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this man on his own anyway。
Wherever this man was going； he seemed to be making his way there with real purpose； since his course had kept true this last few
hours。 Whatever lay at the end of this chase； Delau was certain of one thing。
It would end in the prey's death。
HAWKE CHECKED THE direction finder to check he was in the right place； unable to see anything much in the encroaching
darkness。 He stood on a flat plateau； in part of the highest reaches of the mountains； the constant thunder of the invaders' artillery
nothing more than a distant rumble from here。 His breath caught in his throat and he wiped sweat from his brow。 He was
exhausted； but pleased to have arrived here … wherever here was … before darkness had fallen。
There wasn't much to see； just a spill of rocks lying against a flat； vertical slice of the mountainside； though the ground looked
pretty churned up； as though someone had set off a bunch of explosives。 He shucked off his pack and pulled out the portable vox；
cursing as he saw he was down to his last battery。
He slotted the battery home and pressed the activation rune； breathing a sigh of relief as the front panel lit up with a reassuring
glow。 He lifted the handset； spun the dial to the correct frequency and thumbed the talk button。
'Bastion； this is Hawke； do you copy？'
The vox crackled for a second before a voice came on the line。 'Receiving you loud and clear； Hawke。 This is Magos Beauvais；
are you at the specified co…ordinates？'
'Yeah； but aside from the view I don't see anything that makes the climb worthwhile。'
'Describe what you can see；' ordered Beauvais。
'Not a hell of a lot。 It's pretty damn flat here； aside from a pile of rocks； but not much else。'
'Go over to the pile of rocks and tell me what's there。'
'Ok'said Hawke； lugging his pack and the vox over to the rocks and peering through the gloom。 He stepped forwards and brushed
away a thick coating of dust。
'There's a door behind here！ The rock fall's covered most of it； but there's definitely a door。'
'Is there a panel with a keypad visible to the side of the door？'
'Yeah； it's a bit dusty； but looks alright。'
Graham McNeill ？Storm of Iron？
'Good； here's what you have to do；' explained Beauvais。 'Using the keypad； enter the following code： tertius…three…alpha…epsilonnine。'
Wedging the handset between his shoulder and ear； Hawke punched in the code and stepped back as the door juddered open on
buckled rollers。 A faint wind brushed past him； like the exhalation of a dead thing and he shivered。
'Ok； door's open。 I guess I'm going in；' said Hawke。
'Yes； go inside；' confirmed Beauvais。 'And follow my directions。 Do not deviate from them at all。'
'What the hell do you think I'm going to do； go on a tour？'
He ducked his head below the rocks and entered a gloomy corridor。 He stepped forward； stumbling as his foot met resistance then
tripped as he trod on something soft。 He swore as he hit the ground and rolled onto the floor of the corridor； finding himself face
to face with a corpse； its mouth twisted in a rictus mask of death。 He yelped and pushed himself back towards the dim light at the
door where he saw another three bodies slumped on the ground。
Their fists were covered with dried blood。 Looking at the door； Hawke saw bloody handprints smeared over its inside surface。
'Imperator！ There's dead bodies here！' shouted Hawke。
'Yes； the orbital bombardment was slightly off…course； and hit the mountains instead of the facility。 We believe the explosions
threw enough debris up to cover the oxy…recyc units and the men within choked to death。'
'Choked to death？ Then why are their hands covered in blood？'
'It is logical that the men stationed here would have tried to exit the facility when they realised their air supply was cut off；' said
Beauvais； his voice devoid of any compassion for the dead。
'But why couldn't they get out？' wheezed Hawke as his breathing returned to normal。
'Facility staff do not have access to the codes that allow the exterior doors to open。 It would constitute a security risk were one to
be compromised。'
'And for that； they died。 You cold bastards！'
'A necessary precaution and one all staff are aware of when stationed in these facilities。 Now； if we may continue？ The facility
commander should have a bronze key around his neck？ Take it。'
Forcing down his repugnance； Hawke checked the bodies； finding the key on the third body。 He vowed that if he got out of this
alive； he was going to find Beauvais and punch his face in。 He stepped over the bodies and made his way down the corridor；
tucking the key into his pocket。 The air felt stagnant and he soon found himself wheezing。
'I can hardly breathe in here；' he complained。
'Do you have a respirator to use until the outside air filters in？'
'Yeah； I got one；' snapped Hawke。 He fumbled in the pack for the clumsy breathing apparatus and dragged it over his head；
flicking on the illuminator above the faceplate。
A featureless corridor stretched off into the darkness； and he started his descent。 Following Beauvais's instructions； he passed
several iron doors sealed with keypads which were unmarked save for the cog symbol of the Adeptus Mechanicus。 His breathing
sounded loud in his ears and the click of his worn…down boot heels and the tinny voice of Beauvais echoed from the walls； the
torch…lit darkness seeming to magnify the sounds。 Despite himself； Hawke felt his trepidation growing the further he descended
into the mountain。
At last； Beauvais's directions led him to an unremarkable door； stencilled with wording he couldn't read； but a symbol that was
clearly a warning。 He raised the handset to his mouth。
'Right； I'm here； now what？'
'Use the key you took from the facility commander to unlock the door。'
Hawke dug the key from his pocket and did as instructed； standing back as the door clicked open and a gust of oil and incensescented
air rushed to meet him。 Inside was darkness and he stepped through the door； panning the light from his respirator around
him。
The room appeared to be circular； its blank walls running around a gigantic white pillar at its centre that took up most of the space。
A metal…ranged ladder set into the rockcrete wall ascended into the darkness beside him； and he stared in puzzlement at the
massive object before him。
Hawke put his hand out and touched it。 It was warm to the touch and felt as though there ent within； but
perhaps that was just his imagination。 The base of the column sat in a sunken pit and as he leaned over to get a better look； he saw
what appeared to be vast nozzles； like the ones he'd seen on the end of one of the heavy weapon team's missiles； but bigger。
Bigger…
Realisation sank in as Hawke craned his neck in an attempt to see how high this chamber was。
'Is this what I think it is？' he asked Beauvais。
'That depends on what you think it is； but I can tell you that it is a Glaive class； ground…launched orbital torpedo。'
'And what in the name of the High Lord's balls do you expect me to do with it？' spluttered Hawke。
'We want you to fire it； Guardsman Hawke；' explained Magos Beauvais。
FIVE
FOLLOWED BY NEARLY two thousand men； Castellan Prestre Vauban clambered over the lip of the citadel's ditch and sprinted
towards the Iron Warriors' raised earthworks。 There was no battle cry； no shout of rage； only the silence of soldiers who knew
their only chance of survival was stealth。
The men's faces were smeared with soot and their sky blue uniform had been left in the barracks in favour of plain black flak
jackets。
Graham McNeill ？Storm of Iron？
Leonid's storming parties spread out from the ditch； clustered around the demolition teams and Vauban knew that this attack was a
desperate gamble indeed。 But as his second…in…command had pointed out； they had no choice but to attempt to destroy the enemy
guns。 To not try would be to allow the Iron Warriors to pound them into dust。
A thrill of fear and exultation coursed through his veins at the prospect of battle； it had been too long since he had led men into
combat。
He clutched his bolt pistol close to his chest； running crouched over； the breath heaving in his lungs。 The traitor line was still a
few hundred metres away。 His breathing