In the 200th year of the Emperor's Great Crusade

'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.

The Redemptor keyed his vox. 'Brother Titus, are you and the rest of the squad in position?' he called.

'Affirmative,' the Dreadnought replied in his metallic voice. 'I have you on my surveyors now.'

'Very well,' Nemiel said. 'Fire at will.'

Two hundred metres north, at exactly the same spot where Kohl and Nemiel had reconnoitred the fortifications a half-hour before, Brother Titus stepped around the corner of the burnt-out building and readied his assault cannon. The weapon's six barrels began to spin with the ominous, rising whine of electric motors until they were little more than an iron-grey blur. The Dreadnought surveyed the enemy positions with a single sweep of his sensor turret and fired a long, roaring burst.

Diamantine-tipped, light armour-piercing rounds raked across the northern bastion and then down along the parked APCs. The shells blasted craters in the formed permacrete; enemy troops caught in the open were literally blown apart by the high-velocity projectiles. The rounds punched through the thin armour of the easternmost APCs turret and touched off one of the shells in the ammo feed; it blew apart in a yellow fireball and filled the vehicle with a storm of deadly shrapnel.

The remaining warriors in Kohl's veteran squad fanned out around the Dreadnought and began advancing across the no-man's-land toward the bastions, firing as they went. Their shots added to the storm of shells and drove the stunned rebels behind the nearest cover.

The turrets of the three surviving Testudos quickly swerved to target the threat bearing down on them from the north. 'It's working!' Brother Marthes shouted. 'They're going after Titus!'

'Let's not leave him hanging any longer than we have to,' Nemiel replied. 'Increase speed!'

The two APCs roared down the tramway at full throttle, seemingly racing for the safety of the fortifications around the gateway. As they drew close to the parked rebel vehicles, a sergeant rose to a crouch and began pointing urgently to positions alongside the berm, but both of the Testudos shot right past.

'Uh, Brother-Redemptor Nemiel?' Marthes said. 'You didn't mention anything about a barricade between the two fortifications.'

'We couldn't see between the fortifications during our reconnaissance,' Nemiel answered. 'Can we break through?'

'We're about to find out,' the Astartes said grimly. 'Brace for impact!'

A second later the Testudo struck a pair of permacrete construction barriers that had been laid across the entrance to the forge. There was a tremendous crash, and a grinding of metal on stone, and the forty-tonne APC bucked skyward like a broaching whale as its sloped bow carried it over the lip of the barricade. There it might have remained, had not the second APC crashed into it from behind.

The impact shoved the Testudo further forward, bearing over the barricade and forcing it into the gap beside the two bastions. The APC came to a stop, bow dragging across the tramway after having its front two wheels ripped completely away.

'Lower the ramp!' Nemiel shouted. Outside he could hear urgent shouts and the crack of lasguns.

He heard a hollow booming at the back of the troop compartment, then a grating of metal as Brother Ephrial forced the partially-jammed ramp open. The sounds of battle flooded into the compartment: angry shouts, the crackle of las-bolts, the distant snarl of the Dreadnought's assault cannon and the hollow bark of boltguns. Las-bolts began to strike the side of the APC in a staccato hail of small explosions.

Ephrial forced his way out of the wrecked Testudo and opened fire, snapping off short, controlled bursts at the ramparts of the bastion to the north. Cortus was next in line, and made it out significantly faster thanks to having enough room to throw himself against the ramp and drive it a bit further to the ground. A las-bolt struck him a glancing blow across the back of the helmet as he emerged into the open; he shook his head like an angry bear and struggled to his feet, his bolter spitting death at the rebels.

'Marthes! Let's go!' Nemiel shouted.

The Redemptor clawed his way forward, his crozius clutched in his fist. He emerged into a veritable storm of fire from both sides of the gateway, and found himself staring at the sight of Brother-Sergeant Kohl's APC, lying on its right side atop the crushed remains of the barricade. The Dark Angels had succeeded in deploying their ramp and were now trading shots with the rebels in the southern barricade from behind the shelter of the wrecked vehicle.

Nemiel drew his bolt pistol and headed right, firing shots up at the ramparts of the northern bastion as he went. The fortification was like a three-storey stepped pyramid, with a rampart and firing positions at each level. Unfortunately for the rebels, there was only a narrow frontage that actually looked down into the space between the fortifications; the defences were designed primarily facing outward, covering the hundreds of metres of kill zone and the long, wide tramway. Rebel troops were now crowded along those narrow ramparts, pouring lasgun fire down at the Astartes, but the Dark Angels were taking a fearsome toll of the bunched-up troops.

