by Gav Thorpe
Agapito turned on Vangellin and seized him by the throat, dragging him from the chair.
‘Delvere and Nathrakin are infecting the people of Iapetus with this daemon-curse?’ he growled. ‘You knew of this and allied with them?’
‘Nothing so crude,’ whispered Vangellin. ‘Flesh is temporal, impermanent. Machine... Machine is immortal, fitting for the hosts of the Great Ones.’
‘Let him go,’ Corax said quietly. Agapito obeyed without comment, dropping the deposed Magokritarch back into his seat. The primarch looked at Loriark and Firax. ‘Is it possible? Could Chaos become manifest in a creation of wire and circuit, adamantium and plasteel?’
‘If it is possible, Delvere will find a way,’ said Loriark. ‘At the smallest level, flesh is nothing more than a mechanism too, composed of electrical impulses and exchanges of information. Life is simply a biological machine.’
Corax took a deep breath and pursed his lips. He had thought that perhaps the Word Bearers had been coming in desperation to Constanix, seeking repairs or fresh arms and armour. The reality was far more grave, and made the primarch all the more glad that he had followed his instinct to come to the forge world. Constanix II had not been chosen by Nathrakin because it was rich in resources, but for the opposite reason. It was inconsequential - out of sight and out of mind. What better place to conduct experiments of the nature being discussed?
‘Whatever advancements our enemies have made, they must be stopped,’ he told the others. ‘Not only must we destroy any machines they have created, the knowledge of their creation cannot leave this world.’
‘And the Word Bearers?’ Agapito asked the question casually, but Corax could feel the anger concealed beneath the commander’s calm.
‘They will be dealt with in due course,’ the primarch replied carefully. ‘The mission is to rid Constanix of their corrupting influence. To thwart their plans will be punishment enough. This is no time for vendetta. Victory is vengeance.’
Agapito did not reply, and it was plain that the primarch’s words were not to his liking.
‘There is far more at stake than simply revenge against the traitors that tried to exterminate us,’ Corax said solemnly, trying to make Agapito understand. ‘It was such errors of judgement, the desire to put personal need and gain above duty and service, which has led to so many following the Warmaster into treachery. It is the ambitions of the weak that the daemons of Chaos seek to exploit. Even here, their temptations have lured the Archmagos down a corrupt path, twisting his pursuit of knowledge into something far darker.’
It was not clear whether the commander understood fully the threat that Horus’s alliance had unleashed, but he nodded in compliance and stepped towards the door.
‘I have to see to the marshalling of the Talons arriving from the Kamiel,’ Agapito said. ‘If you will excuse me, lord primarch?’
‘One moment more, commander. Loriark, how soon do you think Delvere will learn of what has happened here?’
‘A brief examination of the transmission logs shows that communication with the capital was sparse during the battle,’ the magos replied. ‘Delvere knows that there has been an uprising and will deduce from the lack of contact that it was successful. There is nothing to indicate that your presence is known.’
‘Good,’ said Corax, looking back to Agapito. ‘Ensure that every weapon system on Atlas is operational. Coordinate with the magi and skitarii force commanders to create assault companies. I will review the preparations in two hours.’
‘Assault companies?’ wheezed Firax. ‘Surely we must... see to the defence of... Atlas first. The highest probability... is that Delvere’s response... will be a counter-attack.’
‘We will not be giving him the opportunity. We have the initiative and we will keep it. Magokritarch Loriark, set Atlas on a course for the capital. We will attack Iapetus at the earliest opportunity.’
ALMOST LOST IN the ever-present low cloud of Constanix, vapour contrails cut across the midday sky. Corax watched them coming closer from the observatorium atop the main temple of Atlas, gazing skywards with Loriark beside him. Glimmers of engines rose up from the barge-city to meet the approaching craft from Iapetus. From this vantage point he could also see the grey-foamed seas stretching unbroken to the horizon, a low haze rising from the acidic waters.
