Yarrick: The Pyres of Armageddon

by David Annandale

  So many storms, so much thunder. Justice falling on the orks.

  We were far from done.

  We pulled back as long as the explosion grew. I changed my pistol’s clip. The instant the glare faded and the fireballs began to contract, I turned and ran at the orks once more. The cohort charged with me. I could hear nothing except blasts and gunfire, but I saw Stahl shouting, and pointing forwards with his blade. His face was contorted by a desperate, hope-filled rage.

  Hope. It did not seem mad. Hundreds of orks were dead and dying before us. There were thousands more, but the gap was not filled immediately. Our blows were keeping them off balance, and now the great eruption had come from inside their ranks. More confusion, more unthinking weapons fire. All order, even the ork conception of order, was breaking down.

  To the rear, the Chimeras surged forwards in an unbroken line, unleashing a massive stream of las. It burned through the orks. The enemy between our position and the Chimeras dwindled. For the first time since the Claw of Desolation had entered the system, an ork contingent was falling.

  To the south, the great drumming of artillery and tank shelling went on. I could hear engines, and saw the shapes of ork vehicles ahead in the distance, but they were not heading our way. The ork armour was engaged with Brenken’s squadrons, leaving the infantry at this end of the army alone against us. It was a mistake, and we were making the orks pay for it.

  A consistent flow returned to the greenskins. They moved south. Away from us, towards Volcanus. Their rear guard was ragged. They returned our fire, but it was defensive.

  We had thinned them out. Our casualties were light. We pursued.

  The direction of the ork march was towards their goal. But the greenskins in our sights were not advancing. They were retreating.

  4. Brenken

  On the left, Lord Marshal Berrikan blew up. Brenken didn’t see what hit it. The main body of the Leman Russ burst apart. Hurled aloft by flame, its turret flipped over and landed on top of a battle­wagon, crushing the orks on its roof. Sword of the Wastes was close enough for Brenken to feel the heat of the blast, and hear the laughter of greenskins as amused by their own casualties as they were delighted by the human loss. Cursing, she strafed left with the storm bolter.

  Before her, more and more ork armour was closing with the tanks. The infantry scrambled to avoid death by wheel and tread. Many were too slow. A few trucks and battlewagons slammed into wrecked vehicles and became stuck in a tangle of smoking metal. Warbikes circled further out, their access blocked by the heavy vehicles.

  ‘Kuyper,’ Brenken shouted. ‘Give the signal. We’re withdrawing.’

  The Chimera jerked hard as the driver, Spira, braked, then reversed. It pulled back in unison with the tanks. The guns never stopped. Shells and las burst against enemy shielding. Another ork truck died, turning into another barrier.

  Oily smoke wafted over Brenken. She coughed. Her eyes watered. She blinked away the sting and held her finger down on the heavy storm bolter’s trigger. There could be no relenting now, during the most delicate stage of the manoeuvre. The thrust into the enemy’s front had been just the start, a blow to enrage. A goad.

  Bait, which the orks took.

  The greenskin machines battered their way through and over the wreckage. Their weapons weren’t as powerful as the Leman Russ battle cannons, but the volume of their fire was taking its toll. Brenken’s squadrons on the left and right flanks now concentrated their efforts on holding off the wave of vehicles as the orks attempted to encircle them. The guns roared, shooting to cripple, blowing away axles and wheels. Many of the targets were top-heavy with armament and shields. The orks drove them at such speed that well-placed shots sent them into shattering rolls.

  Some got through. A truck careened into the far right of the Imperial line. The shells from its stubbers and the guns of its passengers bounced off the plating. Rising from the centre of the vehicle was an articulate crane arm. A huge spiked mass hung from a chain at the end of the arm. It swung wildly with every bounce and jerk. The truck slammed into the side of Lord von Karden, hard enough to rock the tank up on its side for a moment. The giant flail came down with a colossal crash. It crushed the turret and lodged itself in the tank’s armour. Justice in Hate, to the immediate left, blasted the truck at close range. The enemy vehicle exploded, but it did not lose its grip on von Karden. Human and ork vehicles were locked together. Lord von Karden tried to pull away, but it was dragging the truck with it. It lurched back and forth, trying to shake the parasite, and meanwhile other battlewagons were closing in. Justice in Hate slowed in its retreat.

