Chapter 27

Marsh was only able to squeeze off several shots at the slithering, lumbering, encroaching monster before he turned on his heel and bolted backwards. In front of him and on either side, Cadian Shock Troopers were running with him. Some swiveled around, firing their lasguns several times before facing forward again. Other carried comrades who were unconscious, wounded, or simply too crippled by nausea to move. Everyone was screaming; it was a cacophony of ignored orders, terrified shrieks, and hurried prayers to the Emperor for protection. Lieutenant Hyram tried to rally the men, holding Babcock by his webbing and ordering the flag bearer to wave the standard. Instead, both men were caught in the wave of fleeing men and dragged with them. Squad leaders attempted to stop their Guardsmen individually, but when that failed, they did their best to form a dam to stop them. Yet, the Cadians broke through. Even though it was futile, the sergeants did their best to halt the men and encourage them to fight. Some of their troopers grabbed them by their rucksacks, cartridge belts, or webbing, and pulled them along, unwilling to leave them behind.

Barlocke too was caught in the motion of the crowd. He was further ahead than Marsh Silas, who was in the last ranks of the retreating Shock Troopers. Time after time, the Inquisitor attempted to stop and calm the men, but his voice was drowned out by their terrified cries and stampeding feet. Eventually, he just began to wave at Marsh Silas. Although the platoon sergeant could see his friend's lips moving, he could not make out any of his words over the commotion. Try as he might, Marsh Silas was not able to push through his men to get to Barlocke. It was just him, some of the troopers falling behind, and Junior Commissar Carstensen.

A few paces ahead of him, she stopped more than others, calling on them to stand fast and form a firing. Nobody seemed to listen, ignoring even her glistening power fist and Bolt Pistol. Rather than grab anyone by their flak armour's collar or execute one of the men, she finally planted her feet on the ground. Until he noticed she was absent from his peripheral vision, Marsh Silas did not stop. When he did, he was both awed and horrified to see the crimson uniformed officer standing in the wake of Bloody Platoon. As her power fist coursed with light blue energy and her Bolt Pistol raised, she fired at the mammoth Warp-creature. Slowly, belching deep, noxious laughter, it drew closer. Its massive, thick fingers, oily and covered in warts, dug into the cavern floor. Groaning with effort, it dragged itself closer, its slug-like body squishing and wiggling behind it. A trail of pus, blood, and oil oozed from under its tail.

He looked ahead. Although the sickening spawn behind them was slow, Bloody Platoon ran as fast they could. Flooding back towards the entrance to the chamber, they tripped and stumbled over the floor of heretical corpses. When they came to the opening, a crowd of pushing, shoving Guardsmen became choked at its front. Only a small number could slip through at a time, with the troops in front pulling them through and the ones behind them shoving them forward.

Looking back at Carstensen, he saw her fire at the monster. Bolt shells struck its greasy bulk. Although flesh was blown and ripped away, and the beast cried out in confused pain, it came on. Carstensen was steadfast, emptying the magazine of her weapon and reloading quickly. Even as the beast came closer, its huge frame beginning to dwarf her, she refused to give ground. Standing firm, she continued to fire.

Marsh Silas wanted to run away. Nearly being killed by the daemonette was still a fresh, terrifying memory. Yet this daemon was far more horrifying and its stench made it seem like he was breathing in poison gas. All he wanted to do was follow his men out of the cave and run far, far. Yet, he saw Carstensen standing alone; in turns his heart swelled with admiration and sank with shame. He was running while she remained to cover their retreat.

His legs grew still and he planted his feet into the rock floor. Gritting his teeth, he turned around, raised his M36, and squeezed the trigger. A barrage of red lasbolts flew over Carstensen's head and raked the side of the strange, quivering, sliding beast. It unleashed a confused roar as the laser burned and tore away chunks of its flesh.

Marsh Silas began grabbing Guardsmen and turning them around. Some who were too focused on trying to force their way through their forward comrades bucked his hand with their shoulders, so he began snatching their webbing and tearing them backwards. He pulled some of them so hard they fell to the ground and rolled over. As these stumbling, confused men tried to find their footing, Marsh Silas stood among them and raised his voice.

