KROEGER WATCHED THE slaughter before the trenches with fierce longing, his fist thumping against the side of his Rhino in time
with the crack of explosions. The carnage was pleasing to him, though he was disappointed the Imperials had not had the courage
to even reach their lines. His sword was unsheathed and was yet to draw blood. Its spirit would be angered if it was to be
scabbarded unwetted. It took all Kroeger's willpower not to climb aboard the Rhino and order a full advance, but he could not do
so unless decreed by the Warsmith.
Kroeger stood resplendent in his freshly polished armour, the burnished iron gleaming like new. The female prisoner he had
spared from the initial massacre had restored his armour's lustre, and though he still couldn't say why he had not killed her, it was
pleasing to him to have a lackey of the Emperor serve him. There was more to it than that, but he did not know what, and the
feeling that the decision had not been his would not leave him. Kroeger dismissed the woman from his thoughts; he would
probably kill her within a day or two.
The din of battle echoed from the valley sides and the discordant clash of steel on steel was music to Kroeger's ears. For thousands
of years, Kroeger had lived with this sound and he wished he could make out the huge shapes battling through the smoke to the
west, where the Legio Mortis grappled with the enemy Titans. There was a battle indeed! To fight in the shadow of such creations
was to fight in the realm of true death, where a warrior's life hung by the threads of chance as well as skill.
Kroeger impatiently stalked to the edge of the trench's firing step, watching the wall of smoke and flames with hunger. He cast his
gaze over the troops that waited either side of him, pitiful humans who thought that by their service to the Iron Warriors they
would be honoured in the sight of Chaos. He despised them.
Further west, Kroeger could see Honsou and his company of mongrels. Honsou also looked impatient to enter the fray, and in this
at least, Kroeger knew they shared a common bond.
He heard the rumbling of powerful engines behind him and turned to see three massive Land Raiders moving into position at the
main gateway. The frontal ramp of the mighty vehicle in the lead dropped with a heavy clang and a powerful figure, clad in ornate
Terminator armour stepped out into the red, afternoon sun.
Forrix marched across the steel decking that bridged the trench and joined Kroeger on the firing step, an ancient and heavily
ornamented combi-bolter clutched in his right hand, while the left was a monstrous, crackling power fist.
'The Warsmith has decreed that we are to attack,' said Forrix.
'We?' asked a bemused Kroeger. Forrix had not taken to the field of battle in nearly three millennia.
'Yes, we. I am an Iron Warrior, am I not?'
'You are that, Forrix,' nodded Kroeger as Honsou strode across to join them.
'Forrix?' said Honsou. 'You fight with us this day?'
'Aye, half-breed, I do. You have something to say?'
'No… brother. You do us honour with your presence.'
'I do,' nodded Forrix.
Kroeger and Honsou shared a glance, both equally puzzled and a little unsettled by this latest development. Kroeger laughed and
slapped a gauntlet across Forrix's shoulder guards.
'Welcome back, Forrix. It has been too long since you shed the blood of the enemy. I'll wager that power fist comes back with
more blood on it than even the half-breed or I can shed today.'
Forrix nodded, clearly uncomfortable with Kroeger's bonhomie. He shook off Kroeger's hand and snapped, 'Stay away from me,
Kroeger. You are nothing to me.'
Kroeger removed his hand with exaggerated care and took a step back.
'As you wish.'
Honsou stepped away from Forrix and returned to his position in the line just as Kroeger left the firing step to rejoin his company.
He cast furtive glances back towards the giant figure of Forrix, silhouetted in the deep red of the sky. Something had happened to
Forrix and Kroeger was instantly suspicious. There had been a fire in the ancient veteran's voice that Kroeger had not heard for
many centuries.
Something had rekindled Forrix's spirit and Kroeger suspected that the old general was privy to some secret that both he and I
Honsou were ignorant of. What that might be or how he came by it, Kroeger could not guess, but he would make it his business to
find out.
Further speculation was ended when a deafening roar sawed through the front ranks, blasting dozens of men on the firing step to
shreds. Heavy calibre shells ripped apart the lip of the trench in a hail of fire, sending earth and bodies flying in all directions and
a fierce grin broke on Kroeger's face.
