Legacy Of Dorn (Warhammer 40,000) by Mike Lee

Author:Mike Lee [Lee, Mike]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Published: 2018-04-15T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Fortunes of War

Zona 9 Residentia, New Rynn City

Day 162

Two nights later there was a new moon, and the scouts reported heavy clouds and the possibility of rain. Galleas passed word to Lieutenant Mitra that conditions were right, and the raid would commence at midnight.

Preparations began after the evening meal. The commons area bustled with activity as the Imperials gathered by squads and began the lengthy ritual of cleaning, inspecting and blessing their wargear. Children dashed back and forth from the makeshift armoury at the far end of the chamber, passing out ammunition and grenades. The would-be guerrillas said little, focusing instead on smudging their faces with foul-smelling mud to help blend with the shadows, or adjusting the fit of their battered flak armour. Wide, frightened eyes shone ghostly white in the gloom. Preacher Gomez walked among the squads, reading selections from the Lectitio Divinitatus in a funereal voice. It did not appear to be having the effect on morale that Gomez intended.

At precisely midnight, Galleas and his squad emerged from their inner sanctum. The commons fell silent as the Crimson Fists crossed the chamber in silent procession: grim, implacable gods of war, bristling with weapons, their ancient armour scarred by the marks of bullet and blade. The humans bowed their heads and made the sign of the aquila as the Space Marines went by.

Reaching the partition that led to the exit tunnel, Galleas stepped aside to let his battle-brothers file past, and beckoned to Lieutenant Mitra and her squad leaders. The lieutenant affected a calm demeanour, but Galleas knew her well enough by now to see the faint lines of tension in her face. Kazimir, the veteran, was stolid as ever. Corporal Ismail grinned up at Galleas, her face transformed by dirt and ash into a fierce-looking war mask. Vila, by contrast, looked like a man heading to his own execution.

‘Are your troops ready, lieutenant?’

Mitra gave a curt nod. ‘The sergeant and I have just completed a final gear inspection and reviewed the routes and timetables for each squad. We’ll be ready to move out at the appointed time.’

The veteran sergeant regarded Ismail and Vila. ‘You understand what is expected of you?’

Corporal Ismail’s grin turned feral. ‘Get into firing position, wait for the signal, and then unleash hell,’ she said.

Vila gave Ismail a sidelong look and muttered something under his breath. Kazimir’s eyes narrowed. ‘Anything you want to add, corporal?’ he said.

‘No, sergeant,’ Vila replied sullenly.

‘Do you want to say a few words to the troops before you go, my lord?’ Mitra interjected.

Galleas frowned. ‘The operational details were explained clearly in the briefing. Anything I would have to say at this point would be redundant.’

Mitra’s brows knitted in consternation. ‘I meant–’ she started to say, then abruptly thought better of it. ‘Perhaps I should just wish you good luck then.’

‘Luck?’ Galleas shook his head disapprovingly. ‘Victory does not depend on luck, Lieutenant Mitra. That is what discipline and proper planning are for.’ Without waiting for a reply, the veteran sergeant turned on his heel and disappeared behind the heavy tarp covering the exit.

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