Yarrick: The Pyres of Armageddon

by David Annandale

  ‘Where are you going, princeps?’ von Strab asked.

  Mannheim stopped, but he answered without looking back. ‘I have duties I must attend.’ He had cursed Andechs. Now he cursed himself for his vague answer, and he cursed the need to give one. Von Strab was rotting the soul of every warrior on Armageddon.

  Von Strab saw through the evasion. ‘You aren’t planning to take the Legio Metalica to Volcanus?’

  Mannheim turned around slowly. He glared. ‘I am.’

  Von Strab shook his head. ‘No. Your duty is here, at Infernus. You will stay, Princeps Mannheim. That is an order.’

  Mannheim would enjoy killing him. War was a duty, not a pleasure, but at this moment he would relish the bloody execution of this ridiculous man. He entertained a vision of Steel Hammer unleashing its full power against a single man, vaporising him in an excess of fury. There would be enormous satisfaction in that moment.

  It would also be a crime. Von Strab was unworthy. He was dangerous. But he was the ruler of Armageddon. Mannheim’s duty was clear: he owed von Strab his loyalty and obedience. He dreaded the path down which von Strab had them all marching, but he could not step away from it without breaking his oaths of service.

  ‘Let me make myself clear,’ von Strab said, raising his voice to be heard across the chamber. ‘There will be no reinforcements sent to Volcanus. Of any kind.’

  Vikman looked ill. Hartau little better. Still they said nothing.

  ‘I think we understand each other,’ von Strab said to Mannheim.

  ‘We do, overlord.’ Mannheim tasted something unfamiliar and vile at the back of this throat. It was defeat.

  1. Yarrick

  ‘There will be no one,’ Brenken told us.

  Stahl blinked. He stared at the vox unit. ‘No one until when?’ he asked.

  Brenken laughed without humour. ‘Until we have won, captain. The glory will be ours.’

  Gunzburg had stepped in as vox operator. For now, the only occupants of the lead Chimera’s troop hold were the captains, Setheno and me. We had guessed we would have the need to speak freely when we heard back from Brenken.

  ‘This is…’ Mora began. He stopped at a look from me before he said the word ‘hopeless’.

  ‘It is unacceptable,’ Setheno said. ‘Though unsurprising. Overlord von Strab is unfit for his office and should be removed.’

  The officers cringed. If they had spoken those words, they would have been guilty of sedition. Setheno’s moral authority was such that her utterance had the force of holy writ. I agreed with her. If von Strab had been in our presence at that moment, I would have acted. But he wasn’t. And though Setheno could act with impunity, her legal authority was limited. She was a force unto herself. She could no more order an assassination than I could command the Legio Metalica.

  But the force of her commands was dangerous. If her words reached Infernus, someone might act. ‘There is nothing to be done,’ I said.

  ‘You surprise me, commissar.’

  ‘Why? Would you have any of us break our oaths?’

  ‘No,’ she said. She did not pursue the point.

  I was glad. I was the only one present who could, without rupture to the institutions of the Imperium, kill von Strab. In Infernus, Seroff could do so, though I knew he would not. Even if I were in von Strab’s chambers at this moment, I wasn’t sure what I would do. Regardless of the legal ramifications of his disposal, creating a power struggle at the top of Armageddon’s ruling class in the middle of a war could lead to even greater disorder and catastrophe.

  So I thought then. I would hold to that belief for some time to come. Was I right? I’m not sure, and it hardly mattered when I was in no position to act one way or the other. The war would reach a juncture where the desire to preserve order, an order that corrupt, was wrong. But by then it would be far too late for all of us.

  We were all silent for a few moments. The Chimera bounced and shuddered over the rough terrain. We were still shadowing the ork army. Volcanus had appeared over the horizon. We were only a few hours from the beginning of the siege.

  ‘What are your orders, colonel?’ Stahl asked.

  ‘To act as we planned. Our positions haven’t changed, even if we won’t have the resources we would have liked. Captain, you will attack the orks’ rear flank. We will hold them in our defences and wear them down until there is nothing left.’

