The other legionnaires roared in assent, their camaraderie and morale higher than ever despite the danger they knew they were in. The Stormfalcon vibrated as the pilot engaged the engines and left the hanger floor. The massive doors had already been hauled open on their tracks and the way out into space was made clear, though separated by a layer of shielding that allowed only craft to pass through unimpeded. Now the Guardians would exit the Blackstar where the Phantoms had come in.
Scores of transports were ready alongside the command craft, all ready to join it on the descent to Pheia’s surface. What Lupus had said about the civilians was true and the Apostles all agreed; even if only one person could be saved from each world, they would do everything in their power to make that happen. It was their meaning in life, the function they were Blessed to serve. Only in death could they lay down their weapons and rest until their purpose was fulfilled.
The Stormfalcon pushed out into pandemonium with its secondary thrusters and angled itself down towards the world waiting below. When the main drives activated, the pilot steered the craft toward Pheia’s rosy atmosphere, a plethora of legionary transports alongside it. Once they cleared the orbiting Blackstars and Lupus could see though the viewing ports to the fleet outside, it became immediately obvious how truly large the assault was.
From the bellies of the Guardians’ mightiest vessels, masses of transports emptied their hangar bays laden with platoons of legionnaires. Full deployment would take several runs to complete, but the first wave would still provide the largest presence of Guardians on a planet since before the Blessing. Lupus could feel the steely conviction of the legions as they headed for the kind of battlefield only few of them had tasted recently.
Suddenly, something colossal was blown apart in a series of fireballs that melded into a conflagration not unlike a small sun. Lupus knew, before the pilot answered Sabre’s startled cries, that it had been the death of a Blackstar. The immense ship went supernova quicker than he could have imagined possible, a short, blazing inferno ripping it asunder. Before long it was little more than a smoking, burnt out husk, streams of fire and bodies mixing together in its final moments.
“Identity that ship, pilot” Lupus demanded. The legionnaires all around him were stunned into silence to witness such an incredible tragedy, for it was nothing short of one.
“My Lord…it was the Resolute” the pilot answered grimly. Lupus felt a chill run up his spine when its name translated into its owner in his mind.
“The Apostle Cerberus…do you think he made it?” he overheard Arcadius ask Olympus.
Before Lupus could say anything, a projection of his apparently undead brother appeared at the holo-podium. The legionnaires in the Stormfalcon were markedly relieved at the sight of him, their fears calmed but their hearts still aghast at the thousands of Guardians that had died with the Resolute.
“Brother, we have to go back!” Cerberus pleaded.
“We can’t, Cerberus. I’m sorry for your loss, but there is nothing we can do. We owe it to every legionnaire that was on your ship to continue with the attack” Lupus replied gently.
Cerberus shook his head, unwilling to hear him. “You don’t understand, brother. The ships of the second enemy force have been classified. They are Oblivion class. All three of them”.
“My Lord,” Sabre said at his side. There was the faintest look of apprehension in his eyes, something Lupus had never seen before in him. “The Oblivion class is a formidable foe. We have only ever encountered one of them. They are more than a match for a Blackstar; each could take on five and still earn its fair share of kills. We cannot risk keeping the fleet here to fight them”.
Lupus looked at him, then to Cerberus. It was an impossible decision; either choice would do untold damage to the Empire’s confidence in the Guardian’s war efforts and both would inevitably mean more than a few legions lost.
“Brother, we cannot lose this world…at any cost. If we withdraw now, we only demonstrate to the Senate that the Gothicans should have no hope and to the enemy that we are but a doormat to their treasured slaughterhouse. They would deny us and our future here in this Dimension, and what would become of our beloved legions then, with nowhere to call home? We cannot let that happen, not after everything the legions have fought for” he said, a finality in his voice that forbade any disagreement.
