Heresy Bk. 02: Istvaan V

"Standby all batteries," Ferrus Manus's voice came over the fleetwide vox. "Fire!"

Hundreds of shells, missiles and lances streaked towards the planet below, each one finding its mark. Plumes of light blossomed on the rock below, each a chance that one more loyal Astartes would not have to fall. As the sensor reports came back, that hope was quickly dashed.

"Lord, the void shields below are reading intact," the sensor officer informed him. "Our bombardment was ineffective sir."

"What about their air defenses?" Ferrus Manus asked.

"Anti air platforms are offline lord," the officer reported.

"Open a channel to the other Primarchs, we don't have long," Ferrus Manus said. Once the channel had been established, he addressed his brothers.

"We must be quick, I will take my forces up the middle, which flanks will you be on?" He asked.

"I'll take the right flank," Corax said.

"I have the left," Vulkan answered.

"Very well, I'll see you on the surface brothers," Ferrus Manus said. He turned and left the bridge, heading for the drop pod launch bay to meet his Morlocks.

Ferrus Manus looked even larger than he already was inside the drop pod, the grav harness not being designed for someone the size of a Primarch. He had stowed his massive thunder hammer, Forgebreaker, in its clamp and waited for the launch.

Ferrus Manus smiled coldly, his thoughts drifting to the swift vengeance he would bring. He had to laugh at the irony of the situation. Fulgrim had crafted Forgebreaker for him years ago, it was only fitting that the traitor be ended by it.



Klaxons had alerted Captain Xa'ven and his command squad to the upcoming drop, his men quickly climbing aboard their drop pod. With weapons stowed and his men strapped into their grav harnesses, he hit the activation rune which closed the last of the five petal ramps, each held in place by an explosive bolt.

As the ramp lifted into place, Xa'ven strapped himself in. A familiar excitement coursed through him, the thrill of another combat drop not lost due to the purpose of the drop.

"I can't believe they let you come along Go'sol," Guldor said. "You've been with us for all of five minutes and suddenly you're fit to come on missions? What is our legion becoming?"

"Guldor, I'll have none of that," Xa'ven said. "He has yet to become a full Astartes, but he is as much a part of the legion as you or I. Besides, he may save your life down there."

The men burst into laughter. It was a custom among the Salamanders to tease the initiates. Self reliance and self preservation were highly regarded within the legion and this was just another trial for Go'sol.

The drop pod was slowly lowered into the firing tube, the sound of the hatch closing above them bringing them back to the grim reality that lay before them. They would soon engage brothers in combat. Each man of the Thirty-Fourth Company had proven themselves in hundreds of war zones, some even as far back as the Unification Wars, but Xa'ven feared that nothing would prepare them for this.

He looked around at each man; Guldor rambling about past battles, Atesh Tarsa in his white armor fooling around with his Narthesium gauntlet, the standard tool of the Apothecarion. Jo'Phor, Hae'Phast and Donak taking bets on how long it will be before they return to the ship, and Go'sol reciting words from his training. Each man had been tested, and each would be tested again.

The holding clamps unlocked and the drop pod slid down the firing tube, the distinctive whine of the jet engine growing louder as the drop pod entered the final launch stage. With a jolt, the drop pods engine kicked on and hurled the capsule towards Istvaan V.



The bombardment had been heavy, but he expected as much. The Warmaster stood with Fulgrim, Mortarion and Angron inside the command bunker. Final plans were being drawn up and some of Horus's brothers were none too happy about their assignments.

Fulgrim stood looking out the firing slit, gazing upon the rust colored rock of Istvaan V. His thoughts were of Ferrus Manus, his brother who had crafted his sword Fireblade. He knew Ferrus Manus would come to kill him, or at least try to.

Mortarion, The Death Lord, stood with Horus, both men trying to calm Angron's bloodlust. The psycho-surgery he had undergone before the Emperor had found him gave him an almost insatiable appetite for bloodshed.

"This will be over in moments," Angron bellowed. "Just let us loose and we will tear through them like lambs before the butcher."

"Patience brother," Mortarion said calmly. "If Corax and his Raven Guard get on our flank our plans may be for naught. We need you and your men to set up in ambush positions along the right flank."

"How can you know he will take the right flank?" Angron asked angrily.

