Under Cogwheel and Chaos Star Chapter 1: The Sound of Drums, a warhammer fanfic

One two three four

It did not matter what he did, the beat never truly stopped.

One two three four

At first, he had tried to shut it out, ignore it. It hadn't worked. Then, he had tried to alter it, to the point it became non-existent.

One two

That had only distracted him even more, to the point where it became unbearable and any alteration of its rhythm lead him to making mistakes. The problem was, when he made mistakes, hundreds of people, often his own, died.

One two three four

He was able to counter the mistakes, turning potential losses into victories, but always at a steeper and steeper cost in lives, his own soldiers' and the enemies'. A few weeks ago, a particularly bloody battle which had been decisive in the fulfilment of their mission here on Sycorax, the drumming had suddenly stopped, even if it was just for a few hours. It had returned with renewed vigour afterwards. It was then he had realised what it was and what it wanted.

You must shed blood

Just as he had realised that, the order had come through that the regiment was going to pull back, for rest and resupply before they were to be transported off-world. The fools! His place was on the battle-field and his mission was far from completed in his opinion. The drums would not stand for this.

Then there was the issue with that pamphlet he had found. He knew what people most likely had an answer to that... that preposterous thing!

He picked up his micro-bead link from the desk in front of him, which was laden with reports and data-slates.

"Lieutenant Hoss," he said, his voice deep and melodious, sounding clear despite the gasmask he had taken the habit to wear constantly after a stray lasround from a Sycoraxian rebel had hit him in the cheek, leaving a nasty hole there. "Could you send for the Magos and the Father both?"

"Sir," his aide's voice crackled back, "are you certain about that? Considering that Magos Sierck-"

"Are you questioning a direct command, lieutenant?" he asked.

"No, sir," Hoss replied, sounding slightly nervous. "Merely informing you of the... discrepancy, that is all."

"I am aware of it. Now follow orders!"

"Yessir!"

There was a faint click as Lieutenant Hoss signed off.

The Colonel fingered the edges of his eyes delicately, slowly. They were works of art in metal and porcelain: crystal blue irises, with integrated targeting systems as well as a wider spectrum of vision, combined with the at first uncomfortable function to link up with any targeting array under his command, via simple vox link.

Magos Cybernetica Adalbert Sierck was a master at his craft, of that there could be no discussion.

Sierck had given him his eyesight back all those years ago, on Armageddon. It was why he felt he owed Sierck a favour, as things stood. Besides, if the good Father Iosiph failed to deliver, Sierck perhaps had an answer not just to the pamphlet, but to the origins of the drums?

Father Iosiph was not cut out for the role as chief regimental priest. True, he had the zealous faith and fiery rhetoric of all of his kind, but he lacked the physical presence. His memories of his home world were few, but he had a distinct recollection of caverns that went on forever and had no sunlight. He was a small, slightly built person, almost rodent-like in his appearance. Even amongst Armageddonians, a slightly built lot overall, he stood out.

He couldn't fathom why the Colonel would summon him to his office, though. The Colonel was an unfriendly sort, unapproachable, yet his soldiers adored him. Iosiph had no doubts to the Colonel's tactical capacities, but he sometimes doubted the man had enough faith. He never interfered the priest in his work, nor any of his colleagues', and that was all fine with Iosiph, as their work essentially took place in two different theatres, as things were.

The regiment had been garrisoned at Sycorax City, the only major settlement on the agri-world of Sycorax, for a few weeks now. The city had held a population of 3 million, but that had been reduced to a scant million after the 88th Steel Legion had laid siege to it. There would be none left when they were done with it. The taint of Chaos ran deep in the city, so deep that High Command, stationed in another part of the sector entirely, had decided that the 88th Steel Legion act as executioners as well as liberators. Iosiph had feared this would cause unrest and disciplinary problems with the 88th, but none had happened. The 88th, true to their motto of total obedience, had carried out the orders to seek and destroy Chaos covens with a vigour that the good father found encouraging. Even if the Colonel was an unapproachable loner, at least his troops were zealous in their work to the Holy God-Emperor on Terra.

Iosiph had made his way to the manse in which the Colonel and his headquarters now resided. He nodded to the aides at work, getting courteous nods back and the occasional smile. The 88th was a large regiment, almost an army in its own right, like most Steel Legions and fully mechanised at that; nearly 30 000 men and women in service to the Holy Throne. Iosiph almost pitied the fool cultists that had dared stand against such blessed might in steel.

As he stopped outside the Colonel's office, he heard a bustling noise down the corridor, and it grew stronger and stronger as it came closer. It didn't take long for him to recognise one of the voices as belonging to Lieutenant Hoss, the Colonel's personal aide. The other voice, higher pitched and speaking in what Iosiph had learned was a Helsreachian accent, was not one he wanted to hear, at all, outside an Inquisitor's holding cell.

"I ask, Lieutenant," the tenor voice complained, "was it necessary to shackle all six? Your plucky Lady Enginseer already disconnected four of them!"

"As far as the Magos is concerned, yes it was," came the reply from Hoss.

Father Iosiph saw as the nearly two metres tall, spindly Magos Sierck was frog-marched towards him by Hoss. He was also flanked by two troopers with black carapace armour and bone-white skull-shaped gasmasks, obviously part of the Colonel's personal bodyguard of the 1st company, the Stosstruppen. They held their hellguns across their chests, ready to hose the tech heretic with las should he try to escape.