  ‘We look forward to meeting you in the centre,’ I said. ‘With the greenskins crushed between us.’

  I had no illusions about our chances. But we would allow the orks no illusions about our will.

  2. Brenken

  She could see the orks now in the weak dawn. Snatches of their barbaric chants reached her ears. Brenken stood on the roof of her command vehicle, the Chimera Sword of the Wastes. She was forward of the defensive network, along with her artillery company and three tank companies. Hans Somner stood beside her.

  For the moment.

  His eyes were wide as he gazed at the incoming tide. ‘How many…?’

  ‘Plenty. As ever, with greenskins. I’m sure you’ve fought them during your years in service.’

  ‘Yes. But…’

  Again, he didn’t finish. Brenken heard his unspoken words all the same, but not like this. He was right. Most of what they knew about the enemy was based on the reports from the Tempestora companies, but even an untrained eye could see that something massive was heading their way.

  Brenken knew she had never faced orks like this either. With no reinforcements beyond what she could get from Volcanus. She had integrated the hive’s six militia companies into her infantry, and they were stationed in the trenches and redoubts. The distribution of weapons to the general population was still ongoing. There was a corps of volunteers standing by within the walls. Once she had to call on them, though, the situation would be desperate.

  Even so, she couldn’t resist poking at Somner. His instincts for the field appeared to have atrophied since he had become a politician. His earlier bluster had withered the moment the orks had come into sight. ‘Are you sure you won’t join us in the charge, Count Somner?’

  He cleared his throat. ‘I fear I’m needed back at the wall. The people have to see me. A question of morale, you understand.’

  ‘Of course. Don’t let me keep you, count.’

  He watched the enemy for a few more anxious seconds, then said, ‘The Emperor protects, colonel. May he do so for us all today.’

  ‘The Emperor protects,’ she replied, regretting her jab. He was right. Though she had her doubts regarding his ability to galvanise the masses.

  Somner retreated. Brenken opened the roof hatch of Sword of the Wastes and settled into position with the pintle-mounted storm bolter atop the multi-laser turret.

  ‘Kuyper,’ she called down. ‘Get me the vox.’

  She watched the greenskins draw closer, chanting and growling. Behind her and on either side, the Leman Russ tanks rumbled, the hammer of the Steel Legion ready to be unleashed. Further back, the line of three Basilisk squadrons waited for her word. The fumes of the heavy armour’s exhaust stung her nostrils. It was the hard, honest smell of Imperial war.

  Kuyper handed her the handset. She gave the word. ‘Comrades of the 252nd,’ she voxed, ‘it’s time to punish the greenskins’ arrogance. Artillery, commence fire. Armour, advance.’

  Sword of the Wastes and the tanks lurched forward. They tore over the gradual downward slope. The engines sounded hungry to Brenken. There were scores to settle for humiliations handed to the other half of the regiment.

  The Basilisks opened up, their barrage grouped by squadron, buh-buh-boom, buh-buh-boom, buh-buh-boom. Just enough of a stagger so the first squadron was ready to fire again right after the third. Buh-buh-boom, buh-buh-boom, buh-buh-boom. A good thunder, vibrating her rib cage with its force. The Earthshaker cannons ham
mered at the ground twice, first with the report as the huge shells were launched at the enemy, and then again, after the terrible whistle of descent, with the great explosions.

  The blasts chewed up the leading ranks of the enemy, and the blasts kept coming, a steady rain of high explosives, the orks running into fire and smoke and earth in upheaval. And they kept running. The ork front was a thousand metres wide. The Basilisks battered the centre, slowing it. The flanks were untouched and they started to pull ahead.

  That was a start, Brenken thought. A first disruption, however small, in the ork formation.

  Buh-buh-boom, buh-buh-boom, buh-buh-boom. Relentless, punishing, the rhythm unbroken even as the ork artillery now returned fire. The blasts were wild. There was no discipline or accuracy to the volleys. There were vastly more ork guns than Basilisks, and the green energy bursts blanketed the Volcanus defence network. Brenken heard explosions. She hoped the walls of the redoubts were thick enough, and that the trenches escaped direct hits. The ork barrages missed the narrow target of the artillery line. The beat of Imperial anger continued without pause, and the two forces raced towards their collision.

