an opportunity to take the fight to the enemy before they were able to properly deploy their Battle Titans。 Despite his reservations;
Fierach was elated at the prospect of taking his warriors into battle。 While their duty to protect this citadel was sacrosanct; it was
not the most satisfying of postings for a warrior who had forged his reputation on countless battlefields throughout the galaxy。 The
honour and kill banners hanging from the Imperator Bellum were the latest in a long line。 Many that had previously been carried
into battle were now hanging in the Chapel of Victory on the Legion's homeworld of Mars; their roll of honour scarcely able to
contain the sheer number of battles won and enemies slain。
Fierach removed his senses from the tactical plot; grunting in satisfaction as Moderati Yousen reported; 'Lieutenant Colonel
Leonid reports that Force Anvil is in position and ready to move out on your order。'
Fierach acknowledged the information with a raised finger; impressed at the efficiency of Leonid。 He had always liked Vauban's
second…in…command more than the castellan himself; feeling that Leonid was far more a natural warrior than Vauban。
'Very good; Moderati。 Open a channel to all Titans。'
Yousen's finger danced across the panel before him。 He nodded towards his princeps。
Graham McNeill ?Storm of Iron?
'All princeps; this is Fierach。 You all know what to do; so carry out your orders。 I wish you joy of the day and good hunting。 May
the Emperor guide your aim。'
He closed the channel without waiting for a response and trained his eyes on the red expanse of plain that stretched before his
Titan; noting the distant plumes of smoke that marked the locations of the enemy camp。
Fierach whispered a mantra of salute to the spirit of the Imperator Bellum and said; 'Engineer Ulandro; give me striding speed。 We
go to battle。'
PRINCEPS CARLSEN RELISHED the sense of speed that coursed through his body as his Warhound Titan; the Defensor Fidei;
sprinted ahead of the Legio's Battle Titans。 Less than half the size of a Reaver Titan; the Warhound was an agile Scout Titan; the
forward eyes and ears of the Legio。 Less well armed and protected; it was no match for larger Titans; but could tear apart infantry
formations with a combination of its deadly assault weaponry and speed。
His wingman; the Jure Divinu; thundered alongside him; keeping pace with his evasive manoeuvres to throw off any incoming
fire that might be directed at them。 There was none at the moment; but it never paid to be too complacent when your void shields
could be taken out with one good volley。
Carlsen turned to Moderati Arkian and said; 'Anything?'
Arkian shook his head。 'No; not yet。 But it won't be long now。'
Carlsen nodded and returned his attention to the ground before him。 A spur of rock from the valley sides some five hundred
metres away offered some protection should it prove necessary to take shelter from incoming fire。 The enemy line was a kilometre
away and he knew their speed would protect them from all but a desperately lucky shot。
Behind him; advancing abreast; came a portion of the armoured might of the 383rd Jouran Dragoons; and unlike the princeps of
the larger Titans; Carlsen had a healthy respect for infantry and armoured vehicles。 Friendly support was vital for a Titan of his
size。 Enemy infantry and vehicles could pose a serious threat to a Warhound。
'Have they even seen us yet?' he wondered aloud。
'Maybe we caught them at meal time;' offered Moderati Arkian with a grin。
'That would be handy indeed; but I think we've just disturbed them;' replied Carlsen as he spotted tongues of flame belch skyward
from artillery behind the monstrous earthworks thrown up before the enemy camp。
He jinked the Defensor Fidei sideways; keeping close to the valley walls。
LIEUTENANT COLONEL LEONID rode in the top of his command Chimera; the wind whipping past his face。 His goggles and
bandana kept the worst of the dust from his mouth and eyes; and; riding at the head of his tanks; he had a magnificent view of the
battlefield。 His bronze breastplate shone gold in the red afternoon sun and as he rode to battle he was filled with a fierce pride in
his regiment。
Like Fierach; he too had reservations about this attack; but seeing so many tanks roaring forward at speed with the ground shaking
to the tread of the Legio Ignatum; he was swept up in the glory of this charge。 Ahead he could see the traitor lines; their dark
fortifications raised high in an impossibly short time。 Whoever was organising this operation must be working his men to death。
Leonid watched the two Warhounds tasked to his storming force race ahead; their speed incongruous for such large machines。
Slower moving Reavers strode alongside his formation while the majority of the Legio advanced on the salient angle of the
attackers' trench line … the point where it bent towards the south…west and could bring the least amount of fire to bear。 The Titans
were to smash through the salient with the guns on Tor Christo covering their exposed right flank with the tanks and men of the
Jouran Dragoons covering their left。
At the same time; the Jouran armoured thrust would hit the east/west trench line; storming the trenches with four thousand
warriors hell…bent on revenge。 Leonid had allowed the true identity of those soldiers killed in the initial attack on Tor Christo to
become known and the Dragoons were hungry to avenge them。
Once the Titans had established their breakthrough; they would link with the fighting in the trenches; allowing them to sweep
forwards into the invaders' camp; wreaking whatever havoc they could before falling back in good order to the citadel and
