by C Z Dunn
Ladbon looked upon each of the gurneys, at the look of absolute peace on the face of each dead Guardsman. Marita put her hand to her mouth, stifling a sob.
Ladbon put his arm around Marita’s shoulder guiding her out of the infirmary, following the rest of his squad, who were heading back onto the streets of Aurelianum, weapons raised.
For a moment, Ezekiel hung there, unable to react, his psychic reserves overdrawn. Then, just as gravity was about to reinforce its rule, servo-arms and mechadendrites gripped him around the waist and shoulders, plucking him from the air and pulling him roughly onto the battlements. As he landed on his feet, Serpicus and Diezen relinquished their grips, the Techmarine passing the Librarian a bolt pistol as he did so.
‘You can thank me later,’ Serpicus said, gruffly. ‘If we live that long.’
He raised his bolter, firing off a volley that took down the first of the orks to make it over the wall.
In perfect unison, half of the skitarii dropped to one knee and fired off a synchronised fusillade, their comrades behind them able to shoot over their heads. As they retreated backwards, they alternated, maintaining a wall of suppressing fire and holding the rapidly growing force of orks at bay. Diezen and the Dark Angels took out targets of opportunity, any of the larger greenskins or those carrying anything more potent than the average ork weapon. Reaching the top of the narrow staircase, the three Space Marines had to descend in single file, the weakened Ezekiel going first, followed by Balthasar, who was still struggling for mobility on his injured leg. The skitarii, smaller in stature than the Dark Angels, could make it down two abreast, which inhibited their capacity to lay down covering fire. The first of the orks reached the top of the steps only seconds after the last of the Mechanicus warriors, leaving scant yards between aggressor and defender.
What happened next, under normal circumstances, should never have happened. Had Ezekiel still possessed his powers of foresight, had he not been in a diminished state due to his psychic exertions, he might have been able to avoid the bullet, to raise a shield and deflect the shot.
Had the laughter of the daemon not still echoed in his mind.
The shot itself was innocuous – the final act of a dying ork, finger spasming and loosing off uncontrolled fire in all directions. One round struck Serpicus around his midriff, cracking open the crimson ceramite of his armour but leaving the flesh beneath unscathed. Another hit a skitarii square in the throat, the gaping wound spewing a mixture of blood and oil, slicking the stairs as the warrior fell forwards hard onto the near-white stone. The third shot hit the fortress wall and, by rights, should have embedded there – but, its trajectory a thing of coincidental perfection, instead it ricocheted.
And hit Ezekiel squarely in the left eye.
Morning had broken over Aurelianum but at street level it was impossible to tell.
Ork and Imperial flyers filled the skies, airbursts and explosions bathing the city in an orange glow. High above, fires raged where the turrets of the outer gates had been destroyed whereas those perched atop the inner citadel continuously fired their huge lascannons, the bright energy discharge causing a strobe effect that lent an unnerving edge to an already unreal situation.
Confident that the orks had not yet made it to the ground, Ladbon’s squad ran as fast as they could towards where one of the inner gates had been opened to allow the defenders access. With the xenos now within the city, none of them were even sure that would remain the case for much longer.
Ladbon and Marita trailed behind the rest of the group, the pregnant Honorian unable to maintain the same pace as the Guardsmen. The medic and the orderly bridged the gap between the two groups, the Vostroyan doctor occasionally glancing back to check that Marita was able to keep up.
With each step they took, the bestial roars from above grew louder and as they rounded a corner, human cries joined the xenos dirge. The orderly stopped abruptly up ahead, a body identifiable only by its blue Mordian tunic hitting the ground just in front of him and bursting open upon impact, spraying the pale stone with blood and viscera. A moment later it was the orderly’s own blood and viscera decorating the streets of the capital, the man too slow to avoid one of the dozens of bodies – many still alive – now being thrown down by the orks.
Still the roar grew closer.
Whispering encouragement into Marita’s ear, Ladbon picked up the pace.
