Shroud of Night

by Andy Clark

  ‘Fall upon them from on high,’ said Skarle in a whispered sing-song. ‘Loose the fire, watch them die.’

  ‘Nobody asked you, lunatic,’ said Reskh.

  ‘Skarle is our brother,’ said Kassar sharply. ‘You will remember that.’

  Reskh offered his captain a warrior’s salute and subsided.

  ‘My guess would be insertion scenario quadra,’ said D’sakh. ‘If the hive is that heavily defended.’

  ‘Correct,’ said Kassar. ‘I intend to utilise our fourth iteration attack plan. It avoids extreme risk, without compromising speed. Comments?’

  ‘Must we absolutely abandon the notion of gaining access to the spire directly?’ asked Makhor. ‘It is a large area of complex, armoured structures. Can we be sure that three runs is enough to rule it out altogether?’

  ‘The Coffer is becoming irate,’ said Kassar. ‘Haltheus has done everything he can on that front. Survivability of Khornate drop-ships within the spire’s flak umbrella is vanishingly small. There is no chance of success by that route.’

  ‘This plan will take us outside of the main invasion vectors being followed by Khordas’ forces,’ said A’khassor. ‘I would challenge the assumption that hull camouflage alone is enough to deflect attention from one craft moving so radically off course.’

  ‘They’re Khorne worshippers,’ said Skaryth scornfully. ‘They’ll be breaking off from their flight patterns all over, wherever their blood thirst takes them. It’s doubtful that anyone else will even notice us stray off course.’

  ‘The Imperial gunners might,’ said Makhor. ‘All it takes is one servitor crew or sharp-eyed helot to spot an easy target, out in the open, and we’re mission fail.’

  ‘The risk is negligible,’ said Haltheus, swinging himself through the hatchway to join the discussion. ‘The Imperial gunners are keeping the Khornate hordes at bay for now, but Khordas has a lot of ships. One craft, high up, veering well off course? We should encounter no difficulties. Probably.’

  ‘Probably?’ echoed Phaek’or.

  ‘Have a little faith,’ said Haltheus. ‘I have an additional innovation ready, in case anyone picks us out.’

  ‘What about personal camouflage?’ asked Skaryth. ‘And mask protocols?’

  ‘No armour swaps unless a specific opportunity presents itself,’ said Kassar. ‘We’ve insufficient intelligence on their protocols and rites. We would blend poorly.’

  ‘Some of us more than others,’ said Phalk’ir, looking pointedly at Skarle and Krowl. The former stifled a snigger, while the latter sat still, silent, golem-like, as he always did when not specifically ordered otherwise.

  ‘Mask protocols are seventh pattern, if invoked,’ continued Kassar. ‘D’sakh will play the role of leader, should the need to obfuscate seniority arise.’

  He noticed that Syxx was watching proceedings intently, his body language conveying bewilderment as well as borderline hypothermia.

  ‘You have a question, cultist?’

  The Harrow turned their collective gaze upon the human in their midst.

  ‘My lord,’ he began, teeth chattering. ‘With respect, this is unfamiliar. Lord Excrucias instructs that to question the orders of your superiors is a flaw.’

  D’sakh snorted. Makhor and A’khassor looked away, immediately disinterested.

  ‘That’s not our way,’ said Kassar. ‘The Alpha Legion prize initiative at every level. As a collective, we formulate our attack plans, utilising all available information to ensure that we have a counter to every eventuality. Once an attack strategy is chosen, it is questioned and tested before being put into action.’

  ‘You wouldn’t wield an untempered blade,’ said Haltheus. ‘Plans are no different, but sorry, Kassar, why are we explaining this to the baggage?’

  ‘Because if he understands a little of our ways, we stand a better chance of keeping him alive,’ replied Kassar. ‘And because information is fair exchange, and he can tell us things that Excrucias hasn’t.’

  ‘Anything, lord,’ said Syxx.

  ‘Let us begin with Ganshorr of the Iron Fist,’ said Kassar. ‘His name was mentioned by Excrucias, only once, as being the third warlord in contention for Tsadrekha. Yet we’ve heard nothing more of him, except that he is of the Iron Warriors. Why?’

  ‘It is a matter of wounded pride, my lord,’ said Syxx, trying to control the chattering of his teeth. ‘Ganshorr assumed an approach of steady, methodical conquest where my master and the butcher Khordas both struck straight at Tsadrekha. They have both been defeated by this world, but Ganshorr has so far overrun three of the Unity’s outer planets.’

