Tergum Cultro Chapter 4

The interior of the Stronghold was an efficient space, filled with Logic engines and vox-arrays. In the cramped confines Serf operators sat before glowing consoles with large headsets clamped over their ears as they parsed data and relayed orders. From here an entire warzone could be coordinated, forces directed, Scout-team reports collated and high flying skull-probe surveillance processed. Enemy communications were captured by vox-thieves across the theatre and brought here, to be cracked open by chattering servitors and Lex-savants, revealing the most precious secrets of the foe. There was even a direct link to the Strike Cruiser Million Worlds in geo-synchronous orbit, gifting a god's eye view of the surface. The work was hot and claustrophobic, the air left sweaty by the heat of Logic engines and the ripe air of many bodies in proximity. The noise was made no better by the circling Servo-skulls, reciting litanies of diligence and the shouting tech-adepts, labouring to bless the overworked machinery with soothing unguents and prayers unto the Machine God. For the bleary-eyed operators less consideration was given, human workers being far easier to push to the limit than temperamental and misunderstood Cogitators.

Into that humid air stepped Sergeant Toran. He entered without fanfare or announcement, the work being conducted within far too important to be interrupted. He wouldn't have wanted it regardless, the Codex Astartes stressed the need for real-time intelligence in battle and any distraction at all to the serf's labours could cost Brothers their lives in the field. Toran looked around the familiar space, identical in form to every other Stronghold thanks to its STC origins and spied what he sought. In the middle of the command centre two Space Marines stood before a Hololithic table, which was projecting a three-dimensional image of the city of Arun.

Toran quickly stepped to them, placing himself at the edge of their vision but not interrupting their discussion. The taller of the two was the unmistakable form of First Captain Athead and Toran had never stood so close to the officer before. Up close Athead's proud features were visible above the ring of his high gorget, scarred and grizzled by a lifetime of battle, yet this only made him more fierce and driven. There was an energy to the Marine, an aura of zeal that hung on him like he would much rather be charging into a hail of bullets rather than be debating strategy. The Sergeant took a moment to survey the mighty warrior, admiring his many laurels and campaign badges. His Tartarus pattern plate was a living testament to his many deeds, the victories and slaughters he had orchestrated writ large upon his armour. He bore the Star of Terra on his left knee, for defiance in the face of overwhelming odds and the Crux Terminatus on his shoulder, the mark said to bring divine favour from the Emperor himself. On his left breast was the Wreath of Extermination, gifted only to those officers who had performed the genocide of an entire alien species that dared sully mankind's galaxy by existing. He bore both the hanging bolt-round mark of ten thousand foes slain with a ranged weapon and the raised sword of ten thousand more slain in hand to hand combat, many Brothers achieved one or the other, but acquiring both was a remarkable feat.

These were worthy markings yet Toran's eye lingered on the longsword the First Captain carried; the Sword of Thiel. It was the most revered relic of the Chapter, a legacy weapon passed from the hand of warrior to warrior since the dawn of the Imperium. It had been gifted to the Storm Heralds at their founding by Ultramar, and legend had it the blade had been wielded by the great hero Aeonid Thiel, who had received it from Roboute Guilliman himself. Toran felt in awe to be standing so near to a touchstone to his Primarch and humbled to lay eyes upon it.

Athead was speaking over the Hololith, "Our forces advance too quickly, signal Chaplain Wrethan to hold that marketplace and await further orders."

The other officer replied, "It is not in Wrethan's nature to sit and wait."

Athead replied, "It is in mine to be obeyed, tell him this order comes from me directly."

"That should do it," the other replied.

That was Ninth Captain Phalros, commander of Devastators, Maestro of destruction, Master of Relics and Toran's direct superior. The Captain was a stern and patrician veteran, with cropped grey hair and a hooked nose. He wore glorious artificer armour with a mighty power fist encompassing his right hand and long scripts of parchment inked with Oaths of Moment adorned his golden edged shoulders. His face was scarred, but only lightly, over his high cheekbones and his features remained handsome in an aloof and detached manner. He resembled a cold statue in many ways, stern and demanding in his expectations and Toran had always thought he looked more like a venerable senator than a battlefield commander.

"Heretic forces have withdrawn completely under the void shield envelope, there will be no orbital fire-support from this point forward," Phalros commented then he deigned to notice the Sergeant and said, "Ah, Toran good."

Toran saluted his Captain with a fist over the heart and declared, "Sergeant Toran reporting as ordered Brother-Captain."

First Captain Athead stomped about, his Terminator armour not letting him twist his torso, and growled, "This is the one?"

Toran bowed deeply and made the sign of the Aquila as he said, "I am honoured First Captain."

Athead didn't bother to return the honour as he snorted, "I expected more, is this truly the warrior who slew a Defiler on his first mission? You are far below the standards I expect of an Astartes."

Toran was taken aback by the curt rebuke and had to force his tongue still to avoid blurting out a challenge. Keenly aware that he was addressing a Marine second only to the Chapter Master in rank he carefully chose his words, "Sir, if I have given offence I offer contrition."

Athead snorted, "An apology? Is that your best answer. I have heard of you Toran, even in the First. Too clever by half the reports say, yet only half as smart as he thinks he is. An arrogant glory-hog who breaks with the Codex Astartes when it suits him. No wonder you let Vorshaan escape from Sacellum."

Toran's ire rose as he growled, "That scum cost me an eye and rest assured I will have recompense."

