Marsh Silas wondered if the venerable Leman Russ had been truly plain of speech or a High Gothic translator had simplified the language of his tome. De Natura Belli, one of the Wolf King’s written works, was as much a philosophical treatise on war as much as a strategic and tactical guide. He spoke of courage and how it could uplift even the most inexperienced soul to great heights. But ss befitting of his sons, the Space Wolves Chapter, he emphasized aggressiveness, shock tactics, and closing with the enemy quickly to deny the might of their guns.

  “I wonder if the Wolf King had Orks in mind when he penned this,” said Marsh, tilting his head back on the pillow of Hyram’s cot. His brother sat at the desk beside the bed, his curricular, wire eyeglasses catching the light of the lamp. Stubble coated his chin and his long sideburns remained rough. He hunched over his personal copy of the Infantryman’s Uplifting Primer.

  “Do you think the men who wrote this were liars or fools?” asked Hyram, distantly.

  “Both,” replied Marsh, who chuckled along with Barlocke’s fragment.

  “Overton has told me the small ones stand over us by a meter and they are as strong as a Space Marine. It is not even their combat ability I fret over. How does the Ork conduct his logistics? His communications, his transportation? What are his tactics and strategies? I know how Traitor Guardsmen and Heretic Astartes conduct themselves; when I know how they operate, I can kill them. But Orks? How do you understand ignorance?” Marsh let the book rest on his chest and folded his hands behind his head. He gazed up at the gray deck above them, then shrugged.

  “What the Ork does out of my sight, I do not mind,” he said with a smile. “When we see them, we will kill them, and then we shall have victory.”

  “Surely, you are not dismissing their threat, nor the values of planning, reconnaissance—”

  “No, but I shan’t sit here fretting over what I cannot see. That time has passed for me.” Hyram released a heavy breath, its tone an indicator that he understood Marsh’s point. He took off his eyeglasses, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and then peered up at the picts pasted to the bulkhead. Peeling one away, he ran his thumb over the image of his scruffy-looking son. Marsh swung his legs out over the bed and studied his friend’s somber smile and distant eyes. “You’re still his beloved papa, even all the way out here,” he told him.

  “A better man would have stayed,” was all Hyram said. He set the pict down against the base of the lamp. “And that man would have done his duty by his wife.”

  “You’ll drive yourself mad with that kind of guilt,” said Marsh. He heaved himself up, grasped his shoulder, and offered a reassuring smile. “I thought it’d upset me more to know mama didn’t love papa at first, or even me. But I thank the Emperor she told me. Lilias and I took much time to understand ourselves. Perhaps, all you have to do is learn to love her, just like my mama did.”

  Hyram looked up sadly, his unkempt hair and sideburns giving him a drooping appearance. Marsh Silas put his hand on the back of his friend’s head and jostled him gently. He looked around the cabin with a sigh. “Oh, brother, we’ll just have to get off this ship. Once someone’s shooting at us again, we’ll feel much better.” That was enough to make Hyram smile. “There he is. Aye, you will see them again, and then you can try once more. Now, lay your arse down.” Marsh hauled Hyram from his chair, making a much bigger effort than it was required. Even after his bio-enhancements and conditioning, his brother was still a thinner man than he. In mock protest, Hyram let all rigor in his legs depart and went slack in Marsh’s arms. Both laughed as Marsh finally tossed the man into his bed, threw the blanket over him, let his friend pat him on the cheek, and departed with a wink.

  I have been on longer voyages. The longer one is trapped within a voidship’s confines, the more time they have to dwell on their thoughts. It’s never the pleasant ones, either. Barlocke’s voice came with a distant, story-like tone, creating a misty wind that made Marsh Silas uneasy. He trundled through the Gatekeeper’s halls, passing more voidsmen and servitors than any Cadians he knew. In the beginning, when their sadness abated, the Kasrkin enjoyed wandering on the deck and congregating in galleys and communal chambers. After two months by Marsh’s reckoning, most stayed in their quarters.

  “A ship like this swallows a man’s body as much as his mind,” whispered Marsh. His brow fell, sullen. “Not all of us have a spirit-ghost living within us to chat with.” Just imagine how dull life would be without me? Marsh Silas wanted to chuckle, but he found that he couldn’t.

  Some food stores had spoiled during the journey and three deck gangs had died from poisoning. Another two groups remained in the ship’s medicae with intestinal problems. Reports surfaced there had been two attempted mutinies among bondsmen in the lower decks, but those were swiftly crushed. A dozen midshipmen on their first assignment had committed suicide. None of it seemed to deter Rhodes or veterans like Tanzer, much to Marsh’s disquiet. For himself, he did his best to read, visit the platoon, and sleep when he could. It came easier when he did not dwell on Faye or Ghent. On the occasions he dreamed, he saw their faces. When he took his meals or contented himself with a book, he thought heard their voices. Barlocke said even with the gellar fields active, the Warp still had a curious effect on the mind. Surely, it affected everyone.

  At the very least, Holzmann kept up with his lessons. Marsh nodded at the younger man as slipped into Ruo’s chamber. He spent three solar hours with her every cycle and spent another three studying medicae texts. Walmsley Major reported the other day Holzmann hounded any Kasrkin willing to participate in his training.

  Marsh Silas slowed as he passed the door, remembering Ruo and Lada’s hushed conversation. But the medic’s training took priority over his curiosity. He pressed on down the halls, passing by the other private cabins. By the time he reached his at the end of the hall, he had unbuttoned his tunic. He pushed the door open and under the top sheets of his cot, found Tolly. One hand was planted on her hip, the other propped up her cheek, and her shoulders were bare.