Cerberus glowered at him, a vengeful wrath burning through his expression and into Lupus’ chest. “Stay out of my way on the ground, brother. I will tear apart anything and anyone in my path to make this assault end all the sooner. I will not lose any more of my legionnaires without every effort to prevent it” he relented. His hologram blinked out and Lupus hung his head in sorrow for the lives that had already passed on. It was impossible to say how many casualties they had suffered, but with the Oblivion vessels about to strike back at the Guardians and the legions about to make planet fall, that number would surely rise at a frightening rate.
War was intolerable for Lupus, despite his nature and no matter how many battles he fought. It never got easier, never became a convention to get used to. All he could do was believe that he was doing the right thing, the best thing. Perhaps he failed as an Apostle in that respect, but maybe that feeling was the key to being one.
As the pilot continued to speed towards the Pheian surface, he couldn’t help but wonder if this time his decision to move against the enemy was wrong.
THE COMMAND STORMFALCON of the 617th speared into the red Pheian skies like a bullet fired from a monstrously oversized gun. It broke through into the stratosphere with ferocious speed, sonic booms filling the world as hundreds of other craft joined its descent.
Phantom defences, hastily erected once their invasion was complete, vomited black flak into the air in every direction to create a thick web of unforgiving lethality. Several Stormfalcons were turned into fire and scrap just seconds after coming into range of the enemy guns, but the majority of legionary pilots were skilled enough to evade death.
The command transport rocked back and forth as hard projectiles struck the hull and the pilot twisted and turned the craft out of the line of fire only to find another in its flight path. For the first time in his experience with the legion, the men and women around Lupus looked nervous and he could find no reason to blame them.
“Don’t let fear corrode your minds!” he yelled through the cabin, the power of his lungs enough to carry his voice to every corner of the transport without the aid of a comms-unit. Every face turned to him, their Apostle and leader, for reassurance. “Vermillion is here with us this day! Remember Her valour, remember Her sacrifice. Know your duty; know what we owe Her and you will know that it is the enemy that must fear us. Look to your past, remember what you have endured and we will all make it through this day to fight again in Her name!”
His words seemed to have the desired effect as the legionnaires changed from uncertainty to steely determination. He could have sworn he even heard Olympus mutter to Sabre that his speech had been ‘Not bad’, which made him smile. Despite their natural anxiety against all the thoughts of their mortality, the legionnaires would fight with everything they had. It was hard to keep their morale down for very long anyway, but Lupus knew they wouldn’t be lacking inspiration and courage today. After all, they had ten demi-gods by their side.
“Two minutes!” the pilot screamed over the intercom. The legionnaires checked their weapons twice over, some more than that and prepared for their boots to hit the ground.
Lupus took one last look at the world outside as the Stormfalcon plummeted. Pheia was a barren world but for its single city, eerily reminiscent of Dystopian enough to give him a slight trepidation. However, unlike the world the Purge Crusades had ended on, the one the war would begin on anew was beautiful.
At least, it had been before the Phantoms arrived. Now the capital lay in ruins, thick plumes of black smoke rising from the debris of its destruction. Lupus thought he could hear the echoes even now of its inhabitants s
creaming out in terror as they first beheld the desolation of their homes.
Interrupting his morbid thoughts with a thunderous crash, the Stormfalcon’s landing feet hit the desert floor of Pheia.
“GO, GO, GO!” Sabre yelled as the rear ramp cycled down to spill forth its deadly cargo.
“Retyr Auranair!” Lupus declared. It filled him with pride and drive when his legion repeated the battle cry in perfect unison like the chorus of a war song.
Even as the last Guardian was clearing the transport bay, Lupus sprung forward into the red light of the planet’s daytime and became the Lion again. Inhaling a deep breath through his nostrils, he got his first odour of the world they had come to save.
It smelled of nothing but death.
Chapter 11
THE WORLD BURST into violent life as artillery shells landed all around them. Lupus ordered Sabre and Olympus to get the legion into cover while the deployment continued without cessation. As planned the Stormfalcon had dropped them into the wide, rocky valley a couple of miles from the walls of the Pheian capital.
