Behind the Curtain

Adeptus Mechanicus Cruiser Glory of Mars, Meridian Orbit

"Your men are late, sir," said Secutor Hadrius Magnus. Lester jumped. The gigantic techpriest had remained silent for the past several minutes. Hadrius went on, "This meeting was scheduled for 10.00 hours local time. That time has passed, and your soldiers have not yet arrived."

"I apologize, my lord," said Lester, "The will be here soon, rest assured."

"We shall see," said Hadrius. If there was any testiness in his vox grill voice, Lester couldn't tell.

Major Armand Lester checked his watch. It was an antique, an analog device, using miniature gears to drive the hands. Vendoland was close enough to Terra Standard Time that it only worked on planets with similar rotations, unlike Meridian, but the Vendolander still looked at it out of habit. It still told him when people were late. Such as now.

The Glory of Mars was immense, even by the standards of Imperial ships. Lester had thought the troop carriers ferried the Imperial Guard to be vast, but even they paled in comparison to the Mechanicus' heavy cruisers. There was little doubt in Lester's mind that the Glory could level a continent if it had to. The ship was bristling with weaponry, some familiar, but mostly bizarre archeotech that the major had never seen before. When the Mechanicus went to war, they went to war.

The Priesthood had chosen to use their cruiser as their headquarters. They were not taking any chances with the surface traitors; vox transmissions could be intercepted, so orders were to be obtained in person and only relayed across closed channels. A steady stream of orderlies flowed through the ship's corridors all hours of the day cycle. Additionally, meeting rooms had been provided to Imperial Guard liaisons. Lester couldn't help being impressed at their diligent, and rightfully paranoid, adherence to security.

Fifty soldiers from the Vendoland Guard finally began to file into the room. The major gave a sideways grin to the secutor and tapped his watch. "Three minutes late, not bad."

"Your chronometer is sluggish, major. I would recommend an internal system."

"And here I was thinking you didn't have a sense of humor." Evidently, Hadrius did not, as he did not respond. Lester turned his attention to his hand-picked soldiers.

Collo Sarthis sat at the front. Sarthis, along with troopers such as Goldemar and Lasker, had proven themselves at Golgotha, holding the 1st company together after Captain Treig's demise. Their efforts had assisted the Guard's efforts to cleanse the city, and Lester had not forgotten the men's heroism. Sarthis was soon to be made captain himself. The man was long overdue for a promotion.

The other volunteers did not surprise Lester. Merrick, the 4th company's sergeant major, had brought his whole mob with him. The Daredevils, as they called themselves, were fine soldiers, but the major remained wary. Close knit groups like that often exhibited loyalty that only went so far, and Lester was unsure if the Daredevils' loyalty extended past their own company. The other volunteers were a selection from across the regiment, but Merrick's clique sat apart from them.

Lester pocketed his watch. "Morning, men. We have little time, so I'd like to get to the point of this meeting right away. First off, I've got some bad news: Operation Skyfury has been revised. As a result, the mission to assassinate Magos Dolthem has been called off."

There was an immediate groan from the men. Lester had been expecting that. He raised a his hand. "I know, I know, this is sudden, and I also know what I will say next is not going to help in the slightest, but it's out of my hands. The order came down from Munitorum Sector Command, there's nothing I can do to change it. This briefing is to discuss our reassigned role in the coming operation."

Armand knew this was a bitter pill for the men. His commando teams at Golgotha had performed exceptionally well, and since the beginning of the Angel Forge siege, the major had been lobbying for their deployment with command. Colonel Crassus had approved the order and made the arrangements. The Vendolanders would fight alongside other infiltration teams, and they were rearing for the chance to cut off the head of the enemy resistance. Or they had been.

Sarthis spoke up, "So, if we're not going after Dolthem, who is?" His expression was sour, not helped by the nasty scar that tugged at his left eye and made his face sag in a permanent scowl. Lester knew that Sarthis wouldn't like the answer.

"I was getting to that, lieutenant," Lester sighed, unable to avoid the truth any longer. "Well, there's no way around it, I suppose. Magos Dolthem's assassination falls to the Ordo Tempestus. A strike force arrived here yesterday."

This time, the troops erupted with outrage. Remer, one of Merrick's men, was especially loud. "So, just like that, we're knocked off to the side so some goddamned glory boys can get all the credit? We've been training for two months for this stupid mission! You can't let them do this!"

