick sat in a small room, featureless save for the bare desk in front of him and the door at the other end. He had been taken here under guard the moment the response shuttle had touched down at Capital Spire. Merrick had barely a chance to see the medical teams rushing Hurst and Remer away before he had been escorted away at gunpoint. That was an hour ago.

This was frakking ridiculous, he thought. Why in hell was he being arrested, at a time like this? He had just done what any decent human being would do if there was a chance to save a friend. Decent humans were in short supply it seemed.

The door opened and Captain Uther entered, followed by Commissar Connor. Uther had a weary look on his face, much worse than he had the night before. He threw a stack of files onto the table before sitting down. Connor hovered in the corner, watching over the proceedings. The first thing out of Merrick's mouth was a demand to know what had happened to Hurst and Remer.

"Sergeant Hurst was rushed to the emergency ward the moment you touched down. He has suffered a severe spinal injury and a fractured jaw. Thankfully, there seems to be no internal bleeding, so he hasn't suffered any brain damage. However, if the surgeons cannot realign his spine, Wadden Hurst will need extensive augmetics work to stand again."

"And Remer?"

Captain Uther flipped over the pages of the report. "Private Lenham Remer was released from the infirmary with a broken leg and other minor injuries. He will recover in time. That's not why I'm here, though, Merrick. And I think you know the truth about my visit."

Merrick leaned back, scowling. "Enlighten me, Captain. Usually the AA reports are done in the briefing room, not a holding cell."

Commissar Connor spoke up. "You disobeyed direct orders from your immediate superior and fled an engagement in favor of personal matters."

"It was either that, or leave those bastards with three of my men and as many warheads," spat Merrick.

Connor continued, "Your actions cost the Artemians five soldiers, five soldiers that might still be alive now had you obeyed Captain Dalton's orders. Your indiscretion required Captain Dalton to redeploy the Kydoran elements to support your actions, further weakening their efforts to clear the Hab block. These charges are undeniable, Sergeant Major."

"So you would have me just let them drive off to Emperor knows where? Do you even know where the Frak they were going?"

"The driver was taken to interrogation," said Uther. "He didn't know anything, except that his group were under orders to reach their prescribed drop off points, heedless of any obstacles. He gave us the coordinates, and General Derim is organizing a task force."

"And where would that be?"

"Angel Forge," Uther said flatly.

That surprised Merrick. "Don't we still have men billeted there? How the frak were they getting in and out, and who were they sending the supplies to?"

"That is what we hope to find out tonight, Merrick," said Uther. "However, you will will not be assigned to this one."

"I figured. So what is the plan?"

"By the order of the Departmento Munitorium, Commissariat Branch, you are sentenced to two months confinement under guard. You are stripped of rank and insignia for this time, and until such time as the acting regimental Commissar sees fit to reinstate your commission."

"Why not just shoot me and be done with it?" snarled Merrick. "Isn't that what you are supposed to do?"

Connor swooped over the table like a raptor, staring daggers at Merrick. Her voice was dangerously soft, "As the regimental Commissar, it is my duty to inspire the soldiery and uphold morale. Under our circumstances, the execution of a veteran member is neither an effective use of manpower, nor is it the ideal motivation for the regiment. The 85th is at less than a third of its original strength, and I don't intend to have that number drop any lower. One idiotic misstep by you will not jeopardize this unit, do you understand me, Sergeant Major?"

Merrick said nothing, meeting Connor's glare with his own.

"Answer me, trooper," said Connor forcefully.

"Understood, Commissar," said Merrick, letting the anger he felt drip from his words. He turned to look at the haggard Uther. "What about the rest of the squad, Captain?"

"The Daredevils are to be pulled from active duty for the time being. You're no use to the regiment at half strength, so I've reassigned the squad to upper city patrol."

Uther heaved a great sigh, and clasped his hands together, "Merrick, this is the lightest sentence we can give you. We're too few to dispense executions, and I don't want to see you dead over this. It is for your own good and for the good of the 85th. I wish this hadn't happened, but there is little we can do about it now. You will be returned to duty in two months, by which time you will have your rank reinstated and you will return to active duty."

Merrick was silent, looking away from Connor and Uther. The Captain stood to leave. At the door, he turned, and quietly spoke, "I am sorry." The cell door slammed behind him.

Outside the Boss's cell, Remer, Vornas, Kippler and Alek waited. The door opened, and Captain Uther and Connor exited. The quartet nodded as the officers approached. Uther walked up to the troopers and looked to Kippler, "Private, follow me."

"Sir," said Kippler. Soras followed Uther down the cell block, rounding the corner out of sight. The remaining three were left with the Commissar. Remer whistled, leaning against the wall to stay off his bum leg.

"So...what's our fearless leader in for?" he joked. Excessive bravery in the face of madness? Field commendation for talking down our most romantic command couple? Or how about-"

Remer was cut short by a vicious punch to the face that broke his nose. Connor pressed her elbow into his throat, grinding him into the wall. Gasping for air and bleeding profusely from his mangled face, Remer saw a fury in the Commissar's eyes that she seemingly only reserved for the enemy.

"Next time, it will be your balls, Remer," she hissed, letting him drop. "I am not in the mood."

She looked to the other two. Alek and Vornas hurriedly snapped to attention, taking a sudden, intense interest in the adjacent wall. Remer struggled to stand coughing and cupping his bloody nose to stem the river of red.

