V3 Chapter 91: What Do You Mean the Imperial Primarch Answers to a Mortal's Supreme Command?
Colonel-Commissar Gaunt, Colonel Stroud, and officers from the 112th Special Operations Legion's direct-subordinate infantry regiments stood in the largest industrial spaceport on the under-hive's outer perimeter. Several local PDF officers followed behind them, glancing up now and then at the smoke-covered skyline.
This spaceport sat embedded in the hive city's outer wall, once responsible for running reactor components, hull armour, and macro-cannon parts along its dock rails. Great numbers of abandoned cargo tow-trucks still stood parked on the massive freight platforms, the hoisting machinery long since stopped.
Several dark shapes appeared out of the distant smoke.
Along with the roar of engines, Thunderhawk gunships closed on the spaceport fast. The thrusters beneath their wings tilted, and the powerful downwash kicked up dust from the ground, forcing the waiting party to step back a little.
A few minutes later, several Thunderhawks settled to a landing one after another.
Stroud straightened his cap without thinking.
He'd seen Guilliman once before, at Fortress of Hera. Duvette had been standing beside him then, and all he'd had to do was salute, and try not to say anything that might get every man there executed.
This time was different.
They were about to go into the under-hive and fight alongside the Primarch himself. Thinking about it, Stroud couldn't shake the feeling that something about it sat wrong.
The Thunderhawk's hatch lowered slowly.
A tall figure in blue-and-gold armour of fate stepped out from the cabin. Guilliman's Honour Guard followed close behind, their heavy footsteps landing on the metal platform, and the nearby PDF soldiers straightened up on instinct.
"Salute Lord Guilliman!"
Every officer present saluted at once.
Guilliman looked around the group.
These were Duvette's former subordinates.
Before leaving the Macragge's Honour, Duvette had specifically asked him to assess these officers personally, and note whatever weaknesses still remained in their command and organisation.
Guilliman matched the faces in front of him against the files he'd just read.
Ibram Gaunt, Colonel-Commissar. Extensive infantry command experience, having come through a great many complex engagements during the Sabbat Worlds Crusade.
Stroud, a senior officer of the 112th. Skilled at leading forces as a spearhead in infiltration warfare, a direct combat style, with a service record containing a fair number of actions that broke standard procedure.
Elias Hawthorne, Cadian by origin, a cautious command style, and the most experienced infantry commander the 112th had.
The other direct-subordinate regiment officers each carried extensive combat experience of their own as well. More notable still, the units these people commanded showed mission completion rates far higher than ordinary Astra Militarum forces, and casualty rates far lower than most.
"No need for excessive formality." Guilliman lowered his gaze. "Let's head to the forward command post first, and settle the coming battle plan."
"Yes, my lord Primarch."
The large cargo distribution hub wasn't far from the spaceport, and the group decided to walk there directly.
Stroud walked near the middle of the group, watching Guilliman's back ahead of him. He tilted his head slightly, lowering his voice to Elias beside him. "I don't think he's as good as the boss..."
"Shut up." Elias's eyes went wide instantly. "The one thing you should be doing right now is keeping that mouth of yours shut."
Guilliman stopped walking.
"Something the matter?"
Elias's spine snapped straight, his expression immediately falling back into the proper seriousness of a Cadian officer.
"Reporting, Lord Guilliman. We're discussing the coming battle plan."
Guilliman glanced at the two of them.
"We'll discuss it at the command post."
"Yes, sir."
The Primarch turned and continued forward.
Elias let out a slow breath, then drove his elbow hard into Stroud's side. He quickened his pace at once, putting distance between himself and the bald officer.
Stroud rubbed the spot where he'd been hit, pulled a face, and shrugged.
He didn't say anything else.
The forward command post sat inside the cargo distribution hub.
The hall, once used for registering cargo and controlling transport machinery, had been converted into a tactical centre, several pieces of Mechanicus equipment set up around its edges. Great lengths of data cable ran along the floor, all of it eventually feeding into the central holo-projector.
Every officer present gathered around the tactical table.
The Honour Guard Guilliman had brought stood positioned throughout the room, silent the entire time. Their towering forms kept the PDF officers from making any unnecessary noise, and the mood in the room turned correspondingly heavy.
Guilliman activated the tactical projection.
