The attack had been stopped in its tracks before it had covered even half the distance to the Christo. They had comprehensively
bracketed the enemy force within their fire zones and put their entire load on target. He knew for a fact that his crew had laid more
shells on target and in a faster time than Jephen, and looked forward to receiving his bottle of amasec in the mess hall tonight.
Night was drawing in and drifting smoke obscured much of the shattered battle line of what had once been hundreds of vehicles.
Major Tedeski had called a halt to the barrage until the smoke cleared, unwilling to waste ordnance on a foe that was already
destroyed.
He sat back on the railings of the gun platform and pulled out a silver case of cheroots, lighting one and tossing the case down to
his loader and breechman.
'Well done, men, I think we managed to put a sizeable dent in the foe this time.'
His crew smiled, teeth gleaming in their soot-stained faces as he said, 'When I get that bottle of amasec from Jephen, I'll be sure to
share it with you.'
He took a satisfied draw on his cheroot, and took another look through the gunsight of the Basilisk. The smoke was clearing and
his professional eye was pleased with the utter destruction he saw. Hundreds of burning wrecks littered the ground, flames licking
skyward as they and their traitorous passengers burned. Their fire zones were cratered wastelands, the ground churned
unrecognisably by the sheer power and fury of the barrage.
As he swivelled the gunsight around, he saw that the guns mounted in Mars bastion had been equally thorough. The guns of the
Dragon bastion covered the southern approaches to the Christo, and Chu could well imagine the frustration of its commander that
the gunners in the Kane and Mars bastions had got the glory of the first kills.
Chu returned the gunsight to his own fire zone. The wind was beginning to clear the smoke more rapidly and he could make out
shapes moving in the dusk. Chu was surprised there was anything left alive down there. He switched up a level of magnification
as the smoke cleared still further and saw more vehicles through the haze: the armoured personnel carriers that he had briefly
glimpsed just prior to the commencement of the barrage.
He pressed the range finder button on the armament panel and cursed as he realised the APCs and the warriors standing before
them were some hundred metres beyond the maximum range of his gun. A handful of stumbling shapes crawled or walked
towards the warriors. As he increased the magnification another level, Chu was suddenly sick to the pit of his stomach as he saw
the stained uniforms their targets were wearing.
Dust covered and bloodstained, but unmistakably the sky blue of the 383rd Jouran Dragoons. Horrified, he spun the gunsight back
to the cratered desolation his gun had helped to create, moaning as he saw more and more familiar uniforms scattered across the
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ground, lifeless and broken.
Chu felt his gorge rise as he realised what they had just done. The thought of winning a bottle of amasec from this slaughter made
him want to weep.
HONSOU WAS PLEASED. He had watched the barrage from the hilltop fort with calm detachment, noting how far the shells reached,
how long they had taken to travel to their targets and how wide each bastion's arc of fire was. The southernmost bastion had not
fired, but Honsou knew that, at this range, its big guns were irrelevant. Its artillery pieces could only cover the far southern
approaches, but the close-in guns and soldiers on the wall could sweep the face of the centre bastion with murderous crossfire.
His armour's auto-senses had easily penetrated the smoke of the barrage and, despite his hatred for the men in the fort, he
grudgingly admitted to himself that they were competent gunners. Competent, but not intelligent. Honsou now had an exact plan
of the fort's fire zones mapped out in his head. Normally an attacker would pay a fearsome butcher's bill to obtain such
information, but where was the cost when you could use prisoners?
Honsou watched the survivors of the artillery barrage stagger back from the killing ground and drew back the hammer on his
bolter. Looking at the sorry state of the men that emerged from the rolling banks of smoke, he realised that there was little point in
letting them live. Most would be no use as slaves, for how could a deafened man understand orders or obey them? What use was a
man with one arm? How could he dig a trench? And if they could fulfill no useful function then they were of no interest to
Honsou.
He nodded to his men and in perfect concert, the Iron Warriors raised their bolters and opened fire.
They worked their weapons left and right, shredding the pitiful survivors in a hail of mass-reactive bolts. Pleading faces screamed
for mercy, but the Iron Warriors had none to give.
