‘Well met, Maxillus,’ Courlanth said warmly, returning the salute before gripping Maxillus by the forearm and slapping him on the shoulder plate. ‘Ready your bolter well, brother, we aren’t out for a simple afternoon’s gaunt-hunting this time.’
Maxillus grinned appreciatively. ‘Don’t worry, brother, I’ll make sure to bring along enough shells for everyone this time.’
Maxillus and Courlanth had fought together before on the moons of Masali, an arid agri-world that formed part of the Realm of Ultramar. They had met as part of a Deathwatch kill-team hunting down the resurgent tyranid broods which could never seem to be fully expunged after the defeat of Hive Fleet Behemoth in the First Tyrannic War.
Courlanth had been on his first vigil with the Deathwatch and feeling acutely aware of the absence of the stalwart Chapter-Brothers of the Howling Griffons that he had fought alongside for decades. Maxillus had inspired his confidence by telling him that a simple afternoon’s gaunt-hunting was nothing to get anxious about. In the event, Maxillus’s confidence was proven ill-founded and Courlanth’s concerns had emerged as being warranted, but both had at least survived to share the tale.
Courlanth found Thucyid in another cage methodically slotting oversized bolt-rounds into the flexible belt feed of his cherished heavy bolter Iolanth. The heavy bolter stood over half as tall as a Space Marine, a huge slab of metal an ordinary man could scarcely lift, let alone fire, unaided.
As he took up each shell, the Imperial Fists veteran rubbed it with sanctified oils and whispered a prayer to Dorn and the Emperor to guide it straight and true. Thucyid looked up as Courlanth entered, his practiced hands still blessing and loading the bolt-rounds even as he gazed curiously at the Howling Griffons sergeant. Thucyid was scarred, with blond hair cropped to little more than stubble across his thick-boned skull. Five long-service studs gleamed on Thucyid’s brow, plentiful evidence if any were needed of his extensive experience and battle-craft. The Imperial Fist was the first to speak.
‘Why choose me, sergeant?’ Thucyid said mildly, his hands never stopping as they loaded shell after shell into the link-belt. ‘You were right to choose the wolf-pup, I think, his kind are bad at waiting for anything – most of all a fit chance for glory. I think that’s why they wind up getting killed chasing the unfit kind so often. But why choose me?’
‘Because when you chided Gottrand for his hasty words it was without real anger or challenge, and he subsided at once. The others were ready to fight him on the spot, but you just told him to know his place and he accepted it. I need that kind of stability – and quite possibly heavy firepower too.’
Thucyid still seemed puzzled. ‘I suppose you’re right – he did quiet down after that, can’t understand why myself.’
‘I’ve heard that among the Space Wolves, their veteran warriors wield heavy weapons much as you do, Thucyid, as they have the wisdom to know that winning battles requires fire support as well as the courage to rush into the midst of things. They’re called Long Fangs and hold high regard at the Wolves’ feasting tables.’
‘Ah, so you’re saying that you think Gottrand will listen to me because I’m old?’ Thucyid said with a twinkle in his eye. ‘Old and too slow with Iolanth to go rushing off anywhere.’
Courlanth grinned. ‘I’m sure Iolanth – or more accurately her many offspring – will close the distance for you quickly enough. What shells are you loading for her?’
‘Three-to-one mix of mass-reactive to Inferno in this belt, mass-reactive and metal storm in another, all Inferno in a third, Kraken penetrator rounds in a fourth. It’s hard to know what we’ll need so I’ve found it’s best to prepare for all eventualities.’
‘I ask your forgiveness for that lack of knowledge,’ the Tech-marine Felbaine said as he entered the cage bearing an ornate casket. ‘I did not anticipate that the watch captain would react by sending a kill-team without arranging further reconnaissance of the system first. I fear the confrontation among the brethren drove him into hasty action to seek resolution.’
‘Don’t underestimate Mordentodt’s foresight,’ Courlanth said reassuringly. ‘Further reconnaissance might have simply scared the pirates – or more likely their mysterious benefactors – away and left us with nothing. A single kill-team is enough to investigate and deal with the threat at the same time.’
