Long ago, Port Ollan’s lights might have burnt as brightly as a lone candle in a dungeon. A forest of cranes spun in all directions, conveying freight containers, vehicles, and building materials to and from the ships. Ships of all kinds, from the humble lighter to the mammoth battleship, could be found in every berth and drydock. On stormy days, waves smashed against the two ferrocrete moles which reached out into the ocean.

  But on this night, the sea was calm, the night was still, and Port Ollan was nothing but a series of dilapidated shapes on the shore. None of the rusted cranes which loomed over the water moved. Only a few lights glowed along the waterfront, while a series of lamps blossomed in intervals along the moles. Burning torches created orange smears that illuminated the work parties toiling in the drydocks. Other groups feverishly constructed floating docks or worked to extend the pitiful wooden docklands spaced evenly between the moles.

  Sentries in watch towers or patrols on the mole gazed out at the Torium Sea. But none could see nor hear the Navis Maritimum flotilla slide across the waves towards Port Ollan.

  Jacinto stood on the port bow of the destroyer CNM Tower of the Vigilant and gripped the rails. Armaplas plates had been bolted to either side of the railings and a wall of sandbags were added as well. Sandbag redoubts protected Saber Gun Platforms studded the deck. Standing, crouching, or sitting, the Kasrkin of Bloody Platoon waited. Nobody spoke. Many bowed their heads and pressed their helmets together in silent, communal prayer. Cornelius weaved among the operators, dabbing their winged-skull emblems with holy oil.

  The Kasrkin were not the only ones on the deck. Among them were ratings and armsmen of the Navis Maritimum. They were clad in baroque patterns of flak armor with bronze and blue palettes. These men various lascarbines, shotguns, and even Rotor Cannons. Joining them once again was Sergeant-at-Arms Tanzer and her Breachers from the Gatekeeper. Their ridgid white armor was moist from sea spray but they all posed stoically on the rocking ship. Then, there were Guardsmen from the 95th Infantry Regiment. According to the survivors of the 1333rd Regiment, these were old friends from the Battle of the Hill, the Siege of Kasr Sonnen, and the Battle of Army’s Meadow. These infantrymen were hardened and fierce-looking.

  The psyker glanced right. Marsh Silas, Captain Hyram, and Warrant Officer Romilly stood together at the pinnacle of the bowl. Both scrutinized their target through magnoculars.

  “Four shore batteries,” Marsh Silas murmured.

  “Look at all those barges and lighters they’ve pilfered,” Romilly said. “I saw report after report submitted to our department before I went into hiding, but I did not think much of it. I just passed them along to someone else. Look, they even have an oceangoing tug with a Heavy Stubber.”

  “When all you do is stare at paperwork for months or even years,” Hyram whispered, “the text on the pages start to lose meaning.”

  “It’s nearly zero hour,” Marsh said, looking up from his Slate-monitron. “Captain Yori has reached his final phase line.”

  “Scout Sergeant Tōru reported that one of the Marked Men’s companies pulled out to attack your phantom target,” Romilly said, briefly lowering his scope. “Your ruse was quite successful.”

  Jacinto pushed some of his wet, white locks away from his eyes and inhaled. The salty air was delicious to breathe. His hands fidgeted, turned over one another, and he eventually clasped them together. One more breath and the shaking stopped. Opening his gray eyes, he found himself drawn to the profile of the shore guns. Even without magnoculars, he spotted their long, insidious profiles. Tower of the Vigilant was only armed with two five inch guns fore and aft, as well as two twelve pounders amidships, and a host of automatic weapons platforms. It was not heavily armored and one of those heavy shells could punch a hole right through the deck.

  He breathed deeply again and looked to port. A few hundred meters across the dark water was CNM Suppression, a sister ship to the Tower of the Vigilant. Gabler and 3rd Platoon, along with another combined detachment of armsmen, ratings, and 95th infantrymen, were aboard. Other than their green starboard light, he could only make out the ship’s profile. All its crew and the shore party were lost in the darkness.

  Both ships were on a direct course with either of the moles. Suppression increased speed, drew ahead, and maneuvered to port to begin its long, sweeping turn. The mole they had to traverse came out straight from the docklands and then banked into a long, gentle curve to the right. It was far longer and they would need to land on it before Tower of the Vigilant’s shore party. Their mole was shorter and entirely straight—a far quicker obstacle to seize.

