by Guy Haley
‘Basdacks have it easy,’ said Meggen. ‘We took the brunt.’
Bannick thought twice about rebuking Meggen. But he was right. The smaller Paragonian force was coming down into a far friendlier environment. Most of the anti-aircraft and anti-orbital weaponry of the rebels was so much scrap.
We could have waited, thought Bannick. We could have come down after the weapons were gone. Perhaps, tactically, it made sense, drawing fire off the Imperial forces already on-world, but Bannick suspected nothing more than rivalry and a rush for glory. Generals Lo Verkerigen and Basteen of Paragon had been chafing under the leadership of the Atraxian Captain-General Iskhandrian. This was a race to the surface, a matter of national pride resolved with the needless expenditure of lives.
In neat columns men, lighter tanks and armoured personnel carriers broke away from the Seventh’s wake. Troopers fanned out to tackle remaining pockets of resistance. Lines of Chimeras headed by Leman Russ main battle tanks headed off towards the city. The enemy were not beaten yet. The interior of Cortein’s Honour flashed as a tank outside exploded half a kilometre away, its magazine detonated by a concealed lascannon.
‘Basdacks know what they’re doing,’ said Meggen.
‘Provide moving fire curtain,’ ordered Hannick.
The turrets of Artemen Ultrus, Ostrakhan’s Rebirth and Cortein’s Honour swung out perpendicularly to the line of the tanks’ advance and commenced hurling shells.
‘Defence in depth. Every point a fortress, every one needing to be broken on its own,’ said Epperaliant. ‘This victory is going to cost us dearly.’
‘Show me a victory that doesn’t!’ shouted Kalligen between two thunderous booms of the tank’s secondary cannon.
‘We serve,’ said Leonates, so quietly he probably hadn’t intended to speak aloud, but his words carried over the vox and rebuked the Paragonians even if he had not wished them to. Talk stopped as the men became engrossed in the efforts of war.
The Seventh rumbled onwards, approaching the Gulem group’s landing zone. Enemy fire, for several minutes quiet, intensified. The hull rattled.
‘We’re taking a lot of hits, sir,’ said Ganlick nervously.
‘All light stuff,’ said Bannick. ‘Keep up your fire.’
A tocsin beeped its alarm. Kolios deactivated it. ‘Lascannon hit, right trackguard.’
‘It’s not that light,’ said Kalligen.
‘You’ll learn soon enough that one of the privileges of being on a Baneblade is attracting the enemy’s fire,’ said Bannick. ‘Now, we’ve another target.’ He was busy with the tac display. A new main objective had flashed into being and was creeping line by shaking line into view on his small chartdesk – a large, six-pointed star fort at the edge of the spaceport, four turrets atop it, all firing on trajectories towards the Gulem force. An angled roof of thick rockcrete and plasteel sheltered a firing deck whose slits covered every angle of the approach.
‘We should attack,’ said Shoam, speaking for the first time in a while. His cold voice had the others on the command deck glancing at each other; it sent ice water running down their spines.
‘Negative,’ said Epperaliant. ‘We’d breach the walls, but we lack the manpower to overrun it.’
‘And that’s why we’re babysitting the Lucky Eights. No wonder they’re so basdacking lucky if they’ve got the likes of us to shelter them from the enemy.’
‘Meggen,’ warned Bannick.
‘Yeah, sure, sir,’ grumbled Meggen. The first gunner blasted a shell at the fort. Bannick watched it glance off the roof and explode in the air.
‘Huh,’ Meggen said. ‘It’s not going to be that easy.’
‘And the Eights aren’t that lucky today,’ said Epperaliant. ‘They’re drawing fire from the turrets.’
‘Concentrate on light targets for now,’ said Bannick. ‘Ignore the fort.’
Another las-blast connected with the tank. This time they heard the bang, and thin smoke curled through the light of the vision blocks.
‘Light fire. Right,’ said Meggen.
‘Nearly there,’ said Bannick. Blinking green icons indicated the approach of the Eighth Paragonian Super-Heavy Tank Company.
‘Sir, I’ve got one of the Lucky Eights on the vox. He’s signalling Hannick. The captain is requesting you listen in.’
