Allegiance

Shots rang out above Remer and Valeris, and he swiftly brought his lasgun up to his shoulder. Valeris watched him and tried to follow his movements. She had no idea where the shots were coming from, everything echoed and bounced down here. But the guardsman ahead of her seemed had a supernatural sense of direction. In truth, he was just acting on instinct.

Remer bit his tongue, holding off the pain in his legs and chest. After years of combat, it was natural to him to react to gunfire by getting low and scanning the area. His body didn't agree with him, but he pushed on anyways. He needed to if the two of them were to get out of there alive.

Remer felt the walkway beneath him rattle, above them the sound of several explosions going off. He signaled for Valeris to stop. "Wait here, I'm going to check it out."

The pilot nodded, and Remer continued forward, cautiously. The walkway clung to the side of one of the Spire's support domes. To his left was the massive, curved structure, stretching towards the city's surface crust. To his right, a dark chasm opened, intercut with further passages and rail tubes to the other support domes. The fighting was nearby, somewhere above them.

Ahead, a rusted strut for one of the overhead bridges jutted out from the dome. A steel ladder was welded to the side. Remer looked up, and saw that the strut ran beyond just the bridge, reaching up towards the surface marked at each level by a blinking light. It seemed the ladder went the whole way, the lights fading into the gloom, far above them. He beckoned to Valeris to join him.

"Can you climb?" he asked, looking her over. She was still pretty beaten up, and the forced march wasn't helping any.

"I think so," said Valeris. She tested her legs by climbing a few rungs of the ladder. They burned fiercely, but she took the pain in stride. "Yeah, yeah, I think I can do it."

"Okay," said Remer. He slung his lasgun over his shoulder and grabbed the ladder. "I'll go first. Better I get my head shot off than you. If I see anything, I'll shoot."

"What about the shooters?" she asked.

Remer shrugged. "Well, we'll try to avoid the fight if we can, but there's always a chance. Just follow my lead."

Uther weaved his jeep through traffic, barely keeping it from sliding across the slush filled roads. He had to get to Colonel Crassus with the arbiter's information. Command staff would know how to handle things better than him.

A communications jammer! Who had a device powerful enough to disrupt vox relays across an entire planet, especially one as developed as Meridian? The thought made him shudder. It certainly put the winter storm theory to rest. Someone was at work undermining the Guard.

The jeep passed by a convoy of supply trucks crossing the Luesand Canal. The Vendolanders and the Cadian Xenobane were preparing for tomorrow's assault, and they needed every shell, bullet and grenade they could gather. Attacking an Ork Rok was no easy task. Past burnt out husks of hab blocks, Uther saw the black ziggurat jutting into the skyline.

The captain drove onward, into the active combat zone. He honked the jeep's horn to ward off the troops wandering the streets. Many of them looked wounded and tired. There was the constant wail of shell fall from both the imperial and xenos guns. The once heavy layer of snow had swiftly melted and turned to sludge. A leman russ with a dozer blade was scraping the roadways clear.

The sector's command leviathan was nestled in a massive loading dock. It was heavily guarded, flanked by two tank platoons from the Xenobane watching the entrance. Above, sharpshooters and mortar teams dotted the building's rooftop. Uther showed his officer's pass to the Dyneemek soldier on watch, and the trooper ushered him inside.

The bay was sunken into the ground to better accommodate large vehicles. A warm draft washed over Uther as he drove down the ramp. The air was tinged with the smell of motor oil, and leery yellow caution lights dotted the walls.

Sitting next to the Leviathan were the Cadians' prized Baneblade tanks. Compared to the command vehicle, even these mammoth war machines seemed tiny. A small army of techpriest engineseers were overseeing the maintenance and resupply of the battle tanks, aided by dozens of the Xenobane's own mechanics.

Commander McTavish looked down from Kasr's Pride's command cupola to the small jeep that pulled up beside them. He grinned when he saw who was driving. "Well now, if it isn't the Vendoland's own little Castellan Creed? Nice to see that a few days off the front haven't softened you up too much, Captain."

"Good to see you too, commander," said Uther hastily. He looked up to the Leviathan. "Is the staff inside?"

"Should be," said McTavish with a shrug. "They haven't gone very far the past couple days, I don't see why they'd change that. Are you in a hurry or something? You look anxious."

"Do I?" Uther hadn't even noticed. He had been so caught up in his revelation, he was fidgeting. "Perhaps I am. A bit."

The tank commander laughed and scratched his beard. "Well, keep it together if you're joining us tomorrow. We're going to blow that greenskin hive back to the stars."

"Do you think we're up to it?" asked Uther. He was unsure himself, and he could use a vote of confidence.

McTavish leaned back and patted the tank's huge turret. "With this baby, we're up for anything. Hope to see you out there, captain. I hate to take help from others, but I wouldn't mind seeing you and your men in action again."

"I'll try not to disappoint you then," Uther nodded to the Cadian before walking to the Leviathan's boarding ramp.

Crassus was busy briefing Major Lester for the following day's assault when captain Uther burst into the CIC. The colonel ignored this rather rude entrance, and finished his conversation with Armand, making the captain wait impatiently in the corner of the room. Finally, Lester nodded and left, and only then did Crassus address the harried Uther.

"What do you need. Captain? Your company isn't due back until tomorrow."

