The Flight of the Eisenstein (16 page)

They reached the
Endurance's
commandery, the nexus of private chambers and sanctorum their pri-march took as his own while he was aboard, crossing the small atrium to the entrance. Garro saw another Death Guard walking in front of him, intent on the same destination, and to his concern he realised it was Ignatius Grulgor. The commander of the Second Company turned at the sound of a steel foot on the marble tiles of the floor and gave Garro a disdainful, appraising look.

'Not dead, then.' Grulgor folded his arms and looked down his nose. He was still wearing his wargear, where Garro had only simple duty robes.

'I hope that's not too great a disappointment to you,' Garro retorted.

'Nothing could be further from the truth,' lied the commander, 'but tell me, in your invalid state, would it not be safer for you to keep to your sickbed? In such a weakened condition-'

'Oh, for once in your life be silent,' snapped Teme-ter.

Grulgor's face darkened. 'Watch your mouth, captain.'

Garro waved the other Astartes away. 'I don't have time to spar with you, Grulgor. I will have the pri-march's ear' He continued on towards the doors.

'You're too late for that,' came the reply, 'not that the Death Lord would have deigned to spare his attention to a cripple. Mortarion is no longer aboard the
Endurance.
He's with the Warmaster once again, in conference on matters of the Crusade.'

'Then I'll talk to Typhon.'

Grulgor sneered. 'You can wait your turn. He summoned me here only moments ago.'

'We'll see who waits,' snapped Garro, and slammed the commandery doors wide open.

Inside, First Captain Typhon's head jerked up from the battle maps laid out on the chart table before him. Typhon's hulking armoured form was framed by a tall stained-glass window that looked out over the length of the warship's dorsal hull. 'Garro?' He seemed genuinely surprised to see the battle-captain up and walking.

'Sir,' replied Nathaniel, 'Captain Temeter informs me that my combatant status has not been restored.'

Typhon gave Grulgor a slight sign with his hand, a command to wait. This is so. The Apothecaries say-'

'I care little for that at this moment,' Garro broke in, ignoring protocol. 'I request my command squad be immediately tasked to the Isstvan III assault!'

A quick, almost imperceptible look passed between Typhon and Grulgor before the first captain spoke again. 'Captain Temeter, why are you here?'

Temeter hesitated, wrong-footed by the question. 'Lord, I came with Captain Garro, in, uh, support.'

Typhon gestured to Garro with a wave of his hand. 'Does he need support, Temeter? He can stand on his own two feet.' He gave a sharp nod at the commandery doors. 'You are dismissed. Attend to your company and the preparations for the drop.'

The captain of the Fourth frowned and saluted, giving Garro a last look before he exited the chamber. When the doors banged shut, Nathaniel met Typhon's gaze again. 'I'll have an answer from you, first captain.'

'Your request is denied.'

Why?' Garro demanded. 'I am fit to lead! Damn it, I stood and fought on Isstvan Extremis with a leg torn from me, and yet I cannot prosecute the Emperor's enemies with this tin prosthesis bolted to my torso?'

Typhon's hard amber eyes narrowed. 'If it were up to me, I would let you do this, Garro. I would be willing to let you stumble into that war zone and live or die on your own stock of bravado, but the word comes from his lordship. Mortarion makes this command, captain. Would you oppose the will of our primarch?'

'If he were here in this chamber, aye, I would.'

'Then you would hear the same words from his lips. If time enough had passed and your injury was fully healed, then perhaps, but not here and now.'

Grulgor couldn't resist the opportunity to twist the knife. 'I'll bring a little glory back for you, Terran.'

Garro's ire rose in a hot surge, but Typhon's gruff voice snapped out again before he could speak.

'No, Captain Grulgor, you will not. It is my decision that you will also remain with the orbital flotilla during the Isstvan III operation.'

The commander's arrogant bluster died in his throat. 'What? Why, lord? Garro, he is injured, but I am at battle-ready strength and-'

Typhon spoke over him. 'I called you here to give you this order personally, before I departed to board the
Terminus Est.
I was going to send a runner to Captain Garro with his orders, but as he has presented himself here before me, I see no reason why I shouldn't inform both of you together.'

