by Gav Thorpe
After such devastation of the third city, Daephios, a counter-rebellion had begun. Thousands of loyal defence personnel and armed Imperial citizens now roamed the streets to attack any they believed to have rebel sympathies, driving them from their urban shelter and away from the bulk of the population. There would be no more succour, no sanctuary for those that defied the Emperor.
The wilderness had provided little relief for the hereteks and renegade planetary defence force. Separated from the general populace they had been made easy prey for orbital bombardment and targeted aerial assaults.
The Dark Angels offered no relent against their enemies. The Ravenwing sought them out from the ice-harvest fields of the southern pole to the equatorial geothermal stations, and brought down the ire of a dozen starships on those they found.
The Deathwing broke open the plasma cores of forge-cities and armoured columns speared into the red deserts of the eastern hinterlands, engaging massed enemy tank squadrons across treacherous rivers and ever-shifting dunes of carmine sand.
Across Adeptus Mechanicus forgeworks over a thousand-island tropical archipelago the battle companies of the Rock drove out the hereteks and their insane machines. They warred across five thousand bridges, tunnels and skyways to raze the last existence of the traitor cult from Rhamiel.
Now the last rebel defence forces issued forth from the northern mountains, to challenge the Dark Angels to open battle, the last of the hereteks among their ranks. The smoke of their exhausts adding to the fume of the burning refineries to the east, long columns of tanks previously sheltered from the wrath of the Space Marines wound down the mountain highways, escorted by three immense Knight walkers roused from dormancy by the renegade Adeptus Mechanicus. Tri-rotored attack craft swept above, while the sky was scarred with the contrails of interceptor jets. Soldiers numbering in the thousands advanced on foot and in armoured transports, beneath black banners and skull-topped standards. Everywhere the winged skull of the Night Lords could be seen, replacing the Imperial aquila and Machine-God’s sigil in devotion, though of the traitor legionaries themselves there was yet no sign.
Broken outcrops of glassified rock and plasma craters marked the battle zone amongst still-burning lakes of promethium and fields of unexploded ordnance. An orbit-dropped aegis line delineated the killzones, a solid row of prefabricated armoured ferrocrete punctuated by squat bunkers every three hundred metres. Several kilometres of livewire – heat-seeking razorwire – had been laid upon the banks of the Scalsis River to guard against aquatic intrusion on the Dark Angels’ western flank. Here Land Speeders had already duelled with patrol boats and turreted hovercraft issuing from armoury depots dug beneath the mountains.
The strength of the Chapter was arrayed against the oncoming army, nearly a thousand battle-brothers from across the ten companies. Scout squads had deployed in the charred foothills to waylay and ambush where possible, and to monitor and report on the numbers and strength of the host issuing forth from the valleys.
Devastators manned the Aquila strongpoints and Firestorm redoubts, mixed with Tactical Squads equally capable of defensive and offensive action; in turn a dozen Dreadnoughts bolstered the line where the terrain was dense and fighting would be at its closest. Vengeance weapon batteries and Deathstorm drop pods had been scattered like seeds over the razed ground a kilometre ahead of the main line.
Assault Squads and the Deathwing Terminators waited half a kilometre behind, a fist pulled back ready to land a decisive blow or counter-attack an enemy success. Land Raiders and Rhinos waited to carry forth these reserves while Predators, Vindicators and Whirlwinds of various marks and armament readied their heavy weapons to counter any armoured thrust.
Seething shadows moved back and forth across the newly blasted wastelands, the concealing auras of Ravenwing Darkshrouds. Within the umbra of ancient technologies, the bike squadrons and attack bikes of Ravenwing roamed, ready to intercept outriders of the enemy moving ahead of the main force in Sentinel walkers, and to counter mounted patrols and stalking automatons conjured by the wild technologies of the hereteks.
At the centre of the line rose the main bastion of the Dark Angels fortifications. The walls of the compact fortress rose five metres from the plain, manned by honoured squads from the Third and Seventh Companies. Another twenty metres high stretched the central tower from the summit of which Azrael and his highest-ranking advisors held their final council before battle commenced. Brother Agathor stood bearing the Standard of Fortitude, the fragment recovered from the hereteks now incorporated into a new tapestry faithfully recreating the original design by the labour of the Chapter’s aspirants.