Through the billowing smoke he could make out the blurred outline of what looked like a Scout Titan. He jogged quickly to his
Rhino, jumping onto the running boards and hammering his fist upon its roof.
Graham McNeill ?Storm of Iron?
The Rhino's engine roared as it powered forwards, following Forrix's Land Raiders through the gateway and into the smoke of
battle.
Kroeger stood tall and raised his chainsword for all his warriors to see.
'Death to the followers of the False Emperor!'
THREE
LEONID WATCHED THE loping forms of the Warhounds as they circled his position, pouring fire from their Vulcan bolters onto the
traitor lines. The men under his command cheered and punched the air at this show of defiance, though Leonid knew that was all
it was. The Warhounds would buy them time to regroup, but nothing more.
'All units, this is Colonel Leonid. Regroup and fall back to the rally point immediately. Do it quickly, we don't have much time,'
ordered Leonid as the deep throated roar of vehicles swelled from the traitor lines.
PRINCEPS CARLSEN JINKED his agile Warhound Titan from side to side, frantically evading enemy shots while attempting to
manoeuvre into a favourable firing position for his weapons moderati. Lie and Princeps Jancer in the Jure Divinu took it in turns
to dart forwards and hose the trenches with their Vulcan bolters and turbo lasers, shredding anything that dared show its face,
before rapidly withdrawing to safety in the smoke. Their height made a mockery of the protection offered by the firing step,
killing scores of men with each volley, but he knew that the casualties they were inflicting were largely irrelevant.
Without the heavier guns of Battle Group Sword, their efforts here were purely a delaying tactic. Carlsen had not believed his ears
when he heard Princeps Lierach give the order to abandon the Jourans in favour of going head to head with an Emperor class
Titan, and had listened with growing horror to the vox traffic flashing between the Battle Titans as they fought for their lives.
He and his brother Warhound were too far east to go to the aid of their brethren, and had had to content themselves with following
the Jouran armoured attack, though without the Reavers they had been forced to wait until the Imperial Guard either broke
through or were repulsed.
Las-bolts and bolter fire flared against his void shields, but he ignored them as irrelevant. It was the enemy tanks that gave Carlsen
cause for concern. Each time he'd gone forward, he had seen more and more of them lurking behind the trenches and knew it was
only a matter of time until the enemy commander counterattacked.
Three Land Raiders burst from the smoke, followed by a wide line of Rhinos and transports that looked like some bizarre cross
between a Chimera and a flatbed truck. The troops crammed into them screamed as they bounced along the ground towards the
retreating Guard.
'Princeps Jancer, with me!' shouted Carlsen as he turned his Vulcan bolter on the lighter vehicles following the Land Raiders.
Shells tore up the ground, stitching a path towards them and sawing three apart in a burst of flames and blood. All three exploded,
the shells ringing from the side of a Land Raider. The heavier vehicle lurched sideways, smashing into one of the Chimera trucks
and flattening it with a shriek of tortured metal.
The Jure Divinu appeared at his side, its guns bellowing with thunder and raking the enemy attack with deadly shells. Two Land
Raiders skidded away from the Titans, attempting to evade their guns, but Carlsen was quicker, lashing out with his Titan's foot
and catching the closest vehicle square in the side panels, buckling its armoured hull with ease and hurling the wreck through the
air.
The second slewed around, bringing its sponson mounted lascannon to bear and Carlsen felt the painful sensation of his void
shields collapsing as the Land Raider's gunners found their mark.
'Damn you!' yelled Carlsen, hauling backwards as the tank's guns fired again, the deadly beams flashing overhead.
'Moderati Arkian, get those shields back up! Now!'
Carlsen walked his Titan backwards, spraying the traitor vehicles with fire, careful to try and avoid the running soldiers of the
Imperial Guard. Sweat ran in runnels from his face as the strain of such precise piloting took its toll.
The Defensor Fidei stumbled as Carlsen brought one of its feet down upon the smashed hulk of a Leman Russ, the pilot's
compartment swaying dangerously close to the ground. The Jure Divinu stood sentinel over its brother Titan, firing and moving as
the enemy advanced more cautiously now.
'Arkian!' bellowed Carlsen, 'Where are my damn shields?'
'Working on it, princeps!'
