by Gav Thorpe
‘We will return for you, brother,’ said Sabrael, slapping a fist to the aquila on his chest as he turned his bike away. ‘Unless the Apothecaries reach you first.’
‘Concentrate on the mission, brothers. I am not the first casualty we have ever suffered.’
‘Vengeance shall be ours,’ said Zarall. ‘Every drop of blood shed by our own will be atoned for by a river from our foes.’
Cassiel noticed Annael, the newest recruit to the squadron, and raised a hand in thanks as the other Dark Angel bowed his head in respect as he rode past.
‘You are doing well, Annael,’ Cassiel said as Annael turned away and gunned his steed after the others. ‘A true brother of the Ravenwing.’
‘We will be using fists and pistols before we are done,’ Annael said as the squadron rolled out through the opening doors.
‘We shall smite the enemy, brother,’ replied Zarall. ‘Any way that we can.’
‘This is Sergeant Cassiel, signalling Grand Master Sammael.’ The sergeant watched as the others disappeared from view. ‘I have been rendered combat ineffective. Request Apothecary and Techmarine attendance to my transponder location.’
In an upper loading deck half a kilometre from the Ravenwing’s main insertion, Grand Master Sammael paused to take stock of the strategic situation. Pirate corpses littered the bay around Sammael and his command squad, and amongst the sable-liveried warriors of the Dark Angels one stood out in his white armour: Apothecary Gideon.
Gideon’s comm-net feed buzzed with activity, tuning in to any transmissions containing key words and phrases that required his attention: ‘Apothecary’, ‘medical aid’, ‘casualty’, ‘injured’, ‘trauma’. During the initial attack there had been no need of his attention, the shock of the Ravenwing assault preventing any serious casualties. However, as the fighting became more protracted and the defenders of Port Imperial responded in force to the intruders, several engagements had resulted in more significant injuries to the Space Marines under his charge.
The Apothecary had just finished replying to a call and was about to request permission to respond when his vox tapped into a communication to the Grand Master, replaying the last few seconds of transmission.
‘This is Sergeant Cassiel, signalling Grand Master Sammael. I have been rendered combat ineffective. Request Apothecary and Techmarine attendance to my transponder location.’
A coded identifier tag confirmed the transmission originated from the sergeant, though not all casualties were capable of broadcasting their identity or position.
‘Understood, brother,’ replied the Grand Master. ‘Remain in position. There is a squadron within two kilometres of your location, await their arrival.’ Sammael cut the link with Sergeant Cassiel and turned to Gideon. ‘Join with Sergeant Charael and his Black Knights. They will perform escort for you. Of the casualties, which is your priority?’
‘Brother Gabrael needs my attention swiftly,’ replied the Apothecary, referring to a communication he had received moments before Sergeant Cassiel’s. ‘The others are stable as far as I can judge by the reports.’
‘Very well.’ Sammael paused, checking the data display on his steed. ‘Tell Charael you can cut through a maintenance hangar grid-north-west of here. That should take you to Gabrael and his squadron with least delay.’
‘As you command, Grand Master,’ said Gideon. The Apothecary turned his bike around and headed back towards the docking spar where the majority of the Ravenwing had inserted aboard their gunships.
Following the telemetry guidance of his steed, Eclipse, Gideon sped through the empty chambers and tunnels of Port Imperial, occasionally passing piles of bodies and other signs of fighting. His bike’s augur detected the signal of Charael’s Black Knights not far ahead even as the distant ring of detonations and grenade blasts echoed back down the corridors.
Gunning the engine, Gideon caught up with the Black Knights as they exchanged fire with a group of pirates holed up behind makeshift barricades at the end of a transit corridor. Plasma fire had smashed through some of the upturned containers and wrecked transport loaders, but not enough to clear a gap for Charael’s squadron to ride through. Thwarted by the barrier, they had withdrawn and were using the grenade launchers of their steeds to lob explosives beyond the barricade. Despite this, there were still several life signals on Gideon’s display as he joined the squadron.