"See to the infirmary for that, Private," snapped Connor as she stormed off briskly. Without turning she called back. "And if you don't, it's another four years latrine duty!"

Remer finally stumbled to his feet, still reeling and not quite sure what just happened.

Kippler followed Uther into the main tactical room. The servitor banks, officers and adjutants were still working round the clock, just as they had the day before. Soras was ushered into the Captain's office, poorly lit and distressingly cluttered. Uther closed the door behind him, cutting out the sound.

"Have a seat, soldier," said Uther, motioning to the chair. "I have the after action reports from your little "encounter" today. I thought you would want to go over them."

Soras didn't know what the captain expected him to see, but he did as he was asked and poured over the reports. He passed them over to Uther when he finished. "Everything seems to check out, Captain. But, if I may ask, why have me look over these reports?"

"Because, soldier, the duty of reviewing an AA report falls to the acting squad leader and his superior officer. I'm promoting you to Corporal, Kippler, effective immediately. With both your sergeant's out of sorts, I need someone to lead the grenadiers. You were the only obvious candidate."

Uther offered his hand, which Soras accepted. "Congratulations, corporal, don't let me down."

"Thank you sir," said Soras curtly. "I'll see to the squad then, if I have your leave."

"Please do so," said Uther. "I'll have a your rank pins delivered in the morning. Now if you will excuse me, I need to get back to the tactical room. We still need to get to the bottom of these convoy raids. It's going to be another long night."

"Sir," said Soras. The newly promoted corporal nodded smartly and left. Exiting tactical, Kippler awarded himself a small grin. He might have been put up for necessity, but the act was still an honour for him. His thoughts turned to Merrick and Hurst, partly out of concern, and partly to keep the rush of pride he felt from going to his head. He had large shoes to fill.

A Storm of Fire and Steel, Part One

Night was once again falling across the cityscape of the hive. Emergency lights dotted the Golgotha and Capital Spires, marking the safe zones of the hive to all willing to heed the warnings. Within the black expanse that spread across the Dead Zone, uncontested fires burned through the crumbling hab blocks and factories.

To the southwest lay the blackened Spire Legis, a constant, bitter reminder of the all too recent past. As the Black Legion had rampaged across Angel Hive uncontested, Legis was the first of the Spires to fall, torn apart from within by the firepower of Gregor Vandis's armies and the vile corruption of Chaos. The Imperial counterattack had quickly devolved into a grueling, weeks long conflict that ended in a cruelly hollow victory.

Gren spat at the memory of the fight. Thousands of Vendolanders died in that blasted Spire, and for what? The place was still teeming with cultists, any loyal Imperial citizens were long dead, and the whole enterprise had proven to be a ruse. A full scale attack on the supposed hotspot of Vandis's rebellion, leaving the Capital Spire unprotected. How could they have made such an obvious mistake?

It was Castille's fault, thought Gren, taking another puff from his cigar. Leaving the Planetary Defense Force to guard the capital was a monumentally stupid idea. Thank the Emperor the Blood Ravens weren't so naive to ignore the obvious threat. The Guard were out on their asses chipping away at a fortified position, the laughing stock of the Imperium, and they died in droves for it.

And then Urizen happened. The closest neighbouring Hive had never been contested during the first crusade, and remained a hotbed for cultist activity. General Castille had pulled the Guard regiments into another costly campaign, except this time without the aid of the Space Marines. The results were horrifying. Thankfully the idiot had paid for it that time. There were few tears shed for that waste of flesh.

Gren heaved a deep sigh. The past weighed heavily on him, eating at his heart, now chewed raw. So many faces among the dead, faces he'd known too well to not be affected by their passing. He knew he was suffering from depression, everyone knew. He also was grateful that the rest of the company had given him space, and time to come to terms with his loss. Everyone except Flinn.

The boy was an infuriating contradiction. He'd been with Gren for years now, the youngest trooper in the Company. When there was nobody else to turn to, Flinn was always there, whether Gren liked it or not. He felt an odd compulsion to protect the boy, but the boy was as good a soldier as he was. It was sort of inspiring in a way, the young trooper and the weary veteran forging a bond. Gren hated Flinn for that. Flinn deserved better than him.

There was someone behind him. Gren turned around to see Lieutenant Naals approaching. "Come on, Gren, jump to. We're moving out, Captain's orders. The Colonel's got the whole battalion mobilizing, so get your kit and get down to The Gulch."

"Where are we heading?" asked Gren.

"Angel Forge," said Naals. "We're meeting up with the billets there and then moving onto our objective. Something about a smuggling ring that command wants us to take down."

Gren sighed, putting out his cigar. "Lead the way, sir."

From the empty balcony jutting out of Urizen's Old Spire, Zephus-Hassan watched the last ebbing rays of the sun settle below the horizon, making way for the welcoming darkness of night. The next stage was in motion, sooner than he had anticipated. It would happen tonight. He spoke into the darkness within the tower. "Send for them."

Whatever heard his command scuttled away into the night. It wasn't long before ten great giants, clad in black and gold plate emerged onto the balcony. Zephus turned to face the Legionnaires, speaking in an even, but commanding voice. "The time has come. No doubt the Imperium knows of our presence here, but we must allay their suspicions no longer. A show of force is needed. You, my Chosen, will lead our followers against the Imperium. Tonight, Spire Legis awakens once again."

