Warriors of the Imperium - Andy Hoare & S P Cawkwell

by Warhammer 40K

  As consumed by hatred of the turncoat enemy as he was, Kor’sarro was not some mindless berserker to be so easily drawn into the Alpha Legion’s trap. Speeding across the black plain, Kor’sarro turned and took in the disposition of his own force. Instantly he noted gaps in the line, the telltale indications that brothers had fallen. Forcing such concerns from his mind until the time for grieving after the battle, Kor’sarro judged his force able to overwhelm the Alpha Legion, so long as they could overcome the enemy’s timely defensive deployment.

  Kor’sarro opened the command channel. ‘The herd brays.’ He spoke the words of the White Scar’s battle-cant, which the Alpha Legion would have no knowledge of should they intercept the transmission. ‘The beast’s horn, the plateaux at sunrise.’

  A raft of acknowledgements indicated that the sergeants had received and understood the order. Hauling on Moondrakkan’s handlebars, Kor’sarro brought his bike onto a new heading, his Command squad following close behind and the banner of the Third waving proudly above. How dearly he would love to add the name of Nullus to the tally of slain foes listed proudly on that banner.

  The White Scars enacted Kor’sarro’s orders, the bikers and Assault squads beginning a wide flanking manoeuvre that would bring them around to the Alpha Legion’s right side. But that in itself would not be sufficient to overcome the enemy’s deadly fire plan. As the fastest of the White Scars units swept onwards, the Rhino-borne Devastator squads raced forwards before disembarking a mere two hundred metres in front of their foe. Even before the heavy-weapons-armed Space Marines were in position, the Predator tanks were unleashing a fearsome hail of heavy bolter and autocannon fire upon the Alpha Legion, pinning them in position so they could not easily redeploy in the face of the faster unit’s flanking manoeuvre.

  Kor’sarro grinned savagely as the air was split by the deafening report of the demolisher cannon of the Vindicator siege tank, Thunderheart. Though based on a Rhino, the Vindicator was essentially a tracked siege gun. As the huge cannon fired, the extractor fans atop the vehicle screamed as they equalised the pressure inside the sealed cabin.

  As the thunder of the cannon’s discharge rolled across the plain the huge shell slammed into the Alpha Legion’s positions. In an instant, an entire squad of traitor Space Marines was wiped out. Each of their number was a heretic and a criminal, responsible for the deaths of countless innocents, and in that instant their reigns were ended. Kor’sarro’s heart pounded with the glory of battle, knowing that even if he died upon this black plain he would not have done so in vain.

  The Alpha Legion’s fire was now by necessity split between the flanking White Scars bikers and Assault squads, and the more heavily armed and immediate threat presented by the siege tank and Devastator squads in front of them. A searing lascannon blast lanced out towards the Thunderheart and the huge dozer blade mounted at its front sheared off in a shower of sparks. A second shot scored a fire-rimmed wound the length of the tank’s flank. Before the Alpha Legion gunners could fire the kill-shot, the tank deployed a billowing smoke screen to throw off the aim of its foes at least long enough for Kor’sarro’s charge to strike home.

  A torrent of fire now went up from the White Scars Devastator squads. Such a punishing weight of shells, missiles and lascannon blasts was unleashed that the Alpha Legionnaires were forced to take cover amongst the wreckage of the battlefield. The undulating plain offered scant few natural features that might provide cover against the White Scars’ fire and the traitors were forced to duck back behind the mounds of corpses scattering the entire area. The dead bodies of cultists and militia troopers danced as if in sick imitation of life as they were stitched by heavy bolter shells, which exploded within the already ruined bodies with hideous effect. Soon, the Alpha Legionnaires were forced to redeploy, the squads falling back with experienced discipline, firing boltguns from the hip as they went.

  Kor’sarro’s flank attack hit home. Bikes roared and jump packs screamed as the White Scars descended upon their ancient, hated foes. Power lances glinting in the orange sunlight, a dozen Alpha Legionnaires were struck down in an instant. Moonfang flashed as Kor’sarro beheaded a Legionnaire who stepped in front of him. But an instant later he was thrown from Moondrakkan’s saddle as a fusillade of boltgun fire smashed into his left side, unleashed from such short range that the impact was tremendous.