Within seconds almost every last one of the five thousand prisoners who had advanced into the teeth of Tor Christo's guns was
dead.
Honsou watched a swaying figure emerge from the smoke, cradling her arm close to her chest, and levelled his bolter at the
woman's head.
Before he could pull the trigger, a gauntleted hand reached up and slapped aside his weapon. Snarling, Honsou reached for his
sword.
Kroeger whipped his own sword up to swipe Honsou's hand from the scabbard.
Honsou stepped back, his pale features twisted in fury.
'Damn you, Kroeger! You go too far.'
Kroeger chuckled and turned his back on Honsou, gripping the tunic of the sole survivor of the attack and hauling her level with
his face.
'Do you see this woman, half-breed? She has courage. She may be a lapdog of the False Emperor, but she has courage. Tell this
mongrel scum your name, human.'
Honsou watched the woman's features twist in incomprehension until Kroeger repeated his order. He saw the woman's eyes focus
on Kroeger's lips and realised she was probably deafened by the violence of the shelling.
At last she seemed to understand Kroeger's words and croaked, 'Lieutenant Larana Utorian, 383rd Jouran Dragoons. And you gave
your word—'
Kroeger laughed and nodded. 'Yes, I did, but did you really expect me to keep it?'
The woman shook her head and Honsou was surprised when Kroeger threw her towards one of his squad leaders and said, 'Take
her to the Chirumeks and have the wounded arm removed. Replace it and bring her to me.'
'You are sparing her life, Kroeger? Why? Mercy does not become you.'
'My reasons are my own, half-breed,' snapped Kroeger, though Honsou could see that he seemed just as surprised himself. 'You
would do well to remember that, but I am wasting my breath on you. The Warsmith demands you lead your men forward and
obtain information regarding the defences closer in. Now that I have the guns mapped I can begin the first parallel.'
'Before we know the sites of any close-in redoubts or traps?'
'Aye, we are to proceed with all speed. Or did you think that the Warsmith's orders did not apply to you?'
'You are unwise to begin the trenches before we know more,' pointed out Honsou.
'And you are a mongrel whelp, not fit to lead a company of the Iron Warriors. I can smell the stench of the ancient enemy upon
you. You and your disgusting bastard company. It is an affront that you wear the symbol of the Iron Warriors upon your shoulder
guard and I weep for the future of our Legion to know that unclean hybrids like you are counted amongst our number.'
Honsou fought to keep his bitter rage in check, clenching his knuckles white on the hilt of his sword. How easy it would be to rip
it from its scabbard and attempt to strike Kroeger down, but that was just what his rival wanted, for him to prove that he was not
worthy of the Iron Warriors. With difficulty, he forced down his anger, seeing the disappointment in Kroeger's eyes as he realised
Honsou was not about to rise to his challenge.
'It shall be as the Warsmith commands,' replied Honsou and turned away.
FIVE
NIGHT HAD CLOSED in completely as Honsou crept through the cratered wasteland before the walls of Tor Christo. The sky was a
dull, lustreless orange, streaked with scarlet bands drifting in the upper atmosphere. But to Honsou, the ground before him was as
clear as though he walked in the brightest sunlight, the augmented senses of his armour turning night into day.
Far behind him, the warriors of Forrix's company pegged out the arc of the first trench to be dug before the walls of the hilltop
fortress. Called a parallel, it was dug in line with the curtain wall of the fortress to be attacked. Deep, but narrow, it was just
Graham McNeill ?Storm of Iron?
outside the range of the fort's guns, and would form the first line of attack. From this first parallel would be dug the attack
trenches, known as saps. These would be driven towards the fortress on a line which, if extended, would miss the fortress, thus
preventing the garrison from firing down the length of them.
When the sap had reached a point where the Iron Warriors' artillery pieces had the range to the hilltop fortress, a second parallel
would be dug and breaching batteries placed to batter the walls to rubble in preparation for an escalade. Should it prove necessary,
more saps could be dug forward and a third parallel established to place yet more batteries that would lob high explosive shells
over the walls and into the heart of the garrison.