Balthasar grabbed the Librarian by the robes and spun him over onto his back. A single, lifeless eye stared back at him, the other a bloody ruin. The first sergeant could not tell whether Ezekiel was still breathing, but it mattered not; he had to get him down to the inner citadel and into the care of Rephial.
Balthasar put his arms under the Librarian’s shoulders and lifted him, ready to drag him the rest of the way down the stairs. He looked up to find that Serpicus had grabbed Ezekiel’s feet.
‘Quicker if there are two of us,’ the Techmarine said. ‘Go!’
Behind them, the skitarii put up a spirited resistance but the flow of orks onto the stairs was now a torrent threatening to engulf them. Diezen, positioned between his Mechanicus fighters and the Space Marines, used every weapon at his disposal to hold back the greenskins, flames, las-fire and other unidentifiable weapons systems making short work of any xenos that got within range. But it was still not enough.
A trio of skitarii fell to a single blade, their twitching cybernetic corpses blocking the route down and causing the front ranks of orks to stumble, tripping the brutes immediately behind them. Had the circumstances not been so horrific, it would have been comical: a handful of oversized aliens desperately trying to regain their footing but slipping back down thanks to the blood and oil underfoot, those following growing impatient and throwing those causing the blockage from the wall. Regardless of the grim humour of the situation, it had bought the Dark Angels and Mechanicus valuable time.
‘Arch Magos Diezen,’ Serpicus called out. ‘You and your skitarii should brace yourselves.’ He pulled something from a compartment on his belt. The arch magos issued a coded command through the noosphere, his troops responding instantly by crouching and shielding their still-flesh parts with the bonded metal of their body.
Higher up, the steps gave way under the force of the explosion, those orks in the direct vicinity of the blast disappearing into nothingness, those further away finding the solid stone beneath their feet collapsing, sending them to the ground far faster than they had expected. Those who avoided instant death lingered warily at the precipice, unsure if the gap could be cleared by leaping across. The first orks to try proved it was impossible.
‘I had some explosives left over from the mission at the Annantine Gate,’ Serpicus said, lifting the Librarian again. ‘I rigged it on my way up here to slow the orks down. Didn’t think I’d be so close when I blew it though,’ he added, noticing the chunk of ork thigh bone embedded in his pauldron.
With the immediate threat from the orks quelled, they carried on downwards.
The vision hit Ladbon like a fist to the face, halting him in his tracks. His grip on Marita’s hand tightened.
‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘Get back!’ he shouted. ‘Doctor, you too!’ he called out to the medic, but his warning came too late.
One moment, the Vostroyan was sprinting along the narrow street, the next he was buried under a cascade of rubble and dead orks, just as Ladbon had foreseen.
‘Are you hurt?’ Kas called out over the wall of debris that separated him from his captain and Marita. It was stacked so high that even he could not see over it.
Ladbon turned to Marita, frantic concern in his eyes. She nodded and embraced him, tears of relief soaking through his dishevelled tunic.
‘We’re both fine,’ Ladbon replied.
‘Stay where you are. We’ll get this cleared,’ Allix said, projecting to be heard over the blockage and the encroaching sound
of the ork horde.
‘Even if you can move it, that’ll take too long,’ Ladbon said. ‘Get yourselves to the inner citadel. Marita and I will have to find another way around.’
‘None of us are going to leave you out here at the mercy of the orks,’ Allix said. ‘Besides, there isn’t any other way around.’
‘And I’m not prepared to have you throw your lives away when there’s nothing you can do to help us.’ Ladbon’s response was measured but authoritative. ‘You have command now, trooper, and you are to lead your men to safety. Understood?’
Allix said nothing.
‘Did I make myself clear, trooper?’
‘Crystal,’ Allix said coldly. ‘You heard the captain. He’ll find another way into the citadel and we’ll see him there. At least we’d better do or he’ll have me to answer to.’
‘Don’t let command go to your head, Allix,’ Ladbon shouted towards the footsteps he could hear heading off into the distance.
‘Don’t let the ability to see the future go to yours,’ Allix hollered back.
