The Ultramarines Omnibus

by Graham McNeill

  The apothecaries had grafted these on after recovering his body from the interior of a wrecked Land Raider on Ichar IV – after a rampaging carnifex had ripped it apart. The horrifying creature’s bio-plasma had flooded the interior of the armoured fighting vehicle, detonating its ammo spectacularly. The carnifex was killed in the blast, but the explosion sheared Tomasin to the bone and, rather than lose his centuries of wisdom, the Chapter’s artisans had designed a completely new, artificial body around the bloody rags of his remains.

  ‘How long until you and the servitors are finished?’ asked Uriel.

  Tomasin wiped the mud from his face and glanced up the length of the bridge. ‘Another hour, Ventris. Possibly less if this damned rain would ease up and I didn’t have to stop to talk to you.’

  Uriel bit back a retort and turned away, leaving the Techmarine to his work and striding to the nearest gun nest. Captain Idaeus was sitting on the sandbags and speaking animatedly into the vox-com.

  ‘Well make sure, damn you!’ he snapped. ‘I don’t want to be left sitting here facing half the rebel army with only thirty men.’

  Idaeus listened to the words that only he could hear through the comm-bead in his ear and cursed, snapping the vox unit back to his belt.

  ‘Trouble?’ asked Uriel.

  ‘Maybe,’ sighed Idaeus. ‘Orbital surveyors on the Vae Victus say they think they detected something large moving through the jungle in our direction, but this damned weather’s interfering with the auguries and they can’t bring them on-line again. It’s probably nothing.’

  ‘You don’t sound too convinced.’

  ‘I’m not,’ admitted Idaeus. ‘If the Night Lords are on this world, then this is just the kind of thing they would try.’

  ‘I have our scouts watching the approaches to the bridge. Nothing is going to get close without us knowing about it.’

  ‘Good. How is Tomasin getting on?’

  ‘There’s a lot of bridge to blow, captain, but Tomasin thinks he’ll have it done within the hour. I believe he will have it rigged sooner though.’

  Idaeus nodded and rose to his feet, staring into the mist and rain shrouded hills on the enemy side of the bridge. His face creased in a frown and Uriel followed his gaze. Dusk was fast approaching and with luck they would be on their way to rejoin the main assault on Mercia before nightfall.

  ‘Something wrong?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Every time I look across the bridge I get a bad feeling.’

  ‘A bad feeling?’

  ‘Aye, like someone is watching us,’ whispered Idaeus.

  Uriel checked his vox-com. ‘The scouts haven’t reported anything.’

  Idaeus shook his head. ‘No, this is more like instinct. This whole place feels wrong somehow. I can’t describe it.’

  Uriel was puzzled. Idaeus was a man he trusted implicitly, they had fought and bled together for over fifty years, forming a bond of friendship that Uriel found all too rarely. Yet he could never claim to truly understand Idaeus. The captain relied on instinct and feelings more than the holy Codex Astartes, that great work of military thinking penned ten thousand years ago by their own Primarch, Roboute Guilliman.

  The Codex formed the basis of virtually every Space Marine Chapter’s tactical doctrine and laid the foundations for the military might of the entire Imperium. Its words were sanctified by the Emperor himself and the Ultramarines had not deviated from its teachings since it had been written following the dark days of the Horus Heresy.

  But Idaeus tended to regard the wisdom of the Codex as advice rather than holy instruction and this was a constant source of amazement to Uriel. He had been Idaeus’s second-in-command for nearly thirty years and, despite the captain’s successes, Uriel still found it hard to accept his methods.

  ‘I want to go and check those hills,’ said Idaeus suddenly.

  Uriel sighed and pointed out, ‘The scouts will inform us of anything that approaches.’

  ‘I know, and I have every faith in them. I just need to see for myself. Come on, let’s go and take a look.’

  Uriel took out his vox unit, informing the scouts they would be approaching from the rear and followed Idaeus as he strode purposefully to the end of the bridge. They passed the far bunker, the one the rebels should have occupied, noting the glint of bolters from within. The two Space Marines marched up the wide road that led into the high hills either side of the gorge and for the next thirty minutes inspected the locations Uriel had deployed the scouts to watch from. The rain deadened sounds and kept visibility low and there was enough tree cover to almost completely obscure the jungle floor. There could be an army out there and they wouldn’t see it until it was right on top of them.