  “Ello’, Mistah Cross,” she said coyly. “It appears in makin’ tah bed, I made me-self apart o’ it. But dun’ let tat’ stop ya from making yerself comfortable.”

  “If that is how you conduct your seductions, I can’t imagine you’ve found the arms of another too often,” said Marsh, wryly. Tolly giggled and threw off the sheets; just as swiftly, Marsh’s hand snapped up and blocked his view.

  “Oh, you can look, I dun’ mind one bit.”

  “I mind,” grunted the platoon leader. As Tolly squeezed back into her tank top, Marsh hung his tunic onto the back of the chair and then sat at the desk. “I was hardly gone an hour, you needn’t have tended my quarters.”

  “It’s me job.” Marsh smiled at the picts from the old days before running his finger along the collection of books he had lined up against the bulkhead. His forefinger passed, then returned to an empty space. Tolly, meanwhile, let her tank top fall over the belt loops of her short, green trousers. Just as she strutted towards the hatch, Marsh hooked the rear-most loop. The Ratling gazed over her shoulder and bit her lip. “Change yer mind?” Marsh lifted her tank top and pulled two small black books from under her top. “Oh.”

  “This is when you tell me you did not plan on stealing them,” said Marsh as he placed the books on the desk. Principles of Cadian Marksmanship and Cadian Small Unit Tactics. “What were you going to trade these for?”

  “I wasn’t trading’em, I was borrowing’em. Honest! When I came ere’, tey’ said everybody can learn how tah read. Well, I tot’ I’d give it a go. I got tah little primer book from Hyram for me and tah squad so we could practice together. But t’ere ain’t enough books tah go around since everybody’s so bloody bored. I tot about askin’ but I tot you’d tink’ it’d be silly for me tah read t’ose. Or get mad.”

  “Ask next time,” said Marsh. He ran his hand over his face, breathed into it, then softened his expression before he looked back at her. “I know I have not been the kindest man to you. I have had…difficulties for some time. For that, I am sorry. I can understand why you were worried, but I wouldn’t find it silly or get angry that you would want to educate yourself.”

  “Tat’ ain’t tah only reason I took’em,” said Tolly shyly. She hopped up, sat on the edge of Marsh’s cot, and swung her legs. “I didn’t buy tat’ pistol just tah keep me-self safe on board, either. I know me and my lot aren’t combat troopers, as much as we’d like to pitch in. But tat’ doesn’t mean we won’t find ourselves in a fight. If a bunch o’ angry Orks come after us, I wanna make sure we can fight back. I wanna take care of my squad.”

  Marsh’s stare softened. “Walmsley Major wanted to see you shoot,” he said quietly. “But you weren’t just on that firing range to showboat, were you?” Tolly hesitated, then shook her head. Marsh looked at the books momentarily before he dragged his footlocker beside his chair and stood it upright. He tapped the top and Tolly cautiously sat down on it. Picking up a pict of Lilias, he ran his thumb over her image before handing it to Tolly. “You know who that is?”

  “Tat’s’ tah one everyone calls Carstensen tah Cadian, tah’ brave one.”

  “She was the bravest of the brave,” he said wistfully. “Before she joined the God-Emperor, she set the groundwork for a schola. She wanted to teach Commissars and officers how to be good leaders, not just commanders of men. Most of what they teach there is derived from what she, myself, and Hyram achieved on the battlefield. We learned hard lessons, made mistakes, lost people.”

  He showed Tolly another pict which displayed his Whiteshields, all still small for Cadians and so young. Rowley, Tattersall, and Clivvy seemed so child-like in their ill-fitting uniforms and big helmets. Marsh put the picts down and smiled down at Tolly, she herself seeming even smaller right beside him. Her eyes, big and trusting, gazed up charitably. “Even if it’s just a few individuals, you want to take care of your people. I understand.”

  Smiling, he slid the books back to her. “When we get to Hydraphur, we’ll take your squad to a firing range. I know Ratlings have a natural aptitude with rifles, but you should know how to handle those pistols.” Tolly’s eyes widened eagerly. “I’ll speak to Lord Captain Rhodes about purchasing more for the rest of your squad.” Tolly stood on top of the foot locker and wrapped her arms around Marsh’s neck. She nuzzled the side of his head and swayed from side to side excitedly. At first embarrassed, he finally leaned in and put his own arm around her in return.

  “Bless ye!” she exclaimed and kissed him on the cheek. Marsh recoiled, picked Tolly up by her shoulders, and placed her back on the deck, appearing appalled but still smiling.

  Suddenly, the Gatekeeper rocked. The steady hum of the ship faded and the momentum that permeated the hull disappeared. Marsh stood up, looked around, and then smiled excitedly at Tolly. “I do believe, Sergeant Lightfoote, we have exited the Warp.”

  “Tank’ tah Emperor!” sighed Tolly, hooking her thumbs together to make the Sign of the Aquila over her chest. But as soon as she did, alarms rang out. These were not the warning bells like when they boarded, but true alert systems. A public address system crackled to life and a long, shrill whistle note was followed by a short, full blast.

  “All hands, action stations!” came Rhodes’ voice. Normally genteel, the commanding boom of his voice came as a shock. Marsh Silas was out of his room before he realized it. In the hall, voidsmen and officers ran and yelled. Bloody Platoon emerged from their cabins and joined the rush. Marsh grabbed Walmsley Major as he forced his way to the bridge. He was soon joined by Hyram, Gabler, Osgood, Pletcher, and the other 1st Company platoon leaders Ryer and Hollins. By the time they reached the bridge, Prince Constantine, Overton, and Major Rosenfeld were already waiting for them.

