‘Negative,’ Branne said again. ‘Continue to monitor for other transmissions.’
‘But what if they need our help?’ said Valerius.
‘We can’t trust them,’ said Branne.
‘I don’t understand, commander,’ said the praefector. ‘We can’t trust the Iron Hands?’
‘My technicians have been analysing the readings from the battles,’ Branne explained. ‘It’s hard to be certain, but it seems that the fleet sent to deal with Horus split and fighting broke out. I fear it is not just the Luna Wolves that have turned against us. Until we know for sure who is loyal, we have to suspect everybody.’
Static filled the room as Valerius absorbed this revelation. Eventually the officer spoke again, his voice a barely-heard whisper in the hiss.
‘But if that is true, what of the Raven Guard?’ he said.
‘Your dreams may have had something to them after all, Marcus,’ said Branne.
‘So now we set full speed?’
‘No, not yet.’ Branne took a deep breath, only now consciously acknowledging a doubt that had nagged him since he had first begun to suspect the extent of the treachery at Isstvan. ‘We have to be careful. We may be the last survivors of the Raven Guard.’
THREE DAYS OUT from orbit of Isstvan V, Branne’s fleet ghosted in on minimal power, every spare watt of energy from the reactors diverted to the sensor arrays and communications systems, seeking answers to horrifying questions. The evidence was overwhelming: Horus had allies from within the fleet sent to bring him to order.
Branne spent most of his time on the bridge of his battle-barge, the Avenger. For the last two days he had hosted Valerius on board, to ensure that the praefector was within easy reach if things went amiss. The Imperial Army officer sat beside the communications console gnawing at a worn nail, cheeks sunken, his usually smooth skin dark with stubble. He stared at the screens with haunted, bloodshot eyes rimmed with darkness and Branne guessed that the nightmares still plagued the officer, though he had not mentioned them again since they had set out from Deliverance.
‘Picking up some garbled comm traffic,’ one of the attendants reported. Valerius sat bolt upright, turning on the bench to Branne. ‘World Eaters protocols. Trying to crack them now, commander.’
‘Who are they signalling?’ asked Branne.
‘General Legion broadcast, commander,’ the aide replied. ‘Also picking up registers of Word Bearers and Emperor’s Children signals. They seem to be communicating with the Sons of Horus.’
Valerius seemed to become even paler, if that was possible. He met Branne’s narrowed gaze with a wild look.
‘The World Eaters, Emperor’s Children and Word Bearers?’ he said. ‘All of them turned?’
Branne said nothing, finding such a treachery impossible to comprehend. He tried to think of some other explanation for what they had discovered but could not escape the truth. This was no simple rebellion; this was the birth of civil war.
He sat in his command throne, armour servos creaking and whining as his fingers tightened on the arms. Head bowed, he tried to clear his thoughts, to come up with a plan of action. What had happened made no sense and his mind kept coming back to an unanswered question.
‘What of the primarch and the Legion?’ he asked quietly.
‘No Raven Guard transmission detected, commander,’ said the communications orderly. ‘We’ve scanned all Legion frequencies and beyond, but no recognisable signatures detected.’
Branne sighed. His earlier fears had come true, and Valerius’s dire predictions also. The Raven Guard were no more.
‘Signal the fleet to prepare for new course orders,’ he said.
‘What?’ Valerius was on his feet. ‘Change course for where?’
‘Out of here,’ said Branne. ‘We’re too late.’
‘There may be survivors,’ said Valerius. He opened his hands imploringly towards the commander. ‘We have to at least get closer to find out the truth.’
‘That can come later,’ said Branne. ‘Our immediate task is to elude detection and leave the system in one piece. After that we can work out what happened.’
‘Commander, we are picking up a broad-beam transmission from the surface of Isstvan V,’ said the comms officer.
‘Directed to us?’ said Branne, taken aback.
‘No, commander, it is a general broadcast. Minimal encryption. You should hear this.’
‘Very well,’ said Branne, leaning back in his command throne.
The voice that boomed from the speakers was edged with madness, every syllable spat like a curse.
‘…nd then we shall crush the misguided sons of Corax completely. They think they can evade us forever? They are wrong! I will hunt down Corax and break him myself. The Raven Guard have nowhere left to run. In two days our victory will be complete and the last survivors will be crushed by the World Eaters. Blood demands victory, and we shall let it flow!’
‘That can only be Angron,’ said Branne when the transmission was cut. On the one hand, he was elated that Corax and the Legion still survived; on the other, it seemed that survival would not last much longer. ‘Can you source that transmission?’ he demanded, standing up.
‘Better, commander,’ replied the technician. ‘There are planetary coordinates attached to the signal, indicating where the World Eaters plan to attack, calling for orbital support.’
Pushing aside his doubts and confusion, Branne set his mind in motion. A strategy immediately sprang to mind, but it was risky. He reconsidered, analysing his options, but was drawn to the same conclusion. A third evaluation did not suggest any alternatives.
‘Marcus, I need you to signal your fleet,’ Branne announced. ‘Tell them to make full speed for Isstvan IV.’
‘Isstvan IV? Not Isstvan V? And won’t full speed make us instantly visible on every scanner within range?’
‘That is my intent,’ said Branne.
‘A decoy.’ Valerius spoke flatly, as if his last shred of emotion had been drained from him. ‘You want to use my ships and men as decoys.’
Branne nodded and said nothing. Valerius closed his eyes and pinched his nose, as if he had a headache. He nodded to himself, jaw clenched.
‘Very well,’ said the praefector, opening his eyes to stare at the Raven Guard commander with resignation. ‘I shall return to my flagship and make the preparations.’
‘No, you will continue to serve here,’ said Branne. ‘As we agreed, you do not leave my side.’
‘You still do not trust me?’ The praefector sighed heavily. ‘What more proof do you need?’
‘When the primarch is safe and our brothers aboard, I might trust you then,’ said Branne. ‘Until that time, you stay here.’
‘You plan an evacuation under fire,’ said Valerius. ‘I’ll have my transports send over as many shuttles and drop-ships as your flight bays can hold.’
‘That would be good,’ said Branne. ‘Let us hope that we need that many.’
WITH A GROWL, Delerax jabbed a finger onto the transmission key.
‘I do not care what problems you are having,’ he snarled. ‘Run the reactors at one hundred and twenty per cent.’
‘We risk plasmic extrapolation, lieutenant-commander,’ the engineer replied. ‘It could shut down the whole system.’
‘The greatest battle in the World Eaters’ history is about to take place on Isstvan V,’ said the lieutenant-commander. ‘Do you think I want to arrive late for that? You have your orders, I expect them to be obeyed.’
Delerax cut off the response and whirled towards the navigation officers.
‘And you!’ he snapped. ‘I want to hear no more about gravity wells and safe distances. Get me to Isstvan V by the shortest route. No excuses!’
The helmsman nodded nervously and turned his gaze back to the controls. Delerax continued to stalk the bridge, seeking any way to get to the battle even faster. Angron was due to initiate his final assault on the Raven Guard in six hours and Delerax was determined that he would be there to take part. Already the rest of the flotilla had been left half a day behind, unable to keep up with the battle-barge’s superior power. The Dedicated Wrathwould be on hand to rain down fire on the remnants of Corax’s Legion, whatever it took. If all went well, Delerax would be able to join in the fighting directly. Drop-pods were being prepared for a combat launch.