A lone Condemner Bolter—mine—laid upon the table between us all, catching the gaze of most mortal eyes, unlike the other armaments scattered in view. A pair of Techpriests were resanctifying the weapon, filling the dimly-lit war room with wafts of sharp incense. “Eyes front,” I commanded of the room, trying to refocus the gaze of my mortal allies back to me. They all obliged. “Silas, have your operatives been fitted with their armatures?”
“They have, sir, yes, but we have yet to receive the armaments themselves,” he answered, gesturing to my Condemner.
“Alas you won’t be getting those, exactly,” I shrugged. “Your men will be getting units of the Godwyn-De’az Pattern, same as our Sisters,” I explained, and looked to Lucene and the two Sisters that flanked her, all of whom nodded in agreement. I then looked back to the trio of Scions in the room, Silas and two of his trusted operatives, though none were as close to him as the likes of Luther, Xavier, or Czevia had been. “Any of you ever fired a Bolt weapon before?”
“No, sir,” they said in unison, shaking their heads.
“Well, other than ensuring the operational functionality of your supporting armatures, that you don’t blow your own arms off from the recoil of this sacred weapon, I must insist upon very disciplined shooting,” I explained, and the two Scions that flanked Silas seemed insulted that I could lecture them about weapons discipline. Silas, however, accepted the recommendation without emotional attachment. “Each of us will have three twenty-round magazines, and these are automatic weapons by default. I anticipate an extended engagement, which means the conservation of ammo will be crucial. It may be tempting to hold the trigger of a Bolter and unleash Holy Wrath upon all those before you, but not only is your body unlikely to survive such a thing—armature or not—but so, too, would you compromise your unit. And I cannot have that,” I explained. “Single fire is all I want to hear from any non-Astartes, is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” the Scions and Sisters answered at once. The war room consisted of the three Scions and three Sisters as mentioned. It also featured Sergeant Astal and two of his Red Hunters, as—bless their souls—they had agreed to heed my command for this operation, when asked by Lord van der Skar some years ago. The two Techpriests that were sanctifying my weapon had arrived in the room with Massino Varnus, representing the Mechanicus involvement in this ordeal. Flanking me, as representatives of the Inquisition, were Zha and Bliss.
Anyone not represented by the groups present was not going to join me on the frontlines in eliminating Ouranos. I had already made that decision, hard as it was. That meant Galen, Mirena, and Castecael were out. Galen was out because I did not expect a Knight to find much operational capability within the confines of an enemy vessel, save for serving as a distraction while being mauled by enemy hordes. Castecael was out because I anticipated tremendous casualties, not merely aboard Ouranos’s vessel, and we would need rapid and experienced medicae involvement to minimize the damage. And Mirena…she, I knew, would be the most upset by my decision. But she was not a foot soldier, not as everyone else was. I needed and wanted her in the void, dangerous as it may be, but that danger would do nothing to assuage the pain of being apart from me in what might very well be my final hour.
The true betrayal, however, was not for those that were not made aware of this war council, but for Zha Trantos, who I had every intention of forbidding from joining me aboard Ouranos’s ship. I wanted her coordinating things from afar, where she was most able. She was not an incapable soldier; years of Inquisitorial experience had molded her into what would be a valuable asset in overtaking Ouranos from within the confines of his ship. But we had, I believed, enough soldiers as it was; adding too many of the Imperium’s heroes in one place was to risk their lives for no substantial gain, past a point. I wanted her aware of our tactical plans, and to have her weigh in on them, but when the time came, I intended to leave her behind on the Coldbreed.
I felt, in reflecting upon that fact, as Thaddeus Scayn must have felt on Hestia Majoris, insisting I leave the planet when he had discovered the depths of the heretics’ schemes. Shielding Zha from the horrors I intended to face certainly felt like the right move; if anyone could bring Ouranos down in my absence, it would be her, and were I to perish, she would have all the motivation and fury to see such a task through. I wondered if Thaddeus knew this about me, too.
“Varnus, what is the status of the dissemination of our armaments to our friends?” I asked him, gesturing to Silas and his Scions as ‘our friends.’
“Sanctification is nearing completion. The Machine Spirits of the armaments have been properly calibrated and lexiconographic security wards successfully implanted within each device. Dissemination can begin by the end of this day, as Mars wills it,” Varnus reported.
“Ensure it so. This is your top priority, Massino,” I insisted via his first name. “What of your own armaments?”
“We intend to field sixteen tech adepts, enginseers, and techsorcists—including this unit,” he began, referring to himself. “Each possesses an arc rifle calibrated to minimize friendly fire and radiological contamination for extended combat aside allied flesh.”
“Much appreciated,” Silas grunted.
