‘Your commitment to duty is admirable.’
Her mouth twisted. ‘I’m not a saint,’ she said. ‘I lost my friends. I saw…’ She faltered. The twitch became more pronounced. ‘When the mountains moved…’ She looked past Koorland, at something colossal. He knew what she was remembering — billions of civilians and troops crushed, turned into a towering wave of blood. He knew what had happened on the surface of the moon. He had not witnessed it, though he had seen other horrors on Ardamantua. He could empathise without being able to experience the precise nightmare. They had each gathered their individual scars.
‘You want revenge,’ Koorland said.
Her gaze sharpened again. She gave him a curt nod. ‘I want to see the greenskins die in the same numbers. And I want to be responsible for that.’
‘You will be,’ Koorland promised.
The embarkation of the kill-teams took place in the Inner Palace’s pocket space port. There were three squads heading for the attack moon. Each was to board a Thunderhawk bound for the Dark Angels strike cruiser Herald of Night, which waited at low anchor to take them through the warzone. The ship was the fastest of the Adeptus Astartes vessels present over Terra.
Vangorich watched the departure from the far western edge of the landing pad. The hot wind from the first of the Thunderhawks’ turbofan engines blew his hair back. His eyes were painfully dry. Beside him, Wienand raised a hand to shield her eyes from the glare as a gunship turned on descent, its engines bright as suns in the pre-dawn gloom.
‘They’re all in black,’ Wienand said, looking at the thirteen Space Marines.
‘I’ve heard the change started with a few, and the others followed suit.’
‘You have thoughts?’
‘Koorland’s force already has a distinct identity. Before the first battle.’
‘A good sign, wouldn’t you say?’
‘For the task ahead, definitely.’
Wienand cocked her head. ‘Interesting hedge. Wasn’t this your idea in the first place?’
‘It was,’ he conceded.
The Thunderhawk’s embarkation ramp lowered. Koorland crossed the landing, coming from an eastern entrance to the space port. He stopped in front of the gunship and faced the kill-teams. Thane was with him. Their armour was not black.
‘Here’s a difference,’ Wienand said.
‘Understandable,’ said Vangorich. ‘The continued existence of the Imperial Fists hangs by a thread. I can’t imagine Koorland would do anything to downplay the memory of the Chapter.’ The Imperial Fists livery was already the colour of mourning, he thought.
‘Brothers,’ Koorland said, his voice amplified by vox-casters around the periphery of the landing pad, ‘you have earned my thanks many times over during the course of this war. You have fought, you have sacrificed, and you have followed me. What I see before me is something for which I cannot, in good conscience, express gratitude. To do so would be the height of arrogance. You have found the true meaning of our actions on this day. The Last Wall rose from ashes. So has the Deathwatch.’
‘It has a name,’ Vangorich said to Wienand. ‘I’ve heard it more than once now. I didn’t anticipate that when I spoke to Koorland. I didn’t expect the identity to form so quickly or so definitively.’
‘That’s a problem?’
‘The differences between a conception and its execution can be a source of unease.’
‘I can’t believe you’re backing down from your position in the Council. You fought hard for this operation.’
‘I know,’ said Vangorich. ‘And I still believe in it. This is our best hope now.’
‘I’m still hearing but in your voice.’
‘We are many, and we are one,’ Koorland was saying. ‘Today we will strike the greenskins in a manner they cannot anticipate, and in a manner that already surpasses anything I might have hoped for.’
The roar of the assembled Deathwatch forced Vangorich to wait before responding. When the noise subsided, Wienand spoke first. ‘Surpassing hope isn’t necessarily a good thing, is it?’ she said.
He managed a tight, grim smile. ‘Do you think it’s entirely healthy for you to know me that well?’
‘For you or for me?’
Either, he thought. He shrugged. ‘The name. The colours,’ he said. ‘The black. I wasn’t expecting any of that. So coherent an identity so soon…’
‘The other High Lords anticipated this. Or something very similar.’
‘True. That doesn’t mean they were right about this force’s long-term significance.’ He became aware that Wienand was looking at him sharply.
‘Altering livery isn’t something the Adeptus Astartes do lightly,’ she said.
‘No. It may be a necessary gesture for this attempt to succeed.’
Wienand snorted. ‘You don’t believe that’s all it is.’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘We’re witnessing the start of something that is going to be with us for a long time,’ Wienand said. ‘That’s what is bothering you, isn’t it?’
‘It is,’ said Vangorich.
‘You don’t really believe Koorland is planning a coup, though, do you?’
‘I don’t.’ Vangorich sighed. ‘It’s not what he intends that’s the problem. It’s the thing he has created. The more successful the Deathwatch is, the more difficult it will be to disband. And Throne, we need it to be successful. But afterwards, what then?’
‘You just implied you trusted Koorland.’
‘If he doesn’t survive,’ said Vangorich. ‘If his successor sees more potential for the Deathwatch than the immediate crisis…’
‘Pessimist,’ Wienand said.
‘Pessimism is my duty,’ said Vangorich. He looked at her. ‘You don’t seem worried.’
‘I think you’ve been in the presence of the High Lords for too long, Drakan. They’re a bad influence. Their thinking is constricting yours.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m more intrigued by the possibilities than the dangers.’
‘You think the Council’s anxieties are groundless?’
‘I didn’t say that. If we consider them in the right light, they may in fact be the key to the possibilities.’
‘Which are?’
‘I’m not sure yet.’
Koorland had finished speaking and the first of the kill-teams had followed him into the Thunderhawk. It lifted off, and a second gunship descended to take on Thane and the next squad.
‘I think we need to see how this day plays out first,’ Wienand said. ‘Don’t you agree?’
‘I do,’ said Vangorich. She was right. And he did still believe in the effort under way. There were no other options left. Koorland had listened to his advice, and had adapted the philosophy of the Officio Assassinorum to the crisis, and to the Adeptus Astartes.
He had forged his blade.
‘We are directing the primary data-feeds to your vox-frequency,’ Adnachiel told Koorland.
‘I am receiving them. Thank you, Company Master. I wish I could be on the bridge with you.’
‘You are where you need to be,’ Adnachiel said. Inside a Thunderhawk, inside a landing bay, he thought. He respected Koorland. He accepted his authority as Lord Commander. For the combined efforts of the Chapters to maintain cohesion, centralised command was needed. Between the traditional calling of the Imperial Fists as the defenders of the Terran wall, and Koorland’s status as both a unifier of Successors and a warrior without a Chapter, he was the logical, least objectionable choice for that position.
Adnachiel also accepted the reasons for the Deathwatch. He supported the action. He expected the battle-brothers he had seconded to the kill-teams to commit fully to the effort, and to the cooperation with warriors from other Chapters, no matter what Chapters they might be.
He accepted all the necessities of the struggle against the Beast. Even so, he preferred Koorland to be in a position where Adnachiel had some control over the information he received. The Herald of Night was the necessary ship to make the run to the attack moon. It was not necessary that there be any presence on its bridge that was not a Dark Angel.