A Simple Plan Family a New Commander the Iron Blood, Terran
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TWO A simple plan Family A new commander The Iron Blood, Terran near orbit, sixty-nine hours before assault A rriving at the doors to Perturabo's chamber, Kydomor Forrix was surprised to find that he was not alone in seeking audience with the primarch. Clad in full battle- .X- ^ plate and helm, the warrior that had been Barban Falk waited in the antechamber. Kroeger was there also, a hunched, hulk ing figure in Terminator armour who seemed on the verge of hurling himself at the closed portal. Fach tread of his boots on the bare deck rang around the small room, accompanied by bull-like exha lations of frustration. They both turned at Forrix's approach. There was a glimmer of something through the lenses of Falk's helm, while Kroeger's gaze was a mixture of confusion and annoyance. 'Why are you here, Falk?' Forrix demanded, striding into the antechamber. 'I am the Warsmith,' the warrior replied. It sounded like Falk, 30 GAV THORPE tinged with the metallic ring of the external address system. Except for the studied enunciation, of someone taking care with every word issued. 'Address me as such.' There are a dozen warsmiths on this ship and its attendant flotilla,' said Forrix with a curled lip. 'Why do you assume the singular title? And you didn't answer my question - what are you doing hanging at the Lord of Iron's door like a hound waiting to be whipped by its master? Were you summoned?' 'I heard word that you sought the primarch's attention alone,' Ealk admitted. 'Alone being the operative word.' 'We are the Trident, we should speak as one with the primarch. Unless you are seeking singular audience in an effort to undermine our father's confidence in me.' 'It would be harder to undermine a child's wall of bricks.' Forrix turned his eye to Kroeger, who returned the attention with a bellig erent stare. 'And you?' 'I followed him,' replied Kroeger with a flick of the head towards Talk. Forrix rolled his eyes and turned back to the great double doors that barred entry to the chamber. He moved towards the ocular secu rity device set above them and looked up. '1 am here to see the primarch,' he announced. 1 lis demand was met with a flat horn denying entry. 'I have already tried entering,' said Falk. 'Do you think I would have waited here otherwise?' Before Forrix could respond he was silenced by the grinding of bolts in the doorway. With a hydraulic hiss, the massive plasteel portals opened, a flickering stream of light bursting into the antechamber. The hololith projector within was at full power, throwing the lord of the Legion into stark, shifting silhouette as he stepped slowly across a projected image of the Imperial Palace. THE FIRST WALL 31 Forrix hurried forward, knowing no invitation would be issued. Kroeger and Falk followed on his heel. With a clank, the Iron Circle marched forward, shields and mauls raised. They turned in synchrony to form a line between their master and the Trident, each visitor tar geted by the shoulder-mounted cannons of two automatons. 'Lord Perturabo,' said Falk. 'It is your Trident, come to seek your orders.' 'I haven't,' growled Forrix. 'I'm here with a way to break the siege.' Perturabo straightened, taller even than the mindless bodyguards he had created. 'Really?' Perturabo's voice rumbled around the chamber, heavy with menace. The automatons parted to form a path towards the primarch. It looked like a guard of honour but Forrix knew better. Hesitation would invite instant criticism so he strode forward, stopped a few paces from his lord and crashed a gauntleted fist against his chest plastron in salute. The space port, Lord of Iron. At the Lion's Gate.' 'I have studied it in some detail.' The primarch's dark stare settled upon Forrix in the manner of a predator that had found its prey. 'What have you seen that I have not?' 'A mistake, l,ord of Iron. Dorn's overconfidence has left a flaw we can exploit.' 'A mistake?' Perturabo's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. 'Leaving the space port intact so close to the wall is an error,' Forrix said. He was committed now, and plunged on for good or ill. If we can seize the port swiftly enough there will not be time to reinforce the defences separating it from the main wall.' That is your plan?' The primarch's scorn was like knives scoring wounds in Forrix's pride. 'You think that a mistake? Dorn does not make mistakes! Seven years he has pondered every detail here. Noth ing is in error. Nothing is where it is except by his design!' 