"…then we would push on the main gates with a Mastadon assault, our terminators would exit and clear the entry of anti-tank positions for the Sicarans." Horus tapped the map, "That is how the hive will fall, we gain entry then clear street by street until we reach the hive tower."

Ezekyle frowned, casting his gaze over to Falkus, Tarik, and Iacton who mirrored his reservation. "Casualties among the hive's people will be high, my Lord."

Horus sighed and rapped his knuckles against the glass surface of the projection table, "Regrettable, but their fates were sealed by this King of theirs and his defiance."

"And their forces arrayed outside the gates, my Lord? We will need to disperse them to allow the Mastadons and Sicarans to pass unmolested." Falkus inquired.

Lupercal lifted his head, a mischievous smile on his face, a twinkle in his eye. "My brother Rogal comes."

The captains, as one started, while the XVIth legion was known for its overwhelming force, none could rival the siege mastery of the stalwart VIIth. Though outmatched by the might of the Astartes, the armies of this city-state hive were well entrenched behind well-built earthen works with rings of trenches, hardened bunkers, and passage ways that extended out from the underhive of the city itself. To clear the defensive bulwarks effectively would have taken the Wolves another week at minimum and likely considerable casualties from the high number of armored vehicles and tanks dug into the fighting positions to supplement the formidable array of bunkers and pillboxes. But for Dorn's VIIth, this was not only of decidedly little challenge; it was part of their joint expertise in the siege and defense.

"Lord Dorn, he brings forces to aid us?"

Horus nodded, the smirk turning into a grin, "We will put this insurrection down before the solar week's end, the other hives will fall in line after that."

"My Lord, if I may?" Iacton inquired.

Lupercal nodded, "By all means, captain."

"My lord, when the sons of Lord Dorn break the defensive lines, is there not a risk that their forces will retreat back into the hive?"

Horus nodded, "Most likely, but they should not present much of a challenge to us at that point."

"My lord, I am not concerned for our forces, I worry for the harm they may cause to the hive in order to stymie our approach."

Horus furrowed his brows, "Furthering the loss of civilian life and the destruction of the assets of the hive."

Tarik spoke up next, "We have not been able to effectively sever their subterranean rails to five of the other hives and, at present, we do not control the east by north east perimeter of the hive, they may receive reinforcement, resupply, and even evacuate forces via these routes."

Horus folded his arms over the chest of his Cataphractii plate, "This is true."

"We are no doubt a match for them, my lord, but in interest of preserving the time table…" Ezekyle prompted.

Horus cocked a brow at his second, "Allow my brother to plan the siege?"

"I do not remotely suggest that you incapable, my lord, I speak only in the interest of completing this compliance within the solar standard month."

Horus chewed at his lower lip as he looked back down at the map projection. As heavy as the defenses were around most of the city, they were roughly a quarter again heavier along the roadway that connected this hive to its next closest neighbor two hundred kilometers away. It was known the potentates of the hives were on good terms with one another, cooperative and each readily supplied the other. This hive had a particular martial focus, and it was for this reason that Horus had elected to force its fall or capitulation first, in so doing he hoped to force the others into surrendering. He would have leveled it and been done with it, the civilian casualties a sad necessity of the compliance and hopefully preventing addition civilian losses later through the fear it would invoke, but the Mechanicum was a factor here, they desired access to the archeotech and infrastructure of his hive. Rumors abounded of STCs resting in the great vaults of their factorums and the Machine Cult would not commit Titan Legions to the siege where the risk of losing the technological bounty of the hive lay.

If he were to attack the city at full strength, the likelihood of losing the Standard Template Constructs in the siege could force the Machine Cult of Mars to withdraw support in measure or in its entirety from the Great Crusade. Abaddon was correct in his concern and reticence to commit to an assault.

"You are correct though, Ezekyle…the risk of losing anything of value in this city is too great according to my plan. We should consult Rogal and ask for his analysis on how to best besiege the city."

"Speak of the devil," A rich baritone called from the tent-strategium's flap, "and he shall appear."

Horus looked up and grinned as he saw the mammoth form or gold and brass armor in the entrance to the tent. His captains all turned, bringing their heels together and bowing their heads in respect to their uncle Primarch. Horus wove between them to reach his brother, clapping his hands on his shoulders and embracing him. His brother's face remained stolid as ever, but Horus could see the fraternal affection in his eyes.

