‘Whether or not our enemies staged this diversion, they have made best use of it,’ said Gurloch, staring out into the gloom. ‘And we must assume that the assassins that killed Slaugh and his brothers are still at large. No, I will not risk our best plague surgeon at this juncture. Blorthos, you and your brothers heft a corpse each. We will bring them with us, that Phlegorius may examine them at his leisure.’
Gurloch saw Blorthos stiffen; he knew that the Terminator would resent this demeaning duty. He also knew that no warrior of the Death Guard would complain at such a hardship, lest their fortitude be questioned.
‘Yes, lord,’ said Blorthos, motioning to his brothers to choose and heft a corpse each. Blorthos himself threw Slaugh’s body over one shoulder as though his armoured remains weighed nothing at all.
‘Good,’ said Gurloch. ‘Let us away. Battle calls.’
Captain Dzansk, commander of the Cadian 44th Heavy Infantry, cursed as something struck the flank of his Chimera. The armoured personnel carrier rocked on its suspension, throwing Dzansk and his command squad around in their restraints.
‘What in Throne’s name was that?’ barked Colour Sergeant Weims as the vehicle skidded to a halt.
‘No clue,’ said Dzansk. ‘Nothing good.’
He banged a fist on the hatch to the drivers’ compartment, ignoring the ache in his bones from whatever heretical ague he had contracted.
‘Hey, Stranson, what–’
Dzansk was cut off as their transport bucked again, lurching backwards with
a shriek of tortured metal. Dzansk heard muffled screams from the drivers’
compartment, followed by a loud bang. Smoke began to leak through the ventilation ports.
‘Damnit,’ said Dzansk. ‘Chonsky, get the hatch. Weapons ready – we’re disembarking.’
Gunner Chonsky hefted his meltagun with one hand and hit the hatch-release rune with the other. The Chimera’s rear ramp opened with a hydraulic whine, allowing thick smoke and buzzing flies to spill inside.
Chonsky was first down the ramp, coughing on the foul air that had already poisoned their lungs thrice over. Dzansk followed, but pulled up with a yell of alarm as huge metal tentacles whipped out of the fug and punched through Chonsky’s chest. The gunner screamed as he was hefted off the ground, his wild eyes locking with Dzansk’s in the split second before the rusted tendrils ripped him bloodily in two.
Looming through miasmal smoke and spores came a Helbrute Dreadnought,
a hulking giant of rusted metal and rotten flesh taller than Dzansk’s burning Chimera. One arm comprised the waving tentacles that had ripped Chonsky
apart, while the other mounted a massive cannon. A cluster of eyes rolled above a fleshy maw in the thing’s chest, which was itself an armoured sarcophagus housing the tortured flesh remnant of the machine’s pilot, a once-great Death Guard champion.
‘Down!’ shouted Dzansk, diving aside as the ironclad monster opened fire.
Shells whipped over him in a storm, reducing Medicae Danvers and Colour
Sergeant Weims to bloody gobbets.
Voxman Kavier hit the ground next to Dzansk, swearing inaudibly over the din of the fusillade. The Helbrute’s fire tore through the open hatch of the Chimera and detonated its engines. The explosion was shockingly enormous.
It picked up Dzansk and hurled him past the Helbrute, leaving his ears ringing and his body bruised as he rolled to a stop.
Dzansk looked up groggily through the swirling smoke and saw the Dreadnought turning towards him. Its fanged maw yawned and its eyes rolled madly. There were more shapes in the murk: Cadian Guardsmen and tanks firing as they advanced, but none were close enough to come to his aid.
Dzansk rolled sideways, frantically avoiding the lash of the Helbrute’s tentacles. He ripped his laspistol from its holster and fired, bursting one of the creature’s eyes with a lucky shot. It roared, though the sound was still
muffled to Dzansk, and stomped towards him.
He saw Kavier, lying on his side, unmoving – no help there. He prayed to the Emperor for aid, scrambling to his feet and swatting away droning flies.
His eyes alighted on Chonsky’s meltagun, lying discarded near the bloodied remains of its former owner. He dived for the gun, feeling everything inside him constrict in terror as the Helbrute’s tentacles whipped past mere inches from his flesh.