  Marsh was immediately drawn to the observation glass. To look out at that familiar darkness and all its stars immediately filled him with relief. He exhaled involuntarily and grabbed Hyram’s arm. He nearly had tears in his eyes. Many of the Kasrkin kissed their prayer beads or whispered words to the God-Emperor. Never had the void looked so familiar and beautiful, and with a planet right before them as well. Its rings of void shipyards, bedecked with glittering lights, even looked enchanting.

  But enormous, long blue and red streaks rose from the gray, urbanized surface. Similar lights shot out from orbital defense platforms. Imperial Navy and system defense ships formed up around these bastions and their weapons batteries of macrocannons and lances rippled. Their impacts billowed along the jagged, shabby, disordered yet fearsome, heavily-armored Ork ships. Painted red, layered with massive plates, and covered with turrets and cannons, they maintained their rampageous charge into the Imperial forces. Even as ram ships and kill-cruisers were disabled or destroyed, greenskin torpedoes landed among the defenders, obliterating frigates and destroyers.

  “My, ain’t tat’ awfully frightening,” murmured Tolly. Marsh immediately crouched down.

  “What are you doing here!?” he hissed.

  “I tot’ tat’ I was supposed tah come ere’!”

  “You’re not…just stay close to me.”

  Marsh stood back up and joined his fellow officers around the hololithic projector. Hydraphur appeared and red emergency windows filled with text popped open. Lines ran from these windows to several highlighted regions on the planet.

  “We did not beat the Orks to Hydraphur, but this appears to be a raid, not their main force. Despite its size, four major landing parties have invaded. Admiral Villenne wishes to engage the fleet before they launch any more transports or flee the system. Not a ship was lost in the Warp, thank the Emperor, and we are in an optimal position to attack.”

  “Sir, we’re receiving an alpha-prioris hail from the planetary surface,” said one of the junior officers. Rhodes ordered it patched through, lighting up a screen with an audio visualizer. The name ‘Captain Flipsen,’ and location coordinates appeared with it. At first, there was static, then a cacophonous explosion.

  “This is Rik Flipsen, captain of Karl van der Byl’s Household Guard, requesting reinforcements! We’ve been holding back the greenskins at Jonkhers Spaceport all week but they seized the control nexus for our anti-aircraft array. Bloody things managed to shut it down and now we’re getting bombarded by Ork fliers led by Sky-shaker! I sallied out with a company to retake it but we’re at half-strength and cut off! If they break through, they’ll cut the hive right in two!”

  Marsh Silas saw Hyram peel away from the crowd. He joined him at the hololithic projector as he input the coordinates from the screen. The image flashed to a top-down perspective of the spaceport. Rhodes, seeing the pair studying the map, ordered an augur scan. Real-time updates highlighted sections of the map. Captain Flipsen’s regiment was positioned at a fortified wall and gatehouse overlooking a massive, valley-sized artificial plate. It jutted out from the top of the manufactorum levels that sat just below the hab zones in the center of Hive Jonkhers. Clusters of landing pads, mooring masts, flak towers, warehouses, and a trio of space elevators on the eastern side. There was a blue section highling two Skitarii war cohorts holding a small citadel. The center of the plate was criss-crossed by a dozen airfields; six large Ork landers and the surrounding zone were depicted in red. On the western side, perpendicular to the gatehouse wall by four hundred meters, was the anti-aircraft control center. Nearby, a small castle was occupied by the Flipsen’s force.

  “Major Rosenfeld, a grav-chute drop into the upper bailey with a sweep into the lower ward would give us a strong foothold to counterattack,” said Hyram. “With Valkyries in the air and our Taurox Primes in support, we can retake the nexus, reactivate the defenses, and clear the sky.”

  “Valkyries cannot deploy in orbit. But they’re still packed into the heavy landers; we need someplace from where we can land and launch them,” said Marsh. His eye was drawn to the orbital elevators which were affixed with massive landing pads and docks. “Here. This is heavy lander-rated.” Hyram plugged the information into his data-slate and handed it to Rosenfeld.

  “Such an attack would necessitate the entire company’s deployment,” he said. “But it would be the decisive factor. Lord Captain, transmit this plan to my superior.”

  It was minutes before another screen activated, this time with a live-feed from Cadian Star. Warden-Colonel von Bracken appeared, already being clad in his carapace armor by his attendants.

  “Major, I am already aware of the situation and a plan is being put into effect. The 10th and 17th Cadian drop regiment will deploy on the southern edge of Jonkhers, well-behind the Ork forces. We will spearhead the counterattack and roll up the Ork rear.”

  “Sir, the Orks have the benefit of heavy air support in this area,” said Hyram, sternly.

  “We’ll lose hundreds of men to their strafing runs,” added Marsh Silas. Von Bracken shoved one of his attendants away before he could finish fixing the shoulder plate to its module. He drew closer to the picter and glared into it.

  “It’s always you two,” he grumbled. “Our assault will relieve pressure on those mercenaries and they can retake the anti-aircraft array. Casualty projections are within acceptable parameters.”

  “Sir, I have faced the Orks most recently,” said Overton. “They may press on regardless.”

  “Aye, and the mercenaries may fall before we reach them,” said Rosenfeld.

  “Those mercenaries are a spent force,” added Prince Constantine, coolly.

  “You may be my second, Constantine, but I won’t have you contest me. And you Major, get your men in order and prepare to deploy. A field of glory awaits.” The feed ended in a flash. Marsh swore under his breath while Hyram hurried over to Rosenfeld.

  “Sir, please, a lot of good people are going to get killed for no reason at all,” he implored.

  “It’s orders from the regimental CO,” said Rosenfeld, grudgingly, “they are not to be defied.”

