Chapter 70: The Chaplain
Duvette didn't stop.
In the camp entirely disrupted by the explosion, he led a hundred fully armed veterans, following Stroud's guidance, straight toward the burning warehouse area.
Along the way, as auxiliary troops, Departmento Munitorum officers, and low-ranking personnel caught sight of his group by the jumping firelight, what they saw stopped them where they stood.
The Colonel-Commissar leading the column had vivid purple blood on his coat and a deformed skull in his right hand.
Behind him, those Astra Militarum veterans moved like instruments of death, dragging the shattered four-armed remains of creatures none of the bystanders had names for.
There were audible sharp intakes of breath in the crowd. Duvette didn't spare a glance. Time was pressing. He didn't need to explain himself to any of them. He needed only to explain himself to the true masters of this territory.
Limiter Break was still within its active duration. Their pace was not slow.
When the group reached the outer edge of the burning warehouse area, the temperature was already high enough to warp the air. Hundreds of industrial servitors and hastily summoned logistics personnel were pressing in against the heat waves, working to contain a fire that was consuming Promethium fuel with no interest in being contained.
Duvette brought the column to a halt at a distance from the blaze. At that moment, the night sky tore open.
A deafening engine roar descended from above, the wind it drove hitting the ground like a physical force. A Thunderhawk gunship came down and landed on the open ground ahead of them, heavy landing gear sending cracks through the ferrocrete and kicking up a storm of dust mixed with fire sparks. With the sharp hiss of hydraulic valves releasing, the rear assault ramp lowered.
A squad of towering Space Marines came into view.
The iron giant at the front was not wearing the standard pattern of power armor.
He wore a suit of heavy, pure-black plate. On his head sat a skull-faced helm that communicated death and authority without requiring any further elaboration. In his hand was a crozius arcanum, its upper end bearing the double-winged Aquila.
A Chaplain.
Duvette knew it the moment he saw the armor.
His gaze went to the tactical veterans behind the Chaplain and found what he was looking for almost immediately: the noble purple trim along the edges of their shoulder guards, and the company numeral marked above it.
Seventh Company. The Astartes element stationed on Parmenio, tasked with securing the Ultramarines' logistics chain.
The Ultramarines organized their companies with specific mandates. The Seventh was typically assigned to the protection of strategic assets, the holding of fortified positions, and the rapid reinforcement of weak points in the Imperial line. The quiet, essential work of keeping a war from collapsing under its own weight.
Duvette recalled that the Seventh's company captain was a name he recognized. Garad Ixion. Chief Quartermaster of Ultramar.
He moved forward without hesitation, crossing the distance to the Chaplain's skull-faced helm and stopping at a respectful interval, then gave a clean and precise military salute.
The towering black-armored Chaplain looked down at the mortal below him. The vox-amplifier carried his voice.
"I am Casiel, Chaplain of the Seventh Company. In the name of Chief Quartermaster Ixion, Parmenio is under the Seventh Company's protection."
The Chaplain's voice carried the absolute weight of an institution that had not reconsidered its purpose in ten thousand years. Then it shifted, turning cold, and the questions that followed carried the pressure of an accusation.
"What happened here? Where is the coordinating official? Identify yourselves."
Even as he spoke, Duvette could feel the sharp attention behind the skull-faced helm moving with precision over his right hand and then the alien remains among the ranks behind him.
Duvette straightened. He met the Chaplain's visor and delivered his unit designation and rank in a steady, clear voice.
Then he raised his right hand and brought the deformed skull up to the Chaplain's eye level.
"This is the coordinating official of the 42nd Armoured Distribution Center." Duvette's voice was flat and cold in the night wind. "They betrayed the Emperor. They gave themselves to the alien."
He turned and signaled to the veterans behind him.
Anderson and the others understood without being told. They stepped forward and threw the shattered Genestealer remains down on the ground in front of the Chaplain.
The air seemed to freeze.
On Parmenio. In this world positioned directly behind Macragge's defenses. In the distribution center under the Seventh Company's personal protection. Alien infiltrators had been operating undetected.
"Explain." The Chaplain's voice held a fury on a very short leash. "Report the full details to me. Immediately."
Duvette didn't give an inch. He gave the Chaplain everything: what he had found since landing, the deliberately ruined fire control arrays, the moisture-damaged high-explosive shells, everything that had occurred inside the administrative building, and his own assessment of how the infiltration had functioned.
"They exploited the complexity of the bureaucratic system to paralyze the logistics network here." Duvette delivered his conclusion and stopped.
The Chaplain fell into brief silence.
Around them, only the crackling of the burning warehouse. In the dancing firelight, the skull-faced helm looked more savage and ferocious than ever.
Behind the visor, the Ultramarines' absolute rational logic was processing what a mortal Commissar had just placed before it.
After a moment, the Chaplain turned and walked back toward the Thunderhawk.
"I must verify what you have told me." No warmth in the voice. "Until that is done, you will accompany me, Commissar. Moroth â€" you, Luke, and Tylos remain here and watch these soldiers."
"Understood, Chaplain." Three tall Seventh Company veterans raised their boltguns and took up positions around the Thunderhawk.
Duvette let out a quiet breath.
He was dealing with the Ultramarines, and that mattered. With certain other Astartes chapters â€" the more procedurally inflexible ones â€" this exchange might have ended with him as a stain on the ferrocrete. His judgment had been correct.
He looked back at the soldiers behind him. He knew the process of verification would not be clean. The infiltrators that had been disturbed would not sit quietly. There would be a counter-attack.
"I need to bring some of my people," Duvette said, turning back to the Chaplain.
"Permitted."
Duvette gave a nod and turned. "Anderson. Finn. Stroud. Weapons ready. Follow." He found the armored commander's eyes. "Kleist, you stay here. Take command of the remaining soldiers, cooperate with the Astartes, and await our return."
"Understood, Commissar." Kleist gave a precise nod.
Duvette straightened the collar of his bloodstained coat. With his three most capable soldiers behind him, he fell in after the Chaplain.