By the Throne, he vowed, it will take more than fourteen hours to silence this army.
‘On final approach. Landing in thirty seconds,’ the pilot said.
They were flying into the face of a mountain, it seemed. The citadel was an immense structure, a fortress half a kilometre high that was studded with brutal gun-emplacements and girded with blast-walls a hundred metres thick. On its summit, the governor’s palace caught the sun above the smog for a moment, a glint of gold on the gilded tiles of its spires and towers.
There was no time-killing in the anteroom this time. Dietrich was ushered into the audience hall without delay, and found himself waylaid by the chamberlain as soon as he was through the doors.
‘General, the governor is in his conference room with his captains. I am to lead you straight in.’
Gardias the Chamberlain was a tall, upright old man with the bearing of a soldier, one of the few on the governor’s staff that Dietrich felt any modicum of respect for. He followed him past the scarlet-clad bodyguards sweating along the sides of the hall to a door near the dais at its end, the hobnails in his worn leather boots echoing loud upon marble. There were several score others in the hall, courtiers and administrators and hangers-on, some of whom he recognised, all of whom he ignored.
‘General!’ As Gardias retreated, closing the door behind him, so Lord Riedling, Planetary Governor of Ras Hanem, came forward, holding out one hand and smiling widely as though Dietrich were an old friend he had not seen in years. He had the dissembler’s gift for false bonhomie, and shook Dietrich’s gloved fist with a fine relish. Dietrich bowed slightly in response, and said nothing. He saw that the news he had meant to deliver had run ahead of him.
Riedling was a slight, dark man with a sharp beard and narrow shoulders, but his eyes missed nothing, and there was no smile in them to match the one on his mouth.
‘Marshal Veigh has grave news for us – perhaps you would like to hear it retold.’
Dietrich looked at Veigh, a tall pale ghost of a man, but a passable soldier. ‘Dardrek?’
The marshal nodded, his face as grey as his hair. ‘We are the last remaining Imperial outpost in the system, general. It is likely the enemy are on their way here even now.’
‘We estimate three days at the earliest,’ Dietrich rasped, ignoring the governor, who had opened his mouth to speak. ‘Do you concur?’
‘It may be longer. Ras Hanem is better defended than anything they have hit thus far. They will have to regroup their forces for the assault.’
Dietrich nodded.
‘What are we talking about here, general?’ Lord Riedling broke in, shrill with alarm. ‘An invasion? I thought this was a system-wide series of raids, no more.’
Dietrich regarded the governor with weary patience. ‘They have been too systematic. If it is a raid, then it is one that follows the logic of an invasion. Best to prepare for the worst, my lord governor.’
Riedling sputtered. ‘You tell us they have only light ships. Surely if they were coming here to stay they would need a heavier fleet.’
‘They would, if the system were better defended,’ Dietrich said grimly. ‘My lord governor, we must begin to concentrate our own forces also. The Hanemite Guard is scattered all over the planet. It must be brought back to the main cities. He who tries to defend everything, defends nothing.’
‘The capital must be held. You are right, general. Marshal Veigh, you must withdraw the bulk of your forces here to Askai. It is the only adequately fortified city on the planet – there is no hope of holding the others.’
What a poltroon, Dietrich thought with disgust. But the aggravating thing was that the governor was right. He had arrived at the same conclusion as Dietrich himself, but through cowardice, not any strategic insight.
‘My lord, I must protest!’ Veigh burst out, a little less grey than before – anger flushed his face. ‘It would mean abandoning hundreds of millions to the mercy of, of–’
‘The Great Enemy, they are called by the Adeptus Astartes,’ Dietrich interrupted. ‘This is not some pirate band, or a mob of ork marauders, marshal. Read your history. They were here once before, over a hundred years ago, and they swept the Imperial forces from the system like so much chaff. Were it not for the Adeptus Astartes, they would be here still.’
‘My men know their jobs, general. Do you doubt their ability to repel these invaders?’ Veigh asked with an angry sneer.
‘We must plan for all contingencies, marshal. That is why we have informed Cypra Mundi of the situation. For weeks now, we have been sending out vox messages asking for reinforcements. Some of those messages must have got through. We need only hold on here until the Imperium relieves us.’
‘That’s right!’ Riedling said, slapping his palm with one fist. ‘They cannot let a world as valuable as this one be overrun by… by the enemy. You have the right of it, general. We have only to sit tight, and hang on.’
Veigh looked at his diminutive governor with ill-concealed contempt, and Dietrich, noting the expression, thought that he and the marshal might yet be able to work together.
‘Lord Riedling is wholly correct in his analysis of the situation,’ he said briskly. ‘Galling though it is to admit it, we cannot hold the entire planet – we do not have the men. Marshal Veigh, I recommend you withdraw all your forces to the capital. They can fight side by side with my armour. Askai can be made into a fortress, if we start on it at once.’
‘Once word gets out, the refugees will flock to this city in their millions,’ Veigh said slowly, tiredly. The grey was back in his face again. This was his home world, and dulling his eyes now was the knowledge that most of it was about to be abandoned to an enemy more terrible than any he had ever faced before.
‘If Chaos becomes entrenched on this world,’ Dietrich said quietly, ‘then the Adeptus Astartes will burn it down to the stone, along with every man, woman and child who inhabits it. There is no arguing with the Angels of Death, marshal. We must choose the lesser of two great evils.’
Veigh nodded slowly. He rubbed his eyes. ‘I will give the necessary orders,’ he said at last.
‘But be discreet, marshal,’ Lord Riedling told him. ‘Askai is already a powder-keg of speculation.’
‘I know my job, my lord,’ Veigh snarled. ‘Attend to your own.’
Then, to Riedling’s astonishment, he turned on his heel and strode out of the chamber, calling for his aides to follow him as he went.
Riedling followed his departure with cold eyes. ‘I will not forget such insubordination, when all this is over,’ he hissed.
‘My lord governor,’ Dietrich said wearily, ‘when all this is over, the memory of a moment’s insubordination will be long gone, and perhaps us with it.’
SEVEN
Venerit Infernum
‘Control, this is Crixus One, we are in position two hundred and sixty kilometres from high orbit, staggered formation, augur ranging now.’
‘Acknowledged, Crixus One. Good hunting.’
The sixteen spacecraft of the wing extended across some thirty kilometres of empty space. Behind them Ras Hanem loomed, a glowing ochre ball. In front of them were ten billion stars, and the darkness of the void.
Jon Kadare flipped a series of switches in the darkened cockpit. ‘Missiles armed. Gunner, you have fire control. All Furies, follow my lead. We’re moving out, boys.’