One-way war

Sindermann in grass and sand

Jubal

FOLLOWING THE 'EMPEROR'S' death and the fall of their ancient, centralised government, the insurgents had fled into the mountain massifs of the southern hemisphere, and occupied a fastness in a range of peaks, called the Whisperheads in the local language. The air was thin, for the altitude was very great. Dawn was coming up, and the mountains loomed as stern, misty steeples of pale green ice that reflected sun glare.

The stormbirds dropped from the edge of space, out of the sky's dark blue mantle, trailing golden fire from their ablative surfaces. In the frugal habitations and villages in the foothills, the townsfolk, born into a culture of myth and superstition, saw the fiery marks in the dawn sky as an omen. Many fell to wailing and lamenting, or hurried to their village fanes

The religious faith of Sixty-Three Nineteen, strong in the capital and the major cities, was distilled here into a more potent brew. These were impoverished backwaters, where the anachronistic beliefs of the society were

heightened by a subsistence lifestyle and poor education. The Imperial army had already straggled to contain this primitive zealotry during its occupation. As the streaks of fire crossed the sky, they found themselves hard-pressed to control the mounting agitation in the villages.

The stormbirds set down, engines screaming, on a plateau of dry, white lava-rock five thousand metres below the caps of the highest peaks where the rebel fastness lay. They whirled up clouds of pumice grit from their jets as they crunched in.

The sky was white, and the peaks were white against them, and white cloud softened the air. A series of precipitous rifts and ice canyons dropped away behind the plateau, wreathed in smoke-cloud, and the lower peaks gleamed in the rising light.

Tenth Company clattered out into the sparse, chilly air, weapons ready. They came to martial order, and disembarked as smoothly as Loken could have wished.

But the vox was still disturbed. Every few minutes, 'Samus' chattered again, like a sigh upon the mountain wind.

Loken called the senior squad leaders to him as soon as he had landed: Vipus of Locasta, Jubal of Hellebore, Rassek of the Terminator squad, Talonus of Pithraes, Kairus of Walkure, and eight more.

All grouped around, showing deference to Xavyer Jubal.

Loken, who had always read men well as a commander, needed none of his honed leadership skills to realise that Jubal wasn't wearing Vipus's elevation well. As the others of the Mournival had advised him, Loken had followed his gut and appointed Nero Vipus his proxy-commander, to serve when matters of state drew Loken apart from Tenth. Vipus was popular, but Jubal, as sergeant of the first squad, felt slighted. There was no

rule that stated the sergeant of a company's first squad automatically followed in seniority. The sequencing was simply a numerical distinction, but there was a given order to things, and Jubal felt aggrieved. He had told Loken so, several times.

Loken remembered Little Horus's words. J.’ you trust Vipus, make it Vipus. Never compromise. Jubal's a big boy. He'll get over it.

'Let's do this, and quickly,' Loken told his officers. The Terminators have the lead here. Rassek?'

'My squad is ready to serve, captain,' Rassek replied curtly. Like all the men in his specialist squad, Sergeant Rassek wore the titanic armour of a Terminator, a variant only lately introduced into the arsenal of the Astartes. By dint of their primacy, and the fact that their primarch was Warmaster, the Luna Wolves had been amongst the first Legion to benefit from the issue of Terminator plate. Some entire Legions still lacked it. The armour was designed for heavy assault. Thickly plated and consequently exaggerated in its dimensions, a Terminator suit turned an Astartes warrior into a slow, cumbersome, but entirely unstoppable humanoid tank. An Astartes clad in Terminator plate gave up all his speed, dexterity, agility and range of movement. What he got in return was the ability to shrug off almost any ballistic attack.

Rassek towered over them in his armour, dwarfing them as a primarch dwarfs Astartes, or an Astartes dwarfs mortal men. Massive weapons systems were built into his shoulders, arms and gauntlets.

'Lead off to the bridges and clear the way.’ Loken said. He paused. Now was a moment for gentle diplomacy. 'Jubal, I want Hellebore to follow the Terminators in as the weight of the first strike.’

Jubal nodded, evidently pleased. The scowl of displeasure he had been wearing for weeks now lifted for a

moment. All the officers were bare-headed for this briefing, despite the fact that the air was unbreathably thin by human standards. Their enhanced pulmonary systems didn't even labour. Loken saw Nero Vipus smile, and knew he understood the significance of this instruction. Loken was offering Jubal some measure of glory, to reassure him he was not forgotten.

'Let's go to it!' Loken cried. 'Lupercal!'

'Lupercal!' the officers answered. They clamped their helms into place.

Portions of the company began to move ahead towards the natural rock bridges and causeways that linked the plateau to the higher terrain.

Army regiments, swaddled in heavy coats and rebreathers against the cold, thin air, had moved up onto the plateau to meet them from the town of Kash-eri in the lower gorge.

'Kasheri is at compliance, sir.’ an officer told Loken, his voice muffled by his mask, his breathing pained and ragged. The enemy has withdrawn to the high fortress.'

Loken nodded, gazing up at the bright crags looming in the white light. 'We'll take it from here,' he said.

They're well armed, sir.’ the officer warned. 'Every time we've pushed to take the rock bridges, they've killed us with heavy cannon. We don't think they have much in the way of numerical weight, but they have the advantage of position. It's a slaughter ground, sir, and they have the cross-draw on us. We understand the insurgents are being led by an Invisible called Rykus or Ryker. We-'

'We'll take it from here.’ Loken repeated. 'I don't need to know the name of the enemy before I kill him.'

He turned. 'lubal. Vipus. Form up and move ahead!'

'lust like that?' the army officer asked sourly. 'Six weeks we've been here, slogging it out, the body toll like you wouldn't believe, and you-'

We're Astartes.’ Loken said. You're relieved.'

The officer shook his head with a sad laugh. He muttered something under his breath.

Loken turned back and took a step towards the man, causing him to start in alarm. No man liked to see the stern eye-slits of a Luna Wolfs impassive visor turn to regard him.

'What did you say?' Loken asked.

'I... I... nothing, sir.'

What did you say?'

'I said... "and the place is haunted", sir.'

'If you believe this place is haunted, my friend.’ Loken said, 'then you are admitting to a belief in spirits and daemons.’

'I'm not, sir! I'm really not!'

'I should think not.’ Loken said. We're not barbarians.’

'All I mean.’ said the soldier breathlessly, his face flushed and sweaty behind his breather mask, 'is that there's something about this place. These mountains. They're called the Whisperheads, and I've spoken to some of the locals in Katheri. The name's old, sir. Really old. The locals believe that a man might hear voices out here, calling to him, when there's no one around. It's an old tale.’

'Superstition. We know this world has temples and fanes. They are dark-age in their beliefs. Bringing light to that ignorance is part of why we're here.'

'So what are the voices, sir?'

'What?'

'Since we've been here, fighting our way up the valley, we've all heard them. I've heard them. Whispers. In the night, and sometimes in the bold brightness of day when there's no one about, and on die vox too. Samus has been talking.'