Iosiph saw what Sierck had referred to: heavy steel shackles bound the Magos' two normal arms together with his four mechadendrites. The bottom two mechadendrites resembled tentacles and the top two were servo-arms with their implements crudely removed, most likely in a hurry to secure the owner.

Sierck frowned at Hoss and then saw Iosiph, waiting at the Colonel's door, and smiled, revealing shiny silver teeth. Iosiph shivered involuntarily. There was something decidedly off about Sierck's face, but Iosiph could not put his finger on what exactly at first. It was as any other face, not very strange at all: a somewhat beaky nose, pronounced cheekbones and a soft, narrow chin on a jaw that had a slight under-bite. Nothing was untoward at all with the face.

Then Iosiph realised it was the eyes. They were the dead eyes of a machine. As if the emotions seen in Sierck's face and heard in his voice were just programmes running their course.

"I see the spiritual peddler is here too!" Sierck said, the smile not leaving his face even as Hoss smacked him over the head with the butt of his laspistol.

Iosiph swallowed his immediate anger before replying: "You'd be best adviced not to mock me and my trade, heretic filth. You will die soon. I can make that happen even sooner, should you continue to-"

"All threat and no substance, you are, father," Sierck interrupted, before being smacked over the head again. "I have seen, and done, things that would make your childish faith in the 'God-Emperor' leave your body at the same time as your piss!"

"Enough!" Hoss snarled and shot Sierck in his right knee. This only served to make the tech heretic buckle over, giggling hysterically. He had got what he wanted out of that brief exchange.

Hoss pulled Sierck upright and pushed him ahead into the Colonel's office. The Magos was still giggling, but it soon faded away. Iosiph followed the soldiers into the Colonel's office, careful to keep a distance between himself and the mad Magos.

Though, he couldn't help but wonder why the Colonel wanted to talk to this heretic filth? Wasn't that the job of an Inquisitor? Iosiph shrugged inwardly, dismissing his doubts. He would find out soon enough. After all, where was the harm in asking?

The Colonel looked up from the pamphlet he was reading and nodded to his aide. Hoss bustled the Magos into a corner. Father Iosiph demonstrably went to the other end of the room and sat down, without invitation, much to the Colonel's annoyance.

"That'd be all, Lieutenant," the Colonel said to Hoss. "You can leave me with these men."

"But-" Hoss began. He received a hard stare in return.

"That's the second time you question my orders today, Lieutenant. There won't be a third time, am I right?"

Hoss faltered for a second, then nodded, saluted and left with the two bodyguards. The Colonel knew they would be posted just outside his door. Hoss was loyal, just a little too much of a busybody.

"Gentlemen," the Colonel began, "I am a puzzled man. That is not good, as I am supposed to be the commanding officer of this outfit. Thus, any unknown factor is a danger to the security of it." He held up the pamphlet so the other two men could see it. "I want to know, what the frag is this?"

As the Colonel made no move to hand the pamphlet over, Iosiph got out of his chair and walked closer, leaning in to see what it was.

The pamphlet was fairly simple in design, showing a massive hive city with a setting sun behind it, the sun turning the ash wastes below the hive purple, orange and red. It was actually quite beautiful.

It had words on it too: "Come to Armageddon! Forge a new life on the Imperium's most famous planet! Your future is secure on Armageddon! Fortune and prosperity await!"

Iosiph looked at the Colonel as he finished reading.

"I don't get it," he said. "It's a mere colonisation pamphlet. A common thing."

The Colonel gave him an odd, appraising look with those icy eyes of his.

"Yes, a colonisation pamphlet. For a hive world with a population of 100 billion? Why?" Iosiph did not have an answer, so he shrugged.

"Maybe it's related to those warp storms I've heard so much about in the last few months?" Sierck said speculatively. "Maybe they finally let up and the results were... unpleasant?"

Iosiph felt his bowels clench in fear as he heard Magos Sierck's voice just behind him. Iosiph was just about to turn and tell the traitorous piece of filth to back off, when he felt something prick into his neck. His legs buckled underneath him and he fell to the ground, paralysed and helpless. He looked up at the seemingly impossibly tall magos. Sierck's hands were free from their shackles, though the mechadendrites were still unable to move. Why wasn't the Colonel trying to stop the heretic? Why hadn't he called for Hoss and the guards?

Sierck leaned down, pinching Iosiph at a particular nerve cluster in his neck. Everything went black for the preacher.

The Colonel looked idly at Sierck as the spindly magos undid the last of his shackles and started to reconnect his mechadendrites to his internal power supply. As the Magos was working with that, and eventually obviously struggling with a few couplings, the Colonel reached into one of his desk drawers and pulled out a silvery stylus-like tool, though instead of a writing nub it had what looked like a light at the end of it. It took the Colonel a second to realise he only saw the light because of his expanded visual spectrum. It had a very particular blue colour. He handed the tool over to Sierck.

"I thought you might need that," he said as way of explanation. Sierck took it with a short nod of thanks and continued to repair himself. "Though, I must say, I expected you to be free earlier, my dear Magos Sierck."

Sierck gave an odd smile. "It would have been easier with my trusty sonic omni-tool here. I had to make do with my fingers."

The Colonel picked up the pamphlet again. "I found this in the manse when we requisitioned it from its previous owner. I still can't figure out quite why this would be issued."

"It's actually quite obvious, Colonel," Sierck said as he finished up and started to move the unconscious body of Iosiph to the chair he had sat in. "If the Imperium wants people to come live on Armageddon, then that must mean Armageddon hasn't got that many people on it any more."

