The Crimson Fists reached Traitor's Gorge just after midnight, with the fury of the storm howling at their heels.
The walls of the gorge were sheer and steep, rising hundreds of metres into the air on either side, plunging the uneven, rocky floor into deep shadow. With a simple, mnemonic command Kantor recalled the most recent geological survey of the region, made some four hundred and fifty years before. Aerial survey maps appeared in his mind's eye, as sharp as the day he had first set eyes on them. The gorge ran north to south for just over forty kilometres, sloping gently downwards the entire way before emptying into the Altera Basin, Along the way, the gorge carved a serpentine path, where rushing water had found a path through softer rock amid the mountain granite. There was one spot along the course, near the midpoint of the gorge, where it widened to almost a half-kilometre across. That was where he expected to find the greenskin camp.
Kantor kept his warriors on the move, keeping the Sternguard on point and letting them move further ahead to deal with any orks in their way. Then he called Daecor's squad forwards and let Victurix's slower Terminators bring up the rear. The Space Marines kept to the centre of the gorge, where the ground was flatter and allowed them to move quickly and quietly. Distant lightning flickered at their backs, painting streaks of blue across the rock walls and providing momentary glimpses of the barren, rocky terrain.
The Space Marines' pace slowed and grew more cautious as they drew closer to their objective. Over the past hour, the wind at their backs had been rising steadily, and the constant flicker of lightning left streaks of static across their helmet displays. The farther they went, the more evidence they found of the greenskins' presence. Every scrap of dried wood, every shred of vegetation, had been stripped from the walls and floor of the gorge. The ground had been churned by the passage of hundreds of heavy, hobnailed boots, and every corner and crevice near the gorge's high walls had collected drifts of rubbish dropped by ork scavenging parties.
Two hours after they had entered the gorge, Phrenotas's voice spoke in Kantor's ear. 'We've found them,' the veteran sergeant said, his words hashed with bursts of interference from the storm. 'Some isolated orks moving about the outskirts of the camp just north of us. The rest are concentrated in the centre, around a series of fire pits.'
The cooking pits, Kantor thought, feeling a rising tide of anger. 'How many?'
'More than expected,' Phrenotas answered. 'Judging by the noise, perhaps a hundred. Perhaps more.'
Kantor's eyes narrowed. He studied the status icons along the margins of his helmet display. The patrol had been able to replenish its ammunition, but the rest of its wargear was in sore need of repair. A protracted battle would be risky, when even one casualty constituted a serious blow to the Chapter.
Surprise is on our side, the Chapter Master reminded himself. We are the sons of Dorn, and these vermin have defiled our world. Our duty is clear.
'Make a path,' Kantor told Phrenotas, and then ordered the rest of the patrol to advance.
With Daecor's squad and Victurix's Terminators close behind him, Kantor headed up the gorge. The rocky floor turned sharply to the west, and then ran for a few hundred metres before curving roughly northwards again. Up ahead, the rock walls narrowed to a natural choke point, some fifteen metres across. Beyond, Kantor knew, the gorge widened out dramatically. That was where the ork camp lay.
'Weapons check,' Kantor told his warriors. With a neuromuscular command, he ignited his power fist's deadly energy field. Another command released the safeties on Dorn's Arrow. Auto-loaders clattered faintly in the darkness as shells fed into firing chambers. Lightning flashed directly overhead, followed immediately by a punishing blow of thunder.
Kantor passed through the choke point, his armour's autosenses searching the darkness for threats. Past the narrow gap, the slope of the gorge increased slightly. Perhaps another hundred metres further on, Kantor could see the eastern edge of the greenskin camp. The uneven shapes of crude shelters and filthy, trash-strewn nests were silhouetted by the flickering, orange glow of the greenskins' fire pits. The camp stretched nearly the entire width of the gorge, almost to the rocky overhang of Widow's Spire on the left, and the steep flank of Darkridge to the right. A tangle of narrow, debris-strewn paths wound amongst the squalor, all of them leading more or less towards the distant flames.
