What would become of them?

What would become of them all in this storm that sought to wipe the truths of the past clean?

He heard the rhythm of the command deck change and opened his eyes.

‘What is seen?’ he asked.

The Lance of Heaven’s sensors saw one ship, then a second and then more, ship after ship descending like a sheaf of arrows. Auspex readers hit paradox as they tried to identify individual vessels. Data drowned the minds of sensor servitors. Enemy strength values became approximations within seconds: ten, twenty-five, one hundred and six, hundreds, thousands…

Out in the dark, at a distance so vast that the fires of their engines were lost against the arc of stars, an armada bore down on the Lance of Heaven and its three companion warships. The ships of the armada had begun their acceleration soon after they had materialised in the void and flew now in a dense mass.

‘They have seen us,’ called an officer.

Jubal Khan read the shock in the humans before he saw the data. The orders that came from his lips did so without hesitation.

‘To the wind,’ he said.

The Lance of Heaven’s engines flared to blue heat and the great ship shot upwards towards the descending armada. The three ships riding with it kicked forwards at its side. Thrusters fired down each of the four ships’ lengths, punching them into spiral paths.

Signals reached back towards their kindred fleets circling the sun and rippled towards Terra.

‘Enemy sensors have multiple firing solutions,’ came the call across the Lance of Heaven’s bridge. ‘Approaching estimated maximum weapon range.’

‘Choose the mark, and send the call,’ said Jubal, his voice level and calm. A second later the image of a single ship at the front of the armada flickered to being in a cone of holo-light. It was a cruiser, large but not one of the monstrous vessels that rode at its side.

This was how they lived as warriors, how their primarch and their forebears had fought on Chogoris – the marking of an enemy warrior in the first rank as battle was joined. Not a general, for a strong enemy would never let the arrows hit home, but not a soul without consequence either. The first kill had to be noted by the great, and awe those that followed.

Jubal watched the marked and chosen ship grow as auspex and cogitators parsed its identity. It was the Fourfold Wolf, a Legion vessel taken as a prize by the XVI when they were but the Luna Wolves. A good mark. A worthy kill.

Jubal rose, his guandao in his hand. He felt the judder of his ship beneath him as the spirit of its engines called out in fire. On the command screens he saw the enemy horde draw closer, reaching out and out to the edge of sight. A cloud. A storm come from beyond a dark horizon. He realised he was smiling.