The Ultramarines Omnibus

by Graham McNeill

  ‘How close are we, Philotas?’ whispered Tiberius, as though the volume of his voice would alert the tyranids to their presence, though the aliens must surely be aware of them by now. Garbled reports from Arx Praetora squadron and the Dauntless cruisers, some thirty thousand kilometres ahead of them, had spoken of the alien fleet moving in a solid mass of creatures, several hive ships scattered throughout the swarm. They were probably too far apart to catch more than one or two, but even one was a victory.

  ‘Hard to say, admiral,’ replied Philotas. ‘Surveyor returns are being scattered by the refinery vessel, but I’d say no more than fifty thousand kilometres.’

  ‘We’re cutting this very close,’ observed Uriel, staring at the plotting table. ‘The first engagements at Barbarus were not much closer than this.’

  ‘I know, Uriel, I know. But we only have one chance at this. Chordelis is depending on us. We cannot fail.’

  Uriel nodded, determined that Chordelis would not suffer the horrible fate of Barbarus Prime. By now there was nothing left of that world but a dead hunk of rock, its people, wildlife and very ecosystem devoured by these monstrous aliens. Chordelis also faced obliteration, but in this case the threat did not come from the aliens, but from the very people supposed to be defending it.

  The thought of Kryptman’s cold, steel logic sent a shiver down Uriel’s spine and he was reminded of the last time he had defied the will of an inquisitor. On this very ship, Inquisitor Ario Barzano had proposed the destruction of Pavonis to prevent a madman from obtaining a weapon capable of unmaking the stars themselves. Uriel had managed to persuade Barzano to give them one last chance to act and, by the grace of the Emperor, they had been successful, and Pavonis had been spared the horror of the ultimate sanction of viral bombing.

  Once again he had been forced to stand against those he would have counted as his allies in defence of the ordinary men and women of the Imperium. It astounded him that Kryptman could be so unfeeling with the lives of millions of people, consigning an entire planet to death simply to prevent the enemy from taking it.

  Only two days ago in the captain’s chambers on the command deck of the Argus, Kryptman had told them of his decision to let Chordelis die.

  ‘We have no choice,’ the inquisitor had said. ‘Fighters from the Kharloss Vincennes have harried the vanguard of the alien fleet from Barbarus, past Parosa and Yulan. ‘The tyranids will be here within three or four days at the latest. There is simply no more time to get anyone else off Chordelis. If we stay any longer we will doom what little assets we have, and for what? We could fight, and we would gain perhaps a day’s respite for the defenders on Tarsis Ultra. And once we are defeated, the tyranids will devour Chordelis as they did Barbarus Prime, swelling their numbers with an entire planet’s biosphere.’

  Kryptman shook his head. ‘No, far better Chordelis dies by our own hand than that of the Great Devourer. Believe me, Exterminatus is a better, quicker death than the tyranids will offer.’

  A stunned silence had greeted Kryptman’s pronouncement. Admiral Bregant de Corte blanched and took a sip of amasec before taking a deep breath and casting his flinty gaze around the table. His assembled captains looked shocked, but took their lead from the admiral and said nothing. Captain Gaiseric and Astador nodded slowly.

  Admiral Tiberius cleared his throat and leaned forwards, resting his elbows on the smooth table and steepling his fingers before him.

  ‘There must be another way,’ he said slowly, and Uriel was struck by yet another sense of déjà vu, remembering when Inquisitor Barzano had come to a similar decision.

  ‘Admiral Tiberius is correct,’ he said. ‘What is the point of us being summoned to this system to defend it when our first reaction to these aliens’ advance is to destroy everything in their path? You would have us stand victorious over a dead system.’

  ‘You do not see the larger picture, Captain Ventris,’ said Kryptman, emphasising the insignificance of his rank next to his own. ‘We are at war with forces too terrible to comprehend, and one must sometimes sacrifice the smaller battles to be victorious in the larger war.’

  ‘Listen to yourself,’ snapped Uriel. ‘You talk of sacrificing smaller battles. Do you not realise that you are talking about one of the Emperor’s worlds, still populated by millions of His subjects, His soldiers? I think that it is you who forgets the “larger war”.’

