by Gav Thorpe
If Corax could not be somewhere other than where his enemy believed him to be, a good compromise was to feign lesser strength until the final moment. As he had laid down in the combat doctrine of his Legion, if utter concealment was impossible, partial concealment was still preferable to none.
The hunched Salva Kanar approached Corax and the magokritarch with a deferential nod of the head.
‘Radio-stream analysis has detected a confluence of signals approximately three hundred kilometres distant on bearing zero-eighty. The spycraft above are drone operated and we are attempting to reveal-trace the source of their control signals. This should allow us to triangulate with our other readings.’
‘Prepare anti-air batteries to fire,’ Corax said, motioning Loriark to the servitors and adepts manning the weapons metriculators. ‘Our drop-craft are concealed as best we could manage but let us not give the enemy the opportunity of too much time.’
Loriark obeyed without comment; he seemed to have acquiesced to Corax’s authority easily enough, but the primarch knew it was out of necessity rather than any deeper loyalty. Corax unconsciously checked that the five Raven Guard legionaries stationed in the command chamber were alert and was pleased to see the black-armoured warriors paying close attention to everything that passed. If given the chance, Loriark might well decide to sacrifice the Raven Guard in an attempt to bargain for peace with Delvere. The primarch was not willing to afford the magokritarch that chance.
A distinct hum set the temple vibrating slightly as power channels were opened and Atlas’s weapons systems came online. It was likely that only Corax noticed the change, registering not only the miniscule trembling but also the subtle alteration in the electromagnetic field that sheathed the barge-city. Any target more than a kilometre distant was beyond the energy shield, so targeting the recon jets required very careful calibration between the gun batteries and the field’s internal frequency.
‘Ready to fire, lord primarch,’ Loriark informed him.
‘Open fire,’ Corax replied with a nod.
The energy field stuttered for a few microseconds; enough time for the lasers of the anti-aircraft turrets to loose a salvo of shots towards the enemy craft circling overhead.
‘No hits,’ reported one of the adepts.
‘Enemy craft withdrawing from immediate airspace,’ another confirmed from the sensor banks.
‘Lightning flight leaders requesting authorisation for pursuit,’ a third adept announced.
‘Twenty kilometres, no more,’ Corax ordered. ‘Clear Atlas’s airspace and then they are to return to maintain air patrol cover.’
‘Yes, lord primarch.’
Corax watched patiently as glowing runes slid across the strategic displays while the interceptors hounded the enemy recon craft away to the south-east. He noted that the direction the fleeing spycraft took was towards the radio anomaly detected earlier; Iapetus was almost directly in Atlas’s path.
‘Magokritarch, we convene pre-battle council in one hour. All forces are to be on utmost readiness. Our enemy is close. Send word to all stations, squadrons and company leaders – make battle preparations.’
Receiving an affirmative from Loriark, Corax quit the command level and made his way down the central stairwells of the temple; it was too undignified for him to crouch inside the conveyor cages that transported the smaller tech-priests from storey to storey.
‘Agapito,’ he called over the vox-net. ‘Meet me at the main temple gatehouse. I have plans we need to discuss.’
‘Yes, Lord Corax,’ came the commander’s reply. ‘I am overseeing the assembly of the first assault column. I will be at the temple in seven minutes, with your leave.’
‘Very well. Attend to immediate concerns first, commander. I will come to you.’
Corax ignored the stares from the multitude of tech-priests as he made his way down to ground level. The primarch was alert at every moment, conscious that any one of the Mechanicum cultists might have been swayed to the cause of Delvere. He did not fear attack – not even together would the gathered machine-men be a match for him – but he watched for any sign of treachery. If Delvere and his allies were to receive warning that they faced a primarch, Corax’s entire strategy would be put in jeopardy.