‘The Grand Master said you would be joining us,’ said Charael. The huntmaster turned his ornate winged helm to look at the Apothecary as sporadic las- and bullet-fire whipped down the long corridor towards the Black Knights. ‘How bad is Brother Gabrael’s condition?’
‘Severe chest injury,’ said Gideon. ‘Last report said he was rapidly deteriorating. We have little time.’
Charael grunted in response and returned his gaze to the two-metre-high barricade.
‘The wall must part before us,’ he told his squadron. ‘Durrigan, load stasis grenade. Squadron, pistol covering fire. Follow me!’
Gideon fell in behind the six-strong squadron as they once more roared down the tunnel towards the enemy. The weight of fire increased to greet them as Charael surged ahead. Fifty metres from the barricade, the Black Knights slewed their bikes to a stop and opened fire with their bolt pistols, the rounds snapping past Charael as he continued to close with the enemy.
‘Durrigan, now!’ ordered the huntmaster.
The Black Knight’s grenade launcher coughed once, sending a glittering orb arcing over the barricade. Just as it fell from view, the stasis charge detonated, throwing up a crackling globe of white. Everything inside the field slowed for a moment. Gideon could see a pirate reloading the charge pack on his lasgun, seemingly frozen in place; another rebel was suspended in the act of ducking behind the plasma-melted engine of a cargo hauler, his face caught in a wide-eyed stare.
Tyres screeching and skidding across the deck, Charael hauled his steed sideways and tossed something onto one of the barricade sections. The charge was caught right on the edge of the stasis field and hung in midair, a red light glinting at its centre. Turning his steed around, the Huntmaster headed back towards the squadron.
Two seconds later the stasis field collapsed. Bullets and las-flares rang out, criss-crossing with bolt-rounds, while the charge thrown by Charael clanged heavily against the barricade.
Another second passed before the melta bomb detonated, shredding the metal carcass of a loading vehicle, spraying white-hot metal and deadly splinters.
The Black Knights needed no further order and formed up in a line behind their huntmaster as he aimed his bike at the gap.
‘No cease in our speed, we will return for justice later,’ commanded Charael as his bike disappeared into the pall of smoke billowing from the ruined barricade.
Gideon trusted to his autosenses and aimed for the gap, on the tail of the last Black Knight. The squadron plunged through the opening, still accelerating as the shocked pirates hurled themselves out of their path.
Not pausing to finish off their foes, the squadron raced on into the depths of Port Imperial, forming up in escort around Gideon. A few last desultory rounds sparked from their armour and the walls as the pirates sent a final flurry of shots after them.
The Apothecary activated his vox-link.
‘Sergeant Tennerus, how is Gabrael?’
‘Barely conscious, brother.’
‘Hold firm, we will be with you shortly.’
Gideon cut the link and concentrated on following Charael as he swerved between heaps of debris, past collapsed walls and through doors at breakneck speed. The Apothecary was determined that no Dark Angel would die today if he could prevent it.
Considering his situation, Cassiel concluded that he had been in more dire circumstances before, but not many. Glancing around the battle-marked warehouse, he considered his options and formulated a plan. His first priority was to re
duce the number of entrances into the chamber, so that the enemy would not be able to come at him from too many directions.
Heaving himself from the steps, he used the wall as a brace to hobble towards the main doors. He activated the locking mechanism and keyed in a new override code so that the pirates would not be able to open it again. With this done, he conveyed himself across the chamber in a series of leaps towards the elevator, pausing every few seconds to scan the upper level and hatchways for foes. It was not a dignified way to move, but it was effective, and within a minute he had reached the elevator doors.
Pushing himself upright inside the cage, he smashed a fist into the control panel, ripping out the workings with his gauntleted fingers. To make sure of his handiwork, he pulled a grenade from his belt, set the charge to ten seconds’ delay and forced it into the ragged hole he had made.