‘This is a fight they shall regret,’ Lanval said.
‘Which begs a question,’ said Ballan, Master of the Seventh Company. ‘What do they hope to gain? Either a fool or a genius leads them against Space Marines, fortified and prepared.’
‘That they come is glad tidings enough for me,’ said Sammael. He started towards his Land Speeder, the Sableclaw, which hovered beside the wall of the tower roof. The Grand Master of the Ravenwing stepped into the waiting seat and looked back at the others. ‘The battle is almost upon us and I must be with my company. I may let some of the rebels reach the line for you to make practice of your bolters – I am feeling charitable today!’
He drew the Raven Sword in one hand and took up the controls with the other. With a salute, Sammael guided the Land Speeder away, the swirl of his passage soon lost in the haze of smog and distance.
‘I had best join my men also,’ said Lanval. He gestured towards the Land Raider Crusader waiting behind the tower. ‘If you want to end this swiftly, do not delay the counter-attack, my lord. It will not take long for the rebel scum to break, and I would rather not give them too much of a head start back towards the mountains. Let them hit the wall and then drive them hard from it.’
‘I will remember that, brother-captain,’ said Azrael.
The other company masters left with Lanval, so that it was only Azrael, Ezekiel and Dagonet who remained atop the citadel.
‘Ballan speaks truthfully,’ said Azrael. ‘To meet the enemy in open battle so swiftly is beyond all expectation.’
‘Is it possible they care for the people they come from?’ suggested Dagonet. Ezekiel and Azrael both directed harsh glares in his direction. ‘It is right to hate the heretic, but do not misjudge them. They are wayward, but it was not the will to do evil that first took them from the realms of duty and loyalty. Selfishness, often, but sometimes the desire to seek something greater for others. Who knows what lies the Night Lords have planted in their souls? Their new allegiance is carried on every shield and banner.’
‘But their masters do not march with them,’ said Azrael. ‘Either they have committed the sin of treachery twice and abandoned their new lords, or there is some purpose to the renegades sending out their army to confront us openly. They have not begun to stretch our resources or test our mettle.’
‘You are quiet, Ezekiel,’ said Dagonet, ‘even for you. Does the Librarium have any guidance for our lord?’
The Chief Librarian turned his unnatural stare out to the battlefield. He rested one hand on the hilt of Traitor’s Bane at his hip, the other held in a fist against his chest.
‘The omens do not portend well for this battle,’ he confessed. ‘There is a greater darkness in the shadows.’
‘Should we abandon the fight?’ said Azrael, startled by these words. ‘You said nothing previous to our deliberations.’
‘To chase shadows is to clutch at nothing, Azrael. Echoes of the future might be phantasms of our own creation. It is a warning, not an edict.’
‘Is there further precaution I should have taken, Ezekiel? The army is arrayed and, to my experience, outmatches the foe in quality and disposition. Our brothers are prepared, in good spirit and eager. The enemy are desperate, poorly led. It is not overconfidence to express my satisfaction at this arrangement.’
‘I speak not of the batt
le laid before us but of a battle we cannot yet see,’ said Ezekiel. ‘The Night Lords, Azrael. Where are the Night Lords?’
‘Hiding, or perhaps they have fled. We have seen that they owe nothing to the creatures they have swayed to their cause. In seeing their cruel works undone they might choose to abandon Rhamiel to escape the just prosecution that follows them.’
‘Be wary,’ Ezekiel said. ‘That is all I can tell you.’
Azrael nodded and smiled.
‘Were you such a nagging mother to Naberius?’
‘No,’ said Ezekiel, showing no humour. ‘Now he is dead.’
‘Quite.’
The Supreme Grand Master descended into the tower with his companions and attended to the strategic station on the upper level. Here a battery of screens and vox-decks compiled datafeeds projected from dozens of inlet-channels throughout the Dark Angels force. Vid-captures from Ravenwing Land Speeders, orbital multi-spectrum scans, Deathwing sensorium readings and coopted vox-records from command tanks and squad sergeants all converged into the banks of cogitators.
