Dozens of servitors were now busy among these, lifting up battered target servitors, some of which were still thrashing feebly. Others were touring the walls of the hangar and beginning repairs on the armoured padding which lined the bulkheads.
Fornix clicked off his helm, and stood impassively as thirty Space Marines of Mortai’s tactical squads gathered around him.
‘Take a knee,’ he growled, and at once the massive armoured warriors knelt before him in a rough semi-circle.
‘Unhelm.’
He stared at them, eye to eye. ‘Brother Orsus, who tripped the grenades?’
A broad-faced warrior, big even for his kind, rubbed his hand over his scalp. ‘That would be Brother Infinius.’
Fornix’s gaze ranged over the squad. A slim, dark warrior with black hair and downcast eyes.
‘Tripwires, Infinius? Brother, I set those there merely to combat boredom, and because of you they incapacitated three of your squad. Tripwires – really?’
‘My apologies, first sergeant.’ Infinius rubbed at a blackened dent in his armour, which was otherwise so new from the arsenal that it still had a lacquered shine to it.
‘How long have you been in Mortai now?’
‘Seven weeks, first sergeant.’
‘And already you have been killed by a trap which a drunk cultist could set.’ Fornix bared his teeth in exasperation. ‘Extra duty, Orsus. For all of Tertius. And an inspection for all squads at fifteenth hour shiptime.’
Orsus nodded, scowling.
‘And who was it who uttered our battle-cry on the vox?’ Fornix demanded. His bionic eye glowed hellish red, as though infected by his anger.
‘First sergeant, it was me.’
Fornix sighed. Another recruit.
‘Brother Gad, is it not?’
The Space Marine nodded.
Fornix strode forward, and leaned down until his scalp-lock was tickling the other warrior’s face.
‘The battle-cry of the Dark Hunters is not to be uttered except in battle, Brother Gad – do you understand me?’
The Space Marine nodded dumbly.
‘You do not scream it out in the middle of a tactical exercise in the practice hangar. Am I perfectly clear, brother?’
‘Yes, first sergeant.’
Fornix looked at the thirty kneeling warriors. He saw that Nureddin of Secundus was trying not to smile – he was one of Fornix’s oldest friends, so he chose to ignore it. Finn March of Primus was frowning. Always so serious, old Finn.
New faces in the company. Enough to make a difference to the heft of it perhaps. They were all trained battle-brothers with years of combat under their belts, but they could not compare to Mortai’s veterans – not yet.
Fornix tapped the device he held in one hand. ‘One hundred and thirty-eight targets accounted for, at a cost of four of you. Brothers, it will not be good enough. Nureddin, you were with me the last time we fought the Punishers – do you remember the odds we faced back then?’
Brother Nureddin’s grin died on his face. ‘I remember, Fornix.’
‘There were close to eight hundred battle-brothers in the Chapter at that time. We lost half of Haroun Company on the first day: forty battle-brothers. But they bought time for the rest of the Chapter to organise a defence. That one company slew well over eight thousand of the Great Enemy before they were overwhelmed.
‘They were not fighting target drones, brothers. The cultists went down in waves, it is true, but behind them were warbands of the Chaos brethren, who had once been of our own adept. They wore power armour, wielded bolters and flamers and lascannons even as we do.
‘They had begun as Space Marines, my brothers, and whatever it was they had become, they had not forgotten how to fight. And they came in their thousands.
‘So make no mistake – it is not enough to kill five, or ten, or twenty of the enemy and think you have done enough. It is not enough to die gloriously with the vile corpses of the foe piled high all around you. To be victorious, brothers, we must do two things. We must destroy the foe utterly...’
He paused. ‘And we must also survive.’
Fornix’s head sank down until his chin was inside the collar of his breastplate. For a moment he seemed very far away.
‘Inspection at fifteen. In the morning we will begin again. And I will discipline personally anyone who falls to the marker of a single drone tomorrow. Dismissed.’
‘Your first sergeant’s anecdotes leave me somewhat disquieted,’ Brother Malchai said, frowning.
‘He trains the company according to the Codex,’ Kerne rejoined. ‘You cannot fault him for that.’
The Chaplain and the captain were standing high up in the observation gallery, wreathed in ribands and knots of dissipating smoke. They cradled their helms at their sides, but were otherwise fully armoured.
‘The training is adequate, and Codex-compliant. It is his words which give me concern. Brother Kass, perhaps you could enlighten us with your opinion.’
Elijah Kass stood behind the two senior officers of his Chapter.
‘My lord, I do not feel qualified to comment.’
‘You are a psyker, are you not, Kass? Perhaps you could do us the service of sounding out the state of mind of–’
‘Enough,’ Kerne snarled. ‘My first sergeant is not a case-study. He has been training our brethren for long enough not to be second-guessed in his methods by anyone. Is that clear, Brother Malchai?’
‘As I said, his methods are Codex-compliant – it is his attitude which concerns me, and as acting company Chaplain I am fully within the orbit of my duties to question it, captain.’
For once there was no animosity in the Reclusiarch’s white face. He meant what he said.
‘Brother Kass, leave us,’ Jonah said.
‘I would prefer it if the Librarian stayed.’
‘Prefer all you like. Elijah, the Chaplain and I would speak privately, if you will.’
‘Captain,’ Elijah said.
‘Go now, Brother Kass. I will not ask you again.’
Elijah Kass stepped away. There was a hiss, and the elevator at their backs took him down into darkness.
The two Space Marines remaining looked at one another. The line of command between a veteran Space Marine captain and the senior Reclusiarch of the Chapter was ill-defined, and depended much on the personalities involved.
In theory, everyone in the Dark Hunters, even the Chapter Master himself, had to defer to Malchai when the issue at stake was the spiritual well-being and orthodoxy of the Chapter. But when it came to military matters, the force commander on the ground was entitled to his own decisions.
‘We are of an age, you and I,’ Jonah said to Malchai. ‘We were witness to the near-destruction of the Dark Hunters, even as Fornix was. That time has seared itself into the soul of every battle-brother who survived it – and there are not many of us left who remember, now. Surely you can understand why Fornix thinks the way he does. There is no unorthodoxy in seeking to make sure his brethren survive?’
Malchai was implacable. ‘Sentiment. Always, it has been your weakness, Jonah. In past times it was your temper, but it seems you have learned to control that. Now you must expunge the last remnants of another weakness from your soul. Only then would you be even remotely worthy to fill the office you seek.’
He was right and wrong at the same time. ‘I seek no other office than that which I currently hold,’ Kerne said carefully.
‘Others seek it for you. Even the Kharne himself has stumbled, blinded by his old friendship for you and his absurd attachment to the company he once commanded. It should have been the Chapter’s senior captain who commanded this expedition, not you.’
‘Ares Thuraman is your friend, is he not, Malchai?’
‘I have no friends. I have only comrades with whom I work for the good of the Chapter, in service to the Emperor. You might want to consider doing the same.’
A cold light came into Kerne’s black eyes. ‘Do you accuse me of neglecting my duty, Reclusiarch?’