by Various
Exposed, Revoka turns its guns upon the approaching Reavers, but too late. The next volley dents armoured plates and slices through the Titan’s carapace. A knee joint suddenly gives way, and Revoka collapses sideways. Surrounded by dust and flames, the great war machine crumples, armour buckling and tearing as it crashes to the ground.
Contemptuous of the great warrior they have felled, the enemy battle group marches on. Tyhe growls, the noise echoed and amplified by his Warhound as he cuts across the park. One of the Reavers stands as rearguard, protecting the others as they head towards the crash site.
The Reaver is bigger than Denola, with more firepower and better shielding, but Tyhe does not care. He is a wily hunter. Sooner or later, the Reaver will make a mistake and that is when he will pounce. He will avenge Revoka, but more than that Tyhe will savour the execution as its own reward. A Reaver would be a fine kill indeed, far better than the tanks and infantry he has encountered so far.
Powering down shields and weapons, Denola sprints into the cover of the hab-blocks surrounding the parkland, the Warhound’s falling energy signature masked almost completely by the burning buildings.
‘Repeat, Thunderhawk extraction in progress. Enemy Titans are closing on our position. General order to all companies – withdraw from Ithraca or fall back to rally point at sector sigma-secundus-delta.’
Aquila lifts his hand to the vox-bead in his ear and then lets it fall back, knowing from recent experience that although he can hear the words of his superiors, they cannot hear him.
There is an ornamental gate in the high wall of the park at the end of the street. The buildings to either side of the road are burning shells, but the battle has passed from this sector, the Titans moving on to continue their deadly conflict in the parkland.
Aquila can hear the constant rumble of distant thunder, knowing that it is no tempest but the barrage of heavy guns deciding the fate of the city. It is not lightning that brightens the sky but the flash of super-weapons fire and the flare of void shields.
‘Fifteen hundred metres, straight across the park.’
‘Open ground, no cover,’ replies Gaius. ‘It will be a deathzone.’
‘All right, seventeen hundred metres, following the treeline,’ counters Aquila. ‘Slower going. We need to keep watch for traitor patrols.’
He turns his attention to the woman, Varinia. She leans against the gate, face bright red. Her child is slung across her chest in a papoose made from a torn curtain. True to her word, she has not slowed them down, but only because they are not moving at full speed, the terrain requiring that they advance more cautiously in case they should encounter a well-armed foe.
‘No time to rest,’ he tells her.
‘Just... a moment... please...’
Her ragged breathing causes Aquila some concern, as does the blood that smears her leg.
‘You cannot continue.’ He looks around. The streets in this part of the city are deserted. ‘Rest here and when you have recovered, make your way to the rendezvous point.’
She looks at him, confused.
‘In the park.’ He points north-west. The wreck of the crashed ship is plain to see, rising above the low buildings that are scattered across the grassy hills. ‘Head towards the crash. You cannot go astray.’
‘Sergeant, is that wise?’ Septival’s protest is restricted to the comm-link. ‘The order is for general withdrawal. Ithraca is lost, my friend. It is just a matter of how soon and how many survivors we can extract.’
‘Sep has a point,’ adds Gaius. ‘Ithraca is not an isolated event. All of Calth is under attack. The city will be abandoned in favour of higher value objectives. This will become hostile territory. If she stays here, she will die or be taken by the enemy.’
Conscious that the woman is close at hand and his words can be overheard, Aquila points across the parkland. The ground is pocked with fuming craters, the hillsides gouged and torn by the tread of Titans. Explosions have ripped up trees and the air is thick with ash from the burning meadows.
‘She will not make it across that,’ Aquila whispers. He raises his boltgun a little. ‘She is dying of blood loss. Perhaps we should spare her the torment.’
‘Sergeant!’ protests Gaius.
‘Be honest, we are most likely already dead as well. It would be a mercy.’
‘Have you given up hope, sergeant?’ Septival’s disapproval is also clear.