"Call yourself Cadians!?" he cried. "I thought I served alongside men, beside Shock Troopers who have faced Greenskins to Traitors and fought as hard as they ever could! Get up, you gunmen, get up and like Cadians! Stand and fight!"

One by one, troopers like Derryhouse and Effelmen, Monty Peck, Logue, and Hitch, rose to their feet, raised their weapons, and began firing at the monster. The combined impact of laser and plasma fire began to slow it down. Marsh Silas turned back after swapping charge packs again and pulled more men from the crowd. Clutching Queshire by the collar of his flak armour, he jerked him back. "Remember you're a squad leader!" Marsh Silas screamed in his face, poking him hard in the shoulder. "Rally your men and fight!"

As if awakened from a stupor, Queshire whirled around and began helping Marsh pull more Guardsmen back. In the fray, Marsh found himself face to face with Yoxall, who was trying to force his way back towards him. Upon seeing him, the platoon sergeant let his lasgun hang by the strap, grabbed Yoxall's webbing with both hands, and tugged him back. Helping him turn to face the beast, Marsh took his own weapon back in hand and began firing. Leveling his Meltagun, Yoxall unleashed a long beam of golden energy. In the damp cave, the moisture in the air sizzled. When the beam met the flesh of the behemoth, it howled in agony as it blasted away swathes of its flesh.

The beam traveled along its torso, leaving wakes of charcoal blackened meat. Some which was not immediately charred melted into liquid, oozing down its side before coagulating near its underbelly. Its tentacles swirled, tightened, slackened, and flailed. Raising its arms, it brought it down like a hammer. A few of the Guardsmen narrowly avoided the blow.

Junior Commissar Carstensen remained fixated to her spot, as if it was hallowed ground. Marsh went forward, letting his lasgun hang by the strap, and ran up to her. Taking her by the forearm, he began leading her backwards as she continued to fire. Taking out the Ripper Pistol from his holster with his other hand, he also continued to shoot at the monstrosity. Bullets thudded into its rotund stomach and black blood dribbled out.

It raised its huge arm again, curled its fat fingers into a fist, and brought it down fast. Before Marsh could react, Carstensen freed her arm from his grasp, shoved him back, and then rolled to the opposite side. With a massive crash, the fist fell on the rock flooring. Cracks shot out through the stone from where it landed.

Having landed hard on his wounded side, Marsh clutched it, clenched his teeth, and groaned. Such a shock sent waves of pain reberating throughout his middle, forcing his stomach to knot, and making him feel as if he would vomit. Still, he managed to get back on his feet. Just as he did, he saw the monster turning to face some of his comrades. Although it was preoccupied with his men, its tentacles were not. One snapped towards Marsh and shot forward, its tiny, toothed maw opening wide. Before he could raise his M36, Carstensen appeared in front of him, charged her power fist, and swung. It connected with the side of the tentacle, knocking it away. When the appendage attempted to withdraw, she shoved the barrel of her Bolt Pistol into its mouth and squeezed the trigger. As the head of the tentacle exploded, she covered her face with her power fist. Bits of flesh and blood flew everywhere.

Another tentacle shot out. She raised her pistol to shoot at it, but the fast-moved limb knocked the weapon away. When she reared her arm back to strike with her power fist, it latched onto the metal knuckles. Trying to pull it out did not work. Inch by inch, the tentacle sucked and began climbing up her hand.

Marsh pulled his power sword from the sheath, activated it, and charged. Raising it above his head, he brought it down beyond the tentacle's head, cutting it off from the rest of the body. Devoid of its head, the rest of the tendril rose into the air and began flailing wildly. Blood oozed and flew from the wound.

Despite losing its body, the head continued to grip. Yanking his trench knife from his boot-mounted scabbard, Marsh took Carstensen's arm to steady it, jammed the blade under the top lip of the maw, and shoved as hard as he could. Reaching over with her other hand, Carstensen placed it atop his and added her weight. After a moment, they managed to pry it. When it dropped to the ground it began to flop and bounce around. Enraged, Carstensen bellowed, raised her booted foot, and squashed it. Saliva dripped from the knuckles of her power fist.