  But the Emperor’s Shadows indicated that the base was guarded well by land and sea. Countless Saber Gun Platforms pointed seaward and at the low hills overlooking the compound. He did not have to be a diviner to foresee the streaks of tracers flowing above the water. When he closed his eyes and breathed again, he felt something around him. A grip, a clutch, something intangible yet oppressive. Whispers in the dark; voices that spoke in ancient tongues. His hands separated, balled into fists, then wrapped around the top of the railing. Setting his jaw, the psyker clenched his teeth and his nose curled. Within himself, he saw a flame. It flickered, then crackled, brightened, and grew. Heat channeled through his arms and channeled in his palms.

  “What ails thee?”

  Jacinto jumped as Commissar Fremantle appeared beside him. He had removed his night-eye goggles and his cutting gaze bore into him. The psyker’s hands dropped and he looked down at the railing. The top of the armaplas had melted, leaving the denotation of his fingers.

  “I…I…” Jacinto gulped and shook his head. “...a-apologies, C-C-Commissar. J-just thinking.”

  “You need not make excuses,” Fremantle said in sharp annoyance. “I know when a man is afraid and when he is not.” Jacinto shrank and supported himself on the railing again. “Listen to me, you need to get your emotions under control, I cannot have you…”

  Jacinto peered up. Fremantle’s lips twitched. He was searching. With a quiet groan, the Commissar leaned on the railing beside Jacinto. “...tell me, why are you afraid?” Jacinto stared back, his eyes wide. Fremantle’s expression was placid and his gaze gentle. The psyker wrung his hands together and looked down at the water.

  “L-letting ev-everybody d-d-down.” Jacinto’s head hung further until his white hair completely covered his eyes. “B-Bloody Platoon is t-t-t-the first t-time I’ve e-ever had fr-friends. H-Hive World Teegras was dirty, dangerous, and n-no one l-liked psykers. F-family cast me out. L-looked for other psykers, but th-th-they w-were k-killed in pogroms. Then, the B-Bl-Black Ships came.” He clutched the sides of his head. “I d-don’t like to t-talk a-about that.”

  “I understand.”

  “N-nobody t-treated me well until I j-joined Bloody Platoon. M-Marsh Silas t-treats me like a person. Everyone d-does. Th-they talk about C-Carstensen the C-Cadian a great d-deal. She once said, ‘I w-will give you my all.’ I w-want to do that, t-too. B-b, b-but what if m-my all is n-not enough?”

  “This is a concern I think every soldier with a true heart has,” said Fremantle. “We all stand in the Emperor’s light, knowing we have a part to play in His great plans for the Imperium. To follow his tenets is to never stray from the path. Alas, doubt will never be erased from the human mind. Supplant it with anger for the foe and allow it to carry you onward.”

  “Nay, I s-shan’t,” Jacinto said and pushed his hair from his face.

  “Wrath is a weapon against our foe.”

  “The psyk-ker who d-delves too deeply in-into it w-will n-never rise again. They t-taught me t-t-to use anger as a t-tool but it m-mm-muh-may become uncontrollable.”

  “The smallest flame burns brightest.” Jacinto’s eyes widened once more as he gazed up at the Commissar. Fremantle offered the ghost of a smile and nodded his head. The psyker eagerly smiled back.

  “Y-yes. It is a-about control. Allow your e-emotions t-to flow fr-freely, and you may experience great power. B-but you may also succumb to the Warp. I w-will not imperil my friends. But then, I am l-left with doubt t-that I c-can be of any help.”

  “Then you must battle doubt by filling yourself with something else. I think you already know the answer to it.”

  “I d-do?”

  A distant droning in the air caught Fremantle’s attention. Everyone turned their attention aft. Murmurs of, ‘zero hour,’ passed between the warriors. The drone turned into a buzz, and then into a roar of engines. Three formations of Marauder bombers stormed through the clouds. Searchlights throughout Port Ollan sliced through the night sky. Flak exploded in the sky and streams of bright tracers flowed upwards. But the bombers braved the barrage and the air filled with their whistling bombs. Some fell short, casting pillars of raging water and flying spray in the surf. The majority saturated the interior of the port. Columns of shattered rockcrete, dust, and metal timbers rose and fell. As the bombers pulled away, a catastrophic explosion bloomed. The fireball rose high, then settled in a shroud of flames. Many buildings were set alight by burning fuel caches.