The Astartes chanted in unison. "As it shall be, Warlord." Zephus smiled. Pathetic imbeciles, each of them. How simple a task it had been to gain their trust. The Black Legion's recruiting standards had fallen so low, it had seemed. Bestowing such titles as "Chosen" or "Enlightened" upon these neophytes had proven an easy form of coercion. None of them were Heresy veterans. None of them had ever suspected the Hassan's true origins.

They were tools, a means to an end, as all servants of Chaos were. Only the strong would prosper. The rest would burn for their Gods. The "Chosen" bowed to him, leaving for their followers. In many ways, Zephus respected the Vandis soldiery more than the Astartes. They fought for a purpose, a tenable goal. It gave them conviction, and a drive beyond the lust for slaughter. They were somewhat respectable in that regard.

But still, just a tool.

The great Forge sat silent, a slowly decaying swathe of manufactories and assembly lines, stretching for miles, delving deep into the surface of the planet. There was no light, save for the reserve power lamps that illuminated Angel Gate, the once mighty entrance to the dead Forge. The Priesthood of Mars had sent their finest to nurse the Forge back to health, but the taint of chaos inflicted by the Black Legion's first, devastating strike was proving to be a formidable adversary. Every step towards reviving Angel Forge was stymied by the tainted machinery, grinding work to a halt.

So the Forge stood silent, over a year since the attack. The 85th Vendoland had billeted three hundred soldiers among the warehouses as a defence against a Vandis counterattack, but none had come. Now, those soldiers, idle and agitated, were being raised from their sleep, mobilizing for a rendezvous with an Imperial taskforce. Troopers hurried to their transports in a confused daze, and within thirty minutes, a convoy of Chimeras was trundling along the abandoned thoroughfares to their destination.

The smuggler, swiftly crumbling under the power of Imperial interrogation, had described the region just south of Angel Forge's defensive wall. It was a series of low to the ground warehouses, nestled between the great fortifications and the highway leading due south to Angel Hive's lesser Spires. Below the overpass, three full Imperial regiments awaited orders.

In command was Colonel Banastre of the 85th Vendoland, "Lucky Bastard" Banastre, as the troops knew him. Castille's protege had been the only regimental commander to make it out of Urizen alive. The 85th had left the command group for dead in the retreat, instead gathering around Captain Lars Uther for guidance in the fallout. When Banastre suddenly turned up three months after the campaign, his first action had been to plant Uther in the tactical room, safely hidden away where he couldn't cause trouble.

The remaining two regiments comprised the 31st Artemian and the Dyneemek 9th, the Jagers, under Commander Lorald. Six thousand troopers, mustered to take out a smuggling ring. Banastre snorted at the response. Typical paranoia by higher ups. The Vendolanders would have handled this situation on their own, but General Derim had insisted. So here they were, in the dead of night staring at a manufactorum while chilling wind nipped at their skin. He dropped down from his observation post to be nearer the portable heater in the center of the makeshift tent.

"Must we wait?" muttered Banastre irritably. "The smuggler told us this was the place. If the guilty are truly here, then why not raid the warehouses now and be done with this!"

"The General was very specific, Colonel," said Major Lester. "We need to confirm the target when they make their drop off before we take any action. We don't have enough information to tell who we might be dealing with just yet."

"And I will do that, doesn't that offworld fool know that?"

"Well, we're technically offworlders too, sir," replied Lester, handing Banastre his mug of hot coffee.

"We might as well be locals with the way things have been going," said Banastre. He was right, of course. The Vendolanders had been sent to the Subsector over four years ago to help train the Planetary Defense Forces and ready the system for tithing. And now it seemed they had to keep babysitting a set of planets incapable of looking after themselves. For Space Marine recruiting worlds, Subsector Aurelia was frankly pathetic with regards to security.

Vox Officer Brannt approached the two officers, turning to allow Banastre to take the link from his backpack unit. "Message from Commander Lorald, sir. They've got a visual on a cargo hauler."

Banastre put the link to his ear. Finally, they could get on with this ordeal, "Give me the details, Commander."

"It definitely matches the description given by our confessor. Industrial cargo freight with an escort of modified civilian vehicles. With the Ork activity along the highways, it seems like they're moving in armed convoys. They've turned off the main route and are heading for the warehouse complex, towards your position. We'll close the gap if they try to double back."

Banastre's eyes flashed greedily. "Well done Commander, carry on." Banastre turned his attention to Brannt. "Switch the 85th's channel, wide broadcast. This is Colonel Banastre, we have a confirmation on the target. First battalion, prepare to advance and mark forward positions."

Lester looked surprised. "Colonel, if we move in now, that could tip off whoever's inside, and it might scare off the convoy. Emperor knows what sort of munitions that hauler is carrying."

Banastre sneered at the Major. "Are you questioning my orders, Lester?"

"No sir," said Lester, backing off. "I'm merely pointing out a potential flaw. It is my job."

"Then your consideration is noted. All units, continue forward. Major, if we wait too long, we lose the element of surprise. I want this over with quickly. One regiment is already overkill for this sort of operation. Now relay my commands."

Lester sighed, "Yes sir, by your orders."

