by Nick Kyme
Hidden by the vapour cloud amassing around the base of the vents, Scipio failed to see the rest of the swarm until it crept beyond the edge of the field in an oily black mass.
‘Watch your footing,’ he warned Garrik, pulling Largo back a few steps and gesturing down to where the insects had begun to converge. ‘Auris,’ he shouted out, his voice echoing and hollow. ‘Brother!’ Scipio said more urgently when the Ultramarine did not immediately respond.
Auris was covered in the writhing creatures, but he made no move against them. Instead, he looked up slowly, straightening his body.
‘You should not have come,’ he uttered in a voice not entirely his own.
‘Ghost of Hera…’ hissed Largo, and carefully raised his bolter.
‘This is not your world,’ said Auris, ‘it never was,’ and shot Largo in the chest.
Both Scipio and Garrik opened fire a half-second later, killing a warrior they had once called brother but who was now lost to some terrible affliction neither could understand.
Auris went down amongst the vapour. His ident-rune turned red on Scipio’s tactical display, indicating a kill.
‘What just happened?’ Garrik shouted from across the chamber, sidearm still in hand. About twenty metres separated them, the width of one of the vent fields.
‘Stay where you are,’ Scipio told him. ‘Do not cross the vents.’ He went to Largo. Mercifully, the Ultramarine’s armour had taken the brunt of the shot but his ribplate could be cracked. ‘Can you walk?’ Scipio asked, acutely aware of the oily swarm creeping ever closer.
With some difficulty, Largo nodded. Scipio got him to his feet.
‘Soon as we are clear,’ he called to Garrik, ‘I want you to destroy this abomination.’
Garrik scowled. ‘With pleasure, sergeant.’
As he helped Largo around the field of vents protruding obscenely from the ice, Scipio realised the function of this place. It was a breeding ground, both for the minute constructs oozing from the vents and the unwilling slaves they created. Here they had peeled back another layer of the necron epidermis and found yet greater aberration.
Garrik had backed up as far as the cavern entrance.
There would be no pressing ahead now. The entire cave system was enemy territory. They had to go back, and get airborne as quickly as possible.
‘Bring it down, brother,’ said Scipio. ‘Then fall back.’
Garrik nodded, having already shouldered his launcher, and released a fragmentation missile into the ceiling. Cracking ice followed in the wake of the explosion as a rain of brittle, razor-edged stalactites cascaded down onto the vents. The entire cavern shook, but not just with the force of detonation. The Ultramarines’ presence and subsequent attack had prompted a response. As the deluge of rock and ice crushed the vents, fissures were already splitting the cavern floor and walls. These were not natural clefts, but machine-engineered. Heat swept in from below, the heat of engines and subterranean power coils. Verdant light exuded through the slowly expanding cracks, melting the ice floes and liquidising the frost.
Garrik fed two more missiles into the vent field that had claimed Auris, just to be sure, stowed his launcher and then ran. He caught up to Scipio in short order, the sergeant having lagged behind to help Largo.
‘Brother-sergeant, what happened to Auris?’ asked the heavy weapon trooper.
‘I don’t know,’ Scipio answered honestly. Behind them the verdant light was growing, spilling outwards like the dawning of some viridian sun. It would herald the coming of the necrons Scipio now realised were buried below. If they had not reached the Gladius and got airborne by the time that happened, there would be no dawn for them.
A salutary thought penetrated his consciousness then – Damnos could not be saved. The only recourse left was to get everyone off-planet as quickly as possible, and the realisation of that fact at least provided purpose.
‘He fired on Largo,’ said Garrik, unnerved by what he had witnessed. ‘To see him taken over so quickly, so easily…’
Largo did not meet his gaze. He was concentrating hard on staying upright and ignoring the pain in his chest.
‘Something inside the vent infected him,’ said Scipio.
‘Infected him?’ asked Garrik, incredulous.
‘Turned his mind, I don’t know how. But he might not be the only one.’
‘If that’s true…’ Garrik let his words hang.