Athead continued as if he hadn't spoken, "And IXth squad, a dumping ground for misfits and rogues. All those who the Chapter can't figure out what else to do with. Not a soul among them fit for a Battle Company so they are left to grub for scraps of glory in the Reserves."

Now Toran's anger surged and he growled, "Insult me if you will but no one insults my squadmates to my face. First Captain or no."

Toran expected a fierce rebuke for his outburst but strangely Athead's lip twitched as he remarked, "Some fire at last, not for himself but for the sake of his Brothers. You were right Phalros, this one will do."

Toran realised then that the First Captain had been goading him to gauge his reaction. Testing his mettle and responses. He realised that fancy speeches would get him nowhere, the First Captain was not the sort to mince words so asked, "You have a mission for me?"

Phalros answered, "Yes a critical one, upon which the success of this expedition rests."

Toran was intrigued by that and was waved closer to examine the Hololith. Before him lay Arun city, the streets and districts laid out in exacting detail. Among the outer slums the Imperial army advanced, green icons for the Guard, far fewer gold for the Astartes. Against them red blobs estimated the disposition of enemy forces, guesses as to the Heretic's locations and numbers. It was a sobering sight, for the enemy was dug-in and prepared for a protracted siege. The Imperium would still win but the cost in blood would be high.

Toran examined the image and declared, "A classic meatgrinder, this will be hard going."

Athead growled, "Too hard, far too hard. This is wrong, the last Astropathic distress cry before the Governor's Palace fell spoke of a civilian uprising against Imperial rule but this is a professional and trained army. Someone has given these wretches the steel to fight back."

Toran considered the issue and asked, "Do we suspect Traitor Legion involvement?"

Phalros answered, "No signs of archenemy activity are detected, no Chaos sigils or Daemonic rituals. It is distressingly mundane, yet vexing."

Toran glanced at the smoking ruins of the Governor's Palace, sitting behind the Inner Wall and pondered, "Perhaps the local Planetary Defence Force was involved?"

Athead shook his head, "No, the PDF died to man, at least they got that right. Some other factor is at work, some element we have missed. It is troubling, especially for the Mechanicus."

Toran glanced up as he asked, "The Tech-Priests are talking to us?"

"Yes," Phalros replied, "They are grateful for our intervention, yet they expected the war to be over already. They sent only a token force of Skitarii to accompany the Guard. They thought they would only have to walk over the dead and reclaim their Forge-fanes, they weren't expecting a fight."

Athead continued, "Our original plan was to punch through to the Inner Wall and then bring in massed Vindicator siege tanks to break it open. Sadly Scout-teams reports indicate the urban environment is too packed with enemies to risk an armoured assault. Clearing them out will take days, time the Cogboys are not willing to give us."

Toran chewed his lip as he mused, "A problem, that wall is extremely well fortified and defended. It is a formidable obstacle to be overcome. The only recourse seems to be a full-frontal assault on the gates. The cost in Brother's lives will be high. Unless the Mechanicus is willing to send us a Titan or two."

Phalros disabused him of that notion, "No, there isn't time and the collateral damage to the Forge-fanes would make it pointless. Thankfully the Tech-Priests have another option for us, behold."

The Hololith flicked and a complex internal schematic of the wall appeared in wireframe. Toran peered at it, his Transhuman brains calculating angles of fire and reinforced buttresses. Toran's mind had been honed to become a strategic cogitator, as all Space Marines were, and he spotted a weak point instantly. "Here" he said, "The foundations are overstressed at this point in the sewer network. Too much weight is bearing down on this subsurface gate, a weakness the designers missed."

"Close," Phalros corrected, "The designers missed nothing, but that wall has stood for thousands of years and the ground has shifted since. Tectonic subsidence and urban expansion may appear slow but over centuries they bring considerable force to bear. A vigilant Governor would never have allowed it but never underestimate the willful blindness of the stupid. This weak point is one jolt away from bringing down a section of the wall. A single seismic charge would be enough to topple it."

"Which is where IXth squad comes in," Toran guessed.

Athead concurred, "Yes, the Tech-Priests are sending a Magos and some Skitarii to blow that wall open, you are to escort them and see this mission is completed. In twelve hours our Scratch Company will reach that point and I will lead the storming of the breach myself. Timing will be crucial; the Heretics must not be allowed to redeploy to defend the breach before we can storm it. Once past that wall resistance should crumble. I am counting on you to bring that wall down at the right second, or many lives will be lost. The Divine Emperor will be watching you this day."

Toran noted the First Captain's affirmation of his belief in the Emperor's divinity, but Phalros was already speaking, "More than lives are resting upon this, the status of the Chapter itself is hanging in the balance. Chapter Master Gorgall desires we improve our relations with Imperial Authorities, the goodwill of the Mechanicus will be a great boon to our cause. Protect this Magos Castabore at all costs, I expect her report of the action to be glowing."

Athead's lip curled, "I am less concerned with other's opinions… but the word of Mars is not to be scorned. Dazzle this Magos with our skill and fervour and win an ally for the Storm Heralds and your name will be noted among the Masters."

Toran bowed to his commanders saying, "It shall be done, I shall not fail."

It was a bold statement but Phalros cautioned him, "Be not overconfident, the Heretic's remain a threat and they would be fools to not be watching the sewers. You may have to fight your way through a horde of foes."

Toran smiled slightly as he said, "I welcome the chance to whet my blade with Heretic blood."

Athead's face betrayed a mote of approval as he said, "Very good, I shall be in position in twelve hours. Make sure you are in place before then. I want this done right, the way of the Storm Heralds."