by David Annandale, Justin D Hill, Toby Frost, Braden Campbell (epub)
‘Free us from what, greatcoat?’
‘I can free you from fear.’ He paused, and let his words sink in. ‘Your struggle here is part of a larger conflict. Great forces are moving. War is coming.’
‘War is always here!’ the other man laughed.
‘This is war on a scale that we have never seen,’ Creed said. ‘What do you know of Luciver Anckor? He is a heretic. An enemy of the Imperium of Mankind. He is the man who had this done to your brother. His forces are on this planet. They are desperate and broken and I need your help to finish them. My ship is in orbit. If I can communicate with it, I can call my men down.’
‘How can you call them? The only comms on the planet are at the Governor’s residence.’
‘Then we take it.’
The man snorted derisively. ‘And what do we get from helping you?’
‘When the battle is done I will take you with me. From this planet.’
‘For what? To die as penal troopers?’
Creed smiled. ‘We all die,’ he said. ‘But when you do, at least the Golden Throne will shine on you. You will die knowing that the Emperor has forgiven you.’
The man looked at him. His stare was long and hard. ‘Keep your forgiveness. I want only revenge.’ He walked forward and saluted. ‘I am Major Darr Vel.’
Governor Kasky closed the door to her chambers. She was starting to panic.
‘We have to get out of here,’ she said. Her men nodded. She was right, but none of them wanted to go and none of them wanted to stay.
At that moment the complex shook. The lights flickered and went out, and klaxons began to wail as the secondary generatorium kick-started. ‘Environmental breach,’ a voice announced. ‘Environmental breach.’
‘Throne!’ she hissed as the door flew from the hinges.
Sergeant Kell shot the two men on either side of Governor Kasky, grabbed her and put the gun to her head. ‘Don’t you dare blaspheme,’ he hissed. ‘Where is he?’
‘Who?’
‘General Creed. You have him. I want him back.’
He had her held tight. ‘He’s dead,’ she hissed. She spoke quickly. ‘I tried to warn you all, but you wouldn’t listen. My men found his body and brought it back. They were attacked by escaped convicts.’
‘Show me!’
Two guards brought a black body bag forward and untied the fastenings. Kell kept his pistol trained on the governor. He looked down for a moment.
‘That’s not him–’ he started, and Kasky turned out of his grasp.
As she twisted free, a giant roared into the room. It was clad in red power armour and the symbol on its shoulder was a black claw. Small horns protruded from its forehead, and its eyes were red flames, its smile a gruesome line of needle sharp teeth. At the Chaos Space Marine’s belt hung five heads, one of them dripping thick blood down his left leg. In his left hand he carried a giant bolter that tracked about the room. Kell started moving. The bolter bucked one, two, three times and with each one a prison guard jumped and danced as the bolt rounds exploded within him, spraying the room with gore.
‘Down!’ Kell shouted.
Odwin was too slow. A bolt round hit him square in the chest and punched him from his feet. A second later his chest exploded. Kell was already throwing himself behind Kasky’s desk. The bolter rounds followed them across the floor, tearing gaping holes into the desk panels. One bolter round went straight through the desk and Drusus alike.
Kell tried to activate his power fist, but the battery was dead again, and the power field fizzled uselessly. ‘Frekk,’ he muttered and fired wildly over the top of the desk as Agemmon lobbed a grenade.
There was a deafening thud. Agemmon kicked a ventilation grate in the wall free. ‘Go!’ Kell hissed as the Space Marine thudded closer. It leered down at him as he pushed Agemmon through the hole and jumped after him.
The roar of bolter shells followed him as he twisted down and round, fell over and over, then suddenly there was open air and he was flying through it. He landed on top of Agemmon, who grunted. It was pitch black. Whatever room they had fallen into had the feel of a wide open space. In the distance he could hear the hum of a generator turning over quietly. The note changed, as if the thing had sensed them. Kell’s skin suddenly prickled. A shape began to form in the darkness.
‘Sarge…’ said Agemmon warily.
Kell looked up and as his eyes accustomed themselves to the darkness he started to make out a vast metallic shadow rearing over them. Agemmon’s hand clutched at his sleeve.