‘Any optimism I harboured was destroyed by the traitors’ first salvo. The Word Bearers have caught us at our most vulnerable. It is likely that the Ultramarines Legion will perish on Calth.’
‘We can’t just give up.’
The woman’s words take Aquila by surprise; he realises he has spoken louder than he intended. He looks at her and sees defiance rather than dejection. He cannot share her blind hope, but he does not want to delay the advance any longer.
‘Gaius, carry her if you wish. The traitors will be upon the muster point before long. The Infernus Titans are entering the fray. We cannot be tardy if we wish to fight again.’
‘As you say, sergeant.’ Gaius stows his boltgun and scoops up Varinia, cradling her as easily as she holds her child. The legionary’s head tilts to one side as he looks down at the baby. ‘You are… very small. To think that once even our noble Sergeant Aquila was as tiny as you.’
‘Enough,’ says the sergeant. ‘We head to the trees, and then north. Be vigilant.’
The three Space Marines break into a loping run, plunging into the smoke and fire.
A column of Ultramarines vehicles powers along the road beneath Invigilator – three Rhinos, and the same number of battle tanks. There are others, scattered formations of blue-armoured figures making their way through the blasted woodlands not far from the Titan’s position. The Reaver stands vigilant amongst the pavilions and villas bordering the park, a kilometre from the crash site of the Aratan. Princeps Mikal can see the bulk of the vessel, its ravaged hull steaming, on the northern edge of the parklands. The immense ship towers over burning trees and the ruins of buildings, nearly two kilometres long and three hundred metres high. On the broad-spectrum scanners, the wreck is a blazing mass of heat and radiation, blotting out every sensor signature within hundreds of metres.
‘So few Ultramarines,’ Mikal mutters. ‘Not even a company. It is not only the Legio Praesagius that has been caught unawares by this treachery. They may help against these traitor Army scum, but bolters and volkites are no match for a Battle Titan.’
The rest of Battle Group Argentus is further to the east, providing a cordon against the traitors so that the Legion’s Warlords can create a perimeter to protect the downed transport ship. The Battle Titans of Infernus are massing, four kilometres away, readying their strength for an all-out assault on the downed ship. Intense fire from the True Messengers lights up the skyline, holding back the traitor tanks and infantry trying to occupy the buildings overlooking the eastern stretches of the park.
Mikal performs a last sensor sweep but against the background flare of the Aratan there is nothing significant, only a scattering of signatures that could be loyal forces, trapped civilians or inconsequential enemy ground troops.
‘Negative threat. This area is secure. Routing power from sensor screen to locomotion. We will conduct a patrol to the west and north before heading east to join the line.’
Invigilator turns from the park and steps over the tumbled ruin of the wall, into the gardens of a low manse. Leaving deep footprints in the lawns and crushing hedges, the Titan crosses to the north, a shortcut to the main highway leading around the park from the outskirts to the administration quarter. The power of Invigilator’s plasma reactor drives the Titan on, every stride felt by Mikal as if he were a giant.
The traitor shelling has intensified. Most of it is directed at the hulk of the downed ship but errant rocket salvos and shell-fire scatters onto the park like explosive rain. Moving through the woods in the western border of the parklands, Aquila is not confident of t
he route ahead.
Not much can be seen through the trees, but the bellowing of war horns echoes all around, growing louder as the enemy Titans converge on the wrecked transport ship.
‘If we press on directly, it is only a matter of time before we get caught in the bombardment.’
‘We have more immediate concerns, sergeant,’ says Septival.
He points to the east where a bridge crosses the narrow river, the road curving northwards along their line of advance. Hundreds of men in the colours of the traitor regiments are crossing, their column supported by super-heavy Fellblade tanks and armoured cars ploughing through the water.
‘Not much a rotor cannon can do against them,’ says Septival, ‘and no way to avoid them if they spread into the trees.’
Aquila glances at Gaius. The woman cradled in his arm appears to be asleep, but that is not a good sign. She hangs limply in his grasp, but stirs for a moment, eyes vacant. The child is clutched to her chest, his little face stained from the smoke, but does not make a sound.
