Outside, the battlements were being prepared. Techmarines coordinated Turantula Turret drops to specific defensive points, the Apothecaries were establishing triage centers for the inevitable casualties, and Thunderhawks made supply drops like clockwork, disgorging all manner of vehicles. Everywhere, battle brothers were moving to their positions, followed by serfs scrambling to keep up with their masters.

Cyrus waved down a landspeeder as it was about to set out for a perimeter patrol. The pilot obliged his request, and Cyrus hopped into the passenger's seat. They set out across the Lands of Solitude, a trail of steam following the speeder as its engines evaporated the swamplands below. As they sped to the perimeter, Cyrus silently contemplated the situation.

Boreale would be the death of them if he continued to ignore Cyrus's counsel. He wanted to make a name for himself, even if it took half the Chapter to do so. He'd argued against Boreale's promotion, saying he wasn't ready, but he had been overruled. Boreale's actions on Tartarus had won him favor with the Chapter Master, overruling the reservations held by a number of the elder Captains. What the Chapter Master wanted, he received. All Command could do was to nod their heads and keep quiet.

It was all a waste of time. What Azariah Kyras saw in Boreale eluded Cyrus, but he wasn't about to question a psyker of such talent. Perhaps, in the long run, Boreale would become the great leader that Kyras forsaw, but it mattered little in the short term. Cyrus preferred the immediate response over the long plan, especially if it meant sparing the lives of his brothers.

His hair whipped behind his ears as the speeder continued to scream across the landscape. He found the squad a few minutes later, nestled in a grove of trees above the swamplands. Nodding to the pilot, he headed towards them as the speeder sped off. Teral was on watch with Arreth, peering out across the mist covered bog. Denmor was erecting a makeshift machine gun nest for his heavy bolter. He looked up from his handiwork, and nodded with respect Cyrus as he approached. Vaenor looked to his mentor, his face sour.

"Do the Guard wish us to wait any longer? I just wish the traitors would show themselves so I can give them what they deserve."

"They are not traitors, initiate," corrected Cyrus. "They do their duty, just as we do ours. Our methods may differ, but all that we do is for the good of the Emperor and the Imperium. You should not take such excitement in facing our comrades. This is not a day of glory, or of celebration. It is a day that should be mourned, a day where we shed the blood of our allies. It is no victory whatever the outcome holds, only tragedy."

"Then what would you have us do, Captain?" said Vaenor. "Just ask the Guard to stop?"

"Preferably, I would rather not fight at all, Vaenor, but today, I will fight for every inch of earth, as is my duty. The Imperial Guard will expect nothing less of us. If we die today, we die as Space Marines, as the Angels of Death. Today, you will be tested. One shall stand, and one shall fall."

Denmor looked up from his work, uncertain. "Do you really think it will come to that, Captain? Will we die here?"

Cyrus patted Denmor on the shoulder. "Fear not, initiate, I promised I would keep you alive this morning. I don't intend to go back on that promise now. It is our fate to die in battle. But it is our choice of when that battle will be. I accept my fate, but I choose to prolong it as much as possible. The chapter's future is more important than the fate of one."

Denmor nodded. "I understand, Captain. It seems that there's more to being an Astartes than I thought."

Cyrus gave a weak smile. "You are still young initiate. These things are only learned through experience. Here, let me help you with that fortification."

They worked to build up the makeshift cover, masking the front with mud and leaves, braced against the lengths of wood Denmor had cut with his knife. They spoke little, so Cyrus watched. Each of his initiates was a part of a whole. Each brought something different, and it would manifest itself over time, determine where they would serve within the Chapter. Denmor was steadfast and willing to learn. He lacked the pure zeal of an experience warrior, but his unshakeable loyalty was inspiring for one so young.

Teral and Arreth were quiet, and they had formed a bond over their time in the Crusade. Teral was cold, and Arreth complimented him well. They were good soldiers, but they still needed to learn. Vaenor, on the other hand, almost seemed too eager to fight. He jumped at opportunities to prove himself, but his temper would be his downfall if he couldn't keep it in check.