‘Patch it through to me, private channel.’
‘It’s done, sir.’
An exterior feed opened, fainter than the internal tank’s comms. Bannick dialled down the feeds from his men to better listen.
‘This is Honoured Captain Hannick of the Seventh,’ said Hannick. ‘Good afternoon, gentlemen.’ There was a strain in his voice, Bannick thought. He’s holding back his cough.
‘Fine day for a stroll,’ said a clipped, aristocratic voice.
‘I hear the accent of the harvester clans. You are a Parrigar?’ asked Hannick.
‘Quite. Ardoman Kosigian Lo Parrigar, honoured captain.’ A large boom sounded from his end of the connection. ‘We are being fired upon.’
‘We are proceeding to meet with you.’
‘Damn the orders, we’re taking a lot of fire from those turrets. We are above them currently, but elevation dips three hundred metres out. With our backs exposed, we risk the infantry we’re carrying, without whom this endeavour will fail.’
‘Damn the orders?’
‘Modify the orders, and in so doing, damn them, yes,’ said Parrigar.
‘Agreed,’ said Hannick. ‘Lux Imperator, halt and come about. Knock out those turrets. Artemen Ultrus, Cortein’s Honour, take lead, inverse arrowhead, Ostrakhan’s Rebirth at the rear. Can you find a little shelter, honoured captain?’
‘From those guns, not likely.’
‘Then cut obliquely towards us. We’ll meet midway between our position and the rendezvous,’ said Hannick. The mission marker shifted on Bannick’s chartdesk. ‘The rendezvous point looks difficult. Enough mud to bog us down.’ A hint of suggestion crept into Hannick’s voice.
‘Doesn’t it?’ said Parrigar. ‘We cannot risk being immobilised. Suggestion heard and accepted. Parrigar out.’
The feed cut out. Hannick began his wracking cough. The feed to his tank cut out also. Bannick was glad his men hadn’t heard that.
‘All done, Epperaliant.’
‘Comms reset, sir. Hails coming in from Emperor’s Lambent Glory, sir. High command. Cholo is requesting we take it.’
Bannick sighed through his teeth. ‘Put it through.’
‘Seventh, you have deviated from planned course, please advise.’
‘Battlefield adjustment. The Eighth are taking heavy fire, the enemy has correctly identified them as the major threat.’
‘Then seek support. Stick to the general’s plan. Where is Hannick?’
‘Indisposed. This is a broad front. Support is too far. We will proceed on our current course.’
‘Negative. Resume course.’
Bannick’s temper flared. ‘We are in the situation, high command. Original plan is inadvisable under the current circumstances.’
‘Irrelevant. The plan calculated to yield the most...’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that. Please repeat,’ said Bannick.
‘Orders are to be followed. This order is being reissued, forcefully.’
‘Still not getting it. We’re losing you,’ said Bannick. ‘We shall proceed as situation dictates.’
‘We hear you fine. Did you get our last? Respond please.’
‘Sorry, only hearing one in three words. Suspected malfunction. Please repeat we’re–’ He depressed the vox button and cut them off. ‘Basdacking kree bird fools,’ he said.
‘What did they say?’ said Hannick hoarsely. ‘For some reason I couldn’t catch that.’
‘I have no idea, sir,’ said Bannick.
&nb
sp; The Seventh continued on. Lux Imperator fell out of line. Tracks spinning opposite ways, it turned neatly on the spot to bring its volcano cannon to bear on the fort while the others headed on to meet with the Eighth. The tank crews held their breaths as Hurnigen reported the cannon charging, wondering if the tank would deign to fire, but two shots blasted out, atomising two of the turrets, leaving craters of molten rockcrete marring the fort. The remaining two turrets swivelled to fire upon the Shadowsword. Shells rained down all around it while the volcano cannon charged a third time, and duly a third turret exploded. The remainder of the Seventh kept up their suppressive fire, deterring reinforcements from approaching the fort.
The tank’s augur eyes projected a live pict-feed onto Bannick’s tac screens. Three Stormlord tanks approached them. Sister designs to the Baneblade drawn from the same STC family, they were nevertheless different in many respects. Squat and square turretless infantry transporters, the twin, short muzzles of vulcan mega-bolters projecting from the front of command decks that sheltered open fighting decks behind.