  Kor’sarro rolled as he struck the ground, which was torn apart as more rounds were pumped into the space he had occupied an instant before. Using the momentum of his fall, Kor’sarro came up and turned towards his attackers. A dozen Alpha Legion warriors advanced on him, the grim details of their baroque helmets expressionless and their ornate, gold-chased boltguns raised. Kor’sarro saluted them with Moonfang and unleashed a roaring challenge.

  The Alpha Legionnaires slowed to a halt, intent upon gunning the White Scar down before he could bring his fearsome relic blade to bear.

  ‘Come on!’ Kor’sarro yelled in anger. ‘Fight with the honour you once had!’

  A dozen armoured fingers tightened on a dozen triggers.

  The flashing steel of a power lance shot through the air and transfixed the foremost Alpha Legionnaire. As the traitor sank to his knees, Kor’sarro’s Command squad appeared at his side, each warrior leaping from his saddle as his bike slewed to a halt, to stand beside their khan.

  The traitors opened fire as they advanced, their boltguns spitting death as the air between the two groups became a storm of shells. A battle-brother beside Kor’sarro went down, his chest armour ripped open as a dozen bolt-rounds exploded deep within his chest. Another was struck by a missile fired by an Alpha Legion heavy weapons trooper, the projectile blowing the White Scar into a thousand chunks of smoking armour and burned flesh. A roar of anger went up from the White Scars, the deaths of their brothers merely serving to propel them forwards all the faster.

  A second later both groups surged forwards as one and death was unleashed in a bloody melee. A traitor’s chainsword came out of nowhere and cleaved a White Scar clean in two. Even as his broken body fell apart, the Space Marine shot his killer in the face at point-blank range, blowing the traitor’s brains out through the back of his helmet. Another White Scar died as he was engulfed in searing flamer fire. His bare head was reduced to a black, smoking skull but he killed three more foes before he succumbed to his wounds.

  Moonfang lashed out, once, twice, three times, and as many foes met their deaths by Kor’sarro’s hand. And then it was over, and Kor’sarro was panting with exertion. He turned to honour his warriors, and saw that Brother Yeku, the banner bearer of the Third, was down on his knees. One arm was wrapped about his midriff while the other supported the weight of the honoured standard. ‘Brother-captain…’ Yeku said, his voice strained.

  Kor’sarro rushed to the warrior’s side, his heart filling with cold dread. Kneeling beside his friend, Kor’sarro activated the latches at his neck and lifted Yeku’s helmet clear. Blood flecked the warrior’s mouth and his skin was already pale and waxy.

  ‘Kor’sarro,’ Yeku coughed, fixing his stare on his captain. ‘Please, do me this favour…’

  With a titanic effort, Brother Yeku lifted the banner of the Third high. Even in his dying moment the honoured fabric did not touch the ground, which would have brought dishonour to the bearer and the entire company. Kor’sarro understood, and took the banner pole in his own hand, relieving Brother Yeku of its weight.

  ‘Thank you, honoured khan,’ Yeku sighed, before slumping forwards onto the black ground.

  Kor’sarro knew that his friend was dead, and had died with the utmost honour. Though he had witnessed countless such deaths, Kor’sarro would ensure the name of Brother Yeku was entered into the sagas of the White Scars, for his death had been a good one as such things are counted amongst the wild sons of Chogoris.

  ‘Khagus?’ Kor’sarro addressed the company Apothecary who even now approached. The medic kneeled
reverently beside the body of Brother Yeku and a moment later turned back towards the Master of the Hunt.

  ‘He rides the cold steppes, my khan,’ the Apothecary replied, making reference to the death-legends of the Chogoran steppes nomads.

  ‘Then do what must be done.’

  As Kor’sarro strode back towards Moondrakkan he heard the sound of the Apothecary’s small las-scalpel cutting through the armour at the fallen Space Marine’s neck. A moment later, the sound was replaced by that of a small buzzsaw cutting through flesh. The Apothecary was affording Brother Yeku the single honour all Space Marines aspired to after death. He was retrieving the artificial organs inside which were stored Yeku’s genetic inheritance. Emperor willing, the organs would be returned to the Chapter and the genetic code locked within passed on to a new generation of White Scars.