The Colonel put down the pamphlet. "I can think of a reason for that to happen," he said slowly. He started tapping his rhythm, the drums' rhythm, into his desk. "But I don't want to think it is true," he said at length, ceasing with his tapping. "In the same way I highly doubt you to be a traitor, Magos."

"You say that," Sierck said as he propped Iosiph up, "just after I knocked a priest of the Church Militant out with a few simple nerve pinches?" He sounded highly amused. "It's a severe offence to do harm upon the clerics of the Ecclesiarchy. A capital offence, actually. I am amazed you haven't done something about this yet, Colonel."

"I don't give two shits about the Emperor-botherers, Sierck," the Colonel said, almost spitting out the final words. "They get in my way with their ideas of purity, honour and zeal. Neither is any replacement for good strategy. Anyone with half a brain knows that... except for the Emperor-botherers." He went back to studying the pamphlet, opening it, trying to find a clue as to what, exactly, it meant. He wanted his suspicions to be dead wrong.

"So," Sierck mused as he changed the setting on his omni-tool, "you wouldn't mind if I cooked his brain inside his head, then?"

"Actually, I would," the Colonel replied. "The drums say we will need him."

"The drums?"

"Yes."

"What do the drums say about me then, if anything?" Sierck asked after a moment's silence, though he sounded sceptical.

"To keep you alive, and to trust you." The Colonel didn't even take his eyes of the pamphlet.

"Why do you listen to them? The drums, I mean." Sierck said after another pause.

"Because if I don't, people will die. Well, the wrong people. My people."

"And your wearing of that mask?"

"Has nothing to do with the drums. That is my own choice."

Sierck pursed his lips as he mulled the answers he had got. "And people call me insane," he said eventually. The Colonel decided to ignore the Magos' remark just this once. He would learn proper discipline in time.

"So," Sierck said, looking to the door of the office, "how do we explain this little situation to the Lieutenant? He's very efficient, and clever, that man."

"Iosiph has had a heart-attack. You can make it look like that, can't you?"

"'Make it look like'? Colonel, I can do more than that!" Sierck changed the setting on his omni-tool again and jabbed it into Iosiph's chest. The air was filled with a high-pitched whine for a split second. "There! Instant heart-attack. Though, I suggest you call for a medic. That is, if you want him to live past the next hour."

The Colonel gave Sierck a blank stare, then put down the pamphlet and made to activate his vox-link.

"Get your shackles back on, Magos," he said as his finger hovered over the activation rune. "As you said, Hoss is a clever man." As Sierck scrambled to get the shackles back on, the Colonel ordered for a medic on the general channel.

"Ouch! Be careful, Magos."

"I am careful, colonel," Sierck replied. "It's you who are being a big baby about this."

It was a week after Father Iosiph's rather unlucky heart attack. The 88th's mission on Sycorax was nearing completion and the Colonel had requested new orders from Sector High Command via astropathic link. He had also requested an explanation for the pamphlet about colonising Armageddon, a decision reached after long deliberation. He had yet to break the news to the regiment at large, and he had ordered his officers to try to stem any rumours as soon as they sprang up. It had turned out slightly more difficult than anticipated. The 88th hadn't been issued with any regimental commissars for the Sycoraxian mission and in his own way, the Colonel was silently grateful for it, but at the same time the lack of dedicated political officers was making itself known across the regiment, as there was less and less for the troops to do and unrest and rumours were starting to pop up as mushrooms in the sumps of a hive city.

Yet for the time being, the Colonel had a much more pressing concern, which Sierck was busy trying to sort out for him. The Colonel had had to pull considerable weight over his officers, and in particular his Enginseers, to get Sierck freed from his imprisonment. Hoss and Enginseers Shaern, Sakkle and Sauer had all opposed his decision on the basis of Sierck being a wanted tech heretic, by order of the Adeptus Mechanicus. The Colonel had simply replied that he wanted to hear specific charges in that case, to which he got no reply. He had then offered the enginseers to screen Sierck personally for perceived tech heresy - a test Sierck had passed with flying colours, much to the Colonel's relief.

However, that was not what was bothering the Colonel either. He winced as Sierck struck another nerve with a plier.

"Keep still!" Sierck scolded, obviously engrossed in whatever it was he was seeing in the hole in the Colonel's cheek.

"I swear, it's gotten larger," the Colonel muttered. He tried not to move his jaw when speaking, making his words come out rather mashed.

"If Chief Medic Major Brant had kept picts of the wound from when you got it, it would have helped greatly." Sierck sat up straight and reached for a bottle of antiseptic gel. "As it is, we'll just have to wait and see. That can be interesting too!"

The Colonel gave Sierck a sharp look. "What if it eats up my entire face?" he growled.

"Then we'd know for certain that it was indeed getting bigger. Now, please sit still while I apply this. Then you can put your mask back on."

The Colonel actually managed to sit still as the cold antisept was applied. It stung but somehow, it felt nice too. It did bother him that Sierck had not been able to quiet his fears about the wound in his cheek. He hadn't been able to sew it shut either.

"It's not infected per se," Sierck said as he finished and indicated to the Colonel to put his gasmask back on. "It is after all a las wound... But it never hurts to be careful. Do try to air the wound daily and reapply antisept every evening."

