those who remained。 The ground shook again as more shells impacted and Tedeski swore as an entire section of the southern wall
cracked and crumbled to the base。 Though the firing step was taking a punishing barrage； it would be some time before the enemy
guns had pounded enough of the walls to form a practicable breach and brought down enough rubble for attacking troops to climb。
Stone splinters ripped through the bodies of the men who remained on the walls； tearing them to bloody rags； but Tedeski knew
that he couldn't leave the walls totally unmanned for fear that an escalade was underway。 There was every chance he was
consigning these men to die； and the guilt of their deaths tasted like ashes in his mouth。
Suddenly； he set off towards the walls； climbing the dusty； fragment…strewn steps that led from the courtyard to the parapet。
'Sir？' shouted Poulsen； 'Where are you going？'
'To stand on the walls with my men；' snapped the irascible major。
Years of ingrained obedience kicked in and； without thinking； Poulsen trotted up the steps after Tedeski before his conscious brain
truly understood what he was doing。
A ragged cheer greeted Tedeski's arrival as he marched to the head of the bastion； defiantly facing the enemy guns。 The parapet
here was cracked and sagging； several metres of rockcrete missing from its length； and Tedeski had a clear view of the scene
below。
The two batteries were wreathed in clouds of thick grey smoke； which was periodically pierced by flashes of fire。 Screaming
projectiles slashed through the air as a soldier unnecessarily shouted； 'Incoming！'
The shells slammed into the base of the wall below Tedeski； blasting chunks of rock high into the air and enveloping him in a
drifting bank of smoke。 Tedeski didn't flinch and when the cloud cleared； merely dusted off his uniform jacket with his one hand。
As the noise of the explosion faded； Tedeski shouted； 'The enemy must have bad fevers。 Do you hear them cough？ Perhaps we
should offer them some sweet wine！'
Laughter and cheering swelled from the throats of Battalion A of the Jouran Dragoons； their courage bolstered by their
commander's words and bravery。
Another nerve…stretching hour of shelling followed which Major Gunnar Tedeski endured with his men in determined silence。
As dusk turned the sky the colour of congealed blood； Tedeski turned to Poulsen； and took his aide…de…camp's data…slate with a
shaking hand。
With an effort of will to keep his voice from breaking； he said； 'Order the guns below to deploy and shell those batteries out of
existence。'
FORRIX PICKED HIS way across the cratered plain as quickly as his bulky suit of Terminator armour would allow him； followed by
thirty of his hand…picked warriors。 Like him； they had dulled the lustre of their Terminator armour with red dust from the plains；
and under the fury of the bombardment would hopefully escape detection by the soldiers above them。
He knew they did not have much time。 The commander of the garrison above would know by now how devastating die artillery of
the Iron Warriors was； and that unless he destroyed it quickly； his fortress was lost。 It followed that he would now deploy his
hidden guns and this was just what Forrix wanted。 Honsou waited in the forward parallel with forty of his warriors and nearly six
thousand human soldiers spread along the extent of the trench。
The timing would need to be precise。 Too early and the Imperials would seal the tunnels leading to the guns； too late and his
artillery would be bombed out of existence。
Forrix stalked through the cratered wasteland and secreted himself less than fifty metres from the entrance to the concealed
artillery pits。 His veteran warriors filed into position alongside him and waited； the noise of the shelling swallowing the thump of
their heavy footfalls。
They did not have long to wait。 A sliver of light and rumbling of heavy rolling stock grinding along rails announced that the guns
were indeed moving into position。
'Honsou；' hissed Forrix； rising to his feet and charging towards the guns； 'go now！'
HONSOU SNARLED IN anticipation as he heard Forrix's words echo within his helm and kicked down the sandbagged barricade that
led from the forward parallel onto the plain。 He sprinted forward； the Iron Warriors fanning out behind him as they raced across
the uneven ground towards the base of the steep； rocky slope。 Behind him thousands of red…clad soldiers climbed from the trench
and the guns continued to fire； pounding the walls to breach the central bastion。
The augmented fibre bundle muscles of their armour powered the Iron Warriors upwards； leaving the human soldiers floundering