'Brother-Sergeant Kohl, get your section moving!' Nemiel called over the vox. 'Ephrial! Cortus! With me!'

He ran stiff-legged towards the far end of the bastion, close to the actual gateway. As he expected, there was a ramp leading up into the fortification proper. 'Grenades!' he ordered. Ephrial and Cortus immediately pulled a pair of fragmentation grenades from their belt dispensers, set the fuses and threw them up and over the first-level rampart. Nemiel was already charging up the ramp, bolt pistol ready.

The grenades went off with a pair of muffled bangs and a chorus of agonised shouts and screams. Nemiel reached the top of the ramp; it turned sharply to the right, opening onto the first rampart. It was a standard Imperial fortification, right out of the field manual, and he knew its layout well. He rounded the corner, firing his bolt pistol and charging the stunned rebels with a fierce battle cry.

The rampart was a scene of carnage. Dead and wounded men were slumped at the base of the narrow, trench-like passage, shredded by bursts from the Dreadnought's assault cannon or blown apart by mass-reactive bolter shells. The survivors retreated down the length of the rampart, firing wildly as they staggered over the bodies of their comrades. More las-bolts rained down from the ramparts above; they detonated against his armour's broad pauldrons or glanced from the top of his curved helm. Nemiel kept moving forward, firing methodically and killing a soldier with each well-placed shot. Ephrial and Cortus joined him in moments, firing up at the higher ramparts to suppress the enemy fire.

The rampart ran for fifteen metres due west, then doglegged sharply to the north-east. At the corner, Nemiel paused and threw a grenade of his own, then followed right on the heels of the blast. Several metres behind him, he heard the shrieking blast of a meltagun, and knew that Marthes had joined them at last.

Around the corner the rampart ran for more than forty metres in a straight line, its weapon emplacements looking out over the killing ground that Brother Titus and the rest of the squad were currently advancing across. The parapet here had been savagely chewed by the Dreadnought's assault cannon and Brother Marthes's heavy bolter, and there were far more dead rebels than live ones still holding the trench. Fifteen metres down the line another ramp led up and back to the second level.

The rebels fell back a bit further in the face of Nemiel's advance, but held their ground rather than give up the next ramp. They poured fire from their lasguns at the advancing Astartes, but the las-bolts were meant for lightly-armoured humans, not walking juggernauts like the Dark Angels. Nemiel advanced doggedly into the whirlwind of fire, pummelled by shot after shot. Warning icons flashed insistently on his helmet display, and he overrode each and every one. Gathering his strength, he charged the last ten metres until he was in close-combat range. Then the slaughter truly began.

The blazing crozius swept down in hissing arcs, smashing helmets and crushing bone. There was nowhere to run in the narrow space; nowhere to manoeuvre or try to sneak around Nemiel's flanks. The rebels were forced to stand and face his wrath directly, and he slew them without mercy. When their courage finally broke and they turned and ran down the remaining length of the rampart, Nemiel realised he was thirty metres past the second-storey ramp, and his armour was caked in blood up to mid-thigh. He'd been treading on burnt and broken corpses for a full ten minutes.

Down on the tramway another APC exploded in a shower of molten steel. Brother Titus and the rest of Kohl's squad were almost to the berm, and the remaining rebel troops were in full retreat, withdrawing on foot as quickly as they could down the tramway in the direction of the captured star port. Behind Nemiel, Cortus, Ephrial and Marthes were trading fire with the rebels on the second storey. The Redemptor slapped a fresh magazine into his bolt pistol and went to join them.

The rebels fought doggedly, forcing the Astartes to fight for every metre they climbed, but the Dark Angels were relentless. Nemiel took the lead once more, firing away with his bolt pistol until he could draw close enough to wield his deadly crozius. He was wounded half a dozen times. Las-bolts burned through weakened spots in his armour and seared the flesh beneath. Once a rebel soldier charged him with a bayonet-tipped lasgun and jammed the blade into the joint of his left hip. The point dug deep into his flesh and snapped off when Nemiel smashed the man to the ground with a backhanded sweep of the crozius, but the injury scarcely slowed him by that point. Victory was close at hand.

They threw the last of their grenades at the top of the third ramp, and they rushed forward to meet the rebels' last stand. Ephrial fell during the charge, shot through the right knee. He landed on the permacrete, his crippled leg extended beside him, and continued to blaze away at the enemy with his bolter. At the top of the pyramid the Astartes were able to spread out and attack the enemy at once, and a wild melee raged for almost three full minutes before the last of the rebels fell beneath Nemiel's crozius. He searched among the bodies for the commander of the detachment, but there were no officers to be found.