"I should be furious that father sent you, but I am glad to see you Rogal."

They held the embrace a moment then Horus stood back, "So, what news from Father?"

Rogal's platinum brow rose, "Father did not send me. One of your sons voiced a concern to one of mine over the fortifications of some of the hives."

Horus furrowed his brow, "Oh?"

"We all know this planet fell the second the first boot of the Luna Wolves landed upon it, but in the interest of keeping your timetable, I felt you may perhaps require assistance to speed the siege without certain…complications." Rogal cocked his head back towards the marshalling grounds of the Machine Cult.

"So father really didn't send you…" Horus seemed shocked.

"I was nearby and desired to see my brother." Rogal replied with a twinkle in his eye, the left corner of his mouth elevating ever so slightly.

Horus stared at him a moment, trying to get a read on him, Rogal was straight forward, honest to a fault, but on occasion he did not elaborate on his precise motives providing the truth under a tenuously thin layer of obscured details.

Horus let out a bellowing laugh and clapped his right hand against the armor of his brother's upper arm. "And I suppose you just happened to bring your legion with you?"

"No, actually, I came with two companies that were in my retinue, it just so happens they are the only two companies we will need to accomplish your goal."

Horus turned to extend his hand to the map projection table, "Tell me your plan, Rogal."

As he moved into the tent Horus spied his brothers Huscarl bodyguard as well as his captains Demetrius Katafalque, Roderigue Camba-Diaz, and this first captain Sigismund. Among the Huscarls he spied the unclad head of the Archamusian Life Guard Captain, Kye. Rogal had clearly brought his best for this, and Horus couldn't help but wonder what so drove his brother's understated affection that he would lead this retinue himself without their father's order.

Abaddon stepped forward and bowed his head in respect, "My lord Dorn, as you can see, the city is well defended and fortified. In spite of our desire to successfully prosecute this siege with a minimum of casualties and destruction, we simply cannot devise a way to negate the enemy's position."

Rogal looked at the map, reaching into a pouch and plucking forth a tablet with parchment and a stick of graphite and began scrawling. "Beyond the concerns of the mechanicum, you seek to limit the suffering inflicted upon the people there-in, correct?"

Ezekyle nodded, "It is as you say, my lord."

"Then we shall convince the people to leave." Dorn declared in his brassy baritone.

Abaddon stared at the primarch, "H-how?"

Horus leaned in towards Iacton, "Watch this."

Rogal tore one sheet of the parchment from the tablet, placing it under the wooden slat to which the parchment pieces were bound and began scrawling again, "This city is the industrial heart of this planet correct, mostly in the production of munitions?"

"Yes, my lord." Falkus answered.

"Thus they would rely on trade of weapons and other heavy industrial products for food necessary to feed the population." He finished his feverishly quick movements with the graphite and tore the sheet of parchment off once again, placing it behind the first then immediately began writing. "Food would come primarily via subterranean railway since there is none above ground, river-ways, or by road. With a population high enough to run the factorums at the level needed for a hive of this size, food would need to be brought in daily without a sufficient reserve for the civilian populace to withstand a siege."

Once again he tore page free, placed it behind the wooden slat, and went to work with the graphite. "If you cut off the potential for supply the population would go hungry within two days, the military may last two more. A hungry population will be pliable to suggestion they quit the city, soup and bread outside its walls will stoke that willingness."

Abaddon elevated a finger and opened his mouth to speak but Dorn continued.

"Naturally orders will stand to prevent the population from leaving and all the roads and gates exiting the city will be guarded, which means new exits will have to be created. By the third day, openings in the defensive lines will allow the civilians an open path to leave the city, defenders will be isolated from reinforcement by a collapse of their trench and tunnel networks and will similarly begin to suffer the effects of hunger." Another sheet tore free and the furious scrawling began again, "On the fourth day all forces will be cleared from within on hundred meters of the main gates to attempt to shore up the breaches in the walls." Again a page was ripped from the top of the tablet, "On day five, you forces will walk into the city with no opposition to speak of, the streets will be empty, the factorums abandoned."

Horus grinned as Rogal finished his scrawling and tore the last page free.

"My lord…" Abaddon began, his tone flabbergasted. "How will we accomplish that?"