‘We must reach the Gladius,’ Scipio told them, ‘and hope that when we do Vantor is ready for immediate take-off.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
PYRRHIC VICTORY
Chronus could not deny a deep sense of self-satisfaction.
Despite the necron surprise attack, the battle was his. Ultramar victoris!
From here they could use the victory as a staging ground, bring in the gunships from the Valin’s Revenge, bring in Rhino-mounted infantry and drive their assault deep into the heart of enemy territory. They would crush the necrons in their sleep, set charges around their tombs and purge this world in the name of the Emperor, reclaiming it for the Imperium.
He was not a man given to vainglory; what he did, he did for duty and honour, but these necrons were a singular foe he took pride in vanquishing.
The last of their resistance on the ice plain was fading. All of the arachnid constructs had withdrawn from the field, and the final few barges and arks were slowly being corralled by an unrelenting ring of Ultramarian steel. An android brain, however advanced, was no match for true will and human heart. And here was the evidence of that.
Both the Vindicators and Whirlwinds had removed themselves from the engagement and taken up bombardment positions again back on the ridge line. It was a needless contingency, but Chronus was wary of further rapid deployments courtesy of the necron phasic generators. With the withdrawal of the siege engines, that left the more manoeuvrable Predators and Raiders to chase down the more stubborn enemy elements, support vehicles acting as outriders.
Tesla-lightning and the verdant flare of gauss beams whipped across the battlefield, but it was desultory. A cohort of necron arks was bearing down on the Antonius and the other two tanks in its squadron. Chronus let them come on, pushing up to combat speed to draw them in. Over on the flank, he had the perfect answer to the necrons’ aggression.
‘Egnatius, bring in Stormwarden, Titus and Venator,’ he voxed. ‘Hammer them.’
An affirmation rune flashed up on Chronus’s retinal lens. Satisfied, he kept up the pace and checked the tactical display.
The five Raiders had formed up and were taking the necrons on the left flank apart. Gnaeus had joined them in the Secutor Maximus, adding to their already formidable firepower with his Predator Destructor.
That left Chronus and Egnatius to destroy the rest.
‘Vutrius,’ Chronus called back to his gunner. ‘Keep that turret on them.’ Suppressing fire from the other two tanks in the commander’s squadron, The Vengeful and Hellhunter, wrecked one of the arks and sent it ploughing into the ice.
That left two. No challenge for Egnatius.
Stormwarden was leading the charge with Titus and Venator close on the front Predator’s heels. They had yet to discharge weapons. Three autocannons would make scrap of the necron vehicles.
Gauss fire hammered in on the Antonius and its fellow squadron members. An outriding Rhino was hit and went up explosively, showering The Vengeful with shrapnel.
‘Egnatius,’ Chronus barked down the vox, ‘what are you waiting for? Engage!’
Still the necron arks came on, slipping into an advantageous position as the Predators’ attack vector took them out of a forwards firing arc and presented their flanks and rear to the enemy.
One of the arks unleashed its main energy weapon. It struck the already wounded Hellhunter in the side, flipping the tank onto its roof where it convulsed explosively. Rolling hard, trying to manoeuvre back into a better firing position, the Rage of Antonius and The Vengeful left the sorry carcass of their destro
yed squadron tank behind.
Scipio reached the cave mouth with Largo and Garrik close behind him.
What he saw in the valley below turned his determination into a sense of grim finality. The Gladius was gone, doubtless consumed by an undulating swarm.
The crash site was obliterated from view, overrun by diminutive necron scarab constructs.
‘There must be thousands,’ said Largo, slumping against a rock.
Behind them, the din of machine activation still sounded and the verdant glow of necron revivification intensified.
‘Can’t go forwards, can’t go back,’ uttered Garrik. He checked his ammunition. ‘I have two krak missiles and one fragmentation in my rack. How shall I spend them, brother-sergeant?’
Scipio drew his chainsword and planted it blade-first in the ice.
‘This is our ridge now. I have just claimed it for our Chapter. As sovereign territory of Ultramar, it is our honour-bound duty to defend it. Let the necrons come. They’ll find Ultramarines do not die easily.’
