‘Kill with honour,’ declared Admonius. He raised his tempormortis, the black sands starting to run through the neck of the crystal bulbs. ‘Kill for the Emperor.’ With his free hand he pushed on his helmet, assuming his vow of battle-silence. As a Judiciar, it was his role to inspire with acts not words, proving his worth as a Chaplain. He lifted the long, square-tipped executioner’s relic blade and turned towards the open assault ramp, indicating for Nem­etus to proceed.

Nem­etus retrieved his cruciform storm shield from where it was stowed. Purple-red energy flowed across its surface as he activated the field generator within. The ten warriors of Temerity and Audacity drew their chainswords, the rev of their motors felt as a slight tremor through the decking. Readying their heavy pistols, the Assault Intercessors fell in behind Nem­etus as he made his way towards the open ramp.

His visor rangefinder read seventy-four yards.

A sudden flurry of missiles streaked past the gunship from behind – the covering fire of their companions. Even as the warheads spread into bright clouds of silent fire ahead, Nem­etus thrust himself forward from the open mouth of the gunship, pulling free his plasma pistol, storm shield held before him.

Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE

‘Assault is underway, captain.’

Praxa­medes received an acknowledgement from his superior and returned his attention to the augur console.

Assault is underway. Three words, cold and detached. Nothing to speak of the clamour and anarchy, the split-second decisions between life and death, the blaze of fire and snarl of weapons ending lives. Praxa­medes was a veteran by the standards of the Indomitus Crusade and had seen the enemy up close and from afar, and despite Aeschelus’ words about his temperament, he was a capable ground commander.

By all rights, if the captain was not leading the mission Praxa­medes should.

He knew that his duty was not measured by acts of bravery. The lord pri­march was renowned not just for his superior physical abilities but also his strategic and political prowess. The mind was as much a weapon as the boltgun, so the Codex Astartes taught. If Praxa­medes so desired to be part of the fighting, was it because he was actually guilty of the self-aggrandisement of which he accused Nem­etus? Was his own desire for glory the reason he felt slighted by his role aboard the strategium?

‘Lieutenant, should we recali­brate the sensor banks to scan the new battlezone?’

The deck officer’s question caught Praxa­medes unawares and he spent several seconds looking at Lerok before he could respond.

‘No. Once he has established his perimeter, Lieutenant Nem­etus will despatch his Incursors. Their suit auspexes are more accurate and responsive than anything we could use at this range. Anything to report from the debris cloud?’

‘Nothing new, lieutenant. Background radiation and the plasma plumes of the enemy escorts.’ Lerok shrugged. ‘Nothing else but rocks, dust and gas.’

Nothing else.