  ‘Choking off the supply lines, no doubt,’ said D’sakh. ‘Typical Iron Warriors.’

  ‘He’s probably waiting for his rivals to dash themselves to pieces upon Tsadrekha’s defences before moving in to finish the job himself,’ said Haltheus, nodding.

  ‘There’s more to it, though,’ said Kassar. ‘Isn’t there?’

  Syxx paused, as though Excrucias might hear him.

  ‘Yes, lord.’

  Kassar waited.

  ‘Ganshorr defeated Excrucias, lord,’ continued Syxx.

  ‘Where?’ asked Kassar. ‘When? How?’

  ‘I don’t know all of the details, lord,’ said Syxx. ‘It was death to even speak of it. But Phelkorian implied that Excrucias led an attack to remove Ganshorr from the campaign altogether, believing that one so dull and unimaginative would prove easy prey.’

  ‘Arrogance cost him,’ said Kassar. ‘And in its aftermath, he found himself in need of elite warriors to replenish his ranks. The sort he abandoned on Bloodforge.’

  Syxx nodded.

  Before Kassar could ask his next question, the electro-sconces gave a single crimson pulse.

  ‘Ah…’ said Haltheus, disappearing back through the hatch.

  Wordlessly, Kyphas unharnessed himself, and he and Kassar followed.

  The Stormbird had three thrones in its cockpit, two forward-facing and side-by-side for the pilot and co-pilot, and a third on a recessed level above them, facing back towards the craft’s tail. Kassar had never seen a variant of this sort before, but it hadn’t taken him long to determine that the third throne was for a dedicated gunner. While Haltheus and Kyphas strapped in to the pilot’s and co-pilot’s thrones respectively, Kassar propelled himself up to the gunner’s throne.

  ‘Haltheus?’ asked Kassar. ‘Are we detected?’

  ‘No,’ answered Haltheus as he worked his instruments. ‘Servitor-

  guided mines, by the looks of it. Probably been out here a while. Just our bad luck they’ve picked up life signs aboard.’

  ‘Three thousand yards and closing,’ said Kyphas, one eye on the auspex as he engaged his motive controls. ‘Their thrusters are firing sporadically. They look ill-maintained.’

  ‘Can we light our void shields, drift through them and endure?’ asked Kassar.

  ‘Stormbirds are tough, but not that tough, and if this old warhorse still has void shield generators I don’t know where Excrucias’ warpsmiths have hidden them,’ said Haltheus. ‘I’m reading plasmic signatures. Even if the mines didn’t blow us to pieces, there’s no way we’d be in fit shape for orbital insertion.’

  Kassar thought quickly. To engage the Stormbird’s primary drives and weapon systems would allow them to deal with the incoming ordnance, but it would also betray their position as if they had run up a flag.

  ‘Distance to the edge of the debris field?’ he asked.

  ‘Two point three miles,’ replied Haltheus. ‘Then another twenty to bring us onto our approach vector.’

  ‘Two thousand five hundred yards, still closing,’ said Kyphas. ‘I read a dozen mines, Kassar.’

  Their craft had already drifted through over thirty miles of orbital debris. Excrucias’ ships had been left far behind, lurking beyond the
engagement zone. The Unsung were alone, unsupported, and very much in harm’s way.

  Precisely where they did their best work.

  ‘Haltheus,’ said Kassar, ‘the Coffer?’

  ‘Slumbering,’ said Haltheus. ‘We couldn’t wake it now even if we dared.’

  Kassar nodded.

  ‘All right then,’ he said over the squad’s vox-channel. ‘Stealth’s no use to us if we die here. Haltheus, keep to manoeuvring thrusters but take what evasive action you can, and we’ll hope that there’s still enough debris between us and the enemy to hide it. Kyphas, patch squad vox through the ship’s emitters, highest sensitivity, and direct it towards the nearest wrecks. Focus the auspex beams on the same locations and see if you can’t generate some heat.’

  ‘False life signs,’ said Kyphas, already working his controls. ‘Heat. Breathing. Heartbeats. Clever.’

