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Flanking him were a dozen men, some soldiers, some civilians, and all nervous – to varying degrees – about the hundred giants in black armour forming up before them.
    He cleared his throat, checked the buttons on his ochre greatcoat were fastened in correct order, and marched to the giants.
    One of the giants, wearing a helm shaped into a grinning skull mask of shining silver and steel, stepped forward to meet the colonel. With him came five other knights, each carrying swords and massive bolters, but for one who bore a towering standard. Upon the banner, which waved lazily in the dull breeze, a scene of red and black depicted the skull-helmed knight bathed in the golden purity of a flaming aquila overhead.
    ‘I am Grimaldus,’ the first knight said, his gem-like eye lenses staring down at the portly colonel. ‘Reclusiarch of the Helsreach Crusade.’
    The colonel drew breath to make his own greeting, when the hundred knights in formation cried out a chant in skin-crawling unity.
    ‘Imperator Vult!’
    Sarren glanced at the ranks of knights, formed up in five ranks of twenty warriors. None of them seemed to have moved, despite their cry in High Gothic: The Emperor wills it.
    ‘I am Colonel Sarren of the 101 st Steel Legion, and overall commander of the Imperial Guard forces defending the hive.’ He offered a hand to the towering knight, and turned the gesture quite smartly into a salute when it became clear the knight was not going to shake hands.
    Muted clicks could be heard every few seconds from the helms of the knights standing closest to him. Sarren knew full well they were speaking with each other over a shared vox-channel. He didn’t like it, not at all.
    ‘Who are these others?’ the first knight asked. With a war maul of brutal size and weight, he gestured to Sarren’s staff arrayed in a loose crescent behind the colonel. ‘I would meet every commander of this hive, if they are present.’
    ‘They are present, sir,’ Sarren said. ‘Allow me to make introductions.’
    ‘Reclusiarch,’ Grimaldus growled. ‘Not “sir”.’
    ‘As you wish, Reclusiarch. ‘This is Cyria Tyro, adjutant quintus to General Kurov.’ Grimaldus looked down at the slender, dark-haired female. She made no effort to salute. Instead, she spoke.
    ‘I am to act as liaison between off-planet forces – such as yours, Reclusiarch, and the Titan Legion – and the soldiers of Hive Helsreach. Simply summon me if you require my aid,’ she finished.
    ‘I will,’ Grimaldus said, knowing he would not.
    ‘This is Commissar Falkov, of my command staff,’ Colonel Sarren resumed.
    The officer named clicked his heels together and made an immaculate sign of the aquila over his chest. The commissar’s dark uniform singled him out with absolute clarity among the ochre-wearing Steel Legion officers.
    ‘This is Major Mordechai Ryken, second officer of the 101 st and XO of the city defence.’
    Ryken made the aquila himself, and offered a cautious nod of greeting.
    ‘Commander Korten Barasath,’ Sarren introduced the next man, ‘of the Imperial 5082 nd Naval Wing.’
    Korten, a lean figure still dressed in his grey flightsuit, saluted smartly.
    ‘My men were in the Lightnings that guided you down, Reclusiarch. A pleasure to serve with the Black Templars again.’
    Grimaldus narrowed his eyes behind his helm’s false grin. ‘You have served with the Knights of Dorn before?’
    ‘I have personally – nine years ago on Dathax – and the Fifty-Eighty-Twos have on no fewer than four separate occasions. Sixteen of our fighters are marked with the heraldic cross, with permission given by Marshal Tarrison of the Dathax Crusade.’
    Grimaldus inclined his head, his respect solemn and obvious, despite the helm.
    ‘I am honoured, Barasath,’ he said.
    The squadron leader suppressed a pleased smile and saluted again.
    And on it went, through the ranks of senior Steel Legion officers. At the end of the line stood two men, one in a clean