Honsou doubted that such a thorough siege would be required to take Tor Christo. The garrison would clearly be able to see the
progress the attackers were making and would, in all likelihood, abandon the fortress and pull their men back to the main citadel.
Taking Tor Christo was a necessary precursor to any assault on the citadel, but it was sure to be thankless, bloody work and there
would be little glory to be had in such a venture.
This current mission was a prime example of the gritty necessities of a siege. From a distance it was all too easy to rely only on
what you could see, trusting to distant observations to prepare a plan of attack on a fortress. Honsou had seen dozens of attacks on
fortifications founder due to lack of proper reconnaissance when attackers had run into previously unseen traps or redoubts that
rendered their plans obsolete.
Honsou kept one eye on the watchtower that commanded the plateau and one on the ground before him, careful to avoid any
fragments of shell casings or discarded weapons and battle gear. Sound carried further at night and the last thing he needed was to
be caught out in the open with no immediate support in the vicinity. He and forty warriors from his company crept through the
killing zone that had seen thousands of men die that very day, and by stealth, managed to get closer than any of the prisoners had
by direct assault.
Carefully, he stepped around a mine his auto-senses detected and dropped a marker for the following troops to avoid. The
minefield they traversed presented no significant threat to the Iron Warriors, but it would slow the digging if the prisoners and
slaves were afraid of unexploded munitions every step of the way. The crack of metal sounded and Honsou cursed silently as he
saw the ponderous form of Brakar Polonas, one of Forrix's senior engineers, step around the mine, marking its position on a lightproofed
data-slate. The venerable warrior walked with an awkward, limping gait, his left leg a bionic replacement. It seemed this
augmentation also made him incapable of moving quietly. It was a calculated insult by Forrix to send Polonas, letting Honsou
know that his information was only trustworthy if accompanied by verification. It was just another entry in a catalogue of
carefully measured insults to his prowess. He just hoped Forrix's clumsy insult didn't get them all killed.
He pushed the interloper from his mind as they continued forward, making good time despite their caution and Polonas's lack of
stealth.
Honsou was now less than two hundred metres from the base of the rocky promontory that Tor Christo sat upon. Already this
reconnaissance was bearing fruit. Ahead he could see three concealed artillery pits carved into the base of the hill. Rock-sheathed
doors led within and, were it not for the rails that would carry the guns forward into position, he might never have spotted them.
Again he was forced to admire the cunning of the architects of Hydra Cordatus. These artillery pits were designed to remain silent
and hidden until the Christo's attackers believed they had knocked out the fort's guns. Once attackers had established their
breaching batteries, these guns would unleash deadly salvoes of ordnance to destroy their artillery pieces.
They were dug at an angle into the rock face, making it difficult, if not impossible, to target with counter-battery fire and Honsou
realised that with this information he had a chance to prove his worth to the Warsmith.
He waved over his second-in-command, Goran Delau, and indicated the artillery positions.
'Clever,' observed Delau.
'Aye,' agreed Honsou darkly. 'It will be a devil of a job to destroy them.'
'Indeed.'
Honsou glanced round as the scrape of metal on rock sounded again, and he stifled a curse as Brakar Polonas noisily joined them.
'Why do we stop?' he asked.
Honsou didn't answer, he simply pointed towards the concealed artillery positions.
Polonas nodded, studying the positions with his practiced eye.
'We can mark their positions and shell them once the first parallel's batteries are in place,' suggested Delau. 'We can bring enough
rock down to block the guns.'
Polonas shook his head. 'I do not believe it can be done with guns. Look, there is a rock canopy built across the top of the door
and a ditch before them to catch any rubble that may be blasted loose.'
Honsou was impressed. He had not noticed those defences and his respect for the old man rose a fraction.
'Then we take the fight to them, and capture the guns now.'
Once again, Polonas shook his head.
'Keep your impatience in check, half-breed. We must not act in haste. Think about it. These doors lead within the rock of the
fortress, most likely just to this outwork, but possibly even to the main citadel. Were we to attack now, the enemy would simply