"My hands are tied on this matter, corporal," Lester said sharply, "The storm troopers are a separate branch of the Munitorum and I have no authority over them. We may have been training for commando operations in their absence, but this is their specialty. To the scions go the spoils, I'm afraid."

Remer was about to speak again, but Sergeant Hurst silenced him with a look. The shaggy haired grenadier shut up. In a more level voice, Hurst asked, "So what does that mean for us, sir? Are we being rotated back to the regiment?"

"No, sergeant, we are not," Lester nodded to his companion, "Secutor Hadrius here has suggested an alternative use for us, so that our training might not go to waste. I'll let him tell you."

Hadrius stepped forward. Standing nearly a head and a half taller than the major, and twice as broad as a man, it was a wonder to those present if any part of the tech-priest was still human. "As your commander says, I have an assignment for your unit.

"Angel Forge was built long ago, in the Dark Age of Technology. It houses vast stores of data that are vital to the mechanicus. It is also nearly impregnable, protected by void shielding impervious to terrestrial weaponry. Though you may not slay the viper leading these heretics, your commando training shall prove useful in another task. The main force besieging the forge may not advance while the void shield is still active. The Priesthood insists that you to disable that shield, and open a way for the army to breach the walls."

"I thought the tech-priests were all about preserving technology? This sounds more like demolition work," Merrick said.

"Normally, we do, sergeant major. However, in this time of crisis, certain sacrifices must be made. The Priesthood believes that the dismantling of the shield system is an acceptable loss levied against the value of the manufactories themselves. This warship has enough power to flatten Angel Forge without effort, but that is counterproductive to our aims. We wish to retake the factories. To lose such a technological asset would be unthinkable. That is where you men shall come in."

Hadrius twisted a dial embedded in his left gauntlet. A hololith chart appeared on the projector screen installed in the wall behind him. "These are the blueprints to Angel Forge, as of last year. I am led to believe that the two men responsible for retrieving these plans are present, major?"

"Yes, Secutor. Sergeant major Merrick and Sergeant Hurst were involved in the incident at that time." Lester noticed a small grin tug at Merrick's face.

"Then you understand the layout of the forge. No doubt you understand the defensive installations along the walls?"

"Well, as far as the briefings told me, yes," said Merrick. He added, "But I expect that you want to tell me anyways?" A few men chuckled.

Hadrius went on, oblivious, "The key to overcoming the Forge's defences will involve precise application of force. The void shield covering the factories is anchored by emitter towers along the curtain wall. These are heavily defended, but they are not impregnable. The Mechanicus forces in orbit shall commence a focused bombardment on a single section of the wall to overload the shield's local power grid. A precisely timed aerial assault by you men and others will land amidst the confusion and proceed to disable the emitters before the redundant power generators can be brought online."

As Hadrius spoke, the hololith chart flickered as approximations of the Imperial strike force moved into position along the forge's outer walls, before finally disabling the structure. When the presentation concluded, the Secutor asked, "Your unit designation is 226 commando. Are there any questions?" When nobody replied, he finished, "Very well. You have two weeks to prepare. Study these maps carefully, troopers. This is paramount to the success of this campaign, soldiers. Failure is not an option."

Without another word, the Secutor exited the room. After the door sealed behind him, Lester leaned against the podium, gazing over the troopers. "Well, you heard the priest, men. Two weeks, so we'd better get working on it. The Secutor has sent these instructions down the line, and the training concourse has been reassembled to reflect our new objective." The guardsmen grumbled a half-hearted acknowledgment.

"That being said," Lester added after a pause. "Now that you've heard the official mission statement, I'd like to make an addendum." A conspiratorial smile crept over the major's face. "Now this is strictly off the record. I understand that in the midst of battle, it is expected of soldiers to act on their own initiative. Let's just say that you would be forgiven for moving beyond your assigned duties. After all, it will be chaos out there, things are bound to go missing, only to turn up later. Perhaps, say, inside the forge?"

Lester grinned and absently checked his watch, "You didn't think I would let those Munitorum glory hounds take credit for our hard work, did you?"

After the meeting ended, the Vendolanders returned to their quarters. Merrick walked with the Daredevils down the ship's winding corridors, the light fixtures casting a golden glow over the bulkheads. He couldn't help but smile. Lester was a shrewd man, but he was a good leader in Merrick's mind. Considering what the Vendolanders had been left to work with after their original command staff had been killed, the enlisted men couldn't have asked for better leaders.

