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limited time to achieve their objective before they would have to fall back。 He climbed the steep exterior slope of the earthworks；
using the butt of his pistol for purchase。 His soldiers scrambled over the parapet with a roar of released fury。
A grenade detonated nearby； showering him with earth and he slipped； feet scrabbling for grip。
A gauntleted hand reached down and closed on his wrist； lifting him easily across the parapet in a single motion。 He was deposited
on the firing step beside a broken corpse； and swiftly drew his power sword。 The Space Marine who had hauled him over the
parapet turned and began firing a bolt…gun into a mass of enemy soldiers in red overalls。 His brethren were pushing further into the
entrenchments as the Imperial Guard scrambled over the parapet and into the battery。
'Thank you； Brother…Captain Eshara；' said Vauban breathlessly。
The Imperial Fists captain nodded； slammed a fresh magazine into his bolter and said； 'Thank me later。 We have work to do；'
before turning and charging from the firing step。
Graham McNeill ？Storm of Iron？
Gunfire and explosions lit the trenches and dug…outs of the battery with strobing light； screaming soldiers and wounded men
providing a cacophonous backdrop to the attack。 Hundreds of Jourans poured over the earthwork； killing anything in their path。
The Chaos soldiery had been caught largely unawares； and the Imperial troops offered no quarter to the unready foe。 Storming
parties slaughtered the enemy soldiers； shooting them where they lay or stabbing them with bayonets as they scrambled for
weapons。
Fifteen gigantic war machines were situated here； enormous howitzers and long cannons with barrels so wide a man could stand
upright inside。 Bronze plates embossed with skulls and unholy icons were fixed on each machine's flank； and thick chains looped
around giant rings were securely bolted to their track units。 There was a terrible sense of menace surrounding the siege engines
and Vauban had a gnawing sense of wrongness in his gut。 He knew without doubt that such blasphemous creations should never
have been allowed to come into existence。
The Imperial Fists swept efficiently through the battery； securing its perimeters and killing the war machines' gunners。 They
established themselves in strong positions around the approach trenches and parallel； ready to hold off the inevitable
counterattack。
Vauban dropped from the firing step and shouted； 'Alpha demo team； with me！ Bravo team with Colonel Leonid！'
Two dozen men followed him towards the machines and； even over the crack of small…arms fire； Vauban shivered as he felt the
pulse of monstrous； daemonic breath grating along his spine just below the threshold of hearing。 He stepped across scores of
corpses； making his way quickly towards the daemon engines。 As he and his men drew near； the sense of wrongness grew stronger
and stronger。 As he set foot on the metal decking where the machines were chained； agonising pain ripped into him and he felt his
guts cramp and his knees buckle。 Terror seized him as his mind was filled with the unshakable belief that to touch these unholy
monsters was to die。
He could see he was not alone in this hideous sensation。 Soldiers were dropping to their knees； some vomiting blood as the
daemonic aura of the nightmare machines washed over them。 Chains rattled and metal groaned beneath them as the war machines
supped on the red liquid； a bass thrumming building from the line of daemon engines。
The sounds of bolter fire intensified from the edges of the battery； and Vauban knew the Iron Warriors must be counterattacking；
fearful of losing their hellish artillery。
They couldn't fail！ Not now they had come so close。
Vauban pushed himself to his feet； gritting his teeth against the waves of sickness that wracked him and dragged the soldier
nearest to him to his feet。
'Come on； damn you！' he yelled。 'On your feet； soldier！'
The man grabbed his satchel charges and stumbled after Vauban； his face contorted in terror and agony。 The two men lurched
towards the nearest machine； its chains jangling furiously and geysers of steam venting from corroded grilles。 A furious static
descended upon his vision； like looking through a faulty holo。 A bitter； metallic taste flooded Vauban's mouth as he bit the flesh of
his lip to keep from screaming。
Then； as suddenly as it had begun； the pain and terror vanished like the light from a snuffed candle。 Vauban felt a huge； pressing
weight lift from his mind。 His lungs heaved and he spat blood； spinning as he heard a booming chant from behind him。
One of the Imperial Fists； his yellow armour decorated with numerous purity seals and one shoulder guard painted blue； strode
towards the daemon engines； his proud voice clear and true。 He carried a carved staff of ebony； coils of blue light coruscating
along its length。
Vauban did not know the warrior's name； but knew by his words that their saviour was a psyker； one of the Chapter's Librarians。
Somehow； he was fighting against the corrupting power of the daemon engines and protecting them from its malign influence。
Ghostly streamers of insubstantial energy flared from the icons and markings on the armoured flanks of the war machines。
Vauban could see by the sweat pouring in runnels from the Librarian's face and the pulsing vein in his temple that the effort of
holding their daemonic essence at bay was stretching him to the limit。
The Librarian had bought them a chance； but they would need to be quick。
'Quickly！' he bellowed over the bark of gunfire and explosions。 'Demo teams； plant your charges and let's get the hell out of here！'
The men with demolition charges picked themselves up from the steel decking of the battery and； under the direction of Vauban's
best ordnance officers； began placing the explosive charges at vital points on each daemon engine。 The vast machines strained at
their bindings； thrashing in fury at these mortals who dared to defile them。
As the men moved on to the next machine the vox…bead in Vauban's ear clicked and Captain Eshara's voice filled his skull。