32 GAV THORPE The primarch stomped through the hololith like a metal giant attacking the city. His fists crashed into the projector, turning it into a cloud of shrapnel and sparks. 'It is only by my superior intellect that his plans will be broken, his conceit revealed to the universe!' he roared. Forrix stood his ground, pushing against every instinct that told him to back down. The remains of the hololith projector stuttered, strobing red and purple light across the chamber, like a malfunc tioning blind grenade. 'Perhaps his mistake is in underestimating you, Lord of Iron,' he said quickly. 'And maybe your doubters' lies have blinded you to your power also. Dorn would not think you daring enough to strike so boldly and decisively at a place that seems impregnable.' 'No,' said Perturabo, but his rage was dissipating as his mind engaged with the issue presented. 'No, he taunts me with this flaw. It is too perfect... A trap. Dorn would see me commit to this attack and then reveal some secondary ploy in order to ensnare me and see me executed.' Perturabo's eyes roved across the Trident, not really seeing them. 'But I see you, Rogal. I will turn the trap against you.' The primarch's gaze finally settled on his subordinates and a grim smile twisted his face. 'I will not be lured into the maw of the beast, but that does not mean I cannot ram my fist down its throat and rip out its innards.' Falk stepped up quickly, fist banging in salute. 'I would be honoured to lead the attack,' said the Warsmith. 'I am sure you would,' Perturabo replied with a dismissive sneer. 'No, not you.' 'I-' began Forrix but the primarch cut him off. 'Kroeger shall have battle command,' announced Perturabo. Practice allowed Forrix to internalise the bellow of rage that stirred in his gut - to have given the slightest hint of dissent was to risk THE FIRST WALL 33 immediate and fatal censure. He remained passive, showing not the least reaction that Perturabo's inhuman senses and paranoia might detect. 'I am honoured, my primarch.' Kroeger's brow was as furrowed with peaks and troughs as the Himalazia. 'Surprised.' 'It is time that you had opportunity to prove your full worth.' The Lion's Gate will fall to us, 1 give my bond,' Kroeger contin ued, somewhat unnecessarily. There was no need to iterate the price of failure, for the blame would not fall solely at the feet of Perturabo if the Iron Warriors were baulked. This is not a time for subtlety.' The Iron Circle drew back as Per turabo stalked through the strobing hololith, his cable-pierced scalp shining with glimmering beads of sweat. With unspoken intent, Forrix and Falk both retreated a few steps to leave Kroeger standing alone against the primarch. Tou are the most bloody-minded of my Trident, Kroeger. I know that you will not relent for a moment. I see the desire in you for brutal war, and the Lion's Gate will sup ply you with more brutality than any conflict you have seen before.' 'Forrix, remain with me.' Perturabo's command stopped the warsmith in mid-stride as he headed out of the primarch's chamber with the other two members of the Trident. The Lord of Iron seemed placid enough, his tone even, but Forrix knew well that the churning passion beneath the veneer could break forth in destructive rage. He spun on his heel and returned to stand to attention before his master. Perturabo said nothing more until the reverberation of the doors closing clanged through the hall. 'Hololith off. Lights on.' The lumen strips above flickered into a wan yellow gleam, banishing the shadows that had wreathed the primarch. For a few seconds Forrix remembered his commander as 34 GAV THORPE he had been at the height of his power and insight; before the War- master had corrupted him, turned ambition into arrogance, curiosity into obsession. The moment passed as Perturabo's features twisted into a scornful grimace. He lifted armour-sheathed hands, fingers flexing in agita tion. The warsmith wondered if his misgivings had been obvious, or perhaps some other act or inaction had slighted the lord of his Legion. Forrix kept calm and tried not to let Perturabo's paranoia infect him as it had so many that surrounded the primarch. 'You think it wrong of me to appoint Kroeger to command this attack?' The question was a gaping chasm opening in front of Forrix, but a lie could drag him into its depths as easily as the truth. Better he be damned in courage rather than cowardice. 'He is inexperienced and lacking much strategic expertise,' said Forrix, keeping his criticism focused on Kroeger rather than his pri march. A little flattery would not hurt either.