‘What in the name of the Golden Throne is that?’
‘We have what we steal,’ Sergeant Leder said as he threw back the tarpaulin. ‘It’s not much.’
Creed inspected their cache of weapons. They had a few autoguns, carbines, an antique las-lock and an assortment of knives, clubs and fire-hardened spears. Leder handed the weapons out. One between two. That was all they had. The last man lifted a battered old lasgun from the pile and held it up.
‘Not bad. Mars pattern,’ he declared, then checked the ammo pack. ‘Thirty shots left.’ It would have to do.
‘Make them count,’ Creed told him and turned to Leder. The scouts had come back from the hangars. ‘Any word of my men?’
‘Yes. But there was a strange tale to tell. The prison guards were dead. All dead, and seven of your men. The Chimera you spoke of was gone. The scouts who are watching the compound say it was abandoned a few kilometres north of the Kasky Compound.’
‘No sign of any survivors?’
Leder shook his head.
Creed nodded and tried to make sense of it all. He put his hand on Leder’s shoulder and spoke confidentially. ‘Sergeant Leder. Your men took my pistols when I came into your company.’
Leder lifted his coat. In his belt were two pistols. ‘Which do you want?’
‘Both.’
‘Both?’
‘Yes,’ Creed said.
‘You need two when men are lacking?’
‘I need them both,’ Creed repeated. There was a moment’s pause. ‘They are my weapons. They have value to me.’
Leder pulled out the more ornate of the two, a fine piece, designed for an officer, with brass fittings to the handle and an aquila on the barrel.
‘And the other,’ Creed said.
The other was an old Mars-pattern model, battered and scratched. A faded serial number was stencilled in small white letters across one side. ‘This one?’ Leder said.
‘Yes. That one.’ Creed did not wait but took it from his hand. ‘I’ve had it a very long time,’ he said as he checked the grip and the battery pack, and that the barrel was clear, and then thrust it back into his right holster. ‘And it has saved my life more times than I can remember. Today it might save yours.’ He turned to the men. ‘All ready?’
They were ready. He could see it in their eyes.
‘Leder, will you lead us on the right path. Remember, men,’ Creed said as they filed out of the ice cave, ‘the Emperor is watching.’
They climbed for two hours through the scattered pine forests, picking their way as the sun slowly lifted from the horizon and grew bright enough to cast long shadows over the snow. At one point Leder put his hands up and stopped. Creed was at his shoulder. ‘Something ahead,’ he said. He crouched down and seemed to sniff the air. ‘I will go forward and see.’
Creed took out his battered old pistol just in case, but a few minutes later Leder came back with Darr Vel.
The one-eyed warrior had lost none of his anger. ‘I have brought as many men as I could. You have seen those in the hangars. They all wanted to come, but they are too weak. They would have died of exposure. I brought only the strongest. There are a hundred of them. They have called themselves the Lost Hopers, though you have given them hope. They have no weapons, but their hands. No fear, but of failure. No cause,
but yours.’
Creed squatted in the snow with Darr Vel and Leder as he planned the attack. They did not have the troops, the intelligence or the equipment he needed. They did not have time to lose. It felt good putting plans together.
‘They are few and we are many,’ he told the huddled men. They nodded. ‘Have faith in the Emperor and He will protect. Our numbers are our chief weapon.’ He grinned and they grinned back at him. ‘Remember. Forwards, men, always forwards!’
Creed took Darr Vel aside and gave him quick instructions on his diversionary attack. At the end he had the one-eyed warrior repeat them to him.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘Do you think you can do that?’
Darr Vel nodded. ‘Of course we can.’
Creed clasped his hands. He spoke in a low urgent voice. ‘I need you there.’
Darr Vel gripped his hands back just as hard. ‘Then we shall be there.’
They picked their way down the slopes. At last they came to rest half a kilometre from the compound perimeter. Creed was tense as he waited for the appointed time. There was fifteen kilometres still to go when there was a dull, distinctive explosion.