  In moments, the deed was done. Kor’sarro hauled Moondrakkan upright with one hand while holding the banner aloft with the other. He made a silent promise that, were he able, he would return for Yeku and those others who had fallen here, and bring their bodies home in the utmost honour.

  But for now, the battle still raged all about. Nearby, individual squads of White Scars fought their Alpha Legion counterparts in a bitter close-quarters battle. As more of Kor’sarro’s brotherhood piled into the battle the White Scars gained the edge. But the victory was proving a costly one, for already at least half a dozen white-armoured bodies were strewn across the black battleground. Beyond the White Scars’ immediate vicinity, the battlefield still swarmed with traitors, despite the terrible death toll both the White Scars and the Raven Guard had inflicted. The super-heavy tank ground onwards, the earth shaking beneath its treads, but it dared not fire on the White Scars with the Alpha Legion so close. Space Marines were used to being outnumbered hundreds, even thousands to one. They were the scalpel that incised the diseased flesh from the bloated carcass, and they would prevail.

  Drawing on decades of experience, Kor’sarro quickly identified the point of the battle upon which victory or defeat would turn. Not far from his position a dismounted bike squad fought valiantly to hold back an Alpha Legion counterthrust, but a number of the warriors already bore grievous wounds and the remainder looked like being overrun within seconds. Should that squad be defeated, Kor’sarro judged, the entire line might buckle, and then he might never find and defeat the hated Nullus.

  ‘Khagus, Temu, Kergis,’ Kor’sarro addressed the three remaining warriors of his Command squad. ‘Our brothers have need of our presence.’

  Raising the banner of the 3rd high, Kor’sarro gunned Moondrakkan’s engine and launched himself towards the foe, his brothers at his side. At the sight of the banner unfurled in the wind, the White Scars redoubled their efforts and the Alpha Legion appeared to flag in their own. A moment later, Kor’sarro was bearing down upon his enemy and in that moment he decided upon his course of action.

  In a single movement, Kor’sarro leapt from Moondrakkan’s saddle and crashed feet first into a mighty Alpha Legionnaire, a champion and second only to Nullus amongst this warband. The enemy went down under Kor’sarro’s weight and with a savage cry upon his lips, Kor’sarro raised the banner high so that all on the battlefield could see. Then, he drove it downwards with such force that the end cracked open his enemy’s ornate power armour and pinned him to the ground.

  A great roar went up from every White Scar who had seen Kor’sarro’s deed, but the champion was far from dead. The warrior raised his bolter and aimed it at Kor’sarro’s face. Unable to dodge, all Kor’sarro could do was hold his head back as an entire magazine of bolt shells was unleashed at him. Rounds glanced from his armoured collar or exploded against his chest plate, white hot shrapnel lacerating his cheeks.

  But the primarch was with Kor’sarro, for when the boltgun’s ammunition feed clicked and the weapon fell silent, Kor’sarro was unhurt.

  With a savage twist, Kor’sarro drove the banner pole through his enemy’s chest, severing his spine and penetrating his armour’s power pack. As Kor’sarro withdrew the pole, the body was consumed by the energies unleashed by the destruction of the generator, the armour glowing from within and sagging as it slowly melted.

  Every head in the vicinity was turned towards him. White Scars looked on with fierce pride, while the Alpha Legion, the faces of most hidden by their baroque helmets, appeared to falter. Then, Kor’sarro saw one scarred face, twisted by malevolence and anger, looking straight at him. It was Nullus.

  The two locked glances of sheer hatred for a moment before the spell was broken and the tides of battle surged forth and separated them once more. Kor’sarro bellowed his anger, but his savage cry was drowned out by a new sound, a mighty engine roaring above the raging battle. The ground beneath Kor’sarro’s feet trembled violently and the Master of the Hunt saw the super-heavy tank he had seen from afar was closing on his position, its mighty gun lowered.

  As the metal behemoth lumbered forwards the Alpha Legion squads began to disengage from the White Scars, parting one step at a time, their boltguns spitting a constant stream of fire to keep their foes at bay.