Uther spoke hurriedly, "Sir, I think I know what is wrong with our communications, why we have had so much trouble making contact with the other regiments."

"Oh?" Crassus was interested. "What have you discovered, Lars?"

Uther set his helmet down on the console. "Colonel, I just received a message from an Arbites officer this morning. He told me that the vox relays are malfunctioning planetwide, not just here under the storm. We're being jammed by someone."

Crassus hadn't considered this, but he mulled it over. It certainly was plausible. He asked, "Do you think that the cultists in Urizen are behind this, Captain? They certainly stand to gain."

"No doubt, sir. But I don't think this is their doing. The Hounds of Vandis only disrupt our operations immediately before an attack, so they can use the element of surprise, and we haven't heard of any movement from the south. It's also not the greenskin's style to use subterfuge."

Crassus frowned. "So, who is behind this sabotage, Captain?"

Uther sighed, and looked overwhelmed. "I fear that it might have something to do with my missing sergeants, sir. I would have never signed their release for that damn police investigation if I'd known that the officer had gone rogue."

"How are they involved in this, Captain?" Crassus chose not to reprimand Uther for his bad judgement call. Nobody could have known, and the colonel had seen the release form himself. He was just as guilty.

"I don't know exactly, sir. I just have this feeling."

There was more to it than that. Lars Uther was an excellent tactician, but Crassus could see that the man was under immense stress. Even under Uther's exterior, Crassus could see the cracks in his composure. He decided to address it now, while he had the chance. "Look, Captain, I need you ready for tomorrow. If there's something you'd like to get off your chest, do it now." Crassus pressed a button, deactivating the recording devices in the CIC. "Off the record, what's troubling you, really?"

Uther collapsed into a chair and let out a long sigh of frustration. "My company is falling apart, sir. I've lost my two best NCOs, and several other good men. I feel like the heart of 4th is eroding without them. The men are bitter and tired, and they aren't getting along well with the replacements from the consolidation. And my commissar, I feel, has lost faith in my ability to command."

"Commissar Connor," Crassus said. He'd gathered as much. The young, beautiful political officer always seemed to be at the heart of any discussion about Uther.

"Yes, sir. Since we arrived in Golgotha, she has been critical of my decisions, no matter how simple they might be. We've always worked well together until now. She has alienated herself from the men, and I worry that this will just drive more of a wedge between us."

"Between 'us', Captain?" probed Crassus, eyebrow cocked, "Do you refer to yourself, or to the company?"

Uther answered quickly. Too quickly to be honest. "Between the company, sir. I don't want arguments on the command level to divide the men's loyalties."

Or your own loyalties, thought Crassus. "Would it be better if she was serving with another company? I can discuss the matter with Commissar Lord Gardus, he could arrange a transfer."

"I think that would be best, sir," said Uther. Oh, you sad, sad man. "At least until the end of the campaign. I don't want feelings to get in the way of efficiency."

An aide walked by with a tray of coffee. Crassus took two and offered one to Uther. "Well, I will take it up with the Gardus, Lars. But it will take a few days. Can you put aside your personal issues for the time being? The control of this sector is more important than any of us; it could be the deciding factor in beating the greenskins."

Uther nodded slowly. "Yes sir, I understand. I won't let you down."

Crassus grinned, taking a large gulp from his steaming cup. "Of that, I'm sure." He slapped the captain's shoulder reassuringly. "Get back to your company, Captain. Get them ready."

Lars Uther saluted and excused himself from the Colonel's presence. Crassus shook his head. Uther was roughly the same age as him, and here he was, hung up on a Commissar, like some junior cadet. Crassus had heard the rumors, the worst kept secret in the regiment, but he'd kept quiet out of respect for the captain's ability. But if Uther's feelings got in the way of his duty, the colonel would not hesitate to put an end to their tryst.

"Merrick?" called Hurst. "We, have a problem."

The hoversled was speeding away through the forge, as fast as Hurst could go. They were nearing the loading bay elevators. Merrick could see daylight filtering down into the forge's smog choked production lines. They were nearly out.

"What sort of problem?" he asked, peering through the cockpit canopy. Nobody had followed them, and the alarm klaxons had ceased.

"The shield is still up," said Hurst plainly.

"What shield?"

"The one surrounding the Forge, remember?" Wadden replied. "That void shield is rated to deflect orbital bombardments. This sled wouldn't make a scratch if we tried to run it."

Damn it, thought Merrick. "Just get us outside, Hurst. I'll try to get a hold of Corsis."

They had lost contact with the Logis. Merrick had to pull off the MIU to keep the static out of his head. He wasn't looking forward to putting it back on, but Corsis hadn't failed them yet, and they'd held up their end of the bargain. As far as Merrick was concerned, the priest owed them.

"Come on, you bastard," Merrick cursed, reattaching the MIU chip. Immediately, he was assaulted by the unrelenting static. Gritting his teeth, he pushed the noise aside and focused on imparting his message. "Corsis, if you can hear me, we're going to make a run for it. You've got your data, and we've got ours. Time to live up to your promise. Drop the shields and let us out!"

There was no response. Merrick waited impatiently, but nothing came. Frustrated, he kicked the side of the sled. Damn that priest!