‘Damn!’ Creed cursed. He threw himself down. Smoke rose from the compound. But all was eerily silent. There was no sign of Darr Vel’s men. Whatever had happened was not linked to the Lost Hopers. Creed could not stand the tension of waiting. It was as good a distraction as any.
‘Up!’ Creed commanded. ‘Up!’ The men leapt to their feet, clutching their weapons, and scrambled to the lip of the ditch. Plans never survived contact with the enemy. It was in the chaos of battle that Creed was at his best.
He was fast, decisive, and most importantly, he thought, touching his pistol butt, he was lucky.
‘What is the madman doing?’ Darr Vel said as he saw Creed’s greatcoated figure launching the attack from the heights. ‘Lost Hopers forward!’ They were with him in a moment, scrambling to the lip of the hollow.
It was a desperate charge across the ice flats. They were halfway across when a heavy stubber opened up. Men grunted as they were hit. Creed could hear their bodies slamming into the ice like dumped sacks. He kept running. The ground was treacherous.
Creed’s men had weapons. They took the stubber out as Darr Vel’s Lost Hopers stormed the compound. The defenders were a handful of prison guards. They seemed scared and witless as the tortured men gave vent to years of pain and tore them apart with their bare hands.
‘Here!’ Creed said, as they met at the compound gates. He tossed him a fresh battery pack. ‘Keep moving,’ he said. ‘We have to get inside.’
Darr Vel and Leder shouted to their men to gather whatever they could from the dead.
‘You have the bomb?’ Darr Vel shouted.
Creed handed him a melta bomb. The cold metal stuck to Vel’s hands. The convict ignored the pain as he slammed the bomb home and ducked back behind the entranceway. When the smoke had cleared the blast doors looked like a giant fist had punched them through.
Inside the corridor a squad of Anckorites put up a stout resistance, but the Lost Hopers outnumbered them ten to one. They took the facility by weight of numbers, storming each room, moving forward, always forward. As they cleared a storeroom, five Anckorites ran round a corner, and barely had a moment to react before Creed shot one clean through the forehead and then struck down the next two with repeated shots to the chest.
‘Guard chamber!’ Darr Vel shouted.
A frag grenade bounced down the corridor. It blew short, but Darr Vel was out and sprinting down the corridor. He clubbed the foe. The second had a belly full of shrapnel and was trying to reach his las-rifle. Darr Vel kicked him so hard his neck snapped. The third swung at him, and the major ducked and shoulder barged him. There was the whizz of an autogun round ricocheting off the wall as he plunged his knife into the Anckorite’s warm belly and sawed his guts open.
The Lost Hopers hit the compound from every direction, and took each level, room by room. They blasted routes in where there were none, kept moving forward despite the opposition. At the top of a long metal staircase bolter rounds exploded about Creed. Shrapnel grazed his cheek.
Leder ducked back behind the bulkhead. ‘There is something there. Something I have not seen before.’
Creed nodded. There was always something more to kill. ‘Forward,’ he commanded.
‘We can’t!’ Leder shouted over the bark of more bolter fire. ‘Have you seen the size of it?’
Creed nodded. He had seen Space Marines before, and this was one, twisted and tainted and deadly, a monster in transhuman form.
‘It is evil,’ he said. ‘We must destroy it.’
‘They won’t follow me.’
‘They will,’ Creed told him, but he could see that Leder had lost his nerve. Fear overcame many men in the face of such unnatural horror. Creed turned to look the survivors in the eye. His look offered death and pain, but also victory over the enemies of mankind. ‘Men of the Imperium, will you join me?’ he asked, his voice hoarse.
Darr Vel stepped forward. The survivors about him nodded. They were bloodied, weary, fearless. Leder swallowed and nodded.
‘Right,’ Creed said, and flipped the setting of his laspistols to full power.
Darr Vel ripped a frag grenade’s pin out with his teeth, tossed it along the corridor and held up his fingers ready for the charge.
‘For Cadia!’ Creed shouted. As the grenade exploded Darr Vel was up and running, the Lost Hopers behind him.
