Chapter 010
With her decorated Sabbat pattern helmet firmly donned and locked down on to the torso plates, Maid Iariss looked her most formidable. She's now a veritable killing machine armed with two bolter pistols and serve as the standard bearer for her squad. The Sororitas Ordos Militant attaché of the Vermandois Crusade stood at five centuries strong, and was accompanied by a century of space marines hailing from the Ultramarines Chapter. Maid Iariss looked at the armored giants of men, standing as still as the mighty statues of saints that decorated the massive bridge of the main deck. Alongside the best of Humanity were several thousand inquisitorial storm troopers and the ranked naval officers that kept the Crest of the Emperor floating in this month long journey through the immaterium.
This mighty procession is headed by the General Militant of the Orres System, the one named Sears Wessex. Clad in a mighty power armor that was even more massive than the Aquila suits donned by the Adeptus Astartes, Wessex looked truly indomitable. Select Lords and Barons that led the best regiments were with him, along with the flat faced but well-respected Lord Commissar Essesohn. Battle Priests and Primates that will consecrate their respective regiments accompanied Lord Inquisitor Horatia March. March is a veteran of hundreds of purges and betrayed nothing of her ancient age. Her smooth jet black hair and her pale white skin formed a stark yet sublime contrast, as did her unnaturally blue eye and the bionic replacement that glowed with an eerie red.
Lord March paced down the deck, inspecting the battle hardened troops. Two maiden songsters, a pure soprano with her contralto counterpart, flanked the Inquisitor and sang doxologies dedicated to those that would inevitably fall fighting for the Immortal Emperor. Lord March didn't need to look left nor right. Her bionics did the job for her. The red beam moved mechanically, scrutinizing every single minute gesture that would have escaped the notice of an unaided eye. Maid Iariss held her breath as the procession marched past her with their crosiers, the Order Simulacrum, texts and relics. Sisters of the Ceremonous sprinkled holy water and Saints' Dust over the battle standards. Iariss knelt as the squad's colors were given the necessary wards against heretics and aliens.
Lord March reached the end of the inspected force and swung around, straighter than a measuring rod. Lord Admiral of the Fleet saluted the Lord Inquisitor. Admiral Eliab Vyn the Elder is robust and rather well-fed, his jowls covered with ugly wrinkles and tufts of beard. If he had any bionics, it would have been the surgical types, for besides the integrated oculars and datalogger attached directly into his cranium, it would seem he had little else. The rotund admiral stood high above in the commodore's view, surrounded by decorated officers, techpriests and their servitor minions, saturating the Admiral with information from every single minute section of the ship. And hopefully the Holds as well.
"Praise the God Emperor, from whom all blessings flow, the provider of the Light and Beacon, which guide our path through the Warp." Eliab Vyn cited. "Praise the God Emperor, on whom doth Mankind depend on for our own very survival. Praise the Crusades, that we shall crush the enemies of the Imperium and make them feel the void."
"Praise the Immortal Emperor!" the procession of mighty men and women replied.
"Praise the Golden Throne of Terra. Path of Light, grant us strength so that we keep to thy path. Lead us now into the treacherous system of our wayward brothers!" Eliab Vyn took out his ceremonial whip and cracked it. Techpriests around him swung into careful and deliberate actions, turning dials and flipping switches. The entire vessel trembled and groaned as the thousands of Menials and servitors chained to their posts below deck prepared for warp exit. The ship's Navigator, housed in the pinnacle of the bridge-tower, sent his visions down through the cephalon-linked impulse tubing to be interpreted by the Master Engineseer that oversaw the Warp Drives. Again the superstructure shook as the Engineseer filtered out the chaff that interfered with the necessary information. The background howl that accompanied them throughout the month-long journey died down as dark blue ethers that surrounded the Holy Fleet swirled and morphed into impossibly intricate spirals. The battleships Saint Gladstone and Esteemed Mark along with their numerous escort vessels disappeared one by one as they exited the warp. Before anyone could say Hail Emperor, the blue ethers had disappeared, and the familiar glint of a billion stars greeted them once more from the blackness of space.
