Shroud of Night

by Andy Clark

  ‘Then how?’ asked Kassar.

  ‘I have absolutely no idea,’ said A’khassor. ‘Except to say that our baggage has a great deal more about him than meets the eye.’

  ‘I miss Nehkt’sha more than ever, at times like these,’ said Kassar, sombrely. ‘A psyker could pry into the cultist’s mind, discover what he’s hiding. Perhaps even make sense of the brands on his flesh.’

  A’khassor murmured agreement.

  ‘There’s Kyphas?’ said Kassar.

  ‘Only if you want the baggage broken beyond repair,’ said A’khassor scornfully. ‘That one hasn’t the restraint left to know when to stop.’

  ‘Cogitator panel here,’ called Haltheus. ‘Let’s see what we can see.’

  ‘Just bear it in mind, Kassar,’ said A’khassor as the Unsung drew to a halt. ‘And watch him carefully.’

  Several minutes and several unrepentant offences to the Omnissiah later, Haltheus barked in triumph.

  ‘What do you have?’ asked Kassar. ‘A route back to the hub?’

  ‘What? No,’ said Haltheus. ‘No, that’d take us hours to circumnavigate back to. I have us a much quicker way onwards.’

  ‘Elaborate,’ said Kassar.

  ‘This tunnel goes on for another two miles,’ said Haltheus. ‘Then it splits. One fork would take us on towards the hub on foot, but as I said, hours. The other leads directly to tunnel thirteen. An active route direct to the hive.’

  ‘What use is that?’ asked Makhor. ‘We’d still be on foot… unless… Haltheus, what are you planning?’

  Haltheus grinned at them all.

  ‘Well, brothers,’ he said, ‘if we move quickly, there’s a train coming…’

  Chapter Eight

  The Khornate horde battered at Hive Endurance. Up and down the city’s metallic flanks, Imperial defenders rained fire upon those heretics that had gained a toehold. Directly below the shuttered mechanical cavern of the Divinitus Aerodocks, halfway up the hive’s north flank, a thin line of Tsadrekhan militia and Adepta Sororitas held the barricaded entry-ports to the lower docks. They were led by a dozen Imperial Fists, and Captain Dysorian himself.

  Dysorian snapped off a shot from his bolt pistol, blasting out a Khorne Berzerker’s throat. The warrior’s lifeless body tumbled back down the armoured mountainside of the hive’s outer shell, falling towards the waves below.

  ‘Reloading,’ said Dysorian, calmly ejecting his clip and slamming a new one into place as shots ripped the air around him. Bolt shells struck the barricade he stood behind, exploding against monobonded marble and leaving black scorch-marks. A storm of small-arms fire whipped up and down the hive’s flank, fired by Tsadrekhan defence troopers and clambering cultists.

  ‘Two more drop-craft coming in at seventeen one-one,’ voxed Sergeant Valynas. ‘They’re making the most of that hole in our flak cover.’

  ‘Brother Yoldas,’ said Dysorian. ‘Did you receive that?’

  ‘Yes, my captain,’ came Yoldas’ voice, crackling with atmospheric interference. Yoldas had authority over a pair of Hunter anti-aircraft tanks, locked down on a commercia access ramp two levels up. As Dysorian kept firing, the Hunters let fly. Guided by mummified servitor-savants, their skyspear missiles arced away on trails of smoke and flame.

  One struck a renegade Stormraven head on, sending its flaming wreckage plummeting away. The other clipped a crimson-hulled bulk hauler.

  ‘Direct hit, starboard nacelle,’ reported Yoldas. ‘Target listing… Dorn’s fist, the pilot’s aiming straight for us. Brother Lumas, get us cl–’

  The hauler, belching smoke from its blasted engine, lurched drunkenly over Dysorian’s head and slammed into the hive. The captain ducked as a titanic explosion lit the evening gloom, raining flaming wreckage around him.

  Dysorian magnified his auto-senses and surveyed the blazing ruin of the drop-ship, and the two Imperial Fist tanks that had been crushed by it.

  ‘Curses,’ he muttered sourly, then continued shooting. The captain was flanked by Sergeant Valynas’ Primaris Hellblasters, their plasma incinerators howling with every shot. Khorne Berzerkers clambered towards them hand over hand, gripping antennas, pipes and cables, brandishing chainaxes and firing bolt pistols.

