V3 Chapter 41: Move Out! To Sacred Terra
In the vast orbital shipyard complex above Macragge, the Macragge's Honour rested quietly in its berth.
This gloriana-class battleship had witnessed the final glory of the Great Crusade and the long millennia that followed as the Imperium fell into darkness. Now it had become the core of the crusade fleet once more, waiting to head for sacred Terra again.
Surrounding it, the main naval warships of the fleet were docked at their assigned berths. Battle barges and strike cruisers from other Chapters were arrayed further out. Mechanicus Ark Mechanicus vessels, large resource recovery ships, logistical transports, and Departmento Munitorum troop ships all continued adjusting their positions, and the orbital docking frameworks and shipyard lights covered nearly all the space above Macragge.
More transports moved back and forth between the surface and orbit.
From the high points of the Fortress of Hera, those ships looked like dense columns of worker ants, rising from Macragge's surface and disappearing into the bellies of the great warships and orbital dockyards above.
The crusade to sacred Terra was about to depart.
Millions of Astra Militarum soldiers had already boarded in sequence across transports and naval warships. Companies, strike forces, and representative fleets from multiple Chapters had completed their assembly. The Mechanicus forces were performing their final verification of each vessel's status, macro-cannon ammunition, and machine spirit condition.
Duvette stood at a high vantage point of the Fortress of Hera and watched formation after formation of soldiers board their transports and rise out of sight.
He had been watching for a long time.
The sky in the distance was being continually carved by orbital flares and engine wash. The banners of the Fortress of Hera moved slowly in the wind. Macragge looked as it always had, but everyone understood that a crusade capable of reshaping the Imperium's future was about to begin.
A heavy set of footsteps sounded behind Duvette.
He did not turn around, not until the tall figure stopped beside him.
"A good number of Successors have come," Calgar said.
Duvette looked at him briefly.
This Chapter Master, recently named Guardian of Greater Ultramar by Guilliman at the strategic council, was also looking up at the sky. His face showed little, but Duvette could see he was not entirely calm beneath it.
"They have," Duvette said. "Genesis Chapter, Aurora Chapter, Novamarines, Doom Eagles, and advance companies from more than a dozen other Thirteenth Legion Successors."
He paused.
"Beyond those, the Salamanders and the Blood Angels also sent companies."
Duvette allowed himself a small smile.
"A pity yours are staying behind."
"Macragge and Ultramar must be defended," Calgar said.
His tone did not change.
Duvette gave a nod.
"True enough," he said. "And there is also Lady Tarasha Euten."
Calgar's gaze finally moved from the sky to him.
Duvette's smile became a little more visible.
"You will need to look after her as well, Guardian of Greater Ultramar."
Calgar did not answer immediately.
After a moment, a barely perceptible look of long-suffering crossed his face.
Lady Euten did need protecting, certainly.
But in certain respects, Tarasha Euten put more pressure on Calgar than most of the inhabitants of the Fortress of Hera. She was elderly, gentle, and impeccable in her manner, but when she spoke of Roboute Guilliman, even Calgar found himself listening with his head down.
She was never sharp about it.
But her standing was simply what it was. Guilliman's foster mother, Konor Guilliman's Mistress of the Household, a witness to the old Macragge that no one else in this age had access to.
Calgar could not meet her with the authority of a Chapter Master. That kind of authority meant nothing to Lady Euten. He was simply a junior in her presence.
Duvette saw Calgar's expression and let out a quiet laugh.
"It seems you have already had a taste of it."
"Lady Euten's knowledge of Macragge and of the Primarch surpasses any of ours," Calgar said. "She has every right to remind us of things."
Duvette shrugged.
"That is not wrong."
Not far away, Evan signalled to Duvette.
The landing craft was ready.
Duvette acknowledged him, then looked back at Calgar.
"Then we will meet again another time."
Calgar gave a nod.
He did not say anything further.