Captain Dzansk hit the ground in a roll and came up with Chonsky’s meltagun levelled.
‘Oh spirit of the weapon, forgive my crude ministrations and vent thine wrath upon this unclean thing,’ he prayed, then squeezed the trigger.
The meltagun’s energy blast built from a hiss to a roar in a split second. The Helbrute reeled as a column of super-agitated microwave energy bored through its sarcophagus and struck the clotted remnants of the Death Guard warrior interred within. Boiling flesh and warp flame jetted from the glowing hole, and the machine gave a ululating howl as it staggered backwards.
Something exploded within its armoured frame, smoke belched and the war
engine toppled, crashing down mere feet from Dzansk.
‘Emperor be praised,’ whispered the Cadian captain. He shook himself out of his daze and rushed over to Voxman Kavier. To his relief, his comrade was stirring and groaning – wounded, ill, but very much alive.
Dzansk grabbed the headset attached to his voxman’s backpack and dialled into the Cadian command channel, listening as he scrolled hastily through strategic data on his auspex.
‘–eventh Platoon retreating, repeat, Seventh Platoon retreating, overwhelming enemy fire at–’
‘–what in Throne’s name is that thing? Watch out, don’t–’
‘–questing immediate fire on these coordinates, one-four-one-two, repea–’
‘–coming from the flank. Holy Cadia, are those Terminators? We have to–’
‘Men and women of Cadia!’ barked Dzansk, overriding their vox-channels
so all would hear. ‘I am sounding the retreat. Enemy flanking forces are attempting to bifurcate our advance and trap our forward elements between their guns. Fourth, Eighth and Twelfth Platoons – fall back immediately to position Thades and filter out through the ruins. Lieutenant Bronski, get your squadron out of there and punch out to the right flank, Vengeance to the fore.
We need your battle tanks intact. Everyone else, fall back by squads, cover
pattern Alphaus, and rendezvous at the Shrine of the Emperor’s Beatific Countenance. Cadia stands!’
Confirmations flooded back through the vox, and Dzansk felt a moment of
pride at how efficiently his warriors fought, even in conditions as terrible as these. The thunder of Death Guard bolters echoed through the murk, spurring the captain to action. He hoisted Kavier onto his feet, ignoring the voxman’s pained groans and the blood that caked his scalp. Throwing one of Kavier’s arms over his shoulder and clutching Chonsky’s meltagun tight, Dzansk began a hurried limp back towards the Imperial lines. He heard the ragged wheeze in his breathing, and ignored it.
‘Emperor,’ he prayed as he hobbled through the murk. ‘If you’re listening, I know we’re no more deserving than anyone else, and I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than listen to my pathetic bloody prayers, but if you can hear me, please, send us your aid. I don’t think we’re going to last much longer without it.’
CHAPTER THREE
The embarkation deck of the Primarch’s Sword resounded with activity.
Squads of Primaris Space Marines jogged into position in preparation to board heavily armoured gunships. Munitions servitors lumbered between the strike force’s vehicles, hefting shells and power packs into place with their servo-arms, or hauling sloshing fuel bowsers.
Helots hurried back and forth, bearing equipment, orders and artefacts for their masters. Chaplain Dematris marched along the lines of warriors, leading them in chanting the Chapter’s rites of battle, while cyber-cherubim fluttered through the strobing light, carrying censers which trailed thick incense smoke. All
the bustle and activity was framed against the star-speckled darkness of space, visible through the deck’s open blast doors but held at bay by a shimmering force field.
Lieutenant Cassian and Librarian Keritraeus stood on an observation gantry, watching the final preparations.
‘It appears you will get your war, lieutenant,’ said the Librarian.
‘You make me sound like some bellicose Space Wolf or Black Templar,’
said Cassian. ‘I am not champing at the bit for bloodshed, Keritraeus. But I won’t shy from doing the Emperor’s work, or from admitting it brings me satisfaction.’
‘Nor should you, Cassian,’ said the Librarian with a faint smile. ‘But have a caution. I know that Captain Adrastean placed a substantial burden of responsibility upon your shoulders. Be sure you don’t allow it to force your hand.’
‘I don’t deny I have much to prove,’ said Cassian. ‘To Adrastean. To the primarch.’
