by Gav Thorpe
‘Frequency locked in, brother-captain,’ Lorenzo told his commander.
‘Acknowledged,’ came the captain’s static-clouded reply. ‘We pursue our own, sublime goal. We seek vindication.’
‘In the name of the Angel and for the honour of Baal,’ Lorenzo responded and the link fell silent. He switched to squad broadcast. ‘Advance pattern majestic. Gideon and his squad approaching from ahead, so watch your fire.’
‘We’ll get there first,’ Valencio said as he moved to the head of the squad. ‘The honour shall be ours.’
The newest member of Squad Lorenzo lumbered onto a contorted walkway that crossed over a dormant generator plant. Nothing stirred in the blackness below and the sensorium displayed no contacts within twenty metres. Not trusting the corroded metal to take the weight of more than one Terminator, Lorenzo waited until Valencio was on the steps at the other side of the chamber before waving Zael forwards. One by one they crossed the artificial ravine while Valencio provided covering fire from the room beyond.
As he descended the steps, Lorenzo could see Valencio silhouetted by the muzzle flare of his storm bolter, his shadow cast sharply across the debris-littered floor with each burst. Entering the room beyond the stairway, Lorenzo added his fire to that of Valencio, gunning down a handful of genestealers as they hurtled into the chamber. For a moment all was din and confusion, brought to an abrupt end by a sheet of fire from Zael’s heavy flamer. Unearthly screeches sounded the genestealers’ demise, the first sound he had heard them utter. The sudden quiet that descended was broken only by the sound of flames, the pings and cracks of cooling metal and the whistle of superheated blood steaming from the aliens’ corpses.
The next passageway was clear of foes and Valencio advanced quickly, reaching a T-junction at its end while the rest of the squad filed into the room, burnt carcasses crunching underfoot. Now closer to the signal of the C.A.T., Lorenzo could see that the automaton was somewhere in the network of tunnels less than thirty metres ahead. The signal was moving erratically, its transmission reflected and echoed by the distorted walls of the hulk.
‘Valencio, Deino, sweep right,’ the sergeant ordered. ‘Zael and Goriel, follow my lead.’
Thus split, the squad made their way into the rat’s nest of collapsed corridors, stairwells, rooms and ducts. Their suit lamps blazing, they cast their sharp eyes into broken vents and under fallen workstations, seeking the task unit. Quickly and methodically, the squad homed in on their objective, their search occasionally punctuated by a burst of storm bolter fire as a lone genestealer sprang from the shadows.
‘C.A.T. located,’ announced Goriel. Lorenzo fixed on his battle-brother’s identification contact. He shouldered his way through tangles of twisted metal and clambered over rubble heaps to forge a way to the recon device. The sergeant found Goriel and Zael in a domed hall at the centre of three radiating corridors. Goriel held the C.A.T. in his deactivated power fist.
The Cyber-Altered Task unit was a tracked automaton about half a metre in length, studded with sensor spurs and data-aerials. Jointed metallic limbs splayed from its central hull and wiggled forlornly in Goriel’s grasp. At the end of a prehensile cable, a gilded skull containing the C.A.T.’s metriculator waggled left and right as it continued its scans. Its red eyes glowed and dimmed as it processed the data while its tracks whirred back and forth as the C.A.T. struggled to get free.
‘Salutations, brethren,’ said Valencio, entering from the opposite side of the hall. ‘It seems Goriel has found a new friend.’
‘Take it,’ Goriel said, thrusting the C.A.T. towards Valencio. ‘You seem the motherly type.’
The glow around Valencio’s chainfist vanished as he cut off the power supply. Delicately, he took the shuddering cyber-scout from Goriel and held it up so that its scanner lenses were pointed towards his face.
‘Don’t fret, little friend,’ Valencio said in a hushed voice, a hint of a laugh in his tone. ‘Brother Goriel is just being sour. I’ll look after you.’
Lorenzo was about to admonish the pair for the light-hearted behaviour when a squad-to-squad transmission cut across the comm.
‘Lorenzo, this is Gideon,’ a voice crackled in the sergeant’s ear. ‘Can you hear me?’
‘I can,’ Lorenzo replied. ‘And most welcome it is.’