  “That man is after a painting of a glorious charge with him at the front,” said Marsh, jerking his thumb towards the screen. “And he doesn’t give a damn how many people it takes to get it. If we go down there, we can save hundreds, perhaps over a thousand lives. That’s worth the defiance.”

  Rosenfeld inhaled deeply and his gaze settled on the projector. The areas highlighted in red started to encroach on the wall and castle. Constantine came up beside him and they exchanged a long, searching glance. They both nodded and the Major’s brow furrowed in determination.

  “Avalanche Company, to the landers. Those men need us.”

  “Bloody Platoon!” shouted Marsh, whirling around. “With me!”

  ***

  Valkyrie engines hummed and simmered. Crew chiefs performed inspections and gestured to their pilots. Gunners cycled their weapons. Specter-class Valkyries hovered low as they latched on Taurox Primes. Kasrkin bent over as they checked their harnesses and equipment. Comrades adjusted grav-chute locks and patted each other down. As the elevator dock was over six thousand meters high, all wore their sealed rebreathers. Strong, cold winds whistled over their heads.

  Armed and armored, Marsh adjusted his skull plate, ensuring the filters were secure. He observed Bloody Platoon as they boarded the Valkyries. If he could not see the fires of battle below, he might have found the sight of his men holding the Ogryns’ hands endearing.

  As the command squad boarded the last Valkyrie, he thumped his fist on the cockpit glass. The scrappy pilot looked up and held up his fist, smiling.

  “How are you, Foxley?” asked Marsh over the micro-bead.

  “I’m meaner and greener than an Ork, sir!” he laughed. Foxley was part of the 292nd Special Operations Aviation Wing attached to the 10th and had flown Marsh Silas on nearly all his air assault and drop missions. It was he who transported them during the Battle of Hill 277 and the Raid on Station Rapitur. He was as fearless as he was purportedly insane.

  Marsh grinned and approached the rear of the dropship. Holzmann stood at the ramp with Ruo alongside, checking his medical kit. Marsh took the former by his shoulder and got in his face. There was an eager glint, but behind it was a shadow. He tapped him on the shoulder once and then pushed him up the ramp. Marsh turned back to Sister Ruo and tapped her chestplate.

  “Have you ever been on a jump?”

  “A Sister does not need to be a Seraphim to fall upon her foes from above.”

  “Then you better get a chute, because you’re coming with us.” Ruo’s eyes lit up. “You stay on Holzmann’s arse the whole time.” She nodded as she received aid from Clivvy in donning her own set. Waiting until the last boarded, he was just going up the ramp when Merriweather and Aralyn approached, both in grav-chutes. “I only need one of you in case we lose comms.”

  “We do not wish to be separated,” said Aralyn.

  “It is alright, I will go.” Merriweather embraced her sister before passing Marsh.

  He followed her and sat in the last seat just as the Valkyrie lifted off from the pad. Immediately, the aircraft dipped its nose and descended. Marsh Silas and the command team rode it out without complaint, outward expression, or gesture; although the enemy was new, the ride was the same. The aircraft shuddered and the door-mounted heavy bolters barked. Ork deffkoptas buzzed outside and peppered the hull with heavy shooters. Explosions rocked the air around them.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Rowley tapped Marsh’s shoulder and she held up the handset. “It’s Warden-Colonel von Bracken, he’s asking to be patched into the platoon net.” As she spoke, she rolled her eyes and used her other hand to mimic a yapping bird. Marsh nodded apathetically.

  “Cross! You better have a good fucking reason why you’re not at the assembly area.”

  “Apologies, sir, there was a comms foul-up. I’m afraid we can’t pull out, we’re vectored in.”

  “Don’t play those games with me, boy, I won’t have you stealing the show out from under us. You tell those pilots to turn those birds around, or Emperor help me I’ll—” Suddenly, the line went dead. Marsh and Rowley gazed at her vox-array in confusion. Across from them, Merriweather lowered her hand back into her lap.

  “My mistake,” she said coyly over the micro-bead. “My powers escape me on occasion.”

  “I like her already, sir,” said Rowley. “Let’s keep her.”

  The Valkyrie flattened its trajectory. Foxley’s giddy voice flooded the comms. “Phew, it’s hot up here. There’s a lot of bloody Orks trying to kill me. But they haven’t gotten any of us yet! Captain, we’re level out at three thousand meters locked in on the target! Let’s go to war!”

  Marsh Silas motioned for everyone to stand up. He tapped his shoulders, indicating an equipment check, then ordered the count, and they shouted out until they reached him.

  “One is green!” he shouted. He backed up until the heels of his boots were at the edge of the compartment. Shutting his eyes briefly, he thought of Lilias, Faye, Ghent, and Cadia. All the boredom and anxiety of the voyage, all the sorrow of the departure, he felt it no more. Only the thrill resonated in his chest.

  The compartment light flashed from red to green. “Follow me!” Marsh jumped and turned in midair. With Bloody Platoon and the rest of Avalanche Company, he plummeted towards the castle below. Extending his arms and legs, he watched streaks of lasers and tracer rounds draw closer. Valkyries peeled off, guns blazing as they warded off Ork aircraft. Many of the deffkoptas blew into pieces or burst into flames. Marsh adjusted his trajectory; he would land right on the ramparts over the inner bailey gate. The altimeter in his slate-monitron warbled and he activated the grav-chute’s jets. He slung his hellgun into his hands and kept his feet and knees together.