‘They won’t have long to learn that,’ said Garrik, gesturing to the scarab swarm that swept towards them like a dark cloud.
From deep inside the cave mouth came the hollow cadence of mechanised feet marching in unison. The first warrior constructs had awoken.
Scipio wrenched his chainsword free and drew his bolt pistol.
‘In my eyes, you are all heroes.’
Above them, the unmistakable burr of turbine engines could be heard as a very welcome shadow fell across the trio.
‘Guilliman’s blood…’ breathed Garrik, looking up at the descending form of the Gladius. For a moment, it stayed suspended in the air, Vantor watching them through the repaired glacis. Then with a burst of the gunship’s stabiliser jets, the Techmarine swung around to present the Gladius’s flank where Brakkius and an open side-hatch awaited.
Largo went first. Well harnessed in the flank gunner’s seat, Brakkius caught his wrist and helped him aboard. Garrik went next, leaving Scipio for last. Brakkius grabbed his sergeant’s shoulder guard as he came aboard and Vantor gunned the engines.
‘You’re late,’ he said, betraying not a trace of humour.
‘And you are very much alive, brother,’ Scipio replied. ‘A fact I find surprisingly pleasing.’
Brakkius clapped him on the shoulder in comradely fashion, but then added, ‘Where is Brother Auris?’
Scipio shook his head.
‘His duty has ended.’
Not lingering, Scipio went immediately to the on-board vox. Amplified by the gunship’s superior communication systems and now free of environmental interference, he was able to open a channel to Commander Chronus. He only hoped he was not already too late.
Chronus was incensed. From a position of certain victory, Egnatius’s defiance of orders had given the necrons a foothold back and endangered his engines into the bargain.
‘Brother-sergeant,’ he began down the vox-link, though he knew that something was seriously wrong. ‘You will open fire on the enemy immed–’
The Stormwarden fired, but its heavy shell burst against the armour of The Vengeful. A second muzzle flash erupted from Venator a second later and crashed just wide of the Antonius.
‘What in Hera’s name does he think he’s doing?’ snapped Vutrius.
‘Disengage at once,’ ordered Chronus. ‘Egnatius, you are targeting friendlies. I repeat, you are opening fire on your brothers!’
Still no response came from Egnatius. Chronus hastily tried the other two engines in his squadron but got no answer there, either.
‘Have they gone mad?’ asked Vutrius. ‘Should I open fire?’
‘No, not until I know what’s going on. It could be targeting malfunction.’ The tank commander did not sound convinced.
Titus was moving in, too, when one of the necron arks hovered in behind it and gutted it with a direct hit to its rear facing. The subsequent explosion pushed the tank into a violent roll, barrelling it into a Razorback that was smashed aside and disabled.
Two more engine kills flashed red on Chronus’s tactical display.
Titus had just left itself open to attack. It was not a targeting malfunction.
The vox-link crackled, and Chronus answered it to find Sergeant Vorolanus on the other end.
‘I thought the Gladius destroyed, brother-sergeant.’
Scipio did not waste words. ‘Commander, one of your squadrons has been infiltrated by the enemy. I lost one of my squad to the same mind control.’
‘What?’
‘One of your squadrons is lost, commander. It is no longer loyal to Ultramar. I believe it to be one belonging to Sergeant Egnatius.’
Chronus abruptly cut the feed, resigned to finding out further answers later. He urgently activated the vox-link to the entire company.
‘All vehicles. Squadron Egnatius has been compromised. Engage as if enemy. All siege engines occupying the ridge, your orders are to neutralise the Stormwarden and Venator.’
Chronus severed the link, anger and denial warring in his heart. Whatever had happened to Egnatius, it obviously was not just comms malfunction. As Scipio had said, he was lost. Chronus only hoped he could stop him before he took anyone else with him.
‘Commander, I do not wish to question–’ Vutrius began.
‘Then don’t,’ Chronus snapped. ‘There is no other choice.’
Affirmation runes flashed up on the tactical display for Scion of Talassar, Wrath of Invictus and The Ram. All three had firing solutions on Squadron Egnatius.