  ‘Satisfied?’ asked Uriel.

  Idaeus nodded, but did not reply and together they began the trek back to the far bunker where they could see Sevano Tomasin.

  The warning came just as the first artillery shell screamed overhead.

  Almost as soon as Uriel heard the incoming shell, the comm-net exploded with voices: reports of artillery flashes in the distance and multiple sightings of armoured personnel carriers and tanks. A blinding explosion in the centre of the bridge, followed by half a dozen more in quick succession, split the dusk apart. Uriel shouted as he saw the servitors and two Space Marines blasted from the bridge, tumbling downwards to the rocks below.

  The two officers sprinted down towards the bridge.

  Uriel dialled into the vox-net of the Scouts as he ran and yelled, ‘Scout team Alpha! Where in the warp did they come from? Report!’

  ‘Contacts at three kilometres and closing, sergeant! The rain held down the dust, we couldn’t see them through the dead ground.’

  ‘Understood,’ snapped Uriel, cursing the weather. ‘What can you see?’

  ‘Can’t get an accurate count, but it looks like a battalion-sized assault. Chimeras mainly, but there’s a lot of heavy armour mixed in – Leman Russ, Griffons and Hellhounds.’

  Uriel swore and exchanged glances with Idaeus. If the scouts were correct, they were facing in excess of a thousand men with artillery and armoured support. Both knew that this must be the contact the auguries on the Vae Victus had detected then lost. They had to get everyone back across the bridge and blow it right now.

  ‘Stay as long as you can Alpha and keep reporting, then get back here!’

  ‘Aye, sir,’ responded the scout and signed off.

  More shells dropped on the bridge, the echoes of their detonations deafening in the enclosed gorge. Each blast threw up chunks of the roadway and vast geysers of rainwater. Some were air-bursting above the bridge, showering the roadway with deadly fragments.

  Uriel recognised the distinctive whine of Griffon mortar shells and gave thanks to Guilliman that the PDF obviously did not have access to the heavier artillery pieces of the Imperial Guard.

  Either that, or they realised that to use such weapons would probably destroy the bridge.

  Most of the Space Marines who had been caught in the open were in cover now and Uriel knew they were lucky not to have lost more men. He cursed as he saw the lumbering shape of Sevano Tomasin still fixing explosive charges and unwinding lengths of cable back towards the last bunker. The Techmarine’s movements were painfully slow, but he was undaunted by the shelling. Uriel willed him to work faster.

  ‘One and a half kilometres and closing. Closing rapidly! Dismounted enemy infantry visible!’ shouted the scout sergeant in Uriel’s comm-bead.

  ‘Acknowledged,’ shouted Uriel over the crash of falling mortar shells and explosions. ‘Get back here now: there’s nothing more you can do from there. Sword squad is waiting at the first bunker to give you covering fire. Ventris out.’

  Uriel and Idaeus reached the bunker and splashed to a halt behind its reassuringly thick walls. Idaeus snatched up his vox-com and shouted, ‘Guard command net, this is Captain Idaeus, Ultramarines Fourth Company. Be advised that hostiles are attacking across Bridge Two-Four in division strength, possib
ly stronger. We are falling back and preparing to destroy the bridge. I say again, hostiles are attacking across Bridge Two-Four!’

  As Idaeus voxed the warning to the Imperial Guard commanders, Uriel patched into the frequency of the Thunderhawk that had dropped them in position.

  ‘Thunderhawk Six, this is Uriel Ventris. We are under attack and request immediate extraction. Mission order Omega-Seven-Four. Acknowledge please.’

  For long seconds, all Uriel could hear was the hiss of static and he feared something terrible had happened to the gunship. Then a voice, heavily distorted said, ‘Acknowledged, Sergeant Ventris. Mission order Omega-Seven-Four received. We’ll be overhead in ten minutes. Signal your position with green smoke.’

  ‘Affirmative,’ replied Uriel. ‘Be advised the landing zone will in all likelihood be extremely hot when you arrive.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ chuckled the pilot of the gunship. ‘We’re fully loaded. We’ll keep their heads down while we extract you. Thunderhawk Six out.’

