The fragments of the servo-skull lay scattered across the floor, its mechanical tendrils still twitching faintly. Colonel Nathan Fox glanced at the shattered components, then at Duvall. A complicated expression crossed his face.
"You did not need to do that," Nathan said.
"I did." Duvall holstered his bolt pistol. "The servo-skull records everything. When they investigate this later, the charge of disobeying orders against you would have been irrefutable."
Nathan was silent for a moment, then nodded. "Thank you."
Two hours later, the other officers had departed to muster their troops. Only the two of them remained in the room, accompanied by the faint breathing of the scout in the corner, whose emergency treatment had pulled him back from the brink of death.
Nathan walked to the data-slate and swept his fingers across its display. The structural schematic of the geothermal core appeared once more, overlaid with the map of the underground passages.
"Let us confirm the plan once more." Nathan's voice was level, but Duvall could hear the tension tightly wound beneath it.
He pointed to the shadowed region on the display.
"Apart from the 113 remaining men of First Company, who will hold the surface defensive line, the other 2,143 soldiers will descend into the tunnels in successive waves." Nathan's finger traced several of the main passageways.
"The underground space is too cramped to commit all our forces at once. The companies will therefore enter from different points, converge within these interconnected tunnels, then assault the shadowed region from several directions at once—the area closest to the core."
Duvall studied the map. The passages spread like a spiderweb, ultimately converging around that patch of shadow representing the unknown. The tactic would establish interlocking fields of fire within the confined space, but coordinating the separate formations would become exceptionally difficult.
"As for heavy weapons," Nathan continued, "we have four large-calibre autocannons left, thirteen shoulder-fired rocket launchers, and two meltaguns. Not much. The rest were destroyed during the previous siege. Everything else is lasguns and solid-projectile weapons. But ammunition is plentiful."
He paused.
"The enemy is likely in much the same position. Heavy vehicles cannot enter an environment like this, and large artillery pieces cannot be deployed. The types of weapons available to both sides will be very similar."
Duvall nodded in agreement. The tunnels' height and width restricted both equipment and manpower, creating a measure of balance. The enemy would surely be cultists as well equipped as the Ashen Watchers.
"The Ashen Watchers excel in this kind of environment," Nathan said. "We are a light infantry regiment by nature. We have fought countless urban battles and tunnel wars. If we were facing cultists alone, I would be confident."
His finger stopped over the shadowed patch.
"But it is the Chaos Adeptus Astartes that concern me."
The room fell quiet for several seconds. There was only the sound of wind-driven snow against the window, and the scout's faint breathing. Once the muster was complete, someone would carry him back to the medicae station.
"What else did the scout say before he lost consciousness?" Duvall asked.
Nathan crouched beside the stretcher and gently laid a hand upon the scout's bandage-wrapped shoulder.
"He said he saw crimson power armour. More than one suit."
Duvall felt his heart sink.
"How many, precisely?"
"He lost consciousness before he could make it clear." Nathan rose to his feet. "It could be two. It could be three. Or more."
Duvall too went to stand beside the unconscious scout. Looking at the pain written across the man's face, he sank into thought. Three Chaos Space Marines were enough to form a Chaos warband—yet even Abaddon the Despoiler was, in essence, a Chaos warband.
In such an environment, if the number of Chaos Space Marines exceeded five, their situation would become perilous. If there were more than ten, their odds of victory would be close to nil. More than fifteen... Duvall did not dare think further.
But they had no choice.
"We can only fight," Duvall said. His voice was so calm that it surprised even him.
Nathan looked at him and nodded.
"I am placing Third Company, Seventh Company, Eighth Company, Thirteenth Company, and what remains of Sixth Company under your command," Nathan said. "Five hundred and sixty-one men in total. You will advance through the largest tunnel. That will be our main axis of attack."
Duvall froze.
"Me?"
"You led battered remnants and killed a Chaos Adeptus Astartes." Nathan stepped before him, his eyes locked upon Duvall's. "The soldiers need an example like that. They need to believe those so-called monsters can be killed."
Duvall wanted to say that it had only been luck. He wanted to say that Anderson and Stroud had nearly bought that opportunity with their lives. He wanted to say that without that melta grenade, every one of them would have died.
But he did not say it.
Nathan did not need to hear it. Nor did the soldiers.
They needed only someone who could lead them to victory. Or at the very least, someone who could make them a little less afraid in the face of death.
Though reluctance and pessimism churned within him, Duvall forced a normal smile onto his face.
"I will do my utmost," he said.
Nathan clapped him on the shoulder, hard enough to carry weight.
"Come. It is time to move out."
When the two men emerged from the command post, the open ground outside was already filled with troops.
Great flakes of snow whirled madly through the freezing wind, striking exposed flesh like tiny blades. More than two thousand Ashen Watchers stood in formation amid the snow, and a white layer swiftly gathered over their grey greatcoats.
Duvall and Colonel Nathan Fox stopped before the ranks. The colonel bellowed, "Attention! At ease!" Then he turned to look at Duvall.
Amid the muted metallic clatter of weapons and equipment, the soldiers turned their eyes upon Duvall.
He understood what they wanted. A pre-battle address. A raising of morale. That was a Commissar's duty.
He sighed inwardly.
He strode forward, his boots crunching over the snow while the soldiers' gazes followed him.
Duvall came to the front of the formation and faced them all.
The storm continued to lash his face. He narrowed his eyes and drew a breath of freezing air.
"Soldiers!"
His voice carried through the blizzard. It was not especially loud, but it was clear enough.
"Soon, we descend beneath the earth to fight those damned cultist scum and wrest the lives of millions from their hands!"
"I will not lie to you. I will not promise that every one of you will return alive. We all know what waits below: mountains of skulls, blasphemous rites, and monsters clad in red power armour."
A faint stir passed through the ranks, but it swiftly died away.
"But I can promise you something else." Duvall raised his voice. "I will walk at the very front. There are ten rounds in my bolt pistol, and I will personally ram every one of them down those heretics' throats."
He drew his bolt pistol and raised it high. Its black frame gleamed with a hard, cold lustre beneath the ashen daylight.
"Today, we do not fight for some noble. We do not fight for some governor. We stand here for the millions of civilians in Heras City. They may never know who we are, but they will live because we fight."
Duvall paused for longer this time. The blizzard howled past him.
"For the Emperor!"
The eleven survivors of Sixth Company were the first to answer. They tore their hoarse throats raw, roaring into the storm.
"For the Emperor!"
Then came Third Company, Seventh Company, Eighth Company, and Thirteenth Company. The sound swelled like a rolling avalanche, until the roars of more than two thousand men fused across the open ground and drowned out the shriek of wind and snow.
"For the Emperor! For the Emperor! For the Emperor!"
Standing amid that roaring tide, Duvall suddenly saw the status display in his vision change.
[Current Command Authority: 101st Ashen Watchers Regiment, Third, Sixth, Seventh, Eighth, and Thirteenth Companies]
[Total Personnel: 521] [Experience: Veterans]
[Overall Supplies: 100%] [Overall Morale: 72%] [Overall Loyalty: 68%] [Overall Sanity: 80%] [Chaos Corruption: 10%]
[Passive Enhancements Acquired: Iron Ring (Basic), Forced March (Basic), Unyielding]
Five hundred and twenty-one men.
He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath.
Yellow Weasel, he thought, if you can truly hear me, spare a glance this way. Do not let me die in this cursed place.
He opened his eyes and pointed his bolt pistol toward the entrance of the underground tunnels.
"Move out!"
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