‘That Reaver we saw would make a fine escort,’ said Gaius.
‘I concur,’ replies Aquila. ‘It will take a little longer but we have to move back into the city. If we make haste we should reach the muster before the Titan cordon is breached.’
There are nods of agreement from the other two and they turn west towards the park’s edge, heading for the burning buildings beyond.
‘Fool,’ Tyhe declares with triumph. ‘Blinded by false devotion, as much as the flames obscure his scanners!’
At the princeps’ urging, Denola steps through the fires raging within a destroyed power coupling station, the heat posing little threat to his beloved war engine. Masked by the thermal backwash, the Warhound stalks after the enemy Reaver. Moving swiftly, Tyhe closes the range to three hundred metres, using burning ruins to cover his approach.
His sensors detect people in the buildings close by, on the edge of the park, but he pays them no heed. He is entirely focused on the kill.
The Reaver presents an easy target, moving away with its back to him. Tyhe waits for a moment longer, analysing the street layout ahead. There is a smaller road running parallel to the highway, separated by tenements even taller than the Warhound. A perfect flanking route.
At two-hundred and fifty metres, the Reaver stops. Tyhe feels active sensors wash over him.
‘Too late,’ Tyhe whispers. ‘Far too late.’
Denola opens fire with its mega-bolter. Hundreds of high-calibre rounds stream up the wide road, ripping into the Reaver’s void shields with an actinic flare of energy. Auditory sensors detect the failure of the void shields, their generators overloading with a crack of sonic pressure.
‘Come on, you clumsy oaf! Fight us! Bring your weapons to bear!’
The Reaver staggers as the last shots slam into its carapace, causing only superficial damage. Tyhe powers up the turbo-laser and fires, the beams of energy slicing into the hip joint of the Battle Titan.
‘Turn you bastard! Retaliate!’
Tyhe is already moving towards the parallel road, increasing power to Denola’s legs. Once the Reaver brings its weapons to bear, he will already be at full speed, heading past the Battle Titan to come at it from the rear again.
The enemy princeps does not comply. Instead of turning to fight, he drives the Reaver forwards, crashing through the corner of a tenement in a shower of rockcrete fragments.
‘No! No matter, you cannot run from us.’
Adjusting stride, Denola sprints along the second road, weapons recharging and reloading. They will be ready to fire into the retreating Titan’s back as soon as they round the next corner. The enemy princeps is clever, but his machine is simply too slow to respond to the ambush.
The blare of warning sirens seems muted. Mikal’s body is awash with manifold feedback, his shoulders and flanks feeling bruised and sore. Emergency systems are like a soothing balm to his flesh as the repair crew initiate damage control procedures.
‘Shield status?’
There is a pause before his prime moderati, Lockhandt, replies.
‘Not responding, princeps. All generators overloaded. That sneak attack caught us good and proper.’
Mikal can sense the Warhound dashing after him. It will be less than a minute until its weapons are brought to bear.
‘Cease damage control. All power to locomotion and weapons.’
‘Princeps? We have no shields.’
‘No time. We need to kill this engine first.’
Under Mikal’s urging, Invigilator slams into another tower block as the Warhound reaches the junction behind him. The armour holds out better than the struts and ferrocrete of the hab-tower. A cascade of debris tumbles behind the Titan, filling the road.
‘That will slow him down a little. Forget the launcher, overload power to arm weapons. We are not finished yet.’
The outer wall of the building disintegrates as the traitor Warhound blasts through with its turbo-lasers, shattering masonry and support beams to target the loyal Reaver beyond. Lumps of debris tumble onto Aquila as he retreats from the window.
‘Our sanctuary is short-lived,’ he says. ‘Septival, try to get an angle on that Warhound. It is little enough, but the rotor cannon may strip off a void shield. Gaius?’
He turns to see Gaius lowering the woman to the carpeted floor by the doorway. The Space Marine looks up, and shakes his head. Aquila can see that Varinia is still alive but her movements are weak – she has lost too much blood. She strokes the head of her son with a trembling hand, her eyelids fluttering.