"As I've been doing so far?" the Colonel asked with a wry smile as he put his mask on. It was a vanity, he knew, but going around with a hole in his cheek was not very heroic either.

Sierck looked a bit annoyed at being predicted. "Yes," he said after a brief moment, "as Doctor Brant no doubt ordered you."

The Colonel smiled behind his mask. He motioned for Sierck to pack up his things and leave the office, wanting to be alone for some time. As Sierck went up to the door, it opened and the Magos nearly stumbled into Hoss. Hoss shot Sierck a murderous look, which was returned by an apologetic smile as Sierck slunk past Hoss and into the corridor outside.

"You still don't trust him," the Colonel said. It was not a question.

"No, sir," Hoss replied. He showed a dataslate to his commander. "Nevermind that though, sir. Corporal Ipswitz intercepted this this morning. She just finished decrypting it." Hoss handed the dataslate over to the Colonel, who had come round his desk to stand next to his aide.

"What is it?" he asked, intrigued. He took the slate and pressed the large glowing play-rune on it, the indicator of a file containing vox-only glowing in a corner. It started playing before Hoss could reply.

"To Commander Brautisch of the Destroyer Berus," a small tinny voice announced from the speaker built into the dataslate. "In response to your request: You are to hold the Armageddon 88th Steel Legion at their current location. Stop. Await support. Stop. Estimated time of arrival: Two weeks."

Then the vox recording stopped and rewound itself to start again. The Colonel stopped it.

"This was encrypted, you say?" the Colonel asked.

"Yes, but Corporal Ipswitz managed to decrypt it. A feat, considering the encryption level was magenta." Hoss sounded proud of the achievement of his vox-officer.

"Inform the corporal that her work for today is not quite over," the Colonel said slowly, a frown of annoyance working its way over his features. "I want a direct link with Commander Brautisch. I have some questions that need answering, and I think he owes me an explanation or two."

"If I have done what, Colonel?" Commander Brautisch asked, a look of exasperation and confusion on his face. His image twitched and realigned but the Colonel was certain that his vox-officer, with a little help from Enginseer Sakkle, would not let it break until he was done.

"Have you been in contact with Sector High Command, Commander?" the Colonel asked, repeating his question. Needlessly in his opinion. "It's a simple question, yes or no?"

Brautisch looked flustered over being so curtly addressed. "Yes, and I received reply this morning. I was to relay the content to you later today, as it concerns the 88th Steel Legion."

"I see," the Colonel said. "The reason I'm asking, Commander, is because I have been trying to make contact with High Command for quite some days now - your dear Astropath can no doubt inform you of that - but I have still to receive a reply to my request from them."

"I cannot fathom why that would be so, Colonel," Brautisch replied with a shrug, a move that strangely enough caused the pict to jitter. "All I know is that you have orders to remain on Sycorax until further notice. I cannot take measures to have you brought on board the transports. Not yet, anyway."

"Not two weeks ago we were ordered to rest and regroup for off-world transportation, after being tasked to strike down this uprising with the utmost force," the Colonel said with a dark note to his voice. "It feels highly... irregular to receive a change of orders in this manner."

"As I said," Brautisch said with another shrug, "I can only relay the orders as I got them. I'm sorry, Colonel."

"Is that really all orders you received, Commander?"

"If I received any other orders, pertaining to me or my vessel the Berus, Colonel, then it is hardly your place to know," Brautisch snapped, suddenly defensive.

"Very well then," the Colonel said softly and broke the link. A brusque move, but he had had his suspicions confirmed and a ruffled ego belonging to a Commander of the Imperial Navy was his least concern.

He started to tap out the staccato rhythm of the drums against the table upon which the vox-pict-unit stood. So, what remained was the pamphlets and how to deal with their content.

"Sir?"

The voice of Lieutenant Hoss broke him from his reverie.

"What do we do now, sir?" The young man looked genuinely concerned. Hoss was intelligent. He was completely aware of the virtual slap in the face the Colonel just had delivered to the Navy Commander.

The Colonel made his decision.

"Lieutenant, what is the largest place of gathering in Sycorax City?"

Hoss didn't even bother to check on his ubiquitous dataslate. He knew what was coming. "It's the Sycorax Stadium," he said. A look of embarrassment crept across his face. "It's a scrumball pitch-"

"Can it house the 30 000 men and women of the 88th?" the Colonel asked, glad for the mask that hid his smile.

"Easily, sir, though large portions of the regiment are stationed across the globe on clean-up actions. They would have to be ordered back."

"Then, Hoss, inform the company commanders that they have three days to get back to Sycorax City. Arrange for the air-lifting of the companies furthest away from here via Valkyrie if they can't make it in time."

"Acknowledged sir, however..."

"What?"

"What about those companies' Chimera APCs? They can't be air-lifted with Valkyries."

The Colonel patted Hoss on his arm, trying to act avuncular. "My dear Dietric Hoss; it's not as if there is anybody around on this planet that would steal them, is there?"

Hoss nodded and got going. As the Colonel watched him go, he felt the drums fall silent for a brief moment.

Captain Grigory Anielewitz of the 1st company Stosstruppen was an impressive sight in his black carapace armour, dark grey battle tunic, with his beetle black helmet with bonewhite skull mask under his left arm. He was a proud man, a man to whom duty was everything. That didn't stop the slight feeling of unease from crawling into his stomach as he received his orders from the Colonel.

The entirety of the Armageddon 88th Steel Legion was gathering in the Sycorax Stadium, except for the captain and a handful of his men; his most trusted men.

