All the Apothecary had left was his free will and it was likely that the Red Corsairs would do their best to rob him of it.
SIX
BETRAYAL
Time seemed to slow to a crawl from the moment Arrun gave his command to return fire on the Wolf of Fenris right up to the moment it was carried out. A hesitation lingered unpleasantly in the air as the bridge crew exchanged confused glances. There had been little time to fully explain the situation and all they could see was that they were firing on a ship belonging to another Chapter.
‘I said, return fire!’ Arrun’s temper flared in the split moment of hesitation. In six short strides, he had crossed the bridge deck to the unfortunate young man he had directed the order at. ‘Why are you not obeying my orders? I–’
‘Wolf of Fenris is increasing speed. All current cogitations suggest that the Wolf of Fenris is setting herself on a likely collision course with the Dread Argent. At current speed and bearing, the Wolf of Fenris...’ A servitor’s dull tones began to report the situation and Arrun spun to stare at it.
‘Be silent!’
The captain’s voice carried across the bridge with considerable power and command. His bellow was the single loudest thing at that moment. Coupled with his sheer presence, every soul on the bridge stopped what they were doing and paid attention to the huge warrior standing at their very centre.
Then, as was a fundamental part of its programming in the wake of its lobotomy, the servitor broke the momentary silence that had fallen in the wake of Arrun’s fury to acknowledge his order.
‘Compliance.’
It bowed its head and resumed silent duties at its station. Arrun’s eyes and focus flicked immediately to the viewscreen and the indolent human who had not carried out his orders was temporarily forgotten. The young man breathed an unchecked sigh of relief at the servitor whose timely words may have just ensured his head remained attached to his shoulders. He need not truly have worried. The sight of the other ship’s thrusters firing now held everyone’s attention.
As the servitor had so correctly observed, the ship was powering up to run towards them. It didn’t take a lifetime’s naval experience to predict that they were rapidly approaching ramming speed.
‘My lord?’ The young officer at the console spoke tentatively, reluctant to bring the captain’s gaze back on him for fear of what retribution that may bring with it. ‘Your orders?’
Evasion would be impossible. A vessel the size of the Dread Argent was not going to move swiftly out of the collision course that the Wolf of Fenris had set.
‘Right now, I would prefer to unload every single weapon that we have at them. But… no. For now, hold our position.’ Arrun’s expression darkened. ‘I will not turn tail and flee. We can tear into them well enough with the prow bombardment cannon. Be prepared to engage weapons on my command.’
Several chimes of acquiescence rang around the bridge and Arrun stalked back to his command throne. The Prognosticator was watching him carefully. Arrun’s brow furrowed. Brand was not really watching him at all. He had a strangely detached look about him. He was staring through the captain, his inner sight locked on something only he could see.
‘Brand?’
The psyker was apparently lost in some sort of trance. Arrun felt his stomach lurch. A Prognosticator’s conduit with the Emperor could occasionally keep them ensnared for longer than usual, leaving them in a blessed state of semi-awareness. Arrun’s frustrations increased. This was not the best of times to lose his advisor. He glowered at nobody in particular. To jolt Brand from his state could be dangerous. He would have to wait until the psyker came back to him.
It was not long before Brand displayed awareness once again. The Prognosticator’s green eyes blinked rapidly as he shifted his thoughts back into the same timeline and reality as his captain.
‘Did you see something?’ Arrun’s temper had already dissolved at the look on Brand’s face. A shivering thrill of anticipation ran through him. Had his Prognosticator received an Emperor’s Gift? A true moment of foresight that could ensure the difference between loss and victory? Such moments were considered amongst the greatest of a Silver Skulls Prognosticator’s service – and the service of those with whom he shared his visions.