‘Perhaps, perhaps not,’ insisted Felbaine. ‘I fear that if we are not strong enough we will only know it when it is too late and we have failed.’
‘Then we will be avenged,’ said Courlanth with finality.
Courlanth found Gottrand emerging from the forges. The Blood Claw had a sour look on his face as he ruefully contemplated his long-bladed chainsword.
‘What’s wrong now, Gottrand?’ Courlanth asked.
‘The Forgemaster here hasn’t even heard of kraken teeth. On Fenris the Iron Priests must learn to carve them before they can even dream of smelting iron.’
‘Significance continues to evade you. What exactly is the problem?’
‘This blade is Hjormir,’ Gottrand declared with pride and a little chagrin, brandishing the weapon with its sharp rows of contra-rotating teeth before Courlanth. ‘It has been borne by my Great Company since the days of Russ. The Great Wolf entrusted it to me when I began my vigil so that it might add some new stanzas to its saga.’
‘And so?’
‘I chipped three of Hjormir’s teeth in training, and now I find they cannot be replaced by the Forgemaster. Hjormir snarls and whines at me in complaint whenever he is woken, and I fear I will offend his spirit if I bear him into battle in such a state.’
‘Gottrand, if your chainsword has truly been fighting since the days of your primarch, its spirit has survived far worse calamities than a few chipped teeth. Hjormir will simply have to be remembered for fighting this battle wearing a gap-toothed smile.’
The command bridge of the Xenos Purgatio was a cold, cramped, angular space filled with low bulkheads, struts and stanchions that was designed for solidity more than comfort. The ship’s Lochos was a gaunt thrall wrapped in a cloak of trailing cables that connected his cranium directly to the ship’s primary systems. Ranged around the walls, dozens of niches held more thrall-servitors, each connected to their respective stations. The air was thick with machine-cant as the Lochos guided the kilometres-long vessel out of its docking berth in Zarabek’s lower reaches and set it on a course away from the citadel.
Sergeant Courlanth had assembled his kill-team to coordinate his plans with the Lochos of the Xenos Purgatio for the coming action. A strike cruiser was capable of carrying a whole company of a hundred Space Marines across the stars and delivering them into the heart of battle via Thunderhawk gunship, drop pod and teleportarium. It had enough firepower to defeat any vessel of its own size, and enough speed to outrun anything greater. The strike cruiser also carried Exterminatus-class weapons that could devastate a world from orbit and expunge all life from it if such were deemed necessary. This vast, world-destroying ship and its thousands of thrall crew members were now theoretically under Courlanth’s direct and absolute control, a somewhat dizzying prospect for a mere sergeant like him.
Fortunately, its Lochos – a servant of the Deathwatch permanently bonded to the machine-spirits of his vessel – had centuries of experience to draw upon. He would understand the capabilities and limitations of his ship far better than Courlanth could ever hope to. Unfortunately, the Lochos appeared fully engaged with getting the ship underway for the Teramus system. Courlanth feared to disturb the man-machine from his matriculations in case they ended up making a warp translation into a star, or something worse, thanks to his impatience.
‘Felbaine,’ the sergeant said at last. ‘What can you tell us about the Teramus system? How can we track down our quarry once we arrive?’
The Techmarine gestured to a holo-pit at the centre of the bridge. Skeins and jewels of light sketched an orrery
of a star system. ‘This is Teramus,’ Felbaine explained. ‘See here the old, red star at its centre? In some long age past it gradually expanded to its current size and most of the worlds in its orbit were torn apart. The rings of rocky debris you see were formed out of the bones of them.’
‘Does anyone live there at all?’ asked Thucyid. ‘Aside from heretics and pirates I mean – are there no outposts or astropath stations?’
‘There used to be mines in the asteroid belts,’ said Felbaine, ’but they were abandoned centuries ago. There’s really no reason for ships to go to Teramus at all. I confess I was surprised when the watch captain spoke of the Ordo Xenos demanding immediate action over the affair.’