Darr Vel’s leg gave way in a bloody mess and he roared with frustration. A bolt round struck Leder’s chest and tore a gaping hole as it exited his back. The Lost Hopers raced forward as the bolter spat fire, and they danced a macabre dance as each took a bolt round. They fell almost as fast as they came forward, and the Traitor Space Marine laughed as he slammed another magazine home. He was half way through the second magazine when his laughter began to fail. There were too many of the Lost Hopers and he was not killing them fast enough.
Creed was amongst the crowd of charging men. His voice was pushing them all on, raging against the heresy. ‘Forward in the name of the Emperor of Mankind!’
Men were screaming to either side of him. The stock of his ornate pistol was hard in his hand. One eye was closed. The world was just the small circle of his pistol’s target. Wherever it went it was filled by the size of his foe. His first shot fizzled against the thing’s breast plate. The second left a pale scar on the power armour. He fired with such speed that the laspistol grew warm in his hand. The Lost Hopers fell away about him. But still the rage drove him and those about him on.
The Space Marine recognised this and singled him out. The wide black barrel of the bolter trailed smoke as it pointed at him. Creed wondered about the expression behind the Chaos Space Marine’s visor – doubt? Joy? Amusement?
Creed pulled his trigger again, but the pistol did not fire. His mouth went dry. The creature laughed.
‘I was counting the shots,’ it said, the voice harsh and metallic.
Fear clutched at Creed. For a moment he was a boy again, in the ruins of Kasr Gallan, blood on his cheeks, dead bodies lying all about him, and a power-armoured figure reaching down.
Pure rage flared within him, divine, white, incandescent rage, and he drew his combat knife and charged. The space marine laughed and stepped forward to swat him away. He backhanded Creed with a blow of such force that the Cadian was thrown violently against the wall.
Creed ducked back as the Chaos Space Marine activated a whining chainblade and swept it down. It opened his face up from his brow to his jaw. Blood blinded him. Creed reached down and pulled his battered old pistol from its holster. Cadia, he kept thinking.
‘Your head will hang from my belt, Cadian,’ the metallic voice rumbled. The chainblade whined and Creed braced as the blade came closer to sever his head.
‘Cadia!’ Creed spat, and pointed his pistol and fired.
The thing that held him laughed as it tore the pistol from his hand.
‘Too late, Cadian,’ it hissed.
He smiled. ‘My name is–’
‘Creed!’ Jarran Kell crashed through the wall, roaring his friend’s name. He seized the Chaos Space Marine’s chainsword hand, power fist-wreathed fingers driving inexorably through armour, flesh and bone.
He tore the hand from the arm, and the towering thing snarled, swinging with the other hand. Kell caught the other hand in his power fist. He could barely hold it still, even as he crushed the limb into another mess of blood and gore and burning power armour. It was like struggling with a statue. With a final effort Kell closed his fingers and tore the ruined arm free with a screech of power armour servos snapping and flailing. The thing swung its stump at Kell, and he ducked as he punched low through its power armour, grabbed whatever organs he could find, and pulled them out the front. The creature shuddered and fell to its knees.
Jarran Kell was panting heavily as he stood almost face to face with the thing. He pulled out his laspistol. He was formal about these things. He put his pistol to the thing’s head and said, ‘In the Name of the Holy Emperor of Mankind.’
Then he fired.
Agemmon stooped low over Creed.
‘Sir!’ he shouted. ‘It’s the general.’
Creed’s could feel blood running down his face, but he lived. He cursed as he tried to push Agemmon’s hands off, but his movements were feeble. At last he struggled to his feet and cast about for support.
‘Jarran, is that you?’
Kell gripped his friend’s hands. ‘What happened?’ he asked.
Creed waved a hand at the Chaos Space Marine’s brutalised corpse. ‘That. Thank you, Jarran. Come, we have much to do. Cadia is at risk. I have to stop Anckor, and then get back there and make them see.’
‘You could have been killed!’ Kell said.
Creed forced a smile. ‘We all die in the service of the Emperor eventually. Listen to me, Jarran, he’s here. I’m sure of it. Luciver Anckor is here. It’s where he was drawing his troops from. He had the same idea as me. He’s clever. Very clever. And he clearly has help.’