Massive anti-grav repellers and plasma drives kept the city aloft, and though the shields kept Atlas protected from the acid storms that occasionally surged across its path they did nothing to ward away the chill of the air five hundred metres above sea level. To Corax the cold was of no consequence but he was keenly aware of the discomfort it would be causing the unaugmented populace of the city. They were for the most part hard at work in munitions factories, manufacturing shells and energy packs for the skitarii and their war engines. Corax had gone to some lengths to make the people of Atlas feel as much a part of this endeavour as his warriors and the soldiers of the Mechanicum; the factory shift labourers had just as much to lose in the coming battle and had already suffered casualties in the struggle for possession of Atlas.
‘Are you sure it is wise to allow them to approach so closely?’ asked the tech-priest.
‘It is essential,’ replied Corax. He watched as the two squadrons converged on each other, the reconnaissance craft from the capital splitting apart as the six Primaris Lightning interceptors broke into pairs to rise above them. ‘I want Delvere to see Atlas and think that he faces only Mechanicum forces. The presence of my Raven Guard is best hidden behind false intelligence. Your pilots have been correctly briefed?’
‘They will allow one of the enemy spycraft to evade destruction and return to Iapetus, as we discussed.’
‘Then I must do as the rest of my troops and make myself unseen.’
Corax headed down the broad stairwell into the upper level of the temple, Loriark at his heel. In the barge-city’s control centre adepts manned the scanner arrays, seeking to pinpoint the capital’s current location. It had taken nearly three days to cover more than twelve hundred kilometres, but now the primarch felt that his target was, relatively speaking, close at hand. The recon craft overhead had a range in hundreds of kilometres but it seemed unlikely that Delvere would have retreated in the face of the approaching barge-city. If anything, the tech-priests predicted Iapetus was most likely on a closing course to bring retribution to Atlas. Moving at full speed, the two cities were likely to come within sight of each other some time in the next ten hours.
It was unfortunate that the Kamiel had to remain hidden from Iapetus’s considerable sensors and defence cannons; an orbital scan would have located Iapetus with ease. As things stood, the captured strike cruiser had been forced to disengage into deeper space after despatching its cargo of legionaries and strike craft, to avoid detection by the Mechanicum’s orbital stations and patrolling monitor craft. Those same orbital assets were no doubt fixed upon Atlas’s current path and Delvere would know exactly where his enemies were. It was for this reason that Corax had permitted the recon overflight; the enemy could learn little more than they already knew, and the opportunity to mislead the foe was to be seized, turning the disadvantage around.
If Corax could not be somewhere other than where his enemy believed him to be, a good compromise was to feign lesser strength until the final moment. As he had laid down in the combat doctrine of his Legion, if utter concealment was impossible, partial concealment was still preferable to none.
The hunched Salva Kanar approached Corax and the Magokritarch with a deferential nod of the head.
‘Radio stream analysis has detected a confluence of signals approximately three hundred kilometres distant on bearing zero-eighty. The spycraft above are drone-operated and we are attempting to reveal-trace the source of their control signals. This should allow us to triangulate with our other readings.’
‘Prepare anti-air batteries to fire,’ Corax said, motioning Loriark to the servitors and adepts manning the weapons metriculators. ‘Our drop-cr
aft are concealed as best we could manage but let us not give the enemy the opportunity of too much time.’
Loriark obeyed without comment; he seemed to have acquiesced to Corax’s authority easily enough, but the primarch knew it was out of necessity rather than any deeper loyalty. Corax unconsciously checked that the five Raven Guard legionaries stationed in the command chamber were alert and was pleased to see the black-armoured warriors paying close attention to everything that passed. If given the chance, Loriark might well decide to sacrifice the Raven Guard in an attempt to bargain for peace with Delvere. The primarch was not willing to afford the Magokritarch that chance.
A distinct hum set the temple vibrating slightly as power channels were opened and Atlas’s weapons systems came online. It was likely that only Corax noticed the change, registering not only the miniscule trembling but also the subtle alteration in the electromagnetic field that sheathed the barge-city. Any target more than a kilometre distant was beyond the energy shield and targeting the recon jets required very careful calibration between the gun batteries and the field’s internal frequency.
‘Ready to fire, lord primarch,’ Loriark informed him.
