Weapons ready, the Dark Angels advanced across the landing field towards the closest of the Condors. Permacrete crunched underfoot; Zahariel glanced down and saw deep cracks running through the landing field's pavement. Here and there, he saw the tops of slick, brown and black roots pushing their way up through the cracks. Caliban's forests were not surrendering meekly to the Imperium's ground-clearing machines. His home planet was a death world, Zahariel had come to learn, and such places were nearly impossible to tame. Still, it surprised him to see so much damage to a site that couldn't be more than eight months old. Reinforced permacrete was built to resist the elements for centuries.

They came upon the first transport in line, approaching it from the port side. Zahariel saw at once that the Condor's cockpit, set between the craft's building air intakes, was empty. The Librarian circled around aft as the squad surrounded the transport. Bolt pistol ready, he peered up the open assault ramp into the red-lit troop compartment. It was empty, save for an open toolbox sitting in the centre of the bay.

'Access panels are open, starboard side,' Attias said, peering up at the ship's fuselage.

Zahariel walked around the transport and studied the open hatches. 'Auspex and vox arrays,' he said thoughtfully. 'I suspect the crews were running tests on their systems and trying to determine why their vox-units weren't working.'

'And then?' Attias said in his sepulchral voice.

Zahariel shrugged. 'I don't know. There's no sign of a struggle. No weapons damage to the transport. It looks like the crew just walked away.'

'Like Sarosh,' Attias declared.

'No, not like Sarosh,' Zahariel shot back. 'The people of Sarosh went insane. This has to be something different.'

Attias said nothing, his augmetic eyes lifeless and unreadable in a cold steel mask.

The sound of running feet resounded across the permacrete plain. Zahariel turned to see Brother Gabriel approaching at a dead run.

'Astelan says to come at once,' Gabriel called out. 'We've found something.'

NINE

Unto the Breach

'I see the Dragoons built the rebels some fortifications,' Kohl grumbled.

Nemiel and the sergeant were crouching at the corner of a burnt-out building some two hundred and fifty metres from the entrance to the forge complex, peering across a wasteland of rubble and twisted girders that had once been someone's hab. From their vantage point they could observe approximately five hundred metres of tramway and the tall, wide gateway that led into the outer districts of the great forge. Neither of the Astartes cared for what they saw.

At some point in the recent past the Imperial garrison had heavily fortified the entrance, creating a pair of permacrete bastions to either side of the gateway. Heavy weapons emplacements had been built to create a deadly crossfire covering the approaches to the gate, and revetments had been dug to provide cover for armoured vehicles as well. Buildings had been levelled in a two hundred metre swathe around the fortifications, creating a killing ground devoid of cover or concealment. It was a formidable strong-point by anyone's estimations, and Nemiel would have been encouraged by its presence, except for the fact that there were rebel troops manning the fortifications now instead of the Tanagran Dragoons.

'It looks like the Tanagrans at least put up a fight,' Nemiel observed. Their enhanced vision allowed them to scrutinise the bastions as well as any man with a set of magnoculars. 'Most of those gun emplacements have been knocked out, and there's a burnt-out tank in each one of those revetments. That's why the rebels have their vehicles parked along the tramway.

Kohl gave a pessimistic grunt. They could see four Testudos lined up along the berm, hull-down, with only their squat autocannon turrets showing. 'Wonder why there aren't any tanks?'

'They were probably called away to reinforce another part of the line,' Nemiel suggested.

The sergeant nodded. 'Bet those fields are probably mined,' he said, nodding at the wide expanse of churned earth that led up to the bastions.

The Redemptor shook his head ruefully. 'You're a veritable beacon of hope, brother.'

'Hope is your area of responsibility,' Kohl declared. 'Mine is, among other things, steering callow young officers away from minefields.'

'And for that we are all duly grateful,' Nemiel replied. Then he took a deep breath, focused his attention, and studied the bastions one more time.

He could see plenty of signs that the fortifications had come under heavy fire, but he couldn't extrapolate how the rebels had managed to overrun them. There were no bodies in the fields that might suggest an axis of advance, nor any burnt-out hulls of wrecked vehicles to indicate an armoured rush. If he could figure out how the enemy had managed to overcome the strongpoint, then the odds were he could make use of the same vulnerabilities as well.

'What do you think, brother-sergeant?' Nemiel asked. 'How are we going to take those bastions?'

Kohl studied the fortifications for another few moments. 'Why, I expect we run right up and ask them to let us in.'

Nemiel gave the sergeant a dark look, a gesture entirely wasted within the confines of his helmet. 'That's not very funny, sergeant.'

'As it happens, I'm not joking,' Kohl replied.

'Not so fast,' Nemiel yelled over the Testudo's roaring engine. 'The last thing we need is to spook some trigger-happy rebel gunner into firing at his own side.'

The two APCs were rolling down the tramway at a steady clip towards the forge entrance, wreathed in thick plumes of ochre dust and swirling petrochem exhaust. Askelon had used his servo arm and a plasma cutter to strip away everything he could from the interior of the vehicles, from the benches to the ammo baskets for turret autocannon, and still there was only enough room for one Astartes up front and three more in the troop compartment. Brother Marthes, who was driving the Testudo that Nemiel was riding in, would have to crawl out of the driver's compartment on his hands and knees before exiting via the assault ramp at the rear. For the hundredth time, Nemiel found himself wondering how he'd let Brother-Sergeant Kohl talk him into this.

'The sergeant said to make it look like we were running from something,' Marthes shouted back. 'If we're going too slowly, they might try to challenge us.'

'As opposed to going too fast and having them shoot at us?'

Marthes didn't reply at first. 'I admit it made more sense when Brother-Sergeant Kohl explained it,' he replied.

Nemiel shook his head irritably. At least Kohl had the decency to be the first member of the squad to volunteer for the scheme. He was in the second APC, along with Askelon, Yung and Brother Farras. Nemiel had Brother Cortus and Brother Ephrial in the cramped troop compartment with him. They were jammed in shoulder-to-shoulder in the noisy, exhaust-filled space and completely blind. Nemiel, closest to the driver's space, tried to crane his head around and see through one of the forward vision blocks, but he couldn't quite manage it. 'How far from the bastions are we?' he asked.

'One hundred and fifty metres,' Marthes answered. 'They saw us coming about a minute ago. I can see several of the Testudos aiming their cannons at us.'

Nemiel nodded to himself. No doubt the commander in charge of the garrison was trying to call them over the vox and find out what they were doing approaching his position. Askelon had taken pains to shoot the APCs antenna off with his bolt pistol, but would the rebels be convinced? Would they even notice, or simply decide to take no chances and open fire? It's what he would do in their position.