  Then, there was a thunderous drumming behind the two destroyers. Jacinto looked back to see orange tufts rapidly appearing along the Lance of the Torium. The supporting battleship loitered outside the shallows and fired all twelve guns. Sixteen inch projectiles smashed into the port, demolishing buildings, flattening bunkers, and crushing shore batteries. Another salvo reduced the waterfront structures to ruins. A third landed among the tugs, barges, and lighters tied to the docks. Dozens broke up and sank.

  Then, formations of Valkyries from the 10th Regiment’s air support detachment, the 292nd Special Operations Combat Aviation Wing based from the carrier Cadian Rock, swept from the east. Foxley’s squadron conducted a sharp, lightning fast attack run. Rockets and missiles saturated numerous enemy gun positions and searchlights. Just as quickly as they came, the Valkyries peeled away. The pilots’ delighted cackling filled the vox-channels. Then, distant artillery boomed—those were the Whirlwinds of the Emperor’s Shadows, covering the land assault.

  Jacinto braced himself as he felt the Tower of the Vigilant increase speed. The destroyer plowed through the water towards Port Ollan. A column of black smoke tinted with orange hung over the facility and the ocean water reflected the raging inferno. So much fire rolled that the port and much of the surrounding water was entirely illuminated. Those searchlights still unmolested swept across the water. Heavy Stubbers opened fire. Bullets skipped along the water and hammered the hull. Little figures ran in every direction along the waterfront.

  To port, Suppression completed her turn and decreased speed as she slid next to the mole. Gangways and ladders were hooked to the rockcrete and, with a massive cry that carried over the water, the shore party stormed up. In that haze of drifting smoke, stalwart Imperial warriors charged down the mole. Lieutenant Gabler was at the front, pointing her sword forward and waving her Hellpistol. Marked Men who attempted to mount a defense fired only a few shots before they were overrun or forced to retreat. On they went, that column of sailors and soldiers, the bayonets of the 95th glowing orange in the haze. Suppression unleashed every gun over their heads, peppering the shore with accurate fire.

  Tower of the Vigilant decreased speed as it approached the other mole. Before they drew close, the enemy detonated explosives along the mole’s viaduct. When the dust settled, there was a gap in the path.

  “Those bastards think quickly!” roared Marsh Silas. “We need another point to disembark and we can’t use the other mole without crossing into Suppression’s line of fire.” He turned around and activated the laud-hailer attached to his collar. “Commander Sung, take us right down the gauntlet and hit the docklands!”

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  The destroyer’s commanding officer turned on his own laud-hailer.

  “Are you asking me to dock this ship at those feeble wooden piers?”

  “Negative, Commander; I am asking you to ram those piers!”

  Commander Sung’s laughter boomed through the laud-hailer.

  “After what you lot did for the Lance of the Torium, I’m game for anything! Attention all hands, attention all hands: prepare for grounding!”

  “Throne, Cross, had I known you were this mad I would’ve started running missions with you earlier!” Major Bristol yelled.

  “Brace yourselves!” Marsh Silas shouted. Jacinto nearly lost his footing as Tower of the Vigilant increased speed once more. Black smoke belched from its smokestacks as it charged ahead. Fremantle grabbed his harness and helped the psyker cling to the railing. Everyone on the deck raced to the rails to hold on while others simply clung to their comrades’ webbing. Every single weapon system aboard the destroyer pounded away. Enemy bullets flew over their heads, cutting some of the infantrymen and sailors down.

  As spray flew over the bow, Jacinto looked to his right. Marsh still stood upright on the bow next to Hyram. The two comrades were smiling bravely in the face of danger. They were even laughing, as if this maddened charge were a great delight. The executive officer turned around.

  “Stand firm you defenders of Cadia! It is rare for mankind to embark on such adventures in service to their Emperor! Hold on and stay with us!”

  “Emperor, I thank Thee for this blessing!” Cornelius bellowed. The preacher marched along the deck, undeterred by the speeding ship’s slippery metal. Smiling, his arms outstretched, his dreadlocks waving with the wind, he spun around and extolled the sky. “Give me heretics, I say, so that I might slay! Give me cultists, I demand, so I may cut them down to a man! Give me traitors, I do ask, so in their blood I can bask!” Then, the preacher laughed loudly and broke into High Gothic singing.