"What the hell is he thinking?" said Orias Nolt. The Artemian colonel viewed the Vendolanders' advance through his binoculars. "They're going to tip our hand and get themselves slaughtered."

"It certainly seems that way," said Commissar Learis. The bulky man stood beside Nolt in the command Griffon. Orias grabbed the vox caster and keyed in the Dyneemek Jager's channels. He loathed calling on another unit, but he felt there was little choice in the matter at the moment.

Commander Lorald responded dryly, "What is it? Speak quickly, before I just regard this as paranoia."

"Leave your emotions out of this, Lorald," hissed Orias. Lorald was still bitter about his humiliation at the meal the other night, and Orias was in no mood to argue. "Just listen to me. This Banastre is going to get his men killed."

"Really?" said Lorald, feigning shock, "I'm surprised you can see that from back there, behind the lines. What do you want me to do about it, throw stones from up here?"

"Unlike the two of you, I am trying to take this seriously," said Orias. "General Derim would not have insisted three full regiments be sent to deal with a problem unless he was certain that the threat was significant. I'd rather have you working with me rather than against me when that fool throws the whole operation. When that time comes, I will signal you, and we can coordinate an actual battle, understand?"

The link was quiet until Lorald had his answer, "Fine, we'll do it your way. Just don't be surprised if I try to offer something as useless as my insight. Otherwise I'd just be trading Banastre for you."

Orias let the comment slide, "Just be ready for my signal." The colonel slammed the vox closed.

Gren and Flinn moved silently across the stockyard, followed by Cayse and Arred, hauling a heavy stubber. Naals was further ahead with the first squad, setting up underneath the arches of the overpass. At Gren's word, the four troopers dashed across the next open stretch, taking cover in the shadows of the adjacent truck depot. The sound of grumbling engines thundered by overhead. Gren could see the flashes of headlamps just over the crest of the overpass barrier. They illuminated the dark that blanketed the empty yard.

The platoon was split between the two squads, with Naals leading the first, and Gren bringing up the second. Once the fireworks started, the Artemians were supposed to bring up reinforcements to bolster the forward points established by the Vendolanders. The Jagers would control the overpass to provide coverage from above. The 7th company was spread out to cover the entire yard, with five more companies ready to storm the buildings.

Gren pressed his vox bead. "Sergeant Gren here, in position lieutenant." Cayse and Arred fed the stubber's belt feed into the catch, training the gun on the massive warehouse doors. Angel Forge was dotted with these enormous, Hab block sized warehouses, stockpiles intended for PDF forces in case of invasion or insurrections. The Tyranid invasion, so widespread, and the looting that followed in its wake had left most of the stockpiles scavenged clean or considered lost. Now, two had been discovered in one day. Gren only hoped that they wouldn't pay for past negligence.

7th Company was all in place, the lieutenants voxing in to Captain Caius. Corporal Carros and the rest of Gren's squad fell in with the others. Carros hefted his missile launcher, waiting for the signal to fire. Caius gave the order, and five missiles streaked out from the patchwork line that the Company formed. The great warehouse door buckled and blasted inwards as the explosives struck, tearing it off of its hinges. Great plumes of smoke and fire from the remains fluttered out from the blast, masking the entrance in a dark cloud.

"8th and 9th companies, advance!" barked Corporal Banastre across the regimental channel. From the second line, formed behind Gren's position, two hundred guardsmen rose from their makeshift cover, sprinting for the breach. The troopers swept by, heads low, bayonets fixed, pressing into the darkened building. They made it halfway across the flat receiving zone when the warehouse doors erupted with gunfire.

Half the advancing Vendolanders were cut down in an instant, torn to shreds by bolter fire, autogun rounds, and rapid firing multilasers. Gren looked on in horror as men were ripped in half, limbs flying and heads splattering against the ground. Casye began blasting into the darkness with the heavy stubber, trying to dissuade the enemy inside from continuing their slaughter. It did little to stem the volume of rounds flying out. The two hundred man charge was cut to ribbons in less than a minute, the whimpering survivors being picked off one by one by pinpoint shots. Then, the enemy charged.

Emergency lights burst to life, illuminating the entire area, betraying the 85th's reliance on darkness for cover. Gren finally saw the face of the enemy. They wore crimson robes and silver breastplates emblazoned with a half mechanical skull. Their faces were adorned with multiple augmetics, their eyes replaced by glowing green ocular implants. Gren paled. This wasn't right, what the hell was going on?

"Cogboys!" he shouted. These were Techguard, the Mechnaicus's personal army of augmented troopers. The Skitarii were gunning down the Guardsmen with frightening accuracy. They moved like lightning, effortlessly crossing the flat stretch just as the 7th Company opened fire. Several techguard were brought down by concerted fire, but the bulk of the force took the shots in stride, ignoring or absorbing the blasts. Gren desperately tried to aim for what looked like vital points on the mechanical troopers, firing his lasgun on full auto.

Beside him, Flinn was panicking, his shots going wide of their mark. None of them had fought the Mechanicus before, and none of them had ever hoped to. They'd heard the stories of the Cogboys personal armies, their Titan Legions, their footsoldiers. The most any of the 85th had experienced were the occasional gun servitor attached to the Enginseers that sometimes were seconded to Guard units. If a mindless combat automaton was a threat, a thinking, adapting augmented trooper was terrifying.