  ‘No, Captain Ventris,’ said Kryptman with finality. ‘I do not.’

  Uriel stood and slammed his fist on the table, splintering the wood. ‘Every time these aliens invade the Emperor’s realm we fall back. People like you claim we cannot fight them and we hear this so often we start to believe it. Well that stops now. I say we draw a line here and talk no more. This time, I say we stand and fight.’

  ‘Captain Ventris, you forget your place,’ said Chaplain Astador. ‘We are here to fight the tyranids and if the learned inquisitor believes that this is the best course, who are you to question him?’

  ‘I am a loyal servant of the Emperor and proud son of Roboute Guilliman. As I once thought you to be, and the fact that you even ask me that question shows me how wrong I was.’

  Astador’s face filled with thunder and the muscles along his jaw bunched in rage at Uriel’s insult.

  ‘While we are united in a common cause, I shall call you brother, but when this foe is defeated, there will be a reckoning between us,’ promised Astador.

  ‘I welcome it,’ said Uriel, returning to his seat. ‘You disgust me.’

  ‘Gentlemen,’ said Admiral de Corte. ‘This is hardly the time for such discussions. The fate of an Imperial world lies before us and it ill becomes us to fight among ourselves like orks.’

  ‘Thank you, Admiral de Corte,’ said Kryptman. ‘We waste valuable time in these discussions. The decision has already been made.’

  ‘Lord inquisitor,’ said Tiberius. ‘I may have an alternative solution that you might consider. As we passed the orbital refineries of Yulan, I recalled my Ravensburg.’

  Kryptman’s eyes narrowed, his interest piqued by Tiberius’s reference to the saviour of the Gothic sector, Lord Admiral Cornelius Ravensburg,

  ‘Go on…’

  And Tiberius went on to tell the story of the destruction of the Unforgivable and the actions of Commodore Kurtz during the defence of Delos IV. A buzz of excitement filled the room as Tiberius explained the actions he had set in motion upon passing Yulan and the potential it had.

  Even now, days later, Uriel could not believe the ease with which Kryptman had decided the fate of millions. To the inquisitor these were just numbers, but to Uriel they were living, breathing people – subjects of the God-Emperor and deserving of protection. He shook himself from his reverie, focussing on the present as the sacristy bell began ringing and Tiberius descended from his command pulpit to stand beside the plotting table.

  ‘All stop,’ he ordered. ‘Come to new heading zero-six-five.’.

  ‘All stop, aye,’ confirmed Philotas. ‘Altering heading now.’

  Uriel and Tiberius shared a nervous look as the image before them slid to the left. As their engines decreased power, only the momentum of the ship kept them moving forwards. Slowly, but surely, the vast hydrogen-plasma refinery shrank in the viewing bay and a palpable sense of relief spread throughout the bridge as the distance between the Vae Victus and the perilous colossus increased.

  As the refinery diminished, the hazy outline of an indistinct halo grew around its edges. At first, Uriel thought this was the corona of distant stars around the vast refinery, but as it drifted further away, he could see that it was actually the outer edges of the tyranid fleet’s vanguard.

  ‘Guilliman’s oath,’ breathed Uriel as the scale of the alien fleet became apparent. Truly they had engaged but a fraction around Barbarus Prime. The viewing bay was filled with specks of reflected light that could only be tyranid organisms and their sheer number defied counting. There seemed to be no end to the alien swarm and Uriel felt a stirring o
f unreasoning dread settle in his belly at the vastness of the tyranid fleet.

  Even the tyranid forces he had fought on I char IV could not compare to the size of this fleet and, for the briefest second, he wondered if Kryptman might not have been right. Could they ever prevail against such a huge horde?

  ‘Courage and honour,’ said Tiberius, seeing the effect the size of the tyranid fleet was having on his crew. ‘They are many, but we have seen they can die and we know they can be defeated. And more than this, we have faith in the Emperor. Trust in Him and the primarch and we will prevail.’

  ‘Arx Praetora squadron is coming into view,’ said Philotas. ‘Some damage to all ships, but nothing serious.’

  ‘Good. And the Dauntless cruisers?’

  ‘Yermetov holding position on our portside, Luxor is moving forward to cover our rapid strike cruisers.’

