Eshara pointed towards the sap that ran from the second parallel to the third。 Plumes of exhaust wreathed the trench in clouds of
blue oilsmoke。
'There is an almost constant stream of vehicles travelling back and forth from the forward trench。 The trench here is not being
widened or extended； yet the earthen rampart they build before it continues to grow。 That would suggest that there are mining
Graham McNeill ？Storm of Iron？
works being carried out below。'
Leonid swore。 He should have noticed that himself。 He cursed himself for a fool for not thinking of such a possibility。
'What can we do to stop it？'
'I have begun a series of countermines。 One from within a derelict building behind the inner wall and another from within the
Primus Ravelin。 When they are complete I will fill them with assault troops equipped with auspexes。 The troops also have charges
for blowing any tunnels they discover and the Adeptus Mechanicus have provided me with an unpleasant surprise for anyone
within those tunnels。 However； countermining is not an exact science； and we will need to be ready should the Iron Warriors
manage to bring down a significant portion of the wall。'
Leonid nodded； watching the activity on the plain with fresh eyes； picturing how the enemy would come at them； and devising
counters to meet them。
The citadel's first line of defence was the ditch； six metres deep and thirty wide； in which sat the Primus Ravelin。 After crossing
the ditch and ravelin； all the while under constant fire from the ramparts； the attackers would have still have to fight their way
across the walls。
And if the enemy did manage to carry the walls； then every building within the perimeter of the citadel was a fortress in its own
right。 From the stores of the Commissariat to the field hospital； each building was equipped with looped windows； armoured
entrances； and was capable of offering fire support to those nearby。
But many buildings had taken severe damage already and were continuing to suffer as Arch Magos Amaethon's ability to maintain
the shield grew weaker with every passing day。
All the defences needed strengthening； and the men of the Jouran Dragoons worked hand…in…hand with the warriors of the
Imperial Fists to make the citadel as impregnable as possible。 Eshara and Leonid watched the labours of the soldiers below and
were heartened by the sense of shared purpose and camaraderie they saw。
'My compliments； Castellan Leonid； your men do you proud；' observed Eshara； following Leonid's gaze。
'Thank you； captain； we have made fine fellows out of them。'
'Yes； it is a pity that war brings out both the best and worst in men；' sighed Eshara。
'What do you mean？'
'You have seen combat； Castellan Leonid； you know full well the barbarity soldiers are capable of in the fire of battle。 But look
around you： the bond of brotherhood that has formed here is something that only soldiers facing death can truly know。 Every man
and woman here understands that they may be dead soon； and yet they are in fine spirits。 They have seen the sun rise； but none
know whether they will live to see it set。 To know that and make peace with it is a rare gift。'
'I don't know that many soldiers would appreciate that。'
'Probably not on a conscious level； no；' agreed Eshara； 'but on a level they may not even be aware of； they do。 They fear death； but
only by facing it can they truly find their courage。'
Leonid smiled。 'You are a remarkable man； Captain Eshara。'
'No；' said Eshara； without hint of false modesty。 'I am a Space Marine。 I have trained my whole life to fight the Emperor's
enemies。 I have the finest weapons； armour and faith in the galaxy。 It is of no matter to me who I fight： I know I shall be
triumphant。 I say this without arrogance； but there are few foes in this galaxy that can stand before the might of the Adeptus
Astartes。'
In any other person； Leonid would have said Eshara's words were arrogant； but he had seen him fight in the battery and knew that
the Space Marine captain spoke the truth。
'I know I can defeat any foe；' continued Eshara； 'but your soldiers have no such knowledge； yet still they stand； knowing the
enemy is superior to them。 They are true heroes and will not fail you。'
'I know that；' said Leonid。
'Speaking of which； have you been able to raise your man Hawke yet？' asked Eshara； looking towards the mountains。
Leonid frowned and shook his head。 'No； not yet。 Magos Beauvais lost contact with Hawke just before the torpedo launched。 Once
the Adeptus Mechanicus got over their pique at having been kept out of the loop on that one； they went over the recordings and
filtered the last few seconds through their cogitators。 It seems that there was gunfire just before the signal was lost。'
'So you think Hawke is dead？'
'Yes； I believe he is；' nodded Leonid。 'Even if his attackers didn't kill him； the torpedo's engines would have。'
'A shame；' noted Eshara。 'I think I would have liked to meet Guardsman Hawke。 He sounds like a most heroic individual。'
Leonid smiled。 'Had anyone used the words 〃Hawke〃 and 〃heroic〃 in the same sentence a month ago； I would have laughed at
them。'
'An unlikely hero then？'
'The unlikeliest；' agreed Leonid。
FORRIX SWEATED INSIDE his armour； the heat and choking air of these tunnels an anathema to him after the planet's surface。 The
floor of the tunnel sloped down at a steep angle； rough…hewn steps leading into the sweltering depths of the mine。 The red rock of
this planet held the day's heat in a miser's grip； releasing it as night fell in baking waves。 Scores of slaves had died of heat
exhaustion already； but the tunnel was making swift progress。
