Commissar

This was truly astonishing.

Watching the Astartes continue to fight with such valor, Burke felt even greater reverence for them, and could barely contain his excitement.

But soon, the voice of a squadmate interrupted his thoughts.

The sharpshooter in Burke's squad, a one-eyed man, came over and nudged him with an elbow.

When the bewildered Burke looked over, the man simply pointed in one direction, telling him to look.

The moment Burke turned his head and followed the man's gaze, his breath caught.

Amid the green tide, the Living Saint soared through the sky, pure white wings on her back and a soft golden glow surrounding her. Below her, sprays of blood burst among the enemy ranks, and the heads of countless Ork Boyz spun through the air with every rise and fall of her flight.

On the other side, a young woman with such immense psychic power that she seemed at least ten times stronger than any Psyker Burke had ever known was unleashing crackling Psy-lightning at the Orks around her without restraint. Each flash of light turned Ork Boyz and Ork Bosses alike into charred husks.

Even more chilling, the woman's clothes bore the unmistakable Rosette of the Inquisition.

Burke fell silent.

But even this outrageous spectacle was far from over.

A commotion erupted from another part of the battlefield. A figure clad in ornate golden armor was darting back and forth at a speed so great that even Burke, a battle-hardened Astra Militarum veteran, couldn't follow. In their wake lay nothing but devastation and fallen corpses.

Burke had once traveled to holy Terra to receive a commendation from the Departmento Munitorum. He could just about recognize the armor style—it was identical to that worn by the Adeptus Custodes standing guard outside the Imperial Palace.

"Haha."

For some reason, Burke suddenly felt at peace.

Seeing their commander react so strangely, the one-eyed man, who had been thoroughly excited just moments earlier, froze and asked:

"Burke, what's wrong?"

Burke still didn't answer. He silently reached into his coat and pulled out the soldier's dog tag hanging around his neck.

Without a word, he opened his mouth and held the tag between his teeth.

The one-eyed man: "Huh?"

The battle was over.

Even the most exacting commander had to admit that this had unquestionably been a glorious victory.

The Orks had been utterly routed. They were fleeing in every direction, and wouldn't be able to organize another counterattack for some time.

The Imperium, meanwhile, had suffered minimal losses. At the start of the battle, the soldiers of the Armageddon Steel Legion had taken shelter inside extremely secure anti-artillery bunkers, and most had survived the bombardment. Once reinforcements arrived, the Orks quickly broke.

Seeing that the Orks had scattered and their previously dense ranks had dissolved, making slaughter far less efficient, Rowan left the battlefield for that reason alone, leaving all the Astartes behind to continue hunting them.

After sending out a vox-call for the other members of his squad to regroup with him, he and the other three headed toward the Astra Militarum's position.

Rowan had left behind the Ork Boss's head earlier, and intimidation had been far from his only reason.

He repeated his earlier trick, extracting useful information from the head and getting a general understanding of where this band of Orks had come from.

The Imperium had named this planet Valos World, and these Orks had originated in the underhive of one of its Hive Cities.

Some genius had somehow brought Ork spores into this natural breeding ground. In any case, once the Ork tribe had grown, they quickly seized control of the Hive City and began spreading outward, trying to take the others as well.

The Armageddon Steel Legion had been fighting the Orks for days, and hadn't lost a single open-field battle. They had successfully repelled every Ork attack.

But as a purely armored regiment, they were limited by the Astra Militarum's regulations and had neither the siege weapons nor the heavy artillery needed to storm a city. That had left the situation at a standstill.

The Orks couldn't get out, and the Astra Militarum couldn't get in.

"This is a bit of a problem..."

As he walked, Rowan slowly considered the situation.

If these were a Warboss and Orks from any other clan, things would be much simpler.

He'd only need to go near the Hive City and loudly insult them through a megaphone, saying something like, "The Warboss in there is a cowardly purple Gretchin who doesn't even have the guts to come out and fight me one-on-one."

Based on what Rowan knew about Orks, the Warboss would probably be unable to stand such an insult and would lead his troops out to try to kill the enemy who'd said it.

Once the enemy came out, the rest would be easy.

With Rowan's current strength, the only exception would be an ancient Ork warlord from the War of the Beast who could take a Primarch down with him. Otherwise, the Warboss would be as good as dead.

But this was the Blood Axe Clan, the oddballs among the Orks. That trick probably wouldn't work.

Rather than coming out to fight, the Warboss would probably prefer to fire a couple of full artillery salvos in the direction of the voice, blasting the Shrimp who'd spoken into dust—a solution that was very un-Orky.

After thinking it over and discussing it with the others, Rowan ruled out two more options.

Orbital bombardment from the Strike Cruiser was basically impossible. The Hive City had a fortress Void Shield from the Cadian Gate and a Plasma orbital defense platform.

Since the Orks had erupted inside the city, these defenses had been useless—and the enemy had captured and turned them to their own use.

As for dropping into the Hive City and fighting their way through the Orks, everyone agreed that option was out, too.

The danger was obvious, and Rowan's weakness was just as obvious. Anything could happen in the heat of battle.

Rowan didn't want to end up with a stray piece of shrapnel punching through his abdomen, killing him in some absurdly anticlimactic way.

That would be too darkly comic.

In the end, everyone reached the same conclusion.

"We still need to talk with this Astra Militarum unit. We'll have to work together to wipe out the Xenos more effectively."

"Sir, our regiment's commander is just up ahead."

The Astra Militarum soldier who had volunteered to guide Rowan and the others spoke nervously.

"Thank you."

Rowan nodded politely in thanks, only to be met with a stunned look.

All right.

Rowan shook his head and turned his attention to the vehicle in front of him... a Super-heavy Tank.

It was an Astra Militarum Baneblade. Its exterior was clad in dark steel that gleamed dully, while the spikes on its turret resembled black obelisks. Its Black Hole main cannon and rows of secondary guns were set at staggered angles, making it look like a monstrous weapon crawled straight out of hell.

Why did this thing look so familiar?

Rowan narrowed his eyes and examined it closely.

Before he could remember, however, a man climbed out through the rear hatch and jumped down to the ground.

He wore an Imperial Commissar's greatcoat and a black-and-red peaked cap. Gilded patterns wound around the skull insignia on its brim, lending his chiseled, hard-set face an air of absolute severity. His tightly pressed lips looked like a blade tempered in frost.

The Commissar straightened and looked at Rowan.

"I am Colonel Commissar Sebastian Yarrick of the 252nd Regiment, Armageddon Steel Legion."

"May I ask who you are?"