by George Mann
‘They have,’ said Ariseth, with a reluctant sigh. ‘If you’ll return to the surface, it’s best if I show you.’
12.16 HRS
In the distance he could make out a series of dark shapes, jutting out of the tundra like black spurs.
‘Venting towers,’ said Ariseth, trembling with the cold, despite the thick layers of fur that rendered him almost unidentifiable.
Daed peered more closely at the distant structures, and could just make out faint trails of steam billowing from the crests of the towers. ‘Siphoning off the excess heat from the thermal hives?’
‘Yes. They form a chain over three hundred kilometres long, puncturing the ice at regular intervals,’ replied Ariseth.
‘Highly defensible,’ mused Daed, scanning the horizons. The towering shapes loomed away into the distance.
‘I’m afraid the orks have already established that,’ said Ariseth, reluctantly. ‘They’re using the towers as staging posts, defending them like watchtowers or bastions. That one,’ he pointed with a gloved hand to one of the towers immediately opposite them, around thirty kilometres distant, ‘is their command post. That’s where their warlord has established his base.’
‘Then that should be our target,’ said Daed, bristling. His hand closed unconsciously on the haft of his axe.
‘There are hundreds of the beasts between us and that tower, captain, if not more. We don’t have the men or the artillery to take it.’
Daed grinned. ‘We have the will of the Emperor. That will be enough.’
‘I hope so, captain. For all our sakes,’ said Ariseth, although it was clear from his tone that he thought it would not.
‘Do you know what the greenskins call their warlord?’ asked Daed.
‘I believe it is known amongst its kin as Grakka,’ came the response.
Daed’s grip tightened on the haft of his axe.
‘Grakka?’ he echoed. He felt the beating of his hearts quicken, the surge of unwanted memories from Praxis, of lying face down in the mud, his spine damaged, the flesh and muscle of his back carved into ribbons by the beast’s blade. And of the yellow-tusked, black-eyed face of the creature looming over him, its rancid breath foul and warm on his face.
‘Yes, sir,’ said Ariseth. ‘Have you heard the name before?’
‘I have,’ growled Daed, quietly. ‘I have.’
15.27 HRS
‘The towers are enormous vents,’ said Daed, ‘slowly siphoning off the excess heat from the underground hives.’
‘And the greenskins are using them as defensive positions?’ asked Aramus.
‘Indeed. One of them represents their command post. That’s where Grakka is skulking,’ said Daed, gritting his teeth. Even now he could visualise the moment when he might see that greenskin’s face again, how he might cleave its head from its shoulders with a sweep of his axe. The five of them – his veteran squad – stood outside on the ice in the waning light, surveying the horizon.
‘You wish to mount a head-on attack on this command post?’ said Caedus, incredulous. ‘Even for you, captain, that’s an audacious move.’
‘I see no other way,’ said Daed resolutely. ‘According to the data provided by Lieutenant Ariseth, the greenskins outnumber us fifty to one. The Guard are half frozen and will be of no use to us on the open field of battle. Even with the Dreadnoughts and the Land Raiders we are badly outnumbered, and the greenskins have had months to learn the lay of the land and mount their defences. We would not be well served by meeting them on the tundra, as hungry as my axe is to cleave their brutish skulls.’
‘But surely, captain, we risk as much by mounting an assault on their stronghold?’ said Throle. ‘The command position will be heavily defended, and it will prove difficult to lay siege to such an edifice when there are thousands of greenskins between us and the base of the tower.’
‘An aerial assault. Ariseth argues that the xenos believe the venting towers to be a series of abandoned bastions. They are not aware of the true function of the structures. A well-placed attack could collapse the vents, causing the pressure to build up very quickly,’ said Daed, glancing at Theseon, who was standing to one side of the small group, staring out across the icy plain.
‘And the ensuing explosion would topple the tower, killing all of the greenskins within,’ concluded Caedus. ‘It might work.’
Daed nodded. ‘More than that, the build up of pressure could cause a chain reaction, causing the neighbouring towers to blow in concert, taking out the entire xenos force.’