‘Parrigar, fall in behind us,’ said Hannick.
‘One turret remains,’ said Parrigar.
‘It’ll be dealt with.’
Now the companies had met, the Seventh halted and turned to face the fort head on. Artemen Ultrus and Cortein’s Honour nosed forwards, so that Ostrakhan’s Rebirth could retake its trailing position between them. The Eighth manoeuvred to take shelter between the Seventh’s tanks. A final muzzle flash from the remaining turret preceded its annihilation by Lux Imperator. The shell flew true, slamming into the lead Stormlord. It exploded with no ill effect, and the mighty tank continued its repositioning as fires guttered out on its glacis.
‘I see why they call them the Lucky Eights,’ said Epperaliant.
‘Tanks of Paragon, forwards. Lux Imperator, prepare to open up the wall,’ ordered Hannick.
‘We’re having problems again here, sir,’ replied Hurnigen. ‘Cannon’s not charging now.’
‘Another malfunction?’ said Hannick.
‘A problem?’ voxed Parrigar.
‘Nothing we can’t handle,’ said Hannick. ‘Baneblades, open fire on the fort to my coordinates. Make the Four Hundred and Seventy-Seventh a breach to exploit.’
‘Aye, sir,’ said Marteken.
‘Direct all fire forwards. Follow Hannick’s mark,’ said Bannick. The chartdesk flickered, and the view of the general landscape was replaced by a close-in view of the wall. A rotating red reticule appeared at the joint between two of the spines of the star.
‘Transmitting mark to gunnery stations,’ said Epperaliant. ‘Mark transmitted.’
‘Open fire,’ said Bannick and Marteken almost simultaneously. Cortein’s Honour bucked as it flung a shell at the fort.
‘Eleven hundred yards and closing,’ said Hannick. ‘Marteken, we’re closing in too tight. Take Artemen Ultrus out ten yards.’
‘Affirmative. Repositioning.’
The tanks drove at the fort. The buildings and huge hangars of the spaceport resolved themselves from the rain. Artillery deployed from orbit had arranged itself by now, and the edge of the city was a rolling field of fire. The charms hanging from the ceiling of Cortein’s Honour tinkled with the vibration. On the far side of Matua Superior, the fleet commenced its barrage again. For what purpose was unclear; there were no fortifications that way. Enemy reinforcements coming in from the north, perhaps.
‘We’re coming within range of their weaponry. It’ll be light fire, but brace,’ said Bannick.
The tanks rumbled their way through increasingly thick mud, slowing as they climbed up and over the torn earth of Geratomro. All the while the tanks’ automatic tracking systems, beseeched correctly by their tech-adept aspirants, kept the gun barrels level. The thunder of the primary weapons played over the rattle of the shell lift as it hoisted more munitions up from the magazine.
‘Hurnigen, get me that cannon back online. The battle cannons are barely scratching the fort,’ commanded Hannick.
‘We’re doing all we can, sir! Starstan says the machine is disquieted. He says its spirit must be placated or we’ll have more problems.’
‘Artemen, Cortein, keep up the barrage,’ said Hannick, not bothering to hide his frustration.
‘Coming into range of their weapons. I’m reading various power spikes, sir,’ said Epperaliant.
‘Hold steady, men,’ said Bannick. ‘This is going to be a bumpy transit.’
Seconds later, missiles and lascannon bolts spat forth from the fort’s firing slits. The weapons the rebels held had a much longer range than the one thousand yards the super-heavies were at, but refraction reduced the efficacy of lascannons on full-atmosphere worlds, while the effectiveness of both projectile and energy weapons was dictated entirely by the skills of the men handling them, which, Bannick noted with relief, were not very high.
‘Emperor’s teeth!’ said Kalligen as missiles and autocannon rounds belted off the forward facing of the tank.
‘We’ll make it,’ said Bannick. The racket of impacts on the hull nearly drowned him out, even through the internal vox.
‘With all due respect, sir, you could say that after sitting down here at the front.’
‘Bolters at optimal range, sir,’ said Epperaliant.
‘Tertiary weapons, open fire. Target the slits. Drive them back. How much longer to demolisher range?’