"Are your orders clear to you, captain?" the Colonel asked.

"Yes, sir!" Anielewitz replied. The Colonel saw the man's unease, though.

"Something on your mind, Grigory?"

"Permission to speak freely, sir?" came the reply, the captain's voice wavering slightly.

The Colonel nodded. "Permission granted."

"With all due respect, sir, what we are about to do is... it's treason, sir!"

The Colonel closed his eyes and slowly exhaled. He had feared this. He had hoped Anielewitz, of all people, would just do as he was ordered, without question. That was why he had decided to leave him out of the gathering at the Stadium.

"This is no more treasonous than what has already been done to the populace of Armageddon, Grigory. Trust me."

"Sir," Anielewitz licked his lips, "we can't know that to be true." The Colonel had briefed the company commanders on his plans for the Stadium, he owed them that much, but some of them had seemed unable to accept the truth. None had stepped out of line, but there had been a lot of grumbling. The Colonel had dearly hoped that Anielewitz were to be spared of those doubts.

"Grigory," the Colonel said slowly, considering every word he was to say next. "Is it not enough proof that Sector High Command refuses to speak with me? They don't trust me, nor the 88th Steel Legion either, and they are going to deal with us the same way they dealt with our families, families we have not heard one word from in the last months. Now go! All shall be made clear soon enough. Lock and load, fire and forget!"

Anielewitz nodded curtly, put on his helmet and mask and readied his hellgun for the grisly work ahead: the liquidation of the Steel Legion's preachers.

Dusk was settling over Sycorax City, stars starting to wink to life across the dark blue sky, a ruddy hint in the west of the setting sun. One couldn't see the sunset due to the walls of the Stadium, but it mattered little to the Colonel. He glanced up towards the heavens, able to make out the Berus just about. It was the brightest "star" on the firmament, winking slowly but clearly in its geo-stationary orbit.

The drums had told him to keep an eye on the star-ship and the heaven's tonight. He had an idea why and hoped he would be able to time his speech to what was going to take place.

His speech... The Colonel looked down and out across the entirety of his regiment crowded into the Stadium. It was a choked, grey mass of men and women, eager to hear what it was he was going to say. He had opted to have the company commanders up on the hastily built stage with him. The same went for the Enginseers and the Magos. He couldn't see them now, but he knew that they were all just as eager to hear what he had to say, sitting behind him. He could almost feel their eyes boring into the back of his bare head.

The drums were ominously silent now, a fact that made his gut churn at what he was about to do. Yet, what choice did he, or his regiment have? His hand had been forced.

Now or never, he thought.

"Men and women of the Armageddon 88th Steel Legion," he began, his voice carrying clearly thanks for Shaern's and Ipswitz' workings with the stadium vox-system. "I have called you here today to make you aware of something most grave and heinous. Something grave and heinous done towards you, towards us. Towards our families and friends back home on Armageddon."

A general murmur was creeping through the massive crowd, but the Colonel silenced it with a simple raising of his right hand.

"You are no doubt aware of the pamphlets that have been found all across Sycorax, telling people to come to Armageddon, as colonists to some fringe world! To Armageddon! A hive world with a population of up-toward a 100 billion? I ask, is it necessary to have colonists on such a world?

"No, it's not," the Colonel answered his own question, cutting off another angry murmur. "It is not! Unless something terrible has happened. I asked myself this, just as you no doubt have asked yourselves the exact same question, and tried to get in contact with Sector High Command, requesting an explanation for this.

"I worried! You worry! What has happened to our families? To our friends? We are not fools! We are aware of the warp storms that have raged of late. We are just concerned for those we hold dear. Our loved ones!

"Sector High Command responded to my plea with silence."

A hushed expectation had settled over the Stadium by now. Dusk was being replaced by night and the stars shone brighter, with the winking light of the Berus brightest of all.

"The Berus," the Colonel said and pointed at the bright light in the heavens, causing every head in the crowd to turn towards it, "and it's commander, has refused to speak to me for three days now. Our job here is done, so why don't they take us on board the transports? What are they hiding?

"I'll tell you what! They are trying to cover up that they have had our families murdered!" A gasp went through the crowd, a shrill cry of despair heard here and there as the news settled in. The drums had started to beat ever so slowly again, and the Colonel knew he didn't have much time now. "They are trying to cover up the tracks of their heinous crime against us, by coming here, and having us killed! Even now, the commander of the Berus is plotting against the 88th Steel Legion, preparing to have us murdered. They are claiming to do the God-Emperor's will! But divine right is on our side, whatever the servants of the Throne think! We have friends in high places too!

"Just look!" The Colonel pointed to the sky again, and just as last time, every head turned to look at the brightly shining star that was the Berus.

Night turned to day as the star that was the Berus flashed impossibly bright for a few seconds and a gasp of awe rustled through the gathered 88th Steel Legion.

The Colonel smiled behind his mask. "Divine retribution."

The drums started their staccato rhythm in his mind again, but they seemed content now, almost pleased.

And in the sky, another bright star started to move towards where the Berus had held geo-stationary orbit.

Following his speech, the Colonel had ordered his company commanders to join their troops and help them to their billeting in an orderly fashion. The stadium had been emptied slowly, but surely, and the Colonel knew why: the Steel Legions, famed for their battle-field brutality, were also tightly disciplined and would fall back on that in times of distress, and seeing the destroyer that had escorted them here go up in a blaze, after he had dropped that bomb-shell on them, was most distressing. Yet it had had to be done, all of it. He would not keep his soldiers in the dark any longer, they had to know the treachery that had been committed against them.

