Salamander

'What has happened to you?' Dak'ir let his anger be known. 'Where is your faith, Fugis?' he snapped.

The Apothecary's face grew dark as all the life that was left there seemed to leave it.

'I was forced to kill Naveem today.'

'It's not the first time you've administered the Emperor's Peace,' countered Dak'ir, uncertain where this was going.

'When I went to extract his progenoid gland, I made a mistake and it was lost. Naveem was lost - forever.'

A brief, mournful silence descended before Fugis went on.

'And as for my faith… It died, Dak'ir. It was slain along with Kadai.'

Dak'ir was about to speak when he found he had nothing further to say. Wounds ran deep; some deeper than others. Tsu'gan had chosen rage, whereas Fugis had actually given in to despair. No words could counsel him now. Only war and the fires of battle would cleanse the Apothecary's spirit. As he stepped aside to let his brother pass, Dak'ir hoped they would come soon. But as Fugis left without word, the brother-sergeant feared that the Apothecary might be consumed by them.

Leaving the medical tent shortly after, Dak'ir caught up to Ba'ken who he had asked to meet him outside.

'You look weary, brother,' observed the giant Salamander as his sergeant approached.

Ba'ken was standing alone, bereft of his heavy flamer rig. He had left it in one of the prefabricated armoriums, guarded by Brother-Sergeant Omkar and his squad. Duty rotation meant that the Salamanders moved between the search and rescue teams, digging crews and sentry. Ba'ken was preparing to join the crews trying to excavate the

Vulkan's Wrath.

He was looking forward to the labour, as the plains were quiet and sentry duty was beginning to numb his mind. He had purposely met Sergeant Agatone on the way.

'Not as weary as some,' Dak'ir replied, the truth of the remark hidden.

Ba'ken decided not to press.

'The sergeants are restless,' he said, instead. 'Those not involved in sentry duty are digging out the

Vulkan's Wrath

or tearing apart its corridors only to find the dead. We are at company strength, but kicking our heels with no enemy to fight.' He shook his head ruefully, 'It is not work for Space Marines.'

Dak'ir smiled emptily.

'Fugis said much the same thing.'

'I see.' Ba'ken was wise enough to realise that it was the Apothecary that his sergeant had been referring to with his earlier remark. He remembered watching him on the gunship platform outside the Vault of Remembrance at Hesiod. In the entire time he'd waited for Dak'ir, Fugis had neither moved nor spoken a word.

With characteristic pragmatism, Ba'ken put the thought aside and focused on the matter at hand.

'Agatone is one of the most loyal Astartes I have ever known,' he said, changing tack. 'Besides Lok, he is the longest serving sergeant left in the company. But he lost one of his squad tonight.'

'Brother Vah'lek, I saw him,' said Dak'ir. 'Fugis just sent the body for interment.'

'

So unto the fire do we return…'

intoned Ba'ken. 'If this mission comes to nothing, Vah'lek's death will be meaningless,' he added, and lightly shook his head. 'Agatone won't stand for that.'

Dak'ir's voice was far away as he looked out in the endless grey plains.

'Then we had best hope for better news soon.'

It was then that N'keln appeared, striding meaningfully with Lok and Praetor in tow. The brother-captain and his entourage strode right past them,

'Lok, what is happening?' Dak'ir called out.

The Devastator sergeant turned briefly.

'We are preparing for battle,' he said. 'Brother-Sergeant Tsu'gan has found the enemy.'

A long wall

of grey, rusted iron stretched along the nadir of the ash basin. It was festooned with spikes, and grisly totems hung on black chains from battlements crested with spirals of razor wire. Sentry towers punctuated the high, sheer wall that was shored up by angular buttresses. The abutments were fashioned of steel, but torn and jagged-edged to dissuade climbing. Static gun emplacements, tarantula-mounted heavy bolters trailing feeds of ammunition like brass tongues, sat menacingly behind the tower walls. Fat plumes of dense, black smoke coiled from chimney stacks behind these outer defences, hinting at a core of industrial structures within the fortress itself.

Sigils bedecked the walls, too - graven images that made Tsu'gan's eyes hurt just to look at them. They were icons of the Ruinous Powers, hammered like a penitent spike in the forehead of an unbeliever. Streaked rust eked from where the icon had been pressure-bolted and it made the Salamander think of sacrificial blood. For all Tsu'gan knew, it was.

At the gate - a slab of reinforced iron and adamantium, crossed by interlocking chains, that looked solid enough to withstand a direct hit from a defence laser - was stamped the most prominent of the idolatrous symbols. It boasted the fealty of their Legion and left the identity of the warriors inside the fortress in no doubt.

It was a single armoured skull with the eight-pointed star of Chaos behind it.

'Iron Warriors, sons of Perturabo,' hissed Brother-Sergeant De'mas, with obvious rancour.

'Traitors,' seethed Typhos, clutching his thunder hammer.

Upon sighting the fortress and contacting his fellow sergeants on the scouting mission, Tsu'gan had then immediately raised N'keln on the comm-feed. Distance and ash-storm interference gave rise to rampant static, but the message was relayed clearly enough.

Enemy sighted. Traitors of the Iron

Warriors

Legion. Awaiting reinforcements before engaging.

Tsu'gan had wanted to charge down into the basin there and then, to unleash his bolter in a righteous fury. Sound judgement had tempered his zeal. The Iron Warriors were no xenos-breed, ill-equipped to face the might of the Emperor's holy angels. No: they were once angels themselves, albeit now fallen from a millennia-old betrayal. Peerless siege-masters and fortress-builders, except perhaps for the loyal sons of Rogal Dorn, the Imperial Fists, the Iron Warriors were also fierce fighters who possessed devastating ability at long-range or protracted warfare. An all-out assault into their jaws, without numbers or heavy artillery would have ended bloodily for the Salamanders. Instead, Tsu'gan chose that most Nocturnean of traits: he chose to wait.

'The Iron Warriors were at Isstvan, where Vulkan fell,' added Typhos, with a sudden fervour. 'It cannot be coincidence. This must be part of the prophecy.'