Gauging the emotions of the tech-priests was not as easy as with normal men. Many had their faces concealed behind masks, or their features were heavily modified with bionics and augmetics. Some were incapable of emotion at all, their consciousness transferred to inorganic cogitators that made them creatures of pure logic. It was these metriculatii that worried Corax the most. Fear of reprisal would keep most of the tech-priests in check, but if circumstances changed enough that the logical course of action would be to turn on the Raven Guard there were those amongst the cult of Atlas who would do so in a nanosecond. It was the primarch’s intention to ensure that his course of action would prove superior, eliminating the possibility of betrayal.
It was with such thoughts, his expression guarded, that Corax exited the main temple building into the compound. Glancing up, he saw the vapour trails of the dogfight were quickly dissipating in the high winds.
‘I’ve shown you what you wanted to see,’ he whispered to himself. ‘Now come and get us.’
The clatter of rivet drivers, the whine of ceramite bonders and the hiss of spark-welders rang loudly throughout the hangar-like arming house of the Fourth District. Overseen by red-robed tech-adepts, gangs of workers swarmed across three lines of tracked tanks, assault guns and personnel carriers, affixing additional armour plating to the fronts of the vehicles. Agapito walked between the lines of armoured carriers and turreted behemoths, casting his eye over the work being done.
Everything was proceeding in a timely and orderly fashion. The work teams laboured with quiet determination while crew captains and squad leaders inspected the modifications being made to their vehicles with keen interest; they would be the men and women pushing head-on into the enemy defence, and their lives were being staked upon the improvised upgrades.
Behind the columns of armoured vehicles were lined batteries of field guns and self-propelled artillery pieces. Laser-based cannons, rotary guns and shell-firers sat alongside more esoteric lightning throwers and fusion beams, sonic destructors and conversion beamers. Many of the designs were familiar to the Raven Guard commander, but in all the years he had fought for the Legion he had never trusted the more outlandish Mechanicum weapons. They could be devastating when functioning, but the required maintenance and constant tech-priest attention made them impractical within the primarch’s code of self-sufficiency and flexibility. He much preferred a trained legionary with a missile launcher to any of the bizarre war engines on display.
Sergeant Caldour announced that Corax had arrived at the armoury complex, and Agapito left the main workshop to meet his primarch in one of the overseer galleries above the manufactory floor. He met Corax at the foot of the stairwell and was waved to precede the primarch to the upper level.
‘Everything is progressing?’ asked the primarch, speaking over the comm-net. Corax had emphasised the need to maintain strict communications security on Atlas and the command channel was the most secure vox-transmission available. The ciphers were changed every hour and keyed to the individual transponders located in every Raven Guard’s armour. It would be all but impossible for any of the Mechanicum to listen in.
‘Two more hours and everything will be in accordance with your orders, Lord Corax.’ Agapito kept his reply formal, uncertain why the primarch had chosen to visit him. The commander wondered if he was under scrutiny for his recent actions and wanted to show a disciplined, trustworthy appearance.
‘What do you make of our allies’ resources?’ The two of them reached the upper landing and Agapito led Corax out onto a meshwork balcony overlooking the arming bay. ‘Do you think they will serve our purposes?’
‘Well armed
, and with the upgrades to the frontal armour they’ll be able to take a lot of damage going into the enemy, lord,’ Agapito replied. ‘Slow, though. Even slower than normal, with the extra weight. This won’t be any lightning assault.’
‘No,’ Corax said quietly. The primarch paused for a moment, obviously in thought. ‘Too slow perhaps. I have re-evaluated the battle plan and made some adjustments. I wanted to brief you first. I will inform the magokritarch and the others when the time is appropriate.’
‘What changes, Lord Corax? I have mustered four attack columns across the prow districts of Atlas in preparation for a three-pronged assault and a moving reserve as you requested. It will take some time to relocate them.’
‘The Mechanicum forces will deploy as planned – there is no need for a reorganisation at this stage. It is our warriors whose role I have changed.’
‘You do not wish for us to act as mobile support for the assault columns? Atlas cannot match Iapetus’s defenders on a one-for-one basis. We need to maintain the Raven Guard as a mobile element to create breakthrough points.’
