by Various
The route of the advance was being paved, in some places literally, by the Lothor Pioneer Corps. Fifteen thousand men and as many engineering vehicles cut a swath through the woods, levelling hills and cutting ramps down the cliffs and escarpments to ease the passage of the host that followed them. Rivers were dammed or bridged by cunningly-designed machines. Swamps had been drained and roadways laid for hundreds of kilometres on end across the plains and low-lying foothills.
The only part of the force not represented were the Raven Guard themselves. The Legion of Lord Corax was dispersed across Euesa and in orbit, but it had been the Raven Guard that had heralded the arrival of the Emperor’s forces, and the Raven Guard that had seized the space port at Carlingia to allow the Therions and their allies to land their immense war machines.
‘The command council is in two hours,’ said Valerius, turning away from the military spectacle. He crossed to the cot made up in one corner of the chamber, the constant rumble of the massive transport’s engines no longer a distraction. ‘Wake me in one hour.’
He shrugged off his heavy coat into Pelon’s waiting hands. As he sat on the edge of the bed and Pelon knelt to remove his boots, the vice-Caesari noticed that his attendant was unusually pensive.
‘Something is on your mind. Speak it.’
The attendant hesitated, concentrating on his task. He did not meet his master’s gaze as he spoke. ‘You did not mention your dreams to Commander Branne this time, I assume.’
‘I did not,’ Valerius replied. With his boots removed, he swung his legs onto the bed and laid back, hands clasped across his chest. ‘He made it clear after the debacle with the Raptors that I was not to speak of them again.’
‘The last such dream saved the Raven Guard from annihilation, vice-Caesari. Do you not think this latest experience might be pertinent to the campaign?’
‘I am fortunate that Lord Corax has appeared to have dispensed with any curiosity over our timely arrival at Isstvan, and Branne would have it remain so. It is clear to me that the primarch did not send me the visions and I am not about to raise issues that could lead to uncomfortable questions. We have seen some strange things in this war already. An Imperial Army commander who has dream-visions would not be tolerated.’
‘But what if the dreams were sent by another, higher power than the primarch?’ There was slight admonition in Pelon’s tone.
‘Nonsense,’ said Valerius, sitting up. He looked at his attendant. ‘There are no higher powers.’
‘I can think of one,’ Pelon suggested quietly.
The valet delved into a pocket of his tunic and brought forth a sheaf of tattered papers and plas-prints. He became more animated.
‘I was given these by one of the Lothorians, in respect to an entirely different concern. There is truth in these writings, deeper than anything I have read before. The Emperor has not abandoned us, but continues to watch and guide his followers. It is all in here.’
He proffered the bundle of sheets to Valerius, but the vice-Caesari waved them away with a contemptuous snort.
‘I expected better of you, Pelon. I thought you had been raised a Therion and taught the wisdom of logic and reason. Now you seek to peddle these superstitions as a deeper truth? Do you not think I have heard these prattling of the divine before? It is an affront to the Imperial Truth, and everything we have fought for.’
‘Apologies, vice-Caesari, I did not mean to offend,’ said Pelon, hastily stuffing the texts back into his pocket.
‘Wake me in one hour, and we’ll say no more about god-Emperors and divine guidance.’
Sleep had not come easily to Valerius for several days, and today was no different. As soon as he started to slumber, his thoughts were assailed by a frightening tableau. The vice-Caesari stood upon a grassy plain, with storm clouds gathering overhead. Around him the grass parted and rustled as something slithered close by.
Serpents rose up, their slick, green scales shining, the beasts baring fangs as long as daggers. Valerius was surrounded, unable to flee as the snakes closed in on him, sinking their teeth into his legs and arms, burying fangs in his chest and gut.
As he writhed in torment, Marcus saw a greater body heaving into view and realised that the creatures attacking him were but the multitudinous heads of a single monster. The hydra beast of ancient Terran myth subdued him with its venom, and looped its coils about him as it withdrew its fangs, squeezing the life from him...
