Bitterness rose in him and he let it come； revelling in the ashen taste in his mouth。 Bitterness was easier than the stench of
desperation and frustration he smelled on himself； the knowledge that no matter how hard he strove； he would never be accepted。
The driver of his Rhino； once an Iron Warrior； now so mutated that he and the vehicle were virtual symbiotes； pulled onto the top
of the ridge； halting the vehicle beside that of Forrix。 The gnarled veteran acknowledged his arrival with the briefest nod of his
head； while beyond Kroeger ignored him。
Honsou allowed himself a tight grin。 No matter how bitter he felt towards his master； he could always take solace in the fact that
he was warrior enough to threaten Kroeger。 He knew that the Warsmith valued Kroeger； and if the headstrong captain of the
second company felt that Honsou was a threat； so much the better。
The Warsmith stood at the edge of the ridge； lost in thought； and Honsou shuddered in unreasoning fear as his eyes followed the
writhing of the damned souls that undulated within the substance of his lord's armour。 His eyes stung if he stared too long； but his
attention was claimed by something far； far greater than the Warsmith's armour。
Ahead； cupped within the red…brown rocks of the valley； sat the fortress complex of Hydra Cordatus。
Honsou could scarcely believe his eyes。 The perfection of the citadel before him was breathtaking。 Never before had he laid eyes
upon such a wondrous example of the military architect's art。
Ahead； hunched on a rocky promontory high above the plateau sat a small； three…bastioned fort； with sloped walls of featureless
rockcrete。 Before the centre bastion stood a tall； crenellated tower； with sweeping walls protecting the narrow gorge between the
left and centre bastions。 The tower commanded the plateau； though in a protracted siege； Honsou saw that it would be the first
location to be destroyed。 The height and steepness of the slopes leading up to the fortress presented a formidable barrier in itself；
and Honsou knew well enough that any assault on its walls would be bloody work indeed。 Every centimetre of the plateau before
the fort was sure to be covered by guns and diere could be no approach to the main citadel while this outwork remained in
Imperial hands。
But as his gaze travelled further north from the high fortress； Honsou forgot the impressiveness of the fastness atop the
promontory。 It was but the smaller cousin to the main citadel itself； and Honsou felt the blood thunder in his veins at the prospect
of attacking this mighty edifice。 Its proportions were so perfect that he wondered whether even he or any of the Iron Warriors
alive could have designed such a majestic creation。
Two vast bastions； each large enough to contain thousands of warriors； squatted threateningly on each side of the valley； the
majority of their armoured structure concealed below the slope of the ground as it angled downwards towards Honsou。 The
geometry of their construction was flawless； the precision of their construction a marvel。 A long curtain wall connected them and；
between the two massive bastions； Honsou could see the top of what looked like a forward ravelin； an angled structure shaped； in
plan； like a flattened V。 The ravelin protected the curtain wall and gate behind from attack； and could sweep attackers from the
faces of the two bastions with murderous flanking fire。 Both fronts of the ravelin were in turn covered by the faces of the bastions；
so there could be no refuge from the storm of gunfire and artillery。
Though the slope of the ground concealed the foot of the bastions and ravelin； Honsou knew that each would have a lethal mix of
ditches； fire traps； killing zones； minefields and other defensive traps。
Hundreds of metres of razor wire stretched out from the lip of the glacis； the slope built up at the forward edge of the ditch before
the walls to prevent them from being targeted with direct…fire artillery weapons； the wire forming a barbed carpet across the entire
floor of the valley。
Much of the remainder of the fortress was concealed from his vision by the angle of the ground and the cunning of its builders； but
in the centre of the northernmost face of the valley； Honsou could see a diamond…shaped blockhouse built high on the slopes； its
upper walkways bristling with guns。 Its positioning could only mean one thing： that it was protecting something below and out of
sight； possibly an entrance to the underground defences within the mountainside。
Graham McNeill ？Storm of Iron？
Positioned on higher ground； nearly a kilometre to the west of this blockhouse sat an ornate tower； crowned with winged angels
and carved from a smooth black stone。 Even from here； Honsou could see that it was not constructed from local materials； but
ones brought from off…world。 A statue lined walkway sloped down from this tower； vanishing from sight as it travelled below the
horizon of the bastion tops。
What its purpose was； or how such an exquisite piece of delicate architecture had come to be built in such a desolate place； was a
mystery； but Honsou paid it no heed。 Its strategic importance in any plan to attack this fortress was negligible； and thus it was
irrelevant to him。
Whoever had designed this citadel was a master of the art indeed and Honsou felt a fierce stirring in his belly as he imagined this
place churning with men and machines； blood and death； the thunder of artillery rumbling from the valleysides； blinding clouds of
choking； acrid smoke and the screams of men as they drowned in thick； sucking mud； crushed underfoot by the tread of mighty