"You think Captain Uther's alright down there?" Mol Lannik said to nobody in particular. The rat faced guardsman had been wounded during the Golgotha campaign, and had only recently been returned to active duty. He seemed eager to make up for lost time by filling the dead air with enough questions that would make Remer seem quiet.

Remer was quieter, Merrick thought. Since Golgotha, months ago, Remer seemed to have put on several years, just in the way he carried himself. He was more reserved, more serious. But he still maintained his optimism, even if it felt strained at times. "I'm sure he's found himself a nice little dugout somewhere along the line."

"Must be pretty lonely, though," Mol said.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. In the middle of the night, when the guns fall silent and the industrial smog clears, she will come to him, dancing over the trenches like a fey spirit, and they will meet in his dugout, warm and dry, to carry on their tryst, while so many others die." Remer emphasized his words by mimicking the flowing movements of a waltz.

"How very poetic," Serrt said without a hint of humor. Commissar Connor's relationship with their captain was a touchy subject at the moment. Her unsanctioned actions had been found out, and she had been put under intense scrutiny by the Commissariat. Connor had been rotated to another company, well away from Lars Uther, for both their sakes.

Merrick and Hurst shared a glance. Neither one had told the others about the video feed they had discovered in Angel Forge, implicating Connor in treason. Though she had been absolved, Merrick still felt uncomfortable about the whole issue. He couldn't imagine how Captain Uther must have felt, being lied to for so long.

The hallway opened into the deck's main concourse. An Imperial ship was like a city in a bottle, and the Mechanicus cruiser was no different. A massive brazier burning with incense hung from the vaulted ceiling, filling the chamber with a heady smoke. Priests and tech-guard walked past them, scarcely noting the Vendolanders. The guardsmen leaned on the railing, looking over the lower decks, stretching on for hundreds of meters beneath them. Remer whistled, letting the sound echo all the way down.

"Bloody cannon fodder," someone muttered.

Merrick wheeled around. Tough looking men in powder blue uniforms were marching along the concourse. He noticed the insignia sewn on their shoulders. Tempestus Scions. Storm troopers. Goddamn glory boys. The Munitorum special forces marched by with an arrogant swagger. Many of them appeared to be less than half Merrick's age.

"Hey, thanks for doing all the hard work for us already, grunts," said one young twerp with a shit eating grin. "I'll be sure not to mention it on our next action report."

The Vendolanders stared daggers back at the storm troopers. "Just try us, tin-heads," snarled Serrt. He and Kalan Garrett looked ready to jump at the storm troopers. Mathis wasn't about to have any of that, and held the two of them back.

"That's enough!" barked the heavyset corporal. "Enough! Save it for the heretics."

"That's right, grunts, listen to fatty," said the twerp. His grin twisted into a sneer. He was holding up the line, so the storm trooper behind him gave Twerp a shove to get him moving.

"Besides," Mathis said, not too quietly, "It's not like there will be anything left for the blue boys here when we're done. I hear it takes them hours to get into those baby harnesses they wear. All that kit must be compensating for something."

Twerp's head snapped back. Merrick got a good look at the man's eyes. They were ragged from stim use. It was no wonder the storm troopers were uptight, it they were tweaking even when off duty. Twerp broke ranks and started back towards the Daredevils, causing a ruckus amongst his squad mates.

Oh hell, here we go. Merrick and Hurst got ready to intervene, but Twerp was much faster than they realized. In one swift movement, the storm trooper brought his knife up to Mathis's throat before anyone could react. "You want to say that again, fatty?"

"Back off, tempestor," said a calm voice. Twerp immediately retracted the blade and stood upright. The storm troopers halted as the head of the column arrived to inspect the situation. The old man was clad in the same uniform as his company, but wore the markings of a colonel. His slit eyes scanned over Twerp and the Vendolanders. "Who started this?" he demanded.

"I would like to know the same thing," Collo Sarthis came up behind the confrontation along with a dozen other Vendolanders from 1st company. He looked angry. "Lieutenant Sarthis, 85th Vendoland," he saluted.

The storm trooper curtly returned the salute. "Tempestor-Prime Gallus Varga." He turned on the storm trooper again, "I repeat my question, tempestor, and I want an answer."

Twerp was stiff as a statue, and he spoke without hesitation. "Sir, I insulted with the guardsmen, and the altercation turned violent. I instigated the fight. I have no excuse."