"Get back into the fight! Fight, damn ye! You are Cadians, prove it to the Emperor of Mankind! What would He make of you, turning tail and running!?"

Marsh and Carstensen looked back. Forcing his way through Bloody Platoon was Hyram. Holding his M36 by its body in his left hand, he drew his power sword with his right and held it into the air as high as he could. Pressing the switch at the base of the hilt, it began to coarse with deep blue energy. In the dim light of the cave, it cast him in an eerie aura. "Rally to me, Bloody Platoon, fight with me!"

Many stopped, gazed at their platoon leader in awe, and then returned to the firing line. Men crouched down, took aim with their M36 lasguns, and began firing at the monster. Hyram ordered Babcock to stand in the center of the line and hold the standard.

"Do not give into fear! Do not give into doubt! Do not give into fear! Do not give into doubt!" he yelled repeatedly.

"The Emperor is with us, men!" Carstensen called. "He is with us, He is with us! Fight on!"

Bloody Platoon picked up their chanting.

"He is with us, He is with us, He is with us!"

"No fear! No doubt! No fear! No doubt! No fear! No doubt!"

Bursting from the clout of returning, shooting Guardsmen came Barlocke. With an expression of anger, he surged forward with his lasgun raised. He adjusted the charge settings on his weapon and fired. A large golden laser blat erupted from the barrel and struck the beast's fast, shearing part of it away. After hitting it with three more shots, he discarded his weapon, and drew his Ripper Pistol. Running as fast as he could, he circled around the daemon, firing he went. Armor-piercing rounds sank into its flesh but the poison within, which laced out and exposed its many veins, did not seem to deter it.

Marsh and Carstensen fell back slowly and continued to fire. Rejoining Hyram on his firing line, they shot over the heads of their spread out comrades in front. Although it swept its tail and swung with its fist, the Guardsmen of Bloody Platoon were quick on their feet and nimbly dodge the blows. When one of the tentacles descended, trying to latch onto a face, arm, or weapon, they fended them off with bayonets and knives. One by one the tentacles' heads were severed and destroyed. Moaning and groaning, the monster continued to fight, snatch one of the men with its fist, or crush them beneath it.

"Keep up the fire!" Hyram shouted. "Keep it up, you men! Let'em have it!"

"Pour it on, pour it on!" Marsh added.

He saw Hyram turned around. The platoon leader rallied more men who previously squeezed through the entrance, ordering or pulling them back into the fray. Then, the Lieutenant saw the grenadier, Fleming, and ordered him up front.

Hyram waved his hand at the Guardsmen in front.

"Rally to the standard, rally to the standard!"

Slowly, the men pulled back, either individually or in small groups. Everyone was still shooting at the beast. It was riddled with slugs, scorch marks, laser burns, and tracks of melted flesh. Smoke rose from the singed meat and blood flooded from its many wounds. Although it still fought on, its speed was slower and it was losing strength, like a blooded animal surrounded by predators.

Once everyone returned to the standard, forming a line, Hyram brought up Fleming. "Fire your weapon!" he ordered.

Fleming lifted his grenade launcher and squeezed the trigger. The explosive shell struck the monster center mass, blowing a chunk of its chest off. Blood, flesh, and stone dust flew everywhere.

Hyram lined up all three grenadiers, including Fleming. "Hit it again and don't stop firing until you're out of ammunition!" he screamed at them.

Together, all three began blasting away at the monster. Shell after shell struck the monster, tearing away chunks of its body and peppering it with shrapnel. Grunting loudly, it tried to slither away, but Bloody Platoon kept firing. Every single Guardsman who had not yet returned to the fight was now present. Red, blue, and golden lasbolts continued to strike its flesh while white-blue plasma tore into it. A grenade struck its right elbow and smashed the entire arm, causing it to go limp. Another grenade landed at its left shoulder and tore the arm completely off. With so much of its flesh tore away that exposed its blackened, sickly innards and bones, the monster let out a fire roar before falling over to the side. Even as it lay there, Bloody Platoon continued to fire into it.

