Two months after the campaign on Wheel of Fire Prime began, the 2nd Chapter, having cleansed Fortress B, did not rest. They immediately launched an assault on the Ork fortress designated as Fortress C.
The knights of House Vextrix fought alongside the 2nd Chapter.
Once the Vextrix Knights breached the ork fortress, James strode forward clad in the heavy, ancient Mark I Thunder pattern power armor.
Such suits were increasingly rare within the Legion. Its black surface came less from paint than from the gleam of polished adamantine.
Its plates were covered in battle litanies and Chapter inscriptions, many no longer officially recognized by the Shadow of Order.
Etched in platinum along his towering helm's cheek guards was a wolf sigil, a remembrance of his days as a Reaper under Lord Horus himself.
Though James had risen to the rank of Lord in the Black Duke's court, he was still but a knight.
He longed to earn greater trust from his gene-father, and saw the Wheel of Fire Crusade as the best chance to prove himself.
From the very beginning, the 2nd Chapter had been heavily committed, suffering the greatest losses in void warfare and in the battles for the Ork Attack Moon.
But to James, that was not enough. He yearned for more trust.
Slaying the Ork warlord and offering the kill to the Father was the proof he sought.
On other fronts, no warlord had yet appeared. James had a growing intuition that the enemy warlord was here.
So when the Vextrix Knights smashed through the walls, he gave the order at once:
"Charge!"
Wilshire's commanding, resonant voice rang out:
"Our honor is forged in the fire of righteous slaughter."
"I am Wilshire, of the Shadow of Order, and today, we face the greenskin horde."
"Let their crude weapons shatter against our armor. Let their war cries be drowned in bolter fire."
"We will carve our legend into every brute we fell, until the stars themselves echo our wrath."
"Brothers, stand with me, and let the Orks learn what true fury is."
By merit, he had been promoted to Lieutenant four months earlier.
When the captain of the 4th Company fell in battle against the orks a month ago, Wilshire became the company captain.
Beyond Vostroya and Symphony of the Sea veterans who had followed the Primarch before his return, Wilshire was the fastest and youngest in the entire history of the 11th Legion to become Sergeant, Lieutenant, and Company Captain under the Legion's normal system of hierarchy.
The whole 2nd Chapter's court knew the gene-father valued him above most captains, and even above some Chapter Master.
The only one who could barely keep pace was Pell Koscelny of the 11th Chapter, who had only just been promoted to Lieutenant five days ago.
The "Bard" would also, during the Chapter's rests, share the lessons he had received from their Primarch when serving as his honor guard, not just with his own warriors, but with every member of the Chapter.
Thelema Mindstate, the War Mask, Warp Insight…
This gave him prestige far beyond even Captain Emeric of the 1st Company, making him the true second in authority of the Chapter.
The "Bard's" conviction not only inspired the 4th Company but also spread across many other companies. The warriors answered his call with instinctive cries.
Head held high, Wilshire raised his voice in song. Amplified through his helm's vox, it filled his 921 warriors of the 4th Company with the strength of the Shadow of Order.
They felt as though bathed in sunlight, and surged with him up the walls.
His voice rose ever higher as he swung his power hammer.
The massive weapon smashed ork skulls apart, each kill releasing a surge of gathered energy.
At every impact, the force field growled, energy pulses cracking against crude ork flesh and iron.
The orks' brute strength could not stand against the power Wilshire drew from his song. He unleashed kinetic force in bursts, obliterating the profane aliens.
He and his company stormed toward the smoking ork artillery atop the battlements.
Each swing of his hammer killed a boy or crushed several grots outright.
Irresistible, Wilshire reached an ork cannon, brought his hammer down on a Mekboy, and turned his head into pulp.
Another swing smashed the cannon itself, the disruptive field reducing it to shards and wreckage.
The 4th Company destroyed seven ork guns in succession, breaking open a gap in the fortress's fire. The 3rd and 5th Companies seized the moment to scale the walls.
Wilshire turned his gaze inward, toward the Chapter Masters' battlefield.
There, he saw the Chapter's fifty-two Dreadnoughts locked in combat with nearly three times as many massive steel monstrosities.
The orks' machines spewed deafening noise, their long-barreled dakka cannons vomiting dense fire that sparked and shattered against the black armor of the Legion's dreadnoughts.
With crab-like claws of powered iron, they tried to seize the larger, stronger, more agile black sarcophagi, then rip them apart with screeching chain-saws.
Wilshire's sharp eyes noted the glyphs upon their hulls, marks of the Deathskulls clan, not the surrounding Bad Moons.
At once, he recalled the Primarch's briefing:
'The Deathkulls' Big Mek on the Second Planet commands fewer mechs than he should.'
'The only force with the influence and wealth to buy them up must be the Wheel of Fire's ork warlord.'
He also recognized them from the gene-father's dossiers: ork "Deff Dreads"
'Deff Dreads resemble our Dreadnoughts. Their pilots are bound forever to the machines through crude augmetics.'
'The chosen orks are cut open, their spines and brains filled with tubes, probes, sockets, and bizarre devices. It takes both Meks and Painboyz to complete such "advanced" work.'
'Unlike Killa Kans, they are piloted by orks themselves. They are weaker than our Dreadnoughts, but stronger than Kans.'
'Each Deff Dread costs one hundred teef, a price high enough to keep an ork drunk on fungus beer for a hundred nights.'
Wilshire felt the warlord's extravagance keenly: fifteen thousand teef's worth of Deff Dreads in this one battle.
And lavish though they were, they proved dangerous, swarming the Chapter's dreadnoughts with sheer numbers.
In less than an hour, eight dreadnoughts had been lost. Yet the orks had paid four times as dearly.
Leaping down from the wall, Wilshire thought:
'The warlord must be slain quickly. Without his will, those bound within the Deff Dreads will go mad and fight alone.'
James shared the same thought. His eyes had already locked on the fluttering Boss-Banner among the Deff Dreads.
From the Primarch's notes, he knew every Ork boss had his banner, the bigger and louder, the more trophies hung upon it, the greater the boss's power.
This one was massive, hung with fangs, skulls, and dozens of grisly ornaments.
James rallied his guard and charged straight into the melee of dreadnoughts, cutting a path toward the banner.
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If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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