avoiding the inevitable counterattack。
On paper it was sound strategy; but Leonid was enough of a warrior to know that few plans survived contact with the enemy; and
was prepared to exercise his own initiative if the situation turned sour。 But looking at the armoured might at his command and the
gargantuan god…machines that marched beside them filled him with supreme confidence。
Distant booms of artillery roared from behind him as the citadel's guns fired; supporting the attack with carefully arranged fire
plans that would hopefully keep the invaders' heads down until the charge was right on top of them and the men and women of the
Jouran 383rd smashed home。
Beneath the bandana covering his mouth; Leonid smiled to himself。
FORRIX WATCHED THE charging Imperial forces approaching their lines with disinterest; knowing that their circumvallations were
as secure as they could be。 He stood at the salient angle of the lines; watching the Imperial Titans march towards them。 The
transparency of their plan was obvious even from here。
The guns of Tor Christo opened fire; sending screaming projectiles towards their lines; but Forrix had been building fortifications
for thousands of years and was a true master of siegecraft。 The high; earthen ramparts of his trenches absorbed the worst of the
blasts and the damage inflicted was minimal。 A few parties of slaves fled their work; but as soon as they broke cover they were
shredded by the storm of explosions。
The guns from the citadel were also firing; wreathing the plateau in smoke; but Forrix had situated the first parallel beyond their
range so the Imperial defenders were simply wasting ammunition。 Thick grey smoke wreathed the plateau; obscuring the Imperial
tanks; but the Iron Warriors in the bunkers were able to penetrate such petty obstacles as smoke with their gunsights。
Graham McNeill ?Storm of Iron?
The Titans of the Legio Mortis stood behind the main lines; ready to be unleashed at the foe once the Warsmith decreed where
they should attack。 The Dies Irae stood motionless just behind him; its mighty guns awaiting the coming conflict。 Its form
shimmered as the void shield generators powered up; sheathing the machine in layers of protective energy fields。
Diesel smoke and the choking stench of exhaust fumes filled the air as hundreds of armoured tanks rolled through the campsite;
heading for the gateways in the defensive lines; ready to sally forth and engage the enemy。 Gunners in artillery positions cranked
their guns around to face the plain before the citadel; Tor Christo no longer their target for now。
Forrix could see Honsou and Kroeger marshalling their warriors for the coming battle; bellowing orders to the indentured soldiery
and thrusting them into the trenches。 He could practically feel their lust for battle and wished he shared it。 But this conflict
promised to be yet another that would eventually blur into a seamless life of slaughter for him。
Glancing round at the Warsmith's pavilion; he was again struck by the sense of impending change that saturated the Iron Warriors'
great leader。 There was always a feeling of barely contained power around the Warsmith; and Forrix's gut told him that his master
was on the brink of some monumental change; but what?
The gods of Chaos were fickle beings; capable of raising their servants to the highest pinnacles of daemonhood or dashing them to
a life of mindless savagery as a spawn。 It was for them to decide which and no one could predict what choice they would make。
Could this explain the urgency of the Hydra Cordatus campaign?
Was daemonhood to be the Warsmith's reward for its successful completion?
If so; might it not be possible for those who had accompanied him and aided him on that journey to follow in his wake; to ride his
ascension to newer and greater things; where the time spent since the defeat on Terra was just the blink of an eye and a universe of
potentiality might be opened up?
Forrix felt an unfamiliar sensation stir in his belly and was mildly surprised to find that the fires of ambition; which he had thought
extinguished forever; had merely been smouldering unnoticed in the farthest corners of his mind。
He returned his gaze to the Warsmith and a cold smile touched his lips。
PRINCEPS FIERACH STRAINED to see the enemy battle lines through the clouds of smoke thrown up by the barrage from the citadel
and Tor Christo。 Billowing banks of red dust hung in the air; rendering him virtually blind and he quickly voxed the senior
gunnery officers; shouting; 'All guns; cease fire! I repeat cease fire!'
A few explosions erupted before the traitor lines from shells already in the air; but Fierach could see that his order had been
obeyed with alacrity; the smoke that drifted from those impacts was not followed by fresh detonations。 He swung the ponderous
head of his Warlord to the left; looking to see what damage the citadel's guns had inflicted on the main trench line; but the slowdrifting
smoke frustrated his efforts。
He linked his consciousness to the Titan's sensorium; noting that his battle group was moving a little too fast; outpacing the slower
tanks of the Guard in their haste for battle。 Briefly he considered ordering Engineer Ulandro to reduce speed; but immediately
discarded the idea。 It did well to reinforce their superiority over the Guard now and again; and a little rivalry between the different
arms of the citadel's defenders never hurt either。
The smoke ahead parted momentarily and his breath caught in his throat as he caught a glimpse of something vast and