by Gav Thorpe
‘I feel good, Lord Corax. Strong, healthy.’
‘Ready to fight?’ asked Branne.
‘Yes, commander,’ said Diaro. He banged a fist against his heavily-muscled chest. ‘Ready to kill traitors.’
THE INTERNAL COMMUNICATIONS chime disturbed Corax’s study of the latest test reports on the new legionaries. He paused the flow of information across the three screens in front of him and activated the receiver.
‘Lord Corax, your presence at the command chamber is required,’ said Ephrenia. The primarch thought he could detect barely-suppressed laughter in her voice. ‘We have a situation that may need your intervention.’
‘Please be more specific,’ said Corax, reaching out to a mug of water balanced on the edge of his metal desk. He realised he had been cloistered in the study room for more than twelve hours.
‘We have detected two Imperial Fists vessels approaching Deliverance, lord,’ Ephrenia explained.
‘Report to me when you find out what they want,’ said the primarch. He took a gulp of water, savouring it as if it were fine wine. ‘The watch commander can surely handle this?’
‘Branne is on watch command, lord,’ said Ephrenia. Her smirk was almost audible. ‘The Imperial Fists vessels are under the command of Captain Noriz. The exchange is getting quite heated.’
Corax sighed, switched off the data screens and stood up.
‘Very well, I’ll be there soon,’ he said. ‘Make sure Branne doesn’t do something hot-headed, like opening fire.’
‘Yes, lord, I’ll do my best,’ said Ephrenia, trying not to laugh.
Running fingers through his thick hair, Corax stretched his shoulders and cracked his knuckles. It had been six days since gene-seed implantation had been completed on the first recruits and there was a stream of genetic data and physiological examination reports for him to digest if he wanted to take the project to its next stage. Whatever the reason for Noriz’s arrival, it was inopportune at best, and suspicious at worst. Was Dorn sending his man to keep an eye on the Raven Guard?
The primarch made his way to the conveyor and rose up through Ravenspire to the command chamber close to the pinnacle. As he entered, he could hear Captain Noriz’s voice over the vox. Branne was hunched over the communications console, a vox-link clasped in his gauntleted fist.
‘Your security protocol makes no sense, commander,’ Noriz was protesting. ‘I can see no benefit to such a delay.’
On the other side of the chamber, standing pointedly in front of the weapons armament panel, Ephrenia caught Corax’s eye. He walked over to her as Branne stabbed a finger into the reply switch.
‘You cannot enter Deliverance orbital space without prior authorisation, captain,’ said the commander. ‘Observe proper protocol and we will proceed.’
‘Commander Branne is demanding that the Imperial Fists leave orbit and request permission to approach,’ said the controller.
‘I have already explained the reason for not doing so,’ said Noriz. ‘You are compromising our mission here.’
‘Branne!’ snapped Corax. The commander spun around, obviously having not noticed the primarch’s arrival. ‘Explain.’
‘The Imperial Fists sent no hail after entering the system, lord,’ said Branne. ‘Our protocols dictate that they stand out from the vicinity of Kiavahr and request permission to approach. At the moment, Ravenspire is within range of their weapons.’
Corax crossed the room, forcing Branne to stand aside at the console. The primarch took up the transmitter.
‘Captain Noriz, this is Lord Corax,’ he said. ‘Why did you not declare your approach to Deliverance?’
‘As I told Commander Branne, Lord Corax, I wish knowledge of our presence here to be minimised,’ said Noriz after a slight delay. ‘A long-range hail would have announced our presence as surely as chorus of blaring trumpets. It is imperative that I speak with you. I have messages from Lord Dorn and the Sigillite.’
‘Commander Branne is correct,’ said Corax. ‘Please withdraw by one hundred thousand kilometres and prepare your ships to receive boarding parties. Commander Branne will meet you in person aboard your vessel to hear what you have to say. If he deems it necessary, he will then grant you authority to approach Deliverance and send a delegation to Ravenspire.’
There was a longer pause before Noriz replied.
‘As you wish, Lord Corax,’ said the Imperial Fists captain. ‘I take it that I should treat Commander Branne as your absolute authority?’