  Uriel snapped the vox-unit to his belt and hammered on the bunker’s door. He and Idaeus ducked inside as it slid open. The five Space Marines within were positioned at the bunker’s firing step, bolters and a lascannon pointed at the hills above, ready to cover their brothers’ retreat. Uriel stared through the anti-grenade netting, watching the scouts falling back in good order towards the bridge.

  ‘As soon as the scouts are past you, fall back to the first gun nest and take up firing positions,’ ordered Idaeus. ‘The other squads are already in position and they’ll cover you. Understood?’

  The Space Marines nodded, but did not take their eyes from the ridge above the approaching scouts. Idaeus turned to Uriel and said, ‘Get across and see how close Tomasin is to blowing this damned bridge. We’ll join you as soon as we can.’

  Uriel opened his mouth to protest, but Idaeus cut him off, ‘Stow it, sergeant. Go! I’ll join you as soon as Alpha Team are safe.’

  Without another word, Uriel slipped from the bunker. Another series of thunderous detonations cascaded across the bridge and impacted on the sides of the gorge. Uriel waited until he detected a lull in the firing then began sprinting across the bridge, weaving around piles of rubble, debris and water filled craters left by the explosions. He could still see Sevano Tomasin behind the sandbagged gun nests, working on the detonators.

  He heard gunfire behind him, the distinctive, dull crack of bolter fire and the snapping hiss of lasguns. He glanced over his shoulder as a terrible sense of premonition struck him.

  Twin streaks of shrieking projectiles flashed overhead, one landing behind him and another before him with earth shaking detonations. The first shell exploded less than four metres above the men of Alpha team, shredding their bodies through the lighter scout armour leaving only a bloody mist and scraps of ripped flesh. The shockwave of the blast threw Uriel to the ground. He coughed mud and spat rainwater, rising in time to see Sevano Tomasin engulfed in blinding white phosphorescent fire.

  The Techmarine collapsed, his metal limbs liquefying and the flesh searing from his bones. A second melta charge ignited in his equipment pack, also cooked off by the mortar shell’s detonation. Tomasin vanished in a white-hot explosion, the rain forming a steam cloud around his molten remains.

  Uriel pushed himself upright and charged towards the fallen Space Marine. Tomasin was dead, there could be no doubt about that. But Uriel needed to see if the detonator mechanism had gone up with him. If it had, they were in deep, deep trouble.

  IDAEUS WATCHED the first squadron of enemy vehicles crest the ridge above, hatred burning in his heart. Even in the fading light, he could clearly make out the silhouette of three Salamander scout vehicles and Idaeus vowed he would see them dead.

  He could smell the acrid stench of scorched human flesh from the blasted remains of the scouts. They had died only ten metres from the safety of the bunker. Idaeus knew he should fall back to the prepared gun positions further along the bridge: if they stayed here much longer, they’d be trapped. But his thirst for retribution was a fire in his heart, and he was damned if he would yield a millimetre to these bastards without exacting some measure of vengeance for his fallen warriors.

  ‘Nivaneus,’ hissed Idaeus to the Space Marine carrying the lascannon. ‘Do you have a target?’

  ‘Aye, sir,’ confirmed Nivaneus.

  ‘Then fire at will. Take down those traitorous dogs!’

  A blinding streak of las-fire punched from the massive weapon. A Salamander slewed from the road, its hull blazing and smoke boiling from its interior. The vehicles’ supporting infantry squads fired their lasguns before the Space Marines’ bolter fire blasted them apart with uncompromising accuracy. But Idaeus knew they were inconsequential. Killing the tanks was all that mattered.

  Nivaneus calmly switched targets and another Salamander died, its crew tumbling from the burning escape hatches. The last tank ground to a halt, stuttering blasts from its auto-cannon stitching across the bunker’s face. Idaeus felt the vibrations of shell impacts. He smiled grimly as the Salamander’s driver desperately attempted to reverse back uphill. Its tracks spun ineffectually, throwing up huge sprays of mud, unable to find purchase. Dust and an acrid, electric stench filled the air as Nivaneus lined up a shot on the struggling tank.

  Before he could fire, a missile speared through the rain and smashed into the immobilised tank’s turret. It exploded from within, wracked by secondary detonations as its ammo cooked off.

  ‘Captain Idaeus!’ shouted Uriel over the vox-net. ‘Get out of there! There will be more tanks coming over that ridge any moment and you will be cut off if you do not leave now! We have you covered, now get back here!’

