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Krieg – Extract

A Black Library Publication

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The planet was dead. Every reading confirmed it.

The augurs’ findings scrolled across viewscreens and hololithic displays on the bridge. The planet’s stratosphere was choked with soot. It was too cold to sustain human life. No plants could grow in the ash that smothered its surface. Its oceans were a frozen soup of toxic chemicals. The augurs probed for man-made energy sources in vain.

The planet, every inch of it, was lethally radioactive. The medical cogitators screamed a warning that to tread its ground would be to suffer a certain, lingering death.

The planet was dead. How could it be, then, that a ship had just taken off from it?

Nothing had been heard of Krieg in half a millennium. The planet, to its name, had been all but forgotten, not only through time’s passage but also in part by Imperial edict.

That had changed two months ago. A number of astropaths, passing through the Segmentum Tempestus, had picked up fragments of a message. It had taken time and effort to put those fragments together before their source was revealed.

Krieg’s civil war, begun five hundred years ago, was over. Its loyalists had triumphed over the secessionist traitors. They stood ready to serve the Emperor once more. They wished to wipe the stain of sin from their planet’s history. They wished to atone.

The message was debated at the Administratum’s highest levels. Some feared it might be a deception, a lure set by their enemies. They opined that a world like Krieg could only be a drain on their resources. After all this time, what could they have to offer? Others pointed out that, in these days, one world – any world that could raise a single regiment for the Emperor’s armies – could not be overlooked.

And so, a delegation was despatched. An Imperial grand cruiser dropped into orbit around Krieg. It announced its arrival over a range of frequencies, though the vox-operators felt sure no one would hear them, that they were chasing astropathic echoes. To their surprise, they received a reply.

The ship that rose from Krieg’s surface was an Arvus lighter: an Imperial Naval shuttle, though its markings had been burnt away. The image of a leering skull had been painted crudely in their place. The ship showed its age in every dent and blister on its hull, and in the black smoke that belched from its starboard rocket engine. It seemed miraculous that it could fly at all. The voice from the planet, however, had advised against sending a lander – much to the relief of the ratings who would have had to crew one.

The airlock door groaned open, and there they stood, revealed by its circular aperture. Six in number, as agreed, in strict formation. The ash of the blasted planet below clung to their clothing. Each of them wore a dark, buttoned-up greatcoat, through which the lines of flak armour could just be discerned. Spiked helmets, scuffed and dented, crowned their heads. They were booted and gloved, every inch of their bodies protected – including their faces. The men of Krieg wore gas masks. Their eyes were concealed behind opaque circular lenses. Hoses linked the masks’ distended snouts to rebreathers: cumbersome chest-mounted boxes. They ticked and whirred, analysing the ship’s recycled air.

Larreth stood apart from the welcoming committee, flanked by her personal retinue, eyes narrowed. She detected no deformities in the Krieg men’s postures. Still, something about them, something in the combination of their concealing ensembles and their rigid discipline, plucked at her nerves. The masks reminded her of nothing more than hollow-eyed skulls, like the one daubed on their shuttle.

Ambassador Strack paused to swallow before he smiled and introduced himself. A Krieg colonel – he displayed Imperial rank insignia on his helmet – looked at his outstretched hand. Then he stepped forward, through the aperture, and took it.

En route to the conference chamber, Strack attempted to make small talk. He told his guests how surprising it had been, though a pleasure, to hear from them after all this time. He prompted the colonel for a name, which the man hadn’t yet offered, and the Krieg colonel spoke for the first time, his voice low and rough like gravel.

‘We,’ he said, ‘are the Death Korps of Krieg. We are soldiers of the Emperor.’

The Krieg colonel sat at the conference table, only at Strack’s urging.

His soldiers stood sentry behind him, though they were unarmed by agreement. They stared blankly over the heads of the assembled dignitaries of the Departmento Munitorum. The colonel sat stiffly, arms straight by his sides, and only spoke in his husky voice when a direct question was put to him.

He confirmed that the war on his planet had ended, with the faction he commanded – the Death Korps of Krieg – victorious. ‘Then you are Krieg’s military governor?’ a much-decorated lord general militant asked him. The colonel had spied him upon entering the chamber and had saluted the image of the Imperial aquila upon his cap.