"Pull back, pull back!" said Gren. Cayse took a shot to the head while uprooting the gun, leaving Arred to pull the brain splattered weapon away as the Skitarii overran their position. A moment later, Arred took a shotgun blast to the chest, throwing him back into the nearest truck. Gren, Flinn and Carros fled into the maze of trucks along the loading depot. The Skitarii were pursuing, Gren could hear their pounding feet coming up behind them. The three guardsmen unloaded a full salvo into the first cogboy that rounded the corner, dropping him only after dozens of shots shattered his servos.

"What do we do?" whispered Carros. Around them, they could hear the screams of dying Guardsmen as the well placed picket was ripped to pieces in moments. Naals was screaming over the vox bead for the troops to fall back, or at least, whoever was left. "What the hell are the cogboys doing here? The AdMechs are supposed to be on our side!"

"I don't frakking know!" said Gren. "All I know is, they are shooting at us, we're dying, and we should get out of here as soon as possible!"

Orias threw his binoculars aside, cursing Banastre for his idiocy. Learis had the vox in his hands, waiting for his colonel to grab it. Lorald was already on the line. "Lorald, get me a visual, what is the fool shooting at?"

"It looks like... the Magos? What the frell is going on down there? Banastre's fighting the frelling Mechanicus!"

"How bad is it?" said Orias, grimacing. This was just getting worse with each passing moment.

"He's not moving, but his forward units are in a full retreat. The techguard are ripping them apart. How do you want to handle this?"

"Cover them from the top, I want height superiority. Give the 85th cover for their retreat. I'll bring our reserves up and form a line. I don't know what the Mechanicus is doing here, but we have to make them see reason."

"Understood," said Lorald. "My Jagers captured the transport. They tried to make a run for it when the shooting started. Ill question them if they know anything about the AdMechs."

"That can wait. We will question them later, once this is resolved." Another vox report was coming in, beeping frantically on the emergency channels. Orias sighed, "What now?"

The message was garbled, but after the vox officer recalibrated the receiver, the message began broadcasting clearly. "This is the 46th Armoured Vendoland, we've come under fire! The heretic forces from Spire Legis are moving against the Imperial perimeter! We can't hold for long, there's too many of them, we're spread too thin!"

The line suddenly went dead, but the message was clear enough. Orias slammed his fist into the Griffon's bulkhead. First a smuggling operation, then direct combat against Mechanicus forces, and now a full scale attack from a Spire that was supposed to be low risk. What was going on?

At the head of three great fronts of heretic troops, the Chosen astartes lead their forces against the unprepared Imperials. Only a single regiment had been spared to monitor Spire Legis, and they were now paying the price for their ignorance. Thousands of cultists swept across the perimeter without regard for the mines and barbed wire. The aegis defense lines were torn open by suicidal bombers, letting the cultists surge forward.

The 46th were caught completely by surprise. It had started with a sudden artillery barrage, from guns that had long been disabled. Before they knew what had happened, the heretics had closed the gap with the defensive line. At night, with their blackened armor, the heretics moved like shadows. Where resistance was thickest the Chosen applied their personal prowess, slaughtering the defenders like the maggots they were. The sudden rush was quickly turning the Imperial defense into a confused rout.

Legionnaire Marroth smiled smugly under his helmet. This was too easy. That idiot Zephus might have fooled the others, but Marroth could see right through him. He didn't think they were up to this. Marroth would show otherwise. His chain axe was dripping with the blood of these weaklings. Whole platoons fled at his coming. They didn't make it far before he overtook them.

Marroth would show Warlord Zephus his prowess. After he stood over his body in triumph, of course. He would have to settle for the screams of the Guard until then.

Elle Connor was holding the line. The 4th Company was supposed to be in the second wave after 8th and 9th, but their swift end had forced her to change tactics. She instead wisely consolidated her forces, using a rockcrete wall as a line of defense. So far, the eighty or so troopers she had been given command of were holding, with the fleeing tatters of the 7th company halting their retreat at her presence. Connor stayed in cover with the men, firing her bolt pistol over the lip of the wall at the oncoming Skitarii.

"Not one step back, we will hold this position!" she shouted. With Uther relegated to desk duties, she was given temporary command of the Company. To her credit, not one man had fallen back, and with 7th's remains, her small bastion was holding. She only hoped that it would last long enough for the Artemians to bolster their lines.

The Skitarii were relentless. Heavy gun servitors were laying down a wildly inaccurate spray of fire, keeping the Vendolanders pinned in one position, while the Hyspasists were firing sparing, frighteningly accurate shots. One in three shots must have struck her troopers, slowly whittling away at them. They were holding, but either through attrition or overwhelming force, they could not last forever. With the emergency distress call from Spire Legis repeating across the open channels, Connor's presence was the only thing keeping them from breaking.

She grudgingly admitted to herself afterwards that, had she known what a mess the 85th Vendoland had been led into, she would not have been so quick to pull the grenadiers back from frontline service.

Banastre was screaming orders into Brannt's vox caster, demanding the forward elements of the 85th hold their ground. While he was distracted, Major Lester was quickly trying to organize the rearguard units into a coordinated push. The reports flooding in of whole platoons being slaughtered were wreaking havoc on morale. Armand was struggling to keep things under control, the Colonel was too far gone in his shouting to be any use. They needed a break in the chaos to get things back under control.