He was sitting in a chair in the communications centre of his head quarters. Hoss was there with him, as was Corporal Ipswitz, Magos Sierck, the chief medic Major Brant and also the returned Anielewitz. The latter had reported in with a simple "It is done", and nothing else.

They all looked nervous, even Sierck. Ipswitz, true to her form, had put up her vox set and activated it, fiddling with the dials, scanning the frequencies in a vain attempt to occupy her mind with something menial. The others tried to occupy their minds too, as well they could.

"It can't be true," Hoss muttered after a long silence.

"What part of it?" Sierck asked, he too seemingly very disturbed, or was he frightened?

"Our home," Hoss said, his voice barely a whisper. All antipathy towards Sierck was forgotten.

"It would explain the lack of astrograms," Brant said. He was a tall, lean man with blond hair. He looked far too young to be a major.

"It could be the warp storms-" Hoss tried, but was cut off by Brant.

"They ceased many weeks ago. And Armageddon is not that far away from Sycorax: a mere 50 light years. We should receive astrograms within the week from Armageddon."

"Brant's right," Sierck said. "An astrogram travels faster than a star-ship."

Hoss was silent for a while. "Where are the priests? Shouldn't they help us, at a time like this? Isn't that their duty?" Anielewitz shifted uncomfortably, but the Colonel answered for him.

"Father Iosiph is still in a coma from his massive heart-attack, Hoss."

"But we've others!"

"They're," the Colonel began, glancing quickly at Anielewitz, "shall we say? Inconvenienced."

Before Hoss could reply, Ipswitz broke in:

"Sir! I've got something!"

The Colonel gave her a slow look. "It's chatter between the transports, no doubt." He still couldn't quite understand why the drums had wanted the regiment to see the demise of the Berus, if the transports would remain, but he was not one to question their motives.

"No," Ipswitz said, sounding guilty. "It's not on the Imperial channels. Not any standard Navy channels at least. But it is transmitting a call signal that's of Imperial origin. At least from what I can see."

"What?" The Colonel got up out of his chair and got over to Ipswitz. He was joined by the others as they crowded around the vox set.

"It's a weird signal-type, and it carries only traces of Imperial protocol..." Ipswitz said slowly. "I say traces, as it seems to be really strange, sir. It only vaguely resembles the protocols I've been taught to keep an ear out for. It's just... the channel is completely non-standard!"

The drums crescendoed and fell silent in the Colonel's mind. It was all so obvious now!

"Hail them!" he said. "Use the 88th's regimental insignia as ident code."

Ipswitz did as she was told, introducing herself as the link was established. She frowned as she received her reply and looked up at the Colonel.

"It's in Low Gothic, but strangely accented, sir. Sort of like Tempestorian, but worse. It... He," she corrected herself, "introduces himself as Warsmith Todt and he wishes to speak to you." She pulled off the headset and handed it to the Colonel. "In private."

The giant stature of the God-Emperor of Mankind, a small marvel in pale, green-threaded marble, had been defiled in the most ingenious of ways. The Colonel hadn't had to order his men to do anything after they had entered the Sycorax Cathedral of His Divine Light. The original population had done the job for them. It was the main reason the cathedral had been shut and sealed upon arrival. The feet of the statue had been covered in now dried-up human excrement and blood, and someone, the Colonel knew not and cared not who, had decided to fire a bolt pistol at the Emperor's face. Half the head was missing and the rest of his armoured body was covered in the pockmarks of small-arms fire. Just seeing it made the drums beat slightly faster. They were excited.

And every single aquila in the cathedral, every single one, had been filed flat or otherwise scrubbed out. It was quite remarkable the amount of labour that had gone into the desecration. It spoke of an obsessiveness amongst the former populace and of how deep the taint had run.

As things were now, it just meant that the Sycoraxians had done the lion's share of the work the Colonel had been ordered to perform.

Hoss moved up next to him where he stood, looking at the over-sized statue. The change that had come over the man in the last day was astounding. His aide hawked and spat at the statue.

"To think we followed that shit. And now, he abandons us," Hoss muttered.

"He," the Colonel said, "never cared. And that is the sad fact of the matter, Hoss. We were duped, as all Imperial citizens are. However, consider our luck."

The Lieutenant gave a grim smile. "Yes, somebody must be smiling upon us, sir."

"Indeed they are, but to get a little, one must give a little. Today, we will give a little. And Father Iosiph will help us greatly." The Colonel turned around to look at Magos Sierck, who was cradling the comatose body of the preacher in his arms. The Magos looked very uncomfortable and the Colonel knew why.

The task they had to do was one that only Sierck had any knowledge of, or at least any prior knowledge.

Sierck noticed the Colonel's look and said, "Do I have to do this?"

"Yes, you do, my dear Magos," the Colonel replied, putting pointed emphasis on the rank as a reminder to Sierck himself. "Our new-found allies do not require much from us to come to our aid. Iosiph will do nicely. And from what we learned yesterday, you seem to know how to do it."

"Only in theory," Sierck muttered. "It is beyond my area of expertise and frankly, it makes me uneasy." He shifted Iosiph's comatose bulk around in his arms. The small man wasn't heavy, but a bit unwieldy to carry.