  Kassar didn’t reply, instead focusing on his targeters, and the weapons slaved to his command. Along with several racks of missiles, Stormbirds boasted four heavy bolter turrets, two set fore and aft along each flank, and normally crewed by dedicated gunners. This Emperor’s Children gunship instead gave full control of all weapons to one individual; if Kassar had to guess, some element of obsessive or excessive psychology was the root of such a decision, but now was hardly the time to ponder it. Instead, he watched intently as runic designators flashed up to indicate the plasma-warhead orbital interdiction mines closing to within eighteen hundred yards.

  The gunship lurched, and Kassar felt sudden pressure as Haltheus swung them around a drifting hunk of metal that had once been a warship’s prow. The mines changed heading to follow them, and two silent flashes lit the cockpit in quick succession. On Kassar’s targeter, ten runes remained, closing quickly.

  ‘Kyphas,’ said Kassar.

  ‘Focusing resonance now,’ said the former spymaster.

  Kassar heard the weird feedback loop of his and his brothers’ breathing and heartbeats magnified through their vox-channel, before Kyphas sent their signal out through the void. On Kassar’s screen, another rune winked out as it chased their false life signs into an ancient enginarium, followed by three more that ploughed in quick succession into the gutted hulk of a Sword-class frigate.

  ‘Six left,’ said Haltheus, triggering the Stormbird’s thrusters again. The gunship tumbled onto its side, sliding neatly between the skeletal spars of a drifting leviathan. Fingers of wreckage scraped their hull, causing screeches and groans to echo around them. Drifting globules of promethium spattered the armourglass of the windshield then wobbled away.

  ‘Five,’ said Kassar as another of the runes winked out. The rest filtered through the wreck behind them, red eye-lights pulsing in skull sockets as they tracked their prey.

  The gunship emerged from the huge wreck, and Haltheus gave its thrusters a sudden punch, spinning them vertical and propelling them away towards the edge of the debris field. Kassar watched as the mines jetted after them, accelerating.

  ‘Kyphas?’ he asked.

  ‘Still transmitting, no response,’ replied Kyphas.

  ‘We won’t outrun them on manoeuvring thrusters, Kassar,’ said Haltheus. ‘It’s engines or gunfire.’

  ‘Guns then,’ said Kassar. ‘Lesser of two evils. Give me a clear shot.’

  ‘Nine hundred yards,’ said Kyphas.

  Haltheus worked his controls and, with another surge of thrust, the Stormbird rolled to present its belly to the oncoming mines. Hanging sideways in his restraints, Kassar swivelled all four twin-linked heavy bolters so they were pointing at the onrushing ordnance. Four weapons’ worth of targeting data flooded in, taxing even his superior cerebral capacity, yet his breathing remained steady, his actions calm and measured.

  ‘Eight hundred yards,’ said Kyphas.

  ‘Kassar…’ said Haltheus.

  Kassar drank in data, mentally processing trajectories, velocity, energy output signatures. One by one, lock signatures appeared above the target runes.

  ‘Six hundred yards,’ said Kyphas.

  ‘Captain!’ urged Haltheus.

  Breathing slowly out, Kassar depressed his runic triggers. Eight heavy bolter muzzles flared silently in the void, a single shell bursting from each gun on a jet of fire. The heavy calibre shells sped through the darkness in tight pairs, converging on their targets with lethal speed. Fierce detonations followed. The Stormbird bucked as though kicked by a giant, Haltheus and Kyphas wrestling with the controls as they rode out the shockwave from multiple plasma flares. Kassar hung on grimly, eyes still fixed on the static-washed screen of his targeter.

  The gunship’s tumble righted itself and the instruments cleared. Kassar sat back from his screen as the targeter showed empty.

  ‘All hostile contacts eliminated,’ he reported. ‘Kyphas, can you get us visual confirmation?’

  ‘One moment,’ said Kyphas, working his instruments.

  ‘Cutting things fine, Kassar?’ asked Haltheus.

  ‘Minimising shots fired,’ replied Kassar. ‘There’s a dozen reasons why old ordnance might detonate within this debris field, but sustained streams of heavy bolter fire don’t just happen without someone directing them.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Haltheus. ‘I almost hope the skull-lovers are looking this way. At least then all this effort and danger would be justif–’

  ‘Single contact remains,’ said Kyphas. ‘Damaged but mobile, must have been pushed clear of your fire by its comrades’ detonation, Kassar. Two hundred yards, eighty-two degrees starboard.’