Eventually, Lester was able to muster something approaching an organized unit. Leaving the Colonel to his job playing leader, Major Lester made his way to the strike group. The second battalion was prepared to move, their Chimeras revving their engines. Major Crassus was spearheading the group, and Lester joined him in the foremost transport.

"I've managed to pull enough of the battalion back for you, Lester," he said as the Major leapt into the Chimera. "What's the Colonel thinking?"

"I have a feeling you're not the only one wondering that tonight, Ertrand," said Lester. "He's too busy shouting to actually do anything useful. We've got to get more troops up to the frontline before they break through."

Crassus nodded, "And what about this talk from Legis? What's happened to the 46th?"

"Not our concern right now," said Lester. "Driver, get us moving!"

The Artemians roared across the shipping depots, the entire regiment mounted up in their transports. Nolt observed the proceedings from the command vehicle. They swiftly passed through the Vendolander's reserve forces, finally assembling themselves for a counterattack. Were he under Nolt's command, Banastre would have been shot by Learis right here and now. The two groups merged into one concentrated push, facing down the growing firefight in the distance.

The further in they pushed, the more stragglers from the 85th's attack they found fleeing. Many of these looked like they had fled before fighting. The Skitarii were thorough with their extermination, very few wounded soldiers made it out of their field of fire. These soldiers were fleeing for cowardice, rather than survival. Nolt sneered with disgust at their passing.

The front of the column finally met the Mechanicus forces. Orias immediately ordered the regiment to fan out and form a defensive line. They would let the Skitarii come to them, where they held the advantage.

Three more 7th company soldiers leapt over the wall, falling in with the 4th company. Lieutenant Hunder quickly directed them to the other 7th survivors, covering the position's left flank. Connor had Devin and Lonnis holding the right, while the bulk formed in the center. The Skitarii were bringing up their heavy infantry for an assault on their lines. Connor could see the hulking figures in the distance, dwarfing even the gun servitors. She ducked as their heavy bolters erupted once again, bisecting a pair of troopers too slow to get down.

"Commissar, we can't hold much longer!" said Devin. "Canne says the 11th has broken off the fight, no word from 12th. We're the furthest up, there's nobody else to fall back here."

"Then we stay until reinforcements are brought up, lieutenant!" said Connor. "We hold this position, now point your weapon at the foe!" Connor put on a hard face, but the doubt was gnawing at her. She hoped someone would come soon, or nobody would be getting out of here. The Skitarii would see to that.

The Praetorians began their push against the Vendolanders position. Hulking soldiers, wielding heavy weaponry in each hand, were being backed up by organized Hyspasist squads. "Brace yourselves!" shouted Connor. She revved her chainsword, readying it for a swing at the first techguard to come into its arc. The Praetorians lowered into a run, holding their heavy weapons steady. Thumping autocannons tore through their wall cover, dropping troopers left and right.

"Concentrate your fire on the nearest Praetorian!" said Connor. The 4th company obliged, pouring hundreds of shots into the foremost shock trooper. The Praetorian was undeterred by the lasfire, but three melta blasts brought the brute down mere feet from their line. The others would be on them in moments. "Fix bayonets!"

The Praetorians crashed through the low wall, knocking guardsmen aside as they overran the defenses. Desperately, the Vendolanders held their ground in the melee, stabbing at vital bionics and weak joints, trying to bring down the foe. Connor swung her chainsword in a horizontal slash, tearing a cogboy's head from his shoulders. A mixture of blood and oil burst from the stump, showering over Connor. Ignoring it, the Commissar waded into the fight, hacking at the metal troopers, tearing great holes in their combat frames, bringing down a Praetorian by jamming the blade in the construct's gyro system.

But for every Techguard brought down, far more guardsmen were slain. This was hopeless, Connor conceded. But the Skitarii would not give them the chance to retreat. They would die here, either in combat or as they fled. Connor resolved to fight to the end, no retreat, no surrender. Her blade lodged in the Praetorian, Connor blasted away with her bolt pistol, delaying her fate as much as possible.

Another Praetorian was upon them, its legs replaced by a set of treads, effectively turning the body into a mobile gun platform. Connor's bolt pistol clicked dry before she could get a shot off. The construct leveled its weaponry at her. Connor closed her eyes and awaited the inevitable.

Sudden sounds of Lascannon blasts raised Conner from her moment of despair. The Praetorian was torn apart by the focused beams, collapsing. Wrenching her chainsword free, she looked up to see the welcome sight of a line of Chimeras, both the olive green colours of the Vendoland, and the blue-grey pattern of the Artemians. Smiling, with a prayer on her lips, Connor raised her blade in triumph, giving a great rallying shout to the surviving members of the 4th company.

A Storm of Fire and Steel, Part Two

Lester, Crassus, Connor and Nolt had cleared out the chimera's troop bay to make a command center. The casualty reports had finally slowed, and the Vendolanders took stock of their losses. Two hundred and seventy three men dead, with another forty wounded. The 8th and 9th companies were obliterated, 11th and 7th were at half strength, and Connor's 4th were down to sixty soldiers. Still, it could have been worse.