  ‘Battle tanks,’ Brenken said, and they began to fire. Three companies of armour. Nine squadrons of three tanks each. Every cannon fired at once, and Brenken grinned at the devastation. The explosions were a wall of fire, their force punching deep into the centre of the ork mass. The flanks had come so far forward that they began to move back towards the centre, lured by the narrower Imperial formation. Collisions began as orks ran into each other’s path. The formation’s advance became more and more confused.

  It did not stop, though. It was too huge.

  Bullets screamed past Brenken’s head. There were countless flashes ahead as the ork infantry fired on the tanks. She hunched low over the heavy bolter and pulled the trigger. The Chimera’s multi-laser flashed, incinerating clusters of the foe.

  Moments before the collision now. The Basilisks kept up their barrage, the shells now falling deeper into the mass of orks. An entire cohort of greenskins was caught between the charge of the tanks before them and artillery devastation behind them. Battlewagons and armoured trucks were racing forward, but they were hampered by the infantry. The orks were a mob, a pell-mell rampage with vehicles and footsoldiers arranged by chance and enthusiasm. Their vehicles were legion, but they weren’t in a position to counter the unity of the Imperial armoured attack.

  The ork flanks were on either side of Brenken. A confusion of anger came for the Steel Legion’s tanks. But the humans struck first. Cannons blazing, the squadrons slammed into the green tide.

  We will hold you back, Brenken vowed, and the muzzle of the heavy bolter glowed red.

  3. Yarrick

  Our signal was the artillery barrage. We heard the stuttering booms, and the horizon flashed with lightning. ‘Now!’ Stahl yelled into the vox. His cry was unnecessary: every soldier present knew what the cannon fire meant. His cry was vital: it was the call to retribution, the moment for the companies of Tempestora to restore their battered honour.

  When Stahl shouted, the Chimeras halted and their rear hatches slammed down. Troopers poured out, and then the vehicles charged across the barren ground to attack the rear of the ork army. Multi-lasers lit up the gloom, attracting the attention of the orks further forward even as they incinerated the last in line.

  The rest of us moved diagonally up the orks’ right flank. We were the second prong of the rear attack. The tactic was a calculated risk. Rather than engage the orks from a distance, we were going to charge them. The lack of ground cover meant that even with the greater accuracy of our guns, the orks had the numbers to batter us from a distance and regain the initiative with a rush of their own. But if we hit them hard and fast, cutting their ranks, we hoped to crush a large portion of the rear guard between our infantry and the Chimeras. Then we would move forward again, destroying from the rear while Brenken’s armour moved in from the front.

  That was the ideal, and the last of my illusions about the realisation of ideals on the battlefield had died long ago. It was also the only option that did not guarantee disaster.

  As soon as we were close enough, we started shooting. Lasfire and bolt shells cut into the orks. They now had attacks coming from several directions at once. The advance slowed. The green tide became a turbulent river. Currents swirled into vortices as groups of the brutes turned to face a multitude of threats. There was no order to their response. Disorder and anger spread. The shouts and laughter we had heard before gave way to snarls of frustration and rage. Bikes and battlewagons collided. Footsoldiers went under wheels. The confusion granted us precious seconds to draw closer. There was no cover between us and the orks. If discipline asserted itself before we reached them, they could destroy us utterly. But discipline was impossible.

  The Chimeras drove into their midst, using their mass as well as their turrets. They moved dozens of metres into the mob, then turned to cut through to the left flank. Most of the orks went after the armour.

  We used the time well, sprinting over the gap. The orks were so numerous and so packed together that there was no need to aim. We could sprint while firing, and be sure we never missed.

