The Unforgiven

by Gav Thorpe

  ‘Signal to the Implacable Justice to remain at current station,’ the Chaplain told Lasla. ‘Continue to implement containment strategy.’

  Much of the Fallen’s pirate fleet had been destroyed in the minutes following Astelan’s pre-emptive decision to open fire. Expecting welcome from the orbital stations and platforms of Tharsis, the renegades had been caught in vicious crossfires and torpedo salvoes. The arriving strike cruisers had formed the lid of the box, interposing themselves between the assailed vessels and the route out of low orbit.

  The debris from the fighting was starting to form a ring around Tharsis, plasteel and frozen water and metres-thick ferrite plates joining the millions of micro-asteroids surrounding the world. On the surveyor displays an even more complex pattern emerged – sprays of heat and radiation, the radio echo of final transmissions and dissipating plasma swirling around the physical debris.

  The Implacable Justice was pursuing a pair of enemy corvettes, which were hoping to dissuade the strike cruiser from attacking by staying close together. Deck-Captain Pichon had been left in charge, a more experienced starship commander than could be boasted by many vessels in the Imperial Navy. Pichon and the crew of the Ravenwing’s transport were doing an admirable job of ensuring the Penitent Warrior and the enemy flagship could conduct their duel without interference.

  The orbital stations of Tharsis had reaped quite a toll early in the attack, opening fire at Astelan’s command against the unprepared fleet of Anovel. Now they formed an effective barrier against which the Implacable Justice was able to force the smaller ships it pursued. Unable to turn and head for outer space and not daring to risk the fire of the defence stations in lower orbit, the pair of corvettes were inevitably being run to ground.

  ‘Lord Sapphon.’ The voice of the communications attendant drew the Chaplain’s thoughts back to his own situation. ‘Master Belial has been teleported back to the ship.’

  Sapphon checked the chronometer. Four minutes and forty-three seconds. There was little to be gained by waiting another seventeen seconds, and lives could be lost.

  ‘Teleport stations, activate full retrieval,’ he commanded. ‘Gunnery systems, open fire at full tempo. Helm, bring us to torpedo launch distance.’

  The bridge officers broke into action, relaying orders, coordinates and target specifics to the relevant crews in the bowels of the vessel. Attitude engines burst into life, checking the Penitent Warrior’s momentum. The battle lighting flickered as the two teleportaria simultaneously brought back the remaining squads of Terminators, temporarily usurping the power output of the plasma reactors.

  ‘Brother Sapphon?’ Belial’s vox signal was routed through the internal systems. He was safely back on board. ‘Enemy status?’

  Sapphon already knew the answer to the question, but reviewed the latest augur data streaming across the displays.

  ‘Severe damage to starboard batteries,’ he told the Master of the First Company. ‘Void shields still inactive. Plasma drives partially functional. Congratulations, Belial, you’ve given us a sitting target. We are closing in for the kill.’

  The Penitent Warrior broke away from the heavy cruiser, stalling its inertia to allow the target vessel to slip ahead by several thousand kilometres. Its own engine output disrupted by the Terminator assault, the enemy flagship could do nothing but arc slowly to port, trying to bring the bulk of its operational gun decks to bear.

  All the while, the dorsal bombardment cannon kept up a relentless fusillade against the opposing ship. Shells created to breach surface fortresses and obliterate star bases pounded into the crippled cruiser. Each impact sent clouds of atomised armour and superstructure spraying into the void.

  ‘Master, torpedo failsafe distance reached,’ reported one of the weapons serfs.

  ‘Load both tubes, melta warheads.’ Sapphon consulted a sub-screen just to his left. ‘Zero spread. Helm, angle us to bearing mark-oh-seventeen. Engines to ahead standard. Launch on my command.’

  While the huge torpedoes were lifted up to the firing tubes, the Penitent Warrior increased speed once more and turned, keeping inside the arc of the curve described by the route of the enemy. The prow of the Space Marine vessel edged ahead of the target’s trajectory, the intersecting points of the torpedo flight and the enemy course picked out in red on a weapons display in the bottom right corner of the main screen. Numbers counted down the time to optimal launch.