General Militant of Orres, Sears Wessex, was granted permission from both the Admiralty and the Lord Inquisitor to address the regiments. He turned on his vox and relayed the first military order of the Vermandois Crusade: "Regiments of Orres, by the Will of the Emperor, leave no sacred soil to the traitor and alien! Let the Crusade begin!"
XXX
Maid Iariss stood at the commodore's deck where the most skilful warriors of the Imperium were required to guard and oversee the heart of naval command. A dozen servitors, their scalps covered with crude tubes and bionics, provided a pseudo-composite three dimensional display of the military exchange. An insane volume of visual data was being fed from the countless pict-captures in place throughout the battleship, causing some servitors to go into uncontrolled shaking. These are symptoms of 'data euphoria'. It not only blurred the images at times but also messed up with the entire holographic display every five minutes or so. Iariss wasn't trained as a tactician, but the lopsided slaughter was obvious enough. The Imperium Navy unleashed multiple staggered broadsides against an orbital platform complex of alien design of several inverted pagodas with multiple tiers. The platform desperately launched light attack crafts of every size in retaliation, maneuvering around the streams of rapid firing las cannons like annoying insects. Whatever cruiser-class vessels the aliens had built to guard their conquest had already maneuvered into warp space to escape certain demise.
"Lean hard on port. Have the gunneries on the starboard side perform their duty!" Eliab Vyn thundered through the vox. The decks creaked with the gargantuan strains as the steering drives were kicked into action. Hundreds of consecrated servitors pulled and pushed the ten-meter-wide wheel laid on its side, silent in their laborious task. The guns made a final broadside-in-unison before the barrels locked down and depressurized for cooling and removal of barrel debris. It was the Maid's first time seeing the Emperor's fury completely unleashed, vaster than anything on planet surface. She felt elation in the cleansing plasma fires that scorched through the shielding and onto the smooth hull below, twisting and bending it beyond recognition. The trembles that reverberated with each firing had sent shivers of ecstasy up her spine. Justice and Judgment on the traitor. She could see the gaping holes on the orbital stations and imagined the twisted and cold bodies of the xenos floating amongst the debris. Just as the Maid was caught in her admiration for the Emperor's Justice, a series of violent jolts shook the ship as the limited enemy retaliation hit home. A squadron of alien attack craft flew right across the bridge, half of it already ablaze. The dense flak arrays tore three of them to threads. Two others spun out of control and crashed into the hull below, not even making scratch on the impenetrable armor.
A Mage whispered some ill tidings to the Admiral's ears. "Get all the menials, and perhaps a few penal regiments to get on to it. Just get the steering drive working! I do not want to use the consecrated guns unless absolutely necessary."
"Aye, your Highness." the cyborg Mage bowed and left. The Maid realized that the ship is caught quite still in an awkward position, with the fore directly facing the heavily damaged orbital station. Sister Imagina and Sister Constance seemed oblivious to the sounds of battle, concentrating instead on the serene beauty of Hugh Alpha that stood in stark contrast to the carnage that went on above her orbits.
"We will be going down there." Imagina whispered.
"To reclaim every piece of sacred soil that the aliens and traitors have defiled." Maid Iariss reminded. Saint Gladstone and her escorts appeared out of the warp at this very moment despite exiting first. It's another of those warp anomalies that confused the Maid thoroughly, and had her thanking the Emperor again for guiding his flock. Admiral Canid Zeelander of Saint Gladstone, however, was not as squeamish with her main guns. Three giant bolts of plasma globes hurtled towards the stricken target, overwhelming the shielding and smashing into the hull proper. The orbital keeled and buckled as the inner stabilizers failed. Escape pods and ships had begun to evacuate the dying hulk.
"Blast!" the Maid could hear the Admiral curse. "The damn boy Zeelander got the kill. Conveniently arriving late as well." Eliab Vyn was nearly knocked off his feet again when the steering drive came back online, and most of the people on deck actually did.
"Praise the Emperor. The servomechanics have answered our prayers to the Machine Spirit. May Graphite and Lubriques flow through thy majestic piston and valve!" one of the techpriests threw his arms in the air as he started his non-sensical praise to the Machine Spirit.
"Well, finish up the job! Get on with it!" Eliab Vyn seemed to be unhappy that Saint Gladstone had clenched the prey. "Have Rear Admiral Yules Pine and his Esteemed Mark to get around to the south polar geo-stationary orbital defenses. Either blast it to bits or send it burning in the atmosphere."