The first captain stepped around the chart table towards them and took on a formal, commanding tone. 'Based on the battle plans of his excellence the Warmaster Horus and our liege the Death Lord Mortarion, it has been determined that you will both be assigned to duty stations with your command squads aboard an Imperial warship. This will be a supervisory posting. The rest of your great companies will remain in reserve. During the assault on Isstvan III and the Choral City, you will provide standby tactical support for the drop-pod deployment operation, and remain on alert to perform rapid-reaction interdict duties.'

A servitor approached Garro and handed him a data-slate containing the details of the official battle edict.

'Interdiction against what?' demanded Grulgor. 'Praal's army has nothing that flies, we destroyed it all!'

'Which of us will have operational command?' asked Garro in a low, resigned voice, paging through the content of the slate.

'That responsibility will be shared jointly' Typhon replied.

On some level, Garro felt defeated and empty, but at least he could draw small consolation from the fact that he would not have to face Grulgor lording his superiority over the men of his command squad. In an instant, the burning discontentment that had flooded through him cooled and faded. Garro's old, usual manner of dogged endurance came easily back to the fore. If Mortarion said it was to be so, then in all truth what right did he have to say otherwise? He hid a sigh. 'Thank you, first captain, for illuminating me. At your discretion, I wish to assemble my men and brief them on this new task.'

Typhon nodded. 'You are dismissed, Captain Garro.'

Nathaniel Garro turned and walked away, the clicking of the steel foot a ticking metronome for his discontent.

Grulgor made to leave as well, but Typhon shook his head. 'Ignatius, a moment.' When Garro had left the chamber, he stepped closer to the commander. 'I know you feel that I have slighted you, brother, but believe me, the reverse is so.'

'Indeed?' Grulgor was unconvinced. 'The key batde of this campaign and you tell me I must watch it from orbit, corralled in a tin can with a gang of swabs, and Garro playing the wounded martyr? Please, my esteemed first captain, tell me how this thing does me such great honour!'

Typhon ignored the sarcasm. 'I spoke to you before of our master's desire to bring Garro to the Warmas-ter's banner over Terra's, but we both know that Garro will not change. He's too much the Emperor's dutiful warrior.'

Grulgor's brow furrowed. 'Isstvan III... Could this be the turning point?' Typhon said nothing, watching him. 'Perhaps...' He nodded slowly, forming his thoughts. 'I think I see an intention emerging: the unusual pattern of mission assignments to specific units from the Legions, instead of complete companies. One could imagine that the Lord Horus seeks to isolate the elements that do not share his convictions.'

Typhon nodded. 'When the turning point, as you call it, arrives there are certain duties Horus would have you perform.' His voice dropped. 'Despite Mor-tarion's munificence and lenience towards him, I know Garro will attempt to betray our liege lord and the Warmaster.'

Grulgor nodded in return, for the first time exactly aware of his position in the scheme of things. 'I will not allow that to transpire.'

Garro stood in the centre of the armoury chamber and repeated Typhon's words. He forced away the chill impression of storm clouds and building threat, the sense of vast and silent machinations thundering unseen above him. Garro put these things aside and spoke to his men as their brother and commander, preparing them for the battle to come. There were grumblings of dissension, but Hakur stamped on them immediately, and in good order the assembled squads of Astartes began their arming procedures prior to embarkation to their new posting.

'This ship, sir,' said Sendek, 'the vessel where we're to be sent. Do you know anything of it?'

'A frigate,' replied Garro. 'It's called the
Eisenstein!

Hard Landing Life-Eater Decision

It was the honour of the Death Guard that they be the first Astartes to set foot on the surface of Isstvan III, in the mission to restore the world to compliance. Ullis Temeter's heart swelled with martial pride to know that he and the men of his company would form the very point of the spear tip. The captain's drop-pod hammered into the compacted mudflats adjoining the Choral City's trench lines with a solid thunder of torn earth. The concussion of the landing echoed over and over as hundreds more pods rained from the sky in burning red-orange streaks, half-burying themselves in the dirt.

The invasion force numbered in the thousands, with warriors of every rank and stripe coming in hard, cold fury to the surface. In the minds of each Astartes there was anger and censure for the rebels, and the Death Guard were but a part of the multiple brigades of warriors and war machines turned to that purpose.