The hoversled zoomed over the loading elevator. Beneath them, hundreds of Rogal Dorn tanks and other armored vehicles were being raised to the surface. The daylight glinted off their freshly printed armor plating, making them look like shining beetle shells. Hurst aimed for the opening, and for the first time in days, Merrick felt sunlight on his skin.

The sled rose above the manufactorum, flying between parallel lines of smokestacks belching black exhaust into the air. The faint red shimmer of the void shield was visible, flickering where stray objects struck and were incinerated.

Merrick dropped back into the co-pilot's seat. "I can't get through to the Logis, Hurst. Do you have any ideas?"

"Not a one. Maybe there's a way we could... wait," Hurst suddenly lit up. "Merrick, the shield is lowering! It's a straight shot for us."

"Well, take it, then!" shouted Merrick. "Put as much distance between us and the Forge as you can. Heh, the cogboy came through."

Hurst aimed for the opening in the void shield, visible by the snow flurries blowing through the narrow breach. A moment after the sled swept through the shield, the opening snapped shut, once again blocking out the harsh winter weather.

Corsis's bloody hand slipped from the shield control panel and fell limply to the floor. His artificial lungs were failing him, betrayed by the remaining organic components of his body. There were a dozen holes in his chest cavity, ripped open by a flurry of shots as the praetorians had broke down his chamber's door. The Logis coughed up a mixture of blood and oil, dribbling down his taut face.

Magos Dolthem stepped over the ruined bodies of Corsis's bodyguards, over to where the priest lay, gasping his dying breaths. He bent down and grabbed Corsis by the chin, forcing him to look the Magos in the face. "One man alone cannot withstand the might of this Forge, Corsis. I tried to tell you that, but it seems you have developed a fault in your memory banks."

Dolthem slid his hands down around the Logis's throat, lifting him into the air before slamming him into the monitor bank. Screens shattered and sparking wires shorted out the entire wall. "The data you stole from me will be retrieved, Corsis, even if I have to pry it from your skull, wire by wire."

The old Logis smiled weakly as he coughed up more blood. "There will always be others, Dolthem. The Priesthood of Mars will never abide a heretek such as yourself."

Dolthem leaned over Corsis, "There are none left here to defy me, Corsis. I have ordered the Engineseers be executed. Your little rebellion dies here."

In spite of his fatal injuries, Corsis began to laugh. It was a horrible, raspy sound, a mixture of gargled blood and oil with the priest's audio filtered augmetic voice box. Corsis weakly wrapped his bony hands around Dolthem's wrist in one last act of feeble defiance. "If that is what you want to think, Dolthem, then by all means, continue to delude yourself."

What? What did he mean by that? Dolthem pulled Corsis upright, "Explain!" But Corsis was already dead, succumbed to his wounds. Furious, the Magos threw the corpse to the ground.

He stormed out of the office, flanked by his Skitarii bodyguards. There was work to be done. Bodies had to be disposed of, and records altered. The Magos's internal vox receiver began beeping. It was one of the outer sentries. There was a fluctuation in Angel Forge's void shield. It was the smallest flicker, but the sentry had witnessed a small craft fleeing through the opening.

Magos Dolthem stopped dead. Fear ran through his circuits, as he came to realize what Corsis's dying words had meant. The truth was out, and heading for Imperial hands. Somehow, someone on that bastard Corsis's side had obtained a copy of the files. He broke into a run, back to the tram station that would take him to the heart of the Forge. As he ran, the Magos began issuing orders to his subordinates. Their timetable had just been cut short. The plan had to be enacted now, or Dolthem's coup would collapse before it even had a chance.

Hurst had taken the hoversled fast and low across the dead zone. The sled skimmed just above the ruined industrial buildings, as close as Hurst dared get with the unfamiliar controls. It was dangerous, but he and Merrick agreed it was better than flying out in the open.

The question remained what to do with the evidence. Obviously, it had to be handed over to Imperial authorities, but they weren't sure who to trust. Talros may have been a wild card, but the realization of Connor's alliance with the Mechanicus had shaken the two men's confidence in others.

Eventually, they had come down on two sides: Hurst wanted to deliver the information to Governor Derosa; she could relay the message to the greater Imperium and bring justice down on Dolthem's corrupt followers. Merrick suggested taking the data to the regiment; it would also allow them to confront the Commissar.

Either way, the vox receivers weren't working. Capital Spire was closest to Angel Forge, so that was where Hurst was heading. Merrick dumped the last Servitor out the sled's hatch and joined Wadden in the cockpit. Capital spire loomed in the distance. It would be a long trip yet.

The sled's auspex scanner started blinking. "We've got two objects closing fast," said Hurst. "They're sending us a closed band vox relay. Putting it through."

"Attention, fugitives, this is the Adeptus Arbites, Capital Spire precinct. By order of Arbiter Talros, land your craft and we will take you into custody."

Merrick looked to Hurst. "Don't answer them," he ordered. "Maybe they don't know that Talros was a nut. This is too perfect for the Cogboys, they had to have tipped them off. It's a chance to wipe the evidence away and pin it on the arbiters. We'll have to make a run for it."

"In this?" protested Hurst. "Merrick, this thing wouldn't hold up to a lasgun, let alone what the arbiters are packing."

"Yeah, but it's also a lot smaller and more agile than those patrol ships they have, isn't it?" Merrick's eyes flashed. "Take us down lower, low as you can between the buildings."