"That's where all the cover is," Horus replied. "Hard to strike from the shadows when there are no shadows."

"And if you're wrong?"

"Then charge Vulkan with everything you've got," Mortarion told him.

"How can you be positive the Gorgon won't be in a flank?"

"Because," Fulgrim said without looking away from the firing slit. "He will be coming for me. I destroyed his flagship, damaged several other vessels and got away cleanly. He will want blood, and he will seek it out."

Angron stormed off, still not happy with his assignment. Horus looked at his remaining brothers, each had followed him this far, and would follow him unto death. Deep down he knew he could win this battle, just like he knew he had chosen the right path.

The Death Guard and Sons of Horus would form lines along the left and right flanks, with the Emperor's Children holding the center. The World Eaters would set up ambush positions along the right flank and all heavy support units would remain in the rear, able to respond as needed.

The Imperator Titan Dies Irae would be the only exception, remaining close to the front to provide close in fire support. It had proved instrumental on Istvaan III and now it would prove just as helpful.



~Chapter 3~

~Contact

~Dies Irae

~Flanking Maneuvers



The retro jets on Xa'ven's drop pod activated, easing their descent before slamming them into the hard rock and dirt of Istvaan V. The explosive bolts blew out with a pop and the petal ramps fell to the dirt. Xa'ven and his squad raced ahead to form a defensive line, his brothers doing the same all up and down the line.

Taking in the scene around him, Xa'ven could see that battle had been joined. Ferrus Manus and some of his Iron Hands had landed within two hundred feet of the Emperor's Children line and were advancing slowly under the weight of punishing fire.

Closer to him, he saw other green drop pods of the Salamanders, each forming up in good order, marching to meet the Sons of Horus and Death Guard. Beyond the Iron Hands, he could make out the black drop pods of the Raven Guard, the huge form of Corax leading them up the right flank, his winged jump pack unmistakable.

As his squad marched forward, he heard more drop pods coming in. Looking up be saw a mixture of the three legions, each streaking towards their predetermined positions. Several hundred feet from them landed the scaled drop pod of Vulkan, his Firedrakes quickly taking up position around him.

Xa'ven felt a surge of pride at the sight of his Primarch, his gene father coming to shed blood with them in the name of the Emperor. Rarely had this happened, and only in the most dire of circumstances. There has been rumors that Artellus Numeon had even awoken Cassian Dracos, the first Lord Commander who had led the legion before Vulkan had been found.

In those days he had been known as Cassian Vaughn, until he was mortally wounded during an Ork invasion in the Taras Division. Vulkan had arrived with three thousand new recruits, his presence inspiring those still able to fight to press harder. The Orks had been destroyed, the severed hand of their leader presented to Cassian Vaughn as a trophy.

For his service to the legion and for his knowledge, he was chosen to be interred in the sarcophagus of a dreadnought, his broken body suspended in amniotic fluid and his mind linked with the controls of the dreadnought. The chosen sarcophagus was one personally forged by Vulkan, called the Dracos Revenant. Over the centuries, he began to suffer from the mental dilution which is common to those entombed as a dreadnought. Now he is only awoken in the most dire of circumstances.

The distinctive whistle of artillery overhead shook Xa'ven from his thoughts. Without being prompted, his squad hit the dirt; a standard reaction to even the most inaccurate of artillery. The shells burst further down the line, sending up plumes of smoke, dust and rock, leaving behind several small fires in the craters they created.

Looking up, he saw his beloved Primarch and his Firedrakes step through the smoke, their Terminator armor scarred and pitted. As motivating as it was, Xa'ven knew that not all of them had been so fortunate as to shake off such fury.

He scanned the line again, seeing Ferrus Manus charging up toward the traitor line, his Morlock Terminators only steps behind him. Sons of Horus and Death Guard had begun to move in to engage him. Corax was nowhere to be seen, and Vulkan raised high his hammer and charged.



Esau Turnet felt like a god; the neural connection through the Mind Impulse Unit allowing the Princeps to see the battlefield through the eyes of the Imperator Titan Dies Irae. The mighty engine watched the fighting below like a human watches ants go about their labors. He knew nothing could harm them, that nothing down there was a threat to his power.

The Warmaster's orders had been specific enough, with just enough leeway to improvise as needed. "Make them pay for every step," the Warmaster had said, and Esau Turnet was not going to disappoint.