  One by one, the Hellblasters shot them back down.

  The last of the Khorne Berzerkers somehow evaded the hail of shots, putting on a burst of speed and hauling himself up onto the barricade. Dysorian stepped up and drove his power sword through the Berzerker’s neck. The corpse toppled backwards, crashing into a nest of antenna and dangling there like macabre fruit.

  ‘Attack wave neutralised, my captain,’ said the Hellblaster sergeant. He motioned for his brothers to begin appeasement rituals on their plasma incinerators, which were glowing and venting wisps of steam.

  ‘Vigilance, Sergeant Valynas,’ said Dysorian, sheathing his blade. ‘No doubt the foe shall be upon us again soon enough.’

  ‘Yes, my captain,’ said Valynas.

  Dysorian took a moment to survey the strange battlefield. The clouds had thickened above Endurance, lightning crackling through them to strike at the distant towers of the convent prioris. Enemy drop-ships still fell like rain, many flaring out in fireballs as streams of gunfire found them. The waves below were frothing, smashing against the hive’s flanks hard enough to send spume several hundred feet into the air. Wreckage and bodies churned amongst them.

  Out on the horizon, plumes of smoke rose, tell-tale signs of other battles being waged on rigs and ocean forts. With atmospherics so poor, little word had come from the planet’s other hives, but what fragments had reached Dysorian’s ear sounded less than encouraging.

  Closer to home, the hive’s skin crawled with invaders like mites on a grox. Not every drop-ship could be shot down, and of those that were, some still managed crash landings that their passengers could survive.

  Gradually, by dint of sheer numbers and aggression, Lord Khordas’ forces were gaining footholds.

  ‘They’re still coming, my captain,’ voxed Techmarine Pavras. ‘Their numbers are more akin to orks.’

  ‘A lot of cultists here, Pavras,’ replied Dysorian. ‘A lot of renegades and mongrels bulking out the elite. Still, their numbers cannot be inexhaustible. We need only endure.’

  ‘And we shall,’ said Pavras. ‘We shall make the primarch proud.’

  ‘We shall,’ agreed Dysorian gruffly. ‘How fares the battle in the Waterline districts?’

  ‘The line is holding down here,’ said Pavras. ‘We’ve been coordinating with the Sororitas and the Tsadrekhan officers to keep reinforcements flowing. Docking piers four and six are overrun, but we’re keeping the enemy pinned with Thunderfire batteries. One breach in Waterline sector tertius nine minutes ago, driven back by overwhelming deployment of Tsadrekhan militia reserves.’

  ‘Good work, Pavras,’ said Dysorian. ‘The Primaris?’

  ‘Fighting like born heroes, my captain,’ said Pavras. ‘As you have no doubt witnessed for yourself.’

  ‘They fight with courage, determination and skill,’ replied Dysorian. ‘Which is the bare minimum I would expect from an Imperial Fist. But I grant, their presence is not an active disadvantage.’

  Dysorian switched channels from his old friend’s wry chuckle.

  ‘Canoness Levinia,’ he said. ‘What news of the battle on high?’

  ‘The hive spire remains unbreached, captain,’ came Levinia’s reply, warped by ether-static. ‘The Saint leads us, and the heretics fall like chaff. The Tsadrekhan vox-men report that your warriors are leading the defence below in a similarly successful fashion, yes?’

  ‘Thus far, that is so,’ replied Dysorian. ‘The hive’s strategic command decks are faring admirably in keeping us informed of enemy threats as they develop. My commendations to their officers.’

  ‘I shall see that your message is passed on
, captain,’ said Levinia. ‘It will boost morale considerably. Your praise is known to be hard to win.’

  ‘Let me know if anything changes, canoness,’ said Dysorian. ‘And we will hurl these scum into the ocean together.’

  Dysorian switched through further channels, absorbing strategic exloads and listening in on officer vox exchanges before cycling on again. He maintained a strategic picture of the hive in his head, far more complex than anything a mere mortal could have envisioned.

  ‘Lieutenant Lydanis,’ he said, switching channels again. ‘How fare the defences in the Underbilge?’

