‘Good,’ he continued. ‘The orks continue to press towards Terra on all fronts and the situation, already dire, is threatening almost total collapse. Almost. Having extracted our brothers in the Fists Exemplar from their fortress-monastery I have been calling together several crusades still operating in the Segmentum Solar. As you might expect, there is little to appeal to my marshals in these relatively calm systems and so the majority of our crusades are much further from the Imperial centre. It will take time for them to arrive.’
‘Such calmness has occluded proper recognition of the threats at hand,’ said Issachar.
Bohemond scowled, perceiving the comment to be an accusation, but he pressed on with his report without argument.
‘It has fallen to us and the Crimson Fists in particular, as well as Chapters of other heritage, to wage the mobile war against the ork attackers. The Imperial Navy stands almost idle. We have filled the breach as best we can, but we have not the numbers to stand and fight at every contested star system. The orks move closer and closer to Terra each day while the Imperial Guard twiddle their thumbs on their mustering fields and the Imperial Navy watches with disinterest. If I could spare the bolts I would fall upon these traitors myself, but the orks are enough opposition for the moment. When the orks are driven back there will be time to punish those who have so easily forgotten their oaths.’
‘Report arrives daily of another system fallen, another ork incursion, all accounted to the ravages of the Beast,’ said Quesadra. ‘We attack when we can, but we kill hundreds when we need to kill thousands, thousands when we must slay millions. We come to the aid of the Imperium as ancient oaths decree, but the Imperium seems unable to fight for itself. Not since Ullanor have we seen such a greenskin threat. Their numbers are beyond measure and matched by greater cunning than we have ever thought possible. Even as the orks are coordinated and focused, the forces of the Imperium are scattered and beset.’
‘Let us not forget the sacrifice of many brave thousands that have given their blood defending their homes,’ added Thane. ‘They have taken a toll of the alien invaders also.’
A few of the Space Marines bowed their heads in silent thanks. Koorland did likewise, remembering his dead wall-brothers.
‘Yes, but the sacrifices will not be swiftly concluded,’ said Issachar. He glanced at Bohemond and received a nod of permission to continue. ‘The issuing of the Last Wall protocol is a grave matter, but I think it is just this situation for which the Primarch intended it. The Imperium is beset by a foe that will likely triumph over other forces. No Chapter alone can stand against this menace and so the bonds of old, forged by the Emperor’s hand and broken by the dictate of the Lord Commander, must be joined again. The sons of Dorn will stand united once more.’
‘Indeed!’ Bohemond’s voice boomed across the hall. It dropped in volume as he continued with furrowed brow. ‘I was surprised to find that it was not Cassus Mirhen that had sent the herald signal.’
‘The Chapter Master is dead,’ replied Koorland.
‘A tragedy we have recently experienced,’ said Thane, nodding in sympathy. ‘He was a great leader. You are the surviving ranking captain, I assume?’
‘The only survivor,’ said Koorland quietly.
‘And tell me, Captain Koorland, why it is that you come here alone, aboard an Imperial Navy vessel no less?’ asked Bohemond, darting a look of annoyance at Thane’s interruption. ‘Where are your warriors and the rest of the fleet? You call us to the Last Wall and yet you come alone.’
‘You misunderstand me, brothers.’ Koorland bowed his head. ‘I was not the only surviving officer at Ardamantua. I was the only survivor.’
Silence greeted this declaration.
Quesadra started to say something but the words died on his lips. Koorland looked at each of the Space Marines around the table and saw the same emotions in their expressions: hardened warriors brought to a standstill by confusion, anger, pity. It was the last that caused him the most pain and sent him surging to his feet.
‘The Imperial Fists are no more,’ he said, and speaking aloud the fact made the shame of it surge through Koorland. ‘Save for me, they are all dead.’
He swallowed hard. He had faced death without fear a thousand times. He had been wounded, three times grievously, and now ripped back from the edge of oblivion by the ministrations of the tech-priests. Even during the horrors of Ardamantua Koorland had never felt scared, not truly. To stand here and say what he was about to say was the most terrifying experience of his life. He did not know what was going to happen as soon as he uttered the words. The future was a black abyss waiting to swallow him, but there was nothing else to be done but to plunge headlong into its dark embrace.