Merrick raised his eyebrows. He would never have expected the man to divulge that information so willingly. That was not a response brought on by respect. It was fear. Fear of Varga.

Varga never raised his voice as he doled out Twerp's punishment, "Understood, tempestor. Ten lashes for insubordination."

"Yes sir," Twerp said, shaking slightly.

Prime Varga turned to Sarthis, "I would suggest you issue the same punishment to your own men, lieutenant. Such breakdowns in discipline are the death of any fighting force."

"With respect, sir, you have no jurisdiction over my men," Sarthis said, trying to keep his voice level but failing. "Separate branches will issue punishment at their own discretion."

"Very well," said Varga, "In that case, be sure our forces do not meet again."

"Fine by me, sir," Sarthis replied. Without another word, Varga returned to the front of his column, and the storm troopers moved on. Twerp shot one last look back at the Vendolanders before falling in line. When they were out of sight, Sarthis spoke to Merrick. "What the hell are you playing at, sergeant major?"

"I was moving to intervene when you arrived, sir," Merrick said. Sarthis was right, but Merrick wasn't about to let the young officer tell him how to order his men, least of all one from another company.

"Get your men under control, Merrick," Sarthis growled, "We cannot jeopardize our assignment by picking fights with the glory boys. Consider that an order."

"Yes sir," Merrick said.

Sarthis sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Come one, back to your quarters, all of you. It's going to be a long couple of weeks."

Angel Forge, Contested Airspace, Two Weeks Later

The Valkyries rocked in the choppy air, and the guardsmen within pressed against their restraints. They streamed through heavy cloud layers, staying high until it was time to drop on the target below. The operation had a narrow window of opportunity, so the pilots pushed their transports to the limit. Lurking close by, a flight of Lightning fighters provided air cover.

In the lead transport's hold, Sarthis worked his way down the center gangway, checking each soldier in turn to confirm their kit was packed properly. Vox links were checked, hellgun power settings were dialed, and rappel lines were secured. Fast roping from a Valkyrie was a tricky prospect, and many things could go wrong. Sarthis stopped in front of Merrick and their eyes met. The sergeant major bristled.

"Are your men in order, Merrick?" Sarthis said. He did not try to hide the suspicion in his voice. "I need to know they will do their duty."

"You've had two weeks to judge them on that, sir," Merrick fired back, "We're ready, don't worry yourself."

"It's not myself I am worried for, sergeant major. It is the rest of the unit."

"They'll get the job done." Merrick set his jaw. His stare could have sliced rock.

At last, Sarthis nodded, satisfied. "See that they do," he said, before moving on down the line. Merrick looked across to Hurst, who just shook his head.

"Just do what you always do, Merrick," he said with a wan smile.

The pilot's voice came across the intervox, "Two minutes out!"

Further down the hold, KIppler was doing final calibrations on his long las. He looked up from his work for a moment, "Doing alright, Remer?"

"I'm ready, sergeant," he said. Kippler nodded, knowing that was all he needed to hear.

Alek was helping Kalan Garrett adjust his augmetic hand. Alek had lost fingers himself, so when he had heard about Kalan's wound, he paid for a synthflesh coating out of his own stipend. Now, he was helping his fellow guardsman adjust to his new aperture. Kippler looked up the gangway and gave a thumbs up to Hurst and Merrick. The Daredevils were ready.

"Thirty seconds! Troop bay hatches open!"

Cold wind blasted into the troop bay, and the commandos were exposed to the thundering sounds of the battle raging below. Merrick peered out the rear hatch. The cityscape surrounding Angel Forge was unrecognizable. The land was flattened and churned by the endless artillery duels. Flashes of energy arced from large weapon towers, spewing their arcane firepower against the traitors' fortifications.

Merrick only had the briefest moment to comprehend the destruction below before the valkyrie tilted forward on its final approach. The commandos rose, lines secured, ready to jump. He nodded to Hurst, who returned it before attaching his breath mask. Merrick did the same, and, at Sarthis's order, he stood in the hatchway.

Angel Forge loomed before them, capped by the rippling dome of the void shield. Merrick was no stranger to the manufactorum, but its size nevertheless amazed him. And now they were attacking it head on. Flak cannons erupted from bastions built into the great curtain wall. The Valkyrie banked into an even steeper dive to avoid the airburst shells.