‘We do, which is why I have a new role for you and the legionaries, Agapito.’ Corax laid a reassuring hand on the commander’s shoulder and looked down at the assembled war engines. ‘I plan to take Iapetus the same way we took Atlas. We’ll draw out Delvere’s forces and then make a decapitation strike on the main temple.’
‘You are going after Delvere and Nathrakin alone?’ Agapito would never second-guess his primarch’s decisions, nor underestimate his prowess in battle, but a single-handed attack seemed suicidal.
‘I’ll take two squads with me, in Shadowhawks. Atlas’s army is simply too slow to achieve the victory we need.’ The primarch folded his arms and stared out across the arming area, though his gaze seemed far more distant, as though he was looking away to his target. ‘If Delvere senses he is losing there is every chance he will attempt to escape. If he does so, he will relocate to another barge-city or perhaps even leave Constanix altogether. The knowledge he has gained from the Word Bearers cannot be allowed to leave this planet. We need to seize control of the temple complex and contain the traitors as quickly as possible, preferably before Delvere realises he is in danger of losing the war.’
‘So how will the Talons fight, Lord Corax?’ Agapito had recovered some of his composure, acknowledging the reasoning of his primarch. ‘There are likely to be Word Bearers protecting the capital alongside the Mechanicum soldiers, and we have no idea how many of Lorgar’s scum have come here.’
‘There cannot be many Word Bearers,’ said Corax. ‘It would appear the Kamiel is the only contact they have made with Constanix, and even at full complement she would carry no more than five hundred legionaries. From the account of the Navigator, the Word Bearers were pulled together from several formations on Calth, survivors banding together under Nathrakin. Also, if Nathrakin had a more numerous contingent then it would be in his interests to spread them throughout all of the barge-cities to establish wider control, rather than concentrate his force in one place. A follower of Lorgar would not hesitate to spread influence and proselytise their creed if given the opportunity. No, I must conclude that the Word Bearers do not outnumber us here. Quite the opposite, in fact.’
‘But we cannot ignore them as a military threat, lord,’ said Agapito. ‘With those same numbers we were able to take control of Atlas. If we fight them head-on we simply negate the advantage of our presence.’
‘That is exactly why we will not engage the Word Bearers directly, but leave them to the greater numbers of the skitarii. We must concentrate our effort and strength on achieving the central objective – the temple and Delvere.’
‘I cannot order the Talons to ignore the Word Bearers, lord,’ protested Agapito, though the argument was more from his own feeling than for his legionaries. ‘Our warriors have scores to settle.’
‘The legionaries will do as they are ordered,’ growled the primarch, turning his black stare on Agapito, making it clear that he included Agapito in that remark. The commander flinched as if he had been struck. ‘We have spent many years fighting alongside each other, Agapito, but do not test our friendship any further. I am your primarch and Legion commander and you will not disobey me. The Talons take their lead from you. You will set the right example.’
‘Yes, Lord Corax.’ Agapito cast his gaze downwards, shamed by Corax’s words. ‘It will be as you say.’
‘Good.’ The primarch’s anger vanished as swiftly as it had appeared. ‘Delvere and Nathrakin will be expecting an attack from the tech-guard. In fact, I believe they will seek to attack first, forcing Atlas onto the defensive. We cannot allow that to happen. To ensure that surprise is maximised, the Raven Guard will form the first attack wave. Every Shadowhawk, Whispercutter and other craft you can muster will carry a single assault force into the heart of the enemy city. Your Talons must be like a lodestone, dragging the enemy into battle, forcing them to abandon their perimeter to contest against an attack from inside their lines.’
‘Hard fighting,’ said Agapito. ‘The best place for us. I take it that there can be no possibility of extraction?’
‘Only if annihilation is the alternative. This is not a terminus mission. Commander, I expect you to win through with as few casualties as possible. Manoeuvre, attack and speed.’