"Okay," said Hurst. He was still uncertain. "But if we crash, this is your fault and you have to carry me back."

"As long as you don't get another concussion like last time, I'll take you all the way back to Vendoland, Waddy."

Hurst rolled his eyes. Just before the Arbites patrol ships were on top of them, he put the hoversled into an eighty degree dive. The Meridian Aerial Containment Ships had to swing around in a lazy arc before they could follow Hurst into the metal canyons. The MACS were mainly used for riot control, rather than pursuit. The hoversled quickly pulled ahead, widening the distance between it and the pursuers.

When they realized they were falling behind, the patrol ships began to fire. Heavy bolters churned up the buildings around the hoverlsed. Merrick felt the spatter of the bullets striking the sled, followed by the small explosions from the bolt's tips detonating. They began to veer to the left; one of the sled's lift generators had been hit and was billowing acrid yellow smoke.

Hurst tried to compensate for the extra strain, but the sled continued to drift to one side despite his best efforts. "If we take another hit like that, we may as well throw ourselves out the door and save them the trouble of digging through the wreck," he muttered.

Ahead, the abandoned street came to an end at a T-junction. Hurst had few options. Going high would leave them easy targets for the pursuit craft. Turning left or right would just prolong the chase and risk them taking another shot that might put them down for good. The junction was coming up fast; he had to make a decision now.

Hurst instead angled his lifters forward, causing the sled to break hard. The arbiters overshot them, going far too fast. The first MACS smashed into the building at the end of the junction, immediately breaking apart in a fiery mess. The second ship tried to pull up, but debris from the former was sucked into its turbine. The MACS spun wildly out of control, and crashed into the ground, skidding a good thirty meters before coming to a stop in a ball of flames.

Hurst set the sled down on the street, watching the crashes unfold before them. His heart sank. The arbiters were just doing their job, unaware that they had been played. And now they had paid for the deception with their lives.

Merrick just breathed a sigh of relief. He was done with intrigue. The sooner they handed off the data and got back to the regiment, the sooner he would be able to relax.

The hoversled raised up once again, continuing its journey to Capital Spire, where, hopefully, justice would be served.

Remer struggled to pull himself up the long ladder. His whole body screamed with pain, but he still pressed on. At each walkway that the ladder crossed, he stopped and scanned either side with his lasgun. The firefight was moving away from them, growing more distant. He looked down to Valeris. Surprisingly, the flygirl was keeping pace. He shot her a reassuring grin and continued to climb.

At the next walkway, Remer peered over the lip once more, weapon ready. The deck was covered with greenskin corpses, several smaller gretchin and a handful of the larger boyz. Curious, but still cautious, Remer climbed a little further and then set down on the path. He helped pull Valeris up, and the two sat down for a rest. It was as safe a place as any down in the undercity.

Remer dug into his pack, and produced two ration bars, one for each of them. The two sat there for a while, saying nothing while they rested their aching bodies. Eventually, Remer broached a conversation. "So, flygirl, when we reach the surface, where are you going to go? Back to your squadron?"

Valeris laughed humorlessly, "If any of them are left. No, I'll probably be sent back to the ground wing's billets. They've probably marked me down as dead. Can't well fly until the paperwork gets sorted out."

"Ah, they'll sort it out," said Remer, smiling. "If everything in the world relied on paperwork, nothing would get done and we'd all have to take up filing just to keep from drowning in misplaced requisition sheets."

That managed to put a genuine smile on the pilot's face. Remer couldn't help but notice that, under the layers of undercity grime, the blonde, fair skinned girl was quite attractive. But he kept that to himself. Remer considered himself a womanizer, but he did have morals. This was about survival, first and foremost. He could treat her to a drink later.

"What about you, soldier boy?"

"I don't know, I thought I'd try going rogue, starting my own hive gang. I hear there's a lucrative market in smuggling weapons. I could be a gun runner!" He chuckled, "No, I'll probably head back to my unit, tell them all I'm still alive. And unlike you, the Guard doesn't need to file a requisition form to send a dead man back to the frontline."

Valeris looked down. "You sound like you want to go back."

"Well, of course I do," he said, confused.

"To the frontlines, I mean. Why would you want that?"

Remer had to think hard for an answer. It wasn't a question he had ever really asked himself. "It's the only thing I know how to do," he finally admitted. "It's been eight years now I've fought in this subsector. Sure, there's always downtime, but I never forgot why the Vendolanders were sent here. It was to fight. Not to live, not to settle, just fighting."

"But eight years? How do you survive eight years like this and not go crazy?"

Remer shot Valeris a funny look. "How do you deal with stress, Flygirl?"

"Well, I... I read," she said, "And I exercise. It keeps my mind off things."

"And it's exactly the same with me, you see," said Remer. "Me, I'm always making jokes. I've seen guys lose everything, and it destroyed them on the inside. I feel like, if I stop being happy, I'll lose the one thing that keeps me going. Even if that means I have to pretend to be happy. I can't think about who I'd be if I stopped."

Remer pulled off his helmet and ran a hand through his shaggy black hair. Eight years. Nearly a decade of his life he'd spent in Aurelia. He didn't want to think about it, how much longer it would take before they could leave.

"Do you ever think about your homeworld?" Valeris eventually asked.