"Cruiser fire inbound, cover your eyes," said the pilot. Before them, the storm clouds parted.

Even through the polarized lenses of his mask, the flash from the lance strike blinded Merrick. The void shield buckled, with the lances pummeling the wall until the barrier shattered. The valkyries swept into the breach. Enemy forces scuttled across the battlements, diving for cover. The transports fired off a volley of missiles, smashing into the defenders. They fired off their vernier thrusters, grinding to a halt over the landing site.

"Go, go, go!" Sarthis yelled. Merrick jumped, gripping the rappel line and zipping to the ground. He was under fire before his boots even touched the surface.

Surviving Skitarii forces hurried along the wall towards them. The valkyries continued to fire off their missile salvos, providing cover fire for the landing commandos. The Daredevils hit the ground first, hellguns raised. Merrick ushered them into cover behind a chipped rockcrete barrier at the base of a set of stairs leading to the parapets. "Remer, break them up!" he ordered, "Kippler, take the officers! Go!"

The Daredevils rose from cover and opened fire, peppering the wall with intense lasfire. Remer hefted his grenade launcher and lobbed three grenades into the tech-guards. The 40mm explosives blew up in a spectacular fashion, tearing apart the red robed traitors. Kippler picked off the stragglers with precise long las shots.

As the rest of 226 Commando made landfall, Merrick looked out over the side of the curtain wall. On his left was a hundred foot drop into the mud and ruins of the city, where a massive Imperial offensive was pushing against the Skitarii bulwark. To his right, the immense manufactorums towered above the wall, belching black smoke through the shattered section of the void shield.

Hurst voxed in, "We'll need to secure that casemate up top, Merrick." Hurst pointed his gun up the stairs, where a flak cannon was firing into the dark clouds. Dozens of Skitarii milled about the gun emplacement, taking up positions to hold the stairs against the commando team.

Sarthis appeared behind the Daredevils, his helmet splashed with someone else's blood. "Alright lads, easy stuff. I want grenades on the stair top, and then we rush the gun. Who has the satchel charges?"

"Here, sir, said Lannik. He jangled the bag like a kid with a ring of keys.

"Well then, let's go." Sarthis drew his sabre. It wasn't a power weapon, just a simple trophy blade. It killed the enemy all the same. 226 Commando was fully assembled at the base of the stairs, fifty strong. Sarthis raised his sword high, "Remember Vendoland, men! They remember us!"

"Remember us!" roared the guardsmen. The Daredevils led the charge, bounding up the stairs with hellguns blazing. The Skitarii's response was swift and deadly. Autoguns chattered and cut into the Vendolanders, dropping several soldiers. Lasker took a shot to the neck and fell, while Alton's armor caved inwards as a spread of buckshot stuck him square in the chest. The majority of the men only wore flak jackets, rather than the Daredevils' own carapace plate. They might as well have worn paper-board for all the good it did them.

Merrick's men formed a firing line around which the rest of the squads formed up. Sarthis's forces lobbed their grenades from behind the line. After the grenades blasted, the soldiers surged forward and met the Skitarii in vicious hand to hand combat. The traitorous tech-guard proved just as resourceful in melee as they were at range. To get close to one of the red robed warriors was to face a myriad of sharpened staves and whirring saw blades. The Imperials met metal with metal, bayonets, sabres and chainswords clashing with the tech-guard.

To Merrick, the fight felt like it lasted hours, rather than seconds. A circular saw became lodged in his breastplate. He felt the impact of his rifle butt striking a Skitarii's faceplate ripple up his arm. He was acutely aware of everything around him, from the smell of ionized air to the individual beads of sweat dripping down the inside of his mask no matter how hard the cooling system worked. Somehow, he pushed through each blow, enduring until everything before him lay dead.

Both Skitarii and guardsmen lay strewn across the battlement, but the fight was still not yet over. Lannik sprinted towards the casemate, flanked by Goldemar and Nells. The three filled the bunker with lasfire and moved in. Lannik spiked the cannon breech with his satchel charge, and hurried back out into the rain. A crack of bursting metal and a wash of smoke confirmed his kill. Merrick gave him a thumbs up.

Not bad for a newcomer, Merrick thought. 226 spread out to secure the bastion. Less than three minutes since hitting the deck, and the fighting had already cost the commandos seven men. Lasker was alive, but the wound in his neck would keep him from going further. Lieutenant Sarthis wiped off his sabre as he approached Merrick. "Have your mob secure the position, sergeant major, but be ready to move. We're not staying long."

