66: The Belated Judgment (27)

"We don't have much ammunition left. At most, we can spare you three standard magazines," Zephon the Mourner said quietly.

"Enough," Seraphax said.

Radiation dust came rolling in, its piercing screams sweeping across their armour and audio receptors. The two Astartes fell silent in unspoken accord and began studying the direction from which the sound came. Of course, they were destined to see nothing.

After repeated Chaos incursions, nuclear strikes, and endless bombardments, the environment of this war zone had deteriorated to an unprecedented degree, practically becoming an artificial natural barrier.

Expecting their combat lenses to carry their eyes across such obstacles? The idea was absurd, like a crude joke.

Zephon turned back, his tone grave as he offered a suggestion. "Since you've made up your mind, I won't stop you. But we haven't encountered anyone else in a long time, so I suggest you head east."

"Before the entire plateau front was declared breached, that was where the greatest concentration of forces had gathered. The Fourth, Fifth, and Twelfth Legions each committed more than two full companies there to hold back the daemonic tide."

Seraphax silently committed this to memory and nodded.

Everything that needed saying had been said. Zephon of the Ninth Legion clearly did not approve of his decision to set out on foot in search of the main force, but he did not try to dissuade him. Instead, he offered every scrap of support he could.

To be frank, the Dark Angel did not understand it. But he noticed something else. He raised a hand, wiped the thick dust from his lenses, switched off the amplification unit in his respirator grille, and asked in a very low voice, "But you have no supplies left."

"There are still eleven standard units of basic ammunition in the Raging