The Heart of the Furnace spoke first.
Azure plasma balls erupted from the muzzle in rapid sequence, each one burning through the armour of a Hydra single-person tank as though the armour had been a suggestion rather than a design specification. The agents who happened to be standing along the firing path discovered this simultaneously and at the same time ceased to be a consideration. Nolan kept moving as he fired, not breaking stride, letting the weapon clear the immediate approach while his eyes found what he was actually looking for.
The Hydra commander was trying to stay behind his people. A reasonable instinct. Nolan pocketed the Heart of the Furnace and took the Warscythe in both hands.
The charge across the battlefield floor was not elegant. He went through the space in a straight line, ceramite absorbing the large-calibre fire and the laser beams that concentrated on him from multiple positions, the impacts producing cascading sparks and heat-blackened scoring across the blue shell. None of it slowed him down enough to matter. He reached the cluster of heavy-armed agents surrounding the commander and took three sweeping passes with the Warscythe that turned the cluster into something that no longer required further attention.
The commander was still standing there when Nolan's hand closed around his head.
The sound was brief. The body hit the ground among the others, and Nolan was already turning toward the next fire position.
Half an hour later, the base was quiet.
Nolan stood at the broken entrance and looked back across what the engagement had produced: craters still burning at their edges, scorched outlines on the ground where the plasma had swept, the particular stillness of a space from which all voluntary movement has been permanently removed. The ceramite shell of his armour was layered with the evidence of it, dark and wet in the places where the fighting had been closest.
David's loss report came through clearly.
One Scyllax Guardian-automata lost: it had walked into a pre-set explosive trap, the device having been positioned and concealed with more care than the rest of the base's defences had suggested the occupants were capable of. The detonation had been large enough to take it apart at the structural level. The automated drones had taken sustained concentrated fire and were at the edge of functionality, needing repair before any further deployment.
Nolan raised one hand toward the remaining Scyllax Guardian-automata and spoke into the communication system.
"One more sweep of the base. Clean the site and deal with any survivors you find. When finished, proceed to the Thunderhawk for evacuation."
He walked out without looking back.
The Thunderhawk put down at the Defence Force base and Nolan stepped out through the cabin door to find Tyberos already there.
The Chapter Master had clearly arrived ahead of him by some margin. The Defence Force personnel ringing him were keeping a respectful and instinctive distance, which was understandable, because the ceramite shell of Tyberos's Terminator was being sluiced down by a work crew with buckets and it was producing results: dark red blood and fragmented tissue running off the ancient armour in continuous sheets, collecting in a spreading pool around the Chapter Master's magnetic boots that was making measured and determined progress toward the nearest drain.
Tyberos noticed Nolan through the eyepiece and dispersed the surrounding soldiers with a combination of stillness and one emphatic gesture that communicated direction without requiring words. He drove the Terminator forward, the armour still dripping, and stopped at a conversational distance.
"Lord Primarch." He organised his thoughts briefly. "My operation proceeded without complications. The base contains no survivors. The only regret was the vehicle wreckage: several metal components worth recovering, which the engagement made impractical to preserve." He paused. "According to the intelligence from your Man of Iron, the two psykers and that Iron Man have completed their targets and are returning."
Nolan tucked his helmet under one arm. The grey of his hair was the same colour as the Antarctic sky had been this morning.
"Good. Thank you, Chapter Master, and the Carcharodons. This operation moved as smoothly as it did because of your involvement."
Tyberos regarded him with those lightless eyes for a moment.
"Any order from a Primarch who has kept faith with the Emperor is an honour that no Astartes Chapter can reasonably decline." He showed the edge of his teeth. "Beyond that: you have given us actual combat at an intensity that our current supply situation would normally prevent us from sustaining. Engagements like this one are not available everywhere. The Carcharodons are not doing you a favour. We are simply taking a job that benefits us both."
Nolan looked at him for a moment, then smiled, small and genuine.
He raised one hand in acknowledgement and turned toward the base interior. Tyberos fell in alongside him, the Terminator's heavy footfalls marking the rhythm of their progress down the corridor.
In the conference room, David was already waiting. The three of them settled without any discussion about rest. There was no particular need for it, and there was a primary base in Sokovia that still needed to be addressed.
They opened the maps and began.