‘And why is that such a cause for concern?’ Shaffenbeck indicated the tactical display with a flick of his head. ‘The battle seems almost won.’
‘Because if Price is under orders to keep the carriers at the back for this battle, it has to mean as sure as a Navigator’s got a third eye we’re going to be slap-bang right in the front of the next one.’
Fourteen
The battle-barge Abhorrence dwarfed the Achilles as the Space Marine vessel moved closer to receive a shuttle from the Naval patrol ship. Standing out further in orbit were a dozen other ships, of varying size and potency, from a number of different Chapters. Not all of the Successors had yet responded, but Koorland had weighed up the number that had arrived against the urgency of the situation and he had decided the time was right to hold council.
Marshal Bohemond of the Black Templars had agreed to have the Abhorrence act as host for the Chapter council, as not only was it the largest vessel in the system but Bohemond was the longest-serving Chapter commander present.
On the shuttle heading for the Abhorrence Koorland sat across from Lieutenant Greydove, who had insisted on accompanying the Space Marine to his destination for the sake of appearance. To his credit the young commander had obliged Koorland’s demand to come to Phall without complaint and once the Achilles had been set on course the lieutenant had run a sharp, disciplined crew.
‘What do you hope to achieve?’ asked Greydove. The lieutenant leaned forward as far as the bars of his grip harness would allow. ‘Do you think the authorities will allow you to get away with this? You’ve gone rogue, captain, is what they’ll say. They’ll hunt you down.’
‘Who will?’ said Koorland. ‘The High Lords? The Adeptus Terra? The Inquisition? They have far greater concerns at the moment.’
‘That may be, but I can see that you are not wholly comfortable with this.’
Koorland remained silent for a while. There was no reason to indulge the Naval officer’s curiosity, and he owed no explanation for any other reason. For all that, Greydove was right. Koorland did have reservations, exceptionally grave ones. He would not be able to share them with the Successors, not without causing offence or sowing doubt, but they gnawed at his thoughts. The lieutenant made as good a confidant as anybody.
‘Bohemond,’ said Koorland. ‘Marshal of the Black Templars.’
‘What of him?’
‘He has a reputation. More than that. The Black Templars are a force apart. They claim lineage from Rogal Dorn as do the rest of us, but they cleave to their own code and practices. I do not know if I can find common ground with him. He is… headstrong.’
‘Stubborn? Surely you can gain the support of others and win him over.’
‘If that is how it is, I will be well-pleased. However, I think that Bohemond may raise objections and I do not have authority to bargain with him.’
Greydove looked as though he was about to speak, but after a glance at the Space Marine he shook his head and remained silent.
‘What is it?’ demanded Koorland. ‘What are you thinking?’
‘You are the last of the Imperial Fists,’ the lieutenant said, hesitantly. ‘That makes you, by default, Chapter Master. You are Bohemond’s equal.’
Koorland considered this. ‘By default? That is no great claim to position.’
‘I disagree. In your case, it is the greatest claim. The rest of the Chapter perished, but you survived. That makes you not remarkable but miraculous. Surely you have the blessing of the Emperor.’
‘Superstitious nonsense,’ grumbled Koorland, but the lieutenant did have a point behind the religious facade. ‘There is something to what you say. However, will the others agree with your position, or simply see an upstart captain demanding action of his superiors?’
‘That very much depends on you, captain,’ Greydove said quietly. He looked at his hands clasped in his lap, his gaze flicking up occasionally to Koorland. ‘You showed no lack of authority in taking my ship.’
‘That was little challenge,’ said Koorland. He saw the shame and hurt in Greydove’s gaze and realised that he was misunderstood. ‘Not because of you, but because of me. I am of the Adeptus Astartes. My size is intimidating, and the legends that surround my kind give me gravitas not even the greatest of Naval officers could match. I could be the least of my Chapter, yet even knowing nothing of me mortal men cannot help but defer to my will. If it is of any merit, you should know that you have my respect and, I believe, continue to have the respect of your crew.’
With a slightly abashed smile, Greydove met Koorland’s gaze.
‘It is of merit, thank you.’ The smile faded and the lieutenant’s brow furrowed. ‘But why should you care? Forgive any impudence, but why would a captain of the Imperial Fists be concerned about the feelings of a lowly Naval lieutenant? Surely you have weightier matters to focus on?’
‘Credit and honour to those who have earned it,’ said Koorland. ‘I make no exception in my remarks, for your conduct has been as worthy of praise as if you were a sergeant under my command who had shown similar qualities.’
The two of them fell silent, leaving Koorland to contemplate the exchange. A few minutes later the clank of the landing gear on decking announced their arrival aboard the Abhorrence. Greydove released his harness first and stood up. Koorland waited a few more seconds, gathering his thoughts.
‘What is the worst that could happen?’ said Greydove.
‘The last of the Imperial Fists will be ridiculed for his pretensions of grandeur, so that the memory of my Chapter will end not only with extinction but infamy?’
‘All right,’ said Greydove, taken aback by Koorland’s bleak forecast. ‘And the best?’
‘The Successors acknowledge that they must come together in the Imperium’s hour of need and we are able to the destroy the Beast.’ Koorland thought about what he said, comparing his goals with the price of failure. He pushed up his harness and faced Greydove, offering a hand in friendship with a smile. The lieutenant took it. ‘You are right, of course. The rewards outweigh the risks, the cause justifies the action. Even if I am to be plunged into ignominy there is still every chance that my brothers in the other Chapters will be able to make common purpose. Thank you.’
‘You may not believe it, but I think that the Emperor has chosen you for a greater purpose,’ said Greydove. ‘Of all the Imperial Fists, you have been spared. It is an honour to be the last, not a burden. I know nothing of Space Marines and their ways, nor of your Chapter, but in the small time since we met you have proven to be resourceful, determined, loyal and courageous. Everything the legends tell us to expect of the Adeptus Astartes. Your brothers, those that were left at Ardamantua, would be proud to have you represent them.’
Koorland smiled at these words, and yet what might be hollow, thoughtless praise struck a chord in the captain. He did not believe himself chosen by any higher power, but he was certain that he would carry himself according to the best traditions of his Chapter. He was an Imperial Fist — the Imperial Fist — and it was in his power to make that mean something.
The door hissed open and a ramp clanged down to the landing bay deck. A squad of Black Templars, their burnished ebon armour gleaming in the bay lights, waited with bolters at the salute. With them stood a warrior in more ornate armour, a red-crested helm under his left arm, a drawn power sword in his right hand. The officer stepped forwards as Koorland descended the ramp.
The Black Templar raised the hilt of his sword level with his chin, blade upright, in a mark of respect. Koorland placed a fist against the eagle on his chest in reply.