“The tech adepts and techsorcists will each be fielding a single Servitor unit with utility weaponry as each sees fit. The enginseers will field two such Servitors, for operating your armored division of vehicles,” Varnus finished reporting, paying no mind to Silas’s interruption.
“What sort of armor can we expect in that division?” Sergeant Astal asked, the first utterance from any of the Red Hunters thus far in our meeting. The voice of one of the Emperor’s Angels stirred the gaze of my allies from me toward him, even as I answered. I cannot say I minded.
“One Chimera, prioritizing utility. Two Leman Russ Exterminators and one Demolisher,” I reported.
“And enemy armor?” Astal furthered.
“About that,” I sighed, shaking my head. “Specifics of the enemy’s capabilities are unknown. But I expect them to be capable of everything we are, at a minimum. I would anticipate enemy armor, though I cannot guess of its form or function. I also want to point out that I believe we should anticipate opposition from Xenos as much as the daemonic. Though our enemy is a heretic among the ranks of the archenemy, I believe he commands a Space Hulk, and they are always rife with some manner of foul Xenos which we may need to exterminate for Holy Terra.”
“How does one tell the difference between a Xenos and a Daemon?” one of the Scions asked.
In response, Silas reached into the jacket of that Scion and pulled out a small pamphlet before dropping it to the table between us. “If it’s in there, it’s Xenos scum,” Silas explained, pointing to the Imperial Infantrymen’s Uplifting Primer. “If it is not, it is daemonic.”
“A fair enough guideline,” I agreed. “Which brings me to my next point: Daemons are terrifying. That probably isn’t a surprise, given the name, but the source of their strength is your fear. You will want to run from them, to take cover and shoot them from afar. You will find this ineffective. Our brethren in the Ordo Malleus have found daemons most weak to symbols of the Emperor, and for that, you will be given sanctified blades with which to combat them, chain weapons and power weapons alike,” I explained, and then reached to Drepane holstered on my waist, and drew and engaged the Nemesis falchion before them. “Weapons such as these are the bane of the archenemy. Do not give the foe the power of your fear. Arm yourself with your wrath, and harden yourself through the shield of contempt. In this, you will give the daemonic something to fear.” I then sheathed Drepane after disengaging it.
Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.
As if, Cronos muttered from the back of my head.
“As we’re getting into battle tactics, this begs the involvement of one far more knowledgeable than myself,” I introduced, stepping away from the table for a moment and letting Zha take the reins of the conversation. Bliss wrapped an arm around my waist as Zha shielded the action from view of the others. As Zha began speaking, I glanced to Bliss, who simply gave me a friendly wink.
“Five Astartes, three armored vehicles, ten Sisters, twenty Scions, sixteen Techpriests and their associate Servitors, and three Inquisitors,” Zha surmised, recounting what had already been established for everyone. “We field a strike force that should stir fear into the deepest bowels of mankind’s darkest foes. But not this one; this foe will not fear our numbers or unit composition. Take no pride in your own presence, save for when the day is won. Our mission is to kill one man; in that regard, you can think of this as an assassination operation. To accomplish this, we will need to work together; all of us,” she said, and then stared Sergeant Astal dead in the eye. “Astartes, you are faster, stronger, more resilient, and more capable than us. But you are not invincible—a fact my superior, in Callant Blackgar, has demonstrated on numerous occasions among your traitorous ilk. Much as we will benefit from your aid, you will require ours. It is imperative we work together.
“To that end, as we push through the corridors of a baleful amalgamation of enemy vessels in what we believe to be a Space Hulk, I envision a column for our convoy of armored vehicles, reinforced at the rear with two of our Astartes, and at the front with three. Aside this column, a spread of our Sororitas, Scions, and Techpriests, organized such that any needed operative type can respond to any needed encounter as swiftly as possible. As we are moving with an armored convoy, our pathing will be dictated by the presence of halls large enough to hold our vehicles and allow them to maneuver. This necessitates leaving smaller passageways uncleared, which will allow for our enemy to flank us. Accordingly, our flank must be kept well guarded at all times, and we must be ready to respond to an attack on any side of our convoy at a moment’s notice. As we will be prioritizing wider halls, when an attack at our front or rear occurs, two thirds of the operatives nearest to the assault are to spread out in echelon formation to provide fire support. The furthest third is to remain opposite the assault in case of a combined attack from the foe, though one Astartes is to patrol the length of the convoy during an assault to respond to any threats to our infantry’s echelon formation,” Zha explained. She went on further, detailing every conceivable combat scenario in vivid detail. We could expect an attack from the enemy above us, below us, in front, behind, or aside us. As we intended to fight the daemonic, we needed to anticipate the enemy appearing immediately between our ranks themselves. And Zha accounted for all such scenarios and more.