  “For Carstensen and for Cadia!” he shouted as he landed on the battlements. Bloody Platoon bellowed the same as they and the rest of Avalanche Company touched down. Marsh detached his grav-chute and poured fire over the wall with the other Kasrkin. It was a sea of Orks, all clamoring, screaming, shooting, and waving crude swords. But the combined might of hundreds upon hundreds of hellguns raked the greenskins, felling entire ranks at a time. Heavy bolters decimated groups, grenadiers rained fragmentation shells down, light plasma cannons blasted apart heavily armored foes, and the volley guns cut hot swathes deep into the enemy’s lines.

  Kasrkin chucked grenades by the handfuls. Lance Sergeant Clivvy dropped her hellgun just to be handed a continuous supply of fragmentation grenades. Crazy Stück, laden with explosives, happily dropped satchel charges and melta bombs on Orks as they tried to climb up ladders. Cornelius was the first to wet his blade, jumping onto the crenellations to tear the head off an Ork with the chainblade of his Vindictor Flamer. Then, he burned the ladder and those upon it with a gout of burning promethium. Messer and Ironsides exhausted four hundred rounds of assault stubber ammunition and cried for more from their loaders.

  Bodies piled up as the Orks drew back from the walls. But the horde was truly destroyed when Osgood’s heavy weapons platoon erected their crew-served weapons. Automatic grenade launchers, twin-linked heavy stubbers, and autocannons, their combined fire acted as a scythe, driving the Orks back towards the outer gatehouse. Many took cover behind bodies only to be rooted out by explosives, a flare from Jacinto, or the keen eyes of marksmen like Tattersall and Isenhour. Wit and his Ogryn dropped frag bombs and laced the field with ripper rounds.

  Marsh crouched down to swap his heat sink. He found an officer clad in yellow carapace sitting there; he was not wounded or afraid, but appeared ultimately relieved. Taking off his mask and smiling, Marsh Silas grabbed the man’s shoulder. “I apologize we are not Astartes!”

  “If the Emperor has answered my prayers with Kasrkin, then I am blessed!” Marsh recognized Flipsen’s voice and was glad to see him alive. He was about to tell the man to stay low when Rowley motioned to the handset. Unhooking his mask, he slid it underneath his helmet.

  “This is Red Six, send traffic.”

  “This is Avalanche Six, secure the gatehouse so White and Black can clear the outer wall.” He looked over the edge as bullets flew; the target was fifty meters away, diagonally positioned from his location.

  “Wilco!” Marsh waved his hand. “Wulff, Yoxall, hold position here and provide suppressing fire! Walmsley Minor, you and 6th are up front with me; Monty Peck and Drummer Boy, you’re right behind us. Metcalfe, Foley, when you see 2nd and 5th have reached the gate, you follow! Sync!?”

  “Sync!”

  “Captain, open the gate for us!” yelled Marsh to Flipsen. The mercenary complied and the armored portcullis rose. Marsh led the charge with his command squad and his Kasrkin. Above, the fusillade was deafening as a massive outpour of fire thinned the Orks further. There were so many bodies between the two gatehouses that a man could have walked across their corpses without touching the ground.

  “Grenades!” Marsh saw small black objects fall from the gatehouse tower on the right. He was about to dive for cover when a golden shield appeared around him and his two squads. Both grenades detonated against the glittering barrier and their fragments fell harmlessly to the ground. Slugs fired from above plinked uselessly off and the Orks shouted in frustrated fury.

  Merriweather stood in the center of the Kasrkin squads with one hand raised. Her force staff cast an incredible light and the eye-shaped head was as bright as a beacon. “I feel the God-Emperor within me!” she cried in an ethereal voice. “He grants us his protection!” Her very presence invigorated Marsh and the others. He felt as though he could leap through the shield and tear an Ork apart with his bare hands.

  “Hold your position, Silas!” said Hyram, his voice energetic and excited. The battle commander was afield now and the Cadian heart beat fast. “We are going to mass our fire!”

  “No need, Captain!” chimed Foxley over the net. His Valkyrie dropped low and emptied a rocket pocket into the left tower. Dust and rockcrete showered the lower bailey. Then, Foxley performed a sharp one-hundred degree turn. Marsh Silas’s jaw dropped; crouching and laying on the open ramp of the dropship were Tolly and her Ratlings! Leveling long-lasrifles, they cut down the Ork defenders at the top of the tower. Shot after shot decimated the greenskins until only one remained. Bleeding from his chest, he pulled the pin from a grenade and lobbed it at the aircraft. Tolly flipped her weapon over, grabbed it by the barrel, and batted the grenade with the stock. It shot back down at the Ork and detonated.

  “Cap’, tis’ is…I dunno our squad numbah, it’s me Tolly!”

  “Tolly, what the fuck!?” screamed Marsh. “You’re supposed to be back up on the pad!”

  “I tried to stop them, sir!” Lada appeared behind the Ratlings, her finger on her micro-bead. “But they just pulled me along!” Bullets hammered the fuselage of the Valkyrie.

  “You lot better get going before you get my arse shot off!” yelled Foxley. Lada and the Ratlings leaped from the ramp onto the top of the tower.

  “No, no, no!” shouted Marsh. He broke through Merriweather’s shield, skidded around the corner, and kicked open the door to the gatehouse stairwell. At the top was another entrance on the right. Just as he turned the corner, a massive boot filled the door frame. All the air left Marsh’s lungs as he was kicked back against the stairwell wall. Gasping, he tried to regain his footing but an ax blade swung towards him. He barely sidestepped it and the blade scraped against the wall, creating a flurry of sparks. The Ork emerged and hit Marsh with the back of his massive hand.