The natural protection shielded the infantry legions until they could assault the gates of the capital with the armour platoons being brought down behind them. Huge, bulky Ironwrought transports, the much larger variant of the Stormfalcon, landed with whooshing engines and thunking feet and Warhound tanks spilled forth in squadrons from their bellies.
There was a wide slope leading from the valley to the desert flatlands, its berth stretching far enough to allow whole squads of vehicles to move up together in a threatening line of lumbering metal and terrifying firepower. As the tanks grouped together and formed up along the ridge before making their advance, the artillery from the capital changed their focus from the valley cover, where they had made a fruitless attempt to cull the Guardian infantry, to the Warhounds that moved inexorably toward the walls of the city.
Lupus didn’t bother to keep his head down as Sabre approached. The commander had once pleaded with him to be careful even when in his Apostle form, but one day in the Purge Crusades he had taken a shell full-on to his flank and stalked away unscathed, putting an end to Sabre’s frets.
Lupus could tell his legion was now fully deployed, but he sensed there was something else on the legionnaire’s mind. “The artillery pieces were mounted on the walls when the city was built,” the commander began. “The Warhounds have confirmed they have the guns in their sights”.
They won’t breach the city shields before suffering unacceptable losses, though Lupus answered. He had not expected the artillery fire to be as heavy and co-ordinated as it was and the price for that miscalculation was the Guardians’ lives. He heard an explosion boom through the air as a Warhound was gutted by a well-placed shell. Soon after, a second was destroyed by another salvo. When another three went up in flames, they didn’t need Lupus’ orders to break formation and disperse.
Teams of legionnaires on foot hurried out from the valley and set up shield masts. Once activated, a blue energy coursed from the square devices and projected over the Warhound vanguard, covering them in a protective coat. Where the lines of energy met, they formed a solid barrier where no gap could be found for the enemy to exploit. The shield would not last long with the metal rain falling against it, however and Lupus knew they had to act fast. Already the other Apostles were calling for action.
Luckily, Lupus had an idea. Order the Retribution into attack position. I want its EMP cannon to fire at ground level outside the city walls.
Sabre looked at him in confusion, “My Lord, that will disable our shield net as well…we will be vulnerable as we advance”.
Lupus smiled at him with his eyes. Not if the EMP is fired to the rear of the city. Trust me Sabre, the blast will not envelop us. The Pheian shield is human design, not Phantom; it will succumb to the cannon’s effects. He looked up to listen to the shells screaming down on the deployment zone. The downpour is getting heavier, Sabre. Move quickly.
The commander nodded, satisfied that his Apostle knew what he was doing. Without further comment he called Quintus, the command squad’s comms-officer, to his side and made a connection to the Retribution, the 617th’s deadliest destroyer. As he glanced at the sky, stars sporadically appeared where they hadn’t been before as the battle above took a turn for the worse. He hoped the ship they needed was still up there somewhere.
ON THE SANDY plains that lay in front of Pheia’s capital, Vorlo of the 21st sat comfortably in his Warhound waiting for someone to do something about the metal rain falling all around him. He had been in enough battles for the fear of vulnerability not to get to him. Admittedly, the portable shield network that another legion had quickly set up for the armour units was resilient enough for the job, but he hungered for a closer fight where he could bring the weapons of his machine to bear. This position, this limbo, made him irritatingly useless.
Outside, the blue energy of their sheltering parasol rippled as the onslaught of artillery fire continued to hammer down relentlessly. The sound, like a destructive storm set to reform the landscape, reminded Vorlo of Colossi.
His legion had been deployed in full strength on the dark world of the Great Enemy, just as all the Guardian legions had. They were at the peak of their power, all one thousand of them, with Vermillion in their midst leading the battle. Even the three Divine Legions had been with them; the White Guardians and the Noble Wolves Adorioth, Beaution and Divinios.