Teral spoke. "Captain, Sergeant Ariston is on the Vox for you."

Cyrus keyed the vox bead. "What have you got for me, Ariston?"

"Cyrus, the Guard's batteries have opened fire. The south ridge is covered with artillery. We'll be pinned. I've pulled my squad back, and Elerion's doing the same. I'd move if I were you."

"Roger that, Ariston, we're moving out."

"Just make s...out...of..." the vox bead turned to static.

"Ariston? Ariston, come in!" The vox channel was dead. Cyrus glanced south. Ariston was right, the Basilisks had opened up. Loud booms rolled over the hills, flashes of light piercing the fog. "Move, now!"

Too late. Cyrus pushed Denmor to the ground as the artillery screamed down. Their best chance was to wait for it to move ahead. The round hit, turning the world red and orange as the fiery explosion hit near their position. He couldn't see Teral or Arreth in the smoke and dust. The Earthshaker Round had torn the tree line apart, leaving only splinters of burning wood and flash fried stumps behind. Before Cyrus could stand again, several more artillery rounds rocked the plateau, kicking up tons of dirt and rock in a chorus of fiery explosions.

His face was burning, his flesh and bone being peeled back by shrapnel and flames. Cyrus struggled to his feet, blood pouring over his temple into his eyes, obscuring his vision. With one hand, he lifted Denmor to his feet, and hauled Vaenor up with the other. The thundering sound of Basilisk rounds being fired continued, but for now, the scouts could stand again. The barrage had passed them, softening the landscape ahead of the Guard's advance.

Teral was dead, and Arreth's arm was shattered by the blast. Blood was streaming from his cracked breastplate, and he'd die without attention. Ariston's voice crackled through the vox. "Captain, there's some sort of interference with our vox channels, and my auspex scans are all over the place. Get out of there!"

As if to answer his statement, the air around Cyrus was filled with beams of lasgun fire. Taking cover in the new crater, the surviving scouts were faced with an oncoming rush of Imperial Guardsmen, hundreds of them. "Vaenor, cover Arreth. Denmor, with me!"

Denmor's Heavy Bolter began pounding away, the heavy thud of its bullets shaking the air as they discharged from the gun's barrel. Upon impact, the explosive tipped rounds tore the lightly armoured humans apart, before bursting into shrapnel, carving up the troops around the original victim. Vaenor had laid Arreth down in the crater, and was now firing off spurts of Boltgun fire as well. The hammering sound of his bolter complimented the steady thud of Denmor's heavy weapon. The chorus of bullets was only interrupted by the need to reload.

Limbs and blood flew in every direction as the bolter rounds impacted on their targets again and again. The suppressed guard were struggling to crawl up the ridge under the hail of explosive bullets. Despite their losses, the Guardsmen kept coming, more and more as the charge continued. The Hammer of the Emperor was an unending wave. Everything that Cyrus and his scouts did was only a delaying action, made to buy time until Boreale's idiotic plan could commence. All they could do was fall back, slowing the Guard's advance.

"Fall back! Fall back to the Fortress Monastery! Move!"

Cyrus's vox came to life once again, but the voice was weak. "Brothers, this is Captain Deimos, currently stationed aboard the Fortress of Solitude. Companies Five and Six are ready and able for combat drop. Now is our time to strike! Initiating Steel Rain tactics. Pods will drop in 3...2...1."

Cyrus looked up from the slaughter. Through the smoke, the sky was filled with streaking meteorites, scores of drop pods shooting through the sky. But something was wrong. The pods were splitting apart, some crossing through the paths of their fellows, others falling wide. The emergency vox channels were covered with static, but quips of panic broke through. Reports of off course trajectories, engine failures, and countless other problems filled the channel.

Boreale's plan had backfired the moment it had started.