  Reacting instantly, Haltheus triggered the Stormbird’s port thrusters, kicking the gunship into a sharp turn. At the same time, Kassar swung the starboard guns to bear, sighted on his target and depressed his triggers. Again the Stormbird’s guns spat shells. Four bolts slammed into the target, and a raging storm of plasma erupted into space.

  Haltheus cursed as damage runes lit amber on the Stormbird’s panel, and Kassar clung grimly to his restraints as he was shaken like a rag doll. Then they were drifting again, clear of the blast and nearing the edge of the debris field.

  ‘Damage?’ asked Kassar. For a moment, the only answer was the click and hum of his brothers working their controls, stabilising the craft, performing diagnostic genuflections to its machine-spirit.

  ‘Tolerable,’ said Haltheus eventually. ‘Outer plating on the starboard wing is partially melted, and there’s a coolant leak somewhere in there. I wouldn’t chance firing those missiles unless I had a clear shot at the Golden Throne, and we’re going to have to watch the wing during re-entry. But we’re still mission capable.’

  ‘Good,’ said Kassar. ‘Give us enough thrust to take us onto our approach vector, then let the machine-spirit compose itself for a few moments. We want it calm and willing before we commence our approach.’

  Haltheus muttered something about his own calm and willingness, but followed his orders. Kassar switched back to the squad vox-channel, which Kyphas had now returned to its normal configuration and re-encrypted.

  ‘Unsung, report,’ he voxed.

  ‘The Harrow is mission capable,’ replied D’sakh. ‘No damage sustained, though the package was rendered unconscious during that second blast.’

  ‘He was harmed?’ asked Kassar.

  ‘Nothing serious,’ replied A’khassor. ‘I have checked him over, as best I can without exposing him to lethal levels of cold. No compromising damage. As an observation, though, what flesh I saw – scalp and neck mostly – is absolutely crawling with branded sigils. You’d need a psyker to confirm it, Kassar, but I’d wager there’s empyric power bound into the mortal’s body somehow.’

  ‘Noted,’ said Kassar. ‘Phelkorian spoke of markings that would taint the beacon, but he was vague as to their exact purpose. We’ll be doubly cautious until we can determine what power our guest brings with him.’

  ‘A shame that
you were forced to put an end to Nehkt’sha,’ said Kyphas, joining the vox exchange. ‘A skilled sorcerer might have been able to decipher the purpose of those runes.’

  ‘A shame indeed,’ added Phalk’ir bitterly. ‘And what was his sin but embracing the gifts that we have all earned thrice-over by now?’

  ‘Nehkt’sha was possessed,’ said Kassar. ‘And this is an old, tired argument, Phalk’ir. The gifts of the gods are nothing of the sort. They are corruption and death.’

  ‘Or they are power,’ replied Phalk’ir. ‘Fairly earned and richly deserved.’

  ‘I won’t have this argument with you again, brother,’ said Kassar. ‘We are no longer trapped on Bloodforge, and once we complete this mission we will have our freedom. If you wish to part ways with the Harrow on that day, to pursue the cursed boons of the Chaos Gods, I won’t try to stop you. That goes for any of you who still hunger for their gifts despite all we have seen. But for now, we have a mission, one that we must complete. Focus on that.’

  ‘Yes, Kassar,’ said D’sakh. ‘How long?’

  ‘We will be out of the debris belt in under a minute,’ said Kassar, grateful for his vexillor’s loyalty. ‘We’ll drift for another three minutes and then enter an approach vector. Providing the enemy do not see through our ruse, we’ll begin our drop six minutes and ten seconds after that. Final preparations.’

  Assenting vox pips came back to him, the Harrow beginning ammunition checks and pre-battle rituals, and their final benedictions to their machine-spirits.

  ‘No prayer,’ he added in a tone of voice that brooked no debate. ‘We are our own masters.’

  Kassar cut the vox-link and began a thorough check of his own wargear, taking slow, meditative breaths as he did so.

  ‘Phalk’ir is a preening cretin,’ said Haltheus quietly. ‘But he does make you think. We don’t owe the gods anything, but do we owe Excrucias any more? We’re already free, Kassar. I’m just saying, we could shoot the cultist, turn our prow and disappear.’

  ‘No, brother,’ said Kassar. ‘I hear you, but where would we go? This is not a warp-capable ship, and we haven’t the numbers to board one that is.’