‘Gaius, get a visual on target. Guide Septival to the prime firing point.’
The building shakes again. The Warhound passes by the gaping windows, its mega-bolter churning out dozens of rounds a second.
Through the ruin of the far wall, Aquila sees the Reaver turning. Its weapon arms are raised, a short melta cannon and a multi-barrelled las-blaster. The Ultramarine glimpses a crackle of energy from exposed power cables and knows what is about to happen.
Septival knows it too. ‘Does he not see that we–’
The Reaver opens fire, targeting the Warhound through the building. Pulses of laser energy obliterate the walls. The Warhound’s void shields explode, the blast wave smashing into the already weakened structure.
There is a rumble from above as the ceiling gives way.
Gaius moves like lightning, hurling himself at Varinia. He crashes over her and the child as great chunks of masonry rain down. Armour splits with a loud crack. Aquila knows instantly that his companion has not survived.
Septival is also caught by the falling ceiling, the rotor cannon knocked from his grasp as a twisted support beam glances from his shoulder. The floor buckles under Aquila and pitches him through the widening gap into the storey below.
He tumbles down, fragments of rockcrete raining around him in the suddenly dazzling light as the roof is opened to the sky. He crashes into the rubble-filled basement level, stunned. The debris settles, clouds of dust billowing up from the ruin.
The whine of immense motors steals Aquila’s attention. Looking up, he sees the traitor Warhound looming over the breach.
Somewhere above him, Varinia screams.
The Reaver is directly ahead of Denola, revealed by the partial collapse of the corner block. Its aim was off, smashing the hab-complex but missing the Warhound. Tyhe roars with laughter. One blast to the Reaver’s unprotected bridge will end the duel.
A noise filters through the audio pick-ups. A scream of utter terror. The sound is pleasing to Tyhe and he glances down into the ruin of the building. He feels Denola responding too, elated by what it detects.
A young woman kneels in the rubble, bloodied and covered in dust. Her fear and anguish is palpable.
Something stirs in her arms. A child.
Two bright blue eyes look up at Tyhe, as startling as las-beams.
Slay.
The impulse surges through Denola but Tyhe hesitates. The infa
nt shows no fear, blissfully ignorant of what it is looking at. Pure innocence.
Kill. Destroy. Maim.
The whispers of the engine are vehement, driving into Tyhe’s thoughts like hot nails. The pain – the insistence – unnerves him, and he flinches from the contact.
For a fleeting moment he surfaces from the manifold and looks about the Warhound’s bridge with his own eyes. Shrivelled corpses lie slumped at the moderati control consoles while flickering energy, sickly and yellow, dances across the panels.
Blood. Let the blood flow.
These are not the voices of his comrades. Cold realisation freezes his heart as he becomes aware of himself. His body is a frail shell, barely alive, kept that way by the unnatural power of Denola. He is not its master any more.
‘Do not command me! I am the princeps–’
Slaughter. Rend.
The Warhound sends shards of pain stabbing into his mind. Recoiling, Tyhe grits his teeth, battling against the murderous urges filling his thoughts.
‘No! No, I am the master of the machine!’
The manifold picks up his defiance, sending it as impulse signals through the Titan’s systems.
The Warhound inexplicably staggers back from the building, stumbling into the middle of the road. Mikal does not hesitate.
‘Fire!’
The melta cannon unleashes a focused beam, vaporising the armoured canopy of the Warhound. The surging microwaves incinerate everything inside the Titan’s bridge, and the over-pressure bursts its armoured head.
The Warhound topples backwards, guns and legs in spasm, crashing into the hab-block on the other side of the street.
‘Again! Full attack!’
Invigilator blasts the crippled war engine with missiles, las and melta-beams, tearing holes through the carapace, severing a leg and shredding its armour plate. Flames engulf the wreck from sheared power lines as the blackened, twisted mess slumps to the ground, leaking burning oil.
Mikal scans the wreck for a few seconds, convincing himself that it is truly destroyed.