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His　base　inspection　over；　deViers　ordered　a　briefing　session　with　his　three　divisional
commanders；　Major　Generals　Rennkamp；　Killian　and　Bergen。　It　was　deViers’　intention　to　keep　the
session　short；　for　he　had　also　arranged　a　rather　splendid　banquet　to　celebrate　the　auspicious
beginning　of　his　ground　operation。　This　beginning；　he　felt；　was　marked；　not　by　the　descent　of　the
first　drop…ships；　but　by　his　own　arrival　planet…side；　and　he　would　not　let　the　moment　pass　without
some　kind　of　commemorative　function。　After　all；　Operation　Thunderstorm；　as　he　so　regularly
reminded　his　officers；　was　a　righteous　quest　the　likes　of　which　had　rarely　been　seen　in　the　recent
annals　of　the　Imperial　Guard。　Why　should　the　end　of　its　opening　phase　not　be　celebrated　in　good
spirits？
That　was　the　plan；　at　least；　but　deViers　soon　found　his　good　spirits　dampened。
“How　many？”　he　hissed。　His　face　was　red　with　rage；　and　his　fists　were　clenched　on　the　surface
of　his　desk。　“Tell　me　again！”
“Six；　sir；”　answered　Major　General　Bergen。　“Six　missing；　with　a　seventh　discovered　fifty
kilometres　to　the　northeast；　spread　across　two…and…a…half　kilometres　of　desert。　All　hands　lost。　Do
you　wish　to　hear　a　list　of　the　individual　elements？”
“Of　course　I　do；”　snapped　deViers。　“Seven　drop…ships　on　the　first　day。　By　the　Eye　of　Terror！”
Major　General　Bergen’s　voice　didn’t　waver　as　he　read　off　the　list；　but　his　tone　was　heavy　and　his
face　betrayed　a　grim　mood。　“Drop…ship　E44…a；　the　116th　Cadian　Lasgunners；　companies　one　and
two；　killed　on　descent。　Drop…ship　G22…a；　the　122nd　Tyrok　Fusiliers；　companies　one　to　four；　missing。
Drop…ship　G41…b；　the　88th　Mobile　Infantry；　companies　three　and　four；　missing。　Drop…ship　H17…C；
the　303rd　Skellas　Rifles；　companies　eight　to　ten；　missing。　Drop…ship　H19…a；　the　98th　Mechanised
Infantry；　companies　one　to　six；　missing。　Drop…ship　K22…C；　the　71st　Caedus　Infantry；　companies
eight　to　ten；　missing。”　Bergen　paused　for　a　split　second　before　reading　the　final　listing。　The　missing
ship　had　been　carrying　some　of　his　own　tankers。　“Drop…ship　M13…J；　the　81st　Armoured　Regiment；
10th　Company；　missing。　No　contact　whatsoever　from　any　of　those　listed。”
General　deViers　listened　quietly　to　all　this；　staggered　by　the　blow　his　forces　had　taken　just　from
landing　on　this　damned　rock。　Thousands　of　men　gone。　It　was　outrageous。　The　last　listing　was　a　tank
company？　By　the　bloody　Golden　Throne！　An　entire　tank　company；　lost　somewhere　out　there　in　the
desert；　most　probably　killed　in　the　crash。　Filthy　orks　were　probably　looting　the　site　even　now。　Men
were　one　thing；　and　their　loss　was　to　be　lamented；　of　course；　but　life　was　cheap　in　the　Imperium　of
Man。　There　were　always　more　soldiers　to　be　had。　That’s　what　the　reserves　were　for。　But　tanks？
Tanks　were　another　matter　entirely。　There　were　no　replacements　waiting　in　the　wings　for　the　war
machines　that　had　been　lost。　Each　tank　put　out　of　action　left　a　gap　that　nothing　else　could　fill。　The
strength　of　his　armoured　regiment　was　absolutely　critical　given　the　itinerant　nature　of　the　operation。
With　his　mind　firmly　fixated　on　the　negative；　the　general’s　anger　got　the　better　of　him。　He　leapt　to
his　feet；　throwing　his　chair　backwards　and　banging　his　fists　down　on　his　desk。
“It’s　a　damned　fiasco！　How　could　we　lose　seven　drop…ships　on　the　first　day？　Was　it　orks？
Storms？　What　the　heck　are　our　naval　liaisons　saying　about　this？　What　about　the　Mechanicus？　I　want
answers；　damn　it！”　Veins　bulged　in　his　neck　and　his　eyes　looked　ready　to　pop　out　of　his　head。
The　three　officers　seated　before　him　remained　as　still　as　statues　while　their　general　raged。　They
had　seen　it　all　before；　and　with　increasing　regularity　of　late。　They　knew　better　than　to　interrupt　him
before　his　tirade　had　ended。　Attempting　to　soothe　him　was　just　asking　for　trouble。　When　deViers
finally　did　stop　spewing　fire　and　sank　slowly　back　into　his　chair；　it　was　Killian；　the　shortest；
stockiest　and；　in　the　general’s　eyes；　least　likeable　of　the　three；　who　spoke　up。
“The　tech…priests　have　a　team　out　in　the　desert；　sir。　They’re　studying　the　drop…ship　in　the　northeast