The map had been pieced together by the Mechanicus, drawing on ancient engineering blueprints, recent scan data, and information relayed back by reconnaissance servitors. Some areas had already been confirmed passable, more passages remained in an unknown state, and a few places were disrupted enough by contamination that no usable data could be gathered at all.
Several dark green markers stood out deep within the map.
"Marshal Duvette has already confirmed the major contamination nodes."
Guilliman pointed to the largest of them.
"Overall command of the Badab ground campaign remains his. The coordination between the four hive cities, the reinforcement schedule, the final objectives, all of it is set by him, unified across every front."
"I hold field command for this direction alone."
The room fell into a brief silence.
Several PDF officers glanced instinctively at one another, undisguised shock and confusion plain in their eyes.
What did it mean for an Imperial Primarch to say, in his own voice, that a mortal still held overall command of the entire ground campaign, and that he himself was operating inside that man's command structure? Even limited to a single direction of attack, it was still more than they knew how to make sense of.
The officers of the 112th felt much the same shock.
But they settled back into calm quickly enough.
Too many things that defied explanation had already happened around Duvette. If the boss had told them, right then, that Guilliman would also be following his overall deployment for this battle, most of them would only have stayed surprised a moment longer.
Guilliman tapped the tactical table twice, lightly.
"Rank and reputation won't clear the plague out of the under-hive."
"Continue."
The PDF officers pulled their attention back at once.
Guilliman began assigning each unit its task.
Elite troops drawn from the local PDF would hold the already-cleared zones, and keep the rear supply lines running. They'd guard the isolation areas, seal off every side passage, and stop the infected from reaching the lower hive.
The 112th's direct-subordinate infantry regiments would form the main assault force.
They would push along three main passages deep into the under-hive, breaking through the cultist and mutant lines. Once key circulation nodes were seized, engineers would seal the surrounding pipework, and Mechanicus personnel would follow to assess contamination levels.
Flame units and quarantine teams would move close behind them.
Anyone showing clear signs of infection would be isolated immediately. Every corpse and any severely contaminated matter would be burned on site, to keep the plague from following the retreat routes back to the rear.
The officers kept raising questions.
Stroud pointed out that one of the passages was too narrow for large numbers of infantry to move through at once. Gaunt suggested pushing the reserve position further forward, so a lead unit hit by ambush wouldn't be left waiting too long for support.
Elias proposed stationing more heavy weapons near the industrial lift shafts. If a large mutant creature came up from below, ordinary infantry would struggle to hold it back in such a confined space.
These officers held to proper respect toward Guilliman, but none of them set aside their own judgment simply because a Primarch's authority was in the room.
When they raised objections, they gave their reasons.
And once Guilliman had explained the plan, they accepted the order without hesitation and moved straight on to the next detail.
Guilliman found this genuinely satisfying.
These men were plainly nervous in his presence, true enough, but their breathing and their pulse settled back to steady quickly. Even knowing they were about to walk into a Nurgle-contaminated zone, not one of them showed obvious fear during the whole meeting.
Duvette's ability to command was exceptional.
It was becoming clear now that his ability to develop the officers and soldiers under him deserved just as much regard.
"Plan confirmed."
Guilliman closed a portion of the tactical markers, then raised his head to look at the officers around him.
"I'll be going into the under-hive with the rest of you."
The mood in the room shifted.
"I won't simply be sitting in the command post waiting for word during this operation."
The PDF officers looked visibly heartened, while the 112th veterans traded a glance. They were plainly already used to their supreme commander walking straight into the most dangerous ground himself.
"Just hope we don't end up having to go pull you out this time." Stroud muttered, barely above a whisper.
Elias's head snapped toward him, his expression somewhere past what could still be called horrified.
"Oh?"
Guilliman had turned to look at Stroud as well.
"Did Duvette often need the two of you to come save him?"
Stroud's whole body went rigid.
He'd thought he'd kept his voice low enough. He'd forgotten that a Primarch's hearing couldn't be measured by human standards.
"Can't say often, exactly..." Stroud answered, forcing his way through it. "Commissar Duvette occasionally lands himself in situations that get a little complicated."
"And we're the ones who go get him back out."
Guilliman laughed once. "Sounds like you've cleaned up more than a few messes on his account."
Stroud gave an awkward smile.
Guilliman said nothing further, the amusement fading fast from his face.
"All units, into combat position immediately."
"Operation begins in one hour."
"Dismissed."