Marcus woke with sweat dampening his brow.
Through the windows he saw that the sky had darkened further. Pelon sat on a stool by the dresser, hastily pushing something back into his pocket as he turned at his master’s wakening. There was concern in the attendant’s eyes, and something that Valerius had not noticed before.
Wonder.
Whatever nonsense was written in those scraps of text had clearly had a profound impact upon the young man, but Valerius no longer had the energy to berate him. The vice-Caesari dragged himself upright, his shirt and breeches moist with perspiration.
Pelon crossed to the curtained wardrobe and pulled out a freshly pressed uniform. Valerius wordlessly nodded his thanks.
Situated behind the bridge of the Capitol Imperialis, the command chamber was a broad room twenty metres by thirty, dominated by the glowing hololith display at its centre. A line of communications panels manned by servitors and adjutants lit one wall, while the opposite bulkhead was filled with a live-feed visual display from the transport’s scanners and the strategic network.
The hololith was centred on Milvian, a sprawling city that had burst past its curtain wall decades ago, creating a mish-mash suburb of manufactories and habitation tenements encircling the perimeter defence towers and main garrison buildings. Large palaces of the planetary elite dominated the hill that rose inside the walls at the western edge, protected by four keeps overlooking the tilt bridge that spanned the river bisecting the city. Overflights by recon craft and orbital surveys had confirmed that all of the other crossings had been destroyed by the defenders.
Counter-battery fire from macro cannons and wall emplacements was falling only a few kilometres away, so that the command council was conducted to a backdrop of continual shelling against the earthworks and trench lines thrown up over the last days by the Pioneers and their engines.
As Valerius spoke, sub-tribunes manipulated the display on the hololith, assigning formations and manoeuvres with blinking arrows and icons.
‘The plan has not changed,’ the vice-Caesari told his command council. ‘The taking of the city comprises four phases. The first has been already completed – the establishment of a siege line two kilometres from the outskirts of the suburbs. Colonel Golade’s guns and rockets of the Capricorn Thirteenth have pounded the inner defensive line. The curtain of fire laid down has held the main force of the traitors inside the central city, leaving the outskirts vulnerable. Led by their praefectors, the men of the Therion Cohort will seize the outer city, ready for an assault on the walls, clearing the streets for the tanks and Titans that would form a spearhead for the main attack.’
Valerius paused as a flashing blue dome appeared on the hololith.
‘All was well, we thought, but the earlier attack met something we have not encountered before. A force screen shields the approaches to the city wall, capable of turning aside shells and lasers, ripping into living flesh with great sprays of energy. The men call it the ‘lightning field’ and it stopped them in their tracks.
‘The lightning field is the greatest obstacle, but once it falls,’ – Marcus was confident that it would fall, once they located the generators and disabled them – ‘the inner city districts on either side of the river form the final two objectives. The orbital defence weapons inside the hill keep will be silenced, and the Raven Guard can launch their drop attack on the fortifications beyond the city.’
‘Orbital support?’
The question was asked by General Kayhil of the Pioneers; a short, wiry man in his later years dre
ssed in nondescript camouflage fatigues.
‘Not until we silence the defences,’ replied Marcus. ‘We cannot risk any ships in low orbit and any other strikes would be too inaccurate. We need precision strikes to remove the lightning field. Once we have taken out the energy screen we will have air support, but the objective is to take the city, not level it.’
The vice-Caesari waited to see if there were any other questions from the assembled officers. At the back of his mind he could still feel the hot breath of the hydra upon his skin and the sting of its fangs piercing his flesh. He tried to ignore the sensation but the latest dream had been more vivid than before, leaving him in a state of deep unease.
He reviewed the holo-schematic once more, seeking any area of vulnerability.
His gaze settled upon the small town of Lavlin, four kilometres to the west along the main axis of advance. It had been hit heavily by the Capricorn 13th and an orbital attack in the previous days, and a sweep by the Pioneers had confirmed that it was clear of enemies.
And yet, now Marcus’s eye was drawn to it once again.