  The coastline drew nearer. Marked Men on the starboard mole fired down at the ship. More assembled on what remained of the tiers, firing rockets and grenade launchers. Machine gun batteries along the shore pummeled the hull. Kasrkin mounted their Mk. 2 Hellguns onto the railings and returned fire. Tower of the Vigilant’s bow cut through the wreckage and cleaved into the wooden docks. Traitor Guardsmen scampered away but many were caught and pulled under.

  Tower of the Vigilant’s keel ground against the bottom and the bow crunched and ground as it slid up the rocks. Everyone was thrown onto the deck or against the railings. Marsh Silas drew his sword and its wreath of blue energy bathed him in glorious light.

  “Cadians, follow me!” he bellowed and leaped over the side. The Kasrkin gave a great cheer as they jumped after him. Tanzer’s men followed while the armsmen and infantrymen lowered scaling ladders and gangways.

  “Let’s go, Jacinto!” Fremantle yelled before lowering himself to the docks. Jacinto took a breath and went after him. Their carapace armor absorbed the shock of the land and they joined Bloody Platoon as they stormed up the rock embankment. In minutes, the Imperials gained the entire waterfront. Marked Men were slain in their dozens. An entire platoon attempted to retreat down the narrow road leading to Port Ollan’s interior. Bloody Platoon merely leveled their weapons and cut them to pieces with their Hellguns.

  Jacinto, Fremantle, and the rest of Bloody Platoon continued towards their objective: the industrial road. It was a long, straight path that ran between the defunct manufactorums all the way to the main gate. Keeping that lane open would allow Captain Yori’s armor to run unimpeded into the heart of the complex and connect with the other elements to secure the base.

  The Marked Men had overcome their initial shock to erect various barricades and sandbag redoubts along the road. They dug in among debris and rubble from damaged buildings or behind disused Cargo-8’s and other soft-skinned vehicles. Slowly, steadily, Bloody Platoon advanced under heavy fire. Elements from the 95th stormed into the facotrums and seized other facilities.

  A Saber Turret Platform bearing a quad-configuration of Heavy Stubber trained its guns on the main road. Fifty caliber rounds seared through the air and the Kasrkin took cover. Jacinto, sliding behind a low sandbag wall with Fremantle, looked up. The rooftop of the adjacent building was afire. Holding up his hands, Jacinto flexed his fingers and mimicked as if he were guiding another person. A tendril of flame sifted from the conflagration and soared through the air like a wyvern. Concentrating, he motioned towards the enemy position and the flames crashed upon it, incinerating the gunners.

  “Now’s our time!” Fremantle yelled. “Advance!” Jacinto felt Fremantle’s hand on his back guide him forward. Sprinting through the tracers, the pair hugged the left side of the road. They came to the edge of an alley and stopped. The Commissar looked inside briefly, then ducked back. He held up four fingers, then gestured that they were maneuvering a Heavy Bolter into position. Jacinto nodded and engulfed his fists with flames.

  Fremantle went first and fired two blasts from his plasma pistol. Jacinto turned just in time to see two of the gunners drop. He cast two firebolts, one from each palm, and killed the other traitors. The Commissar pointed to Yoxall’s squad. “Clear the alley!”

  They pushed on just Cobb and Freya bounded by. The handler, clutching his dog’s leash with his free hand, cut two Traitor Guardsmen down with his Hellpistol. When a third turned to run, he let go of the leash. Freya charged, jumped over a crate, and bit into the man’s leg. He howled in pain and attempted to kick her off. But Freya pounced on him with a ravenous snarl and latched onto his throat. Cobb collected his companion while Jacinto and Fremantle continued down the road.

  “Stand back! Building coming down!” Marsh called as the face of one of the burning manufactorums crumbled. In a cloud of rockcrete dust and fire it collapsed onto the road. A wall of flames blocked their paths. “We cannot waste time, we must divert!”

  “No sir, I can clear it!” Jacinto insisted.

  “There isn’t any time, come on!” barked Bristol.

  “Let him work,” Fremantle said.