‘Don’t thank me just yet,’ Gideon said. ‘We are approaching your position, one hundred and fifty metres on your left flank. There is a large concentration of sensorium contacts in grid medusa, just out of your range, growing more active. They’ll be on you before we arrive.’
‘Thank you for the warning, Gideon,’ said Lorenzo. He consulted the sensorium map. ‘Rendezvous at theta-four and we’ll return to the perimeter in force.’
‘Affirmative, Lorenzo,’ said Gideon. ‘May the Angel guide your fury and the Emperor guard your backs.’
‘Praise Sanguinius,’ Lorenzo intoned. ‘Deino and Zael, cleanse towards theta-four. We will escort the C.A.T.. Confirm?’
The two Terminators signalled back their compliance, their signature blips moving away on the sensorium. Lorenzo led the other group, the rear guarded by Goriel, with Valencio sandwiched protectively between. They had advanced only a dozen metres when the leading edge of the genestealer contacts reported by Gideon showed on the sensorium. There were at least twenty of the aliens, and more appeared on the scanner over the next few seconds.
‘Contact!’ Deino shouted over the comm. A moment later gunfire echoed dully around the labyrinth of corridors, the sound distant and distorted.
The way ahead was tortuous, with blast doors sealing off many routes and fallen ceilings blocking others. Rooms that showed up as empty on the sensorium scan were filled with impassable debris and walkways were bent and broken. On the scanner, Zael and Deino were no more than fifteen metres away, but in the wreckage of the hulk’s depths Lorenzo could see no sign of them, or any way to move further forward.
‘Clear a path,’ Lorenzo told Valencio as the sergeant fell in behind Goriel.
‘As the Angel, I shall lead the way,’ laughed Valencio. He hooked his storm bolter to his belt and took the C.A.T. in his right hand. His left hand now free, he powered up his chainfist.
Chainfist blades whirring and blazing, Valencio punched his way through a plascrete wall, showering himself with dust and shards. He stepped into the darkness beyond, his further progress accompanied by the screech of tortured metal and the thud of exploding plascrete slabs.
Goriel followed next, Lorenzo turning to stand sentry at the makeshift passage battered through the debris by Valencio. More than a dozen genestealers were closing fast, coming up from the hallway where the squad had just been. Glancing left, right and above, Lorenzo realised the corridor was broken in many places and allowed far too many access points to defend with any confidence. Stepping backwards, storm bolter held ready to fire, the sergeant followed Valencio and Goriel along the tangled pathway.
A hideous purple face appeared at the ragged entrance a few seconds after Lorenzo had begun his withdrawal. The sergeant opened fire immediately, two rounds scattering the genestealer’s brains and skull into the darkness. Another alien appeared and Lorenzo gunned it down, taking another step backwards. With agonising slowness, the sergeant backed along the cleared path, unleashing a salvo of fire every couple of seconds as more and more genestealers poured into the breach after him. Between the roars of his storm bolter, Lorenzo caught other bursts of fire echoing from behind him. A glance at the sensorium showed that Gideon’s squad was not far behind. Through a gap in the tangled girders and joists, the sergeant saw licks of fire: Zael’s flamer. Heartened, Lorenzo emptied the magazine on his storm bolter, gunning down five aliens in the long salvo, and then turned and broke into a run.
The sergeant didn’t need to check his sensorium to know that the genestealers were barely ten metres behind him; his sharp ears and armour’s auto-senses picked up the scratching of claws and sharp hisses at his back.
Lorenzo th
undered into a wide, low room filled with ruined databank consoles. Just as he broke into the dim green light something smashed into the back of his armour. Pitching forward, his armour’s fibre bundles and motors shrieked in their fight to keep him balanced, but lost. He stumbled to one knee, desperately trying to reach behind him with his power sword. A clawed hand appeared in his vision and then something inhumanly strong smashed into the back of the sergeant’s helm, stunning him.
00.11.67
DEINO HEARD RATHER than saw Sergeant Lorenzo, a cacophonic clattering of armour and shattering tiles. His blood thundering in his ears, time seemed to slow down for Deino. Turning left towards the sound, the Terminator raised his storm bolter to shoulder height and flicked the single-fire switch. Lorenzo was down on one knee, a genestealer perched on his back, its foot claws gripping the exhaust vents of the sergeant’s armour, both pairs of foreclaws seizing his helm, trying to twist off his head.