The reserve's arrival had given them precious time to reform their line, forcing the Mechanicus forces to withdraw to heavier cover. Spats of gunfire rang out across the yard while the two armies traded blows. Neither side wanted to commit to an attack, so these small exchanges were sporadic at best. Nolt arranged the holochart projector, showcasing the relative positions of the Skitarii formations and the Imperial Guard's defensive line. Lorald's Jagers were arrayed along the overpass above, giving the Guardsmen a much welcomed advantage over their foe.

"I think it's clear that neither side wants this to go on any further," said Nolt. He pointed to the main warehouse that the Tech Guard were surrounding. "Look at their patterns, whatever is inside, the Magos are determined to protect. Often, Skitarii units are slave rigged to better coordinate with one another. Most likely what happened when Banastre ordered the attack, we tripped their alarm mechanism, putting their security forces on a defensive protocol."

"Destroy the threat in order to protect their assets," surmised Connor. "That doesn't explain what they are doing out here in the first place. The Mechanicus have been given access to the primary forge in order to conduct repairs, they were not authorized to usage of the outer areas. And they certainly wouldn't have been given permission to hoard weapons stockpiles and fire on patrols."

"Believe me, Commissar, the Techpriests willingly ignore guidelines when it benefits them," said Nolt. "Still, I believe that it would be best if we settle this diplomatically. They are our allies, and we cannot afford to lose their support."

Lester spoke up, "But what if they hold us accountable for this incident? We fired the first shot, it's likely the AdMech will want the man responsible."

"Banastre," said Connor bluntly.

"Yes, Commissar," said Lester. "he attacked without assessing the situation first, and we've paid for it. What do you plan to do with him?"

"If the Magos demand him, then I will oblige. Otherwise, I will deal with him as I see fit."

"You're the Commissar," said Lester. "He's your responsibility."

"As are you all," said Connor sharply. "Come, if we are going to talk, like Colonel Nolt suggests, then let's be on with it."

Marroth crushed fallen bodies underfoot, leading a mass of cultists across the outskirts of Spire Legis. The Imperial Guard were falling back on all fronts, trying to draw them into the flat wastes outside the spire, where they thought they could hold off the Cultist push. But the Guardsmen were trapped in the confusing ruins, finding themselves doubling back over and over as they desperately tried to pull their tanks away from the surge. Marroth's followers had no such qualms, clambering over the wreckage in waves, encircling and slaughtering the Imperials.

The Vandis cowards were nowhere to be seen, however. Marroth and the other Chosen had been given only the power of the cults, rather than the uprising's standing military force. Aspirants with clubs and ragged clothes formed their ranks, making up in fanaticism what they lacked in skill. It seemed to be working, but Marroth still wondered what the Hounds had in store.

Smoke and flames billowed freely through the air, casting a flaring background to the slaughter taking place before Marroth's eyes. The cultists, spurred on by their chants, drove at the Guard without pause, braving the flames to club their hated foes to death with their bare hands.

"My lord!" squealed a horribly scarred follower. The wretched man must have been seventy, what skin that was left clinging tightly to his hunched skeletal body. "My, lord, the Imperials have been broken here! They have fallen back towards one of the outer hab blocks, they're making a final stand. We have the survivors surrounded!"

Marroth made an exaggerated sniff, making sure the follower knew of the Legionnaire's distaste for his presence. "Burn them, and bring me their heads. Mighty Khorne will relish in their bloodshed."

Connor. Nolt and Lester cautiously crossed the body strewn yard, keeping their weapons at arm's length to indicate their intentions. A group of Skitarii approached with their rifles raised, forming a protective circle around their Techpriest. The two groups met in the middle of the battlefield. Connor approached the Techpriest. The Skitarii trained their weapons on her, but the priest raised his hand, and the soldiers lowered their aim.

"Magos Dolthem," said Connor. "Care to explain this to me? Use small words if it makes you feel better."

"I would think, Commissar," said Dolthem, "that you would be the ones that have some explaining to do. Such as your indiscriminate assault on my operations here."

"I didn't realize that stealing from PDF warehouses was covered by the Mechanicum's charter. Or employing locals to smuggle supplies. We are simply following procedure, it is not our fault that your actions mirror those of the cultist threats."

"Had Governor Derosa simply allowed me to continue with my studies and provided me the means and personnel, I would not have needed to go behind her back on this. You, Commissar, of all people should understand the difficulties of importing materiel from the Munitorium."

Connor wasn't impressed, "That still does not explain your actions here. The Priesthood is supposed to be working towards reviving Angel Forge, not raiding warehouses for your pet projects, Dolthem."

"Oh, but I am working towards preserving the Forge, Commissar," chastised Dolthem. "I doubt that your linear mind could understand the complexities of my operation, but I can assure you that it is for the Imperium's best interests."

"You'll fix the Forge using nuclear warheads?" scoffed Connor.

Dolthem tilted his head slightly, allowing his optics cluster to refocus into a glare. "Precisely, Commissar," he said plainly. "The warheads themselves are simply a means to an end, like all things in the Imperium. I have located the source of the Forge's ailment. A virus implanted in the Forge's matrix by the Black Legion crippled it's machine spirit, leaving the Forge in a state of disrepair. However, it is reversible."

Connor frowned. "Go on."

"Of course, Commissar. The virus acted as a leech, rather than a complete kill switch. The damage can be reversed, but the problem was discovering where the leech ran to. This was quite simple. Spire Legis. The situation with Angel Forge can be seen as a microcosm of the crisis plaguing the entire Hive. One extremity that is the cause of all our woes, crippling the Imperium's ability to act. All we need to do is remove the Cause, and the symptoms shall fade."