‘We are sure that the flank at Lavlin is secure?’ he asked Kayhil.
‘No enemy troops there twelve hours ago,’ the general said with a shrug. ‘We could perform another reconnaissance sweep into the ruins, but that would take time. I cannot spare men from the main attack.’
Valerius considered his options, stroking his freshly shaven chin. For all that the plan seemed to be secure – as secure as any plan could be – he could not rid himself of the doubts caused by his nightmare, and the retreat earlier that day.
Again and again his eyes flickered back to Lavlin.
‘I will detail ten companies to act as a reserve, in case a flank is threatened.’ He turned his attention to one of the screens, showing the face of Princeps Senioris Niadansal of the Legio Vindictus, who had joined the council from the bridge of his Warlord Titan. ‘Please assign two engines to the reserve, princeps.’
‘It seems a waste of resource,’ the commander replied brusquely, brow furrowing. ‘Ten companies and two Titans might be sorely missed during the main assault.’
‘We can breach the lightning field without them,’ Valerius countered. ‘They can move forward and support the main attack once the flank is secure.’
‘Do you have some intelligence that we have not seen, vice-Caesari?’ asked Colonel Golade of the Capricorns. ‘Why the sudden doubt over Lavlin?’
‘No intelligence,’ Marcus said quickly. He took a moment, calming himself. ‘It is imperative that we advance on the city unmolested – that is all. Better to be sure now than regretful later.’
‘Perhaps you are being overly cautious,’ suggested Golade. ‘Casualties are an inevitable consequence of war.’
Valerius bit back his first reply, reminded that the Capricorns were not in the assault force, but safe behind siege lines located kilometres from the city. Instead, he grunted and shrugged.
‘Cautious, yes, but not overly so, colonel,’ he said evenly, keeping his temper in check. Golade did not know what Marcus felt deep inside and could not be blamed for his doubts.
‘Who is to command the reserve?’ asked Antonius. Dressed in the colourful uniform of the Therions, complete with the red sash of office across his breastplate, the praefector reminded Marcus of himself a few years ago when he had been bringing planets to compliance; more than two years of war against the traitors had not marred Antonius’s optimism. Marcus envied his younger brother’s hopefulness, but after seeing what had happened at Isstvan and experiencing the treachery of Warmaster Horus first-hand, Marcus had given up any thought of ultimate victory and simply accepted each battle as it came.
‘You will,’ Marcus replied. There was nobody he trusted more, and the presence of the Iron General was not essential to the main assault. ‘I will send details of the detachment – six infantry companies, four armoured – before you take your shuttle back.’
Antonius accepted the responsibility with a nod, and a curious look in his eye. At first Marcus thought that he saw suspicion in the expressions of the others, but realised it was his paranoia. The other officers were dubious of the sudden change of plan, but nothing more.
‘Any other considerations we have not covered?’ he asked, changing the subject. The assembled council offered no further comments or questions in the brief pause. ‘Good. Golade’s bombardment commences in thirty minutes. We attack in forty-five.’
The bridge of the Contemptuous buzzed with comm-net feeds and vox-chatter being monitored by Valerius’s subordinates. Every minute or so the main cannon fired, causing the Capitol Imperialis to shudder, the deafening boom barely muffled by audio dampeners.
Marcus concentrated on the main display, which had been divided into seven sub-screens showing the battle-telemetry across the five kilometres-long front. One display was hooked into a live-feed from the reconnaissance craft in the upper atmosphere above the city, showing the pulverised defences. The fire of the Capricorns continued to rain down, shells and missiles concentrated on the pillboxes and weapons batteries.
Five more displays were schematics of the Pioneer and Therion advance into the outskirts of Milvian. Infantry brigades moved swiftly from building to building, covered by Vindictus Warhound Titans. Progress was swift, and it seemed as though the bulk of the enemy had been withdrawn to the wall as Marcus had expected. Even so, the attack was methodical and thorough, leaving nothing to fortune.