‘For certain,’ said Corax. ‘If you wish to keep a low profile, I suggest you retire out-orbit, to place Deliverance between your ships and Kiavahr. There will be no further long-range communication until Commander Branne has assessed the situation.’
‘Understood, Lord Corax.’
Corax turned to Branne and saw an expression of self-satisfaction, an expression that changed to one of contrition when the commander saw the anger in Corax’s eyes.
‘I might expect such behaviour from a lower officer, but you are a commander and you must set an example,’ Corax rasped. ‘You will be cordial and cooperative with Captain Noriz and extend him every assistance he requires.’
‘Aye, lord,’ said Branne, looking down at the decking. He raised his eyes for a brief moment before turning his gaze away again. ‘I admit that perhaps I was over-zealous in my application of procedure. In my defence, the Imperial Fists did breach our security and I was only telling them to do the same as you did.’
‘You forced me to support your stance, Branne,’ said Corax, voice edged with irritation. ‘I am not about to countermand the orders of one of my commanders in front of another Legion, but I do not agree with your response. Do not allow personal feelings to impede your duty again. I am returning to my chambers to continue my work. The next interruption I expect will be your full report on why the Imperial Fists have come here.’
‘Understood, lord,’ said Branne. He turned away and called to Controller Ephrenia. ‘Signal Alpha Dock to ready me a Thunderhawk.’
Corax watched the commander stride from the control room and felt a moment of worry. Something was eating at Branne, something between him and Agapito. The two of them had shown moments of ill-discipline since the return from Isstvan and their behaviour at Ravendelve had bordered on antipathy towards each other. Corax was determined to root out the cause, and if necessary he would find new commanders.
Despite his concern, Corax decided that, for the moment, it would wait. The gene-project was more pressing. When the next generation of Raven Guard was secure, the primarch would turn his full attention to the existing one. He was eager to move on to wider implantation, and chafed at the thought of waiting for the results of more tests. Within moments, his mind was full of thoughts on how to refine the new gene-tech, the problems with his commanders forgotten.
As the primarch made his way back to his chambers, he told himself to have patience. A moment of rashness now might ruin all of the hard work and achievements that had come before. Feeling calmer, he sat down at his desk and started the dataflow again.
THE INTERIOR OF the Wrathful Vanguard was very different to the inside of a Raven Guard vessel. It resembled more closely a fortress than a starship, the walls layered with plates of bare metal etched with Legion mottoes and ferrocrete slabs carved with the sigils and devices of the Imperial Fists. Buttresses reinforced every corridor, doors were arch-shaped and made of heavily bolted wood and bulkheads were cross-barred with gilded girders.
Branne did not think it ostentatious – not like some of the vessels of the Emperor’s Children he had travelled on – but there was an aesthetic that he found artificial and pompous. Raised in whitewashed cell blocks, the Raven Guard preferred the functional over the ornamental, and even since liberation Deliverance was only sparsely furnished and decorated.
The commander followed Noriz along a central passageway to a heavy elevator. A squad of Raven Guard followed a little way behind and they in turn were tailed by ten warriors of t
he Imperial Fists. Branne had not remarked on this welcome, still smarting from Corax’s admonishment, and had allowed Noriz his prideful show of authority.
The conveyor descended with only a whine of electric motors, unlike the clanking, rattling elevators of Ravenspire. There was room enough for all of the legionaries, allowing the Raven Guard and Imperial Fists to stand a few metres separated from each other.
They could not have been more dissimilar: the sons of Corax in their black, patched-up armour and the warriors of Dorn resplendent in yellow and gleaming gold. The Imperial Fists stood to attention in a uniform line, bolters held at their waists; the Raven Guard had gathered in a clump, bolters slung on their belts, arms crossed or hands on hips.
‘How are things on Terra?’ Branne asked, feeling that he should break the stony silence.
‘The fortification continues,’ replied Noriz.
Branne waited, but there was no further comment forthcoming. He looked at the Imperial Fists.
‘Your legionaries are turned out well,’ he said, thinking of something complimentary to say. ‘They are a credit to the Legion.’
