The lieutenant-commander sat in his chair trying to remain composed. It was a hard task; visions of what he would do to the Raven Guard kept flickering through his thoughts. His implant responded again and again, rewarding his thoughts of killing with surges of chemical stimulants.

‘Receiving word from Legion command,’ announced Kordassis. He gave an angry growl as he read the message. ‘An enemy fleet has been detected in the vicinity of Isstvan IV, lieutenant-commander. The fleet is being ordered to depart and engage them.’

‘Depart?’ Delerax snarled. ‘Now? What of the assault on the Raven Guard? We cannot let the Legion attack without orbital support.’

‘The orders come directly from the Warmaster,’ said Kordassis, directing a meaningful look at the lieutenant-commander.

‘I take my orders from our primarch,’ replied Delerax.

‘Legion command has confirmed the orders,’ said Kordassis. He shook his head sorrowfully. ‘They are authorised by Angron.’

‘Let the rest of the fleet deal with the problem,’ said Delerax. ‘They do not need us there.’

The internal communicator crackled into life and a mechanical voice cut across Kordassis’s reply.

‘I have monitored a transmission from your Legion commanders,’ it said. ‘Why have we not yet altered course to deal with this emerging threat?’

Clenching his fists, Delerax resisted the urge to smash the speaker. He took a deep breath, steadying himself as his lobotomiser initiated another flood of hormones and chemicals through his brain. With some effort he unclenched his fingers and flicked the comm switch.

‘I was denied at the dropsite, I will not be denied again,’ he told Horus’s liaison. ‘It is also tactically unsound to have no orbital support for the assault.’

‘That will be dealt with by other fleet vessels,’ said the other Space Marine. ‘Your orders are clear, lieutenant-commander. Obey them.’

‘Then let those other vessels deal with the situation at Isstvan IV,’ snapped Delerax. ‘The World Eaters should be protecting their own.’

‘You are part of an alliance, lieutenant-commander,’ replied the voice. Its sterile calmness, its assured tone, enraged Delerax more. ‘We each do our part for victory. Your part at this moment is to join the rest of your fleet moving to Isstvan IV. Do not forget you are Legiones Astartes. Maintain discipline and obey your orders.’

BRANNE FELT UNCOMFORTABLE as he watched the glowing blips on the sensor return moving from orbit around Isstvan V. Not until he had come to the system had he known apprehension, but it had become his permanent companion since he had realised the extent of the treachery that was unfolding here. At least he maintained some semblance of composure, unlike Valerius.

The praefector lurched between near-catatonia and panic. At the moment he was asleep, muttering to himself with head laid on a display screen. He twitched and mumbled, fingers dragging along the metal of the console on which he was slumped. Branne could only guess at the nightmare that plagued him, and was thankful that Legiones Astartes were not vulnerable to such terrors.

‘The World Eaters fleet is moving away,’ announced one of the scanner technicians.

Branne looked back at the display and saw the signal returns drifting further from Isstvan V, heading in-system.

‘It worked,’ he said. Branne nodded towards the fitful praefector. ‘Wake up Marcus.’

One of the aides shook the Imperial Army officer gently. Valerius rose from his dream with a moan and looked around the bridge, eyes fearful. He settled after a few moments and focussed on Branne.

‘What is happening?’ he asked, scratching a stubbled cheek with ragged nails.

Branne directed Valerius’s attention to the screen.

‘It worked?’ said the praefector, disbelief written on his features. His expression changed to a broad grin and he looked at the Raven Guard commander with wide eyes. He laughed. ‘They took the bait. They took the bait!’

‘Yes, they did,’ said Branne. ‘We have less than two hours to get into position. In one hour we will move to full drop formation. Brief your shuttle crews.’

‘Yes, I will,’ said Valerius, staggering towards the door.

‘Before you do, might I suggest you take a moment to make yourself presentable to your men,’ said Branne.

Valerius looked down at his dishevelled uniform and ran his fingers over the bristles on his chin. He nodded and straightened his sash. With a nervous cough, he left the bridge, walking with slow, deliberate strides. When he was gone, Branne turned his attention back to his crew, glad to be free of the distraction.

‘Any more comm intercepts?’ he asked.

‘None that are good, commander,’ said the crewman in charge of the communications array. He swallowed nervously and could not meet Branne’s eye. ‘World Eaters signals suggest they believe the Legion to be below ten thousand strong. Angron is all over the frequencies, declaring the destruction of the Raven Guard.’

‘We will not allow that to happen,’ said Branne. He turned to the sensor console. ‘What orbital assets have the World Eaters kept?’

‘None, commander,’ replied the technician. He wiped sweat from his bald head and leaned back in his seat. ‘None that we can detect.’

‘Perhaps this is just an elaborate trap,’ said Branne, thinking aloud. ‘They could have ships lying in wait for us. Maybe they’ve been monitoring us all along and this is to draw us in.’

‘Unlikely, commander,’ said the aide. ‘At this range, even on lowest output we would detect any plasma readings. It’s only our dispersion reflex shield that stops us being detected. The World Eaters don’t have those.’

‘That makes no sense,’ said Branne, returning to his command throne. ‘Why leave a gap in their defences? Are any other vessels moving to provide orbital support?’

‘Negative, commander,’ said the scanning officer. ‘The only other vessel in the vicinity is a World Eaters battle-barge, and it is changing course to follow the main fleet.’

Branne was immediately suspicious. It was not only a foolish oversight, it was inconceivable that a Space Marine would make such a mistake.

‘Ground defences in that area?’ he asked.

‘None that we are aware of,’ said the officer. ‘Archives on Isstvan V are quite up-to-date. The mountainous region is almost devoid of population, no defence installations. We are too far away to detect anything without revealing our location.’

As unsettling as the apparent lapse was, it was an opportunity that could not be thrown away. Branne checked the display again, calculating scanner ranges and speeds for the enemy vessels. They were already too far away to respond to the presence of the Raven Guard fleet. The longer he waited, the greater the chance that the World Eaters would attack. Angron was known for his lack of patience and might well launch his assault ahead of schedule. Stealth had again proven its worth. Now was the time for swiftness of action to show its value.

Branne swung in his chair towards the communications team.

‘Signal the fleet. Drop reflex shields and divert all power to engines and navigation. Inform all flight decks and drop-bays to prepare for immediate launch. Air crews to their craft. This is our chance to strike. The enemy will know that the Raven Guard are not yet dead!’

METAL RANG ON metal, filling Delerax’s chamber with noise. Steel plate buckled and tore as he pounded his fists into the wall, every impact sending a shower of metal splinters into the air. He grunted and growled as he punched, every smashing blow delivered with a snarl. His mind was aflame with his anger, his implant feeding his rage with a cocktail of stimulants.

He barely heard the sound of the comm alert through the thundering of his hearts. He ignored it and continued to vent his ire on the battered wall, slamming the cracked knuckles of his gauntlets into metal until he was pulverising the rockcrete bulkhead beneath.