  ‘Mount up!’ Kor’sarro ordered, leaping to the saddle of Moondrakkan and throwing the banner of the Third Company to Brother Temu. The passing of the banner to a new bearer was a moment of great honour, but both men knew there was no time to mark the occasion. Kergis, Temu and Khagus mounted their own bikes and as one the four warriors gunned their engines to life.

  ‘The mammoth bleeds a thousand deaths,’ Kor’sarro said into the vox-net, describing in battle-cant the manner in which the White Scars would engage the mighty tank. Not even the Thunderheart or the heavy weapon-armed Devastator squads carried sufficient firepower to fell this mighty iron beast, but the sons of Chogoris had other ways of bringing down such prey.

  The Tactical squads that had dismounted to fight the Alpha Legion were now able to mount their bikes and in moments were by Kor’sarro’s side. The Assault squads screamed overhead, another thirty Space Marines adding their weight to the charge.

  Bearing down upon the White Scars as they advanced, the Ironsoul’s turrets began to track individual targets. As one, the White Scars formation broke apart into individual squads, robbing the tank of a single victim. A secondary cannon mounted on the tank’s bow opened fire, but the bike squad it had been tracking had predicted the attack and swerved right as the shell split the earth apart. A huge cloud of black dust and smoke rose high into the air and showered soil for dozens of metres all around. Then the multiple heavy bolters mounted at the tank’s bow and upon sponsons along its flanks opened fire, filling the air with a storm of screaming metal.

  The White Scars charged through the fusillade, heads down and shoulders set against the inevitable barrage. The armoured fairings of a dozen bikes were shattered under the weight of the fire but still the riders powered forwards. Heavy bolter shells exploded against the Space Marines’ power armour, and while most rounds were stopped by the blessed suits, some were not. In the intense few seconds of the charge, the battle became a kaleidoscope of war. A Space Marine biker was caught by a shell in the joint between chest and upper arm, the shell burying itself in his flesh before exploding and sending his arm cartwheeling off behind. Still the warrior rode on, his armour flooding his system with palliative combat drugs. Another warrior suffered a glancing blow that shattered his helmet’s optics. When the White Scar discarded his helmet his face was streaked with blood and one eye was a deep, gaping chasm, yet still the Space Marine continued the charge. Several others were not so fortunate, the weight of fire so great that not even their sanctified armour could withstand it. Their gene-seed and their bodies would be recovered later, Kor’sarro swore, once all this was over.

  The Ironsoul let loose a blast from its main gun. The gunners had no clear target, for the White Scars were travelling so fast it was not difficult for them to avoid moving into the huge, long-barrelled gun’s arc. Yet s
till the beast could wreak bloody havoc even with an unaimed shot. Fired from a range of only fifty metres, the shell passed over Kor’sarro and his companions before he even had time to register the weapon had fired. The shell screamed a scant ten metres overhead, splitting the air apart with a deafening roar. Kor’sarro felt the air torn from his lungs and the pressure wave batter his body. Only his enhanced physiology kept his lungs from being ripped from his chest.

  The shell screamed by Kor’sarro and passed straight through the dispersed formation of an airborne Assault squad. Several of its warriors were sent plummeting to the ground as their jump packs were robbed of air by the drastic pressure change. Moments later the shell struck the ground five hundred metres to the White Scars rear. The explosion was so huge it scattered debris for hundreds of metres all about, but was too far distant to harm any of Kor’sarro’s warriors. And then, the White Scars were upon their enemy.

  As the bike squads converged upon the Ironsoul, they split apart to encircle the towering iron behemoth. At such close range the warriors were better able to avoid the traversing weapons, yet should any have been struck by the hurtling bolts they would surely have been blown to pieces. Drawing on tactics first developed many thousands of years before by the warriors of Chogoris for bringing down huge wild beasts, the White Scars undertook a series of bold charges, the bikers swooping in close to their prey and clamping melta bombs to its guns. Even as the riders slewed away from the still-moving behemoth, the grenades detonated, shattering the heavy bolters and other weapons spitting death from every quarter. Within minutes the Ironsoul was all but disarmed, with the exception of its turret-mounted main gun. Yet still it ground onwards, its sheer bulk deadly in itself.