Exiting the elevator, Cassiel propelled himself back towards the remains of Incitatus. He had covered about twenty metres when the grenade detonated behind him. Tortured metal screeched for a moment and he turned to see the cage dropping from view, its descent ending with a thunderous crash a few seconds later.
With a combination of jumping and crawling, he dragged himself on to the broken remnants of his steed and checked its condition. There was no way it could be ridden; the back end and wheel were completely destroyed. However, a quick diagnostic scan showed that most of the major systems were still working and he activated Incitatus’s auspex. The scanner blinked into life on the display, showing roughly half a dozen life signals close at hand, on the level above the warehouse.
Pulling free his bolt pistol, the sergeant manoeuvred himself with his back propped up against the bike, facing towards a pair of maintenance ducts about thirty metres away. His autosenses picked up the sounds of heavy breaths and the scrape of boots issuing from the narrow passages.
‘Come on in, little rats,’ he muttered.
The first pirate that crawled out of the duct was a woman, dressed in dirty blue coveralls and a padded helmet. She had a lasgun slung awkwardly across her chest and she struggled to free the weapon as she stood up.
Cassiel’s bolt took her full in the face, blowing her head apart.
Switching his view to thermal scan, he sent three rounds into the other vent access, the white detonations of the bolts creating a spatter of orange against the accessway lining. Turning his attention back to the first duct, he fired again, two bolts greeting another pirate as he tried to push himself free of its confines.
The vague blobs of heat that signified the presence of the other attackers withdrew before he could fire again. Turning slightly, he checked Incitatus’s display. The gunfire had attracted some attention, or perhaps the rebels had communicated his presence in some other way. Whatever the cause, more signals were converging on his position from above.
Pulling himself to his right, Cassiel searched through his bike’s remaining pannier storage compartment and found another four bolt pistol magazines and several frag grenades. He laid them on the decking beside him within easy reach, took another look at the auspex returns, and waited for the next group of attackers to make their move.
Gideon and the Black Knights found Gabrael and his battle-brothers at a crossroads of sorts: a high vaulted chamber where six tunnelways converged. The area was choked with fallen debris from the bombardment of the two strike cruisers and Gabrael lay atop a mound of rubble next to his half-buried steed. Sergeant Tennerus was dismounted beside him while the rest of the squadron had been dispersed to hold three of the intersecting passages; their bike-mounted bolters rang out intermittently as they confronted incoming groups of pirates.
‘Praise the Lion you are here, brother,’ said Tennerus, stepping away from the prone Space Marine.
‘We will aid the defence,’ announced Charael, indicating to his squadron to follow him as he continued past the casualty. ‘Take all the time needed.’
‘I think Sergeant Cassiel might prefer otherwise,’ replied Gideon as he stepped off Eclipse’s saddle.
‘A grenade dislodged a partially collapsed support,’ explained Tennerus. ‘Bad luck, nothing more.’
Gabrael’s helm had been removed and his face was covered with waxy sweat, eyelids flickering between wakefulness and unconsciousness. A trail of blood showed where he had been dragged from the rubble, but it was not the half-tonne of rockrete that had caused the damage. Jutting from the left side of the Space Marine’s chest was a five-centimetre-thick reinforcing spar. Thick, coagulating fluid bubbled across his plastron from the wound, coating his black armour with a slick sheen.
Gideon worked in silence, removing Gabrael’s shoulder guards first, trying not to move the casualty, so that he could decouple the breastplate. With this done, Gideon stood and gestured to Tennerus.
‘I need you to pull out the bar, sergeant.’
Tennerus nodded, grasping the jutting shaft in both hands. He steadied himself, planting his feet apart to brace, and then looked again at the Apothecary.
‘Swiftly and surely, brother,’ Gideon assured the sergeant.
With another nod, Tennerus flexed his grip and then pulled.
Gabrael moaned, blood-flecked saliva bubbling from his mouth as the sergeant wrenched away the spar and chestplate together, exposing the wound. The Space Marine had been forced down onto the jagged metal, which had driven up through his ribcage into the chest cavity, piercing a lung and possibly one of Gabrael’s hearts. Any normal human would have died instantly, and many Space Marines too, but Gabrael was obviously made of sterner stuff and Gideon was impressed he was able to remain semi-aware.