‘I see many things, Captain Arrun.’ Brand’s voice held a strange, almost dreamy quality. Gone was the steady baritone that normally accompanied his words. In its place was something slightly higher-pitched. A beatific little smile quirked the Prognosticator’s lips upward. ‘In this instance...’ He stared off into the middle distance again. ‘Those who have forsaken their colours. And I see dawn. Midnight. Sunset. These three will bring much strife in their wake. They seek to destroy. There is no room for compassion in the battle that lies ahead. Ultimately, you will have to override your thirst for vengeance.’
He focused back on Arrun. ‘You must keep your head, Daerys, or the price will be considerably greater than anything you can imagine.’
Arrun absorbed everything that Brand said with an insatiable hunger. The psyker delivered his vision in a series of barely comprehensible riddles, but where would the challenge be if the Emperor lay down a path of destiny in plain words? The Silver Skulls held tightly to the belief that whilst the Emperor’s will guided them, they retained free rein in the interpretation of the dreams and visions.
There had been times during the Chapter’s long and illustrious history when that interpretation had proved to be incorrect… but such errors of judgement were few and far between.
‘Is there any more that you can tell me?’
‘I see... three. Three of them. I do not quite have the measure, the scope of the vision… its very shape eludes me.’ Brand’s voice gradually returned to normal as he prised himself away from the psychological constraints of his meditation. ‘That is all I have for you right now. I would need to divine the matter further to give you a full answer. The overwhelming sense I felt is that of betrayal, however.’
Arrun nodded. It went with the territory. The Red Corsairs, guided by a leader whose lust for power and greatness had spelled his own downfall, were traitors to a man.
‘We can deal with this situation. We have strength, numbers and the power of the Imperium on our side.’ He looked up. ‘That is assuming that the enemy doesn’t just run through us first.’
‘We will survive this encounter. The Wolf’s claws will not catch us. Not this time.’ Brand shifted his gaze to Arrun. ‘You do well to hold your ground, brother-captain. Standing proud in the face of such defiance will result in the survival of us all.’ He gave a slow nod, sure of himself in this matter.
‘I have never once questioned your advice in the many years we have served together, my friend. I am not going to start now.’ Arrun looked up at the looming vessel. ‘Evacuate non-essential areas. Lock down the bulkheads and all crew prepare for possible collision.’
The full duplicity of Huron Blackheart’s scheme was still to unfold, but in low orbit, far beneath the stand-off between the two strike cruisers, another act was playing out.
Squad Carnelian had travelled down from the Dread Argent in companionable silence, oblivious to any of the drama occurring above them. Their destination was the communications tower to the north of the Primus-Phi refinery on Gildar Secundus. Their orders had been straightforward enough. Land, ascertain all was well and remain on the planet until they were summoned back to the Dread Argent. Not exactly taxing – but, as Sergeant Porteus reasoned, it was a chance to run through a few environmental training exercises with his squad. The uniquely formed mountain ranges of the planet would allow for some considerable opportunities. Training cages could only allow for so many scenarios after all. Nothing beat live exercises and terrain training.
The sergeant’s moment of thoughtful contemplation was invaded by a sudden lance of white light that speared past the nose of the Thunderhawk. Catching sight of the pulse of energy out of the corner of his eye, Porteus had only to turn his head slightly to re
cognise what it was. By then, it was far too late.
Moments later, it happened again. The second lascannon shot struck its target this time, searing a crippling wound in the flank of the gunship. From his position at the controls, the human pilot was bellowing out curses and litanies to both the Emperor and the machine-spirits to keep them aloft.
‘Counter-measures! Counter-measures!’ Porteus roared to the pilot as he smacked his harness release buckle. ‘Where is that coming from?’
‘The shots are coming from the turrets on the promethium refinery! Aiming guns... firing...’
There was the chatter of the Thunderhawk’s weapons as the slaved servitors engaged and then there was a disorienting, rocking explosion caused by another shot which completely obliterated the starboard engine. It tore itself away from the wing in a shower of smoke and debris and tumbled to the surface below.