The aiming reticule in Deino’s right eye danced around the genestealer as the alien swayed backwards and forwards, trying to lever Lorenzo’s head from his shoulders. Deino didn’t wait for the lock-on. His eyes were more accurate than any metriculator. He took a deep breath and fired.
‘Blessed be the sure of shot for they shall bring vengeance,’ Deino whispered as the bolt roared from the muzzle, its rocket punching it forward. A moment later the bolt penetrated the genestealers left eye and the mass-reactive warhead detonated, splitting apart the creature’s head. Lorenzo tried to right himself and another alien appeared from the hole smashed through the wall by Valencio. Deino fired again.
‘Praise to the Angel for he shall guide my aim,’ he whispered while the bolt pierced the creature’s chest and then exploded in a shower of chitin and ribs. Four more genestealers leapt through the gap and each was felled in turn by a round from Deino’s weapon, the shots accompanied by a litany of accuracy spilling from the Space Marine’s lips.
A Terminator in the heraldry of Gideon’s squad loomed over Lorenzo, an assault cannon connected to his right arm by heavy bolts and makeshift struts. A light-suppressing filter materialised over Deino’s vision as Leon opened fire, saving the Terminator’s eyes from the blinding muzzle flare.
‘Anyone can hit the target with a thousand shots a minute,’ Deino said over the inter-squad comm. He brought down his storm bolter and walked towards Lorenzo as other members of Squad Gideon converged from different directions. ‘Your weapon lacks elegance.’
‘Perhaps, my brother,’ Leon replied. ‘However, it would take forever to shoot all of them one at a time.’
Deino conceded the point without comment and turned around to cover the entranceway he’d just come through. Something moved across the beams of his suit lamps and Deino fired, the shot blowing an arm from the genestealer. The second round shattered its hip, ripping its leg from its body.
‘If you can’t enjoy the artistry of war, then what’s the point of fighting?’ Deino asked nobody in particular.
00.12.13
‘ALLOW ME,’ SAID Gideon, appearing at Lorenzo’s right, his shield arm extended.
Lorenzo grabbed the proffered limb and allowed himself to be helped to his feet. The two sergeants raised their fists in salute to each other.
Gideon’s squad were showing signs of hard fighting. Each warrior’s armour had scars of battle - cracked plates, gouged ceramite and exposed sublayer cables and pipes - rapidly repaired by the Techmarines back at the impact zone. Gideon’s helm had an impressive rent across the mouth grille and the entire right side of Leon’s armour was pitted with shards of metal and recently applied welding where his destroyed assault cannon had been replaced. All were stained by alien gore and a few had bloodstains from their own wounds.
Lorenzo realised his own squad’s appearance was now less than satisfactory. The joints in his armour’s left arm were stiff and his helm actuators had broken when the genestealer had tried to twist off his head. He could only look straight ahead. Peeling paint sloughed from charred ceramite on Zael’s armour, evidence of a desperate close-range shot from his heavy flamer. Valencio was missing most of his left shoulder pad and the emblem on his chestplate was scored with three ragged claw marks. Only Deino appeared unmarked; apparently no genestealer had yet avoided his cool marksmanship.
‘Still intact,’ said Valencio, holding up the C.A.T., which dejectedly waved its appendages.
‘Good,’ said Lorenzo. He switched the comms to the command frequency. ‘Brother-captain, this is Lorenzo. The unit has been secured and is still functional.’
There was a hiss of static before Captain Raphael replied.
‘The Angel’s blessing upon you,’ he said. ‘We need the data of the deeper levels to devise the next phase. Without it I have no recourse but bombardment. Return the unit to the Techmarines in grid alpha and re-arm.’
‘Acknowledged,’ said Lorenzo. He turned to Gideon and activated the inter-squad frequency. ‘Would you like to go front or back?’
‘We’ll lead the push back to the perimeter,’ said Gideon. ‘Watch our backs.’
‘Affirmative,’ said Lorenzo.