"Right, sir," Merrick nodded, "Okay, you heard the man. Kippler, Mathis, take FT2 with you and cover the west, Hurst, you have FT1."

"Right, Merrick," Kippler nodded to his fireteam and headed off. After Hurst left with the rest, Merrick rejoined Sarthis, holding an impromptu meeting with the other lieutenants inside the casemate. The blue glow of a hololith chart illuminated the room. Two lieutenants moved aside to let Merrick into the circle.

"We've landed about a kilometer off, according to this chart," Sarthis said, pointing to their position on the walls. "Lieutenant Duschesne will remain here with a rearguard to watch over the wounded and hold this bastion if we need to fall back. The rest of us are going after the shield pylon."

"Any ideas on what we're up against, sir?" Landomar asked.

Sarthis shrugged, "The intel we were given for this op suggested two casemates and a company to guard the pylon, but after what we just hit, I'm going to assume they've bulked their defenses up a bit. So I'll just say this: keep your squads moving, and stay cool. Merrick, have your men secured the bastion?"

"As much as it will be, sir."

"Then we move out now. Everybody, to your squads."

The shield pylon rose out of the bastion like a needle stabbing the sky, which was distorted by the relentless pounding of the Imperial guns. 226 Commando advanced along the battlements towards the pylon, encountering sporadic resistance along the way. The guardsmen met with no casualties on the attack, but Sarthis was wary. He still remembered the deadly firefight against the Skitarii, years before, when Colonel Banastre was still in command. Hitting the landing zone with the element of surprise was one thing; taking the shield pylon against an entrenched foe would be another thing entirely.

As the commandos pushed westwards, a great battle was raging beyond the walls. Waves of Skitarii and Imperial guardsmen clashed in the mud and hollowed out Hab blocks that littered the battlefield. The Skitarii appeared to be having the best of it, but to Sarthis, it was clear who the victors would be. The Guard was the Hammer of the Emperor, and when it fell, the traitor Mechanicus would shatter on the anvil. But it would all be for nothing if a breach could not be forced.

At the fore, the Daredevils were on point, making first contact with the enemy. The bastion rose above the wall for another thirty feet, offering the defenders a commanding view of the commando team as they moved to engage. The Daredevils split into their fireteams, one advancing while the other provided cover fire. Remer's grenade launcher lobbed explosive death up over the bastion ramparts while the grenadiers rushed for the base of the tower. An entryway into the bastion was guarded by a score of tech-guard, dug in behind aegis defense shields.

The Skitarii let loose with a hail of autogun fire. Without their carapace armour to protect them, the grenadiers would have been cut down by the gunfire. They responded with hellguns and rapid bursts from Serrt and Garrett's machine gun. There was no cover on the wall, and the troopers were getting bogged down by the enemy fire.

Sarthis ordered Landomar and Harlow's squads forward to assist the Daredevils. Going around would take too long and there was no guarantee it would be any easier. They had to break through with a frontal assault. It would be a numbers game to force the doorway.

Merrick managed to land a lucky shot against a tech-guard that stuck its head out for too long. The Daredevils hurled grenades over the enemy bulwarks, and advanced as explosions ripped flesh from steel. The relief squads caught up with them just as they reached the entryway.

"I see you don't need a hand," Landomar remarked dryly. The Daredevils set to laying detonator tape to the doorframe. The rest provided covering fire against the top of the bastion. "Anything else we can do?"

Merrick eyed Private Scutts and his missile launcher. "I can think of something, Lieutenant," he said with a grin.

Inside the Bastion, Tribune Sextus organized his forces through a series of electrical transmissions. They were received by each squad's Alpha, and then relayed to each individual Hyspasist. The response was near instantaneous, without a single verbal command issued.

Behind him, the shield pylon throbbed and hummed. The bombardment by the loyalists placed a huge strain on the turbines, which were now working in excess of safety parameters to reform the shield latticework. Fifty enemy contacts had breached their section of the curtain wall. They would get no further.

Sextus's aural amplifiers focused on the doorway. Minute sounds and vibrations informed him that the enemy forces were just beyond the metal bulkhead, the Skitarii guarding the approach having ceased to communicate with the squads inside. From his position on the gantry surrounding the pylon, the Tribune waited. The enemy would breach the door in exactly five seconds. To his enhanced processors, it was an eternity.