  ‘Minimal enemy contact thus far, my captain,’ replied Lydanis, his voice fading in and out as the channel strove to cut through miles of hive structure and electrical systems. ‘The defences around the maglev hub remain untested. Levels zero-zero-five through one-zero-six are likewise patrolled, but unassailed, probably due to depth and difficulty of enemy access. The levels directly below the Waterline districts have seen isolated break-ins and two flood warnings. Berzerkers have sawed their way through several airlocks. All enemy ingressions have been swiftly eliminated.’

  ‘See that it remains thus,’ said Dysorian.

  ‘Yes, my captain,’ replied the lieutenant.

  ‘And what of the tunnels?’ asked Dysorian, raising his voice as a squadron of Land Speeders roared overhead, then dived away on a strafing run.

  ‘Several reports of contact from patrol groups and guard posts, my captain. Isolated bands of enemies gaining access via outliers, all neutralised. Two flood events, one of which appears to have cost us Intercessor Squad Ledarno.’

  ‘Enemy involvement?’ asked Dysorian.

  ‘Unclear,’ replied Lydanis. ‘One instance appears to have been caused by macro-lander wreckage impacting the tunnel roof. In the other case, Sergeant Ledarno attempted a vox transmission prior to the collapse, but under-ocean atmospherics are extremely poor. We received only fragments, which Techmarine Savandys is attempting to decipher. I have despatched response forces to both locations, but the distance is considerable and the maglev network is still running, which presents a substantial hazard that must be circumnavigated. Even in armoured transports, it will take them time to reach their destinations, my captain.’

  Dysorian grunted. ‘Keep me appraised, lieutenant,’ he said.

  ‘In Dorn’s name,’ replied Lydanis.

  Dysorian continued his vox sweep, speaking to his commanding officers and sergeants, appraising himself of the strategic situation. Overall, he found himself cautiously optimistic. The enemy had made a number of localised gains, but their casualty rates had been phenomenal, enough to turn the waters around the hive red, and as he had said to Pavras, they could not be infinite. Afternoon was dimming towards evening, but thanks to the cloud cover they would not have to endure the ugly, glowing scar of the Great Rift splitting the stars above. Dysorian didn’t hold with omens, but had he, that would surely have been a good one.

  Canoness Levinia’s rune flashed in Dysorian’s peripheral, a priority hail. He blink clicked acknowledgement, returning to their open channel.

  ‘Canoness Levinia,’ said Dysorian.

  ‘Captain Dysorian,’ said Levinia urgently. ‘The Saint has given us a warning. The foe are about to force a breach on the southern face of floor five-two-two. We must relocate our forces appropriately, for they will do this within minutes, captain.’

  ‘How does she know this?’ asked Dysorian, heavy brows beetling.

  ‘Because she is a Living Saint of the Emperor, Captain Dysorian,’ snapped Levinia. ‘She is party to holy revelation. Do you lack faith in her word?’

  ‘I have faith in intelligence reports, auspex scans, auto-seances,’ replied Dysorian, ignoring the resumed howl of gunfire from the Hellblasters. ‘None of which have reported any enemy threat to that sector. Canoness, with respect–’

  ‘Captain,’ interrupted Levinia, steel in her voice. ‘If you do not trust the revelations of the Saint, then trust me. We have fought to defend this world for long months now. You know I am not some habit-wringing novitiate.’

  Dysorian hesitated for a moment, then growled in annoyance.

  ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I am relocating now.’

  Dysorian switched channels, swiftly ordering those reserves he could spare towards southern face five-two-two and hoping to Dorn that he was doing the right thing.

  Stepping back to the barricade, Dysorian emptied his bolt pistol’s clip into the blood-cultists scrambling frantically up towards it. Clad in mangy robes and skull masks, many badly burned from the crash of their transport, the men burst like blood blisters as his shells hit them.

  ‘Sergeant Valynas,’ he said. ‘Not a single foe crosses this barricade.’

  ‘Understood, my captain,’ said Valynas. ‘It shall be as though Dorn himself stood watch.’

  ‘Good enough,’ nodded Dysorian as the howl of powerful engines approached.

  Swinging in low around the hive’s flank came a yellow-hulled Stormraven. Its guns cut a swathe through the clambering cultists, then the pilot brought his craft around, its nose lowering as though bowing to Dysorian. Hydraulics whined, and the gunship’s assault ramp lowered.

  Offering a quick salute to the Hellblasters, the captain vaulted atop the barricade then leapt onto the ramp, cloak streaming behind him. He locked gauntlets with one of the Tactical Squad already riding in the gunship’s hold, and was pulled in. As the ramp closed behind him, the Stormraven was already swinging away, bullets pinging from its armoured hull as it fired its thrusters and set off for level five-two-two.