'North bastion secure,' Nemiel reported over the vox. 'One casualty.'

'South bastion secure,' Brother-Sergeant Kohl answered a minute later. 'No casualties to report.'

'Gateway secure,' Brother Titus reported. 'Brother-Redemptor Nemiel, I am detecting movement inside the forge complex; approximately six contacts, heading this way.'

'Very well,' Nemiel replied. 'I'm coming down. Brother-Sergeant Kohl, leave one member of your section behind as a lookout, then link up with me in the gateway.'

Nemiel left Brother Ephrial behind to stand watch from the northern bastion and headed down to ground level. Off to the north-west, he could hear the rumble of petrochem engines and the squeal of tank treads. New signals over the company command net indicated that the Tanagran Dragoons had broken through and were almost to the tramway.

Kohl and his warriors reached the gateway at the same time as Nemiel. Brother Titus stood squarely in the breach, his smoking assault cannon trained down a wide avenue that ran northeast into the vast complex.

'Where are the contacts now?' Nemiel asked the Dreadnought.

'Two hundred metres northeast,' Titus answered. 'I'm getting strange returns on my surveyors. Whatever they are, they are making good use of cover and avoiding direct line of sight.' He paused. 'I don't think they are rebel troops.'

'It could be Tech-Guard,' Askelon said. 'There has to be a garrison of some kind here to defend the forge.'

'Let's hope so,' Nemiel replied. 'Although it looks like the enemy managed to penetrate at least into the outer districts before we arrived. We need to investigate the returns, no matter what.' He turned to the Dreadnought. 'Hold the gate, Brother Titus. This shouldn't take long.'

Nemiel led the group through the gateway and into the precincts of the Mechanicum. The roadway beneath his feet wasn't permacrete, but a kind of smooth, grey metal cladding. It rang softly with each step, and continued northeast in a laser-perfect line towards the distant slopes of the great volcano. Tall, dark structures rose to either side of the roadway. Warehouses, Nemiel reckoned, or manufactories idled sometime during the rebel attack.

The Redemptor moved forward, peering intently into the shadows surrounding the silent buildings. He knew basically where the six individuals ought to be, but try as he might, he could not spot them. 'They must be around the corner of one of these structures,' he said quietly. 'If so, they likely don't know we're here.'

Techmarine Askelon shook his head. 'I wouldn't count on that,' he replied. 'If they're Tech-Guard, they could have surveyors that rival those of Brother Titus.'

Nemiel didn't like the sound of anything that could see farther and keener than he could. 'Stay sharp,' he told his warriors, and pressed ahead. After just fifteen metres, Brother Titus called over the vox.

'The contacts are moving,' Titus reported. 'They're thirty metres north-by-northeast and heading your way.'

The Astartes orientated on the bearing given by the Dreadnought, their weapons held low but ready. Ironically, it was Brother Cortus, the one-eyed Astartes, who spotted them first. 'There!' he said, indicating a narrow alley off to the left with a nod of his head.

Six figures were spilling from the alley and fanning out in a semi-circular formation, heading straight for the Astartes. As they emerged from the shadows between the buildings, Nemiel could see that they were massive individuals, each one easily as large as an Astartes, and just as powerfully built. Articulated armour plates covered their hyper-muscled bodies, and even from this distance Nemiel could clearly see that their limbs and heads were heavily augmented with bionic and chemical implants. Their arms were fully weaponised, with an assortment of fearsome-looking energy and projectile weapons and lethal close combat attachments. He could hear them speaking to one another in blurts of binaric code as they advanced. Their augmetic eyes glowed a pale green from within burnished metal frames.

Nemiel turned to Askelon. 'What are they signalling to one another about?' he asked.

The Techmarine shook his head. 'I can't tell, sir. It's all highly encrypted. But their weapons systems and combat surveyors are fully active.'

Nemiel turned back to the oncoming figures. 'Do you recognise them?'

'Oh, yes,' Askelon said. 'They're skitarii; more specifically, a unit of Praetorians. They're the Mechanicum's elite guard.'

The Praetorians continued to advance, snapping and squealing to one another in sinister-sounding code. Nemiel took a step forward, making a point to lower his weapons.

'Ave, Praetorians,' he began. 'I'm Brother-Redemptor Nemiel, of the Emperor's First Legion. We've come to help defend the forge—'

The rest of Nemiel's greeting was cut short as the Praetorians raised their weapon arms and opened fire.