The doorway blasted inwards. The instant it did so, the Skitarii squads filled the entrance with gunfire. Something did not compute properly. There were no confirmed targets on the Alphas' feedback scans. Milliseconds later, his ocular implants identified a projectile passing through the exchange at high speed. His internal processors calculated that to reach that, the missile had been fired before the door was breached. There was no time to react.

The missile struck the pylon and detonated with a massive shockwave. The pylon cracked, and raw energy erupted into the room. Tribune Sextus was struck by the arcing bolts, illuminated like an ornament as his implants discharged. His burnt out body clattered over the gantry.

With their tactical overseer dead, there was a momentary lapse in the Skitarii's ranks as the Alphas switched over to individual unit control. That was all the time the enemy needed to storm the bastion, demolition charges in hand.

Remer was running with Kippler and Hurst, fighting their way up the stairs of the bastion. Merrick's trick with Scutt's launcher had worked wonders. Whatever had happened in that blast, it had left the skitarii dazed. The bastion's first floor fell swiftly. Now, the fight turned vertical.

Harlow's squad had gone up first. Intense gunfire had followed, and his squad's vox went dead. The Daredevils moved as two fireteams, one on each stairwell. Remer took point with Kippler, while Hurst stayed slightly back with Lannik and Mathis. Remer had unclipped his handheld flamer from his belt, his grenade launcher spent.

They moved quickly, but cautiously. "Harlow, you there?" Remer called. There was no answer. He kept the flamer's pilot light on, waiting to douse the winding staircase with fire. "Ref? Aachen? Anybody?"

"Nothing on this side," Merrick voxed, "They know we're coming. Be ready"

That was what rattled Remer the most about the Tech-Guard. Every action was being monitored and analyzed. The enemy could hear them at the lowest frequencies. They could predict their movements and react with lightning speed and deadly accuracy. They were sluggish now, but that would wear off. Even slow, the Skitarii were tough as nails.

It wasn't fair, but it was their lot. "Ready when you are, Merrick," Hurst voxed back. "Remer, do what you do best." The guardsmen gripped the last of their explosives, thumbs pressed against the pins. Remer mouthed a countdown. Hurst yelled, "Now!"

As the grenades flew, Kippler slinked up the stairwell until his longlas just peered over the lip of the landing. Fragments and smoke filled the room. Remer charged forward, flames belching from his weapon. Kippler laid down accurate fire from his perch while Hurst brought the rest of the fireteam forward.

At the same time, Merrick burst from the far side of the room with the rest of the squad. The Skitarii were mostly dead by the time they filed up out of the stairwell, and the survivors were quickly dealt with. Lannik was jumped by a bisected tech-guard, dragging him to the ground, but made it no further before a half dozen hellgun shots wrecked its torso. The low ceiling was scarred by the explosions and gunshots, and the air was thick with the smell of ozone and oil.

"Room secured, sir," Merrick voxed to Sarthis.

"Any sign of Harlow?"

"None."

The lieutenant sighed. "Very well. We're just about finished setting the charges down here. Block the stairwells and report back to me."

"Copy that," Merrick said. No more gunfire followed them from the upper floors. The Skitarii were up there, but they did not pursue. Maybe their sluggishness was more severe than Remer had thought? He'd have to remember that if it were true. Like most enemies, it seemed, shooting the big ones first was the way to go.

As the rain pounded against the unyielding void shields, there was a great rumbling beneath Angel Forge's bastions. Skitarii forces were thrown from their positions in the great upheavals, as massive energy discharges overloaded the pylons that blanketed the manufactorums. From the frontlines of the Imperial siege armies, watchmen viewed the distant destruction. Great holes were rent in the walls and the shield lattices, hundreds of meters wide.

Their positions now compromised, the traitorous Skitarii fell back to the walls. The besiegers counterattacked, turning the retreat into a rout, cutting down Magos Dolthem's forces in their hundreds. Two hours of steady advance only ceased as the pursuers came into range of the wall's remaining defenses. The cost was great, but the survivors could see the fall of Angel Forge in the sights of their lasguns. The line was re-established, and reserves were brought up to solidify the new positions.

Along the curtain wall, miles away, the commando teams responsible for the breakthrough returned to landing points, awaiting resupply or extraction. At the loss of seventeen soldiers, 226 Commando had accomplished its objectives.

The way was clear for the Imperial Guard's final assault.