Any hope the pilot may have had of keeping control of the ship was ruined. The Thunderhawk was thrown off its trajectory and began a deadly corkscrew spin, plummeting downwards. Unbalanced, Porteus smashed into the side of the cockpit, his armour scraping with an unpleasant squeal against the hull interior. He lurched forward again. The warning sirens were blaring unnecessarily and he harboured a sudden raging urge to tear them from the walls.
His gauntleted fingers scrabbled for purchase and his fingers tightened around a weapons rack. He scrambled back into the main body of the gunship, shouting orders to his men to put on their helms and to prepare for a crash landing. Apart from Berem the pilot, an augmented human who had served Squad Carnelian for many years and the gun servitors, all aboard were Space Marines. The majority of them stood a good chance of surviving a controlled crash. The others were collateral damage. Clinical and harsh though that view might be, it had to be taken.
The third shot vaporised the cockpit and Berem was lost along with it. The interior space filled up immediately with rushing wind and choking smoke. The burning remains of the Thunderhawk plunged downwards, comet trails of fire and smoke marking its passage. Next to him, the squad’s Prognosticator was speaking fervent words of passionate zeal, words designed to fill the hearts of Squad Carnelian with fire and courage. All of the squad’s voices raised in conjunction with his until they were all speaking the Chapter’s litanies, their voices perfectly in rhythm.
The surface of Gildar Secundus loomed large in the sergeant’s vision and he broke off his recitation. The next words that he spoke were largely drowned out by the catastrophic introduction of the tortured hull to the unyielding mountain rock.
‘Brace for impact!’
‘Brace for impact!’
The Wolf of Fenris was going to hit them. The two ships were going to annihilate one another.
But it did not.
The tiniest of mathematical calculations that had been input in the Wolf’s helm several minutes earlier was enough to bring the ships agonisingly close. Yet in spatial terms, ‘agonisingly close’ was still an astonishing distance away.
‘She’s preparing to fire her port batteries.’
‘Run out our own. They want to take a broadside swipe, then we will give them one of our own back.’
‘Aye, my lord.’
Relentlessly pounding at each other, the two behemoth vessels ran parallel for a time. Void shields trembled and shrieked at the proximity, flooding the space between them with crackling, arcing discharge. The energy that each ship’s shields generated sought to repel the other with equal ferocity.
Macro shells that were easily the size of battle tanks, streams of plasma so potent that they could boil hab-blocks and huge calibre laser fire filled the spatial gulf, stippling the void shields of both with thousands of tiny impact craters, each desperately seeking to claw its way through.
‘Our shield generators are starting to fail. They’re still holding for now, but we can’t take much more of this.’
‘She will hold.’ Arrun’s confidence and faith in the Dread Argent was absolute and those on the bridge accepted his quiet assurance without question. She was taking a beating, yes, but like the Chapter who utilised her she was made of stern stuff.
It was apparent to even the untrained eye that the Wolf of Fenris was not faring quite so well. Not all of her guns were operational, probably as a result of whatever had happened to her. As such, the fiery venom that she spat at the Dread Argent was nowhere near indicative of her true deadly force. The Silver Skulls ship, on the other hand, was at peak performance.
The punishing assault finally collapsed the last of the Wolf’s shield banks and the multitude of projectiles from the Dread Argent began tearing at the armoured skin, now raw and exposed. Venting gases, armour plating and bodies spiralled into space as the Silver Skulls arsenal chewed breaches through the port decks, leaving nothing but blackened scars and frost-rimed corpses in its wake.
The Space Wolves ship was critically damaged – but even an assault of this magnitude had failed to blunt her tenacity. It wasn’t until after the last shot was fired and the guns fell silent that the reality and truth of the matter became fully evident. They had been tricked.
The Dread Argent was now far out of Gildar Secundus’s orbit, having left it to intercept the apparently drifting Wolf of Fenris. This had put the other ship now directly behind them accelerating with alarming pace towards a planet now devoid of the Silver Skulls defence. Turning around was a slow, cumbersome process. It had been a cunning ploy. It had worked.