"Lord Vyn, Duke Pine had already removed the enemy at point gamma and is now petitioning for planetfall protocol clearance." the section commander of long range vox reported.
"Sounds like everyone is getting ahead of the old man. Very well, initiate drop-off, and have the fleet proceed to drop sites and hold orbit. Clearance for bombardment support level two. Smash anything that you think that can have a heavy gun in it." Eliab Vyn said with a casual manner that made Iariss stare with indignation. This fool treats the Crusade as though it's a playground. Nevertheless, Eliab Vyn is a decorated and experienced soldier, established as an authority enough to lead the Holy Fleet and ship a Crusade of a hundred million men. Sears Wessex who had stood quietly at the side observing the naval conduct of operations was given a vox cast by the Admiral. The Holy Fleet and the Guards don't mix. Not too well, at least.
"Blessed Regiments of the First Corps, unleash thy fury! Let the traitors know that we have no mercy for them!" Sears bellowed into the vox.
He will be down there first. Iariss looked at the massive dropships being jettisoned from the fleet by the dozen. These vessels, filled to the brim with guardsmen and their equipments, carefully angled their approach in the precarious reentry. Planetary defenses did their best to keep the Crusaders at bay as the transports closed with their targets. A few dropships broke apart as the cumulative strains from the gravitational pull and retaliatory fire crushed their hulls. Iariss felt her heart skip as the unfortunate vessels spilled their contents into the atmosphere and descended in a slow spiral. The Holy Fleet, however, did not stand idol. Crest of the Emperor unleashed a torrent of blistering fire that streamed between the landing ships and muted the defenders' guns.
"The 73rd and 64th regiments are lost." the scans-pex officer observed. Iariss breathed a sigh of relief and felt the tensions disappear from her muscles.
"We have penal regiments to spare, don't we?" Eliab Vyn asked. "The dropships must have cost more than those sorry souls."
"Indeed." Sears Wessex replied. "Very much more."
XXX
After two months of planetary warfare, the Ordos Militant attaché made planetfall with their holy ark Concremarus. Battle reports had not been completely optimistic. The massive planetary holograph with its colored icons of guardsmen regiments, army groups and theaters showed the situation in an abstract graphical way. Sears Wessex sparred without pause with the Brigadiers and Generals on the best course of action. Imperial guardsmen, whittled down to 70 fighting capacity, were held at bay at a narrow isthmus. Beyond it was a large peninsular continent complete with three mega-city complexes that the xenos have built. The dazzling regimental designations and symbols used by the Guards confused Iariss. The only thing she could conclude is that the First Crusade is stuck at a vicious stalemate, and something more is needed to pierce the line. The proud General Militant succumbed instantly before Horatia March's fiery personality as the inquisitor demanded intervention.
The battle sisters, fully armed and helmeted, sat still with their bolters upright as Conremarus shook and jolted with atmospheric turbulence. The Adeptus Astartes had already made their drops. The genetically and surgically engineered super-soldiers descended upon the most vicious fronts, inserting themselves directly into the thickest of the battles in armored pods. And even then they could not break through the Isthmus.
After a seemingly endless descent the ark finally slowed down and made contact with the captured space port, scarcely large enough to hold the vessel. A piercing ray of light reached every precipice of the cabin as the massive loading bays opened. Several elite storm trooper companies stood at attention outside, bearing the regimental colors of Orres 4th, 5th and 9th. The Sisters made their disembarkation, their footsteps synchronized perfectly as though they are one.
"Lord Inquisitor Horatia March, head of the Ordos Militant attaché and the Holy Judgment of the Emperor's Fury! Hail! Hail! Hail!" the elite guardsmen thundered after their Colonel as the five hundred strong force of battle sisters marched out of Concremarus, followed by a smaller army of servitors that dragged gigantic crates loaded with supplies. Maid Iariss observed the unnaturally lush green hills that surrounded the mesa-city and the sapphire-blue skies that seemed almost too perfect. So this is Hugh Alpha. Iariss ignored the dozens of bodies dangling from the gallows. The crude inquisitions launched against the collaborators and adherents to xeno-philosophy should have claimed more. Native buzzards flocked around the damned, gorging themselves on their dangling innards and soft, decaying flesh. Banners extolling the Immortal Emperor flew from every single high precipice that could be found.