Hyram eventually put himself in front of the men, waving both arms. "Cease firing, cease firing!"

Their M36 barrels fell silent. When the stone dust cleared, the daemon was still. All that could be heard was the heated, rapid breathing of Bloody Platoon. Some rose from their crouched posture but continued to keep their weapons raised.

After taking a moment to catch his breath, Hyram began to venture forth. Marsh went over and stopped him.

"Let me check, sir."

"No, I will."

"But-"

"But nothing," Hyram whispered resolutely, "I'm your commanding officer, I'll go."

Marsh frowned.

"Let's go together."

Hyram hesitated for a moment. Their violet eyes met and gazed into each other briefly before the platoon leader sighed.

"Let us go, then."

Raising their weapons, they slowly approached the dead monster. It stunk horribly, worse than it did when it was still alive. Pus continues to ooze from so many open wounds, sores, and large pimples. So much black blood was leaking from its wounds that it was starting to create a dark pool around the corpse. Approaching the midsection, they exchanged one glance, nodded, and slowly slid their bayonets into its fleshy flank. It did not move and when they removed them, an even greater stink came out of the two slits. Both men gagged and took a few steps back. Putrid flesh hung on the tips of their bayonets, soaked in the grisly, unnatural blood.

Turning away, they shared a smile.

"The business is done," Marsh sighed, taking his canteen. He unscrewed the cap and turned it over, allowing the water to run down the blade. It took nearly half the contents to wash away all the daemon's flesh and blood. When he finished, he handed it over to Hyram who offered a thankful nod before doing the same.

"Thank the Emperor it is done."

"By his grace, sir, we survive."

Hyram handed his canteen back. Smiling, Marsh took it and stuffed it back into the pouch on the rear of his cartridge belt. Looking back up, he saw a paralyzed look on the platoon leader's face. Marsh blinked. "Sir? Are you well, sir?"

Before he could answer, Marsh followed his gaze and looked over his shoulder. Looking down the side of the monster, he saw its tail. It was twitching. He looked up; even without their heads, the tentacles were quivering. Marsh's eyes widened.

Turning around, he shoved Hyram away. Before he could dash away himself, one of the thick tentacles curled around him and lifted him up. With a happy, demented roar, the gigantic creature lifted him up and dangled him in front of its mangled, bleeding face. Its noxious breath rose up in a poxy, green cloud and Marsh could not help but vomit again. Yellow bile dribbled from his lips and he coughed. Nearly fainting from the stench, he looked down at it through half-open eyes. It flashed a huge, toothy grin as it laughed, deep and slow. With his arms clamped by his sides, Marsh Silas attempted to wriggle free.

Looking down, he saw members of Bloody Platoon scrambling to get him down. Others were firing their weapons at the beast's flank. Some charged and jammed their bayonets into its fleshy side. Roaring, it swung its tail but the men dove or leapt away in time. Before they could back up, its injured tentacles lowered down and snatched two more, Yoxall and Walmsley Minor.

As the others were brought alongside him, Marsh felt the tentacle tighten around him. Struggling to breath, he looked between his comrades. Yoxall's arms were trapped like his, but Walmsley Minor's left arm was free. The assistant gunner raised his leg as high as he could, reached down, and yanked his trench knife from his boot-mounted scabbard. He brought the blade down into the tentacle half a dozen times until the wailing monster's grip loosened. A triumphant look on Walmsley Minor's face quickly disappeared as he began to fall. But Marsh swung his leg out and his friend caught his foot. With much difficulty, Walmsley Minor began to climb up Marsh's leg, then webbing, and eventually threw himself over the tentacle. The appendage shook, like a flea-ridden hound attempting to shake off the parasites. Walmsley Minor nearly fell, but managed to shift his weight towards Marsh and take hold of his bandoleer. With the weight of two men on it, the tentacle was lower to the ground and struggling to maintain its height. Still, it was too high to jump without fracturing a bone.

"Free me, and then we'll get Yoxall!" Marsh ordered.