When Ladbon turned back to Marita she was staring at him hard, mouth agape.
‘I’ll tell you all about it later, promise,’ he said, grabbing her hand. ‘Come on. I think I know how we can get into the citadel.’
Chapter Nineteen
‘Where are we going?’ Marita asked, half running, half being dragged through the smoky streets by Ladbon. Her toe caught the lip of a flagstone and she stumbled forwards, only to be caught by the Vostroyan, who helped steady her.
‘There’s only one other way through, and that’s to go under,’ Ladbon said, resuming the pace. The noise of the ork throng grew louder, closer.
‘You’re not making any sense,’ Marita replied.
Ladbon noticed silhouettes against the white fortress wall and stifled his response, dropping into a crouch in a nearby doorway, coaxing Marita down with him. He put a finger over his lips.
From around the next corner loomed two massive ork specimens, larger than any Ladbon had previously encountered during his time on Honoria. The weapons they carried were of a better quality than those of the smaller greenskins, and they wore scraps of armour across their chests and shoulders, a mixture of looted Imperial Guard and Space Marine pieces.
They quickly moved past Ladbon and Marita’s bolthole, but the Vostroyan and the Honorian lingered there until they were certain the threat had passed.
‘We’re going to find an entrance to the city’s sewers and get through that way,’ Ladbon said, barely more than a whisper. ‘The orks are inside the walls now so we have to go carefully.’ Marita nodded and Ladbon gently lifted her back to her feet.
Naturally eager to reach safety, but conscious that they had to be alert for marauding greenskins, Ladbon led Marita more cautiously through the streets, stopping at each junction to ensure nothing was waiting in ambush. After several more minutes, they came to the junction of the dead-end street where Ladbon had remembered seeing a sewer access cover, and took refuge behind a large wheeled container used for storing the city’s waste. Ladbon was unfamiliar with xenos physiology but actually welcomed the putrid stench of rotting garbage in case the orks’ sense of smell was so well developed it could pick out their scent. So close to their goal, Ladbon hung back longer than usual, wanting to be certain that the final few metres were ork-free.
They rose from behind the bin together, Ladbon seeing the oncoming ork in a vision fractionally before Marita saw the beast with her own eyes.
She screamed, loudly.
The ork, a Vostroyan fur jammed tight onto its massive head, was momentarily taken aback giving the forewarned Ladbon the opportunity he needed. He raised his shotgun and let off a shot at point-blank range, straight into its eyes. The greenskin sank to its knees clutching its face. Ladbon swung the butt of his weapon and hit the thing so hard on the temple that his shotgun snapped in two. The ork went down and did not get back up.
Scrambling over to the sewer access hatch, he dropped to his knees and began to unscrew it, the heavy metal disc rotating agonisingly slowly. Marita joined him, speeding up the process, but the encounter with the ork had drawn attention to them, the grunts and calls of enemy warriors increasing in volume. With a last, supreme effort from both of them, the manhole cover came free.
And that’s when Ladbon had the last flash of foresight he would ever receive.
‘What’s the matter?’ Marita asked.
Ladbon snapped out of it, looked her straight in the eyes.
‘Nothing,’ he lied. ‘You go first. I’ll be right behind you.’
Marita entered the hole in the ground, scrambling down the ladder into the stinking darkness. As soon as she was clear of the manhole, Ladbon replaced the access cover.
‘What are you doing?’ Marita screamed from the other side, banging on the metal with her fists.
‘I’ve already seen what happens next if I go with you.’ He shuddered as he relived his vision, what the orks did to him, to Marita, to their unborn child.
‘Don’t be stupid, there’s still a chance to save both of us!’ Marita’s voice was muffled by the thick metal cover.
‘I am saving both of you,’ he replied, stifling his emotion. ‘Now go!’
The following pause seemed to last an eternity. ‘I’ll love you for always,’ Marita said through tears.
‘I’ll love you for longer,’ Ladbon said, his voice cracking.