‘It’s too dangerous,’ said Aramus. ‘We’ve little chance of being able to strike with such accuracy, particularly if we are harried by the enemy as we close in. We know they have surface-to-air capabilities at the very least.’
‘It’s our only option,’ replied Daed, as if that were the end of the matter.
‘What of the enemy’s ability to predict the movements of the Guard? Do they have a spy amongst the humans?’ said Caedus.
Daed shook his head. ‘Mere superstition. There is nothing to it. It is simply that Grakka understands the strategies of the Imperial Guard, as he has encountered them so many times before. These humans rely solely on their training. They cannot flex. They have forgotten how to surprise the enemy.’
‘Forgive me, captain, but we are all aware of what happened on Praxis. I cannot blame you for seeking to have your revenge upon the beast that bested you there – indeed, I would gladly join you in such a quest – but can you be sure that you are not allowing the matter to colour your judgement?’ Throle looked to the others for support. ‘I fear Aramus is correct. Our chances of victory are slim.’
Daed fixed Throle with a firm stare. ‘I will take those odds, Throle, and we will do our duty. Grakka has burned entire worlds – Imperial worlds – and we do the Emperor’s bidding when we set out to destroy him. We do this to avenge the dead, and to prevent the spread of his foul greenskins any further. My experience of Grakka has taught me one thing: that he must be stopped. If I seek vengeance, it is for the many who have tasted his axe and not survived, as well as for myself. For our fallen brothers.’
Throle nodded. ‘As you command, captain.’
‘For Tauron!’ bellowed Caedus.
‘For Tauron!’ echoed the others, save for Theseon, who remained silent, studying Daed from afar.
17.32 HRS
‘You are distracted, Theseon. Something troubles you.’
Theseon raised his head to look up at Daed, who towered over him, resplendent in his bronze armour, power axe clutched tightly in his fist, the pelt of a black Tauronic lion draped over his shoulders.
‘I am tired, captain. I sense… another mind. A confused mind. It is watchful. It saps my strength.’
‘Another psyker?’ asked Daed, his voice low.
Theseon nodded. ‘A xenos.’
‘The truth of the matter becomes clear to me, Theseon. If Grakka is aided by a psyker, then it explains how he has so far been able to predict the movements of the Guard. We must strike soon, before he has chance to gather his forces in preparation for our attack.’
‘I advise caution, captain. You must not allow your judgement to become clouded by thoughts of personal vendetta,’ said Theseon. ‘We are not here simply to settle a score, but to liberate an Imperial world.’
‘I know that, Librarian,’ spat Daed, turning to glance at Throle, who had entered the small underground chamber while Theseon had been talking.
‘Theseon speaks sense, captain. If the greenskins are able to anticipate our strategies, then we might look to uncover new ways to surprise them. Perhaps the assault on the venting tower has already been compromised.’
‘No,’ said Daed. ‘The attack must go ahead as planned. It is our best chance to neutralise the threat. If we can take out their command post, we might yet ignite a chain reaction that will envelop the
ir entire force. I see no alternative.’
‘But captain–’ began Throle.
‘The captain is right, Throle,’ interrupted Theseon. ‘The assault on the tower must go ahead as planned.’
‘And the psyker?’ asked Throle, clearly restraining himself.
‘I shall see to the psyker,’ said Theseon.
‘Very well,’ said Daed. ‘I shall instruct the others to prepare for the attack.’ He turned and strode from the room, ducking his head beneath the low lintel.
Theseon turned to Throle, holding up a hand until the sound of the captain’s footsteps had died away down the passage. ‘Here is what we must do…’ he said, quietly.
19.46 HRS
The tension in the repaired Thunderhawk was palpable as it roared above the ice-shrouded ruins. The five Brazen Minotaurs sat in silence, lashed to their webbing. The Thunderhawk was flanked by two Storm Eagles and a battery of Stormtalons, which would work to draw fire away from the command ship as they approached the venting tower, engaging the greenskins whilst Daed set about taking out the vents themselves.