Lester stepped forward, "You want to destroy an entire Spire? There could still be people in there! You cannot possibly think that destroying Legis will fix your precious factory."

Dolthem sighed like a parent dealing with an ignorant child. "Major, you and every other person here knows that Legis was stripped clean of any loyal citizenry or strategic value long ago. It is nothing but a cancerous expanse that the Imperial Guard has failed time and again to secure. If I'm not mistaken, Legis was also quite an effective diversion. Weren't the Vendoland Regiments dragged into a protracted siege that left the Capital Spire open for attack?"

Lester fumed, enraged by the bitter memories Dolthem was picking apart. The Magos simply stared at him with a blank expression, which only further incensed the Major. Before he could respond, Nolt placed a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head.

"I thought so," said Dolthem. "A worthless shell of a city, and a constant threat for every loyal citizen in Angel Hive. It's destruction will solve both our problems. You will be free to operate, and I shall conclude my business with the Forge's restoration. Do we have an accord?"

Connor turned to Nolt and Lester. "I don't know what he is playing at, but he is offering us a chance we haven't had in months," said Connor. "Even if his sob story about how this will solve the Forge problem, we can't pass up the chance to drive the Archenemy out of the Hive for good."

"You can be serious," hissed Lester. "He's already had his Cogboys shooting at us, he's lying. It's just another trick."

"You're both right," said Nolt. "We don't have any reason to trust him, but to be frank, we haven't given him any reason to trust us. We need a mutual exchange."

Connor was silent. She knew what Nolt was suggesting. She didn't like it, but it seemed as though she had no choice. Sighing heavily, she said, "Very well, I'll make the arrangements."

"Yes, yes! Flee you worms! Let the embrace of Nurgle catch you should I not!" Marroth gleefully hacked and burned the routing Guardsmen to shreds. The Dead Zone was aflame, the Chosen silhouetted against the inferno like grim sentinels, bringing death to all around. This was too easy, at the slightest provocation, the Vendolanders broke before them.

The fire would spread, a great path towards the Capital would be forged on the corpses of the slain. Marroth would lead the charge, none could stand before him, and all would follow behind. Victory was theirs. He could taste it on is lips.

Through the ash choked skies, three lights streaked through the air. Marroth focused on them, trying to discern their origin. The fires were too great, the smoke too thick. The leader of the "Chosen" realized too late the light's true nature.

From his high balcony atop Spire Legis, Zephus-Hassan took one last look at the doomed Spire, before returning to the summoning circle within the chamber. The Chosen sacrifices had served their purpose, whether they had known or not, it was no consequence. Stepping into the flickering Warpfire, the Spire disappeared as Zephus was transported away from that dead husk for the last time.

The night sky was suddenly filled with searing white light. Moments later a muffled boom was heard, echoing across Meridian's capital hive. Spire Legis was no more than a smoking crater, reduced to ashes in a manner of seconds. The shockwave leveled its great towers, and the huge force of the blast sent a wall of flame rushing out across the Dead Zone, devastating the land for miles in all directions. Whatever was left in the corrupted Spire died along with it.

Connor winced as the sonic boom reached Angel Forge. Her face was drawn, as was her bolt pistol. At her feet knelt Colonel Banastre of the 85th Vendoland. A mixture of anger and betrayal washed over his face as he stared at her, unblinking. Connor's face remained impassive.

Behind her, Dolthem watched intently. "Well Commissar, be on with it. That was the arrangement, Spire Legis in exchange for the man responsible for tonight's transgression."

"The Imperial Guard does not tolerate cowardice in the line of fire," said Connor. "Neither should it do so in the face of incompetence of command."

"He will be of no loss to you then," said Dolthem. "I am sure a replacement for his position shall be readily available."

Connor bit her lip, remaining steady. Banastre spat at her, his face livid. "I hope that you live long enough to regret this, bitch. I want you to remember this day, the day you made the call that doomed all of us."

"This day would have come for you sooner or later, Colonel," snapped Connor. "Any words you say now are merely excuses to delay the inevitable."

"Well then quit stalling, and do your damn job! You'll get yours, I guarantee it."

Connor pressed the pistol to Banastre's forehead, her finger on the trigger. She fired. Colonel Banastre's headless body slumped to the ground. Connor let her arm go slack. As far as first executions went, it was a feeling she wished she would never again experience.

Not once had Connor ever killed a soldier in the line of duty during her short time with the Vendolanders. And yet here she was, standing over the body of a fellow soldier. He may have been a useless fool, but he was still a servant of the Emperor. His blood was on her hands. And she would have to live with that.

Magos Dolthem clasped his hands together. "Then our business is concluded. I shall retire to my studies. See to it that this mess is cleaned up, will you? We both have work to tend to, I am sure."

The Skitarii dispersed, dragging their dead away from the battlefield. Connor continued to stare at Banastre's corpse, saying nothing. Lester and Nolt approached her. "Ma'am? Are you alright?" asked Lester.

There seemed little to say for Connor. "Let's get the hell out of here."

Author's note: So ends City Slumber, Midnight Thunder. Be sure to stay tuned as the Struggle for Meridian takes a turn for the Green.