‘Open fire,’ Corax replied with a nod.
The energy field stuttered for a few microseconds; enough time for the lasers of the anti-aircraft turrets to loose a salvo of shots towards the enemy craft circling overhead.
‘No hits,’ reported one of the adepts.
‘Enemy craft withdrawing from immediate airspace,’ another confirmed from the sensor banks.
‘Lightning flight leaders requesting authorisation for pursuit,’ a third adept announced.
‘Twenty kilometres, no more,’ Corax ordered. ‘Clear Atlas’s airspace and then they are to return to maintain air patrol cover.’
‘Yes, lord primarch.’
Corax watched patiently as glowing runes slid across the strategic displays while the interceptors hounded the enemy recon craft away to the south-east. He noted that the direction the fleeing spy-craft took was towards the radio anomaly detected earlier; Iapetus was almost directly in Atlas’s path.
‘Magokritarch, we convene pre-battle council in one hour. All forces are to be on utmost readiness. Our enemy is close. Send word to all stations, squadrons and company leaders: make battle preparations.’
Receiving an affirmative from Loriark, Corax quit the command level and made his way down the central stairwells of the temple; it was too undignified for him to crouch inside the conveyor cages that transported the smaller tech-priests from storey to storey.
‘Agapito,’ he called over the vox-net. ‘Meet me at the main temple gatehouse. I have plans we need to discuss.’
‘Yes, Lord Corax,’ came the commander’s reply. ‘I am overseeing the assembly of the first assault column. I will be at the temple in seven minutes, with your leave.’
‘Very well. Attend to immediate concerns first, commander. I will come to you.’
Corax ignored the stares from the multitude of tech-priests as he made his way down to ground level. The primarch was alert at every moment, conscious that any one of the Mechanicum cultists might have been swayed to the cause of Delvere. He did not fear attack - not even together would the gathered machine-men be a match for him - but he watched for any sign of treachery. If Delvere and his allies were to receive warning that they faced a primarch, Corax’s entire strategy would be put in jeopardy.
Gauging the emotions of the tech-priests was not as easy as with normal men. Many had their faces concealed behind masks, or their features were heavily modified with bionics and augmetics. Some were incapable of emotion at all, their consciousness transferred to inorganic cogitators that made them creatures of pure logic. It was these metriculatii that worried Corax the most. Fear of reprisal would keep most of the tech-priests in check, but if circumstances changed enough that the logical course of action would be to turn on the Raven Guard there were those amongst the cult of Atlas who would do so in a nanosecond. It was the primarch’s intention to ensure that his course of action would prove superior, eliminating the possibility of betrayal.
It was with such thoughts, his expression guarded, that Corax exited the main temple building into the compound. Glancing up, he saw the vapour trails of the dogfight were quickly dissipating in the high winds.
‘I’ve shown you want you wanted to see,’ he whispered to himself. ‘Now come and get us.’
THE CLATTER OF rivet drivers, whine of ceramite bonders and hiss of spark-welders rang loudly throughout the hangar-like arming house of the Fourth District. Overseen by red-robed tech-adepts, gangs of workers swarmed across three lines of tracked tanks, assault guns and personnel carriers, affixing additional armour plating to the fronts of the vehicles. Agapito walked between the lines of armoured carriers and turreted behemoths, casting his eye over the work being done.
Everything was proceeding in a timely and orderly fashion. The work-teams laboured with quiet determination while crew captains and squad leaders inspected the modifications being made to their vehicles with keen interest; they would be the men and women pushing head-on into the enemy defence, and their lives were being staked upon the improvised upgrades.
Behind the columns of armoured vehicles were lined batteries of field guns and self-propelled artillery pieces. Laser-based cannons, rotary guns and shell-firers sat alongside more esoteric lightning throwers and fusion beams, sonic destructors and conversion beamers. Many of the designs were familiar to the Raven Guard commander, but in all the years he had fought for the Legion he had never trusted the more outlandish Mechanicum designs. They could be devastating when functioning, but the required maintenance and constant tech-priest attention made them impractical within the primarch’s code of self-sufficiency and flexibility. He much preferred a trained legionary with a missile launcher to any of the bizarre war engines on display.