"Has Faith in the Immortal Emperor dwindled to such pathetic levels that you still could not breach the defense of the heathens?" Lord March's bionic eye glared bright red as she castigated the guardsmen. "Where is the Commissarriat?"
A battle-worn colonel, his uniform partially charred and his head bandaged to cover a grievous wound, came to receive the militant branch of the inquisition with his command team. "The most sincere apologies to the esteemed lord inquisitor."
"It is the Holy Text itself that is brought before you. On your knees, guardsmen!" March made the word 'guardsmen' carry the connotations of 'filth'. The two maiden songsters that accompanied her brought forth a large leather bound book, held open by chains to the very page that introduced the Great Crusades. All the storm troopers were conditioned to obey inquisitorial command, and did so promptly.
"Even a minute measure of the faith that your glorious ancestors carried in their bosoms ten millennia ago would have been enough to overwhelm this entire planet. The whole eight million of you not only have failed in your duty, you have lived to see yourselves as truly miserable failures. You arrogant beasts of men!" March did not seem to be impressed at all. The guardsmen remained still. None of them made any move or voiced any protest. To do so would be suicide. "What is your tale, commander?"
The colonel looked up, his eyes wild with emotions. Whether it is fear or shame the Maid could not tell. Those two things are basically one."We have done all we could. The cities require a garrison, the locals require resettlement, and there is a constant threat of armed insurrec…"
March's bionic glare dimmed as she drew out her rapier from the colonel's mouth which welled up instantly with blood. No man stirred as the colonel collapsed to the floor, the dying muscles twitching. The other two regimental colonels began to tremble under the silent wrath of the Inquisitor. "'All we could' can only mean to the very last man. 70 fighting capacity is not 'all you could'. A Crusader does not ask how many enemies there are, or how well they're armed. A Crusader only asks how many heathens he can slay till he falls to the ground a holy martyr. You there!" March pointed her bloodied rapier to a color sergeant that bore the regimental aquila. "On your feet and show your face."
The color sergeant took off his helmet to reveal a rather young face, complete with a gash that is held together with crude stitches and thick black string. March scrutinized the sergeant carefully. Iariss knew that the Lord Inquisitor was a trained and sanctioned psyker. Her mental probing smashed aside whatever minute defense the sergeant had, causing him to lose control of his facial muscles and opened his jaw as in a stupor.
"Very well, Sergeant Surtbury. You are hereby promoted to the rank of Divisional Brigadier with immediate effect. Your duty is to lead these men to redemption and death, and that includes yourself." March said coldly as a songster presented March with a piece of linen and some holy water to cleanse her dirtied blade. "Are the men of these regiments mute as well?"
"Hail Lord Inquisitor Horatia March! Hail Lord Brigadier Surtbury!" the men roared.
"In the Name of the Emperor, have the city purged. We have no further need of garrison." Lord March gave her first command. The newly made brigadier Surtbury was aghast as March's decision, and the storm troopers looked at each other in confusion and surprise. "There are three regiments in this city. Are you telling me that a city of twenty thousand heathens is more than a match for you? Or do I have to look for another replacement Colonel?"
Surtbury was goaded into immediate action. "Regiments atten---TION!" The storm troopers rose to their feet. "Purge protocol clearance granted! Adhere the Imperium Tactica! Adhere the Primer! Adhere to your superiors' will! Obedience without Questioning! Faith without Fail! Let these heathens serve in death as they would have never done in life!" Iariss believed there was a hint of genuine sadness in Surtbury's tone.
The Ordos Militant accompanied the regiments as they evacuated the marked city. Any useful material, food, water, machine tools, fuel and vehicles were requisitioned from the populace. A great many of them believed that the guardsmen were leaving for the frontlines against their alien overseers, their eyes were unable to hide the traitorous excitement and intent. Few, however, were sad to see the guardsmen leave, and most of these were young orphans or girls that probably sold services to the men. Some of the older citizens, however, were smart enough to find out. Colonel Surtbury's subordinates removed these quickly before they could raise a ruckus. Within two days of ruthless pillaging, the elite mechanized regiments rolled out with their Chimeras, Basilisk self-propelled artillery, Leman Russ tanks and the attached supply convoys of Trojans and trucks laden with looted goods. Maid Iariss saw a young lady with her daughter standing at a street corner sobbing. A passing fascination for the locals. Nothing more. She hardened her resolve and marched on with the color of her battle squad aloft above her shoulders.