Galleries already branched to either side of the main tunnel。 Lined with explosives to blow the lip of the ditch； they would allow
the attackers to descend into it。 Beyond these branches； the tunnel dipped more steeply in order to pass under the ditch； where the
drilling rigs pushed towards the main curtain wall。 Once this tunnel was complete； further galleries would be constructed beneath
a sizeable length of the wall's foundations and a vast quantity of explosives detonated to bring it crashing down。
Like the construction of the third parallel； it was dirty； thankless work and brought little glory to its builders。 Forrix knew he was
being punished； and the knowledge that his punishment was unjustified was a twisting knife in his gut。 He had watched Honsou
Graham McNeill ？Storm of Iron？
strutting around with the bionic arm that had once belonged to Kortrish； swaggering in his new…found favour。 Did he not realise
that it had been him； Forrix； who had nurtured his ambition； kept him hungry to prove himself？ And this was how he was repaid；
forced to toil like a slave； a beast。 He； the captain of the First grand company； labouring in the depths of a mine！
How could things have reversed so suddenly？ Less than a week ago； he had been pre…eminent in the Warsmith's eyes： credited
with the swift capture of Tor Christo and honoured with the direction of the advancing saps and parallels。 No matter that Kroeger
had allowed the daemon engines to be destroyed！ No matter that Honsou's incompetence had allowed the Imperials to launch an
orbital torpedo at them。
With the Warsmith on the brink of greatness； being stuck down here was the very last place he needed to be。
Jharek Kelmaur had confessed the truth of the matter after the debacle in the battery。 Forrix had gone to the sorcerer's tent with
murder in his heart and stormed in； his power fist sheathed in lethal energies。 He had lifted the shocked magicker from his feet and
thrown him across his alchemist's table； where a bound figure writhed in gurgling pleasure。
'You knew！' stormed Forrix。 'You knew the Imperial Fists would come to this place。 You knew and you did not tell us。'
Kelmaur picked himself up and rounded on Forrix； his hands spreading with the beginnings of a sorcererous incantation。 Forrix
smashed his fist into Kelmaur's belly； doubling him up； and lifted him from his feet。
'Do not waste your cantrips on me； sorcerer；' sneered Forrix； hurling Kelmaur to the ground and squatting beside him。 He wrapped
his gauntlet around Kelmaur's neck and bunched his power fist above the sorcerer's head； poised to pound his skull to destruction。
'You knew the Imperial Fists would come； did you not？'
'No！ I swear！'
'You are lying to me； Kelmaur；' snapped Forrix。 'I saw the look on your face when you told the Warsmith that the defenders had
not managed to send a warning。 You lied to him； didn't you？ There was a warning given； wasn't there？'
'No！' wailed Kelmaur。 Forrix slammed his power fist into Kelmaur's face； deactivating the energy field at the last second。
Kelmaur's nose broke and he spat bloody teeth。
'Do not lie to me again or I will keep the fist active next time；' warned Forrix。
'I did not… know exactly； but I feared there had been a signal sent。 It was so weak I knew it could not have left the system and
believed that no one would hear it。'
'But someone did； didn't they？'
'So it seems； but I took steps to try and prevent any intervention。'
'What steps？'
'I despatched the Stonebreaker to the system jump point to intercept any reinforcements。'
Forrix groaned at Kelmaur's foolishness。 'And it never occurred to you that this might well have allowed them to approach the
planet in the first place？ Your stupidity is galling。'
Forrix released the sorcerer and shook his head。 'Answer me this then； Kelmaur。 Why are we here？ Why does the Warsmith bid us
attack this place？ What drives us towards this citadel with such haste and； more importantly； what is happening to the Warsmith？'
The sorcerer did not answer immediately and Forrix reactivated his poed away； but not quickly enough。
The Iron Warrior gripped his robes and dragged him to his feet。
'Speak！'
'I dare not！'
'You will tell me or you will die。 Decide now；' snarled Forrix； drawing back his fist。
'Gene…seed！' wailed Kelmaur； the words tumbling from his lips in a desperate rush。 'This citadel is a secret bastion of the Adeptus
Mechanicus。 They store and monitor the purity of the Adeptus Astartes' gene…seed here。 There is a laboratorium hidden beneath
the citadel with enough genetic material to create legions of Space Marines！ The Despoiler had given the task of its capture to the
Warsmith in return for his ascension。 If we are successful； the Warsmith ascends to daemonhood！ If we fail； he will be destroyed；
reduced to the mindless horror of spawndom； cursed to live forever as a writhing； mutated monstrosity。'
Forrix lowered Kelmaur as the implications of such a prize sank in。
Gene…seed。 The most precious resource in the galaxy。 With such a prize； there would be no limit to the Despoiler's power and his
Black Crusades would carve a new empire from the ashes of the Imperium。 The scale of such a vision astounded even Forrix's
jaded senses。
Daemonhood！ To become a creature of almost limitless potential； with the power of the warp to call your own； to be able to mould
reality to your own ends and become master of a million souls。 Such a prize was worth any cost and Forrix now understood the
Warsmith's all…consuming need to break into the citadel。 And if that meant sacrificing every warrior here to achieve those ends；
then t