  ‘Oh, Throne,’ breathed Dysorian in horror.

  Overhead, a leviathan blazed down through the clouds.

  Standing behind the pilot’s throne in the Stormraven’s cockpit, Dysorian stared up at the vast metal shape, still wreathed in flames, that was plunging towards the hive’s southern flank.

  ‘Augurs suggest a Hellbringer Mk II light cruiser, my captain,’ said the gunship’s pilot. ‘Approximately one mile long. No battle-damage showing. Collision course with Endurance south flank, floors five-one-nine to five-two-four. Two minutes to impact.’

  ‘A cruiser,’ said Dysorian. ‘Those lunatics are going to ram the hive!’

  Recovering himself, Dysorian began issuing orders over the vox.

  ‘Imperial Fists forces within three-level proximity to south face five-two-two, withdraw to higher or lower levels, effective immediate. Brace for macro-ordnance impact. Any Tsadrekhan Militia reserves or Adepta Sororitas in vicinity of level five-two-two, this is Captain Paetrov Dysorian of the Imperial Fists ordering an immediate withdrawal from south face combat zone. In the Emperor’s name, if you wish to live, move now.’

  Responses came back, some brisk and efficient, others panicked militia requests for confirmation or additional detail. These latter he ignored. He had more important matters to attend to than the coddling of fools.

  Overhead, the blazing spear of the Hellbringer was arcing towards the hive, flames still dancing around its prow. Flak fire reached out to hammer the craft, but splashed harmlessly from flickering void shields.

  ‘Canoness Levinia,’ voxed Dysorian. ‘Do you see it?’

  ‘I have the abomination in my sights, captain,’ replied the canoness.

  ‘Do we have anything that can shoot it down?’ asked Dysorian.

  ‘We are trying. All southern batteries have retasked. But it’s below the arc of our orbital lasers.’

  Missiles streaked away from the convent prioris, slamming into the ship’s void shields until they collapsed in a polychromatic spray. Las blasts and explosive warheads pummelled the Hellbringer’s prow. Still it roared closer.

  ‘There’s no time,’ said Dysorian. ‘It’s going to hit.’

  ‘My captain,’ came Pavras’ voice over the vox. ‘Vox-intercept from the cruiser. You n
eed to hear this.’

  Dysorian’s ear filled with the sound of a bestial voice.

  ‘…and now, as we plunge down upon the weakling city like a blade cast from the hand of mighty Khorne, know that I lead you to glory in person. The eye of the Blood God is upon me, as it shall be now upon all of you, and in his sight, we shall reap such glory from the field of battle…’

  ‘Primarch’s fist,’ said Dysorian. ‘Khordas. He’s on that cruiser, isn’t he?’

  ‘I think so, my captain,’ said Pavras. ‘The Arch Heretic has tired of waiting. He comes.’

  The impact was phenomenal. Triple-layer, reinforced plasteel built to withstand the most furious bombardment crumpled like paper under the cruiser’s prow. Like a javelin hurled into the flank of some towering behemoth, the Hellbringer plunged deep into Hive Endurance. Explosions blossomed around the impact point. Choked screams and thunderous rumbling filled the vox-net, cutting off as the ship tore through decking, hab-units, bulkheads, manufactorums, exchanger pipes, generatorums and shrines.

  The cruiser suffered for its insane aggression. Its superstructure warped and crumpled as the titanic force of the impact radiated along its length. Fireballs erupted from collapsing gundecks and munitions stores. Stained glass fell in blizzards. Spiked gargoyles and gun towers tore away, smashing into the flanks of the hive and trailing secondary detonations all the way to the ocean.

  ‘It’s going to tear the hive in two,’ said Dysorian.

  ‘If its warp drives don’t go critical first,’ voxed Pavras, voice shuddering.

  Groaning like a dying god, the Hellbringer ground to a stop, over two-thirds of its length driven into the meat of the hive. Frantic reports claimed that its mangled prow had missed the hive spine by less than a thousand yards. Fires blazed furiously all around the breach, which had ripped through the superstructure of five-two-two and several floors above and below.

  Wreckage rained down.

  The cruiser’s hindquarters settled, threatening to tear away under their own weight.