But there was more to it.
‘Augury contact,’ said the console operator. Arrun turned his head, only to realise that the operator hadn’t finished. ‘Another augury contact. Three. Four!’ Panic came into his voice and Arrun strode across the bridge and stared at the screen himself.
One after another, ships were being disgorged from the warp and emerging into realspace. Translating deep in-system to the Gildar Rift was the kind of risk that only a fool would take. There was a catastrophic risk of collision. The captains of these vessels were either fools, desperate... or they were fearless.
Longer range sensors began to announce the arrival of still more ships, not translating quite so close and the truth of the matter became horribly apparent. Arrun’s fist came down in fury on to the console.
Seven ships. Eight. More. Every single one of them was heading directly for Gildar Secundus. Not a single one of them would be hindered by the patrolling Dread Argent… because the Dread Argent had swallowed their bait without hesitation and was no longer in position and patrolling.
Far too late, Arrun realised what had happened. Shouts from various console officers overlaid one another in discordant anger, a counterpoint of horror and disbelief that all ultimately sang the same song.
‘We have been outmanoeuvred,’ marvelled Brand as the console operators reported the disturbing news. Arrun treated the psyker to a venomous glower.
‘No, Prognosticator. We have not been “outmanoeuvred”. If you would, perhaps you will recall that I put out an astropathic call to the other ships in the Rift. They will be here in a matter of hours as soon as I give the word. The Manifest Destiny is amongst them. With a battle-barge on our side, these traitors don’t stand a chance.’ He turned his attentions back to the crew. ‘Bring us about. None of these ships can cause us any real harm, not yet. In the main, they’re nothing more than frigates, destroyers... maybe a couple of escorts. If necessary, we will pick them off one at a time.’
Arrun’s voice held both the tone of authority and the ring of steel. His fingers toyed idly with the belt that cinched his tabard at the waist. A thrill of anticipation ran through his veins. Soon he would be back into his wargear. The promise of battle was upon them. They would slaughter these raiders to the last man. They would cleanse the Gildar Rift of this taint. Once the Manifest Destiny arrived, they wouldn’t stand a chance.
The battle-barge, one of two the Silver Skulls boasted, was his usual command. It was quite capable of enough firepower to wipe these intruders from the face of the Gildar Ri
ft with a few barrages of its main weapons.
‘Brother-captain.’
Sergeant Matteus’s voice broke across his thoughts. In the frenzy of the moment, Arrun had all but forgotten the returned Thunderhawk. The young warrior’s voice was reasonably well modulated, but the strain implicit was felt by all.
‘Speak, brother-sergeant. What’s happening over there?’
‘It was the Red Corsairs, sir. They took the Wolf of Fenris.’ Arrun nodded slowly. He should have suspected as much. The loss of the strike cruiser was a blow to the Space Wolves and a great source of fury for all loyal battle-brothers. Information travelled so slowly throughout the Imperium of Man, given the great distances, that it was entirely possible Terra itself wasn’t even yet aware of this turn of events. Despite the gravity of his own present situation, he made a mental note to set an astropath the task of sending the news as soon as possible.
‘Give me a quick report. How many of you have returned?’
‘We lost eight, sir. Apothecary Ryarus among them.’
‘No…’ Brand breathed the word instantly. ‘No! He must still be alive. He has to still be alive. The Emperor did not see eternal darkness for him during my divinations.’
‘Alive or not, Apothecary Ryarus is in the hands of the archenemy. You and I both know what that means, brother.’ Arrun’s own crushing disappointment at the loss of such a key member of his project team had to be put aside for the moment. ‘If he lives still, he will be given a choice. Swear allegiance to Blackheart, or die. Much as it pains me to say it, I would wish for his swift death, Prognosticator. I wholeheartedly believe that he will do the same.’ His face darkened. ‘Unlikely as it is, I would not want to ever come up against one of my own brothers in a battle.’
The Gildar Rift Page 12