  He reeled down the stairs, saved only by his carapace. At the bottom, he landed on his chest; pain gripped his right side. Marsh gulped for air and frantically rolled onto his back. He raised his hellgun but the Ork threw its ax and it embedded itself in the weapon’s side. The impact ripped it from Marsh’s hands. Roaring, the Ork charged down at him. Tearing his ripper pistol from his holster, Marsh emptied the magazine. Armor-piercing rounds shredded the monster’s face and throat. Gurgling, it wobbled to a stop and slumped down beside him.

  Rising, Marsh dropped the power pack, useless with a disabled weapon. Drawing his shotgun, his squad finally caught up to him. He led them up the stairs, cleared the next landing with grenades, and proceeded down the hall, weapons up. Few Orks remained and were felled by concentrated, rapid-fire lasbolts.

  At the last staircase leading to the roof, an Ork attempted to storm upwards. Six heavy shots rang out, each one knocking the beast back. It fell down the stairs and struggled to stand up. Lada marched down the steps, ejecting the casings from her stub revolver. She deftly slid six more rounds into the chamber, snapped it shut, and finished the Ork with a final headshot.

  Marsh Silas ran up to her and grabbed her shoulders. “Are you wounded!?”

  “None of us are,” said Lada, surprised. “Sir, the tower is secure.”

  “Drummer Boy says the other tower is clear,” reported Rowley.

  “Tell Ryer and Pletcher they can move up with their platoons, then tell Foxley to escort the Specters down.” Marsh passed Lada and hurried to the top of the tower. Equipping his magnoculars, and doing his best to ignore the ache in his torso, he examined the battlefield.

  In the center were the Ork landers, which towered higher than the fortress wall he stood upon. Rather than merely discharging teeming hordes, it appeared the Orks were flooding back to it. They carried cargo crates filled with ammunition and heavy weapons. Others drove captured Imperial tanks into their holds. One task force equipped with light vehicles assailed the wall to Hive Jonkhers proper while an infantry force held the anti-aircraft nexus, its flak towers dormant.

  Far afield, the rest of the 10th Kasrkin and the entire 17th Drop Regiment charged across the plate, still out of range of the Ork guns. Enemy aircraft continued to assail the Imperial holdouts even as Valkyries chased and destroyed them. Just below the lower bailey wall, Ork survivors retreated back to the main force. Avalanche Company, now fanned out among the ramparts, fired into their backs and cut down dozens.

  Groans from below made Marsh look down. A wounded Ork drew its pistol and pointed it up at him. But a glowing power fist smashed into its skull, splitting its face apart. Hyram wrenched Lilias’s Fist from the body and joined Marsh by the crenellations. He panted heavily and was spattered with blood. Marsh, equally filthy and bruised, met his friend’s gaze.

  “No matter the foe, the Kasrkin always prevail,” breathed Marsh. “But these things are bloody frightening.”

  “My blasted knees keep shaking,” was all Hyram said.

  The Specters finally descended into the outer bailey. One by one, they dropped the Taurox Primes. Tanzer and Overton appeared in separate hatches and cycled the pintle-mounted storm bolters. As the convoy rumbled through the gate, Marsh circled his hand into the air for the platoon to follow. Tolly fell-in with the rest but he grabbed her shoulder.

  “Get your squad into those Taurox Primes, now.”

  “Do I get tah shoot tah bolter?”

  “Move!” Tolly and her Ratlings hurried down the steps. Marsh Silas and Bloody Platoon joined the rest of the company. Passing underneath the gate, each platoon broke into squads and formed up behind their Taurox. The APCs formed a battle line and their engines growled excitedly. Taking a drink from his canteen, Marsh and his squad regrouped behind Namgung’s Taurox. Little Mac opened the rear hatch and Aralyn jumped out. “By the Throne!”

  “She cast a spell,” said the enginseer. Aralyn turned around huffily.

  “I am no telepath!” she exclaimed. “Sir, I only joined them because I assumed my duties were no longer need now that the force is united, and—”

  “Enough, just enough. Stay with your sister,” said Marsh tiredly. He turned to Hyram. “This is your bloody fault. We’re in the middle of an operation and I have to shepherd these people.”

  “More hands means more guns; I’ll take more guns.”

  “Advance!” shouted Major Rosenfeld.

  The battle line pressed forward just as Ork infantry attempted a counterattack. Light battle cannons, gatling guns, rocket pods, and pintle-mounted weaponry swept their first line back. Little Mac snapped the storm bolter from target to target and fired accurate, short bursts. Entire Ork squads disappeared under his barrel. Kasrkin, trotting behind their vehicles, fired around them and kept the greenskins at bay. Valkyries strafed the Orks massing at the landers on their left, keeping them at bay.

  They crossed the ground quickly. The battle line shifted, reforming into an echelon to better defend their left flank. Less Orks sallied out to fight them as they became more concerned with hauling their loot aboard the landers. Deffkoptas strafed the line, their heavy shooters wounding and killing some of the Kasrkin in 3rd Platoon. Lieutenant Gabler, enraged, took one of her men’s missile launchers, crouched, and locked onto another gunship. As the deffkopta swooped back for another attack, she fired and struck the tail rotor. The enemy flier spun out of control and smashed into the nearest lander in a puff of flame.

  “Clivvy, on your nine! Good shot!” shouted Marsh as he jogged with Bloody Platoon. “Raskob, get a shell on that emplacement! Crazy Stück, for the love of all the Saints, stay with your damned squad! Keep hitting them, Ironsides, keep it up! Keep moving for the Emperor!”

  A deffkopta caught his eye. It charged right at the formation but instead of firing on them, it launched a rocket. Little Mac trained the storm bolter up and tore the gunship to pieces. But the rocket struck Foxley’s Valkyrie, blowing out its right engine.