‘If I may interject, my lords?’ The Lochos’s voice was a parchment-thin whisper issuing from speaker-grilles all over the bridge. The lips of his cable-cloaked body standing at the command console did not move. ‘Our course is laid in, a task easily done because Teramus is within what you might call a calm channel through warp space. To either side of it lie areas of more tumultuous flux, so a course through Teramus is frequently used. On the passage between Dhumres and Vertus Magna, most Navigators need to translate into the real at Teramus in order to check their bearings or they risk straying into the aforementioned tumult and becoming lost.’
‘I understand your meaning, Lochos,’ said Courlanth. ‘While Teramus itself is of no consequence, it lies on a route of importance.’
‘Dhumres and Vertus Magna support a combined population of over ninety billion souls,’ Felbaine added. ‘Any disruption to their trade and shipping will cause immense privation and eventually disorder.’
‘That must be what these eldar are really after,’ said Maxillus. ‘In Ultramar they are known for being ever-full of trickery and misdirection.’
‘We’ll make sure we catch some live ones so we can ask them,’ joked Gottrand.
‘Not if they hear of our arrival. They’ll disappear into their rat holes at the first sign of trouble,’ said Thucyid.
‘It’s a fair point,’ granted Courlanth. ‘Lochos, will you be able to keep the ship undetected when we arrive?’
‘Impossible to determine given the unknown capabilities of the enemy,’ whispered the Lochos, ‘but our translation in-system will be far from the usual arrival points, and I will refrain from using active sensor sweeps to avoid advertising our presence. By using limited manoeuvring thrusts I will keep us undetectable against the background radiation of the star, save by direct observation.’
‘Good. And what about locating their base?’
‘Again, impossible to determine at this time. Once in the Teramus system it is likely that there will be emissions too weak to register from a Watch Station that will become readily apparent from closer proximity.’
‘Very well. We may need to act to draw them out if that doesn’t work, but I’m loath to tip our hand if we don’t have to. Surprise will be key to victory.’
‘I have a question to ask of the Lochos with your permission, sergeant,’ said Felbaine. Courlanth nodded curtly in response, wondering what was troubling the Techmarine now.
‘Lochos, Watch Captain Mordentodt said that the Imperial Navy was too weak to act, and yet I see recent Navy reports appended to the holo-display of the Teramus system – what can you tell us about those?’
‘Three Imperial Navy patrols have been routed through the Teramus system to search for pirates in the past five years,’ the Lochos said tonelessly. ‘Two found no sign of pirates, the third and most recent failed to report back and is listed as missing presumed lost. Further operations have been suspended until capital ships can be found to reinforce the effort.’
‘Then we definitely need the element of surprise,’ Courlanth said grimly. ‘I will pray that you tread lightly enough to evade detection, Lochos.’
‘Have no fear, my lords,’ the Lochos replied, ‘no effort will be spared to bring you to battle in the manner of your choosing. For now, however, it may be wisest to retire to your Reclusiam while warp translation is achieved. I ask you not to wander the ship; you will find most sections sealed off or hazardous while in flight.’
The Xenos Purgatio slid through the churning rock rings of Teramus on minimum power, no more than a sensor-shadow among the hurtling drift of asteroids. No burst of comm-chatter had met its arrival, despite the ship straining every receptor to listen for it. Either the arrival of the Deathwatch strike cruiser had gone unmarked or their enemies were preternaturally well-disciplined. The other possibility, Courlanth silently reflected, was that they had been expected and were blithely drifting into a trap.
The bridge of the strike cruiser was once again alive with quiet machine-cant and drifting clouds of sickly sweet incense from auto-thuribles. Ranks of monotask servitors had already been sifting the available data for hours as they tried to locate a veritable needle in a haystack. Without recourse to active sensor sweeps, they must perforce look for tell-tale emissions that stood out from the natural cacophony of background radiation. Meanwhile, there was little for Courlanth and his kill-team to do but watch and wait while the man-machines ferreted out their target.
In deference to his passengers, the Lochos had configured the holo-pit to project a view of the outside world. Even with this aid the kill-team could see nothing but rolling rocks the size of mountains all around them, jagged-looking and ruddy in the backwash of Teramus’s star. After several hours of this unchanging landscape, Gottrand was becoming increasingly restless. Courlanth was beginning to regret his decision to convene the kill-team so early. The hunt could take days rather than hours.