A kilometre behind the infantry came the tanks and assault guns of Therion and Capricorn. In long columns they crawled forwards along the main boulevards and avenues, accompanied by more infantry to ensure they were not ambushed.
The remaining screen was a serialised pict-feed around the headquarters transport, the vista of smoke-shrouded streets slightly blurred by the six banks of void shields protecting the massive command vehicle. Flickers of las-fire, blossoms of explosions and columns of smoke painted the scene. The blur of artillery shells sped across the cloudy sky and plumes of dust from collapsing buildings billowed along the streets. From across the comm, a constant background wash of innumerable reports and conversations and the chatter of small arms fire was punctuated by louder detonations. Men and women exchanged terse reports, swore and cursed, reeled off target grids and barked orders to their subordinates.
It felt quite distant, almost a step removed from Marcus as he listened and watched. He would catch a snippet of a sergeant berating his squad for falling back and then the sonorous chant of a Mechanicum servitor churning out scan vectors, broken by the crackle of static and the hiss of cipher dampening. There were shouts, cries of pain, and on the screens tiny symbols would flash or disappear as the battle ebbed and flowed. Miniscule markings wormed their way along back alleys and were baulked at enemy-held junctions. Arrows of projected advances, triangles of tertiary objectives seized and circles denoting cannon fire zones covered the screens in a seemingly random pattern.
Marcus did not try to comprehend it all; less than tenth of what was going on filtered into his conscious thoughts. Now and then he would ask for clarification from one of his tribunes, but it was not his part to manage every detail of the conflict. His eye was on the broad sweep, and in this regard all was progressing as he had hoped.
Now and then his attention was drawn to the last sub-screen, over which scrolled the casualty listing of the eighteen Therion Cohort phalanxes. Two thousand and thirty men had fallen in the first attack – not all of them dead – but the rate of loss had slowed as the army progressed past the outer line of defenders.
Four kilometres behind and three kilometres to the west, on the right flank of the advance, the Iron General and attending companies waited for the command to attack. The assault had begun an hour ago and there was no sign of threat from Lavlin, but Marcus was not yet ready to shake off his misgivings and commit the reserve.
The Contemptuous supported the main attack, ploughing along the main thoroughfare of Milvian towards the outer limi
ts of the lightning field. The defensive screen had not been tested against the void shields of a Titan or Capitol Imperialis, and Valerius had determined the super-heavy mobile fortress was the best means of destroying one of the generators. Once a breach was made in the field’s coverage, other forces would target the rest.
There was more to Valerius leading the attack than simple pragmatism. After the repulse of his earlier assault he wanted to prove to his men, and more importantly to Lord Corax, that he and his Therions could still be relied upon. When they had been founded, they had served the Emperor himself, and the primarch of the Raven Guard deserved no less.
The Contemptuous ground forwards, pulverising deserted groundcars and abandoned tanks that lay in the fortress’s path. The batteries on both flanks were unleashing their fire into the surrounding city blocks, the main cannon levelling structures even a few hundred metres distant. The shells of the defenders detonated around the advancing behemoth. Now and then a direct hit would shimmer across the void shields, engulfing the Contemptuous in a blazing aura of purple and gold.
In the wake of the gargantuan engine, Therion tanks and infantry waited to pour forwards to exploit any breakthrough.
Valerius knew that the battle was at its hinge point, with success or failure of the entire invasion in the balance of the next hour. Though the advance through the outer city had been swift, the traitors had been wise to marshal their resources inside the lightning field and the attack had almost ground to a standstill. There were numerous requests from Valerius’s subordinates to commit the reserve – the added firepower of the Titans and companies were in demand all across the front.
‘Generator site within range, vice-Caesari,’ reported one of the tribunes.
‘Target main weapon systems. Fire for full effect.’
As the order left Marcus’s lips, another tribune blurted out a warning from his position as the sensor panels. ‘Enemy Warlord Titan, eight hundred metres, sector four, targeting us!’
A sub-screen blurred and brought up an image of the traitor war engine, its outline hazy beyond its void shields.