‘We were fortunate not to be involved in the debacle at Isstvan,’ said Noriz. He glanced at the Raven Guard. ‘It is understandable that after such a disaster certain standards must be compromised.’
Taking in a deep breath, Branne resisted the bait.
‘We’re ready to fight, despite our appearance,’ he said.
‘I know you are, commander,’ said Noriz. ‘It was not a condemnation of your preparedness or your ability. Your armourium has shown remarkable ingenuity in affecting such modifications.’
‘We adapt, as ever. Hide some salt for the gruel, as we say.’
‘An interesting motto,’ said Noriz. It was hard to tell his mood from the modulation of his armour’s external emitters, but Branne detected amusement. ‘I am not sure what it means, though.’
‘You weren’t born in a prison, obviously,’ said Branne.
‘No, I was not, commander.’ The conveyor shuddered to a stop and the doors slid open. Branne’s armour detected vacuum as air blew out of the elevator in a gust that tousled the lanyards hanging from Noriz’s shoulder pads. ‘I hope you now understand why I insisted on full armour.’
They stepped out into darkness, footfalls silent in the void, the light from the conveyor casting long shadows over a floor of unpainted metal.
‘The vacuum is a precaution only,’ Noriz continued as he led the way. Suit lamps automatically sprang into life from the group as they moved further into the chamber. Turning, Branne saw that the walls were some considerable distance away, thirty metres or more. ‘We wished the cargo to arrive in pristine condition.’
‘Cargo?’ said Branne. His question was answered as his suit lamp played over a figure a few metres ahead. He stopped suddenly, taken aback.
As the legionaries converged, several rows of armoured suits reflected back their lamps. The metal and ceramite were bare, the suits silver and dull grey. Lifeless masks gazed back at the commander as he turned left and right. There were several dozen sets of armour, each locked in place against a strut welded to the floor.
‘Mark VI,’ said Noriz. ‘The latest design from Mars.’
Branne said nothing as he approached the closest rank of empty armour. It looked instantly familiar, at first glance little different from the Mark IV armour he wore. On closer inspection, the Raven Guard commander could see the subtle differences in panel shape and bonding, the thicker material of the flexible joints, the solid greaves covering the knees. Most obvious was the bolt-reinforced left shoulder plate and the helmet design.
‘They still require a little further work, I’m afraid,’ said Noriz. ‘Lord Dorn wished them shipped out to you as soon as we were able. They’re artificer-made, pre-production. You’ll be the first Legion in the Imperium to be issued with Mark VI.’
‘A nice gesture,’ said Branne. He ran his hand over the studded shoulder pad. ‘We performed combat tests on the prototypes for two years, during the campaign through Scalland sector. I see they’ve solved the problem of the abdominal plating we reported.’
‘Most of the improvements your Legion suggested were implemented,’ said Noriz, almost wistfully. ‘Protection is no better than the Mark IV, but the internal systems are far more efficient. The external cabling you see is supplemented by back-ups within the armour plate itself without compromising defence or adding excessive weight. Auto-senses have also been improved. In particular, auditory and olfactory pick-ups are much more sensitive. You will, no doubt, be pleased to hear that the stealth capabilities of this suit exceed that of any other variant.’
Branne nodded. ‘You called it Mark VI. What happened to Mark V?’
Noriz pointed at the Raven Guard legionaries.
‘With full production not yet begun on Mars, these are the only suits available. Our companion transport has another fifteen hundred of them, on top of the five hundred we are carrying. In the absence of reliable Legion supply lines, the Mechanicum have designated all non-standard or stop-gap designs as Mark V. Many of the improvisations made by your armourium after the dropsite massacre are being passed on to other Legions in the absence of replacement parts for Mark IV. Your legionaries already have Mark V, commander.’
‘Why us?’ said Branne. ‘I’m thankful for the help, but this is a long way to come to pay us a favour.’
‘In recognition of your part in testing the suits, and because you need them most. You have been honoured. The Mark VI is to be known as the Corvus suit.’
Branne laughed and jabbed a finger towards the conical faceplate in front of him.
‘Because we’re the Raven Guard and the armour has a beak?’ he said. ‘Some honour!’
