Salamander

Tsu'gan opened up the comm-feed with De'mas and Typhos.

'Converge on my position,' he ordered, then switched the link to his own squad. 'Battle-speed to the edge of that dune, dispersed approach.'

Pushing himself to his feet, Tsu'gan jogged down the ridge and then headed towards the next dune, his battle-brothers behind him in an expansive formation. He drove on hard, eating up the metres despite having to slog through the shifting ash underfoot. Widening his stride when he got to the base of the next incline, Tsu'gan powered up the dune until he had almost crested the rise, then slowed. Battle-signing, the sergeant instructed his brothers to match him. Together, they reached the edge of the second ash ridge and peered over it into a deep basin below.

Tsu'gan's breath caught in his throat when he realised what sat in the basin. He felt his anger rise.

'Abomination…' he growled, taking a firm grip on his bolter.

II Ash and Iron

T

he plaintive cries

of the wounded bled into one doleful dirge as Dak'ir toured the medical tents, looking for Fugis.

So great was the toll of dead and injured that the tents were arranged in ranks, patrolled by a combat squad of Salamanders to ensure the safety of the wounded. The stench of blood was strong beneath the sodium-lit canvases, pallet-beds stacked side to side and end to end. Medics swathed in ruddied smocks, mouths shrouded by masks, busied themselves between the slim conduits that linked the beds in a lattice. Through a plastek sheet, steam-bolted to one of the larger tents' struts, was a makeshift operating room, a rudimentary Apothecarion. It made sense that it was here Dak'ir found Fugis.

The half-naked body of Brother Vah'lek lay on a slab before the Apothecary. Blood, still dark and wet, shimmered on Vah'lek's black flesh. It was exposed where the front of his plastron had been torn away and the body-glove beneath sheared with a sharp blade. From there his tough skin had been cut open, his ribplate cracked and levered wide to allow access to his internal organs. All effort had been made to save him; but all, sadly, in vain.

Fugis sagged over the cooling corpse of Brother Vah'lek, his head bowed. His gauntleted hands were covered with Astartes blood, and his armour was spattered in it. Medical tools lay about the Apothecary on metal trays. A small canister like a capsule that could be inserted into a centrifuge sat alone from the rest. Fugis's reductor lay next to it. Dak'ir knew that his dead battle-brother's progenoids nestled safely within the canister. At least his legacy was assured.

'He was one of Agatone's,' said the Apothecary wearily, dismissing the serfs who had been assisting in the surgery.

'How many of our brothers have we lost, Fugis?' Dak'ir asked.

The Apothecary straightened, finding resolve from somewhere, and started to unclasp his blood-caked gauntlets.

'Six, so far,' he replied, left gauntlet hitting one of metal trays with a resounding

clang

as he let it drop. 'Only one sergeant: Naveem. All killed in the crash.' Fugis looked up at the other Salamander. 'It is no way for an Astartes to die, Dak'ir.'

'They all served the Emperor with honour,' Dak'ir countered, but his words sounded hollow even to himself.

Fugis gestured to something behind him, and Dak'ir made way as two bulky mortis-servitors lumbered into the room.

'Another for the caskets,' intoned the Apothecary. 'Take our brother reverently, and await me at the pyreum.'

The hulking servitors, bent-backed and all black metal and cowled faces, nodded solemnly before hauling the slab, and Brother Vah'lek, away.

'Now what is it, brother?' Fugis asked impatiently, attempting to clean his gauntlets in a burning brazier. 'There are others who require my ministrations - the human dead and injured number in the hundreds.'

Dak'ir stepped farther into the tent and lowered his voice.

'Before the crash, when I met you in the corridor, you said you were looking for Brother Tsu'gan. Did you find him?'

'No, I didn't,' Fugis answered absently.

'Why were you looking for him?'

The Apothecary looked up again, his expression stern.

'What concern is it of yours, sergeant?'

Dak'ir showed his palms plaintively.

'You appeared to be troubled, that is all.'

Fugis seemed about to say something when he looked down at his gauntlets again. 'A mistake, nothing more.'

Dak'ir came forward again.

'You don't make mistakes,' he pressed.

Fugis replied in a small voice, little more than a whisper. 'No one is infallible, Dak'ir.' The Apothecary pulled his gauntlets back on and the coldness returned. 'Is that all?'

'No,' said Dak'ir flatly, impeding Fugis as he tried to leave. 'I'm worried about you, brother.'

'Are you at the beck and call of Elysius then? Has our beneficent Chaplain sent you to gauge my state of mind? Strange, isn't it, how our roles have reversed.'

'I come alone, of my own volition, brother,' said Dak'ir. 'You are not yourself.'

'For the last five hours, I have been elbow-deep in the blood of the wounded and dying. Our brothers search in vain amongst the ruins of our ship for survivors. We are Space Marines, Dak'ir! Meant for battle, not this.' Fugis made an expansive gesture that compassed the gory surroundings. 'And where is N'keln?' he continued, gripped by a sudden fervour. 'Poring over hololiths in his command bunker, with Lok and Praetor, that is where he is.' Fugis paused, before his anger overtook his good sense again. 'A captain must be seen! It is his duty to his company to inspire. N'keln cannot do that locked away behind plans and strategium displays.'

Dak'ir's face became stern, and he adopted a warning tone to his voice.

'Consider your words, Fugis. Remember, you are one of the Inferno Guard.'

'There is no Inferno Guard,' he countered belligerently, though his ire had ebbed. 'Shen'kar is little more than an adjutant, Vek'shen is long dead and N'keln has yet to appoint a successor to his own vacated post. That leaves only Malicant, and our banner bearer has had precious little reason to unfurl our company colours of late. You yourself refused the mantle of Company Champion.'

'I had my reasons, brother.'

Fugis scowled, as if the fact meant little to him.

'This mission was supposed to heal the rift in our company, a righteous cause for us to rally around and draw strength from. I see only the dead and more laurels for the memoria wall.'