Ten

"You are all here because you are scum. But you are the Emperor's scum. You have skills that are useful to our Immortal Lord and whether you wish it or no, they will be made use of."

-Colonel Schaeffer, 13th Penal Legion

The interior of the Valkyrie was cramped with the members of the Sacred Band and the last Corduban survivors of the ill-fated PDF army group. Both groups sat apart from each other, the Cordubans in their tattered and torn uniforms on one side and the fully helmed and armoured Dorkim Qdosim on the other.

Almudena was still slightly unnerved by the visors of the Sacred Band helmets, their lifeless lenses were not giving away if their owners were asleep or watching the PDF troopers with predatory intent.

The Corduban sergeant was slightly reassured there were human beings under those uniforms and armour, if only because their leader had unhelmed before him and had remained so even now. Yet the way they simply sliced through those aliens seemed almost effortlessly and beyond anything he had ever seen in his military career. If only they had arrived earlier, perhaps poor Fulgencio would have lived and gotten the care he so desperately needed.

'Something on your mind?' A voice with a harsh, yet cultured accent asked. Almudena recognized it as belonging to the off-worlder sergeant.

'No.' Almudena tried to lie, then thought better of it. This offworlder seemed like the kind of person who did not appreciate dishonesty. 'Actually, yes. Yes there is. I lost a lot of good men and women back there and their deaths are on me and no one else.' He cast his eyes to the floor and a sad smile ghosted across his face. ' I was the one in command, after all. I keep wondering if I could have done things differently so they might have lived.'

Maharbal leaned forward so he was face to face with Almudena. The Corduban also leaned in closer and matched Maharbal's gaze. The Sacred Band sergeant shot Almudena a respectful smile and took a deep breath.

'Or perhaps if you had done things differently more might have died, have you considered that possibility?' The Kan'anim said with a hint of sympathy in his eyes. 'Do not misunderstand my words, it is good to remember those who now walk the Path of Shades. But you should not dwell on such matters. Like it or not, you are now a leader of men, so when the time comes, and come again it will, all you can do is to make a choice and accept the consequences whatever they may be. Know that you and your soldiers fought like lions and did all that honour demanded. It is always unfortunate when loyal soldiers of the Imperium are lost to us, but not even the Lord Solar himself could have done better under those circumstances. My people have a saying: "Save those you can and avenge those you cannot." That's the Qart-Hadashtim way.'

Almudena nodded at Maharbal's words. 'You're right.' The Corduban said with a grim smile. 'I suspect there will be many opportunities to for me to choose vengeance in the days to come.'

'This is the way.' Maharbal replied with a dark chuckle.

Every night the dream is the same.

All around him there is death and fire as a city burns. Inhuman shrieks pierce the scorching air, intermingled with lasfire and screams as the doomed inhabitants of this place and their defenders plead for a salvation that will never come.

He tries to steady his breathing as the flames roar into an inferno and threaten to engulf him. His shaking hands go through the motions to reload his laspistol, a task normally performed without a second thought now made nearly impossible by the sheer terror coursing through him. He focusses his mind on the Litany of Reloading, repeating it over and over again until he finally succeeds in his efforts and the magazine slots into place. The feeling of a loaded weapon in his hand somewhat reassures him. He is no longer helpless, he lies to himself. He looks at his surroundings and is stunned by the carnage that has unfolded here. He sees what were once proud soldiers and loyal citizens, people with hopes and dreams, now all reduced to torn up corpses. Their vacant eyes stare at him accusingly, as if to say: "Where were you when death came for us? Did you not hear us scream from your hiding place?"

He moves on, he tries not to look at the corpses as he passes them by. The screams are becoming less frequent, he tries not to think about what that means.

When he comes to a burnt out building of what was once a scholam he sees it. It looks like it was once a man, but any humanity had long since been burned from its mind. It's disturbingly human face is locked in a rictus grin that split the sides of its mouth to expose glistening tendon and teeth. A tongue that is far too long slithers from the creature's mouth as it licks its cheeks. A purple, crab-like claw takes the place of its left hand. The thing clicked the claw excitedly, no doubt in anticipation of the bloodshed that is to come.

He tries to scream as the creature dashes towards him, impossibly fast. The last thing he sees is that hideous grin, then it all fades to black.

Hamilcar awoke with a startled intake of breath. He rose from his bed and blinked with his weary eyes as he tried to steady the furious beating of his heart. He looked at the carafe of amasec standing half empty on his desk next to stacks of papers and his regimental badge. He cursed himself for a fool. No matter what he did the shame of his past could not be erased, not even dulled, and the dream would come and haunt his sleep again and again.

He ran a hand through his beard and walked towards a wrinkled set of clothes that on closer inspection turned out to be his uniform. Most Guard officers would not be caught dead in a uniform that was not neatly pressed, but Hamilcar reckoned that any officer who worried about the state of his clothes chose the wrong profession. He picked up the bundled clothes and moved to the mirror in his bath room. On the way he snatched the regimental badge from the table. This he kept spotlessly clean out of principle.