Brigadier Surtbury's face betrayed his inner conflicts as he looked through the powered auspex. From the vantage point on the surrounding hills he could see the locals dancing on the streets and adolescent youths shooting crude guns into the air. He waved his hand in disappointment and the Basilisks answered his indignation with united thunder. The city, built on a chalky white mesa, was turned to a grand conflagration as the hammer of the Emperor unleashed lethal 'heart-stopper' gas by the kiloliters into the city and followed the fumes with extended-burning promethium jars. Concremarus also partook in the Holy Purge,turning columns of the fleeing into plasma ash before it left to join the Holy Fleet in orbit. All the roads were fortified with sufficient guardsmen to easily mow down any that tried to breach the cordon. As the fires died down, the storm troopers assaulted the ruins once more to literally flatten whatever that still stood, killing all survivors that they came across in this process. One of the young adolescent locals blasphemed the Emperor to such an extent that Sister Constance gave way to anger and shot the girl with her bolter. The crumpled body was unceremoniously picked up by a guardsman and dumped into the back of a truck. Maid Iariss could not help thinking about the dream avatar. The one he calls Sarai.
"Brigadier, have the cityscape on memory tapes. Broadcast these images throughout all the occupied territories. Any that resist imperial law or the passage of her men should do well to heed this. Let this stricken layer of ash be a lesson for them all." Lord March didn't even bother to look at the large burning pits filled with the charred bodies. The divisional commander bowed and left, and saw to that her request is done. March sprinkled some Saint's Dust ceremoniously over the consecrated memorial that marked where the city once stood. Iariss, a witness to the purge, turned her gaze away from the mass graves. This was only a fraction of what she had seen, but the machinations of the dream avatar had softened her heart. She could not seem to forget the one he called Sarai, the sobbing woman with her baby or the ash-covered blasphemer driven insane by the absolute destruction Lord March had unleashed upon her world.
Surtbury looked as though he just went through an exorcism. The best soldiers of Orres trained in the military complex of Hive 4 against the most vicious enemies of the Imperium had slaughtered tens of thousands of innocents. Correction: those that Lord March deemed too costly to keep around. Iariss knew the basic logic behind the inquisition's choice. Dead people don't need guards, food, shelter or water. Dead people don't revolt. Most importantly, dead people serve as great warning to those that are still alive. These people are too useful to them dead. The Maid would expect all the other garrisons to be freed from their duties. The presence of the Ordos Militant on the surface of Hugh Alpha is enough to make the locals know that the Imperium is without mercy. The Crusades would accept nothing besides an unconditional surrender to the Emperor's Grace. With the purging of one city, Lord March guaranteed the Isthmus Theater a reinforcement of one and three quarters million men.
XXX
"Maid, you don't look too good." Imagina observed. Most of the battle sisters had taken off their helmets for a breath of fresh air. And this undoubtedly exposed Iariss to scrutiny from her squad mates.
"I am fine, sister Imagina. I feel that the Father Emperor's watching over us this very instant, blessing us with courage and victory to come." Iariss tried to put up an air of confidence and strength.
"Squad, be prepared to move out." Palatine Gracefinn gave the orders to break camp. Over three hundred regiments were poised to reinforce the battle at the Isthmus. Numerous soldiers, dazed from shell shock and trauma, were led from the frontlines stuffed on requisitioned vehicles. Wounded casualties from the Isthmus were sent to Summer's Vale, a small outpost where the Hospitallers would put their skills in nursing the soldiers back to health.