Lorenzo organised his warrior’s dispositions as Gideon and his men headed off. The two squads plunged into the maze of corridors. Storm bolter fire and the deadly peal of Leon’s assault cannon heralded their progress through the twist of metal and plascrete. More and more genestealers were arriving from their hibernation nest somewhere deep inside the hulk, and the sensorium swarmed with contact blips.
Metre by hard-fought metre Squads Gideon and Lorenzo battled through the aliens, reaping a bloody harvest of vengeance with their weapons. Gideon’s hammer and Lorenzo’s power sword blazed like beacons in the dark artificial caverns and long tunnels. The flare of muzzle flash and the ruddy glow of flames marked the Blood Angels’ passing.
00.12.83
In the ruins of a derelict merchantman’s hold, clothed in the darkness of the void, something stirred. It surfaced slowly from anabiosis, frozen limbs and organs gradually warming, alien synapses starting to spark.
All was still instinct and impressions, with no true intelligence yet. Its brood were rousing around it, their minds touching and connecting. Images flickered through its wakening subconscious. Large creatures of bright red impenetrable skin killed its progeny with fire and blade. Even as more of its offspring surfaced to consciousness and joined the brood mind, others disappeared.
One impulse rose above all others, an evolutionary imperative that obscured all other consideration. It spread from the creature, rippling out through the brood, instilling them with a single directive.
Destroy.
00.13.00
WITHIN THE CORDON of the breach head, the noses of boarding torpedoes jutted from the punctured wall like the petals of gigantic metal flowers. Protected by a ring of Terminators fighting the genestealers only a few hundred metres distant, Techmarines and their serfs laboured constantly to keep the squads armed and battle-ready.
Lorenzo was being attended by Brother Auletio, one of the Techmarines. The spider-like arms of Auletio’s servo harness backpack worked deftly with saws, drills and welders, repairing the damage to the radiator vents on Lorenzo’s back. Sparks cascaded to the oil-stained decking, falling amongst piles of bolts and coils of cable and other detritus of repair.
Valencio approached, a robed orderly fussing around him with a paint gun, respraying the Terminator’s armour. He had removed his helmet - something Lorenzo had tried to do but failed - and his eyes were bright with pride.
‘Our brothers are deciphering the C.A.T. data now,’ Valencio said. ‘They seem very pleased.’
‘As well they should,’ said Lorenzo. ‘We need all the information we can gather if we are to be victorious.’
‘Our brothers fight bravely and do the Chapter honour,’ said Valencio. ‘I hope that I have acquitted myself with equal glory.’
Lorenzo did not reply immediately, pondering whether to indulge Valencio’s need for validation. He
relented, remembering how eager he had been when he had joined the First Company. To be acknowledged as a veteran was a tribute that should not be taken lightly. And, in truth, Valencio deserved praise.
‘You fought bravely and with skill.’
‘My thanks for your words,’ said Valencio with a deferential nod of the head. ‘I wish only to serve the memories of those that came before us.’
Dark thoughts swirled into Lorenzo’s mind, recollections of the nine hundred and fifty who had been lost. He pushed the memories back into the depths of his mind, suppressing them as he had done for six and a half centuries.
‘We will rejoin the battle shortly,’ the sergeant said. ‘Make sure the others are ready.’
Valencio nodded and moved away, leaving Lorenzo to his thoughts.
‘That is the best that I can do,’ said Auletio, the servo-arms folding into place behind him. ‘There’s nothing I can do about the helm. It is jammed solid and I do not have the tools needed to release it.’
‘Your efforts do you credit,’ Lorenzo said reflexively. He had all but forgotten the Techmarine’s presence. The sergeant lifted his arms while a pair of serfs attached chunky storm bolter magazines to his belt. ‘Others are in more need of your attentions.’
‘May the strength of the Angel fill your spirit,’ said Auletio before turning away, his orderlies trailing after him like chicks after their mother.
A hand slapped down on Lorenzo’s right shoulder and the sergeant turned to find Zael standing beside him. The rest of the squad were behind Zael, helmets locked in place, damage patched, weapons ready.
‘It is time to admonish our foes once more,’ said Zael.
‘Yes, I feel the need to administer the justice of the Emperor,’ growled Lorenzo. He drew his power sword and activated its glittering blade. ‘Let us be the blade of the Angel’s judgement!’