The Beast Arises

Bohemond watched the flicker of plasma jets disappear into the thickening cloud bank. A few seconds later the cockpit dimmed, the view outside turned to a uniform purple-grey of diffused light. His gaze moved to the surveyor screens, the transponder positions of the other Thunderhawks marked out by red sigils on the black display. In arrowhead formation they continued to plunge surfaceward.

‘The Inquisition?’ Bohemond resisted the urge to spit his disgust. ‘Cloistered meddlers, products of the inbred politics of the Senatorum.’

‘Of course, High Marshal.’ Eudes paused, uncertain of continuing.

‘You think that I overstep the mark of an Adeptus Astartes commander, Eudes?’

‘There are covenants, oaths…’

‘Pledges are but one form of honour and duty, brother. Ours is a higher cause, our judge none other than the Emperor Himself. What mortal bondage can stay our hand when a higher calling demands action? If I had been chosen as Lord Commander our forces would not be loitering in orbit as uncertain as a novitiate at first bolter drill. Praise Vulkan, son of the Emperor, but he is not the Emperor Himself. His coddling of Koorland leads our crusade astray.’

Eudes said nothing, fixing his eyes upon the monitors and controls. He was clearly ill at ease with the words of his superior but he offered no argument that might be taken as insubordination.

‘A doubt unvoiced is a doubt doubled,’ said the High Marshal.

‘Why must we hide the Truth, Brother-Marshal?’ Eudes’ look was plaintive. ‘Why should we be ashamed of being the Emperor’s trusted heralds?’

‘Be wary, brother.’ Bohemond spoke softly. He laid a hand upon the arm of his companion, a gesture of solidarity and reassurance. ‘The Emperor has chosen us to bear this message, because we are strong enough. The others are weak. They hold His light but do not embrace it. We are the true fists of the Emperor, the inheritors of the crusade He launched across the stars. In time others will come to our cause and know the truth of it. The Master of Mankind hid His light for thousands of years until the time was right to lead humanity back to glory. What terrible labour is it to conceal our greatness for a few years so that revelation might come at the correct moment?’

‘You are right, High Marshal. It was selfish of me to doubt your wisdom.’

‘The wisdom of Sigismund, not mine. We are great because we are the sons of greatness, never forget that.’

For the next several minutes Bohemond studied the navigational data transmitted by the Adeptus Mechanicus, gathered by their scout flights just before the datacraft had been destroyed. There was barely a square kilometre of the surface that was not populated — and hence defended. Wherever the Black Templars landed they would face instant retaliation. The only plausible attack strategy was to make planetstrike in overwhelming force, obliterating the orks in the landing zone’s vicinity to allow Bohemond’s warriors to establish a working beachhead.

He reviewed possible strike locations, immediately dismissing any landing within one of the major cities. As tempting as it was to directly pierce the heart of the enemy, there was little reward in attacking the most heavily fortified areas. Instead, his thoughts were drawn to one of many strange expanses in the ash wilds — areas obviously artificially flattened but bereft of significant structures. It was likely they were sites for future settlements, cleared and prepared but the construction not yet commenced.

A signal alerted him to a communication incoming from the Abhorrence in orbit. He activated the Thunderhawk’s vox-systems. Through the hiss of distance and growing interference from Ullanor he recognised Clermont’s voice. The castellan had been left in command of the fleet assets, awaiting instruction on the primary landing site.

‘High Marshal, we are losing surveyor contact with your position,’ the castellan warned. ‘I have been told communications will deteriorate rapidly over the next five minutes, possibly be eliminated entirely.’

‘You need the target zone, yes?’

‘Affirmative, High Marshal. Our companies are waiting in their drop pods, the cascades are primed for launch. Do we have an assault site confirmed?’

Bohemond looked again at the rough cartographic intelligence. One site looked the same as any other from their current position. He closed his eyes and adjusted the viewscreen without looking, trusting in the Emperor to lead him to the best site, a silent prayer for guidance in his thoughts. He opened his eyes and picked the closest of the flat expanses, noting the grid reference.

‘Transmitting target data to you, brother-castellan.’ Bohemond entered the coordinates and despatched an encrypted signal to the Abhorrence. ‘Immediate drop. Your assault wave will make planetfall no more than three minutes after our touchdown.’