‘Bad, but not fatal,’ Gideon announced, examining the damage.
He activated the narthecium built into the gauntlet and forearm of his left arm, spraying anaesthetic agent into the bloody gash. Bloodied miniature bonesaws and suturing needles worked at the wound under Gideon’s direction, stitching and patching the internal damage as best he could, stemming the worst of the blood loss. The Apothecary finished with an organic foam sealant that quickly hardened, reinforcing the scabbing that was already occurring.
‘He can be moved,’ Gideon said, standing up. ‘Sergeant, detail one of your warriors to take him back to grid alpha. I have orderlies there ready to evacuate casualties back to the strike cruiser. They will be able to stabilise him further.’
‘Our thanks, Brother-Apothecary,’ said Tennerus.
Gideon said nothing and opened up a communication channel.
‘Sergeant Cassiel, your signal is still strong. What is your condition?’
Several seconds passed before Cassiel replied.
‘I am a little busy with these pirate scum, Brother Gideon, but otherwise faring well.’
‘Acknowledged, sergeant. I will be en route to your position shortly.’
‘I’ll be waiting. Nowhere else to go for the moment.’
Gideon smiled at the sergeant’s poor joke and cut the vox-link. He reviewed the last few minutes’ worth of filtered transmissions and assured himself that there had been no further serious injuries requiring more immediate attention than Cassiel.
‘Huntmaster, please fix on Sergeant Cassiel’s position. Let us leave Sergeant Tennerus and his brothers to their mission.’
‘As you wish, Brother-Apothecary,’ came Charael’s reply. ‘Fixing augurs on Cassiel’s location beacon. One and a half kilometres, grid north-east.’
Gideon mounted Eclipse and raised a hand in salute to Gabrael as Tennerus lifted the wounded Space Marine to his feet. There was already more clarity in the Dark Angel’s eyes.
‘Only in death does duty end,’ Gabrael said hoarsely.
‘Aye, brother,’ replied Gideon. ‘Yours will not end this day.’
Slipping another magazine into his bolt pistol – only two left – Cassiel wondered why the rebels seemed so determined to kill him. In his current state an
d position he posed no operational threat to their plans, yet they had come at him three more times since the squadron had departed. Twenty-two more bodies lay cooling in the dim light of the warehouse as testament to the welcome he had given them.
He had heard over the vox-link talk of the ‘Unworthy’. From the scattered information he gathered that these rebels were more than mere pirates. They had a cult-like mentality, and it seemed that they considered slaying him as some kind of unholy goal. Fortunately, their single-mindedness was not matched by their skill, or their tactical acumen. They seemed willing to die by the dozen in exchange for just his death; a situation that allowed him to continue to aid his brothers’ efforts by continuing to survive.
With an instinctual glance at the auspex, the sergeant confirmed that the Unworthy had given up trying to enter the warehouse through the maintenance ducts and accessways. Now they had gathered outside the main doors.
Casting his gaze towards the large portal he could see the glow of some kind of cutting gear heating up the metal; a las-cutter most likely, unwieldy and slow compared to a melta-charge. Though their entry would not be swift, their numbers were still growing. The life signals merged together on the auspex but numbered at least two dozen.
For a moment, Cassiel considered signalling to command for assistance. He dismissed the notion quickly. The Ravenwing and Fifth Company had a task to complete, to apprehend the mysterious enemy commander who was referred to as the Overlord by the Unworthy. It would be a grossly selfish act by Cassiel to distract them from that objective simply for his own survival.
With that decision made, the sergeant considered how best to confront the growing threat outside the main doors. He evaluated his resources.
Firstly, himself. Mobility impaired, thirty rounds of bolt pistol ammunition remaining. His short-bladed power sword was still sheathed at his waist. Sufficient for the moment, but against a concerted attack from a single direction he would eventually be overwhelmed.