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across the ground。 His men followed him unquestioningly。 To his left； he could see Kroeger gathering his men for the charge；
obviously realising that Honsou would beat him to the tower。
Honsou leapt onto the remains of the bunker； his iron…shod boot sinking into the molten rock。 The heat scorched his leg armour；
but it held firm as he pushed off and dropped into the heart of the defence。
He caught a glimpse of the carnage his men had inflicted and rejoiced to see that his labours had borne such bloody fruit。
Graham McNeill ？Storm of Iron？
Scorched and blackened limbs lay strewn about； all that remained of those stationed too close to the bunker； the backwash of the
melta impact had burnt flesh and bone to cinders in an instant。 An open mouthed head lay perched bizarrely atop a pile of rabble
as if placed there by some macabre prankster。 Honsou punched it aside as he passed。
Imperial soldiers were frantically reorganising their battle line as the Iron Warriors poured in through the gap in their defences。
Honsou could see a tank … a Leman Russ Demolisher … reversing from its revetment and bringing its ponderous turret to bear on
the attackers。 Honsou dropped as the sponson…mounted weapons sprayed shells overhead； the ricochets tearing up the blasted
rubble around him。 Another white…hot blast of melta fire flashed and the Demolisher's turret was engulfed in the inferno of the
impact。 Steam and smoke obscured the tank for brief seconds； but； unbelievably； it continued onwards through the boiling cloud。
Time slowed as Honsou watched the barrel of its main gun depress and knew that any second it would blast him to atoms。 Then；
with a terrific explosion； the turret lifted clean off； the tank detonating spectacularly from within as the shell exploded inside the
main gun。 Deadly shrapnel whickered through the Imperial ranks； scything men down by the dozen and ripping them to bloody
rags。 Honsou roared in release as he realised the heat of the melta blast must have warped the barrel enough to cause the weapon
to misfire and the shell to detonate prematurely。
He rose to one knee and opened up with his bolt pistol； raking his fire over those fortunate enough to survive the destruction of the
Demolisher； killing everything he saw in his battle rage。
Kroeger's blood…maddened berserkers clambered across the shattered walls of the redoubt； ignoring wounds that would have felled
a normal human a dozen times over。 Not for them the elegance of precisely orchestrated attacks using sound principles of military
engineering。 Bodies were hurled aside； ripped apart with their bare hands when there was no weapon to wield。
Honsou spotted Kroeger amongst his men； wading through a press of bodies； hacking left and right with his chainsword。 He raised
his own sword in acknowledgement towards his fellow commander； but Kroeger ignored him； as Honsou knew he would。 He
smiled beneath his helm and sprinted through the blazing wreck of the Demolisher towards the tower。
ADEPT CYCERIN WATCHED the battle raging below with analytical detachment。 His moment of panic had passed。 Now； secure
within the Hope； he watched the dance of attackers and defenders as coloured icons moving across a topographical representation
of the base。 Red icons surrounded the tower； periodically closing in； but each time fading as the fire of the defenders below saw
them off。
He felt mildly ashamed at the panic he had displayed earlier and resolved again to request ascension to the next level of symbiosis
with the holy machine。 He would seek permission once these impudent creatures had been defeated。 Despite his failures in the
past； surely Arch Magos Amaethon would not deny him again after his masterful defence of Jericho Falls？ He smiled to himself as
he watched yet more red icons fade from the slate。
The smile fell from his face as the icon representing the southern bunker faded from a steady blue to an ominous black。
'Operator Three； what's happened？' he asked。
'It's gone； destroyed；' replied Koval Peronus。 'One second it was there； now it's not！'
Cycerin watched； horrified as the red icons suddenly spilled over the location that had； only moments before； been one of the
lynchpins of his defence。 As the defences were breached； the entire line fell apart with horrifying rapidity。 The blue icons
vanished as they were systematically eliminated。 Cycerin could not even begin to imagine the carnage occurring less than twenty
metres from where he stood。
Eerie orange glows from the fires flickered through the armoured glass windows； but no sound penetrated the control room；
making it appear remote and detached。 Just below him； countless lives had been lost and there would be many more before this
day's slaughter was over。
He consoled himself with the knowledge that the tower itself was totally secure and that there was nothing more he could have
done to prevent this disaster。
A deathly hush fell upon the operators and staff within the tower as a massive thudding boom suddenly echoed up from the main
entrance。
'What in the name of the Machine was that？' Cycerin whispered in terror。
FORRIX WATCHED THE adamantium door shudder under the impact of the Dreadnought's siege hammer； the metres…thick door
buckling under the repeated blows。 It was only a matter of moments until the door would be ripped from its frame by the
screaming war machine。 Thick chains； looped through bolted rings； ran from its legs and shoulder mounts； where two dozen of the
strongest Iron Warriors stood ready to restrain the machine once it had broken down the door to the control tower。
He could well imagine the torment the damned soul bound within the armoured sarcophagus must be undergoing。 To be cut off
from the sensation of bloodletting； never to feel the beat of blood in your veins at the moment of the kill。 To be denied the thrill of
bare flesh against flesh as you took another being's life。 Such a fate was indeed misery and suffering。 It was small wonder that；
once confined to the shell of a Dreadnought； the scraps of flesh that awoke to find themselves confined within the cold； metal