  ‘And the tyranids?’

  ‘Following close behind.’

  THE CREATURES INQUISITOR Kryptman had referred to as kraken drifted towards the gargantuan shape of the hydrogen-plasma refinery behind a protective screen of spores. As the spores drew near, they sped off on spurts of hot gasses towards the refinery, exploding and spraying its structure with chitinous shrapnel. But it was too vast to be more than scratched by such pinpricks.

  Detecting that the spores were having little effect, a number of kraken sped forwards, spraying the colossal vessel with foaming bio-plasma and lashing its upper pylons with razor-edged tentacles. They tore huge chunks of armaplas and steel from its structure, but as vicious as their attacks were, they could do little to damage it.

  More kraken surged past the refinery, speeding towards the vessels that escorted it, particularly the smaller darts of Arx Praetora squadron. Unbearably bright lances of powerful energy weapons stabbed from the prow weapons of the Luxor, slicing through a pair of kraken and the others scattered, abandoning their chase of the rapid strike cruisers in favour of this new, bigger prey. The Luxor heeled sideways as her engines fought to reverse her course and her bow swung smoothly around. More lance shots from the Yermetov raked the tyranid organisms as the Luxor made her turn until none remained close enough to threaten her.

  The cruisers powered away from the creatures attacking the refinery ship as swarms of tyranids flocked towards the massive vessel. They latched on wherever they could and bit, dissolved or exploded as their genetic purpose determined. Within minutes the entire vessel was obscured by a teeming mass of frenzied creatures, each desperate to destroy this threat to their hive.

  But such was the solidity of the refinery’s construction that none of the creatures could penetrate its hull and soon it had drifted deep within the mass of the swarm, and a single hive ship, itself more massive than the refinery altered its course to attack. City-sized gouts of acidic sprays lashed the side of the refinery, organic matter running molten alongside inorganic as the hive ship lashed the refinery.

  Giant feeder tentacles looped outwards from the hive ship’s gnarled carapace and latched onto the massive vessel, effortlessly dragging it towards a cavernous orifice in its body ringed with thousands of grinding teeth.

  URIEL AND TIBERUS marched to the end of the command nave and watched the massive hive ship begin to devour the vast refinery, now scarcely visible, its surface buried under a heaving mass of tyranid organisms. Tiberius paused to savour the moment before his next action.

  Uriel watched the tyranid organisms attacking the refinery and felt his lip curl in a sneer of contempt. Aliens were going to die and the thought pleased him. In his mind’s eye he could see the black spectre of death floating above the tyranid fleet and felt a surge of heady anticipation at the thought of the vast scale of destruction about to be unleashed. He felt the power that comes of knowing that another being lives only because you have chosen not to kill it yet, and the sensation surged like an electric charge around his body.

  His fists clenched. He could feel hot anger flooding his system and the desire to strike out at these aliens, his head filling with visions of bloody fields littered with tyranid beasts.

  Uriel tasted blood and realised he had bitten his own tongue, the sharp metallic taste bringing him back to the present with a jolt.

  Uriel’s hearts were beating a wild tattoo on his ribs and sweat beaded on his brow. He took a breath, feeling the purity of the incense-scented air ran like a cleansing breath through him.

  ‘Are you alright, Uriel?’ asked Tiberius, noticing the captain’s discomfort.

  ‘Yes,’ managed Uriel. ‘I am.’

  Tiberius nodded and returned his attention to the viewing bay.

  ‘You have a firing solution?’ he asked without turning.

  ‘Yes, lord admiral,’ said Philotas, unable to conceal the excitement in his voice.

  A respectful silence enveloped the bridge as Tiberius turned and marched back to his command pulpit, leaving Uriel to stand at the viewing bay. He mounted the steps and took his place at the head of the bridge.

  He placed both hands either side of the lectern and simply said, ‘Fire.’

  THE VAE VICTUS shuddered as her prow bombardment cannon unleashed a building-sized projectile from its flash-protected barrel. Travelling at phenomenal speed, it closed the distance between the Vae Victus and its target in less than a minute.