Rogal turned his head to look at the Luna Wolves First Captain, "Your legionnaires are among the finest warriors of the Imperium…"

"Oh, only among?" Tarik crowed.

"…but…mine are among the finest sappers."

Rogal placed the last of his scrawlings on the map table over the bridge, the second on the river, his third on the overlay of the subterranean rail line, and the final three at the north west, south west, and south east positions around the hive. On each were diagrams of siege works, men required, depths of tunnels, explosives needed, plans for a dam and various canal cataracts.

"The hive will fall in five days," Rogal declared, "and when it does you will still be fresh to immediately move on the next three."

Horus grinned at his brother as his captains moved to view the parchments as placed across the map.

"Remarkable." Iacton marveled quietly.

"Nothing less of the Primarch of the seventh." Tarkus supplied in benediction.

"Blessed Terra, it may work…" Ezekyle commented, looking at Dorn's figures, "it will work!"

Horus continued to smile, "Were do we begin, brother?"

"We already have."

Beneath their feet the earth rumbled, a sudden gust of wind and dust blew past the tent, a few moments later a series of muffled thumps could be heard accompanied a moment later by a resounding crash, echoing across the plains.

"I took the liberty of detailing my scouts to attend to the bridge prior to making planet fall, I trust I have not overstepped." Rogal directed the question directly to Horus.

Horus laughed raucously, "Not at all, brother…not at all."

Ezekyle watched from roughly thirty meters away as a section of VIIth legionnaires prepared for a breach. At the vanguard, of the forming column, suits of Cataphractii armor with massive Storm shields where to act as spearhead, behind them, rows of crusader armored Imperial Fist legionnaires with thick ceramite shields formed up to create an impenetrable wall around a five meter wide central pathway. At the far end, he spied more of his VIIth legion cousins carrying satchel charges and massive coils of detonation cable. Around them stubber fire shattered on the shields and mortars fell intermittently. The sons of Dorn didn't even flinch, giving no mind to the fire that was meant to dissuade them from beginning the five hundred meter trek to the trench lines.

Two pillboxes opened up with their heavy stubbers, throwing huge amounts of munition at the Fist's marshalling position but most of it falling short and the stormshields of the terminators and the ceramite slabs of the Mk II clad astartes rendering the fire insignificant. Among their number he did not sense the most fleeting trace of bloodlust, such was their discipline that they would not move from the position nor engage the enemy unless it was conducive to their planned operation. It was daunting to witness such stern warriors, so technically minded, focused, to the exclusion of all else, on their mission. From behind him another Fist approached, taking up position beside him. He was short as Astartes went, clad in artificer crafted crusader armor wrapped in a white tabard bearing a black Maltese with the emblem of his legion on the pauldron. Across his shoulder he had hefted a great black power sword, nearly as tall as he, his head showed signs of having been shaved but with a thin stubble of hair growing back in. This could be none other than the First Captain of the VIIth, Sigismund.

"Greetings, cousin." Abaddon intoned.

"Greetings, first captain." Sigismund replied as he looked out over the assembling legionnaires. "May I say it is a privilege to meet the one who many say is the finest son of a primarch of our age."

Abaddon let out a gruff chuckle, "A dubious honor when one considers we are the first sons of a primarch of any age."

"This may be so, but out of the innumerable legions, you are first among equals."

He frowned, "Humility does not suit you, Sigismund, your legend already spreads among the legions. There are many who say you know no equal with a blade and that matched skill-for-skill, not even the Emperor himself would rival you."

Sigismund just bounded his blonde eyebrows skyward, "I would be cautious who I would let hear that."

Ezekyle chuckled, "True enough."

"I came to ask cousin, if you would care to join us? I must admit, I have longed for some time to fight alongside the Justaerin."

The first captain of the Luna Wolves grinned predatorily, "I would similarly be remiss to miss an opportunity to fight beside the master of the Templar Brethren."

Sigismund marveled at the skill of the Justaerin, the terminators were like the waves of a mighty ocean crashing into the enemy with thunder and fury only to quietly retreat back to crash into them again. He'd never witnessed a Tactical Dreadnought detachment move with such precision and fluidity, every action a coordination of the tactically judicious with almost primal savagery. Their bolters seemed to fire as one, a tide of fire that would herald a reformation of their lines just to cut as their charge began again. In a way it was like the never ending movement of a sea, the crash of waves as their lightning claws and power axes ripped through armor, concrete, and flesh then came the rushing undercurrent of bolters, pulling the foe back into their rush.

