The Beast Arises

The silence lasted for a full minute. The Black Templars, the Crimson Fists, the Excoriators and the Fists Exemplar, represented in the persons of Bohemond, Quesadra, Issachar and Thane, looked back at Koorland, and he did not represent the Imperial Fists. He was the Imperial Fists. He was alone. As the silence pressed down, dense with loss, and Koorland saw the expressions of pity, horror and sorrow around the council table, his survival felt like a curse. He existed to spread the word of an extermination more complete than even the worst atrocities of the Heresy. How did he imagine that he, an avatar of disaster, could pretend to have authority over the assembled Chapter Masters? Even Thane, so recently elevated to that rank, still commanded a powerful force. Koorland must appear to them as the voice of the abyss.

No, he told himself. Be the voice of experience, of necessity, of unity. Be anything less, and they will dismiss you.

Bohemond spoke first. ‘Your loss, Second Captain Koorland, is beyond words. Nonetheless, please accept the profound sorrow of the Black Templars. We honour the victories and the sacrifices of your brothers.’

Koorland would have liked to receive the wish at face value. However, he had to take notice of the deliberate use of rank. Possibly a pre-emptive gesture designed to keep him in his place. If so, he would have to disappoint the Chapter Master.

‘You have my thanks, Marshal. As do the rest of you, my brothers.’ He meant what he said, but he was also choosing his phrasing with care, emphasising that he was among peers. He remained standing. ‘Let me further express my thanks that you have all answered the call of the Last Wall. I sent out the signal because what befell the Imperial Fists must be our spur to action.’

‘None of us needed that spur,’ Bohemond said.

Koorland bowed his head. ‘I did not mean to suggest that you did.’

‘Then what did you mean to suggest?’ Quesadra asked. His voice was calm, but the words were sharp. His gaze on Koorland was scouring.

‘What has fallen must be rebuilt. Together we shall be the bricks of an even greater wall.’

‘Which is to say…?’

‘We must do more than act in concert. There have already been disasters thanks to inadequate communications. This must end.’ All four of the Chapter Masters were nodding. ‘It is therefore vital that our united efforts be coordinated by a single command.’

Another silence followed, this one coloured by surprise. Koorland remained standing a few more seconds. He tried to find a balance, conveying authority but not giving offence. Then he sat, and awaited the reaction. He did not yet have the measure of the warriors he was addressing. He suspected that he might find a sympathetic ear in Thane, who at least had experienced some parallel loss and sudden, unwanted elevation. Issachar was hard to read, though he gave no sign of actual hostility. Quesadra’s gaze had grown even sharper. It now flicked between Koorland and Bohemond. The Black Templar’s face had taken on a determined cast, as of one about to do battle. Behind the Chapter Masters, their honour guards were as motionless as ever, but the rising tension gave the air a brittle taste.

Quesadra said, ‘You are proposing a step of very far-reaching implications. Some might see it as an attempt to recreate the Legion.’

‘That is not my intent. There would be no change in banners or colours. We would be the individual fingers forming a single fist for the duration of the crisis.’

‘History is rife with provisional measures that became permanent.’

‘Brother,’ Issachar said to Quesadra, ‘do you seriously believe any of the men under your command would seek to surrender their identity as Crimson Fists?’

‘No.’

‘The same is true for the Excoriators.’

Koorland couldn’t tell if Issachar was supporting his proposal or pointing out its unworkability.

Bohemond said, ‘Second Captain Koorland is correct, though. The orks have the unity and direction that we lack. A divided Imperial response is doomed. We have too much evidence of that already.’

‘And the Fists Exemplar,’ said Thane, ‘have direct experience of the virtues of combined efforts. Marshal Bohemond convinced me, I am happy to say, of the pointlessness of fighting alone, and in a lost cause.’

Koorland nodded. ‘I wish we had had such a chance.’

‘I’m not disputing the need for coordination,’ Issachar said. ‘I am questioning the viability of the second captain’s proposed integration. If we are to have a single command, who will be that commander?’

The third silence. A short one. Koorland said nothing. He wondered if, when duty had called him to Terra, he had been contaminated by the political manoeuvring of the High Lords. He wanted to be direct. He wanted to state what was necessary. But his position was weak. He had to think tactically. He waited for Bohemond to speak first, as Koorland knew he would.

‘The coordination of joint operations and the recall of crusades has been through the Black Templars,’ Bohemond said. ‘Continuity should be preserved.’