‘To yourself?’ asked Keritraeus.
Cassian nodded. ‘That too. This war has raged for ten thousand years, my friend, and we are latecomers. We have not shared the burdens, nor endured the hardships, that others have. There are those, even amongst the armies of the Indomitus Crusade, who still doubt us for what we are.’
Keritraeus chuckled softly.
‘My brother, look at whom you are speaking to,’ he said. ‘Since the earliest days of the Imperium, there have been voices raised against my kind.
Witches, they call us, unnatural and dangerous. That has never stopped the Librarians of the Space Marine Chapters from using our powers to aid our battle-brothers, shield the Emperor’s servants and slaughter His enemies.’
‘A wise comparison, brother,’ replied Cassian. ‘One I hope we can live up to.’
‘We shall soon see. It appears that Dematris has concluded his prayers.’
‘Good. Then in Guilliman’s name, let us be about it.’
Cassian stepped up to the railing and keyed his vox-grille to amplify his voice.
‘Brothers,’ he said, voice booming through the embarkation deck. ‘Once again, we prepare to do battle with the dark forces of Chaos.’
His warriors cheered.
‘Within minutes, the Primarch’s Sword will enter high orbit above Kalides Primes. Though atmospheric conditions are poor, from long-range auspex and oracular interrogation we can surmise that the planet has been invaded by the Heretic Astartes. Brothers, we face the Death Guard.’
A murmur ran through the ranks at this. The Death Guard were one of the
original Traitor Legions – ancient warriors, steeped in corruption and seething with the power of Chaos.
This would be a hard fight.
‘We have detected the wreckage of several Imperial Navy warships scattered through the planet’s upper atmosphere,’ continued Cassian. ‘We have also marked warp translation signatures that suggest where our enemy’s craft came and went, leaving us with orbital supremacy. Moreover, the capital city’s astropathic fortress remains intact, and there are at least some Imperial ground forces still engaging the invaders. Do not make the mistake of believing that any of this will make our mission easier. The Death Guard seem to be warding themselves from our auguries in some fashion. Strategic
intelligence is thus fragmentary, but hints at enemy numbers substantially greater than our own. Also, the foe has control of the capital city’s orbital defence batteries.
‘You have all been briefed upon the plan. We will execute a combat drop to capture the orbital batteries while Shipmaster Aethor uses starship wreckage to shield the Primarch’s Sword from any return fire. Once the batteries are ours, we will bring the strike cruiser lower to provide supporting bombardments, link up with any localised Imperial forces and drive for the astropathic fortress. We will do this swiftly, before the enemy can marshal their strength, and we will do it in the name of the Emperor and the primarch!’
‘For the Emperor!’ roared his warriors. ‘For Guilliman!’
Inceptor Sergeant Polandrus depressed a runic stud in his gauntlet, causing a ceramite heat shield to slide down over his helm. He flexed his limbs, feeling the motor-bundles of his Mark X Gravis power armour respond smoothly, before depressing his heels and causing his servo-stirrups to give, then resist.
He interrogated his weapon-feeds, ensuring they were clear of obstruction and their ammunition counts were at maximum.
‘Final checks, brothers,’ he voxed, casting an eye over his two comrades as they underwent their own pre-drop rituals. The Inceptors looked unwieldy in their heat-shielded armour, with their heavy jump packs and their guns underslung on their forearms. Polandrus knew better.
His battle-brothers confirmed their readiness, and Polandrus nodded in satisfaction, activating his helm’s drop protocols and watching as wireframe flight vectors overlaid themselves on his vision. He glanced across at Inceptor Squad Thaddean, their comrades in arms for over a decade now, readying themselves nearby.
‘Ready, brother?’ asked Polandrus over the vox.
‘To slaughter heretics?’ asked Sergeant Thaddean. ‘Always.’
‘For the glory of Ultramar, then,’ said Polandrus. ‘Inceptor Squads Polandrus and Thaddean commencing atmospheric insertion drop in three, two, one…’
Feeding power through his armour’s systems, Polandrus began a pounding run across the embarkation deck. His brothers followed, their steps becoming bounding springs as servo-stirrups took their weight and propelled them
forwards. The Inceptors engaged their jump packs, blue firelight flaring within their jet nozzles, and led by Polandrus they accelerated towards the lip of the embarkation deck, the void of space and the immensity of Kalides Prime yawning dizzyingly below.