walls of such an eternal prison could not escape the clutches of madness。
At least for those lunatic war machines； madness was some sort of release。 For killing held no joy for Forrix any longer。 Ten
thousand years of butchery and murder had allowed him to explore the deepest； most wretched corners of the human capacity for
cruelty and death。 He had shot； cut； tortured； strangled； snapped； choked； bludgeoned and dismembered uncounted souls in his
long life； yet he could remember none of them。 Each blended into a seamless segue of banal horror that had long since dulled his
senses and vicarious enjoyment of such slaughter。
Gunfire sounded sporadically； the last pockets of resistance being mopped up even now。 The half…breed's warriors were clearing
out the Imperial soldiers from the ruins of their barrack complex； and despite Forrix's contempt for Honsou's flawed heritage； he
had to admit that his rival was a competent commander。 Furthermore； he still believed in the dream of Horus； and the unification
of Humanity under the terrible Powers of Chaos。
Forrix watched Kroeger pace like a caged animal； straining to be let loose within the confines of the tower。 Kroeger's impatience
Graham McNeill ？Storm of Iron？
had long ceased to anger Forrix； now it simply irritated him。 The man was a proficient killer； and he had fought the Warsmith's
enemies for ten thousand years； admittedly； but he lacked the perspective that such an eternity of war and despair should bring。
Unlike Honsou； Kroeger had long since cast off any notions of the good of humanity。 He fought for greed； for slaughter and the
chance to exact a measure of revenge upon those who had bested them so long ago。
As for himself？ Forrix no longer knew what he fought for； only that there was nothing else he could do。 He had been damned the
instant he had spat upon his oaths of loyalty to the Emperor。 Now he could walk no other path。
His own warriors waited behind him； drawn up in serried ranks； ready to begin the massive logistical operation of landing tens of
thousands of slaves； workers； soldiers and war machines from orbit。 In the centuries since the betrayal on Terra； Forrix had
organised hundreds of such operations and could land ten thousand men and have them ready to march off in battle order in under
five hours。
Until they landed the Titans； the sheer mass of the tower was proof against their available weapons； and the Warsmith himself had
impressed upon Forrix the need for swiftness in this campaign。 He could not risk bringing the massive bulk carriers； essentially
vast barrack ships； down into low orbit until the control tower was theirs。 It was entirely likely that there were torpedo silos or
orbital batteries concealed within the mountains just waiting for the chance to down such valuable targets。
Once Kroeger had taken the tower he would begin the landings。
And then this world would burn。
KROEGER WATCHED THE Dreadnought rip the bludgeoned door from its frame and hurl the massive piece of metal through the air。
The mad howl of the machine echoed across the spaceport as its keepers dragged its massive bulk away from the low…ceilinged
interior of the tower。
He snarled and leapt through the shattered remains of the door； blood pounding through his veins in hot excitement。 His bloodlust
was up； stoked by the infuriating delays in achieving entry to the tower。 Screams and roars followed him； as a tide of armoured
killers poured inside the last bastion of the Imperial defenders。
Las…bolts burst around him and ricocheted from his armour； but nothing could stop his powerful form。 Around fifty men defended
the internal space of the tower； cowardly wretches who had allowed their comrades to be butchered while they had prayed for a
deliverance that would never come。
Kroeger charged straight for the heart of the defence as Iron Warriors armed with gargoyle…mouthed heavy bolters took up
position either side of the tower's door； spraying the defenders' barricades with shells。
Five powerful strides and Kroeger was amongst the Imperial soldiers； chopping and hacking with his sword。 Blood fountained and
cries of terror echoed from the gore…spattered walls as the Iron Warriors slew every man that stood before them。 It was an uneven
struggle and as Kroeger wrenched his sword from the belly of the last man； it was with a snarl of displeasure。 Where was the sport
to be had in slaughtering such weaklings？ The lmperium had grown soft。
Not one of these soldiers could have stood on the walls of Terra in the last days and held their head high。 Kroeger shook his head；
clearing his mind of ancient memories。 There was battle still to be had。
ADEPT CYCERIN SAT at his monitoring station and awaited death。 He listened to the shrieks of the dying echoing from the voxspeakers；
and felt his terror rise once more； suffocating in its intensity。 His hands shook uncontrollably and he had not been able to
move his legs for the last few minutes。 He was going to die。 The logic stacks in his engineered brain could offer no other probable
outcome； no matter how often he pleaded and prayed。
The staff of the command centre huddled； shaking； at the far end of the room； holding one another as death approached。 Koval
Peronus stood alone； holding a pair of laspistols pointed at the door。 Cycerin was under no illusion now as to how flimsy a barrier
it truly was and was impressed by the determination that shone from his underling's features。
Suddenly the awful shrieks and clamour of battle ceased from below and Cycerin knew that the soldiers were all dead。 Strange
how inviolable he had felt here； and how quickly that security had been stripped from him。 Watching Peronus； he saw beads of
sweat gathering on his forehead； muscles bunching along his jaw…line and noticed the barely perceptible tremor to his arms。 The
man was terrified； yet stood his ground in the face of insurmountable odds。 Cycerin was no soldier； but recognised true courage
when he saw it。
Stiffly； he rose from his seat； forcing his trembling body to stand beside Koval Peronus。 He may be about to die； but as an adept of
the Machine God； he would die standing before the enemy with c