The Colonel replied with raising an eyebrow, and then looked over to Hoss, who was smirking in an unpleasant way. He knew, it would seem.

"Funny," the Colonel said and turned back to look at Sierck. "You seemed eager to rid yourself of Father Iosiph not two weeks ago."

Sierck made a face, deflated slightly, and then walked up in front of the desecrated altar of the God-Emperor of Mankind and knelt down.

"You might want to stand back, Colonel, Lieutenant," he said and the Colonel smiled to himself at the finality in Sierck's admittance of his military rank. A small but important victory. Sierck lowered Iosiph's body down to the ground, his lower mechadendrites uncoiling themselves and snaking around his body, one reaching into Sierck's utility bag that hung from a strap over his shoulder and plucking out a large, broad-bladed combat knife. "This will get messy, by its very nature," Sierck added and shooed the Colonel back further with one of his hands.

The Colonel backed off, despite the fact that the drums were going wild in his head, the drumming so hard it physically hurt now. As he backed up, he drew level with Chief Medic Brant, who was present together with the rest of the officer cadre of the 88th Steel Legion. Brant looked concerned, but still seemed collected.

"I hope you have no objections about this, doctor?" the Colonel asked quietly.

Brant looked at him and shook his head slightly. "No, not as such. Iosiph would not have lasted long any way, from what I could judge. I'm just curious to what you meant with that comment to the Magos? Was he the reason Iosiph was in this condition?"

The Colonel cursed inwardly.

"Iosiph's condition was an accident, doctor, nothing else," he said. "Sierck was present when it happened, yes, but you know how cogboys can be about energy-efficiency at times?"

"Yes, yes I can," Brant replied, but he did not sound too convinced. The Colonel made a mental note to keep an eye on Brant for the time being.

"At least now it serves a purpose, I guess," Brant said quietly, as if almost to himself. The Colonel was not paying attention to him anymore, however. His entire attention was focused on Sierck's doings.

The drums had fallen silent in anticipation again.

Sierck knew the action was nothing but baseless theatrics. He would be soaking in viscera and blood before this was over, but still he rolled the sleeves of his robe up. He turned his olfactory functions off with a mind-click; he couldn't stand the smells of humans at the best of times, and they smelled even worse on the inside.

He started to arrange the arms and legs of Iosiph into a vague star pattern, getting four points, five with the head. Before this was over, he'd have all eight and the focus would be complete.

He took the knife out of the mechadendrite's grip, preferring to use his original two hands, even if there was precious little original about them beyond the neural system. A small but deep cut just below Iosiph's jawline was the first one made. Blood welled out in a steady flow, dark from carbondioxide saturation. Sierck put his empty left hand under Iosiph's chin, collected some blood in it and started to smear a circle around the body. He then smeared a star point on Iosiph's face, hands and bare feet. That was five. Three to go.

Sierck grabbed the knife two-handed, wrapping one hand above the other on the hilt, knife-blade down and raised it above his head. This part was the hardest. With a short, low grunt he rammed it through the tough sternum of the little preacher. As soon as the knife broke through, Sierck pulled it towards himself, breaking through bone through sheer force. It was hard going but he made it. He pulled the knife to his right, knowingly cutting open the diaphragm. He made a similar cut to the left side of the chest as well.

The Magos felt Iosiph's body, which hadn't been that responsive to begin with in its comatose state, relax in that final way only a corpse could as life left the little man. Soon the body would void what little waste there was in it and that was the worst part in Sierck's opinion. That needed to be made into a star point as well, and if there wasn't any waste he could always-

"But first!" he said quietly as a personal reminder.

Sierck placed the knife next to himself, the blade stained deep red, and grabbed a reverse hold on the two flaps that he had created in the chest. Even for someone as cyber-enhanced as he, it was hard to pry open a human ribcage. Sierck managed though, with a grunt of effort. The ribcage opened up with a crunching, squelching noise, as bone and viscera loosened from their internal bonds.

Sierck picked up the knife again and started to carefully cut the lungs loose, leaving the trachea intact. When that was done, he lifted the lungs out and over the shoulders of the body, plopping them down on the ground next to the head and using the knife to carve a star point each into the lungs, forming two more.

Sierck got up and removed the thin surgical gown that covered the body to make the final star point.

As he found himself staring at the relatively dry floor between the body's legs, Sierck felt a tad disappointed. Obviously the gods felt he was not to get off that easily today.

He knelt down again and carefully cut a star point along the erect haft of the penis of the corpse.

With that done, Sierck straightened up and walked right over to the Colonel.

"Now what, Magos?" the Colonel asked. He looked strangely unmoved by what Sierck had just done; even Brant that stood next to the Colonel looked a little green around the gills.

Sierck licked his lips and held up his bloodied hands. "I need to wash, Colonel," he said.

"I understand that. What about-"

"You just wait, but don't get any closer to the... the focus, let's just call it that for now. Just wait, Colonel," Sierck said and hurried off, eager to get the blood off himself.

The Colonel watched Sierck's back as the Magos left, muttering under his breath. It was annoying when the Magos only spoke half of his actual thoughts on something, but this was vague even for Sierck. He turned his attention to Enginseer Shaern, who was sitting on a pew not far from him.

"What do you think he meant, Magda?"

The Lady Enginseer shrugged, a curious gesture for someone with a mechanical torso. "With him? Who knows? But I'd suggest that we do as he said, Colonel."

"You trust him?"

"I trust his words," Shaern replied diplomatically.

"Can you smell that?"