Overseeing the mass of gauges, vid-slates, hololiths and vocalisers was Radagal, a senior Techmarine of the Chapter Armoury. The veteran was more machine than man, having been wounded close to death by a rampaging tyranid monstrosity some years before. The behemoth had almost devoured Radagal before Sergeant Belial and his Deathwing had sawed their way into the creature’s gullet and dragged the unfortunate Techmarine free, slaying the alien leviathan in the process. Radagal had lost both legs, his left arm and half of his head, but through the attentions of the apothecaries and his brothers’ technomancy, and no small measure of personal stubbornness, the Techmarine had survived.
Had he been a brother of the fighting companies he would have likely been interred in a Dreadnought sarcophagus to continue his warrior life. As a specialist of the Chapter, his skills in other areas were too valuable, and a unique automobilia had been constructed for him based upon the engineering and cyberorganics that sustained the Master of the Forge in the heart of the Rock’s infrastructure.
He moved on two tracks taken from a rapier mobile laser cannon, his missing arm replaced with a trio of tendril-like appendages that ended in a dataport-spine, tri-digit claw and combat blade. From his bared skull splayed a dozen mind impulse unit cables, three of which snaked to the apparatus of the strategic metriculators, the others connected to attendant half-man servitors slaved to the Techmarine’s brainwaves, who monitored and manipulated the external controls of the databanks and cogitators.
The vox speakers buzzed with reports from the Ravenwing and orbiting ships, detailing the movements of the approaching army. Azrael deciphered the short snippets of overlapping combat-cant, piecing together a picture of the battle zone as he watched the runes appearing on a two-metre display screen at the centre of one wall.
The enemy tanks had formed an armoured spearhead at the fore, using themselves as a mobile barrier to protect the troop carriers and infantry. Their pace was deliberate, their formations tight. The Knights moved alongside with long strides, their directional ion fields leaving a scatter of red sparks in their wake.
‘No mad dash, no manic rush for victory,’ remarked Dagonet. ‘A calculated attack. Some semblance of leadership remains.’
‘They retain some of their Imperial discipline, that can be seen. But whether it is good command or simply the habit of drill we shall only see when the first shots are fired.’
‘We shall not have long to wait,’ said Radagal. A subscreen flickered into life and a jerky vid-feed crackled across the viewer. Azrael recognised the gliding movement of a Land Speeder. Its flight path took it along the closest hillsides, upon which large-bore cannons were extending stabiliser legs while enormous vat-grown monotask servitors lifted shells from ammunition carriers.
‘Can Sammael reach those guns?’ asked Dagonet. ‘Strike before they can open fire?’
Azrael assessed the plethora of range-demarcation runes and sigils that crowded the main display and shook his head.
‘The enemy have one flank anchored on the river, the same as we do. The tanks out-range the Ravenwing by a margin.’ Azrael moved to the broad panel and picked up a digi-quill. He drew it over the screen. Bright lines of red appeared in its wake to delineate the possible attack vectors towards the assembling enemy battery. ‘By the time they outflank to the east, the enemy can move these infantry into a blocking position. The only other route is directly through the armoured spearhead.’
‘The Knights, Azrael,’ said Ezekiel, drawing the commander’s attention to the giant war machines advancing alongside the tanks. ‘They will soon be in range of Sammael’s squadrons.’
‘Bikes and Land Speeders are no match for bolt cannons and volkite weapons,’ said Dagonet.
‘Agreed,’ said Azrael. ‘Radagal, signal Sammael to conduct a fighting withdrawal to the east. The Ravenwing must endeavour to engage their light elements but stay away from the Knights and heavy armour. When the attack is broken they will be at the forefront of the pursuit.’
Radagal complied without comment, while Azrael continued to examine the unfolding scene. He moved his attention to the orbital assets at his disposal. A Dark Angels battle-barge was currently on station to provide support, its huge cannons at the ready.