  As the gunfire abated, the enemy thinking themselves reprieved, Jacinto rushed to the rubble. Inhaling deeply, he shut his eyes and clapped his hands together once. Keeping his palms pressed into one another, he murmured prayers and concentrated. Before him, the blaze dominated his perception. In his mind, it was not orange, but a sheen of darkness writhing angrily. But he approached this mass with his arms outstretched, his hands waving slowly, his voice gentle, his words soothing. From above dawned a white mist, surrounding and embracing that blackness. Within its gentle grasp, the seething darkness diminished until it disappeared.

  When Jacinto opened his eyes, only smoke rose where the flames once raged. Bloody Platoon charged past him, overtaking the surprised Marked Men on the opposite side. Jacinto joined the rush, falling in behind Fremantle once more. They gained ground, eliminating Marked Men in grenade assaults. But their advance was soon checked when a Cargo-8 tore from an alley and blocked the road. Armored plates bolted to its sides prevented lasbolts from cutting through its thinner material. In the center, two barrels protruded from a horizontal slit.

  “Take cover!” Jacinto rolled left and Fremantle dove to the right just as the Heavy Bolters opened up on them. Recovering, the psyker crawled up behind a fallen metal timber and looked across to Fremantle. The Commissar, Marsh Silas, Lauraine, and Hyram took cover behind an assortment of heavy metal crates. None of them or the Kasrkin behind their position could bring their weapons to bear on the improvised, mobile bunker. Marked Men gathered around it, adding their firepower to the barrage.

  Fremantle clutched his micro-bead. “Jacinto, you have the power with which to manipulate the world around you?” Jacinto nodded. Fremantle yanked a grenade, held it up, and motioned towards the truck. The psyker’s brow wrinkled and he shook his head—Fremantle was too far for the grenade to be effective. The Commissar pointed at the grenade, then at Jacinto, and again motioned towards the truck. Then, Jacinto’s brow softened and he nodded eagerly.

  Drawing his arm back, Fremantle grunted as he tossed the grenade towards Jacinto. The psyker pointed at the grenade, then swept his arm forward. Propelled, the grenade zipped towards the truck. With a flick of his fingers, Jacinto manipulated the pin and spoon free as it flew. The grenade entered the firing port in the truck and detonated. The concussion rocked the vehicle.

  Fremantle, Marsh Silas, Hyram, and Lauraine all threw grenades towards Jacinto. Jumping to his feet, he held up both hands and forced the grenades towards the Marked Men. All four exploded at once, knocking the enemy defenders over. Jacinto rushed forward, flames arcing from his hands, and thrust his arm into the firing port of the truck. Screams within quickly died as the flames filled the interior.

  Jacinto raced around the side. They were nearly at the end of the road. Just ahead, he could see the shell craters left by the bombing run. There were no enemies to his left or right. Aging Bastion towers along the perimeter exploded as the Emperor’s Shadows pressed their advance. But one, withdrawn from the perimeter, bristled with heavy guns. Jacinto leaped into the nearest bomb crater as bullets cracked over his head. None of the other Imperials were with him. Clawing his way to the top, he peeked for a moment. Marked Men streamed from a pair of barracks buildings and more from an old Munitorium office complex. Undeterred by the Astartes smashing through their lines and the dual advance of the shore parties, they dug in, then advanced on the Kasrkin.

  Bullets raked the pavement in front of his nose. Shrieking, Jacinto slid back down and climbed to the opposite side. If Bloody Platoon was not among him, nor in front of him, they were surely behind him. Just as he tried to scamper out, more rounds struck near his head. Gasping, he tumbled back to the bottom. Going back to the other side, he brought his Hellpistol up and leveled it. Just after a volley, a barrage of bullets struck his weapon and he retreated. Landing on his back, he stared up at green and red tracers as they flew over the crater.

  Trembling and breathing rapidly through his teeth, Jacinto grabbed the sides of his head. He writhed from side to side and shut his eyes. What did he see but gray cordons and looming spires? A small child ran through the narrows. Behind him came a mob, an indefinable mass of madness, their torches and stakes held up high. On they went, chasing the little boy, who slithered through gutters and dove into sewers, but all in vain.

  Breathing raggedly, his nostrils flaring, Jacinto felt the fire once more. He felt the consuming heat spread throughout his body. Sparks drifted from his exposed skin, his fingertips smoldered, tendrils of flames leaked from his mouth. Those whispers grew louder until they became screams, passionate and fiery in their rage. A music so acrimonious it burned and yet it appealed.