  ‘Master, weapons crew report torpedoes loaded. Tubes sealed. Ready to launch.’

  Sapphon acknowledged the report with a nod.

  ‘Remain on course.’ He switched to the command vox. ‘Brother Belial, are you en route to the strategium?’

  ‘Thirty seconds, brother. Give me thirty seconds and we will watch these traitors burn together.’

  ‘I think we can stay our hand for that long, brother.’

  Sapphon strode to the front of the command auditorium and turned to face the deck officers and attendants.

  ‘The situation brings to my mind an ancient quote. No one remembers who first said these words, but you should mark them well. They have not been forgotten in ten thousand years for good reason.’ The Chaplain paused as the doors hissed open to admit Belial. The master of the Deathwing’s Terminator armour was scorched and cut in many places, the painted heraldry flaked and charred. His helm was in his hand, his face set with grim determination. Despite his efforts to mask it, the commander seemed out of breath, as if he had been running hard to get to the bridge in time. ‘Hail to Master Belial, and the First Company. By their effort and sacrifice we have earned victory this day.’

  A resounding shout filled the strategium, a wordless commendation to the warriors and commander of the Deathwing. Belial accepted the praise with a grudging nod.

  ‘You were making a speech,’ he said to Sapphon, taking up the command position at the centre of the strategium.

  ‘I was,’ said Sapphon. His gaze moved across all that were in the chamber, meeting the gaze of each and every serf and Space Marine present. ‘The enemies of the Emperor fear many things. They fear discovery, defeat, despair and death. Yet there is one thing they fear above all others. They fear the wrath of the Space Marines!’

  Belial directed an inquiring look at Sapphon, technically his subordinate until the Chaplain saw fit to return command to the Grand Master.

  ‘Hereby witness that I rescind authority of command of the Penitent Warrior to Grand Master Belial.’ He nodded and smiled at his fellow officer, and waved a hand towards the tactical display. ‘All is in order. The torpedo room awaits your will, brother-captain.’

  ‘Launch torpedoes,’ the Grand Master growled without ceremony. ‘We’ll send these scum to the void.’

  They followed the progress of the immense projectiles as they hurtled across the vacuum towards the heavy cruiser. The main sensor arrays damaged during Sapphon’s attack, their engine power reduced by Belial’s assault, the officers commanding the traitor vessel detected the incoming missiles late, and lacked the ability to do anything but execute the most rudimentary evasive manoeuvre.

  A few hundred kilometres from their target, the torpedoes shed their warhead sheaths, dispersing hundreds of armour-piercing melta charges. The cloud of munitions engulfed the heavy cruiser thirty seconds later. Every warhead erupted into a short-range radiation blast intense enough to penetrate metres of ferrite, plasteel and ceramite. Each was enough to make a small breach, but in their hundreds they punched through the aft section of the cruiser in a red wave, shearing almost halfway across the decks.

  Already punished to the point of breaking by the bombardment cannon shells and gun deck salvoes, the heavy cruiser was in no state to weather this latest assault. Stanchions snapped and decks collapsed, the back third of the vessel tearing away as spasming engines and secondary explosions pushed the prow up and to starboard while a reactor breach spewed plasma to port, twist
ing the doomed cruiser amidships.

  In another minute, the ship had torn itself in two, fires raging along the forward section while plasma swallowed the aft.

  ‘Vengeance is ours,’ Sapphon declared.

  ‘Tactical report,’ Belial barked, sparing no time to mark the achievement. ‘Target priority assessments. There are others awaiting our retribution.’

  A Brother’s Choice

  When they reached the rendezvous coordinates in the outskirts of the city, Annael saw that the other two Black Knights were already present. Calatus and Nerean waited astride their steeds, with Casamir and his gunner, Eladon, on their borrowed mounts. Tybalain had picked a small square intersection between three roads, overlooked by high hab-towers pocked by shells and las-fire. The auspex relayed the presence of several hundred life signals, and as the Land Speeder approached Annael could see terrified faces peering out of shattered windows. The area had been reported secure, cleansed of enemies, but Tybalain followed procedure and circled the area twice while Annael kept the heavy bolter primed to fire at any target that presented itself.