The simple act of putting on the black clothes and the bronze regimental crest brought some steel to his nerves. When he finally looked the part of a Qart-Hadashtim colonel he let out a sigh and shot his mirrored reflection a rueful smile. He moved towards the washing basin so he could splash some cold water on his face to rouse him to full wakefulness. Once this failed, as it usually did, he began to look around for the pot of recaff Hano would have brewed earlier.

Once he had a mug of steaming of recaff in his hands he sat himself down behind his desk and debated with himself to pour the contents of the carafe down the drain. He decided against it and placed it in one of the drawers next to a set of dirty glasses. Hamilcar grasped the nearest stack of papers with both hands and dumped it in front of him in the middle of the desk. Part of being the commanding officer of an Imperial Guard regiment meant doing paperwork, which most officers just outsourced to some unlucky adjutant or lieutenant. The temptation to do the same was always there for Hamilcar, but he had a nagging fear that somewhere in those mountains of paper might be something that was actually important which needed to be handled by himself or else the regiment would collapse into anarchy.

He took a sip from his mug, the bitter taste and caffeine began to work their magic when the door to this quarters flew open to reveal his adjutant. Hano looked flustered and out of breath from running. A rare sight indeed.

'Sir,' His adjutant said, 'You're going to want and see this.'

'What is it this time?' Hamilcar sighed, his evil nightmare fading to a distant memory. 'Has the PDF commander surprised us all and found his arse with a map?"

'You're going to want to see this for yourself, sir.' Hanno said.

'Fine,' Hamilcar replied. 'But I will need to know what all the fuzz is about. Have the armoured reinforcements arrived already?'

'No, sir.' Hanno said quickly, eager to get going. Then he said a single word in a reverend tone that shook Hamilcar to this core. 'Astartes.'

'What?' Hamilcar demanded. 'Are you sure?'

Many Guardsmen waited their whole lives for the chance to look upon one of the legendary Angels of Death. To even catch a glimpse of these warriors was considered a blessing from the God-Emperor. Hamilcar's wonder at the prospect of seeing them in the flesh was soon overridden by a feeling of dread. Things must have been a damn sight worse than even he was led to believe if the Astartes decided to involve themselves.

Hamilcar looked into his adjutant's eyes. "Well then,' he said and downed his mug of recaff in one go. 'Best not to waste a single moment and go and meet with them.'

Peleus and his squad stood assembled before their Thunderhawk within the courtyard of the fortress. They formed a defensive semi-circle around Mira, though their bolters were maglocked to their armour. The girl looked ridiculously tiny, placed as she was between the adamantine leviathan that was the gunship and the gigantic armoured warriors who stood sentinel over her.

Peleus listened impassively to the PDF commander prattling on about what a great honour it was that the Astartes graced them with their presence and so forth. Next to him stood a female officer with the insignia of a captain. She had the good grace to look mortified at the undignified way her commander was fawning over the Silver Knights.

The brother-sergeant scanned the commander with a quick glance. He was most unimpressed by what he saw.

'This is a leader of men?' Kahedin said through their internal vox channel. 'He looks as though his legs might buckle beneath the weight of his gut.'

'Aye.' Cador agreed. 'He no doubt dined in luxury and filled his belly instead of fighting for his world. If this cretin had done his duty perhaps Mira might still have a family.'

'Silence.' Peleus hissed as he saw two figures in black uniforms approach. They had the look of Imperial Guard about them. 'We will discuss this no further.'

The Silver Knight sergeant pointed an armoured finger at the PDF officer, causing the man to stifle a shriek of fright.

'You there,' Peleus said to the corpulent commander, interrupting his ramblings.

'My name and rank is-' The garrison commander stammered, falling back to protocol as the higher functions of his mind retreated leaving only a deeply ingrained sense of aristocratic entitlement behind.

'I care not.' Peleus interrupted a second time. The tone of his voice suggested there would not be a third time. 'You will see to it this child is clothed and fed and given a bed so she may rest. She has suffered much, too much for one so young.'

'She is not part of the mi-'.

'You will do as I say.' Peleus said and turned away from the commander, effectively terminating the conversation. Taking this as her que captain Valeria carefully inched forward to the nervous girl in the midst of the Astartes. She placed a soothing arm around Mira and carefully escorted her away from the courtyard.

The Silver Knight watched them go before turning his attention on the Guardsmen.

'Name and rank?' He asked of the one with a bronze symbol pinned proudly on his chest.

The man stood ramrod straight and saluted. 'Colonel Hamilcar son of Zakarbaal, 49th Qart-Hadashtim Rifles.'

'Come, colonel.' Peleus said and beckoned Hamilcar forward. 'We have much to discuss.'