A single bugle call was sounded for the call to advance. This lone solo was joined by hundreds of others. Soon, the entire valley was resounding with the riot and clamor of trumpets, drums and bloodthirsty calls to battle. The very ground itself trembled as the tank columns rolled out, belching partially burnt fuel and tar particles as they spearheaded the guards' synchronized advances. Field constructed giant artillery pieces were towed by dozens of trucks, accompanied by detachments of servitors and techpriests that chanted unending hymns to the Machine Spirit and the Law of Ballistics. Alongside the guardsmen and inquisitorial troops were tens of thousands of new adherents that flocked to Lord March's banner. The worst scumbags became prophet literally overnight. Iariss secretly hated these opportunistic lowlives. If they were as faithful as they professed, they would have already given their lives to fight the xenos way before the Crusaders arrive.
Time to shake the dreams away, to grind the memories to dust and die knowing my duty is done. Iariss braced herself as the massive army approached Uriah's Line at the Isthmus, named after the infamous Duke Uriah Minc. The sheer scale of the Line made Iariss gasp at the ingenuity of the 'ill-trained mobs' that composed the Imperial Guards. Several batteries of super heavy guns were already erected, complete with glowing plasma generators, smoking chimneys, propellant gas expulsion shafts and cranes that hoist impossibly huge shells into the massive barrels. A company-sized crew was required to keep one of these guns firing, excluding the techpriests and servitor menials that swarmed around the guns providing reassuring touches and ritual grease to calm the anger of the Machine God. A single Guardsman may be one of the most mediocre fighters in the galaxy, but when put in their tens of thousands, or millions in this case, they become a force of creation. Their callused hands, roughened shoulders and stout legs would build the mightiest bastion of walls complete with turrets and pillboxes of all sizes and moats that would trap an entire Baneblade tank. They could pave the greatest runways for their massive bombers, the sturdiest roads for their heaviest tanks and even build spaceports with which to receive their supplies. Even magnificent cathedral basilicas are well within their repertoire. One was already standing strong in face of the enemy's frustration.
Nearly two million men in Uriah's Line sharpened their bayonets and primed their rifle sights as the hour of reckoning draws nearer. Crews oiled tank pistons and cleared out every grit and pebble from the treads. The battle priests and primates with their massive chainswords and vox-cast nailed directly onto their throats marched around the legions of praying men, amplifying their unending praises to the God Emperor. Entire regiments stood stone-still as their superiors and the Commissariat extolled the worthy for their uncompromising adherence to the Imperial Code. Iariss looked around at the sea of men and their fluttering banners. The 97th company of Orres 11th was at the forefront on the easternmost wall. The battered flag of the feminine angel and babe was badly faded, but decorative sashes injected new life into it. It's his company. He's still alive.
Lord Inquisitor Horatia March was greeted with full honors. The entirety of the theater command in battle garb stood at attention. March wasn't as unforgiving as she previously when they first made planetfall. Duke General Uriah Minc never gave a moment of lax in his duties. While the Inquisition marched up and down the occupied territories, whipping up the disgruntled garrisons into her entourage of zealous Crusaders, Uriah Minc managed to launch more offensives than statistically possible and made sure that at least thirty thousand xenos were slain. All in the course of thirty days. But the Maid wasn't impressed. It could have been him that died. She quickly chased the selfish thought away. It's far better for the fool to die. The sinful fascination would soon be over. She could feel the imprinting fade and her soul being cleansed by the flames of battle once more.
"Lord Inquisitor March, Uriah Minc humbly puts himself at your service." Uriah knelt to one knee and spoke with a rather foreign accent. Horatia March extended her gloved hand for the Duke General placed his forehead against it. Uriah had lost the ability to kiss. His jaw was smashed in some battle. In place of his mouth he had a composite bionic of vox-cast and rebreather attached directly onto his lower face and integrated with the powered carapace that he wore. No one knew how he eats anything. Despite his disturbing appearance, Uriah was also a sturdy giant of a man, even more impressive than Sears Wessex. The list of campaigns that he had led was engraved onto his pauldron, along with the affixed seals of purity and medallions of conquest. A rare pelt with an intact head of a ferocious mammalian carnivore completed the picture of an Imperium warlord. So this is Uriah Minc, the Victor of Mossberg and Gantin Campus.
"Another two million at your command, Uriah, or mine?" Horatia March questioned.
"Uriah would do as the Inquisition demands." Uriah humbly bowed. Iariss is already finding his habit of referring to himself by the third person rather annoying.
"The Inquisition demands that you to win."