I would not say I was disinterested. In fact, I was heavily invested in Zha’s tactical breakdown of our invasion plan. It had been ages since I had received such an analysis from someone so militarily intelligent. Indeed, my savant would have made as fine a General of the Astra Militarum as she made an Inquisitor. As she gave marching orders to all of our operatives, I began to feel a bit like the soldier I used to be, even if she was not providing orders to me directly. But I would be remiss to try to recount all of her plans here; it would take reams of scripture to commit to permanence, and while her wisdom may be worth making permanent, that is not the point of this report.
But I will commit to permanence the profane interruption of Zha’s scenario outline, which transpired about an hour and a half into my savant’s display of brilliancy. “Am I interrupting something important?” called a voice familiar only to me over the Coldbreed’s vox, thankfully only into our war room.
“Only crucially so,” Lucene growled, looking up at the ceiling toward the vox unit. But I held a hand up and stepped out of Bliss’s embrace, moving toward the table upon which we were drawing our battle plans. I got the sense that all the rest of the room believed the voice to be one of Coldbreed’s crew, perhaps a deckhand for Captain Vakian. But I knew better.
“Ouranos,” I said in wonder, my eyes glued to the vox unit above.
“Inquisitor Blackgar,” Ouranos replied.
For the moment, I had no response. What does one say to the enemy, when one has the opportunity to speak but not to shoot? The same awe that overpowered me also claimed the attention and wonder of many of my allies in the room, even the Techpriests, but not the Astartes. “The enemy? What foul trick is this?” Sergeant Astal seethed, raising his Bolter to the ceiling.
“Wait, Astartes,” I insisted, and though they did not lower their aim, they did not fire upon the ceiling vox. I then glanced upward again. “What do you want, heretic?”
“Straight to the point and the denunciation, are we?” Ouranos chuckled. “And here I thought we might catch up on your having slayed Mortoc—as I knew you would,” he offered, to which I glanced to Bliss. Her eyes did not meet mine, instead shying away from the vox unit—and my gaze—sheepishly, still ashamed of her decision to abandon me on Jaegetri until after she had taken Mortoc’s life.
“I have little to say to scum such as you,” I replied, looking back to the vox.
“I suppose that’s just as well. We will speak again soon, you and I, but my message today is not for you,” Ouranos explained.
“For who, then?” Varnus asked, disdain all but seeping out from his mechanized throat.
“You, of course. All of you. All of Callant Blackgar’s allies,” Ouranos answered. “I promised Callant Blackgar destruction. For any that intend to side with him, I can promise them their deaths or destruction likewise. But I do not require that. You need not die for nothing. You need not stand by his side in an exercise of futility.”
“And here we were warned you were a savant,” Bliss growled, a fire burning in her eyes that I had not seen ignited since our approach to Jaegetri.
“Meaning?” Ouranos asked.
“Meaning I do not stand by my brother’s side, I shield him with my own life from claw, tooth, and bullet, as is my duty and my desire,” Silas answered, resolute. “And you would have to be a moron to think an alternative was possible.”
Lucene furthered Silas’s point, close to me as she was, in attacking Ouranos from a theological position. “Even in an hour as dark as this, you find yourself at odds with the most loyal of His servants, and to think we would shirk in our responsibility to His light will only see you blinded by our radiance. There is not a soul on this ship that will not jump at the opportunity to serve at Callant’s side.”
Ouranos replied only with a chuckle at first. He and I expected such a response from my allies, no doubt. That was the whole point, I wagered—a wager made safer based on his follow-up. “Well, Inquisitor, it would seem you’ve inspired self-sacrificial loyalty in all you know,” Ouranos mocked. “How does that feel? How will it feel when all that loyalty is sacrificed in vain? How will it feel to see their light burned to a shadow on walls your Imperium will forget about in a few years, if not months?”
“How does it feel?” I asked, seething. “You will know how it feels when the bridge of your nose is broken under the barrel of my Bolter. You will know how it feels when I flense you alive until you decry the very darkness you abide by, and seek the light once more, heretic. You will know how it feels when I paint the halls of your desecrated vessel with the contents of your skull. All this, born from their loyalty. You will know that, and you will fear it until I free you of your fear at your life’s end. That is how it will feel,” I answered, and as Ouranos returned to chuckling, before the Astartes in the room could have pulled the triggers of their own weapons, my Bolt Pistol shot from my side into the grasp of an outstretched hand and blew the vox unit out of the ceiling, silencing our enemy for good.
Upon doing so, the war room’s sirens blared at once, red lights illuminating all figures from all sides. Enemy contact.