The flanks of Temeter's pod flew open, propelled by explosive bolts, and he took his first breath of Isst-vanian air to call out to his men.

'For Terra and Mortarion!' The captain led his command squad out of the shallow crater their landing had created and opened fire, laying down a chattering fan of tracer against a group of turncoat soldiers who had ventured close to observe.

Vardus Praal had prepared his defences well, gutting the forest that had previously stood in this place and making the flat landscape into a sparse killing ground of Uenches, tunnels and low bunkers. Beyond it, a few kilometres distant, were the outskirts of the Choral City itself. The cool blue-white sunlight of the day made it glitter and shine. Temeter saw more streaks of fire descending on the city proper, towards the striking shapes of the Precentor's palace and the Sirenhold: the drop-pod assault elements of the World Eaters, Emperor's Children and the Sons of Horns.

He smiled. The Death Guard would meet them soon enough, but first he had a punishment to mete out. The ttaitor Praal's men had fashioned these earthworks in defiance of the Emperor's call to obedience, and it was Captain Temeter's duty to show them the error of their ways. It would have been a simple matter for the Astartes invasion force to bypass the uench lines and land behind them, but to do that would have sent the wrong message. It would have implied that the fortifications were somehow a challenge to Imperial might, when clearly they were nothing more than a minor impediment. So, Temeter and the Death Guard would walk into the fire corridors of the Isstvanian lines. They would rend and destroy them, and march on to the Choral City to show these deluded fools the math. Nothing could stand in the way of the Emperor's will.

The Astartes moved across the dull mud in a thick line of marble-grey and green armour, a heavy wave of ceramite and flexsteel fording snarls of razor wire and barriers made of rough-cut tree trunks. They strode through kill points and shrugged off hails of stubber bullets. Some of Temeter's troops paused here and there as they found concealed pop-up hatches and closed them permanently with melta bombs.

The captain glanced back and saw the venerable dreadnought Huron-Fal moving to his right flank, the spread clawed feet of the hulking warrior churning up the mud. Sprays of fire from the twin-mounted cannons on Huron's right arm lanced out and blew huge divots of clotted earth from the enemy lines, sending traitor soldiers scattering.

The defenders of the Choral City wore drab fatigues that matched the colour of the dull mud, but such pitiful attempts at camouflage were rendered useless by the image intensification lenses and infra-red prey sight functions of an Astartes helm. He gave the command in battle-sign for the line to split into skirmish parties and watched as the warriors broke into packs.

Temeter knew most of the men in this detachment by name or reputation, although there were some Death Guard here today that he had never fought with. The Warmaster's deployment plan for the assault, while sound, was not one that Temeter himself would have constructed. Rather than follow the traditional lines of unit by company division, Horus had combed the Legions for individual squad-level elements and assembled a force that drew men from dozens of different companies.

It was the captain's understanding that this had happened not only with the Death Guard, but also in the World Eaters, the Emperor's Children and Horus's own Legion. He had to admit, the strategic thinking behind such a selective deployment was beyond him, but if the Warmaster had ordered it to be so, then he had no doubt there was a reason for it; privately, the captain of the Fourth was pleased to have a battlefield to himself for a change, able to fight without taking a back seat to Grulgor's grandstanding or Typhon's brutal tactics.

The foe was regrouping, recovering from the shock of the initial landing to the point where their fire was no longer random. Over the flat blares of ballistic shot, Temeter's keen hearing captured scratchy, atonal sounds that sounded like singing. He had read the after-action chronicles from Isstvan Extremis and knew of these so-called 'Warsingers' and their strange choral witchery. It seems that here on the third planet, the arcane power of their peculiar music also held sway. Temeter raised his combi-bolter and began a symphony of his own.

The Eisenstein was an unremarkable vessel, an older pattern of ship in the frigate tonnage grade, just over two kilometres in length from bow to stern. It bore some resemblance to the newer Sword-class craft, but only inasmuch as most Imperial ships shared a similar design philosophy. Almost every line vessel in service to the Lord of Terra was constructed of congruent elements: the dagger prow, the massive block of sub-light and warp drives, and forged between them amidships of crenellations and complex sheaves of steel.