‘Ninety degrees to starboard,’ ordered Brahe. ‘Show it our big guns. Target enemy battlegroup with the portside batteries.’

The ship rumbled around as torpedoes from the smaller craft accompanying it raced towards the octed. The turn was performed in the face of decelerative force, and the vessel moaned as it was forced around, but it was done quickly. The orbital moved out of view of the forward oculus. Side views were brought onto the main hololith tacticarium.

‘Open fire!’ roared Guilliman as the ship lined up. ‘Bring it down!’

Banks of macrocannons boomed in series along the side of the battleship, their recoil making the command deck shudder. Energy had to be diverted to the integrity fields that held the ship together, so great was the violence of the guns combined with that of the turn. Giant munitions slammed into the incomplete temple-station, pruning it of spear-tipped arms and breaking its hub. Bombs designed to kill whole worlds were deployed to ensure its demise. After two volleys, all that remained of the octed was an area of spinning orbital debris a thousand kilometres across and still expanding.

‘And so they see, no fane to their Dark Gods will they raise that I shall not cast down!’ said Guilliman. ‘These traitors oppose the will of the Emperor’s last faithful son. They will learn the error of their ways. Ten thousand years some of them have defied the Emperor. Their lives end now!’

There was no vessel powerful enough to defy the Macragge’s Honour. There were a few remaining Chaos battleships, and under different stars they might have been a match for the venerable flagship, but the Imperial fleet outnumbered the traitors and Guilliman wielded his armada expertly. The traitors were disunited. The last battleships were quickly isolated. Unwilling to act in concert at first, then rapidly made unable to do so, the disparate battlegroups of the Chaos fleet could do nothing to halt the Macragge’s Honour as it powered through the debris field of the temple-station and towards the world beyond. As the Imperial fleet swung into orbit, the stratosphere flashed to the discharge of ground-based defence lasers.

The Macragge’s Honour rocked to the impact of multiple hits.

‘Master Divulgatus, send my words to the fleet,’ said Guilliman.

‘My lord,’ the Master Divulgatus replied.

‘The station is destroyed!’ said the primarch. ‘The way is open. All landing ships move forward. Begin deployment of main ground attack. In the face of their fire, put down your armies and your legions. Generals of the Imperium, it is time to scour this world clean.’

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Last Flight of the Greyshields

A furious shaking gripped the Rudense. The wailing of alarms filled the air, accompanied by the dull, edge-of-hearing crackle of void shield generators working to capacity. Then the clamour was done. The insertion craft broke through the enemy line, and the Unnumbered Sons readied themselves to go to war one final time.