Duvette turned and walked toward the landing craft, his black greatcoat moving slightly in the wind. Evan was already waiting at the hatch with the accompanying personnel, several Storm Troopers standing nearby confirming the final boarding procedures.
Calgar watched Duvette's back.
In truth, when he had heard that Duvette would be commanding the main ground forces of the crusade fleet, something in him had concluded that this crusade would not encounter any unexpected reversal.
When that thought had arrived, even Calgar had found it surprising in himself.
He had always been careful.
He knew there was no such thing as a completely safe war across the galaxy. He knew the route to Terra would be full of danger.
But he also could not deny that in barely twenty years, this mortal had produced too many things that should not have been possible.
From the Battle of Macragge to the Sabbat Crusade, and then back here, bringing with him both Guilliman's return and Tarasha Euten.
Calgar found it increasingly difficult to apply the standards of an ordinary mortal officer to Duvette.
The landing craft hatch sealed.
The low resonance of engines starting up followed, and then the craft rose slowly and climbed toward orbit.
Duvette sat in the main cabin and watched Macragge's surface receding through the viewport.
The Fortress of Hera, the mountain ranges, the city, and the coastline all shrank steadily in his field of vision.
He did not speak.
His mind had already begun working through the crusade ahead.
The first engagement would very likely mean facing one of the most powerful dynasties in the Necron race: the Sautekh Dynasty.
If his memory of their sphere of influence and the current timeline was right, what lay at that first objective should only be an outer-edge tomb node of the Sautekh Dynasty. The future Stormlord, Imotekh, would still be dormant at this point, still only an entombed Phaeron-designate.
But Duvette could not be certain whether clearing the two occupied Imperial worlds would prompt the Sautekh Dynasty to set aside its internal war and turn to face them directly.
Necrons were not ordinary xenos.
They possessed ancient fleets. Their bodies were forged from self-repairing living metal. They carried weapons that operated outside the usual rules.
Duvette was quite possibly the only person in the Imperium at this moment who genuinely understood how powerful the Necrons were.
Though on the positive side, Guilliman was personally leading the crusade fleet this time.
And Duvette had a ground force of considerable scale behind him.
Astra Militarum, Astartes, Knight houses, Titan Legions, Ultramar Auxilia, and his own 112th Combat Cluster.
As long as the Sautekh chose not to become sufficiently enraged to deploy fragments of the C'tan, a handful of reawakened tomb worlds would not be enough to hold against everything assembled here.
That thought settled Duvette's mind somewhat.
He looked to the side.
Evan was sitting on the other side of the cabin with a data-slate, still processing crusade documentation. Looking at him, Duvette had the impression that if the landing craft were hit and went down mid-flight, Evan would probably finish his last annotation before the impact.
Duvette gave a short laugh.
"Stroud and the others, have they been assigned to the Macragge's Honour?"
Evan paused what he was doing and looked up.
Then he set the data-slate down and let out a breath.
"Yes, Commissar."
"As your direct force, the full 112th Combat Cluster has been assigned by the Primarch to the mid-level military deck sections of the Macragge's Honour."
Evan checked the data-slate.
"They have been designated as the crusade ground force's direct-attachment mobile reserve and primary assault element. The logistics area, training sections, and equipment bays have all been allocated."
Duvette gave a nod.
"How did they take it?"
Evan showed his teeth. "They were overjoyed."
He added: "Especially Stroud, Finn, and several of the veterans. They consider boarding that particular battleship an honour significant enough to enter the regiment's history."
Duvette looked out through the viewport.
In the distance, the vast hull of the Macragge's Honour now occupied most of what the port window could show.
The battleship rested quietly at the centre of its docking position, the transport craft moving around it looking very small by comparison. Lights extended along the hull's surface like a continent of steel lying across the stars.
Duvette looked at it and let himself smile.
"Good timing."
Evan looked at him.
Duvette leaned back in his seat, his tone easy.
"It has been a while since I put them through anything serious."
"Time to raise the standard."
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