The muted rattle of the heavy bolters struck up.
‘Another hundred yards, sir,’ said Epperaliant.
‘Prepare. A couple of rounds should deal with the problem.’
As Bannick gave the order, an uneasy feeling swam beneath his elation at battle. This was not like fighting xenos; these were men he was slaughtering. Tuparillio’s dying face flashed in his mind, the cousin he had killed back on Paragon in a duel. An event that had led him, step by step, to where he was now. He compartmentalised his emotions, shutting down his objections.
‘Not now,’ he murmured to himself.
‘Intensifying fire,’ said Leonates. ‘They are not responding to our polite requests to cease fire.’
‘More fool them,’ said Bannick.
‘I’m coming forwards,’ said Hannick. ‘Demolisher cannons ready. All primary and secondary weapons systems hold to fire on my command.’
‘Prepare demolisher,’ Bannick passed on.
‘Demolisher ready!’ shouted Kalligen.
‘Secondary weapon in range,’ said Epperaliant.
‘We’re in range,’ reported Cholo on Marteken’s behalf.
‘Primaries and secondaries, open fire, my mark. Three, two, one. Fire,’ said Hannick.
Marteken and Hannick repeated Hannick’s order for their crews. A wall of fire blasted from six assorted cannon muzzles as the super-heavies fired together. The rounds blasted into the wall within milliseconds of one another. Flames burst out of the firing slits on two arms of the star. When the smoke and fire cleared, a cleft had opened up in the wall.
‘Breach open,’ said Hannick. ‘Parrigar, you’re clear to attack.’
Hurnigen’s voice crackled over the vox again. ‘Sir, Lux Imperator is listening to us again. Volcano cannon charging.’
‘Need a second breach?’ asked Hannick. He stifled a cough.
‘By all means,’ said Parrigar.
‘Lux, fire on the joint two down from the initial breach. Sending targeting data now. Tanks of the Seventh, spread and fall back. Allow the Eighth through.’
‘Affirmative,’ said Bannick. ‘Shoam, full reverse, bear right. All weapons keep up fire.’ He waited for the next double boom of battle cannon and demolisher cannon to sound. ‘Parrigar, sir, please be wary. We could not do much to discourage the enemy from the slits.’
‘We’ll see about that,’ said Parrigar. ‘Lucky Eights, prepare vulcans to fire on my command.’
Artemen Ultrus and Cortein’s Honour rolled back. From the rear a brilliant las-beam smashed into a section of the fortress a way along the wall from the first breach, bursting the rockcrete, sending molten gobs and fragments out in a lethal burst.
The three tanks of the Lucky Eights pushed between their sisters, heading with impressive speed directly for the fort. After the respite bought by the breaching, enemy fire started up again, less intense than before, but still worrisome. As Parrigar’s command tank rumbled between Cortein’s Honour and Ostrakhan’s Rebirth, Bannick caught a glimpse of an entire platoon of men, pressed into the lee of the command deck to shelter against the enemy’s wrath.
Bannick felt pity for them. Then the vulcan mega-bolters opened fire, and his pity shifted to the enemy.
He had never heard anything like it. Thousands of bolt-rounds going off together, the distinctive twin-reports of barrel ejection and propellant ignition joined into a cacophony as penetrating as a million firecrackers set off at once. He tore his headset off, seeking refuge in the din of his own tank, and stood, pressing his face against one of the observation windows. Through the accretion of dust and grease on the armourglass, he saw whole sections of the firing slits crumble under the barrage, widening from narrow, perfect rectangles to lopsided holes like the empty mouths of crones. The vulcans ceased firing. Pulverised rockcrete rose as dust into the air.
The Stormlords rolled on untroubled. They ran themselves right up to the breaches in between the star’s arms, one at the first breach, two at the one opened up by Lux Imperator.
‘Cease firing,’ ordered Hannick.
The Seventh’s weapons fell quiet.
‘Second lieutenant, you have command,’ said Bannick. He slid out of his chair, snagged his greatcoat from the back of the seat and clambered up into the turret. Meggen watched him go to the command cupola and open the hatch.
‘Fancy a look, Meggen?’