Positioning himself as best he could, Walmsley Minor raised the knife and began jabbing the tentacle. Soon enough, it too loosened. Just as Marsh was about to fall, the assistant gunner sank his blade into the flesh of the tendril and clutched the platoon sergeant's chest rigging. In the same instant, Marsh Silas reached out and grabbed the back of Walmsley's Minor cartridge belt.

The tentacles swayed and lurched. Biding his time, Marsh waited for their tentacle, now dangerously drooping closer to the ground, to get near Yoxall's. When they came close enough, he reached out and caught the demolition expert's leg. As he clung on for dear life, Walmsley Minor let go of his bandoleer, reached out, and wrapped his arm around the tentacle. Withdrawing his blade from the previous tentacle, he drove it into the one constraining Yoxall. The other swung away, leaving the three men clinging to Yoxall's. Unable to bear the weight of three armoured, well-built Cadians, the tentacle descended.

Looking down, Marsh Silas saw Barlocke, Walmsley Major, and Hyram drop their weapons and run towards them. Each one raised their arms, attempting to catch them and pull them down. Just before they came within reach, the tentacle shook and flailed. Wide-eyed and screaming, the three Cadians hung on tightly as they were flung through the air. The daemon was whirling around, trying to use its tail to crush members of Bloody Platoon closing in to bayonet range. Many rolled or jumped away from it, having learned the beast's patterns. When it attempted to sweep them off their feet, they nimbly jumped over it. Even when bleeding profusely and having chunks of its flesh blown away by grenades, the monster continued to thrash.

When it finally ceased, Bloody Platoon closed in and bayoneted its flank again. Others continued to harass it with lasgun fire. Grenadiers held their fire for fear of hitting the three Guardsmen still gripping the tentacle.

Once again, it was unable to sustain their combined weight and began to descend. Looking down, Marsh saw more of their comrades gathering below them. By this point, Marsh's strength was fleeting and it was becoming difficult to hold on. But he gritted his teeth, tightened his grip, and called on the Emperor to give him strength. Just then, he felt fingers wrapping around his boots, then his ankles, and finally his shins.

"One, two, three, pull!" he heard Hyram yell. He felt nearly half a dozen hands tug on his legs, forcing the tentacle even lower.

"Let go now!"

Marsh did so and found himself guided down by so many hands. Looking up, he saw Walmsley Minor viciously cutting at the tentacle until its grip finally released Yoxall. A gasp went out from the Guardsmen beneath him but they managed to catch him. Walmsley Minor let go of his knife and fell into a third group beneath him.

In the confusion of grabbing hands and Guardsmen quickly departing to rejoin the fight, the first face he could make out was Barlocke's. In a moment lasting mere seconds although it felt like an hour, Marsh found himself staring into the Inquisitor's dark eyes. Briefly, Barlocke reached down, cupped Marsh's cheek, and nodded. All the platoon sergeant could do was nod back. As soon as he did, his friend reached down, grabbed his bandoleer, and pulled him onto his feet. Someone else handed him his lasgun and Marsh began firing.

He did not fire for long. The beast stopped flailing its tails and its tentacles, now ravaged more than before by accurate lasbolts, stopped its erratic movements. Sliding towards a small group of Guardsmen, it seemed to shrink back into itself somewhat, then sprung forward off the ground. Before it came down, the Guardsmen quickly dispersed. Laughing hoarsely, it slammed down on the stone floor, sending a revelation throughout the cavern and up into Marsh's legs. The shock seemed to travel and shake all the way up to his teeth.

As it struggled back to an upright position, its voluminous stomach jiggling, Marsh Silas looked at Barlocke. The Inquisitor dropped his weapon, drew his power sword, and activated its source. Deep blue energy enveloped the blade.

"Silvanus! Draw its attention away from the men!" the Inquisitor.

Invigorated, the platoon sergeant sprinted up to the monster and began shooting at its face. Red lasbolts blasted away chunks of its acne-covered cheeks. In pain, the beast roared and turned away. Running parallel to it, Marsh kept firing until he turned it away from the majority of Bloody Platoon. Alone, he stared up into its drooping, dribbling eyes. Dumping his spent charge pack, he loaded his last one into the M36 and took aim.