‘Have the Angel of Redemption commence bombardment of the enemy artillery.’
A nod of acknowledgement from Radagal.
The renegade tanks came on, the rumble of their tracks and the growl of their engines audible even without the pick-up and vox-feeds. The outermost perimeter of defence posts came online, their machine brains detecting the approaching armoured vehicles. Stabs of white lascannon beams cut through the smog while rocket pods rippled with the fire of multiple launches. In reply battlecannons boomed in the murk and autocannons barked their retorts.
An engine exploded, a muted blossom of orange in the gloom. Armour sparked and flared from other shots. Shell impacts from the return fusillade ripped up the already tortured ground around the dropped emplacements and tore at their armoured walls. Ion shield crackling, a towering Knight pressed forwards; its heavy cannons raked fire along the defence line to obliterate several outposts with a single devastating salvo.
Slowing and turning, the columns of renegade vehicles headed through this breach like water rushing for a hole in a dyke. Coming into range they poured more fire onto the ends of the severed cordon line. The Knight continued its assault, crushing a Deathstorm pod beneath its foot even as the automated turret spewed a hail of missiles into the oncoming war engines. Behind, another Knight opened fire; the crackle of arcane technology seared through the smoke to obliterate another outpost.
In their wake the transports accelerated, crashing and bumping over the uneven terrain, small armoured cars speeding alongside. Interceptors peeled away as Azrael ordered his gunships to stem the sudden rush of tanks heading towards the aegis-line.
‘Lanval’s foresight is impeccable,’ Azrael told the others. ‘Here, at grids fourteen and fifteen. They are hoping to punch through just one part of the line, overwhelm us with successive waves against a narrow front. We can halt the attack with just a single solid counter-offensive. We’ll blunt the assault, catch the lead elements against their own following forces and then turn them around one flank with an armoured noose.’
He quickly reeled out orders for his reserves from the armoury and Deathwing to commit, as well as for two of the companies on the wall to mount up in transports for a counter-attack through the uncontested ground to the west. The heavy weapons of the Devastators had engaged the nearest tanks, who in return were slowing to lay down a barrage of cannon and multilaser fire against the aegis-line.
‘They are making our task even easier,’ said Dagonet. ‘Already they are slowing down their own second wave.’
A hissed intake from Ezekiel caused the Supreme Grand Master and Master of Sanctity to look sharply at their companion. The Chief of Librarians was not looking at the s
creens, his gold-flecked gaze directed to something no other could see.
‘Codicier Vanael has detected something,’ Ezekiel whispered. ‘A psychic disturbance. It is similar to the warp echoes we detected before the Night Lords’ arrival at the Iron Stalagmite.’
Before Azrael could inquire any further, Radagal attracted his attention.
‘My lord, the Knights are changing the axis of their attack. They are coming directly towards the centre. Towards us.’
‘Let them,’ said Azrael. ‘Our wall cannons will give them a hot greeting for their folly.’
‘My Librarium brothers are of accord,’ Ezekiel continued. ‘I feel it also. A shifting. A veil splitting.’
‘The Night Lords show themselves at last,’ said Azrael. He glared at Radagal. ‘Where? Where are they coming through?’
‘No anomalous energy signatures, my lord. If they are–’
‘They come,’ growled Ezekiel. ‘By the Lion’s bane, their sorcery is powerful!’
Knowing that technology alone could not detect or predict the sorcerous ways of the enemy, Azrael had to see the battlefield for himself. He sprinted to the stairwell and mounted the steps three at a time until he reached the roof lookout.
To his right the white Land Raiders of the Deathwing pushed out from the line and disgorged their Terminator squads into the heart of the enemy armoured offensive while a storm of weapons fire blazed past between the tanks.
Around the First Company, infantry squads surged like the froth of a tide up a beach, thousands of hereteks and renegade soldiers stumbling and running past the broken remains of the outer line, flowing past the wrecks of tanks and defence emplacements.
In the far distance, the hills burned with plasma flames while the bombardment from orbit continued. The blur of warheads and supersonic shells fell like monstrous hail, each detonation illuminating the battlefield with a flare of bright death.