‘It is named after your lord, as thanks for the part you have played and the losses you suffered when testing the prototypes,’ said Noriz, addressing his words to all of the Raven Guard. ‘Lord Corax is insistent that the Raven Guard will take the fight to Horus’s forces. Lord Dorn sends these gifts to your Legion as a mark of support and to assist in that endeavour.’
‘You think we don’t deserve them?’ said Branne, picking up on the captain’s tone. ‘They would be better used by the Imperial Fists on Terra?’
‘On the contrary,’ said Noriz. ‘If I were to put desire before duty, I would like just as much as you to strike back at the rebels. As it is, I must deliver this cargo and return to the Legion.’
Silence followed the captain’s remarks. He gestured for the group to return to the conveyor. Branne considered the Imperial Fist’s words, surprised by them. The doors to the elevator shut behind them and air hissed into the compartment. With a jolt, the conveyor began to ascend.
‘It must have taken quite a bit of effort to get to Deliverance,’ said Branne. ‘What with the warp storms and everything else.’
‘Navigation continues to be very difficult, yes,’ said Noriz. ‘In fact, the Seventh Legion fleet which Lord Dorn originally dispatched to–’
‘So it’s going to be a long journey back for you.’
‘It is, commander. I sense you are trying to imply something, but I do not know what it is.’
‘How many legionaries do you have with you?’ asked Branne, looking at the Imperial Fists squad.
‘One hundred and fifty,’ said Noriz. ‘I do not see how that would be relevant to our journey time.’
‘In your assessment, how many of your Legion are defending Terra?’
‘When I left, there were more than forty thousand Imperial Fists stationed at the palace,’ said Noriz. He grunted. ‘I think I understand your meaning, commander. One hundred and fifty legionaries would be a far more significant addition, relatively, to your force of a few thousand.’
‘I would have said that we need you more than Lord Dorn at the moment, but it comes to the same place,’ said Branne. ‘Communication is difficult though. We haven’t had more than a few scraps from Terra since the storms started. The astropaths
are trying hard, but they can’t break through the disturbance. You won’t be able to confirm a change of orders from your Legion command.’
‘I know that you think we Imperial Fists are intractable, commander, but we do not abhor initiative as you suggest.’ Noriz extended his hand. ‘If Lord Corax agrees, I would be honoured to suborn my command to the Raven Guard for the moment.’
Branne looked down at the proffered hand and then took it in a firm grip.
‘Glad you agree, captain,’ said Branne. ‘Happily for you, you’ll be under the direction of Commander Agapito, not me.’
‘Despite our early issues and personal differences, Commander Branne, I would have no problem serving under you. Against overwhelming opposition, you rescued Lord Corax and the remains of your Legion from Isstvan. That is a feat worthy of respect and praise. You are a Hero of the Imperium, commander.’
‘I am?’ laughed Branne. There were chuckles from the other legionaries, both Raven Guard and Imperial Fists. Since Isstvan, the commander had felt as if he had failed. The most important battle in the Legion’s history and he missed it. He and his warriors had been apart from the others, isolated from the bond that had brought the rest of the Legion together, Terrans and those of Deliverance. To hear Noriz speak of his actions in such terms allowed him for the first time to think differently about the matter. ‘If that makes me a Hero of the Imperium, we’ll have to come up with a new title for whoever kills Horus.’
‘It’ll be Russ,’ said one of Branne’s honour guard. ‘Just you wait. Once the Space Wolves get involved, this’ll be over quick.’
‘Maybe we’ll get to him first,’ said another.
‘Sanguinius,’ said Noriz, silencing the debate. ‘The Sons of Fenris are far away, still likely dealing with the aftermath of Prospero. As much as I admire your enthusiasm, the Raven Guard cannot match the might of the Luna Wolves. No, when the Blood Angels hear of this treachery, there’ll be no stopping Sanguinius. Lord Dorn calls him the Angel of Death, and I can’t imagine Fulgrim, Perturabo, Lorgar or any of the others wanting to step between Horus and the Angel’s vengeance. It’ll be Sanguinius, mark my words.’