"With another two million, it is only a matter of time."
"Twenty days." Horatia set a deadline. Uriah would either breach the gates or offer his own head up on a platter.
"Uriah be bold, and he requests thirty."
"Twenty days." The inquisition never compromises. Lord March's hand is already on the hilt of the rapier.
"Uriah acque…acq…acquiesces to the ever justice demands of the Inquisition." Apparently gothic was never Uriah's native tongue, and the last line came out as a hesitant jumble of bad grammar and high speech.
Having dealt with Theater Command, Lord March gave orders for every single battle sister squad to familiarize themselves with the terrain. The Ordos Militant would serve in the easternmost wall with the guards for this night. Headquarters of the inquisitorial troops would be established in the mighty cathedral, which Horatia March consecrated with the name Iariss' Watch. The choice of name was not particularly surprising, given that Iariss was one of the most common names throughout the Eastern Fringe, especially after the beatification of Virgin Iariss of Hughnault. But it made Iariss felt special nonetheless. Tonight it would be her Watch.
XXX
The night was never calm. The guards launched up to a hundred night sorties every day. The enemy layered defense lines in the horizon lit up with explosions and the sky became alive with beams or bursts of bright blue plasma globes. Iariss stood guard at a fortified strongpoint in the Forward East as the guards around her slumbered, curling themselves up into every nook and crevice along the trench. Decaying heads of the flat-faced xenos stuck on poles decorated the Isthmus Line, a vain attempt to goad the enemy into an offense. However, this foe knows the very value of discipline. Through her Auspex she could see the dim outlines of the enemy city against the amplified background light caused by the explosions.
Between the Isthmus line and the enemy defenses is a vast No-Man's-Land littered with innumerable dead. For every xenos that Uriah has claimed to kill, he had to throw in twelve guardsmen. Burnt wrecks of chimeras, tanks, walkers and assault guns stretched for as far as she could see. Some even had the charred bodies of guardsmen sticking out of the hatches, frozen in the moment of their fiery death. Iariss' mind began to wander off, thinking about the parents, children and friends of these Orresians. She quickly jolted into action, reminding herself that theirs was but to do or die.
"Change shift! Janus, take your platoon down for rest. Young, you're up!" the Guardsman was only a short distance away behind her, relaying orders through his vox to the platoons. Iariss drew a sudden breath and froze. His eyes had seen too much, but yet they glimmered with some strange optimism. The Guardsman was personally giving blankets to the company soldiers, some of whom started whimpering pathetically for this display of concern.
"Major Maine!" the familiar clacking together of heels as he saluted a senior officer.
"Not bad, Church. I thought they'd have your company wiped out by now. Not bad at all. You know the Inquisition is here, don't you, with another 2 million men."
"Yes, sir."
"You can bring your men to the rear echelon. Three months of continuous fighting is more than enough for you guys."
"Is that regimental order?"
"Yes, Church. You know, regimental command is really happy with Liutgard's performance. None of the fourth battalion companies were lost. Well, not perfectly happy. Henson bought the prize. The inquisitor found him guilty of intimacy with locals. They executed his local mistress and had him flogged before the prima-decas. You should have been there to see that. A moment of my fucking life! I wished I was the one flogging him." the Major chuckled.
"What of Lord Louis?"
"Well, he wasn't there for the Inquisition to get him. You know that fiery bitch-queen skewered Baron Brigadier Munter Hans of the…wait, Ok, there's one of them here. I will tell you about it later." Maine lowered his voice to a whisper and patted the lieutenant on his shoulder. The Guardsman saluted and went on caring for his men. Maine, however, walked to Maid Iariss and paced around her, his bionics looking up and down like a predator sizing up his game. "I wonder how you guys piss." Standard Orresian undercity accent that is almost unintelligible to High Gothic.
"Out of my sight, worm." Iariss jammed the barrel of Purge up Maine's nose before he could continue his insults. Maine's mouth was open as if in shock, but he licked his dry lips and left coolly, betraying little if no fear at all. "Pathetic lowlife." The battle sister sheathed her bolt pistol. She should have killed him, but that might attract the attention of the Guardsman, and she didn't want him any closer. Iariss recited a short litany of repentance and continued her watch. Iariss' Watch.