The first of the orks rounded the corner, trapping Ladbon in the dead-end street. Relieved that he could hear Marita’s footsteps continuing down the ladder below, he cleared his vision, wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his filthy tunic. The ork roared, drawing a blade from the scabbard at its hip. Ladbon pulled out his combat blade.
‘Come on then, you green bastard,’ Ladbon shouted. ‘Let’s make this last as long as possible.’
Ladbon’s squad made it to the entrance to the inner citadel with only moments to spare, ancient mechanisms grinding to close the high double doors.
Kas was the last one through, glancing back over his shoulder as he slowed his pace, safe in the knowledge that he had reached sanctuary. ‘Hold the doors!’ he yelled.
Allix, seeing what the big Vostroyan had seen, echoed him. ‘Hold the doors! There are Dark Angels still out there.’
The Techmarine and the first sergeant were at the fore, dragging another Space Marine between them. Behind them came the arch magos and the skitarii, running backwards and shooting from the hip at the pursuing orks with no discernible drop in pace. The Guardsmen and Dark Angels closest to the door, Ladbon’s squad included, brought their firepower to bear, greenskins that were threatening to get too close dropping under a hail of fire.
The Dark Angels made it through first, not slowing once they were over the threshold.
‘Where is Apothecary Rephial?’ the Techmarine barked at one of the Dark Angels.
‘On the seventh level,’ the Space Marine replied without breaking off from shooting at the orks.
By the time the arch magos made it through, stooping so that the forces within could fire unimpeded, the Dark Angels were already at the foot of the staircase, a trail of fresh blood in their wake.
Agonisingly slowly, the doors swung shut, the last of the skitarii squeezing through the rapidly diminishing gap with a fraction of an inch to spare. At the very last moment, an ork hand gripping a huge, crude pistol poked through, squeezing off shots blindly until the doors met and severed it at the wrist.
Ladbon’s squad stood in a circle, each of them leaning forwards, hands on their thighs catching their breath. All eyes were on Allix.
‘The sewers,’ Allix said, inspiration hitting. ‘They must be coming through the sewers.’
The doors to the impromptu medicae facility burst open, Astra Militarum surgeons and orderlies looking up from their bloody work to see two Space M
arines dragging a third one with them.
‘Bring him over here,’ Rephial called out without looking up from the corner of the medical facility he had commandeered. ‘I’ll attend to him as soon as I’m finished with Brother Alkabel.’
‘With the greatest of respect to Brother Alkabel, I think the Brother Librarian’s need is far greater,’ said Balthasar.
Rephial turned away from the finger he was reattaching to Alkabel’s hand, the normally unflappable Apothecary’s features contorting with concern.
‘What happened?’ Rephial asked. Alkabel got down from the gurney he was sat on to allow Serpicus and Balthasar to place Ezekiel there.
‘Stray bullet,’ Serpicus said. ‘He’s lost the eye.’
‘He’ll lose more than that if I don’t stabilise him soon,’ Rephial said, examining the left side of the Librarian’s face, nothing more than an open wound. ‘Serpicus, help me remove his armour.’
The Techmarine obliged, swiftly removing the suit of Mark V power armour he had maintained for centuries.
‘I will leave Brother Ezekiel in your care, Rephial,’ Balthasar said. ‘We may have found temporary sanctuary behind these walls but there is still a war to wage.’
Rephial nodded, intently examining the Librarian’s head. Balthasar took his leave, stopping briefly to give the salute of the Lion to the comatose form of Company Master Zadakiel before calling out for somebody to bring him a vox-unit as he left the medicae.
‘Can you save him?’ Serpicus asked, momentarily diverting his attention from the power armour he was assessing for damage.
‘I don’t know,’ replied Rephial. ‘I really don’t know.’
Marita stumbled through the filth that came up to her knees, her vision impaired by the darkness of the sewer and the tears in her eyes. She did not know how long she had been down here – minutes? Hours? – her mind clouded by grief. Every so often, she would stop, a black wave of despair crashing over her, threatening to drag her under, but then she would wipe her eyes, put her hand to her belly and find the strength to carry on.