It was magnificent to behold. Amazing more still was the fact that they so effectively reined in their own advance, never moving more than fifty meters from the lines his fellow VIIth legionnaires established so that the sappers could plant their charges. Abaddon's Astartes moved with such purpose and precision that they had drawn much of the fire off the left flank of the wall-column allowing the combat engineers and tech marines to work without molestation from grenades or mortars lobbed over the wall of ceramite shields.

Abaddon glanced back across and over the wall of yellow shields to his opposite number among the Fists. The tales of Sigismund's swordsmanship did not do justice to what he witnessed. Dorn's Templar seemed to dance amid the enemy, neither las beam nor stubber round could touch him, and where his black blade fell, only death and destruction followed. He seemed to drift through his foes like a mist his artificer wrought Crusader armor seeming to weigh nothing as he would prance from toe to heal and pirouette into the thick of his enemy raising sheets of blood and hydraulic fluid into the air with the upward sweep and dropping bodies and equipment to the ground with its fall.

His bodyguard of Templar Brethren seemed to enact their own ritual of battle, their movements perfectly time one to the other, their smaller shields forming a barrier and interlocking as they, as one, shoved their swords into the dirt, coming up with Volkite and Plasma pistols, opening pockets in the enemy, then pluck up their swords they advanced, every motion synchronized stabbing a pocket into the enemy behind their captain, parting the enemy's line until they reached a string of bunkers and pill boxes once again locking their shields together as they tossed melta-charges into the fortifications.

The sounds of battle were pierced by a loud shrill whistle, the signal from the siege master that all charges were planted. Abaddon pointed his lightning claw back to the VIIth's wall and his Justaerins began to fall back to the line as he witnessed the Templar Brethren begin their slow and precise retreat. He had lost sight of Sigismund until he saw a flash of yellow and white mount a dug in enemy tank, his blade flashing down through the main gun of the vehicle, sending to barrel clattering against the hull with an audible bang then stuffing a frag grenade in the breach he had created, jumping of the vehicle as there was an audible thump and the hatches of the vehicle erupted open on a geyser of flame from the ammunition cooking off in the turret.

When they approached the wall of ceramite the shields abruptly rolled open with almost organic fluidity, a hail of bolter fire passing them to strike into the enemy before folding shut behind his terminator squad. The same was performed when the Templars reached the opposite side of the two columns and they seemed to melt into the unit with startling fluidity. A moment later Sigismund leapt over the wall of ceramite and Crusader pattern armor and the wall began to fall back along the path from which they'd advanced. All of the Fist legionnaires marking and engaging targets with their phobos pattern bolters as the wall moved with practiced ease. Three hundred meters from the position they occupied, the Terminators broke away from the column with the remaining Astartes folding into their position like fluid filling a void as the Tactical Dreadnoughts assembled around the siege master as he prepared to set off the charges that had been laid into the ground and bulwarks.

The terminators broke their formation as the Tech Marine Siege Master began striding back towards the marshalling area, utterly unconcerned about the stubber fire snapping around him and the occasional las beam pitting his armor. As he strode onwards his lifted a hand with two fingers extended towards a Legion Serf standing atop a Rhino. The serf lifted a banner, a single square of golden brown bisected by a thick yellow line. He dipped the flag twice and mere seconds later the ground shook as a geyser of earth, rock, concrete and those foes that fell in the area the wall brethren had secured rocketed into the air. Far in the distance, other clouds of dust seemed to materialize around the perimeter of the hive.

The night's feasting was what would expect in a combat zone, great vats of liquefied meat served as warm broth, the consistency of an Astartes own rich thick blood in which they would dip bread for some bulk and to hold the nutrients as long as possible in their stomachs so they could absorb all the caloric and nutritional bounty it held. For many of the legion warriors, this would be the last meal for some days as they would need to keep their reserve of food as offering to the civilians they intended to starve out from behind the walls. The chapter serfs would also need the nutrition, not yet having the gift of the Astartes organs implanted, they would need food for energy that their bodies would wastefully process to make up for the energy they expended in the construction of siege works. Around the pots of the protein broth the sons of the two primarchs gathered to greet their cousins and extend appropriate honors, tell tales, inquire of news from the Crusades, engage in sport and sparring as was their wont and the way of their craft.