  The target point had been carefully selected: the weakest point of the refinery’s armour, where an explosion would cause the most damage to the internal plasma tanks. Packed with millions of tonnes of highly volatile hydrogen-plasma compound, the refinery vessel was now a gargantuan flying bomb. The shell from the bombardment cannon struck it

  amidships, punching through metres of thick reinforcement, a delayed fuse ensuring that it did not detonate until it was deep within the heart of its target.

  The shell exploded within the largest of the plasma tanks, instantly igniting the unstable compound and setting in motion a chain reaction like the one that had destroyed the third refinery in orbit around Yulan.

  As though sensing the danger, the hive ship released its grip on the refinery, but by then it was already too late. Millions of tonnes of flammable chemicals ignited and exploded like the birth of a new star. Every creature attacking the refinery was incinerated, the fireball expanding in a lethal wave front and engulfing countless other swarm creatures. Kraken, drones and spores were all burned to death in the initial fireball and thousands more suffered fatal concussive injuries from the massive blast front that followed the detonation.

  The hive ship had spent millennia traversing the void between galaxies and its hide was as thick as any starship’s armour, but even it was helpless in the face of so much ferocious energy. Its entire body vanished in the initial fireball, its remains blasted to atoms by the shockwave that followed in the wake of the fiery explosion.

  In a fraction of a second, a creature that had taken centuries of years to grow and evolve into its current form was obliterated and wiped from the galaxy as though it had never existed.

  FOR THE NINTH day in a row, the defenders of Tarsis Ultra collapsed in weary resignation. Learchus watched them, a fierce pride burning in his chest as he saw the last man drop to his haunches and remove his pack. He himself had not even broken a sweat, but his physique was such that he could have run for days before requiring any rest. He smiled as he wandered through the exhausted soldiers, aware of their angry stares and muttered curses.

  The men of each regiment were performing well and a shared sense of comradeship had flourished in them all. That it had come about through a shared hatred of him did not concern him, he knew it was a passing thing. While the enemy was still distant, soldiers needed a common target for their hate and their aggression. Learchus vividly remembered Chaplain Clausel at Agiselus and how much he had hated him during his training. Clausel was now a trusted friend and mentor and had brought great spiritual solace to the men of Fourth company in the dark times of its long, proud history.

  Major Satria staggered towards Learchus, his face r
ed and streaked with sweat.

  ‘Damn, but you’re working us hard,’ he gasped.

  ‘The tyranids will work you harder,’ said Learchus.

  ‘True,’ nodded Satria, bending over and resting his palms on his knees and sucking down great draughts of cool air. The major had lost weight and, since the training had begun, had shed the silver breastplate and peaked cap his rank entitled him to. His shoulder-length black hair was slicked with sweat and there was more of a swagger in his step now.

  Orderlies and volunteers from the citizenry of Erebus began circulating among the panting soldiers, distributing hot food and potable water from sloshing drams. Dehydration among the soldiers had become a serious problem, with many simply eating unmelted snow, which could contain disease and dangerously lower the body’s temperature.

  Learchus had also put a stop to the men’s rations of amasec, caffeine and bac-stics. All these vices made soldiers susceptible to dehydration and though it had almost caused a riot when first announced, Learchus knew that his decision was paying off as the number of reported dehydration injuries had dropped significantly.

  Cases of foot-rot had been widespread in the early days of training, with the thick, rubberised boots of many of the soldiers trapping the moisture of their sweat and causing necrotic fungal growths to fester. Soldiers from the Logres regiment had allowed the design of their standard issue footwear to be copied by the factories of Erebus and within days, each company of soldiers was issued with dozens of pairs of socks, anti-fungal powder and brand new boots that allowed the pores of their feet to breathe.

  Learchus had been impressed by the efficiency of Sebastien Montante, the Fabricator Marshal of Erebus. He had judged him an empty headed fool when they had first met. Though he was no soldier, the man’s talents for organisational logistics was second to none and virtually every request Learchus had made for supplies or equipment had been met within hours.

  Montante was proving to be a valuable ally, but the same could not be said for every member of the Council of Industry who helped govern Erebus. Only three days ago, Learchus had sat with the nine members of the council in the Chamber of the Mosaic, outlining his plans for the defence of the inner reaches of the valley. He remembered the shame of losing his temper at their foolishness. The foolishness of one member in particular.