It was another one of the Enginseers, Sakkle, that had spoken. He smacked his tongue in displeasure at the smell.

"I can," Brant said, wrinkling his nose.

The Colonel, reflecting briefly over the fact that people took it as a matter of fact that he wore his respirator mask at all times nowadays, reached up and removed it to get a chance to smell what the others were sensing. He ignored the stunned gasp from Hoss as the hole in his cheek was revealed, with its eight tiny red tendrils snaking out from its edges. He sniffed the air.

"How-" Hoss started asking, but the Colonel cut him off.

"That's ozone," he said. "But there are no refractor-"

A mighty thunderclap of sound cut him off, the force of the pressurised air throwing him against the backrest of the pew at which he was standing. He was rendered temporarily blind, his bionic eyes fighting frantically to re-establish proper white balance, as a flash filled the room at about the same time as the thunderclap. Later, the Colonel would swear on his life that the thunderclap had come before the flash of light.

The Colonel regained his sight and got up, seeing that his officers had all been bowled over as well. The drums had fallen completely silent again. He tapped Brant on the shoulder to get his attention.

"See to them as soon as you can see properly again," he said and then turned his attention to the altar.

The statue of the Emperor of Mankind lay as rubble over the altar, the corpse that used to be Father Iosiph vaporised in the sudden flash of energy, a sticky gruel on the floor the only hint to it having existed at all.

Before the altar stood three impossibly large armoured figures. Their armour was vast and bulky, the heat from their internal fusion reactors starting to fill the spacious cathedral already. Their armour was coloured a dark silver, the trims and exo-skeleton reinforcements worked in gold, with the odd plate painted with black and yellow hazard stripes. The two men, for the Colonel assumed them to be men despite their size, standing to the sides wore helmets sprouting gilt tusks akin to a wild boar's, the lenses of their helmets gleaming blue. They carried double-barrelled bolters in their right hands and large power mauls with heads shaped like cogwheels in their left. The cogwheel pattern was something that was repeated on the trims of their armour.

What really drew the Colonel's attention though was the man, or was it really a man, standing in the centre and clearly the leader of the small group of warriors, his long cloak of faded purple making him stand apart, as did his equipment.

His armour was similar to his companions, but his gun was mounted directly to his right forearm's armour and was clearly a combi-melta of some design. In his left hand he held a staff. The staff was as tall as the centre warrior himself, worked entirely in steel and tipped with a cogwheel encircling an eight-pointed star. In the centre of the star there was a blue, glowing gemstone.

The man's head was bare, save for the rebreather-unit he wore over the lower half of his face. His eyes were black, he lacked eyebrows and tiny wisps of grey hair still clung to his heavily augmented scalp.

All of them carried the heraldry of a silver skull on their right shoulder pads.

The centre warrior, the leader, fixed the Colonel with a hard stare.

"You are the Colonel and commanding officer of this outfit."

It was not a question.

"Yes, I am the commanding officer of the Armageddon 88th Steel Legion," the Colonel confirmed, correcting the gigantic warrior-leader with the regimental name.

One of the warriors to the side of the leader took one thudding step forward, making the floor shake.

"You will address him as 'my lord', mortal!" he growled.

The leader put out his staff in front of his enraged companion to stall any further violence.

"It is quite fine for now, Brother Aiyaz. They are not familiar with our practices. Yet. In time, you may chastise such infringements."

The one identified as Aiyaz stepped back and fell silent. The leader focused on the Colonel again.

"I am Technomancer Xavier of the 14th Grand Company of the Iron Warriors Legion. I am the personal advisor and warp-counsel of the Lord Warsmith Todt, who you are no doubt familiar with."

"And the Warsmith was too busy to come himself," the Colonel said, paused and added, "my lord?"

"Watch your tongue, mortal," Aiyaz muttered. "The Lord Technomancer could snap you like a twig. All of you!"

"That's enough, Aiyaz!" Xavier barked. The threat of violence hung in the air, and the Colonel could feel the drums starting up, only to feel them silenced as Xavier collected himself.

"The Lord Warsmith has more pressing business right now. I am acting in his stead. You were offering your services as warriors to us, were you not, Colonel?"

By now, Sierck had cleaned himself up, made his way back into the cathedral nave and walked up to the Colonel, ignoring his colleagues and Brant, who were busy helping the still dazed officers of the 88th.

Xavier nodded curtly to Sierck, recognising him with a simple, "Magos."

"Lord Technomancer," Sierck replied, but did not make any sign of respect other than that simple phrase.

"So, Colonel?" Xavier asked, returning his gaze to the Colonel. "You already carry the mark, and in many ways, we have awaited you and your soldiers arrival."

The Colonel, ignoring that Sierck seemed to know this Xavier since before, removed the gauntlet from his right hand, leaving it bare and extended it to Xavier. It took the Technomancer a few seconds to recognise the ancient Terran practice of handshaking.

Xavier extended his own right hand, carefully closing it around the Colonel's so as not to crush it accidentally.

"You have the men and women, the guns and tanks of the 88th Steel Legion, my lord," the Colonel said as they shook hands, very carefully.

"And the 14th Grand Company welcomes you aboard the Chronos, Colonel," Xavier replied. He broke the handshake and looked out at the people in the cathedral, all looking at him in rapt attention.

"Together we will take the sound of the drums of war to our enemies."

At those words, the drums returned, but now the Colonel was certain they weren't just in his head.

They were all around them.