They had left the ground vehicles and a second Thunderhawk posted to the ramshackle base of the Guardsmen. If the mission was successful, they would be needed to help mop up any remaining xenos; if the mission failed… Well, they would be needed to protect the remaining humans from the tide of alien beasts that would soon follow. Daed was aware of the risks.
‘Five kilometres and counting,’ said Caedus from the pilot’s pit. ‘And here comes the first response.’
The Thunderhawk took a sudden evasive manoeuvre, dipping low to avoid artillery fire from below. The orks, it seemed, were ready for them.
‘Return fire,’ ordered Daed, and Throle set the battlecannons ablaze, churning up the ice in long furrows ahead of them. Through the viewing port, Daed could see the Storm Eagles doing the same, unleashing a barrage on the massed ranks of orks far below.
Daed consulted his auspex. ‘Something is wrong. The orks are pulling back. They have amassed around the command tower.’
He was interrupted by the bark of heavy surface-to-air fire and the sound of a nearby Stormtalon detonating. Caedus banked sharply, and then levelled again, attempting to avoid becoming the weapon’s next target.
‘Librarian!’ Daed growled. ‘You said you would see to the alien psyker. But now this,’ he turned the display of his auspex to present the screen to Theseon, who sat opposite him, silently regarding his captain. ‘The xenos are aware of our attack. They have formed a defensive perimeter around the tower. There must be thousands of them…’ He trailed off, accusation in his tone.
‘Two kilometres,’ came the report from Caedus.
‘We’ll never get through such a barrier,’ said Daed, angrily. ‘We’ll have to turn back, remount our attack.’
‘Now, Caedus!’ called Theseon, and in response the Thunderhawk dipped and turned sharply to the left. Daed, glancing out of the viewing port, saw that the other vessels were following suit, pulling away from the target.
‘What in the name of the Emperor?’
‘Trust me, captain,’ said Theseon. ‘This is how I will see to the psyker.’
The chatter of the ork weapons stuttered and died as the Thunderhawk shot away at speed. ‘I do not know what game you are playing, Librarian, but I expect answers,’ said Daed, a warning note in his voice.
‘Everything will become clear in a moment, captain,’ replied Theseon, distracted, as he leaned forward, straining in his webbing in order to see out of the forward viewing ports. ‘There!’ he said, triumphantly. ‘The second tower. That is our target, Throle. Collapse those vents.’
The battlecannons burst to life once again, chewing holes in the plasteel flank of the tower as Caedus brought the Thunderhawk around in a wide arc. Daed watched as the venting shafts shattered and collapsed in upon themselves in a cloud of steam, dust and debris.
The Thunderhawk banked again, pulling up higher and away from the tower.
‘It should take only a few moments…’ said Theseon.
The first sign of the coming eruption came in the form of a deep rumble that grew slowly until it reached fever pitch. As Daed watched, the ice around the tower began to fracture, opening large rents in the bedrock beneath. Steam hissed from the tectonic wounds, gushing forth as the pressure attempted to find a way out and was instead forced along through the underground channels of the old thermal hive, once inhabited by humans, and now the domain of the orks.
Caedus followed the fracturing landmass as it raced across the landscape, tracking it towards the gathered mob of unsuspecting xenos. By now the Thunderhawk was too high to be able to see clearly how the greenskins were reacting, but Daed knew they would be attempting to scatter.
And then, the mounting pressure finally found its outlet – the second venting tower. The command post of the ork warlord, Grakka.
The tower detonated in a blossom of steam and light, erupting like a thunderclap. Debris billowed into the air as the very ground around the orks began to subside, the foundations of the tower collapsing, dragging the gathered xenos down into the depths of the fractured hive, cooking them alive in the gushing steam or crushing them beneath the shattered bedrock.
‘It is done,’ said Theseon, as the Thunderhawk swept over the ruins of the ork invasion force. ‘Return us to the base, Caedus.’
Daed stared angrily out of the viewing port as the Thunderhawk came about, offering him his last view of the ruination they had caused below.