As the Iron Hands battered their way through pockets of the Warmaster's forces, he saw an opportunity, one he wouldn't miss.

"Moderatii," Turnet said. "Spin up the Vulcan Mega-Bolter. Teach them the error of their ways."

With a nod, Moderatii Jonah Aruken worked his panel, sending commands and signals to the servitor slaved to the carapace mounted weapons. The massive barrels quickly began to spin, their soft whirring barely audible within the armored head of the Titan.

The Iron Hands were moving forward slowly, the weight of resistance keeping them from a full on charge. With a laugh, Turnet flicked the manual fire button; the ground below turned to a cloud of dust and death at three hundred rounds per second.

Turnet began to walk the punishing fire back towards the drop zone, attempting to weaken the loyalists as much as possible. As the dust cleared, Turnet could see the ragged corpses of Iron Hands legionaries, as well as some black and green armored bodies of the Raven Guard and Salamanders. Each corpse riddled with holes, their insides turned to pulp from the high caliber mass reactive shells detonating within them.

He saw several Sons of Horus using the Titan as cover, firing behind the massive columns of adamantium that made up the Dies Irae's legs. Turnet smiled, knowing that with every kill, with every man he saved from death just by being there and doing his duty, he was earning the Warmaster's favor.

The firing stopped, the barrels of their weapons overheating. Turnet's smile faded, fearing his favor with the Warmaster would be based on his performance. He felt he was held to a higher standard because he wasn't an Astartes, and this bad deeply troubled him for months. Since the bombing of Istvaan III, he had tried his hardest to stay in the good graces of the Warmaster.

He was bound and determined not to disappoint.



Corax had watched in horror as the traitor Titan had ripped into the Iron Hands, knowing his brother was now hurting for reinforcements. Every bone in his body told him to divert his troops and support Ferrus Manus's charge, yet he knew deep down that a frontal assault against a fortified position and against superior numbers was suicide. He had to stay on mission.

Corax had taken several hundred of his finest veterans around the extreme right flank, hoping to gain access to the void shield generators in the rear of the bunker. He knew it was a long shot, but even if he couldn't reach them, he could at least attack from the rear.

His men moved with practiced efficiency, each step purposeful, each decision made from experience. They skirted boulders and ducked from cover to cover, keeping a watchful eye for enemy troops. Corax knew from reports that Horus had several hundred thousand army troops at his disposal. While that wouldn't be enough to stop him, they might get a warning off or drown them in sheer weight of numbers.

Corax halted his men, the sound of aircraft overhead making them take cover. Looking to the sky, he saw ships of the Raven Guard, Iron Hands and Salamanders bringing down supplies and equipment. Tanks of every size, trucks, medical supplies and Imperial Army troops. His heart was overjoyed to see a large red cargo hauler with the skull and cog symbol of the Mechanicum. It carried a cargo that would be vital to the coming battle.

"Keep moving, we need to get in position before the Iron Hands next push," Corax said over the vox.

No reply was needed, his orders were obeyed without question as his men began to move forward. Soon they would be in position, or fighting to get there.



~Chapter 4~

~The Gorgon Unleashed

~Strike From The Sky

~Retribution



The Iron Hands were hurting, having taken the brunt of the Dies Irae's fire, but that would not deter Ferrus Manus. He fought like a man possessed, the Sons of Horus and Death Guard units sent to stop him having met a quick and brutal end from Forgebreaker. Their broken bodies leaving a trail of destruction in his wake.

As the Iron Hands pushed deeper into the heart of the enemy, Ferrus Manus swung Forgebreaker two handed, shattering bone and crushing armor with every swing. His Morlock bodyguards had given him a wide berth, trying to stay out of the arc of their Primarchs swings.

"Morlocks, to me!" Ferrus Manus shouted over the cacophony of battle. "Lets show them what becomes of traitors!"

Ferrus Manus and several hundred Morlock Terminators charged headlong into the Sons of Horus, not breaking stride as the enemy opened up with their bolters. Some returned fire with their storm bolters, firing from the hip as they ran at the enemy. The only thing they were concerned with was bringing the Emperor's justice to these traitors.