‘Yes, sir,’ he said.

‘And yet you only hold the rank of colonel?’

‘Yes, sir,’ he repeated, offering no explanation.

‘What is the current fighting strength of your… “Death Korps”?’

‘At present, we can offer the Emperor sixty thousand soldiers, trained, equipped and organised into twenty regiments.’

The statement was met by a brief stunned silence. Then the lord general militant leaned forward in his seat. ‘You did say sixty thousand? Twenty regiments?’

‘Standing by for immediate deployment, sir.’

‘But how? Where on the planet are they stationed? How do you survive in those conditions, let alone…?’

‘Eighty-three Krieg regiments once served in the Astra Militarum,’ the Krieg colonel intoned. ‘Our goal – our duty – is to equal that number, and better it.’

‘What is Krieg’s current population?’ asked the lord general militant.

‘As I said, sir, we can offer sixty thousand–’

‘I mean, your total population. Not just soldiers, but civilians.’

‘There are no civilians on Krieg,’ the colonel stated. Larreth noted that he had sidestepped the question, not for the first time. He gave only the information he wanted to give. She sensed the eagerness around the table, however. The colonel was offering a prize far greater than any they could have imagined.

It was time she interceded. She cleared her throat and the room fell silent again. When a witch hunter spoke, loyal citizens, whatever their stations, knew well to listen. A faulty servo-motor in her ancient power armour whined as she adjusted her position.

‘You may remove the face mask, colonel.’ Ambassador Strack had made the same suggestion, but he had lacked Larreth’s accusing tone.

‘The rebreather units are part of our uniforms, sir.’

‘Out of necessity, I’m sure. You have no need of them aboard this ship, nor will your soldiers on the worlds to which they are assigned.’

‘On the contrary. We expect to be assigned to the most hazardous warzones available. Worlds upon which the atmosphere is toxic. We are well used to such conditions and thrive in them. This is where we are best equipped to serve.’

The Imperial dignitaries looked as if they couldn’t believe their fortune.

‘The, ah, the conditions on your world…’ the lord general militant ventured. ‘I imagine you must wear the masks, the rebreathers, even off duty. If the Krieg are used to breathing filtered oxygen, then even the air in this room may be poisonous to them. It may contain pathogens to which they possess no immunity.’

The colonel inclined his head in tacit agreement.

‘Or might you have a graver reason to hide your faces from us?’ Inquisitor Larreth persisted. ‘Might you be afraid that we would disapprove of them?’ She raised a hand to silence the general before he could answer for the Krieg officer again.

‘Our world paid a high price for its treachery,’ the colonel conceded. ‘The war took a heavy toll upon us. Nevertheless, we stand before you now, made stronger by our trials and ready to resume our rightful service.’

‘What is your name?’ asked Larreth.

He didn’t answer her. She wished she could see his expression or glare into his eyes. What manner of being, she wondered, must a world so tainted as his breed? And who could survive upon that world, without becoming tainted too? ‘The rest of us have introduced ourselves,’ she prompted. ‘What is your name?’

The Krieg colonel cocked his head a little.

He looked as if he didn’t understand the question.

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A Black Library Publication

First published in Great Britain in 2021.
This eBook edition published in 2022 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd, Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.

Represented by: Games Workshop Limited – Irish branch,
Unit 3, Lower Liffey Street, Dublin 1,D01 K199, Ireland.

Produced by Games Workshop in Nottingham.
Cover illustration by Miklós Ligeti.

Krieg © Copyright Games Workshop Limited 2022. Krieg, GW, Games Workshop, Black Library, The Horus Heresy, The Horus Heresy Eye logo, Space Marine, 40K, Warhammer, Warhammer 40,000, the ‘Aquila’ Double-headed Eagle logo, and all associated logos, illustrations, images, names, creatures, races, vehicles, locations, weapons, characters, and the distinctive likenesses thereof, are either ® or TM, and/or © Games Workshop Limited, variably registered around the world.
All Rights Reserved.

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ISBN: 978-1-80026-611-7

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For Annie and Arthur, my parents, without whose love and support I could never have pursued my dreams

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