No son of the VIIth or of the XVIth had fallen this day and while Horus watched his First Captain exchange battle honors with his brother's first Sigismund, Rogal seemed aloof, standing in the darkness gazing out over the landscape painted in the hues of the retreating system primary slinking into dusk far off over the flat horizon. As Horus approached he heard his brother speaking to a Master of Signal, the Astarte speaking through the vox grill of his armor.

"My lord, the construction of the primary damn is complete and the ancillary canals are prepared."

"Good." Rogal rumbled, "tell Captain Kataflaque to open the canals, we will flood them in their trenches tonight and they will have been abandoned come dawn."

"By your command, my lord."

Horus stepped closer as Dorn turned in his direction. "Walk with me brother?"

Rogal nodded and fell in beside him as they began a slow pace around the perimeter or the staging camp. "I would have lost sons today if we had proceeded as I had planned."

"You may have, but the enemy would have been severely weakened as a result." The Unyielding One's baritone rumbled back.

"You mean to imply you did not weaken them by your actions today?" Horus inquired.

"We did weaken them today, but they did not understand how they were sapped."

Horus furrowed his brows, "I do not understand Rogal, with the discipline of your men, the efficiency, you could have broken their lines completely. Yet you did not."

Dorn was silent for a moment quietly contemplative as was his way, as Horus had come to expect him to be. "I seek to confuse them."

Lupercal chuckled, "That does not sound like the Rogal I know."

"They perceive us as invaders as…alien, strange and unknowable. We are brutal in form and method, so they expect as much from us, but if we are tempered, it will foster a desire to know why."

"And in their need to know why, they open themselves to the Imperial Truth."

"If we arrive from the void as liberators…as ones who will uplift them from ignorance and fear and bereft cultures, we do not come as monsters from the dark, but as angels."

Horus stopped in his tracks, "Rogal…you have a poetic soul," he laughed, "our quiet, stern brother Rogal has the soul of a poet! Wait until I tell father."

"Horus…I did not come here to be insulted." Dorn replied, his tone ever stonily even but with an upward twitch at the corner of his lips.

Horus continued to laugh, "Rogal, you sneak, you had us all fooled into believe you were as dry as a tox waste. But don't worry; your secret is safe with me."

"We all have our little vices."

"Now I understand why you argue with father about the methods."

"In some ways he is right, a compliance that can be accomplished with speed and violence is preferable in terms of short term gain while exercising our forbearance will lengthen the time necessary for the crusade."

"But…" Horus began, "if we crush a people, fear eventually sows the seed of resentment, the resentment becoming anger, the anger becoming rebellion or at the very least an undermining of our goals."

"Precisely."

"What begins as a short term loss of life…a purge here or there is remembered for generations by those affected, and why bother saving humanity if we have to kill large swathes of it to do it?"

"Father sees a goal that is centuries…millennia away, but I fear he does not give enough consideration to the twist of the intervening time. He does possess a gentler nature, I truly believe that, but he has been forced to harden himself to it, such is the burden of the father. It falls upon we, his sons, to allow this gentler nature to prevail." The Primarch of the VIIth declared as they continued onward.

"If we can do that, all humanity will look on him as a father, it is easier to love, obey, and revere one's father than just a distant ruler." Horus extrapolated, understanding the logic behind Rogal's thoughts.

"That is my belief, yes."

Horus nodded as they continued their slow stride, "I agree with you in principle."

"But not necessarily in theory?"

Horus sighed, "I am concerned that if we move judiciously, this crusade may take centuries in its own right. There is something to be said for gradual consolidation, expansion of infrastructure, assimilation. If we can make worlds more self-sufficient, improve their quality of life, make them believe they are truly a part of the Imperium we are building, it provides us a stronger foundation, one that will be unmovable, but…"

"There is father's time-table to consider." Rogal finished.

Horus stopped, stepping in front of his brother, great moral reservation in his expression, "Is there a way we can work around that?"

"I believe there is, but it will require us to move beyond just our roles as conquerors."

Horus spread his arms wide, "I am more than open to hear it."

"Come to my tent, I will show you what I have devised."