Sergeant Caldour announced that Corax had arrived at the armoury complex, and Agapito left the main workshop to meet his primarch in one of the overseer galleries above the manufactory floor. He met Corax at the foot of the stairwell and was waved to precede the primarch to the upper level.
‘Everything is progressing?’ asked the primarch, speaking over the comm-net. Corax had emphasised the need to maintain strict communications security on Atlas and the command channel was the most secure vox-transmission available. The ciphers were changed every hour and keyed to the individual transponders located in every Raven Guard’s armour. It would be all but impossible for any of the Mechanicum to listen in.
‘Two more hours and everything will be in accordance with your orders, Lord Corax.’ Agapito kept his reply formal, uncertain why the primarch had chosen to visit him. The commander wondered if he was under scrutiny for his recent actions and wanted to show a disciplined, trustworthy appearance.
‘What do you make of our allies’ resources?’ The two of them reached the upper landing and Agapito led Corax out onto a mesh-work balcony overlooking the arming bay. ‘Do you think they will serve our purposes?’
‘Well armed, and with the upgrades to the frontal armour they’ll be able to take a lot of damage going into the enemy, lord,’ Agapito replied. ‘Slow, though. Even slower than normal, with the extra weight. This won’t be any lightning assault.’
‘No,’ Corax said quietly. The primarch paused for a moment, obviously in thought. Too slow perhaps. I have re-evaluated the battle plan and made some adjustments. I wanted to brief you first. I will inform the Magokritarch and the others when the time is appropriate.’
‘What changes, Lord Corax? I have mustered four attack columns across the prow districts of Atlas in preparation for a three-pronged assault and a moving reserve as you requested. It will take some time to relocate them.’
‘The Mechanicum forces will deploy as planned; there is no need for a reorganisation at this stage. It is our warriors whose role I have changed.’
‘You do not wish for us to act as mobile support for the assault
columns? Atlas cannot match Iapetus’s defenders on a one-for-one basis. We need to maintain the Raven Guard as a mobile element to create breakthrough points.’
‘We do, which is why I have a new role for you and the legionaries, Agapito.’ Corax laid a reassuring hand on the commander’s shoulder and looked down at the assembled war engines. ‘I plan to take Iapetus the same way we took Atlas. We’ll draw out Delvere’s forces and then make a decapitation strike on the main temple.’
‘You are going after Delvere and Nathrakin alone?’ Agapito would never second-guess his primarch’s decisions, nor underestimate his prowess in battle, but a single-handed attack seemed suicidal.
‘I’ll take two squads with me, in Shadowhawks. Atlas’s army is simply too slow to achieve the victory we need.’ The primarch folded his arms and stared out across the arming area, though his gaze seemed far more distant, as though he was looking away to his target. ‘If Delvere senses he is losing there is every chance he will attempt to escape. If he does so, he will relocate to another barge-city or perhaps even leave Constanix altogether. The knowledge he has gained from the Word Bearers cannot be allowed to leave this planet. We need to seize control of the temple complex and contain the traitors as quickly as possible, preferably before Delvere realises he is danger of losing the war.’
‘So how will the Talons fight, Lord Corax?’ Agapito had recovered some of his composure, acknowledging the reasoning of his primarch. ‘There are likely to be Word Bearers protecting the capital as well as the Mechanicum soldiers, and we have no idea how many of Lorgar’s scum have come here.’
‘There cannot be many Word Bearers,’ said Corax. ‘It would appear the Kamiel is the only contact they have made with Constanix, and even at full complement she would carry no more than five hundred legionaries. From the account of the Navigator, the Word Bearers were pulled together from several formations on Calth, survivors banding together under Nathrakin. Also, if Nathrakin had a more numerous contingent then it would be in his interests to spread them throughout all of the barge-cities to establish wider control, rather than concentrate his force in one place. A follower of Lorgar would not hesitate to spread influence and proselytise their creed if given the opportunity. No, I must conclude that the Word Bearers do not outnumber us here. Quite the opposite, in fact.’