Before he squeezed the trigger, he heard a pair of running feet behind him. "Crouch!"

Without hesitation, he dropped to his knee. He felt two footfalls, one on his back and another on his shoulder. Looking up, he watched as Barlocke hurled himself at the daemon. As he did, his black leather coat rippled and swathes of energy broke from his sword, hung in the air behind him briefly, then dissipated. Barlocke held his power sword's hilt with both hands and silently drove it into the freakish giant's forehead. Immediately, the monstrosity went cross-eyed and froze. Plating one foot on its massive lower lip, Barlocke extracted the blade which was covered in black blood and green ooze. In a single vertical swipe, he brought the edge across its face, cutting its stubby nose and upper lip in half. Then, he leaped from the lip, turned, and slashed it horizontally. Landing in a crouch in front of Marsh Silas, Barlocke stood up, and faced the monster.

Its face slid apart, blood poured out, and the beast finally collapsed. Grisly, bloody, brown vomit filled with chunks, came from its mouth followed by a vile, green cloud. A terrible stench filled the chamber and more Guardsmen were obliged to cover their faces.

Standing up, Marsh walked beside Barlocke. There was silence between the Guardsmen of Bloody Platoon for some time.

Eventually, the platoon sergeant approached the daemon and drove his bayonet deep into its eye. There was no movement. Planting his foot on its face, he yanked it free and turned around. Everyone was gathering around the Inquisitor, but they looked at Marsh expectantly. Flashing a smile, he nodded. Hyram smiled wide, took off his helmet, and held it into the air.

"By the Emperor, we have prevailed!"

Overcoming their shock, the Guardsmen raised their fists, weapons, and helmets into the air. They cheered so loudly the echoes bounced off the cavern walls and tunnels for some minutes.

"For the Emperor! For the Imperium! For Cadia! For the Thirteenth-Thirty-Third, and for Bloody Platoon!" they bellowed.

Marsh did not join in, smiling silently as he watched his men celebrate their victory. It was far more rewarding than any medal. Turning around, he looked back at the monster, more so to hide his exasperated face. He was happy to be alive as well and he was incredulous that he was up in the air mere moments ago. It all happened so quickly and only now that it was over did he realize how close to death he came. A shiver, impossible to resist, came over him as the adrenaline eked out of his system. After checking over his shoulder again, he made the sign of the Aquila over his heart.

"Oh Emperor of Man, I thank Thee for saving my small life this night. I shall honor Thee with continued service and good works."

Taking out his prayer beads, he kissed them and hastily tucked them away. Satisfied, he turned back around.

The Inquisitor did not share in their exaltation either. Turning, he eyed the tunnel from which the monster came. Deactivating his power sword and sliding it into its sheath, he slowly began to walk towards it. Once he noticed, Marsh did not hesitate to join him.

He slung his lasgun over his shoulder and adjusted the strap comfortably.

"How'd ya know that blow would finally do it?" he asked.

"I did not," Barlocke replied. He looked down and offered a reserved smile. "Are you well?"

"Ah, that was nothin'," Marsh said, waving him off. Barlocke scoffed.

"A lie, big or small, is most unbecoming of a man such as you, dear Silvanus," Barlocke said in a scholarly tone. "It is no shame to admit one's fears."

"But I ain't...oh, yes," the platoon sergeant grumbled, "fer a moment I forgot who I was talkin' to."

"You fought well. All of Bloody Platoon did."

"And none o' them fell," Marsh said gratefully. Quirking an eyebrow, he looked up at the Inquisitor. "Wonder how much that had to do with you."

A playful grin tugged at the corner of Barlocke's mouth and he glanced at the platoon sergeant out of the corner of his right eye.

"I just gave them a nudge or two in the right direction, that is all."

Marsh chuckled and shook his head.

"You're too much for me, old boy," Marsh said. He looked over his shoulder, then jerked his thumb back at the enormous corpse. "What is that thing there? Ain't no daemon I've ever seen, nor do I want to see it again."