  “This is Crow Six-One, I’m going down,” he said calmly. “Six-One, going down.” Foxley decreased speed and guided the damaged dropship as best he could. It landed hard on its right side one hundred meters ahead of the Taurox Primes. Orks who had been in retreat howled at the prize and stormed towards it.

  “We’ve got to help Foxley!” shouted Effleman.

  “Stay with the Tauroxes!” ordered Marsh Silas. “I’ll get him!” He charged past the battle line and into the open. Bullets hammered the tarmac all around him and skipped off his armor. Orks started climbing onto the wreckage despite the growing fire. Foxley had drawn his pistol and was getting ready to shoot through his cockpit window.

  “Thou shall not harm a servant of the God-Emperor!” A white form passed by him. Sister Ruo stormed ahead with her stub revolver drawn. Throwing up a prayer of spite and fury, she jumped onto the cockpit and fired a round point-blank into an Ork’s eye. When another attempted to jam its bayoneted pistol into her flank, she nimbly spun by it and fired a round into its head. A third went to bury its ax in her back but she turned part way, aimed her revolver around her midsection, and quick-fired the last four rounds into the beast.

  Marsh leveled his shotgun and killed the remaining squad with inferno rounds. The slugs splashed them with flame and ripped through muscle. Catching up with Ruo, he helped her pull Foxley and his copilot from the cockpit bubbles. “Ruo! Take them back!”

  “The gunners! We need to get them out!” She ran past Marsh and he went after her.

  “Ruo, get back into line!” he ordered. She was about to charge into the burning compartment but he grabbed her. “I cannot keep you safe if you act so recklessly!” But a burst of rounds made them duck. More Orks approached, yelling obscenities and taunts. Just as they closed in, they were shattered by a barrage of heavy automatic shells.

  “Protect da Marsh!” shouted Wit. He and his Ogryn formed a ring around the wreck and fired indiscriminately into the attackers. Marsh stood by them and emptied the shotgun’s magazine as well. He crouched and looked back as he reloaded. Ruo helped steady one of the gunners while Commissar Seegar carried the second over her shoulders.

  “We’ve no cover out here and we’re lagging behind! Fall back in good order!” ordered Marsh. Pulling on Wit’s belt, the Ogryn steadily retreated. Wit suddenly dropped his ripper gun, grabbed onto the exposed edge of the wrecked Valkyrie's armor plating, and tore it off. Holding it like a shield with his off-hand, he deflected countless rounds as he backed up.

  “Get dah bigga gun!” the Bone’ead ordered. Hack followed his sergeant’s order and removed the door-mounted heavy bolter from the dropship. Dragging the ammunition belt behind him, he unleashed a long torrent of fire that finally drove the Orks back.

  Rejoining Ruo and Seegar, Marsh helped them load the four Valkyrie crew members into a Taurox Prime where Holzmann waited. There was no time for a discussion or a reprimand, they were within one hundred meters of the AA nexus. The building itself was a central control tower with an interconnected sub-facility on either side. It stood on top of two large blockhouses which had a bunker as its foundation. Occupied by Orks, their heavy shooters, grenades, and rockets were enough to make the battle line pause.

  “Get some smoke in their faces!” shouted Hyram. A dozen grenades popped in front of the bunker and thick, gray smoke caused the Orks’ fire to become erratic.

  “Jacinto, Tatum, Wechsler, Cornelius, you’re up!” ordered Marsh. Jacinto reached out and the fireball in his hand turned into a flaming tower shield. Tatum, Wechsler, and the preacher lined up behind him, licks of fire already fluttering from their heavy flamers. As strange rounds burned against the shield, they marched through the smoke. The two Kasrkin and Cornelius leveled their weapons and flooded the fortification. Flames burst and rolled along the entire firing slit. Ork arms and hands reached out, afire, but soon fell limp. Clivvy, Tattersall, Logue, and Derryhouse all sprinted forward and bowled grenades into the bunker.

  “Cross, secure the tower, we’ll keep them off you!” ordered Rosenfeld, firing up at a deffkopta from behind a Taurox. He reorganized the APCs so they faced the landers and hit the enemy with enfilading fire while the main force engaged Orks pulling back from the space elevators.

  Marsh and his cohort reassembled and went up the closest ramp on the right side. Isenhour took the lead, leveling his hellshot and hitting Orks attempting to turn the rooftop-mounted saber gun platforms down on them. Major Overton came up alongside, covering the sharpshooter with his plasma pistol. Securing the door, Isenhour tried to force it open, then tapped the keypad panel.

  “They must have triggered a security lock,” he growled.

  “Rowley, get Flipsen on the horn, maybe he knows,” ordered Marsh. “Merriweather, can you send a message to Rhodes’ Astropath? Romilly is still aboard, he might be able to find it.”

  “Can’t we blow it?” asked Crazy Stück, eagerly.

  “I dare not risk damaging the controls. Maybe Wit can open it…” Little Mac walked by wordlessly. He examined the door, then the control panel. Marsh joined him. “Can you hack this?” But Little Mac just put his armored hand on the platoon leader’s chestplate and gently pushed him aside. Then, he drove his bionic arm into the control panel, tore it off, then ripped out the wires within. The red light on the other side flashed from red to green. Marsh Silas blinked, then scoffed. “I thought red robes were supposed to protect technology.”

  “It’s a door,” grunted Little Mac. It then unsealed and before Marsh could protest, the enginseer strode in. A moderately-sized Ork attempted to bring his knife down on him. But he caught the blow with his bionic arm, then redirected the Ork’s energy, and disarmed him. Then, his mechanical claw smashed the beast in the jaw, forcing it back. Hyram was the next one in and with Carstensen’s Justice, he and Marsh riddled the Ork with slugs.