  “Enough, Jacinto,” came a cool and collected voice. Like a breath of wind, the words blew through him. He opened his eyes. Commissar Fremantle stood at the top of the crater, outlined by a soaring white flare. Bullets flew by his unprotected head or tore through his dark coat. A grenade went off and shrapnel bounced off his carapace armor. Dust and smoke billowed around him. “It’s time to stand up, Jacinto,” he said sternly. “You must act.”

  “I can’t!” despaired the psyker.

  “You cannot indulge fear and you must resist fury, but doubt does not belong on a battlefield. Leave it faraway where the alarms cannot hear it because it is of no use to you or us. You seek something to replace these emotions but you have already found the solution. You bear love for your comrades in your heart, a loyalty to each and every soul, a dedication to this unit and its cause. That is what you must use, that is what you must feel! Reach deep within you and find it, find that brotherly allegiance and make it yours—make it everything! Now, stand up!”

  Card games in the barracks. Late-night liquor at the soldier’s hall. Crass jokes at mess. Stories passed after they racked out. Smiles, handshakes, embraces, warm affection and sibling protection. Golden lights around each and every face. Above him, that fiery purplish aura which long engulfed Commissar Fremantle became a dazzling gold.

  Jacinto sat up, turned over, and dug his fingers into the soil. Breathing deeply, he clawed to the top of the crater. “That’s my lad, come on, stand up! For your brothers and sisters, stand up!”

  The psyker rose. With a cry, he unleashed a scythe of flames that swept through the line of encroaching foes. The pressure off, the Kasrkin behind him unleashed a torrent of heavy fire onto the Bastion tower. Grenades, recoilless rifle rounds, and lascannon streaks hit the firing ports. Foxley’s Valkyries returned and launched rocket after rocket into the building.

  Jacinto turned around, looked at his comrades, and waved his arm.

  “Follow me, comrades!” he cried. Raising his arm, he veiled it with a shield of fire. Every bullet and lasbolt that struck it melted or dissipated. Commissar Fremantle followed behind him, clutching his shoulder with one hand and firing his plasma pistol with the other. The Kasrkin, Breachers, Guardsmen, and armsmen flooded from the industrial road into the main lot. Their onslaught forced the Marked Men back into the tide of the Astartes. Their tanks came crashing through the fences and old walls, running over fleeing enemies.

  Everyone directed their fire onto the final Bastion tower. Still behind his shield, Jacinto launched massive firebolts with his free hand. Fremantle fired over his head. Every piece of ordnance the raiding force possessed hit that tower. Its hardened walls collapsed, falling like curtains of a stage. Then, with a great tearing and creaking, the metal timbers were torn asunder. It collapsed in a great shower of dust.

  When it settled, two columns of Predators, Rhinos, and Razorbacks united and drove down the industrial road. One by one, they broke off through the valleys and sub-roads, joining the other detachments still fighting throughout the base. Behind them, Emperor’s Shadows trotted along, mopping up enemy defenders.

  The Imperials raised a great cheer. Jacinto smiled wide and let his fire shield wink away. He surveyed the crowd as they climbed atop the enemy’s ruins. Color Sergeant Babcock raced to the highest point and erected Bloody Platoon’s standard. This resulted in another jubilant roar amid the sounds of dying gunfire.

  Jacinto looked at Commissar Fremantle, who holstered his plasma pistol. His gaze settled on the psyker and he nodded.

  “Thank you, s-sir,” Jacinto said.

  “You fought well. You did not fail us, nor the Emperor.”

  A happy cheer caught their attention. They turned to watch Marsh Silas tear off his helmet and march towards Hyram. The XO was just as energetic and the two friends raised their hands high, clapped them together, and then embraced.

  “That was outstanding! Outstanding, everybody!” Marsh Silas shouted. Jacinto laughed, then shyly gazed at the Commissar. Then, he held out his hand. Fremantle noticed, looked back at their two leaders, then shook his head. His soft smile grew boisterous, and with a great sweep locked his hand with Jacinto’s.

  “We did it,” he said.

  “W-we did.”

  “Yes, we did,” the Commissar said, then his smile grew toothy. He jostled Jacinto’s hand and clapped him on the shoulder. “Yes, yes!”

  “Yes! We did it! Yes!” The two men shook one another, cheering and laughing by turns, their joy joining the celebrations across Port Ollan just as the promethium fires burned themselves out.