‘Attack, withdraw, attack again,’ Agapito said with a nod. ‘This is not my first battle, Lord Corax.’
The primarch smiled and shook his head.
‘Of course not. The longer you can remain fighting, the more forces will be drawn to you, and the further Loriark’s army can create an axis of attack for my assault. The temple is located in the starboard quadrant of the city. I will calculate the best routes and angles of attack to turn the enemy’s attention to the port districts and then I will swoop and claim the prize.’
‘I understand, lord,’ said Agapito. He banged a fist to his chest and bowed his head. ‘You can rely on the Talons.’
‘Do not allow yourselves to be surrounded, commander,’ Corax said with a grim expression. ‘There will be no reserves to break through to your position. Engage the enemy and lure them away from the temple. That is your only concern.’
Agapito nodded again, unsure if the primarch’s insistence was a sign of doubt or simply the wish to make certain that he was understood. There was no further assurance the commander could offer to his lord. If decades of valiant and dedicated service were not enough to convince Corax of his intent, words would not help.
Corax nodded a farewell and departed, leaving Agapito with mixed thoughts. The commander knew that if the primarch had serious doubts then he would have had no hesitation in replacing Agapito as commander; Caderil and others were quite prepared for the role. On the other hand, Agapito did not know if he could trust himself. The primarch had explicitly ordered that the Talons should not go after the Word Bearers, but if the Word Bearers came for them then he might not shun the opportunity to exact a little revenge.
The smog rising from Iapetus’s scores of chimneys and furnaces fouled the horizon, though the capital city itself was still out of sight. Atlas closed steadily on the dark smear, cruising five hundred metres above the sea. In the skies over both cities, clouds of aircraft circled like carrion birds sighting a carcass. The last peals of the warning sirens echoed along the empty streets of Atlas, sending stragglers dashing for the basements and bunkers cut into the bedrock of the city.
Beneath the constant groan of massive anti-grav engines came the rumbling of vehicle motors and the thud of booted feet, accompanied by the whine of bionically augmented warriors. Columns of skitarii gathered half a kilometre from the prow quays. Crews made final checks of their vehicles. Squad leaders called out the last muster rolls.
Inside the control chamber, Corax monitored the relative positions of the two barge-cities, a little less than fifty kilometres apart; two and a half hours, if Atlas c
ontinued at its current speed. Iapetus had hove to, remaining in place as Delvere waited for the insurrectionists to make their move.
‘Extend fighter screen to thirty kilometres,’ the primarch ordered. ‘No recon overflights this time.’
A lexmechanic relayed the command in a dull monotone and a servitor burbled a burst of the tech-priests’ argot – the lingua-technis – as a meaningless stream of piercing syllables and husky grunts. While the primarch waited patiently, Loriark paced back and forth behind him, hands lost in the sleeves of his robes as he clasped them at his waist, his strides short with agitation. Corax did not allow the magokritarch’s behaviour to distract him; each man dealt with the nervous lull before battle in his own way and to force Loriark to cease his perambulations would only serve to perturb the tech-priest further.
Arms folded across his chest, Corax stared at the display screens and scanner panels, alert for any sign that would warn of Delvere’s intent. It was likely that the archmagos was no veteran of war, but with the Word Bearer to guide him, he was not to be underestimated.
If there was one lesson that the primarch had taken from Isstvan V, it was never to expect victory as a right, and even as he cast a glance across flickering displays he gauged the mood of the overseeing tech-priests. For the moment they seemed calm enough, given the circumstances, but the coming battle afforded no room for hesitation or error.
Corax’s way of war was finely tuned, the timings perfect, the manoeuvres precise. Though underlined with brutal simplicity – an encircling attack designed to separate the bulk of the enemy from Iapetus’s main temple – the assault plans of the Raven Guard and skitarii were an intricately choreographed process devised through many hours of study of Iapetus’s layout and what was known or could be supposed concerning the forces under Delvere’s command.