Barlocke shook his head and his expression grew grave. His mouth tightened and his eyes hardened. It was as if a memory, or perhaps many memories, came flooding back to him in that moment. When he spoke, his voice was thick with shame.

"What lies behind us is a dreaded Beast of Nurgle. That is all you must know. I have faced only one before and was not able to slay it then. Many a good man died, resultant of my failure. I pray to the Emperor I can offer this feat in recompense."

To Marsh Silas, it was quite unnerving to see Barlocke exhibit such a tone. He was always so self-assured, confident, present in any situation, and in control. A revelation to a past failure was more than a shock, it seemed utterly uncharacteristic of the Inquisitor. Yet, instead of diminishing his opinion of this agent, it enhanced it. Admitting one's own failures was a challenge even for the bravest, strongest Guardsman. He imagined it was even more difficult for an esteemed servant of the Holy Inquisition. In that moment, Marsh Silas could not admire him more.

Broken from his thoughts by Barlocke's hand pressing against the breastplate of his flak armour, he found himself standing in front of the entrance to the final cave of the complex. A terrible smell rose from within, similar to that which emanated from the slain daemon. Yet there was another stench that was far more acrid; stale, sickly, and dead. Once again, Marsh began to gag.

He looked up at Barlocke. The Inquisitor's face was hard as stone, just like a Guardsman's before throwing himself into the fray of battle. He reached into his coat and pulled his Inquisitorial Rosette from his neck. After kissing the bone-white I-shape pendant, he murmured briefly in High Gothic, then wrapped the chain round his fingers until the pendant clung tightly to his palm.

Marsh also took his M36 from his shoulder, but Barlocke stepped in front of him and turned slightly. "No, I shall venture within alone."

"Whatever lies inside, I can fight it too," Marsh Silas insisted.

A soft smile tugged at Barlocke's lips.

"You are brave indeed, Silvanus, but what waits in that deep is something that cannot be fought."

Barlocke reached over and cupped Marsh's cheek. "Wait for me here. Let no one else pass."

The Inquisitor turned around, cupped both hands around his Rosette, bowed his head, and began walking down the tunnel. As he did, he uttered High Gothic prayers. His tone was low yet musical. Chanting, he disappeared down the tunnel and around the corner. Echoes of his praying lingered for some time, traveling back down the cave. But soon, they too grew silent.

Still holding his M36, Marsh Silas gazed down the tunnel. He felt the cool yet pungent air of the tunnel against his bare face. Behind him, Bloody Platoon chattered as they regrouped and tended their wounded. But no sound came up the tunnel. All was still and dark.

Sliding up his left sleeve, he checked his watch. A minute passed, then another, and another.

He began to feel nervous. Looking over his shoulder, he tried to find the confidence of Junior Commissar Carstensen or Lieutenant Hyram. Both were preoccupied with the Guardsmen, either helping the field chirurgeons or going over wargear with Guardsmen. Unwilling to call on either of them for fear of seeming incapable of maintaining a mundane task such as standing at a post, he stayed silent.

Barlocke? He spoke in his own mind, hoping the Inquisitor would hear him. Barlocke?

Expectant, he closed his eyes. He waited for the familiar chill that crept up his spine and flooded his mind or the rarer warmth which felt as though a pleasant ray of sunlight was glowing within himself. Nothing came.

Opening his eyes, he checked the charge pack loaded in his M36. There was still enough charge for a firefight. Whether it was a daemon or a surviving heretic, it mattered not. He would fight with his bayonet or bare hands if he had to. Although, he liked to believe that nothing of the sort would ever be able to eliminate someone of Barlocke's skill. If anyone could survive the onslaught of Chaos, it would be the Inquisitor. He trusted him. But he was afraid; Marsh Silas did not want anything to happen to his friend.

Closing his eyes again, he took a breath.

"My Emperor, my one true god, my only leader. I venture forth into darkness. I ask Thee for protection and guidance. Be my light, oh Emperor of Man."

Just as he took a step, he heard chanting. Freezing to his spot, he heard footsteps on the cavern floor. The ritualistic praying grew louder. Barlocke came around the corner of the tunnel, his hands still clasped in front of him. His eyes were closed and his head was bowed so low his lips were nearly against his hands.