  ‘I think he’s got a point, men,’ said Idaeus calmly. ‘We’ve given them a bloody nose, but it’s time we were going.’

  The Ultramarines fired a last volley of shots before hefting their weapons and making for the door.

  ‘Uriel!’ called Idaeus. ‘We are ready to go, now give me some fire.’

  Seconds later a withering salvo of bolter fire and missiles swept the ridge top, wreathing it in smoke and flames. Idaeus shouted, ‘Go, go, go!’ to the Space Marines and followed as they sprinted through the rain. The mortar fire had ceased: probably due to the Griffon tanks being moved up into a direct firing position, thought Idaeus. Whatever the reason, he was grateful for it.

  He heard a teeth-loosening rumble and a squeal of tracks, knowing without looking that heavy tanks had spread out across the ridge, moving into a firing position behind them. He saw two missile contrails flashing overhead and heard the ringing clang of their impact. A crashing detonation told him that at least one enemy tank was out of action, but only one.

  ‘Incoming!’ he yelled and dived over a pile of debris into a crater as the thunder of two battle cannons echoed across the gorge. He felt the awesome force of the impacts behind him, even through the ceramite of his power armour. His auto-senses shut down momentarily to preserve his sight and hearing as the massive shell exploded, the pressure of the blast almost crushing him flat. Red runes winked into life on his visor as his armour was torn open in half a dozen places. He felt searing pain and cursed as he yanked a plate-sized piece of sizzling shrapnel from his leg. Almost instantly, he could feel the Larraman cells clotting his blood and forming a protective layer of scar tissue over the wound. He had suffered much worse and shut out the pain.

  The two surviving Leman Russ tanks rumbled downhill, smashing the smoking remains of the Salamanders aside with giant dozer blades. Furious gunfire spat from their hull-mounted heavy bolters, sweeping across the bunker’s face and the bridge, throwing up spouts of water and rock. None hit the Ultramarines and Idaeus shouted, ‘Up! Come on, keep moving!’

  The Space Marines rose and continued running towards the comparative safety of the far side of the bridge. More tanks and infantry spilled over the ridge, following in the wake of the Leman Russ battle tanks. Las-blasts fired at the Space Marines, but the range was too gr
eat.

  Then, at the edge of his hearing, Idaeus heard the welcome boom of a Thunderhawk gunship’s engines and saw the angular form of the aerial transport sweep from above the jungle canopy. Rockets streaked from its wing pylons, rippling off in salvoes of three and the ridge vanished in a wall of flames. Heavy cannons mounted on the hull and wings fired thousands of shells into the rebels, obliterating tanks and men in a heartbeat.

  Idaeus punched the air in triumph as the Thunderhawk swept over the ridge and circled around for another strafing run. He jogged leisurely into the sandbagged gun nest, the Space Marines who had followed him taking up firing positions.

  ‘Uriel,’ voxed Idaeus. ‘Are you ready to get out of here?’

  ‘More than ready,’ replied Uriel from the bunker behind Idaeus. ‘But we have a problem. Tomasin was killed in the shelling and he had the detonators. We can’t blow the bridge.’

  Idaeus slammed his fist into a sandbag. ‘Damn it!’ he swore, teeth bared. He paced the interior of the gun nest like a caged grox before saying, ‘Then we’re going to have to hold here for as long as possible and pray the Guard can realign their flank in time.’

  ‘Agreed. The Emperor guide your aim, captain.’

  ‘And yours. May He watch over you.’

  URIEL SHUT OFF the vox-com and slid a fresh magazine into his bolt pistol, staring out at the flame wreathed hillside. The distant Thunderhawk had circled around, guns blazing at something Uriel could not see. Fresh explosions blossomed from behind the ridge as more traitors died.

  Suddenly shells burst around the gunship and streams of fire, bright against the dark sky, licked up from the ground. Uriel swore as he realised the traitors were equipped with anti-aircraft weapons. The gunship jinked to avoid the incoming fire, but another stream of shells spat skyward and seconds later the gunners had the Thunderhawk bracketed. Thousands of shells ripped through the gunship’s armour, tearing the port wing off. The engine exploded in a brilliant fireball. The pilot struggled to hold the aircraft aloft, banking to avoid the flak, but the gunship continued to lose altitude, spewing black smoke from its stricken frame.