“Into the fires of war,” Heka’tan promised, then raised Gravius on the comm-feed.
“The 5th are readying as we speak,” the other captain uttered. “I will take them into the enemy’s flank. We move on your order, brother-captain.”
“Then consider it given, Gravius. Glory to Vulkan,” Heka’tan replied.
Kaitar turned and roared to the others, signalling for the forward squads to march. “Glory to the Primarch and the Legion!”
More than two hundred voices replied as one. “Fire-born!”
Flamers broken up amongst the divisions came forward in the ranks to lay down a curtain of fire before the advancing 14th. Heka’tan led them slowly at first, cutting down the eldar with methodical bolter bursts. He’d kept his big guns in reserve, and as the eldar drew off some of their forces to counter the threat, the captain gave the order for them to shoot.
Missile contrails clouded the air and thick conversion beams hummed powerfully as sergeants unleashed the might of their heavy divisions. To counter the barrage, the eldar released their pterosaurs and the winged reptilians dived towards the bigger guns at the back of Heka’tan’s formation. Heavy bolters struck up next and the air was filled with their blistering shells. Flung javelins fell in a piercing torrent but most were destroyed before they struck Legionary bodies. Flying saurians were chewed apart by the fusillade, but more were descending from their rookeries.
The sergeants of the forward squads kept them moving, firing from the hip. A massive squadron of raptors appeared on the flank, their riders brandishing power lances and spitting curses at the Emperor’s warrior angels. Dreadnoughts lumbered forwards to intercept them. Attion had been alone when he fought and was killed by the carnodon, but now an entire unit of the armoured monsters was coming at the raptors.
“Disrupt their flank attacks, venerable brothers, and break up the aerial sweeps from their flyers,” Heka’tan’s voice rang down the feed.
“In Vulkan’s name!”they responded together as they clashed with the eldar riders.
The distance to the temple was closing. Heka’tan revved up his chainblade, whispering an oath. His command squad were locked in beside him. He opened the feed again. “Heavy divisions withdraw into the forest. Captain Gravius—we are about to engage.”
The reply came swift and eager. “We are the hammer, Captain Heka’tan. Become the anvil and let’s see them broken.”
“It shall be done,” Heka’tan promised. The hellish kaleidoscope of close combat was almost upon them, “Salamanders. Bring them down!”
FROM THE SUMMIT of the ridge, Vulkan watched the 5th and 14th companies attack. It prompted a flood of eldar to uncloak and join the battle. In a matter of moments, the defenders of the psychic node had swelled with foot soldiers and saurian-riders.
“They’ve drawn out the eldar reserves,” said Numeon. The eagerness for combat in his voice was obvious and spread to the rest of the Pyre Guard.
Atanarius gripped the haft of his double-bladed power sword as if strangling an enemy; Ganne’s gauntlets cracked noisily as he clenched and unclenched his fists; Leodrakk and Skatar’var swung their power mauls off their shoulder guards and into ready positions in unison. Only Igataron was still, but then raw aggression bled off him in waves anyway.
Vulkan felt it too, but coaxed the embers of his belligerence a little longer before choosing to release it.
Numeon crouched near the edge of the ridge, the pommel of his halberd staved into the ground to support him. “I see none of the larger beasts amongst their number.”
There were none. Vulkan had found no evidence of carnodons hidden in the jungle depths. “Apparently, they are wary of our strength.”
Numeon stood up again. Varrun was behind him, sharpening the edge of his gladius, but did not offer a hand to the equerry. No warrior of the Pyre Guard would ever insult another by doing such a thing.
“You mean yourstrength, my lord.”
“My strength isour strength, Numeon. We are one, the Legion and I.” Despite his inner feelings of estrangement, this much Vulkan knew was true. Save perhaps Horus, who had his Mournival, all of the primarchs trod a solitary path. It was just the primarch of the Salamanders felt it more acutely than his brothers.
He was surveying the battlefield intently when his expression changed from one of aloof detachment to satisfied vindication.
A cadre of eldar had emerged into the open.
I’ve been waiting for you…
When he spoke, his deep voice was full of threat, presaging violence.
“Now we strike.”
Numeon turned to the others, brandishing his halberd like a rallying standard. “Pyre Guard. Embark!”
Supported by its landing stanchions on a patch of scorched earth behind them was a Stormbird. Its idling engines quickly built to loft speed and the vessel took off just as Vulkan and his inner-circle warriors got aboard. The other companies on the ridge would stay in reserve and could only watch as their lord took off.
The embarkation ramp was still closing when Numeon voxed the pilot from the hold.
“Lock assault vector on the node. Missile batteries and—”
Vulkan stopped him. “No. We do this hand-to-hand. Put us down at the edge of the node. I want to crack that thing with my hammer personally.”
JAMMING HIS CHAINSWORD into the eldar’s guts, Heka’tan bellowed for his warriors to drive on. “Advance 14th! Vulkan is watching you.”
Vulkan is always watching. As the anvil tempers us, so too does the primarch.
A welter of gore erupted from the corpse as he tore the blade free, and he was quickly pressed into defending against another attack. An eldar with an ornate sword struck at his guard. Sparks flared from the clashing weapons as Legiones Astartes aggression met alien finesse, but Heka’tan’s blood was up and he dispatched his foe with a close-range burst from his bolt pistol. Scorch marks blighted the forest green of his vambrace occluding the lines of arterial blood staining much of his armour. It was war’s baptism and he embraced it with a shout of triumph as he sought out another foe.
This was where he wanted to be, in the thick of battle, eye to eye with the enemy and taking eldar heads. Heka’tan originated from Nocturne, he knew the terror of the slave raids; he had lived through them as a boy. Though his apotheosis had altered his memory of those torments, the intrinsic enmity remained. These were not like the slavers, their anima was different, but they were of the eldar caste so Heka’tan’s contempt felt justified.
A spit of flame spewed to his right flank, warming his pauldron and burning up a clutch of eldar snipers intent on evening the odds. He didn’t slow. Momentum was everything. It was inexorable, methodical, and exacting as an avalanche. Gravius was fully committed too; Heka’tan had heard the shouts of the valiant 5th as they’d closed for the kill. In truth, the near defeat in the jungle had wounded them both. The chance to excise those feelings in the fires of war was the greatest boon his primarch could have granted them.
Hammer and anvil, brothers,the words resounded in his mind, let us show them that Salamanders are not easily bowed.
The melee was intense, a sweeping chaos of bloody images. Burning alien flesh was redolent on the breeze, mixed with the stale aroma of their reptilian mounts. Grunting and baying, they were finding the Legion a tougher foe to overwhelm without their massive carnodon cousins or the intervention of their witches…
…Until a lightning storm erupted around the psychic node and four enrobed figures stepped forth. Heka’tan was close enough to see it happen through the press of warring bodies. It was as if they’d been carried on the lightning itself, invisible passengers riding the eldritch energy, and merely let go of its arc. They embarked to set foot on the earth as any man would step from a ship. Bolts of verdant green still coursed over the arcane sigils covering the psyker’s trappings in the wake of teleportation. As three witches stood sentinel around the node, a fourth came forwards.