One of Phrenotas's veterans crouched at the entrance of one such path, his helmet lenses glowing balefully in the darkness. He rose silently as Kantor approached and led the rest of the patrol forwards. The wind was gusting at their backs, buffeting the greenskins' crude shelters and sending drifts of rubbish down the path ahead of the Space Marines.
Twenty metres later, Kantor encountered another of the Sternguard, standing watch at a point where three paths intersected. A spray of thick, drying blood gleamed like dark jewels across the veteran's breastplate and helmet. Next to him, in a hut made of grox hides, lay a trio of dead orks. The Space Marine gestured for Kantor to follow the left-most path, and fell in beside the others.
A few minutes later, they caught up with Phrenotas. The veteran sergeant and two of his warriors were busy dragging another pair of dead orks into a nearby cesspool as Kantor approached. They were very close to the centre of the camp now. They could hear the sullen roar of the flames and the guttural voices of the xenos as they crowded around the cooking pits. One of the beasts started loudly declaiming something to the assembled crowd, his words rising over the mounting wind and the angry rumble of thunder. Kantor tensed, thinking that they had been discovered, but then he heard the blustering tone of the greenskin's voice and realised that the beast was bragging to its fellows. No doubt it was gloating over the fresh meat that roasted over the fires, the Chapter Master thought. He concentrated on fixing the location of the voice in his mind.
'The cook fires are fifteen metres further ahead,' Phrenotas said, as the ork bodies sank beneath the muck. 'Most of the high-ranking orks are on the far side, judging by the noise.'
Kantor breathed deeply, centring himself. Heavy drops of rain pattered against his shoulders and the back of his helmet. Thunder growled, and the smell of burning flesh filled his nostrils.
'Are any prisoners left?' he asked.
The veteran sergeant glanced towards the flames, and then shook his head. 'No, my lord.'
Kantor nodded grimly. 'Vengeance, then,' he said. 'I will lead the assault with Squad Victurix. Squad Daecor has the left flank. Phrenotas, you will take the right. We form a wedge and strike for the ork boss and his retinue on the far side.'
The Crimson Fists moved without hesitation, taking up formation as Kantor ordered. Within seconds, they were ready. As they moved into position, a lusty cheer went up from the greenskins as the ork boss finished his speech. The xenos celebrated, while death arrayed itself in the darkness.
'Grenades first,' Kantor said. 'Then we charge.'
As one, the Space Marines crept forwards. Squads Daecor and Phrenotas drew fragmentation grenades and primed them. Squad Victurix's assault cannon spun up with a hungry whine.
A few metres up the path, the huts gave way to a wide, cleared space given over to a quartet of roaring bonfires. Capering gretchin turned iron spits over the flames, roasting blackened torsos that had once been men. Greenskins surrounded the leaping flames in ranks three and four deep, bickering and snarling at one another over charred bones and dripping marrow. On the far side of the flames, the biggest orks formed a rough arc according to size and power, flanking a towering greenskin boss with a jagged, iron jaw and a ponderous suit of heavy armour-plates. As Kantor watched, a smaller ork with a gleaming metal skull-plate and an augmetic eye handed the boss a freshly stripped human skull. The huge greenskin accepted the morsel with a grunt, its iron jaws cracking it open like a piece of candy to get at the sweet brains steaming within.
A tremendous fork of lightning split the sky overhead, bathing the entire camp in white-hot light. The ork boss straightened, the skull filing from his hand as
he saw Kantor and his Space Marines.
Pedro Kantor raised his power fist to the sky. 'For Dorn and Rynn's World!' he roared. 'Death to the xenos!'
As one, the warriors of Squad Daecor and Squad Phrenotas let hurling their grenades into the midst of the orks and then bringing up their bolters. Kantor and Squad Victurix were already on the move, the earth trembling beneath their tread as they charged towards the orks. Hoarse shouts of alarm turned to screams of pain as the grenades exploded, sending buzzing clouds of red-hot shrapnel slicing through the packed greenskin ranks. At the same moment the Crimson Fists opened fire, and a bloody reckoning was at hand.