"All the time. I'll get back there, someday, one way or another."

Renewed shots interrupted their conversation. Remer pushed Valeris to the ground. "Watch the far side of the bridge!" he ordered. Remer dropped down as well, facing the other way so they covered both ends of the passage. An access tunnel stabbed into the support dome, completely dark. He kept his gun trained on the entrance.

He could hear shouting now, both human and xenos. There was the sound of rushing footsteps, interrupted by the signature snap-hiss of lasgun fire. There was a brilliant flash of light and a loud bang from a flashbang being set off in the tunnel. Sporadic shots whizzed out, passing harmlessly over Remer and Valeris's heads.

Four guardsmen, bent over and bloody, came stumbling out onto the open walkway. They didn't even notice Remer and Valeris as they rushed past, firing more shots back the way they came. A pack of greenskins came charging after them, roaring and firing wildly. Remer set his lasgun on the first Ork and fired.

It took him ten shots on full auto to drop the raging ork, and by then, the rest of the pack had rapidly closed the gap. A grot with a wrench came swinging at him. Great, he thought, I'll be killed by a bloody goblin. Before the grot could connect with his head, it was thrown backwards by a well placed las bolt to the head. Remer glanced back to see Valeris patiently lining up another target with the pistol he had given her. Not bad for a pilot.

The other guardsmen, suddenly aware of the two, stopped running and faced the Orks pursuing them. They formed a firing line and turned their guns on the greenskins, blasting away. A swift and bloody firefight broke out on the exposed path. Imperial lasguns traded fire with crude ork machine guns.

With minimal recoil, the guardsmen were able to line up accurate shots, letting them methodically pick off the remaining greenskins. They targeted the big ones, bringing them down quickly. Remer heard someone scream behind him. He kept on shooting. The greenskins were scattering. Without their masters, the gretchin scurried away rather than stay in the fight.

Remer looked around. Valeris was alright, but the guardsmen they'd encountered were in bad shape. One trooper, laden with a mishmash of equipment, lay curled up on the ground, gripping the stump where his right shin used to be. It had been ripped off by machine gun fire, and the man was screaming bloody murder. A second trooper in the same hodgepodge gear rushed over to help him.

An older soldier with sergeant's chevrons, was openly weeping over the fourth guardsman. He was rocking back and forth, holding the younger man in his arms. The boy was dead; blood was pouring out of the countless bullet holes raked across his chest. Remer limped over to them and was shocked to find that the weeping man was old Gren, the sergeant from Caius's 7th company. Remer looked back to the others and recognized Flinn as well.

Gren looked up at Remer, his eyes red and puffy. The sergeant's lip quivered, and his hands were trembling. They were covered in the blood of his fallen comrade.

"Tamm was an asshole," blurted Gren, his voice hoarse. "I didn't know him very well, but he was an ass. But I still tried to save him. And now look at him. I couldn't save him. I can't save anyone."

Valeris watched as Remer helped the sergeant to his feet. They laid the body of Tamm down gently. She had never seen someone so utterly broken before. Waves of torment washed across the man's face. He didn't seem to notice Remer comforting him; his bloodshot eyes stared out into nothingness. She almost wished that Gren had died rather than be forced to live on like that.

Flinn had applied a tight tourniquet around Rast's stump, and he had applied layers of gauze and a clotting agent to stop the bleeding. He looked over helplessly at Gren.

The sergeant Flinn knew and looked up to wasn't there. Whatever that thing standing there was, it wasn't his Gren. Gren was lost.

There was a frantic knock on Kippler and Alek's door. The storeroom turned billet for the two soldiers was small and the loud noise quickly broke them from their sleep. Soras nudged Alek awake. It was Kalan Garrett and Donny Serrt, the squad's machine gunners. They both looked like they had run half a mile in full gear.

"What is it?" asked Kippler, rubbing the drowsiness from his eyes.

"It's Vornas, sir," said Garrett, still gasping for breath. "He was talking about killing someone in his sleep. I thought he was just dreaming, but when I looked in on him again, he was gone. Took his guns with him, sir."

"The big man's crazy," said Donny. The bald trooper hadn't liked Vornas from the moment they'd met. "Leave it to him to do something stupid the night before a battle."

Oh shit, thought Kippler. Vornas, you stupid fool. The grenadier was going to get himself killed. "I know where he's headed," said Kippler. "Grab a gun and come on. Alek, go wake Captain Uther."

Alek hurried off. Kippler grabbed his long las and ran for the warehouse's exit, the two gunners hot on his heels. He led them into the darkening streets, towards the rail yard. Vornas may have been driven by vengeance, but even Kippler had noticed that Commissar Connor was spending a lot of time near the techpriests overseeing the tank distribution.

They had to hurry, or someone was going to die.

He was going to kill Connor, tonight. Vornas gripped the laspistol beneath his army issue winter coat. It had to be tonight. Tomorrow, the 4th company would return to the front, and he would miss his chance. Tomorrow, someone else might kill her; he would not be denied his vengeance. Remer deserved better than that.

Everything was her fault. Ever since the commissar had been attached to their company, she had been cracking down on their "poor behaviour". Connor was so uptight it felt as if the troops under her watch weren't allowed to have the slightest sense of humor. Everything had to be serious, all the time, even off duty.