  Bringing the skimmer to a halt beside the squadron, Tybalain jumped down from the driver’s seat and motioned to Casamir.

  ‘My thanks for the lending, but I prefer the feel of my steed to the seat of your carriage,’ said the Huntmaster.

  ‘Remember that the next time you run into a blocked street, Brother-Huntmaster,’ replied Casamir as Annael alighted to relinquish his post to Eladon. ‘We have received orders from the Grand Master to assist the attack being launched through sector fifteen in the canal quarter.’

  ‘I have also received such command, but wait a moment, brothers.’

  Casamir and Eladon stopped before they reached the Swiftclaw. Tybalain activated his vox, connecting the transmission to the external address so that they could all hear the exchange.

  ‘Grand Master Sammael, this is Tybalain with an urgent force deployment request.’

  ‘Received, Huntmaster.’ It was strange to hear Sammael’s voice issuing from Tybalain’s helm. ‘Make your request.’

  ‘We have subdued enemy forces that claimed they had captured a battle-brother. I have conducted an investigation and believe this is true. I reported Brother Sabrael dead, but there is no sign of his body. I request that a strike force is readied to punish the perpetrators of this affront.’

  ‘You have a confirmed location, Huntmaster?’

  ‘Not yet, Grand Master, but we will acquire intelligence while the strike force is assembled.’

  ‘The purging of the enemy army is ongoing, Huntmaster. We have suffered heavily of late, nearly half our strength. We cannot afford these distractions.’

  ‘A threat has been made, Master Sammael,’ Annael cut into the discussion. ‘Brother Sabrael will be executed if our forces do not leave Tharsis. Compliance is impossible, so we must rescue Sabrael.’

  ‘It is a matter of honour,’ Tybalain replied.

  ‘There is much to mar the honour of the Second Company of late, Huntmaster. If we fail to drive the enemy from Streisgant, we shall bear a far greater shame in the eyes of our First Company brethren. Sabrael’s foolhardiness has cost him dear, but it is a fate of his own making. You will continue to join with the assault force assembling for the strike through sector fifteen.’

  ‘Grand Master, I ask you to reconsider,’ said Tybalain. ‘We can ill afford another blow to morale.’

  ‘That is a consequence you will have to bear, for allowing Sabrael to break rank. Losing more warriors in a rescue mission would be vanity, brother. I have given my command.’

  The link was broken from the other end and Annael shook his head.

  ‘This feels wrong, brothers,’ he said. ‘You know that Sabrael would be the first to aid any one of us, despite his flaws.’

  ‘He would be the first to disobey an order, that’s for sure,’ said Nerean.

  ‘This seems to be an issue for your squadron, Huntmaster,’ said Casamir.

  ‘We’ll leave you to your… discussion,’ said Eladon, turning back to the Land Speeder.

  ‘Sabrael was Ravenwing as much as he was a Black Knight,’ said Annael. ‘He is battle-brother to us all.’

  ‘The Grand Master did not leave any room for interpretation,’ said Calatus.

  ‘The order was clear but our duty is not,’ argued Annael. ‘Brother Tybalain is right, we need to consider the extent of our losses. Even our Huntmaster, may the Lion watch over him, cannot claim a greater skill with blade or more adroit employment of steed. For all his indiscipline, Sabrael is a boon to the squadron.’

  ‘In your opinion,’ contested Calatus.

  ‘In the opinion of Brother Malcifer, the Grand Master and several other superiors who have been well aware of Sabrael’s mercurial behaviour but have not striven to break him from his nature.’

  Annael remembered seeing Sabrael astride the Grand Master’s jetbike on the occasion they had come upon Corvex aboard the Implacable Justice. The thought that Sabrael pictured himself as being Master of the Ravenwing in the future had horrified Annael at the time, but recent events had made Annael reconsider his objections.

  ‘Another moment of your time, Casamir, Eladon,’ Tybalain said, causing the pilot and gunner to turn back. ‘I cannot order you to accompany us, but I am asking, as one brother to another.’

  ‘We’re going after Sabrael?’ said Annael, his mood lifted by the Huntmaster’s decision. ‘You are willing to ignore the Grand Master’s command.’