The Terminators fired on the move, ripping through the packed greenskin ranks with deadly bursts from their twin-barrelled storm bolters. Kantor levelled Dorn's Arrow and tore three orks into ragged pieces with a stream of mass-reactive shells. Then, above the hammering of the guns, came the vicious snarl of the squad's assault cannon. The range was so close, and the enemy so crammed together that every round found its mark, ripping through flesh and bone and toppling the xenos in a spray of flesh and blood.
But the surprise was short-lived, and the carnage did not dismay the orks in the least; indeed, they revelled in it. Return fire erupted around the Space Marines, though most of it was wild and undisciplined. Shells tore through the air around Kantor, or clanged from the heavy armour of the Terminators. A hissing ork bomb bounced across the ground at Kantor's feet; with a yell, the Chapter Master hooked it with the toe of his boot and kicked it back into the crowd.
The Crimson Fists plunged deep into the greenskin ranks. Orks hurled themselves at Kantor and the Terminators, bellowing war cries and hacking at the armoured warriors with cleavers and chain- axes. The Terminators let the blows fall upon the heavy plates of their Tactical Dreadnought armour, and responded with fearsome strikes from their power fists. The detonations when their energy fields connected with flesh were louder and sharper than the constant thunder of gunfire.
Kantor met an orbs charge with a swift punch from his own power fist, crushing the greenskin's chest and hurling its body backwards into the press. Another jab caught a screaming ork against the side of the head, vaporising its skull in a blue-white flash. He swept Dorn's arrow in a short arc, carving his way still deeper into the xenos ranks. Off to his right Brother Artos's heavy flamer gave a breathy roar, sowing death and terror through the greenskin ranks. On the left, Sergeant Daecor's men were raking the orks with a relentless barrage of fire.
They were less than five metres from the fire pits. The greenskins surrounding the Space Marines began to falter under the storm of flame and steel. Kantor could see the ork boss beyond the flames, bellowing exhortations at his warriors. His mob was already surging forwards, brandishing huge cleavers and rusty mechanical claws. All except the ork with the augmetic eye. The greenskin took one look at the onrushing Crimson Fists and ran off into the darkness, disappearing behind a line of squalid huts to the west.
The blow of an ork cleaver crashed against the side of Kantor's helmet, sending waves of distortion through his visual displays. Without looking, the Chapter Master felled the greenskin with a backhanded blow from his power fist, then cut down two more with a ripping burst from Dom's Arrow. A trio of ork shells stitched their way across his left pauldron and the front of his breastplate, leaving bright, grey smears on the ceramite. A howling greenskin leapt at Kantor, swinging a chain-axe in a vicious, overhand arc; the Chapter Master caught the beast's arm with his power fist, then bowled the xenos over with a shoulder to its chest. The ork hit the ground, gripping the smoking stump of its right arm and bellowing in fury, until Kantor's boot came down on its throat.
Only a handful of greenskins were left between him and the fire pits. Dorn's Arrow snarled, blasting apart two of the orks, and the rest fell back under a hail of automatic fire. Kantor paid no attention to the fleeing greenskins. Instead, he charged straight for the warboss bodyguards, leaving Victurix and his Terminators behind.
'Death to the xenos!' Kantor shouted again, his power fist rised in challenge. He leapt straight through the roaring flames, propelled by a wave of righteous fury. 'Vengeance for the fallen!'
The warboss's mob answered with bestial shouts of their own and ran to meet the Chapter Master with guns blazing. Streams of heavy ork shells ripped through the air, striking sparks or bursting into red-hot fragments against Kantor's sacred battle armour. Dorn's Arrow responded in kind, its twin barrels shimmering with heat as it raked the greenskins with high-velocity rounds. The mass-reactive slugs punched through the orks' crude armour as though it were paper, their explosive tips blasting two of the xenos into bloody bits.
A heartbeat later the two sides crashed together in a hail of deadly blows. Kantor felt a cleaver smash into his thigh and rebound from the ceramite plate. The point of another blade dug into his breastplate, lodging between two silver pinions and cracking the laminate beneath. A chain-axe screamed, glancing from his right pauldron in a shower of sparks. The Chapter Master twisted away from the blow, his left hand darting out to seize the throat of the ork that had tried to stab him. He pulled the greenskin into a vicious punch from his power fist, then flung the headless corpse to the ground. The ork with the chain-axe rushed in again, this time swinging at Kantor's neck. The Chapter Master ducked the blow at precisely the right moment, and the axe's ravening teeth sank into the throat of a charging greenskin instead. Kantor pressed his advantage, raising Dorn's Arrow and ripping the axe-wielder apart with a burst of point-blank fire.