  A roar directed their attention into the control tower’s interior. An Orn Nob, clad in heavy armor, stood among the control panels. Armed with a captured naval rotor cannon, he spun the barrel up, ready to unleash thousands of rounds.

  “Take cover!” shouted Marsh. But suddenly, there was a snap of chilly air that made him involuntarily shiver. A misty, blue-white bolt struck the Nob. Its eyes widened and it staggered for a moment as its limbs seized up. Frost crept across its skin until he was frozen. It stood there, immobilized, an image of shocked fury. Aralyn stepped forward, her arm wreathed in the icy aura.

  “The void’s touch is colder than any winter,” she whispered. Hyram wasted no time; he marched up to the beast and hit him with Lilias’s Fist. The Ork shattered into a thousand icy chunks.

  “Clear. Mac, get the guns back online,” ordered Marsh. “Bloody Platoon, sweep and clear—”

  “Oi, humies in dat towah, dis is Flyboss Sky-shaka!” came a voice through the facility’s vox-array. The Ork laughed caustically. “Dat wuz a real good fioght, but Mekboss Grog-Rod doesn’t want ter lose a landa cuz’ o’ ya. I’ma turn ya into paste!” The transmission then ended.

  “Red Six, this is Gatekeeper!” It was Romilly’s voice.

  “Go ahead, Gatekeeper.”

  “The augur array picked up a heavy bomber flying directly to your position. Recommend you evacuate now or get those Hydras up right away!” Marsh Silas ran up to the panoramic window overlooking the plate. The 10th Kasrkin and 17th Cadian formed a line against the Orks, their APCs, fast attack vehicles, Sentinels, and infantry overrunning the first defense line. But as they did, a massive red aircraft released countless bombs onto their spearhead units, stalling their advance.

  “Bloody Platoon, get on those sabers!” Marsh and his Kasrkin rushed back outside, loaded the various turrets and weapons platforms, and trained their barrels skyward. One by one, they fired lascannons, quad-mounted stubbers, and heavy bolters up at the approaching aircraft. Taking the controls of a twin-linked autocannon turret, Marsh hammered the cockpit with shells. Tolly appeared below him with spare drum magazines. When he ran out, she quickly reloaded for him. Puffs of flame and smoke appeared over the slow-moving bomber. Steel plates started to strip from its frame. Yet, on it came, seemingly impervious to the damage.

  Suddenly, hundreds of Hydra Flak Turrets and Manticore Platforms bellowed. Hundreds of deffkoptas, bombers, and dakkajets exploded in the air. A direct hit on the cockpit caused the heavy bomber to drift off course. It collided with the top of the nearest Ork lander and its payload exploded, ripping a huge hole in the voidship. Secondary explosions rippled along its hull and caused portions to collapse. Another wave of swarming missiles, flak rounds, and the combined might of the saber platforms cut the transport’s fuselage apart. The Kasrkin and Cadian drop troopers below added their weight to the bombardment. Finally, a fireball ripped through the lander and gutted the craft with all the Orks inside.

  As more aircraft started to fall from the sky, the Orks abandoned their siege of the wall and boarded the landers. One by one, they lifted off into the sky to whatever remained of their fleet. Having expended their ammunition, Bloody Platoon was content to watch them depart. Marsh dismounted and leaned on the railing. Hyram joined him once more and pointed out towards the eastern warehouses. “Look there, the Skitarii have decided to sally out.”

  “Too little, too late,” breathed Marsh as he raised his magnoculars. For a moment, he thought he was wrong. A lone Hellhammer, a variant of that esteemed super heavy Baneblade tank, sped towards the last Ork lander. Kasrkin and drop troopers raised their arms and cheered the last assault, futile as it was. But the sponsons and the main turret turned. The hatch was thrown open and a great Ork appeared. The Hellhammer fired on the Cadian line. Vehicles exploded, swathes of men were cut down and forced to seek cover. Sentinel walkers were holed, broken in two, or had their legs blasted off. APCs were shorn open or flipped by the rapid-firing Hellhammer cannon.

  The Hellhammer stopped at the ramp of the lander. Its turret traversed in the control tower’s direction and the demolisher cannon lowered. “Clear the tower!” screamed Marsh. “Clear away!” Two cannon reports echoed in the air. The first shell struck a Taurox, tearing it in half and rolling it over. The demolisher round struck the center of the control tower. As glass, chunks of ferrocrete, and metal timbers soared through the air, the tower crumbled over and collapsed. Bloody Platoon jumped and ran for their lives, but a third explosion sent Marsh sprawling. He felt something strike his back and then his helmet struck the ground.

  When he managed to open his eyes, Marsh found it eerily quiet. He pushed himself off the tarmac and groaned. A terrible, burning pain shot through his back. Reaching around, he pawed what felt like a chunk of metal.

  “Don’t move!” Ruo and Holzmann appeared beside him and held him in place.

  “Hyram,” coughed Marsh, looking around. He saw his friend sitting against a pile of rockcrete. Dazed and dusty, he nonetheless lifted his gauntlet for a thumbs-up. Marsh’s relief was brief. The control tower was reduced to a pile of rubble surrounded by a field of wreckage. Bloody Platoon rose one by one; many were wounded, but none were killed. Marsh counted them off, saw the faces of men, abhumans, psykers, andeven Little Mac.

  “Ya fink ya beat me!?” The voice came through the ascending lander’s amplifier. “Dis is only ter beginning, humie! I’m Grog-Rod, and I’m gonna be da biggest Mekboss dis side o’ da galaxy! If I sees ya Cadian boys again, I’ll crush ya underneath my new tracks!” The ship rose higher charged its engines, and disappeared past the orbital elevators as Grog-Rod howled victoriously.