Chronus tried one more time to raise his fellow tank commander, but Votan Egnatius was clearly no longer in control. He raised the three siege engines, and with steel in his heart gave the order.
‘Execute.’
Thunder felt all the way from the ridge line resonated through the Antonius’s hull as multiple hits registered against the Stormwarden and Venator. Chronus briefly closed his eyes, asking his dead primarch for forgiveness. He knew the crew of both tanks, had fought with them on countless occasions. Egnatius he had trusted with his life. Two engine kills flared up on the tactical display. The Stormwarden and Venator were gone.
Crushing down his grief, Chronus was about to bring the Rage of Antonius about to engage their pursuers, when an actinic flash lit up a distant ridge. A second flash followed moments later towards the north, and then a third to the east.
Three more necron battle formations, comprising further heavy weapons and infantry cohorts, according to the ranged auspex.
The skimmers currently engaged by the Ultramarines began to withdraw. One of the barges was destroyed by a vengeful assault cannon burst from the Merciless Orar as it tried to fall back, but none of the other necron engines responded. Soon they were beyond optimum weapons range, and Chronus was disinclined to give chase.
During the ill-fated skirmish, he had lost no fewer than seven major pieces of armour and almost twice that number in support vehicles. Chronus called all the tanks to a halt. While they idled on the ice plain with their engines humming and exhausts fuming, he tried to ascertain the enemy strength.
Even a conservative estimate placed it at much greater than their own.
The phasic materialisation of all three battlegroups was several kilometres out. Without air support, it would be impossible to know the enemy’s disposition, tactics and movements. If they possessed any gunships like the ones that had streaked towards Kellenport, that could alter the complexion of a second battle considerably.
Too many unknowns. Too few full-strength battle tanks. No Ultramarines vehicle had escaped unscathed. Necron phasic technology meant rapid redeployment was also a factor.
Steam rising off their battered hulls, a company of tanks patiently awaited their commander’s decision.
‘It serves no one if we die here this day,’ Chronus muttered bitterly.
The direct approach had failed. The necrons were not as beaten as he had first believed. Rearm, redeploy, were his only options now.
CHAPTER TWELVE
RESURRECTION
Ankh released the mindshackle, returning cognisance to the tank commander as he burned inside his own vehicle.
Such arrogance and belief in their own pre-eminence; the Architect despised them. Humans. Even the thought of the word left a bitter trace in his memory engrams. He had proven their weakness, as all alien races were, ultimately, weak.
Discovery of one of the northern ice tombs had forced Ankh to escalate his schedule of reactivation. Hundreds of canoptek drones now scurried about the subterranean chambers, nurturing, restoring, revivifying, all for the glory of the necrontyr.
War hosts, thousands strong, were slowly awakening. Ankh perceived each and every one of their soulless flames igniting with activation. It was patient work, careful work, but then the Architect had already waited for aeons. What did a few more years matter?
According to his global analysis, one faction of resistance yet remained between the Sautekh Dynasty and dominance of this world. It was concentrated in the human city, the one the Undying had failed to sack during his abortive siege. With the recently resurrected war cells, Ankh had deterred further interference from the armoured crusaders and their crude war engines. Unmolested, the Architect could divert his complete attention to revivifying a legion of such magnitude as to engulf the surface city and wipe it from existence.
There would be no siege, only annihilation.
Then he could turn his ageless mind towards other concerns. The beating heart of this tomb world was stirring. A sliver of a c’tan. A pale simulacrum of what it had once been, but still potent in spite of that. Ankh could feel it through its necrodermis, the agitation of its essence. It would not be long now. The slave would awaken soon and then the stars themselves would quail.
It took two days to limp back to the city. The Gladius had shadowed the survivors of the tank company every step of the way, allowing Chronus to learn of the fate of Egnatius from Sergeant Vorolanus. Neither of them knew for certain what had befallen the Ultramarines that had entered that cavern; even Techmarine Vantor could offer little by way of explanation. Several had lost their lives to it, and betrayed their sworn brothers into the bargain. Chronus only hoped that was an end to this particular blight, and tried not to fathom what other horrors the necrons possessed that the Ultramarines had yet to see.