Kantor had sowed bloody carnage through the ranks of the mob, but the surviving xenos were quickly surrounding him. A power claw landed a heavy blow on his left shoulder, its hooked blades biting into his armour. The Chapter Master fought to keep his feet as the greenskin hauled backwards with all his might, trying to pull him off-balance. Hydraulics hissed as the three blades of the power claw bit down, scoring deep grooves in the thick, ceramite pauldron. Warning icons began to flash at the margins of Kantor's helmet display, and the pseudo-musculature beneath the armour-plates spasmed, causing the arm to lock in place. The claw had struck a neural feedback node, locking the muscles like a nerve strike, but the Chapter Master saw that the link to Dorn's Arrow still worked perfectly. Kantor fired off a short burst, blowing the ork's legs off at the knee, then drove his power fist into the screaming greenskin's chest. Another blow, and with a sharp thunderclap the ork's power claw was torn free at the elbow.
Kantor shook his shoulder violently, trying to free himself, but the claw had locked down in a death grip and would not come free. The Chapter Master grabbed at a claw blade with his power fist; there was an angry sputter of released energy as the power field interacted with the rough steel of the claw. Temperature icons flashed insistently on Kantor's helmet display as the blade began to glow red-hot. Another second, two at most, and the metal would be soft enough to tear free.
Seeing that Kantor was half-paralysed, the survivors of the warboss's mob let out a bloodthirsty shout and closed in once more. Behind him, Kantor could hear answering shouts from Victurix's Terminators as they tried to fight their way to his side. Expertly placed shots from their storm bolters snapped past Kantor's struggling frame and struck down several of the greenskins, but the rest closed about the Chapter Master like a clawed fist.
Kantor roared an oath to Dorn and pulled with all his might at the claw embedded in his shoulder. The incandescent metal bent, joints screeching in protest. The war cries of the greenskins resounded in Kantor's ears. Blades and axes pounded against the Chapter Master's armour; chain-axes screeched and slid, seeking purchase on the curved plates of his shoulders and arms. Kantor was driven back a step by the frenzied onslaught, but he forced himself to ignore the blows and focus on the power claw instead. Just a few moments more, he told himself.
And then came a roar like a maddened bull grox, as a massive figure ploughed through the frenzied mob. The ork warboss drove through the press like a living battering ram
, smashing orks trampling them underfoot in a berserk charge at Kantor.
The ork boss was armed with a huge drum-fed gun and a broad bladed axe that was larger and somewhat better made than most greenskin weapons. The giant brute was fast for its bulk, and clever while it was still a few metres away the xenos raised its gun and fired off a long, chattering burst at Kantor's chest. A hail of heavy rounds hammered at the Chapter Master's breastplate, ricocheting off its curved surface or flattening into dull, leaden discs against the ceramite plate. Already on the back foot from the frenzied attacks by the boss's mob, the onslaught of shells nearly knocked Kantor off his feet. He caught himself at the last moment, arms thrown wide for balance, when the warboss stepped in close and swung at him with its axe.
The blow was a flickering blur in the darkness, reaching for his throat. Kantor's razor-keen senses saw the glint of the axe's curved edge and twisted his body at the last moment, letting the strike slide harmlessly by. He followed up with a devastating blow with his power fist but the warboss tucked its shoulder and continued its charge, slamming into Kantor's chest and hurling him backwards. The Chapter Master landed heavily on his shoulders and neck, the impact digging a furrow along the churned ground. Laughing madly, the warboss pressed its advantage, unleashing another stream of shells at the fallen Space Marine. Rounds kicked up plumes of dirt around Kantor, or rang against his legs and shoulders. He responded in kind with a burst from Dorn's Arrow, but with his arm still locked it was impossible to aim, and the burst missed the warboss by scant millimetres.
The War for Rynn's World - Steve Parker & Mike Lee Page 41