in their wake； stumbling around in the strobing； shell…lit twilight。
He and his warriors would be first to reach the fortress。 This type of action had once been known as a Forlorn Hope； because the
first men into the breach would invariably be the first men to die。 It was the duty of the Hope to draw the enemy fire as the
Graham McNeill ？Storm of Iron？
remainder of the force closed with the fortress。 The men of the Hope would storm the breach and buy time with their lives for the
following troops to push through。 Hundreds of men might be sacrificed in this way simply to get a handful through the breach。
Storming a breach was always a bloody affair； because the enemy knew exactly where the attack would be coming from； though
Honsou hoped the constant bombardment from the batteries would keep the Imperial defenders' heads down。
He clambered swiftly up the jagged rocks； each powerful thrust of his thighs pushing him closer to the top。 As the noise of shell
impacts intensified； he looked up into the darkening sky； seeing the broken top of the ramparts and a huge tear ripped in the side
of the bastion。 Tonnes of rabble spilled down its flanks and provided a ready…made ramp to the defenders above。
'Battery guns； cease fire；' ordered Honsou as he cleared the top of the slope。
Shouts of alarm echoed from the top of the walls and a handful of las…blasts stabbed towards him； but they were poorly aimed and
flew high。
Honsou muttered the Iron Warriors' catechism of battle： ''Iron within； iron without'' as his men pulled themselves onto the ground
before Tor Christo and charged with him towards the breach。
FORRIX SWEPT HIS power glove through the chest of a man wearing a gunner's reinforced flak vest； his upper body exploding in
blood and bone。 Roaring reaper cannon fire ripped through the Imperial gunners and soldiers； spraying the flanks of their artillery
with blood。
'Protect the guns！' screamed a junior officer before Forrix tore his head off。
Fools。 Did they really think the guns were their target； that the Iron Warriors did not already have a surfeit of guns？
Their attack had hit without warning and the first Imperial troops had died without knowing what had killed them。 Their guards
tried to fight back； but within seconds had realised the fight was hopeless and fled before Forrix and his Terminators。 But the old
veteran was not about to let his prey escape him so easily。 Three of his warriors levelled their reaper cannons； the barrels studded
with spikes； and unleashed a deadly hail of shots that felled men by the dozen。
Forrix lumbered forward； ignoring the Imperial guns and charging as fast as he could towards the wide doors in the mountainside。
Already the alarm had been raised and they were rumbling closed； but too slowly。 Forrix and his retinue burst through into the
space beyond。
A volley of las…fire greeted them； hissing harmlessly from the thick armour of the Terminators。 Scores of Guardsmen were spread
through the cavernous chamber； but Forrix ignored the bright flashes of weapons fire as he searched for the door mechanism。
Thick rails ran across the rockcrete floor from three enormous bays and ordnance magazines； each with cranes and pulley chains
filling the space above them。
He could see stairs ahead leading upwards carved through the rock。 The majority of the cavern's defenders were gathered at their
base behind hurriedly constructed barricades of crates and barrels。 Another group was clustered behind a pair of giant bulldozers；
firing from behind their yellow bulk at the invaders。 Guessing the controls for the door were housed here； Forrix charged forwards
through the hail of shots； his armour easily deflecting the defenders' pitiful fire。 He and his Terminators fired their combi…bolters
across the flanks of the bulldozers； explosive shells killing a dozen soldiers and ricocheting from the dozers' flanks with flaring
detonations。
More Terminators headed for the soldiers guarding the stairs as Forrix rounded the forward edge of the closest bulldozer and
hosed the men there with bolter fire。 Grenades burst harmlessly around the Terminators as one man dived aside and swung a
heavy rifle with a ribbed barrel towards Forrix。
A white…hot beam of plasma energy slammed into his chest； instantly obliterating the blasted iconography there and searing
through layers of ceramite armour。 Forrix felt the heat of the plasma scorch his skin and he staggered under the force of the
impact。 His Terminator armour had been forged on the Anvil of Holades on Olympia itself and its ancient spirit was