  I was with the forward squads. Setheno took the rear. We split the companies between us so every soldier who tried would be able to see one of us. We were symbols. The soldiers understood what I represented better than what she embodied. By training and by experience, they feared the commissar’s uniform, and knew to follow it. By training and by experience, it was the commissar’s duty to inspire no less than discipline, to be the spirit of the regiment’s hatred of the enemy, and to ignite the fervour to stand with the Emperor. For over a century and a half, my mission had been the perfection of the symbol. No mortal could be the ideal itself, but the closer I could reach that impossibility, the better I could inspire, and the better I fulfilled the purpose the Father of Mankind had given my existence.

  For the soldiers who beheld her, Setheno was an unknown. The Adepta Sororitas were a forbidding enigma to the rank and file of the Astra Militarum. The Sisters of Battle embodied a piety that seemed beyond human, a sanctity of ceramite, iron and fire. The Canoness Errant was a further mystery, grey faith shorn of any trace of mercy, the Emperor’s wrath turned frozen as the void. She did not fit into what they knew. She was a sign, a terror, an omen, and where she fought, they were driven to redouble their efforts.

  Different symbols with the same result: the greater slaughter of the foe.

  Setheno’s power sword was a firebrand in the morning’s gloom. It and her power armour marked her as an inviting foe to the orks as they responded to our flank attack. More fire went in her direction. She ran into the bullets. She was shield and sword. Fewer rounds sought out the troopers with lighter or no armour. The difference was slight but it still mattered. Steel Legionnaires fell, massive rounds punching holes through heads and limbs. The air thrummed with projectiles. But not enough. And so we reached the ork lines.

  ‘For Tempestora!’ I shouted. ‘For Armageddon!’

  We hit with las and bayonet and bolt pistol and sword. The impact was oblique, a diagonal charge through the sides of the orks, stabbing forward and towards the centre. Our formation was tight, every trooper fighting with comrades on either side. We were plunging into a xenos ocean and no one would have to fight alone. At each loss, we contracted, keeping our force concentrated. Our options for attack had come down to a choice of insanities. We had taken the most direct, the most satisfying. The most effective, if it worked.

  Survival was not a consideration. Only victory and honour.

  Captain, sergeant, trooper – there was no longer a distinction in the solid mass we had become. Our enemy was storm and wall, and whirl of ferocity and terrible density of muscle. They fought with an explosion of violence, corded arms wielding massive cleavers and axes. Even the smallest, most crudely armoured c
ould break a human in half with its bare hands. Some of them attempted to do just that. They failed. Many continued to use firearms at close quarters. Our discipline and coherent formation meant every one of our shots hit the enemy. But the orks killed each other in their fury to get at us. They responded to our multiple strikes by lashing out in every direction. They amplified the wound.

  At the centre of our formation, the specialist weapons teams moved up. Flamers washed death over the orks. Burning xenos, screaming rage and pain, were unable to retreat. Their fellows pushed them deeper into the flames. And closer to us. I breathed the sickening sweet, acrid and charcoal smell of bodies on fire. The heat was ferocious. It was an echo of Tempestora’s doom. It fuelled other flames – the ones of our rage.

  I put two bolt shells into the skull of a brute half again my height. Blood and brain matter slapped against my face. The ork died, but did not fall. I fired to the left and right of the body, taking down a pair of smaller greenskins that squeezed around it. Still the corpse didn’t drop. I couldn’t see what was holding it up. Then it was tugged away by a cluster of gretchin. It would take much to push the small, verminous creatures to the front. I hacked at them with my sword, and as the big corpse finally went down, I yelled a warning and crouched. Behind the body was the barrel of an energy cannon. The beam flashed over our heads. Searing green lit the world. The air was sharp with ozone. Dazzled, I pulled a krak grenade from my belt and hurled it at the base of the gun.

  ‘Back back back!’ I yelled.

  We retreated, running and shooting. Orks rushed around the cannon in pursuit. The grenade went off, melting through plating. I could barely see its flash through the mass of the enemy. The gretchen tried to fire the gun again. It exploded. A blinding emerald lightning storm erupted. It took out another cannon nearby, and then nearby munitions. A chain reaction built, feeding on too many unstable weapons in close proximity.