Deliverance Lost

‘Understood, Lord Corax.’

Corax turned to Bra

‘I might expect such behaviour from a lower officer, but you are a commander and you must set an example,’ Corax rasped. ‘You will be cordial and cooperative with Captain Noriz and extend him every assistance he requires.’

‘Aye, lord,’ said Bra

‘You forced me to support your stance, Bra

‘Understood, lord,’ said Bra

Corax watched the commander stride from the control room and felt a moment of worry. Something was eating at Bra

Despite his concern, Corax decided that, for the moment, it would wait. The gene-project was more pressing. When the next generation of Raven Guard was secure, the primarch would turn his full attention to the existing one. He was eager to move on to wider implantation, and chafed at the thought of waiting for the results of more tests. Within moments, his mind was full of thoughts on how to refine the new gene-tech, the problems with his commanders forgotten.

As the primarch made his way back to his chambers, he told himself to have patience. A moment of rashness now might ruin all of the hard work and achievements that had come before. Feeling calmer, he sat down at his desk and started the dataflow again.

THE INTERIOR OF the Wrathful Vanguardwas very different to the inside of a Raven Guard vessel. It resembled more closely a fortress than a starship, the walls layered with plates of bare metal etched with Legion mottoes and ferrocrete slabs carved with the sigils and devices of the Imperial Fists. Buttresses reinforced every corridor, doors were arch-shaped and made of heavily bolted wood and bulkheads were cross-barred with gilded girders.

Bra

The commander followed Noriz along a central passageway to a heavy elevator. A squad of Raven Guard followed a little way behind and they in turn were tailed by ten warriors of the Imperial Fists. Bra

The conveyor descended with only a whine of electric motors, unlike the clanking, rattling elevators of Ravenspire. There was room enough for all of the legionaries, allowing the Raven Guard and Imperial Fists to stand a few metres separated from each other.

They could not have been more dissimilar: the sons of Corax in their black, patched-up armour and the warriors of Dorn resplendent in yellow and gleaming gold. The Imperial Fists stood to attention in a uniform line, bolters held at their waists; the Raven Guard had gathered in a clump, bolters slung on their belts, arms crossed or hands on hips.

‘How are things on Terra?’ Bra

‘The fortification continues,’ replied Noriz.

Bra

‘Your legionaries are turned out well,’ he said, thinking of something complimentary to say. ‘They are a credit to the Legion.’

‘We were fortunate not to be involved in the debacle at Isstvan,’ said Noriz. He glanced at the Raven Guard. ‘It is understandable that after such a disaster certain standards must be compromised.’

Taking in a deep breath, Bra

‘We’re ready to fight, despite our appearance,’ he said.

‘I know you are, commander,’ said Noriz. ‘It was not a condemnation of your preparedness or your ability. Your armourium has shown remarkable ingenuity in affecting such modifications.’

‘We adapt, as ever. Hide some salt for the gruel, as we say.’

‘An interesting motto,’ said Noriz. It was hard to tell his mood from the modulation of his armour’s external emitters, but Bra

‘You weren’t born in a prison, obviously,’ said Bra

‘No, I was not, commander.’ The conveyor shuddered to a stop and the doors slid open. Bra

They stepped out into darkness, footfalls silent in the void, the light from the conveyor casting long shadows over a floor of unpainted metal.

‘The vacuum is a precaution only,’ Noriz continued as he led the way. Suit lamps automatically sprang into life from the group as they moved further into the chamber. Turning, Bra

‘Cargo?’ said Bra

As the legionaries converged, several rows of armoured suits reflected back their lamps. The metal and ceramite were bare, the suits silver and dull grey. Lifeless masks gazed back at the commander as he turned left and right. There were several dozen sets of armour, each locked in place against a strut welded to the floor.

‘Mark VI,’ said Noriz. ‘The latest design from Mars.’

Bra

‘They still require a little further work, I’m afraid,’ said Noriz. ‘Lord Dorn wished them shipped out to you as soon as we were able. They’re artificer-made, pre-production. You’ll be the first Legion in the Imperium to be issued with Mark VI.’

‘A nice gesture,’ said Bra

‘Most of the improvements your Legion suggested were implemented,’ said Noriz, almost wistfully. ‘Protection is no better than the Mark IV, but the internal systems are far more efficient. The external cabling you see is supplemented by back-ups within the armour plate itself without compromising defence or adding excessive weight. Auto-senses have also been improved. In particular, auditory and olfactory pick-ups are much more sensitive. You will, no doubt, be pleased to hear that the stealth capabilities of this suit exceed that of any other variant.’