They had blown a hole the size of an island into the Phantom hordes that day before they landed. He could scarce remember which ship was responsible for it, more likely it was several, but he could still hear the battle cries of his legion and dozens more on the vessel that carried them as the klaxons sounded. However they had managed it, they had their window for as safe a landing as they would ever get.
Vorlo could still feel the Ironwrought shake him to the bones as it descended on Colossi to birth his armour platoon onto the surface. Within minutes the Phantoms were upon them, the atomised fate of their brethren nothing more than a call to fight. The Warhounds of the 21st, bolstered by several score other tank legions, lay a bloody waste to wave after wave of the enemy. The artillery legions provided lethal support, all one hundred and fifty of them securing an expansive position on the rising cliffs behind the tanks. Vorlo never had the time to see them up there, but from the way whole groups of Phantoms flew into the air, limbless and destroyed, he imagined an ocean of guns at his back, a hundred thousand ants crawling around a third as many guns.
When the infantry legions secured a perimeter at the base of the cliffs alongside the tanks, the Guardians had formed a line ten kilometres long; a wall of punishment that the Phantoms threw themselves against time and time again. When the pile of dead grew too high, the enemy would disintegrate the obstacle with weaponry so foul only they could stomach to use it.
What came through the breaches in the fence of bodies was their undoing. Hulking golems thundered forwards, ignoring anything the infantry could throw at them. Only the Warhounds seemed to have any effect and even then only when several focussed their fire on single targets. With this distraction came hordes of devii and the largest melee Vorlo’s nightmares could conjure up ensued.
Legionnaires activated their shields and drew their swords even as whole swathes of their brethren were cut down. Tanks were blown apart as Phantom armour arrived to support the troops. Golems wrecked into the White Guardians and the Noble Wolves. Even Vermillion was kept busy with the sheer weight of enemies around Her. The artillery continued to crush the enemy from a distance, but the odds were beginning to show and no amount of firepower seemed to cull the enemy ranks.
Yet, the legions fought on. With a goddess at their side, their morale never broke. They never needed to rally, even as their fellow Guardians died around them and they killed dozens of Phantoms for every one of them that fell. Still, it wasn’t enough.
Vorlo remembered the heat brush over his Warhound as another to his left went up in a blossom of fl
ames, its engine exploding as it overcooked from the plasma turret blasts of an enemy tank. On the radar friendly signals blipped out one by one and it wasn’t long before Vorlo and a few other of his armoured legion were alone in a sea of enemies.
He remembered a shadow, as large as the continent of the Hydra’s House, cover the surface of Colossi as something vast and unimaginably evil took to the battlefield. Then a light, so brilliantly white that it enveloped everything, even the shadow, bathed the world in blinding brightness.
That never happened, Vorlo thought as his memories went before his eyes. Then he realised that he was no longer distracted by the past, but by the present and the light hadn’t been a part of that battle, but this one.
“The city shield is down, the EMP strike was successful” Nero explained grimly.
The tank captain’s words sprung Vorlo into action and he scanned the horizon. The shield had indeed been breached, but the defensive guns were still firing. Not all of them, he noted, but at least a quarter and that would be enough to continue hurting the legions’ assault.
Vorlo had been an AGG-II gunner in the Purge Crusades, but he had grown weary of that position and longed to be responsible for delivering death to their enemies. He switched with Servius, the previous driver of the Warhound, who likewise was eager for change. Now, they could both taste the war from a different aspect of the tank’s destructive function. So far, for both of them, war hadn’t tasted of much.
Vorlo looked behind him to Nero as the captain held a hand to his ear, listening in on a command being spread through the legions at the vanguard. “We have our order to advance. Wait for the shield network to disengage, then take us forward Vorlo”.
“It’s about time…” Servius grumbled, idly waiting for the moment to come where he could personally kill as many Phantoms as he had ammunition for.
The Deian War: Vermillion's Apostles Page 34