Only Remer seemed immune to her oppression, and Vornas had gravitated toward him for it. His almost gleeful disregard for discipline had proven to be magnetic; despite Remer's sometimes grating sense of humor, he was very well liked among the company. Being thrown together into the Daredevils, Vornas and Remer had become fast friends, and had been inseparable ever since.

Until the first day in Golgotha. Until that goddamn bridge, and that fateful order. Until the day that Connor had broken the Daredevils for no good reason.

A short while after the Commissar had slipped away, Vornas had made his move. Instead of following her directly this time, he darted in between buildings, using alleys and sticking to the shadows. It was dark out now, the streetlights would draw attention to him. He was a big man, an easy target on without the crowds to mask him.

She was heading for the rail yard once again. Vornas had mapped out her entire route. Once she entered the yard station, he would strike. Vornas was surprisingly light on his step for such a large man. A soft layer of fresh snow helped muffle his footsteps as he continued to follow Connor.

There were two tech guard sentries watching the gate to the yard. Vornas ducked into a hab entrance nearby. He pulled out a flash suppressor he had swiped from the company armory and screwed it onto his laspistol. He would have to be quick.

The grenadier swung out of the entrance, laspistol in hand. Without hesitating, Vornas shot the two skitarii before they had a chance to react. The sentries dropped dead, fluids splattering over the snow covered street.

Vornas broke into a run. Nobody had seen him, but there was no going back now. Somebody would be along soon to check on the sentries. He hurried past the gate and melted into the shadows behind the storage sheds, nestled below the overpass above the yard.

The sheds were filled with the new Dorn tanks. Vornas didn't like how they looked, but he grudgingly admitted that they were probably better at city fighting than the good old Leman Russ tanks. Their low, compact frames would be perfect for the knife fight ranges that tanks in cities often found themselves in. The Dorns were barely higher than Vornas's head.

He made it to the main station, the one Connor always visited. It was a long, tall building that ran along the length of the rail yard, parallel to the lines themselves. Vornas hadn't gotten a good look at it since they had arrived nearly two weeks ago, but he remembered enough to plan out his escape in advance.

All the entrances were guarded. Vornas paid no heed to the danger; he purposefully strode towards the western door, lasgun in hand, firing at the unsuspecting sentries. It was almost too easy. He brushed the thought aside, focusing instead on his true target: Connor.

He kicked in the door. Inside, several techpriests saw him approach and fled. The hall was filled with receptionists' desks and long benches. High, arched windows cast beams of floodlight from the yard outside. Above Vornas, three grand chandeliers with a hundred candles each illuminated the great hall with a warm glow.

The Commissar stood in the middle of the room, her back turned to him, speaking to a priestess who seemed quite agitated. Connor turned at the commotion he had caused, immediately bringing her bolt pistol to bear on him. She seemed surprised to see him. As if she didn't know why Vornas would want her dead. Was she really that blind?

"Care to explain your actions, trooper?" she said threateningly. The commissar tilted her head back to the priestess. "What should I do with him, Aros?"

"Kill him, Connor," urged the priestess. "We haven't much time, the Magos has been compromised. The plan must be initiated, and it will be done so on schedule. We can afford no delay."

"I see you haven't fired yet, private," said Connor, a cruel smile on her lips. "Can't handle the pressure, Vornas? I thought you were supposed to be the big man on the squad. Or did you waste it all on those guards outside? Not exactly the subtlest of entrances."

Vornas steadied his laspistol with two hands. "Not another word out of you, bitch," he snarled. "Down on your knees, so you can die like the dog you are. Its more than scum like you deserves."

Connor rolled her eyes, still wearing that mocking grin. "Oh please, Vornas, don't lecture me on execution procedures, I am a commissar. You should have taken your shot when you walked in. You will never make it out of this building alive."

Vornas looked around. There were guards all around, hands on their autoguns. They hadn't trained their weapons on him yet, but the Skitarii were watching the standoff intensely. They were waiting to see what happened.

"Kill him, Connor," repeated Aros emphatically.

"Why do this, Vornas?" asked Connor. "I am genuinely curious what your reasons are. What could have possibly penetrated that thick skull that made you think this was a good idea?"

"Don't act like you don't know!" shouted Vornas. He was shaking, furious. "You killed Remer, you left him to die! I could have saved him!"

"There was no time, Vornas. The building was coming down, if we had stayed there everyone would be dead. I made a decision that preserved men to fight another day. Now, you might not like that, but I stand by my decision, and I would do the same if it were anyone else in that situation."

"Oh yeah?" retorted Vornas. "Even if it was your little boyfriend, the Captain?"

"Even Lars," Connor said coldly. "Duty to the Emperor before duty to oneself. Even one as limited as yourself understands that. Or am I wrong?"

Vornas had to laugh. "For someone dedicated to inspiring and leading by example, you don't know the first thing about human contact, bitch."

"And I suppose you're the expert, eh?"

Around them, the techpriests that hadn't fled began to shuffle. Those with mouths whispered, while those without communicated via binary. Again, Aros pressured Connor to kill Vornas. "You waste time with such words, commissar!" she exclaimed. "Are you with us, or against us? There is no place in the Magos's employ for personal issues. Either you kill him, or I shall."

Vornas gestured at the priest whispering in Connor's ear. "So, what's this? You work for the cogboys now?"