for　the　cause　of　the　crash。　No　word　yet；　of　course；　since　they’re　out　of　vox　range。”
21
Killian　winced　as　soon　as　he　said　this；　realising　immediately　that　he　had　just　poured　fuel　on　the
fire。　Predictably；　deViers　pounced。
“Out　of　bloody　vox　range？”　he　roared；　and　launched　into　an　entirely　fresh　diatribe。　Imperial
communications　equipment；　unreliable　at　the　best　of　times　in　the　general’s　long　years　of　experience；
was　almost　useless　on　Golgotha。　According　to　the　tech…priests；　there　were　profound　levels　of
electromagnetic　interference　from　the　constant　storms　that　cloaked　this　world。　The　Mechanicus
contingent　attached　to　the　mission　had　promised　a　solution　in　due　course；　but；　for　now；
communications　at　any　range　greater　than　a　dozen　kilometres　simply　degenerated　into　white　noise。
Clear　communication　at　even　half　that　distance　required　the　expenditure　of　significant　amounts　of
electrical　power　—　more　than　was　required　to　light　the　base　for　a　whole　day　—　and　contact　with　the
fleet　in　orbit　was　kept　to　an　absolute　minimum　by　sheer　necessity。　DeViers　cursed　and　bellowed　like
a　madman　until　he　had　spent　himself　again。　It　didn’t　take　long。
Despite　external　appearances；　he　was　still　an　old　man；　and　the　intensity　of　his　outbursts　quickly
exhausted　him。　He　knew　he　should　work　harder　to　control　his　temper。　He　knew；　too；　that　it　had　been
getting　far　worse　in　recent　months。　There　was　a　time；　he　thought；　when　nothing　fazed　me。　What
changed？　Why　do　I　respond　so　violently　these　days？　I　can’t　let　the　pressure　get　to　me　like　this。
He　knew　that　shouting　at　his　divisional　commanders　was　poor　therapy；　and　achieved　very　little。
He　would　be　relying　on　these　men　above　all　others　in　the　days　ahead。　They　would　help　him　secure
his　prize；　his　legacy；　his　place　among　the　good　and　the　great。　No；　shouting　at　them　didn’t　help
anyone。　He　forced　his　voice　back　down　to　normal　levels。　Ten　minutes　later；　after　a　brief　review　of
the　schedule　for　their　coming　deployment；　he　dismissed　them　so　that　they　might　dress　for　the
banquet。　As　the　three　senior　officers　stood　and　saluted　him；　deViers　briefly　considered　apologising
for　his　earlier　explosiveness。
No；　he　told　himself。　Let　my　anger　stand　as　a　message　that　I　expect　far　better。　I　won’t　have　them
thinking　me　weak。
Weakness　in　any　form　was　something　Mohamar　Antoninus　deViers　could　not　abide；　especially
his　own。
*　*　*
The　general　stole　an　hour　of　sleep　after　the　briefing；　though　it　seemed　to　him　that　only　seconds　had
passed　before　his　adjutant　shook　him　gently　awake　so　that　he　might　wash　and　dress　for　the　banquet。
Two　hours　later；　he　found　himself　standing　at　the　head　of　a　long　krell…wood　table　in　a　bright；　highceilinged
room；　ringing　his　goblet　with　a　silver　fork　and　asking　his　guests　for　their　undivided
attention。
“Officers　of　the　18th　Army　Group；”　he　began；　beaming　at　them　with　theatrical　magnanimity；
“and；　of　course；　my　other　honoured　guests；　I　thank　you　all　for　taking　the　time　to　attend。　It’s　only
right　that　we　celebrate。　Tonight；　we　mark　the　true　start　of　our　holy　quest　with　the　best　that　our
circumstances　allow。　Look　at　you；　the　Emperor　must　be　gazing　down　on　you　with　pride；　seated　here；
dressed　so　smartly；　so　ready　and　willing　to　be　about　His　divine　work。　He’ll　be　prouder　still　when　we
find　our　prize。　What　a　moment　that　will　be！　One　for　the　history　books；　indeed。　I’m　sure　you’ve　all
dreamed　of　it　as　much　as　I　have：　the　fame；　the　glory；　Army　Group　Exolon　recovering　the　legendary
Fortress　of　Arrogance　from　right　under　the　nose　of　the　old　foe。　Yes！　For　ever　after；　men　will　read　of
our　exploits　with　awe。　Let　none　of　you　doubt　that。　There　is　no　cause　greater　than　that　which　inspires
one’s　fellow　man。”
He　scanned　the　faces　around　the　table；　daring　anyone　to　pay　him　less　than　full　attention；　and　was
pleased　to　see　every　eye；　including　several　unblinking　mechanical　ones；　turned　in　his　direction。
“We　could　not　have　asked　for　a　higher　honour；”　he　told　them。　“I’ve　heard　mutterings　among　the
men；　just　as　you　have；　talk　of　wishing　to　join　Commissar　Yarrick　and　our　Cadian　brothers　on
Armageddon。　S