Crannog Mons was roughly diamond shaped. The cathedral of Saint Helena Richstar lay at its central point, and from it the four quadrants reached out. Commanding each quadrant were four massive fortresses of squat rockcrete tiers, one stacked on top of the other, bristling with thick-barrelled guns.

At the far end of the island the smallest of the fortresses stood, the narrow tower of Ophio, with the low volcanic cone of Tor Kharybdis just off its shore. Linking these two was a cableway.

Margrat was the southernmost fortress. Domes of orbital defence silos were trained up into the sky. Opposite, at the northern corner, lay the ruins of Baniyas. Its destruction was the chief victory the Imperial forces under von Horne had achieved.

‘Its void shields collapsed under sustained bombardment,’ Mere briefed Bendikt. ‘The Imperial Navy’s warships reduced it to ruins within a few hours.’

Bendikt nodded. He studied the jagged ruins of Baniyas and did not like the thought of attacking it head on. The supply lines were too long, the cliffs there were too precipitous, and though the fortress appeared ruined, he had no doubt the rubble would provide the defenders with foxholes impossible to spot.

No, his intent was to take the largest and nearest fortress, the one that glared at him from across the water, the gatehouse of Tor Tartarus: a grim construction of pillboxes and rockcrete redoubts.

There was a time, not so long distant, when he had held the rank of captain, that the loss of a whole squad of his troopers would have been shocking. Now he was general, he was considering an action that would cost the lives of millions, and it left him, to his surprise, entirely unmoved. He focused his field-auspex. ‘Ambassador,’ he called out.

The Munitorum official came forward.

‘What is the current strength of your labour corps?’

The man hesitated. ‘Combining penal and indentured… we have enough, sir. For the construction of the siege camp, extensions to Starport, and the causeway.’

‘Good. We will need to make a requisition for military service.’

The ambassador hesitated. He wanted to sound willing, but his voice betrayed his concern. ‘How many, sir? Ten thousand… a hundred thousand?’

Bendikt lowered the auspex. His face was set as hard as rockcrete. ‘Ambassador. I want all of them.’

Nine

NINE

When Bendikt returned to the General’s Palace, Colonel Baytov, commander of the Cadian 101st, was waiting for him with the captains of his First and Second companies.

Baytov and Bendikt had spent many years together as young captains. There was no need for formalities between them. Bendikt strode straight towards the group and shook their hands warmly. ‘When did you land?’

‘Yesterday,’ Baytov said. He was a broad man with a barrel chest and a resonant voice. ‘The regiment has just made it into camp. We came ahead.’