Connor's face was set in stone, devoid of expression. She looked back to Aros. "I am loyal to my employers, Aros. And Magos Dolthem's offer has provided much for me. I am more clear now in my purpose than ever before."

Without warning, Connor spun around, jamming her bolt pistol into the priestess's head. She squeezed the trigger. Aros's skull disintegrated instantly into bone and metal fragments. "My purpose, my loyalties, lie with the Emperor, and the Imperium."

The train station erupted into chaos. The skitarii opened fire on Connor and Vornas, their autoguns rattling as they sprayed bullets. Unarmed priests made a run for it, fleeing from the fight. Vornas ducked behind a receptionist's desk. Connor turned her bolt pistol on the tech guard, standing her ground.

Behind the heavy wooden desk, Vornas checked the laspistol's power cell. He'd set the charge to full power, intending to drop Connor with one shot. He had enough energy left for about two dozen shots before the cell was fried. Regardless of Connor's spat with the cogboys, Vornas fully intended to kill her when he had the chance.

Bullets chewed up the furniture around him. There was a slight pause as the tech guard stopped to reload. Their autoguns only had thirty bullets per magazine, not much before they needed a refill. Vornas readied himself. After the skitarii stopped to reload a second time, he broke cover. One skitarius took two full power shots to the abdomen, vaporizing his stomach, while his cohorts dropped behind cover. Vornas fired four more shots, splintering desks and chairs with each blast.

Meanwhile, Connor was engaged in a running duel with the Skitarii detachment leader. Her freshly augmented spine allowed her to contort further than before; she managed to pull off some shots that impressed even herself. While only a fool believed one could 'dodge' bullets, Connor admitted that she was exceptionally more difficult to hit than before.

It was straining, however. Her body was still recovering from the wounds she'd received days earlier; her arm continued to let her down. But she put up a ferocious fight, keeping the pressure on the mechanicus forces while keeping a close eye on Vornas.

The fool had botched everything. He'd unwittingly forced both her hand and that of the priesthood. Now, all her work and preparation had dissipated in a puff of gun smoke. At least he was keeping the other skitarii occupied. But still, the commissar had to watch her back. Finally, a shot from her bolt pistol connected with the leader, blowing his head off in a shower of sparks.

Another squad of skitarii broke into the main hall from the far east entrance. They were hauling a heavy stubber, and deployed themselves in a defensive pattern. Connor threw herself to the marble floor, overturning a table as she did. A moment later, the stubber opened up, chugging a hail of bullets down the hall. Wood splintered, parchment was torn and glass shattered under the thundering barrage.

Vornas peeked around a bench. There was Connor, cowering behind a rapidly shrinking table like the worthless sack she was. "Where's your courage now, Commissar?" he jeered, his voice lost amidst the gunfire.

The tech guard cared nothing for their number caught in the crossfire. Wounded units willingly deactivated their friend or foe identifiers to allow the gunners' a full firing arc. They would rather sacrifice themselves than let their targets use them as shields to escape. The hall was quickly being torn apart; once ornately carved cabinets and desks being reduced to firewood, the spotless marble floor smeared with blood and oil, the gothic window frames shattered into fragments.

Behind Connor and Vornas, the west doors broke open, and more men piled inside. This was it, thought Connor. There was no way out now, she was trapped. Resigning herself to death, she unsheathed her powersword, awkwardly hefting it with her injured arm. They wouldn't take her without a fight.

But instead, she heard yells, and she saw the orange beams of lasgun fire, the smell of ozone tingeing the smoky air. And then she heard his voice. The only voice she would ever care for.

"Squads, move up! Lieutenant, center aisle, pour it on them, lads!" Captain Lars Uther, commander of the 4th grenadiers company, led the charge in only his white undershirt. With him were roughly forty troopers from the company in various states of undress, storming across the hall and taking the fight to the mechanicus soldiers.

Kippler zeroed his gaze on Vornas and came running. As the big man was getting to his feet, Kippler smashed the butt of his long las into his face. He heard a wet crunch of broken cartilage, and Vornas went sprawling. Before he could get up, the rest of the Daredevils were on top of him, holding him down.

"Get off me!" he howled, clawing to pull Serrt off his back and kicking out at Alek trying to grab his leg.

Kippler delivered a savage kick to Vornas's chest, taking the wind out of him. He crumpled instantly. The thin sergeant squatted down to look at Vornas face to face. "Not until you calm down, private," he said sternly. He nudged the grenadier where it was sore. "Otherwise, we do this again, until you learn to take your head out of your ass and listen when I give you an order."

"Get... fucked, Kippler," Vornas said, choking on his own spit while Donny squeezed harder.

Kippler raised his hands. "Have it your way, then," he said, getting to his feet. "Hold him down. Mathis, if he tries anything, give him another kick."

"Aye, sir," said the corporal. Kippler picked up his long las and started taking shots at the tech guard on the far side of the room.

Uther revved his chainsword, cleaving the arm off of a cogboy. This night had gone completely to hell. When private Tendall had broken into his room screaming bloody murder about trooper Vornas trying to kill the commissar, he'd gathered up as many men he could awaken and made for the rail yard. With two dead guards at the gates, the mechanicus hadn't been welcoming; the Vendolanders were shot at on sight. A fight had broken out.