'Work faster!' demanded Carlsen as he saw the two surviving Land Raiders emerge from the smoke on a direct course for him.
THE IMPERATOR BELLUM was dying, but Princeps Fierach was not about to give up just yet. Blood and sweat coated his features
and he was sure Moderati Yousen was dead. The Emperor alone knew what was going on in the engineering decks: he had not
been able to raise anyone down there. The Dies Irae was taking him apart piece by piece, but Fierach was not going down without
a fight, and it was taking terrible damage. The tanks that had accompanied the other enemy Titans had swept past him, content to
allow their war god to destroy him.
Fierach just hoped that the survivors of Battle Group Sword were able to protect the Jourans and allow them to escape.
Another hammer blow fell upon him and shooting bolts of fire lanced through his skull in sympathetic pain. What the Imperator
Bellum felt, he felt.
He brought up his chainblade, the now dulled edge scoring across the barrel of the Dies Irae's plasma annihilator. Gouts of searing
plasma energy spurted from the enormous gun, hissing clouds of superheated vapour geysering downwards and vaporising a
hundred men in its fury.
The Dies Irae stepped in and smashed its leg against Fierach's, buckling the knee joint and destroying it in an explosion of sparks.
Graham McNeill ?Storm of Iron?
Warning klaxons blared and thick ropes of blood ran from Fierach's mouth as he bit down hard on his tongue, the pain almost
unbearable. He vainly tried to step away from the enemy Titan, but the Imperator Helium's left leg was fused solid and he could
not escape.
The Dies Irae advanced again and hammered one of its weapon arms against the Imperator Bellum s torso. Fierach's Titan was
slammed sideways by the thunderous blow and yet more warning lights flared into life as systems failed all over his war machine.
He fought for balance, but the external gyros were smashed and he was forced to rely on his own reeling senses rather than those
of the Titan.
Amazingly, he was able to recover his balance and faced die Dies Irae once more, swinging his chainfist, the one system he knew
he could rely on.
The blade shrieked across the Dies Irae's midsection, tearing away great chunks from the beast's armour. Fierach knew an
Emperor class Titan's reactor was buried deep within its belly and if he could but hack through enough of its armour, then others
might later have a chance to slay the monster. The Dies Irae stepped aside and batted away the chainblade with the barrels of its
hellstorm cannon, planting the muzzle of its weapon flat against the top of his hissing leg joint.
Incandescent fire erupted from the weapon, explosive shells bursting at point blank range against his already damaged leg. The
joint exploded, the metal running molten like mercurial blood down the war machine's leg. Fierach screamed as he felt his Titan's
pain as his own, the feedback along the mind impulse unit frying much of his cerebral cortex.
The mighty war machine slumped sideways, the Titan's groin hammering into the severed leg, wedging the Imperator Bellum
there at an angle.
Fierach laughed hysterically as his fall was arrested.
'Thank you, old friend!' he screamed, and with one last herculean effort, forced his dying brain to command the Titan in one last
act of defiance.
The Imperator Bellum pushed off with its one good leg, lurching forward to smash its bridge section against the Dies Irae's head
with terrifying force.
The impact smashed the armoured front of the Imperial Titan's cockpit and Fierach's last sight before the Imperator Bellum's
reactor went critical was of a single, burning green eye as he was crushed against its surface.
FORRIX WATCHED THE Warhound in front of them back off through the smoke, realising its shields must have been knocked down.
'Follow it! Go after it!' he bellowed. The Titan was not just an enemy war machine to him now, it was a beast from the Olympian
legends and he felt a burning, primal desire to slay it. He almost laughed aloud at the passions seething within him. Emotions and
desires once thought lost forever rushed to the surface of his mind like a drowning man clawing for oxygen. He felt hate, bright
and keen, battle-lust hot and urgent, and desire as fervent as anything he had ever felt in his long life.
His new-found purpose was reawakening in all its visceral glory.
Forrix fixed his eyes on the viewing holo, watching the chaos of the battle before him. Another Land Raider roared alongside his
own, its lascannon stabbing into the smoke. He could see enemy infantry falling back towards the citadel, some carried on
vehicles or grabbing onto their running boards. Here and there, pockets of resistance fired on their attackers, buying time for their
