recommend his elevation to the level of high interrogator, and from there, inquisitional rank beckons. If I die, look to him for my sake. I have no doubt the Inquisition will benefit from his presence.'
I promised Voke I would do so, and this seemed to please Heldane. I didn't like the man much, but he had been resilient and unfaltering in the face of savage death, and there was no doubting his ability or dedication.
Voke took my hand in his sweaty claw and rasped 'Thank you, brother.'
As rr turned out, Commodus Voke lived on for another one hundred and three years. He proved nigh on impossible to kill. When Golesh Constan-tine Pheppos Heldane was finally elected to the rank of inquisitor, it was all Voke's doing. The sins of the father, as they say.
Invasion training began three weeks off 56-Izar. Initially, Admiral Spat-ian's plan was for a fleet action, a simple annihilation of any targets from orbit. But Lord Rorken and the Deathwatch insisted that a physical invasion was required. The recovery and destruction of the xenos Necroteuch
had to be authenticated, or we would never know for sure that it was truly gone. Only after that objective was achieved could extreme destructive sanction be unleashed on 56-Izar.
All that could be learned from my associates and the surviving Gudrunites concerning the saruthi tetrascapes – ironically, we were using Malahite's term by then – was collated during a scrupulously searching series of interviews conducted by naval tacticians and Brytnoth, the Death-watch's revered librarian and strategist.
The collected information was profiled by the fleet's cogitators, and simulations created to acclimatise the ground forces. To my eyes, the simulations conveyed nothing of the wrongness we had experienced on the world of the plateau.
Brytnoth himself conducted my interviews, accompanied by Olm Madorthene. Shaven-headed, a giant of a man even without his armour, Brytnoth was nevertheless cordial and attentive, addressing me with respect and listening with genuine interest to my replies. I tried to do verbal justice to my memories of the experience, and additionally related the theories that Malahite had expounded during that fateful seance.
Eschewing the luxury of a servitor scribe or clerk, Brytnoth made his own notes as he listened. I found myself engrossed watching the warrior's paw working the dwarfed stylus almost delicately across the note-slate.
We sat in my apartments for the sessions, which often lasted hours. Bequin brought in regular trays of hot mead or leaf infusions, and Brytnoth actually extended his little finger as he lifted the porcelain cups by the handle. He was to me the embodiment of war in peacetime, a vast power bound into genteel behaviour, striving to prevent his awesome strength from breaking loose. He would lift the cup, small finger extended, consult his notes and ask another question before sipping.
The fact that small finger was the size and shape of an Arbites' truncheon was beside the point.
4Vhat I'm trying to establish, brother inquisitor, is whether the environments of the saruthi xenos will hinder our forces or deprive them of optimum combat efficiency/
'You can be sure of that, brother librarian.' I poured some more Olicet tea from the silver pot. 'My comrades were disoriented for the entire duration of the mission, and the Gudranite riflemen had broken because of the place more than anything else. There is a wrongness that quite disarms the senses. It had been conjectured by some that this is a deliberate effect used by the saruthi to undermine sentients used to three physical dimensions, but the traitor Malahite made more sense in my opinion. The wrongness is a by-product of the saruthi's preferred environments. We can expect the effect to be the norm on any homeworld of theirs.'
Brytnoth nodded and noted again.
'I'm sure your chapter's experience and specialised sensor equipment will be a match for it/ put in Madorthene. 'Myself, I'm worried about the guard. They'll be the mainstay of this action/
'They've all seen the preliminary briefing simulations/ Brytnoth murmured.
'With respect, I have too and they hardly do justice to the places we will find ourselves in.' I looked across the table into Brytnoth's face. His rugged features were sunken and colourless, the common trait of one who spends most of his life hidden within a combat helmet. His hooded eyes regarded me with interest. What wars, what victories, had those eyes witnessed, I wondered. What defeats?
'What do you suggest?' Brytnoth asked.
'Adverse cross-training,' I replied. I'd thought about it long and hard. 'Olm here knows I'm no military man, brother-librarian, but that's the way it seems to me. Make the troops practise overburden and off-balance. Blindfold them in some exercises, cuff them in others, alter gravity in the training vaults. Make the weighted packs they carry off centre and awkward. Switch light levels without warning. Crank the temperature and air pressure up and down. Simply make it hard for them. Train them to run, cover, shoot and reload in off-putting extremes. Make them learn all their essential combat procedures so well they can do them anywhere, under any circumstances. When they hit the ground at 56-Izar, let the fight be all they worry about. Everything else should be instinctive.'
Madorthene smiled confidently. 'The infantry forces at our disposal are primarily navy troopers and Mirepoix light elite from the Imperial Guard, seasoned soldiers all, unlike the poor Gudrunite foundees you had to nursemaid, Gregor. We'll put them through the hoops and raise their game for the big push. They've got the combat hours and the balls to do it.'
'Don't stint,' I warned Madorthene. 'And those foundees you refer to –Sergeant Jeruss and his men. I want them with me when I go in.'
'Gregor! We can give you a crack squad of Mirepoix who-'
'I want the Gudrunite survivors.'
'Why?' asked Brytnoth.
'Because whatever their combat inexperience, they've seen a tetrascape. Those are the men I want at my side.'
Madorthene and Brytnoth exchanged glances, and the procurator shrugged. As you wish.'
As for the others, like I said, don't stint on the training regime.'
'We won't!' he chuckled, mock-outraged at the idea. The drill masters will work the regiments so hard, they'll yearn for real battle.'
'I'm serious/ I said. 'Every man that deploys on to 56-Izar – the venerated Deathwatch chapter included, Emperor bless them – should be ready to lose control of his senses, his judgment, his fortitude and even his basic mental faculties. They're going to be hit hard, but in an insidious way. I don't care if every man jack of them forgets his own mother's name and wets himself, they must still know how to hold a line, fire and reload, adore the Emperor and respond to orders/
'Succinctly put/ Brytnoth said. 'I will, of course, temper your proposals before I put them to my battle brothers/
'I don't care what you tell them/ I chuckled, 'as long as you don't let on who it came from/
'Your anonymity is assured/ He smiled. A wonder, that. I consider myself one of the very few mortals to have made a librarian of the Adeptus Astartes smile. To have seen a librarian of the Adeptus Astartes smile even.
Brytnoth pushed his slate and stylus aside and looked over at me with curiosity. 'Mandragore/ he said.
The bastard child of the Emperor? What of him?'
'I'm told you killed him yourself. In single combat. Quite a feat for one such as you – and I mean no disrespect/
'No disrespect is taken/
'How did you do it?' he asked frankly.
I told him. I kept it simple. Brytnoth made no reaction but Madorthene was quietly agog.