When he finally came through the entrance, he stopped right in front of Marsh Silas. The platoon sergeant let his M36 hang by the strap and took him by the shoulders. The Inquisitor was trembling. His prayer ceased, he looked up with almost sleepy eyes, and let go of his Rosette. Slowly, he brought it up to his lips and kissed it.

"Thank you, my Emperor," he whispered. Putting his Rosette back around his neck, he reached out and clasped Marsh Silas by the base of his neck. "Fetch Yoxall."

Activating his micro-bead, he hailed Yoxall. The demolition expert hurried over, as fast as his wounded leg would allow him. Barlocke let go of Marsh Silas and put an arm around Yoxall. "My dear man, you've brought explosives."

Yoxall, also quite comfortable around Barlocke, quirked an eyebrow.

"I would not be much of an expert if I forgot'em at base, Inquisitor," he replied, somewhat playfully, but ultimately irritated.

Amused, the Inquisitor chuckled.

"Quite right, my trust in you was well-placed. Give me a single charge and detonation cord. We're wiring this entire cavern to blow."

"I have enough for that, by the Emperor, I can assure you o' that," Yoxall added. Taking a knee, he took off his rucksack, and pulled the charge out. Marsh helped him unclip the spool of detonation wire from his lower back webbing. Barlocke took both and once again disappeared down the tunnel. This time, he did not pray. But he returned more expediently than before, unspooling the wire as he did.

While Hyram, Marsh Silas, and Carstensen rallied Bloody Platoon and led them out of the cave complex. The platoon sergeant brought up the rear, covering Barlocke and Yoxall as they laid more charges at choke points and weak points in the cave's structure. Having spent the better part of ten years demolishing everything from abandoned fortifications to ramshackle Ork vehicles, he had an in-depth understanding of the best locations to plant an explosive charge.

By the time they exhausted all their charges, they were at the mouth of the cave. The rest of the regiment was waiting for them. It was still dark out but the fires were still burning. Many of the Guardsmen were holding up their lamp packs, creating brilliant pockets of golden light. Colonel Isaev was in front of them all with Hyram and Carstensen. When Marsh Silas, Yoxall, and Barlocke approached with their demolition equipment, he came forward. He wore an irritated expression.

"You were supposed to call on us when it was time to assault the cave," he growled.

"Bloody Platoon had it well in hand. They fought as a unit, overcame enemy resistance, and completed their objective. There was no need to risk the entire regiment, Colonel," Barlocke replied. "Now, if you would excuse us sir, Corporal Yoxall and Staff Sergeant Cross have duties to attend to. Please, clear the area."

Gritting his teeth, Isaev waved his hand. The company commanders called on their men to move out. As they filed out of the single entrance, Marsh, Yoxall, and Barlocke followed them. The demolition expert continued to let wire off the spool. When they came to the entrance, where Hyram and Carstensen were waiting for them, they halted.

Taking the detonator out, he placed it in the sand, and wrapped the detonation cord around the connectors. Once the lines were fastened, he looked up at Marsh and Barlocke.

"Would either o' you want the honors o' doin' it?"

Marsh looked at Barlocke, who smiled and nodded at the plunger.

"By all means, go right ahead Silvanus."

Marsh shouldered his M36, crouched, and took hold of the plunger. Barlocke covered his ears while Yoxall slid his under his helmet.

"Fire in the hole!" Marsh Silas shouted, shoving it down. Deep within the cave, there was a rumble, then another, and another. Soon, the charge exploded at the entrance. Dust, sand, and rock flew outward. There was a great crumbling and crashing, concealed by the dust. As the explosion's echo carried over the coast, the dust settled. When it did, they found the entire entrance collapsed. Nothing was left but a wall of fallen, broken rock.

All three stood up. Marsh and Yoxall smiled at one another, hooking an arm around the other's shoulders. Barlocke came up behind them and wrapped his arms around both their shoulders.

"Men," he began confidently, "we are one step closer to destroying this heresy."

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