Titans。
What secrets did this citadel hold？ What mighty weapon or unknown treasure was concealed within its walls？ In truth； Honsou did
not care； the chance to assault a place of such majesty would be honour enough。 That the Warsmith desired to unlock its mysteries
was sufficient for Honsou； and he vowed that whatever it took； whatever acts he had to commit； he would be the first across the
shattered rabble of this citadel's walls。
A hollow boom echoed from the sides of the valley and Honsou saw a puff of dirty smoke blossom from behind the walls of the
promontory fort。 Even as the shell arced through the orange sky； Honsou could see it would land short。 Sure enough； the shell
impacted over half a kilometre before their position on the ridge； throwing up great chunks of earth and a long plume of smoke。
The Warsmith stared in the direction the shot had come from and said； 'The battle has begun and it is time we learned more of our
foes' capabilities。'
He turned to his champions； nodding to Kroeger。
'Bring up the prisoners…'
FIVE
THE COMMANDER OF the 383rd Jouran Dragoons regiment； Prestre Vauban； took a lungful of tobacco from his cigar and closed his
eyes； allowing the acrid blue smoke to swirl in his mouth before exhaling slowly。 The thick cigar was a gift from Adept Naicin
and； while he normally preferred a milder cheroot； there was something strangely satisfying about the powerful taste of this
monstrous； hand…rolled cigar。
Naicin smoked them constantly and swore blind that a day would come when the Imperial apothecaries would finally admit that
cigars were a healthy pastime for a man to indulge in。
Vauban somehow doubted it； but it was hard to put a dent in Naicin's conviction once he had an idea in his head。 Vauban rested
his arms on the iron guard…rail and surveyed the landscape before him。
The view from the briefing chamber's south balcony was spectacular； to say the least。 The blazing orange sky had awed him with
its primal fire when he had first come to this world； but now its radiance simply nauseated him。 Much like everything else on this
Emperor…forsaken rock。 Ash covered mountaintops stretched as far as the eye could see； and were it not for his cold fury and the
thick pillars of black smoke burning far to the south…east； he might have been able to enjoy the rugged beauty of the scene。
Vauban would never forget the horror of the images of Jericho Falls he'd seen on the remote pict…viewers for as long as he lived：
the spaceport had burned red with the blood of his regiment。 That he could not have prevented it did nothing to ease the burden of
his soldiers' deaths。 They were his men and had a right to expect their commanding officer not to put them into harm's way
without good reason。 He had failed in his duty to his men and the pain of that failure was a splinter in his heart。
Jericho Falls in enemy hands； and so many dead it was inconceivable to the soldier in him。
Vauban caught himself staring at the magnificent panorama of steep…sided mountains before him； thinking about the battles to
come。
What would it matter if they lived or died here； he wondered？ Would the mountains crumble to dust； the wind blow any less
fiercely or the sun grow dimmer？ Of course not； but then he thought of the vile images he'd seen at Jericho Falls。 The evil they
promised was unlike anything Vauban had experienced before； and every nerve in his body recoiled at the thought of such forces。
They had no right to exist in the universe。
Beings who would wreak such carnage were； by their very nature evil and must be opposed。
It might not matter to the rocks and the sun whether they died here； but Vauban knew that such evil had to be opposed wherever it
appeared。
'Sir？' said a voice； rousing him from his grim thoughts。
A staff officer stood at the armoured door that led to the briefing chamber； coughing in the stagnant air。 He held a thick sheaf of
folders and papers clutched close to his chest。
'Are they all here？' asked Vauban。
'Yes； sir。 Everyone has arrived；' replied the officer。
Vauban nodded his acknowledgement as the staff officer gratefully retreated within。 He took a last look at the soaring peaks and
breathed deeply； drawing his sky blue uniform jacket tighter and buttoning his collar。
They might be at war； but appearances had to be maintained。
Vauban shivered； telling himself it was the crisp mountain air； but he only half believed it。 An enemy more evil that he could
possibly have imagined had come to this world。
Now they would plan how to fight it。
Graham McNeill ？Storm of Iron？
THE BRIEFING CHAMBER felt uncomfortably warm to Vauban； but he ignored the sweat prickling on his brow and made his way to
his chair at the head of the meeting table。 Regimental colours and plaques of all the regiments that had garrisoned this citadel over
the centuries lined the walls and Vauban nodded respectfully to the ghosts of his predecessors。
Every seat was taken。 The senior commanders from his battalions and heads of station were gathered around the long； oval table。
The commanders of his regiment sat along one side： Mikhail Leonid； his second…in…command； and the three battalion commanders
Piet Anders； Gunnar Tedeski and Morgan Kristan。 Along the other side of the table sat the representatives of the Adeptus
Mechanicus。 Adept Naicin sat with his gloved hands laced before him； smoking a long cigar； his artificial lungs purging the
smoke from exhaust ports along his flexing； silver spine。 A retinue of blind scriveners and auto…recorders stood behind him；
meticulously noting down their master's every movement and utterance。
Beside Adept Naic