‘I still say we issue a challenge,’ the Blood Claw declared for the hundredth time, ‘and board the first ship they send out. We take a prisoner and make them tell us where their lair can be found.’
‘A direct challenge from a Space Marine strike cruiser will only send them running, xenos weaponry or not,’ Thucyid said, ‘but a faked distress call might produce the desired result.’
‘It’s simply too risky,’ Courlanth declared. ‘We have to find their nest before we act or we risk losing our chance to act at all. Our best and probably our only chance to discover the xenos connection will be to infiltrate the interior of their base and strike from within. If we are discovered before that, we have failed before we have even begun.’
‘Courlanth is right,’ Maxillus said loyally. ‘The pirates are alien-tainted scum that need to die too, but the important thing is to find the xenos themselves. If there is a connection here then their corruption may have spread to other worlds too. It’s our duty to root out every last vestige of it.’
Gottrand muttered something and turned away, pacing the deck-plates like a caged wolf. Thucyid looked to Courlanth and shrugged, appearing little troubled by the delay. The Imperial Fists were legendary besiegers who knew the value of patience.
‘Contact detected,’ the Lochos announced. ‘A high albedo anomaly, probably the remains of a shipwreck.’
The holo-view swung around to show an apparently entirely identical selection of tumbling rocks. In the shadows of one asteroid Courlanth could pick out a tell-tale glitter of metal.
‘Lochos, take us closer,’ the sergeant said. ‘As quietly as you can.’
Courlanth felt the gravity fluctuate slightly as the strike cruiser changed course, its giga-tonnage of mass shivering as it manoeuvred on limited power. As his view steadied he saw more gleams coming into sight on the holo-view. There were more wrecks drifting in this sector of Teramus’s asteroid belts, a lot more.
‘The sheer brazenness of them,’ Thucyid muttered in disbelief. ‘There must be a hundred wrecks out there. How could the Navy have missed this?’
‘The last patrol didn’t, and it’s probably out there adrift with the rest of them now,’ Courlanth replied. ‘Lochos, can you gain any notion of the age of these wrecks or how long ago they were taken?’
‘Yes, my lord. Plasma core remnants detectable on most of the vessels give an approximation of age through their heat signature degradation. The vast majority of the visible ships were destroyed within the last year, while the oldest wreck is more than a century old.’
‘The xenos weaponry has tipped the balance and now the pirates are running wild like a pack of rabid dogs,’ Courlanth said grimly. ‘With any other predator I would expect to find the freshest carcasses close to the lair. Is it so, Lochos?’
‘Allowing for drift there is an apparent nexus of activity,’ the Lochos whispered. ‘I will indicate it on the holo-view.’
Cross-hairs sprang into place within the holo-view, indicating an island-sized asteroid that at first glance appeared little different from its fellows. Deep cracks were visible in its surface, wide enough and long enough to swallow the Xenos Purgatio whole.
‘Trace emissions indicate power sources and atmosphere present in some areas of the asteroid. Dispersed ion trails indicate vessels travel to and from it with some frequency. I could find out more through active scans or a closer approach, but either action would substantially increase the chances of our detection.’
‘Then ready a Thunderhawk for immediate launch and it can take us quietly in for a closer look.’
‘Landing a Thunderhawk gunship on the asteroid will create unavoidable emissions that will almost certainly be detected,’ the Lochos warned. Gottrand brightened visibly at the prospect.
‘Then we simply won’t land the Thunderhawk,’ Courlanth countered. ‘We’ll land without it.’
Courlanth sat in the hold of the Thunderhawk with his kill-team, each of them fully occupied with making final checks of their armour and weaponry in preparation for combat. Theoretically, up to thirty armoured Space Marines could have been carried within that long, narrow space but it seemed crowded holding just the five members of the kill-team. Prayers were murmured and catechisms recited over the thick carapace of ceramite and plasteel that protected their bodies. Their weapons were anointed with sacred oils and given abjurations to the ferocity of their spirits.
Hammer and Bolter Presents: Xenos Hunters Page 30