The brink came up to meet Polandrus and he leapt, propelling himself through the deck’s force field and into the cold emptiness of space.
In a moment, the din of gunship engines and autoloaders was gone, replaced by the sound of his steady breathing, the dull thump of his twin hearts and the clipped vocalisations of the squad vox. He fed power to his thrusters and tucked his limbs in at his sides as he angled himself towards Kalides Prime and began his descent.
‘Squad, report,’ he said. His battle-brothers voxed in, confirming that they had successfully exited the Primarch’s Sword and were following him in towards the thermosphere.
‘Sergeant Thaddean?’ asked Polandrus.
‘We’re away,’ came Thaddean’s voice. ‘Smooth deployment. Coordinates locked in. We will follow you down.’
‘On wings of fire, brother,’ said Polandrus. With a few quick bursts of thrust, he turned his arcing flight into a level descent, watching the runes designating his squadmates as they all settled into their drop vectors. Beneath him, Kalides grew larger by the second while the starfield slowly dimmed. At his back, the Primarch’s Sword descended more slowly, gunships beginning to boost out of its launch bays as it came.
The gunships would be the second wave; the Inceptors had the honour of being the first.
‘Entering upper atmosphere in five,’ voxed Thaddean. ‘Brace.’
Polandrus felt his armour’s servos stiffen and his posture lock as its machine-spirit baffled him against the impending gravitic forces. He muttered a prayer for the Emperor to watch over him, then flames were licking across his armour’s plates as he began re-entry. Thermosensors registered steep spikes, and a bone-deep shuddering ran through his body, fierce enough that a lesser being would quickly have been rendered unconscious.
‘Watch your angles,’ he voxed. ‘Brother Ulandro, adjust point two – you’re a little steep.’
Flames were blazing around him now as he punched down through Kalides’
atmospheric envelope. Thermic warnings continued to ping. He felt his
momentum and weight increase as the planet’s gravity reached up to take him in its embrace, and a constant roar filled his senses.
Polandrus felt no fear. This was what he was made for.
The fires
died in an instant, replaced by the vertiginous sensation of full gravity and the churning mass of the planet’s polluted storm clouds rushing up to meet him.
‘Reading high winds within the storm system,’ he voxed.
‘Acknowledged,’ replied Thaddean. ‘Detecting trace malefic energies within the clouds.’
‘Confirmed,’ said Polandrus. ‘Intone the litany of denial, brothers. Gird your souls.’
The Inceptors streaked down like missiles, maintaining a grim chant as they punched into the cloud layer. Polandrus gritted his teeth as visibility dropped to virtually nil and furious cross-winds pummelled him. Greasy rain streaked the lenses of his helm, and as green-tinged lightning flashed around him, he thought he saw the suggestion of leering visages swirling hugely amidst the thunderheads.
‘Keep your coordinates locked, brothers,’ he ordered. ‘Trust in the machine-spirits of your armour. Follow drop vectors and be ready for combat landing in one hundred and eighty seconds.’
Lightning flared in strobing blasts. The clouds formed fanged maws the size of hab-blocks that yawned wide and closed over them. Thunder crashed and the winds howled, while storm rain hammered the Inceptors’ armour with the force of shotgun pellets.
Through it all they held their course, and as his helm altimeter spiralled downwards, Polandrus unlocked his drop posture and roused the wrathful machine-spirits of his assault bolters.
‘Breaking cloud cover in three, two…’ Polandrus shot through the last wisps of cloud, and the ruined cityscape of Dustrious was revealed below him.
‘The city is in an advanced state of deterioration,’ he voxed, opening his channel to the entire strike force. ‘Visual confirmation – large portions of Dustrious have been bombarded from orbit. Damage and auspex readings suggest a mixture of conventional munitions and malefic contaminants.
Malefic contagion levels high throughout the city. Confirming status of astropathic fortress… It appears intact and shielded at this time.’
‘Orbital batteries sighted on southern edge of the city, coordinates one-one-
seven-three-one,’ added Thaddean. ‘Auspex reads enemy presence confirmed on site.’
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