21.06 HRS
Almost as soon as they disembarked from the Thunderhawk, Daed turned on Theseon. ‘You disobeyed a direct order,’ he barked. ‘Explain yourself, Librarian.’
Theseon nodded calmly, and laid a hand upon the captain’s pauldron. ‘Your plan was sound, captain. I knew that destroying the venting tower would work, and the chain reaction was likely. Yet the greenskin psyker… Your anger was like a beacon to him, drawing him in. Your mind was open to him. Grakka knew you were here, and that you would come for him. His forces massed in defence around his command post as a consequence, waiting for our attack.’
‘It was your duty to tell me,’ said Daed. His hands were bunched into fists as he attempted to contain his anger.
Theseon shook his head. ‘It was imperative that I did not. Doing so would have telegraphed our intentions to the enemy. You had to continue to believe that our goal was the command tower. It was the only way for the misdirection to work. We drew them away from the second tower, safe in the knowledge that the eruption caused by our attack would be enough to destroy the command post too.’
‘I do not approve of your subterfuge,’ said Daed, levelly. ‘Although I grant you, Theseon – your audacity matches only my own. The beast is dead, and Karos is liberated.’
‘And old scars are finally healed,’ said Theseon.
Daed was silent for a moment. ‘You did what was necessary, in the name of the Emperor. We shall speak no more of the matter.’
Theseon nodded. ‘I see the ground troops are already deployed, mopping up the last of the enemy. Will you join them?’
Daed grinned. ‘My axe hungers for xenos blood,’ he said.
‘Then lend them your strength, captain,’ said Theseon. ‘When you return from the field of battle, we must speak. There is a storm gathering in the Sargassion Reach, close to this system. Traitors mass.’
‘Very well,’ said Daed, gravely. ‘It seems there may yet be even older scores to settle.’
‘Indeed,’ replied Theseon, but Daed had already turned away, hefting his axe high above his head.
‘For Tauron!’ called Theseon.
‘For Tauron!’ echoed Daed, disappearing into the maelstrom of churned ice and fog.
Theseon looked to the skies: a clear, dark blanket, peppered with scattered diamonds. ‘Soon, Gideous Krall. Soon I shall come for yo
u.’
DAED
The planet was dead.
A rotten husk, suffocated beneath a blanket of thick, pestilent fog, Kasharat had always been a place of death – a mortuary world, bristling with the stele of glorious tombs, overgrown with forests of monumental spires and statuary. Here there was nothing but tributes to the long-dead heroes of old, the forgotten soldiers of millennia past. Yet now, even the curators of this hallowed place were dead or diseased, overcome and conquered.
If there was any indigenous life left upon this blighted world, it was now only carrion, picking over the remains of what had gone before, revelling in the reek of death and despair. Kasharat had been lost, just as its sister planets in the Sargassion Reach had been lost, swept away in a tide of blood, plague and suffering. Here on Kasharat the Imperium had buckled. Here there was only death.
Yet amongst the marble tombs of this vast necropolis, things were stirring – things that had once resembled human beings, but were now barely recognisable as such. Things so depraved, deformed and pox-ridden that they were reduced to scuttling through the shattered ruins like animals, running errands for their foul masters. These were the pitiful wretches who had given over their lives to the Sickening. These were the disciples of Nurgle.
Amongst these former men walked the grotesque giants of the warband Empyrion’s Blight, Space Marines of the heretical Death Guard Legion, traitors to the Emperor’s cause; monsters – Captain Daed considered – who deserved nothing as forgiving as simple death.
These foul warriors of Chaos – polluted not only by the stink of treachery but also by the stench of unnatural sickness – had prosecuted a brief and terrible campaign throughout the Sargassion Reach. Seven Imperial worlds had been obliterated, the populations poisoned and the very soil blighted beneath the boots of their oppressors. Even now, war still raged across the surface of three of these planets, although Daed knew that without reinforcements, without some way to alter the course of the war, the Imperial cause was all but lost. The Plague Marines were legion, and they, in contrast, were few.