'Castellan Vauban； we must leave！ The enemy are coming in overwhelming numbers with heavy support and I do not believe we
can hold them。'
'Not yet！' yelled Vauban。 'Give us enough time to set the explosives then fall back！ We need you alive！'
'How long do you need？' asked Eshara； his voice muffled by nearby shots and detonations。
Vauban looked along the line of bucking war machines and said； 'Give us four minutes！'
'We'll try！ But be ready to move when you see us falling back！'
'HOLD ON A minute！' snapped Hawke。 'Attach the bronze cable with the sacred halo symbol to the two pins with the what？'
Even over the vox…link； Hawke detected more than a trace of impatience in the magos's voice as he answered。
'The bronze cable attaches to the pins with the demi…cog symbol。 Just like I said before。 Once you have—'
'Hold on； hold on…' grumbled Hawke； fiddling with the cable clips as he fought to find the correct pins and hold the wire steady
over the exposed circuitry。 The illuminator on his respirator was growing dim and he had to squint to see the symbols Beauvais
was talking about。 There！ He reached in and snapped the clips over the pins； flinching and almost losing his balance when they
sparked violently and burnt his fingertips。
He grabbed onto the steel gantry he was lying on and tried not to think of how high above the floor he was。 The gantry was solidly
Graham McNeill ？Storm of Iron？
constructed； one of several bolted to the wall at various points around the room； presumably for technicians to carry out routine
maintenance to the torpedo。 He seriously doubted it was used for people trying to hotwire the device。 Behind him； a mesh grille in
the wall led off into darkness。 It had taken him a frustrating twenty minutes to climb the ladder； find the correct access panel in the
side of the giant torpedo and use Hitch's knife to undo the sacred bolts that held it in place。
And over the past hour； he'd been mildly electrocuted twice； burnt his fingers three times and almost fallen thirty metres to the
solid rockcrete floor。 Hawke was not a happy man。 He steadied his breathing and spoke into the vox。
'You might have bloody warned me！' he complained。
'Is it done？'
'Yes； it's done。'
'Very good； you have now armed the torpedo。'
Hawke pushed himself back along the gantry； suddenly very alarmed at the prospect of this armed behemoth being less than a
metre from his head。 'It's armed。 What next？'
'Now we have to inform the war…spirit within the torpedo the whereabouts of its victim。'
'Uh…huh…' shrugged Hawke。 'And how exactly do I do that？'
'You don't。 I will perform that sacred task。 Now； I need you to remove a red and gold cable embossed with the rune of telemetry；
then—'
'The what？ Just tell me what the damn thing looks like。'
Beauvais sighed。 'It resembles a winged triangle with a cog at its centre。 It is connected to the war…spirit's seeker chamber。 That's
the gold box at the top of the panel。 Once you have the cable； plug it into the vox…unit's remote triangulation output socket and
wait。 Once the lights on the vox stop flashing； reattach the cable to the war…spirit's seeker chamber。'
Hawke found the plug and pulled it from the panel。 He swore as he saw it would only extend some fifteen centimetres from the
torpedo。 He lifted the vox unit to the edge of the gantry； propping it against one of the uprights。 He slotted the cable home；
watching as the front panel of the vox unit faded and the lights arranged around the dial flickered in strange patterns。 As the
sequence continued he propped himself up on one elbow； looking up at the top of the giant torpedo。
The top of the giant missile was rounded and strangely irregular。 There was a serrated； spiral groove cut in the warhead and
Hawke guessed that this was to help it burrow through the thick hull of a starship before detonating deep inside。
He waited for several minutes before the clicking sequence of lights finally stopped； then unplugged the cable and reconnected it
to the torpedo。 He thought he heard a noise below and glanced over the gantry。 Dismissing it； he returned his attention to the
torpedo as Beauvais came back on the vox。
'The war…spirit now knows its prey； Hawke。 Now you must speak the Chant of Awakening to set it on the hunt。'
'Ok； Chant of Awakening… right。 And after that； then what？'
'Simply strike the rune of firing upon the—'
Beauvais never finished his sentence as a hail of bolter fire ripped through the vox and blasted it to fragments。 Hawke jumped in
shock； grabbing onto the upright； very nearly going over the edge of the gantry。
'Emperor's holy blood！' he swore； grabbing his rifle and pressing his back against the cold metal grille in the wall behind him。 His
breath pounded in his throat and his heart beat wildly against his chest。 What the hell was going on？
He risked a glance over the gantry and saw a giant in iron…grey power armour with a smoking gun and a mechanised claw snaking
over his shoulder。 Men in red uniforms clustered around the warrior； all carrying rifles aimed upwards。
A deep voice； rich and full of threat drifted up to him。
'You are going to die； little man。 You have led us a merry dance； but now it is over。'
Hawke shut his eyes tight and whispered； 'Oh damn； oh damn； oh damn…'
INCANDESCENT FIRE ERUPTED from the first demolition charges； vaporising the chains and bindings holding the first daemon
engine in place。 Painstakingly wrought symbols of arcane protection were incinerated and the mechanical components of the war
machine ran molten under the volcanic heat of the explosion。 The scream of the daemon engine's death whiplashed around the
battery as the terrifying creature bound within its infernal mechanisms was freed by the blast。
Those closest； even though well clear of the explosives' blast radius； were swatted to the floor of the battery by its shriek of
release。 A swirling hurricane of etheric energy； insane geometries warping through its daemonic form； tore through the Jourans
with the power of the immaterium； turning men inside out and exploding others from within as it shrieked in the throes of its
dissolution。
HONSOU HEARD THE screech of one of the creatures