After dispatching several more skitarii in the yard, the grenadiers had moved on the main station, drawn towards the sound of gunshots within. The tech guard were fewer than Uther's ragtag band, but they were good. A half dozen troopers were killed instantly by autogun fire. Uther responded with overwhelming force, his men issuing huge volleys of lasfire downrange before he led them into hand to hand combat with the remainder of the enemy detachment.

In the quick, brutal melee, Uther claimed three skitarii with his chainsword. His grenadiers, armed with bayonets and knives, swiftly put down the rest of the enemy troops.

As the fighting wore down, Uther called for a head count. They'd lost nine men, among them lieutenant Whelm. Lieutenant Baird Lonnis was seriously injured, as was sergeant Tonner. The skitarii had targeted their leaders. Uther himself had a serious graze where an autogun bullet had ripped open his left cheek, which bled down onto his shirt, now coated in blood and sweat. Alek and the other corpsmen tended to their injuries, applying gauze and injecting coagulant agents to stem blood loss.

Elle stood up and brushed herself off. The two stared at each other from across the room for what felt like hours. Then, she walked towards Uther. She moved as if to speak, but Lars raised a hand warningly. "Not another word from you before I find out just what the hell is going on here. Kippler! Bring him up here."

The daredevils hauled Vornas's bulk toward the captain and threw him down on the floor in front of him. Uther looked at Elle and then at Vornas. "Explain this to me."

The gathered troops looked expectantly at their commissar. Vornas tried to speak, but all that came out were a few pained wheezes and a lot of blood from his smashed nose. Elle looked down at the beaten soldier. She hesitated. "I'm waiting," snapped Lars.

Connor straightened herself up. "I made a terrible mistake, Captain. And that was not trusting you. This man, private Vornas, just saved my life. And I shall do the same by sparing his."

Lars wasn't impressed. "He saved your life? His sergeant says otherwise. Kippler tells me he planned to have you killed."

"It may seem that way, Captain, but I assure you that private Vornas never fired a shot at me, and he covered my back during that engagement. I hold no ill will against him."

It was a flimsy story, she knew. None of the men looked convinced, least of all Lars. He rested against the remains of a table, looking around the destroyed hall. "About that, do you mind telling me what all this was for? As long as you're being honest, I want the truth about all of this."

Connor sighed. "It is a long story, but I'll make it simple. These past few months, I have been spying for Magos Dolthem, relaying troop movements and deployment schedules to the mechanicus based out of Angel Forge. They contacted me not long after the destruction of Spire Legis, seeing me as an ally. I obliged them, intending to use my position to in turn spy on the priesthood's private dealings."

There was an outburst of protest among the men, shocked at Connor's words. Uther barked at them to shut up, and Connor continued.

"This xenos invasion is merely a convenience being used by Dolthem to expand his power over Meridian. It neatly ties up the bulk of the Imperial Guard forces on the planet while giving him free reign to take control of the Forge for his own purposes. He intends to stage a coup and overthrow Governor Derosa. After tonight, I expect he will no longer be able to hide his actions. It is far sooner than I had hoped, but unavoidable."

Lars crossed his arms. "So, what were you doing here tonight, then?"

Conner continued. "I received word from my contact, Aros." Elle pointed to the splattered remains of the priestess in the center of the hall. "She told me that the Magos had been compromised, and that the mechanicus needed to move onto the next phase of their plan. There is going to be an uprising, Uther. Soon."

Hanntis, a vox operator, spoke up. "But if the cogboys are against us, why'd they deliver all these new tanks? Why arm their enemies?"

Connor shrugged. "I don't know. Perhaps it was just a cover to put them in a position to cripple the Guard regiments. The mechanicus couldn't care less for the fate of Golgotha Spire. Only the Forge matters to them. A handful of tanks to keep us bogged down in a prolonged campaign with the Orks seems as likely as any theory."

"So this is why you were so distant?" asked Lars, quietly. She could see the betrayal he felt etched across his face. It killed her to see him like this.

"Yes," she said, her head hung low. She couldn't bear to look him in the face. "I had to push you away. I had to convince Aros that I was committed to their cause. It was the only way I could gain their trust. I understand if you will not forgive me for this. I cannot forgive myself."

There was an awkward silence among the company, only broken by Vornas's bloody coughs. The captain and the commissar's relationship was the worst kept secret in the entire regiment, but they had never publically discussed their feelings for one another. Now, they were doing it in front of everyone.

"So, what happens now?" she asked.

Uther took a long time to answer. "Now, we sleep. Tomorrow, we move to take the Rok, and then, Luesan Island. Elle, I can't forgive you for this, not now. I spoke to the colonel this morning. Commissar Lord Gardus will be along after the battle, to transfer you to another company. I think it will be best for both of us. I don't feel I can trust you anymore."

Connor felt her chest seize up. But she straightened herself, and forced herself looked directly at Lars. All that she had put him through, she thought. There was no punishment great enough.

"I understand... sir."

Author's Note: This was a fun chapter to write, and it had a much faster turnaround than my last few updates. I don't know if I'll keep up this pace, but I'm on a bit of a roll. I intend to finish Thundering 77s before the end of the year. After that, I'm going to take some time to revise a few of the older stories so plot details add up, and then it will be onto the next battlefield. Hope you enjoy!