A dozen Morlocks fell to concentrated bolter fire, each one down a terrible loss. When they reached the Sons of Horus, they hit like an anvil, running down those at the front, leaving them to be trampled by those still charging forward. The freight train of destruction that was Ferrus Manus's charge came to a halt as they reached the middle of the line. Energized power fists, Thunder Hammers and Forgebreaker swinging hastily with practiced assurance that a connecting strike would kill.

To his left, the Primarch of the Iron Hands could see Ezekyle Abaddon and Horus Aximand shouting words of inspiration to their men, killing any Morlocks who got within striking distance. The anger he felt was only subsided by the appearance of Fulgrim. His brother easily stood out among his men, being easily a head taller than those around him. He was only a hundred feet in front of Ferrus Manus, yet between the two were hundreds of men, mostly Sons of Horus and Emperor's Children.

"Push through brothers!" Ferrus Manus yelled. "Crush them beneath our iron fury!"

His words had some effect, but what motivated his men onward was the sight of their beloved Primarch easily killing those who stood between him and his prize. They pushed harder, determined to see victory this day.



From his position on the flank, Corax could see the battlefield clearly, his brothers wild charge making good headway into the enemy. While it looked good, Corax knew deep down that it was doomed to fail, born of pride and hubris.

"My lord," a sergeant said, "we stand ready."

"Thank you brother, we will begin the assault momentarily," Corax replied. He focused on the damage Ferrus Manus was doing, the punishment he was dealing to the enemies of the Emperor. It was incredible, Corax thought.

"Ready jump packs," Corax said over the vox. "Jump on my mark."

With the flick of an activation rune, Corax and his Raven Guard soared into the air, propelled forward on wings of fire. They landed hard within one hundred yards of the Death Guard flank, charging the last few paces on foot. As Corax engaged his lightning claw, his charge slowed, a new threat appearing.

Angron stood on a rise toward a plateau, directing a contingent of World Eaters into the Raven Guard flank, the Red Angel shouting words of inspiration and calling for blood. Moments later, more World Eaters poured from all directions, their yelling and laughing nearly drowned out by the revving of their chainswords. The blue and white of the World Eaters armor was covered in the blood of Raven Guard Marines who quickly fell to their brutal onslaught.

Corax dodged low beneath the wild swing of a chainsword and slashed up with his lightning claw; the energized weapon easily slicing through the power armor, flesh and bone. Spinning on his heel, he slashed again, beheading another. He punched with his free hand, crushing the chest of another World Eater.

With a momentary reprieve, he looked around. The melee had become a bloodbath, armor of both sides covered in blood. Corax's own armor was flecked with blood, the bright red color showing well on the black plates of ceramite.

Another group of World Eaters charged him, driven by the same psycho-surgery that Angron had received before the Emperor found him. He activated his jump pack, sailing forward into them before they could strike. He stabbed through two of them, ripping open wounds in their chest before breaking the neck of the final assailant.

Corax knew what had to be done, though he hated to do it. By doing so meant failure on his part, a failure he would have to live with for the rest of his life.

"We can't hold against this fury," Corax voxed to his men. "Fall back to defensive positions."



Red light bathed the interior of the Retribution in a sickly glow, as if blood coated the interior. Princeps Kris Delphene liked to think of it as the blood of traitors. They had landed safely behind the Iron Hands, running their final system checks on the void shield generators and plasma reactor.

Though the Dies Irae was larger, the Retribution had agility on its side. Delphene laughed at the thought of something the size of a Titan being considered agile. His thoughts were interrupted by his Moderatii giving status updates.

"Plasma reactor stable, reactor compartment reports ready Princeps," Hektor Jericho announced.

"Void shields at full capacity, generators are stable," Kaleb Andus reported.

"Thank you gentlemen, lets go to war," Delphene said with a smile. The Titan moved forward, each stride shaking the earth. In the distance, they could see the Dies Irae firing at incoming aircraft, hoping to shoot as many down as possible with few results.

"Gentlemen, this may very well be our last mission together," Delphene said calmly. "Have faith in the Emperor and do not falter in your duties. We will be victorious. Bring the Plasma Cannon online, full power. Target the Dies Irae."

"Plasma Cannon ready sir," Andus said. "Target locked."

"Fire."

A white hot beam of superheated plasma erupted from the barrel of the plasma cannon, striking the Dies Irae in the left leg section. As the air cleared, it was obvious their void shields had taken the impact, with not even a burn mark to show for it.