  ‘We will seek fresh intelligence,’ said Tybalain. ‘Another captive might reveal what we want to know. I promise nothing more.’

  ‘Why should we risk the wrath of the Grand Master?’ asked Eladon.

  ‘As Huntmaster it is within my purview to elevate you to the rank of Black Knights,’ Tybalain replied. ‘I would happily do so, with the endorsement of my squadron, if you were to assist in the recovery of one of our number.’

  ‘A posthumous rank is of little value, brother,’ said Casamir.

  ‘The promotion will be immediate, and we all have to die at some point,’ said Tybalain, returning to his mount. He swung a leg over and settled into the saddle while Annael made his way back to Black Shadow. ‘Your Land Speeder would prove very useful in the task ahead.’

  The crew of the Swiftclaw looked at each other and there was a pause while they communicated over their isolated vox-channel, unheard by the Black Knights. Judging by the body language, Casamir was the more enthusiastic of the two, but whether for or against Tybalain’s proposal was impossible to tell. Eventually they both turned back to face the Black Knights.

  ‘We agree,’ said Eladon. ‘We will help you.’

  ‘And you will bestow the rank of Black Knights on us now.’

  ‘Welcome to the brotherhood of the Black Knights,’ said Tybalain, holding a fist across his chest in salute. The rest of the squadron followed suit. ‘We will establish the formalities later, I give you my word.’

  ‘Are there oaths to swear?’ asked Casamir.

  ‘Many,’ replied Tybalain, ‘but only one I demand of you at this time. Whatever you hear, whatever you might see, whatever you might learn, you must swear never to reveal to the rest of the company, nor to any member of the Chapter except for an officer or member of the Deathwing. When you became Ravenwing you swore to uphold the secrets and lore of the company. Now do the same for the brotherhood of the Black Knights.’

  ‘I swear by the Lion, the Emperor and my soul, to uphold the secrets and lore of the brotherhood of the Black Knights,’ the two Space Marines intoned simultaneously.

  ‘Welcome to the brotherhood,’ said Nerean.

  ‘Let us hope it is not a decision you regret,’ added Annael.

  ‘Very well.’ Tybalain signalled for the newly promoted brothers to board their vehicle and addressed the rest of the squadron. ‘We
need to find where Sabrael is being held. It must be in one of the contested sectors, fifteen, sixteen or twenty. The Grand Master’s offensive is about to tear through fifteen and sixteen and if Sabrael is there they will find him. We must take a prisoner who can tell us about sector twenty.’

  ‘Wait, Huntmaster,’ said Calatus. ‘You have not asked us.’

  ‘Asked you what?’ said Tybalain.

  ‘Whether we are willing to disregard the Grand Master’s orders. Sabrael was a liability even before he was captured.’

  ‘You think we should abandon him?’ said Annael. ‘Forget that it is Sabrael. Would you grant that boon to our foes, to say that they slew a Dark Angel?’

  ‘It will be a boast of the moment, swiftly ended when we wipe out the last of these heretic scum.’

  ‘I did not ask because I did not think there would be debate,’ said Tybalain. He looked at his Black Knights. ‘Was I wrong? Did I misjudge the mettle of the warriors I lead?’

  The question was left hanging, along with the implied accusation within it. Annael broke the silence that followed.

  ‘We are the only Black Knights left after the losses of this campaign. We cannot allow another of our rank to die simply for the sake of pride.’

  ‘Pride?’ Calatus growled the word. ‘Ask Sabrael the meaning of pride when we find him.’

  ‘You will come?’ said Tybalain.

  ‘Yes, Huntmaster, I will come.’

  ‘And you, Nerean?’ said Annael.

  ‘Brother Tybalain is correct,’ said the last Black Knight. ‘It is redundant to ask.’

  ‘Follow me!’ barked the Huntmaster. ‘Casamir, scout us the quickest route to sector twenty.’

  ‘Aye, Brother-Huntmaster,’ the pilot replied.

  The small force left the intersection, the bikers following the lead of the Land Speeder. Within two hundred metres, Casamir had accelerated out of sight, but the signal from his vehicle remained on Black Shadow’s scanner.