  Brenken dropped down the hatch and grabbed the vox unit from Kuyper. ‘Sergeant Eichel,’ she called to the commander of Justice in Hate, ‘what are you doing?’

  ‘If we can hold the enemy off von Karden…’

  ‘Maintain your speed,’ Brenken told her.

  ‘But…’

  ‘That’s an order. Lord von Karden is lost. Do not compromise the manoeuvre or I’ll blow you up myself.’

  ‘Yes, colonel.’

  Brenken climbed back up top. She ground her teeth in frustration and resumed firing with the heavy storm bolter. She wished she could kill the orks with rage alone. She had hated giving Eichel that order. Leaving comrades behind while they still fought was abhorrent to her. She had no choice. Any break in the formation could shatter the whole. Lord von Karden was an amputated limb. The main body of the tank corps was still intact. So it must remain.

  The squadrons moved closer and closer together as they retreated. Behind them, the Basilisks pulled back as well. The width of their barrage narrowed as they moved down the safe channel through the defence network. The artillery and tank shells hit in the same region, turning the gap between the armoured company and the orks into an inferno of erupting earth and flame. The destruction bought the tanks enough time to reach the channel.

  The route between the trenches, mine fields and redoubts was wide enough for two vehicles at most. It appeared to run straight back towards the gates of Volcanus, but only the first twenty metres were safe. Beyond that, the first of the turns began, and the direct route was mined.

  After the first sharp right, the routes narrowed still further and split. They became a maze of dead ends and choke points. The squadrons split up, tanks taking up positions in support of the earthen-and-rockcrete redoubts. The transition from assault to ambush was complex, and it had to be performed backwards under enemy fire. The channels were deliberately not wide enough for armour to turn around. Brenken had run multiple drills during the preparations, and they paid off now.

  Her company moved into the defences faster than the orks could advance. The greenskins collided with each other as they drove towards the lure. The highway from Tempestora passed between two rounded hills. The mounds were hollow, the packed earth a camouflage. A crossfire of multi-lasers cut into the battlewagons. The artillery shelling fell on the same region, cratering the surface, hammering the enemy vehicles to burning scrap.

  From her position behind the first line of tunnels, the Chimera stationed just behind a forward redoubt, Brenken dismounted from the vehicle and entered the fixed emplacement with her command staff. The interior was rough rockcrete slabs and packed earth. A pair of heavy bolters on tripods guarded either end of the forward-looking slit. A second entrance to the left led to the trench network. Through the slit, Brenken saw the smoke, fire and dust of the outnumbered Imperium stopping the ork advance. She allowed herself a moment of pride. It was no salve for the loss of Lord von Karden. But she took a measure of satisfaction in seeing how they were making the enemy pay.

  Stubborn, the orks began to advance into the defences. Enough vehicles kept coming that the bombardment couldn’t hold them all back. Infantry stormed the fortifications and silenced the multi-lasers. Battlewagons shouldered through the wreckage and bounced through the craters. The leading on
es drove straight into the minefield. They met their end out of Brenken’s sight, off to the right. She heard the mines go off in a rapid-fire k-k-k-k-k-KRAK, followed by a deeper blast as ordnance and fuel tanks erupted. Smoke filled the defences. Visibility dropped to metres. The battle­wagons became snarling, ill-defined hulks. Easy targets, even in the gloom.

  Kuyper was at her side, vox ready. Brenken spoke to combined regiment and Volcanus Hive Militia. ‘Constant fire,’ she said. ‘Any target, take it. Don’t give them a chance to get their bearings. This is where we stop them.’

  She would have preferred to take one of the heavy bolters in the redoubt, but now the reports were coming in from scores of positions, and she had to concentrate on monitoring the entire battlefield. She stood with Kuyper near the left exit, ready to descend into the trenches and move to the next command point as needed. The air stank of fyceline. It choked with dust and ash. She hardly noticed. The vox crackled with the sounds of vengeance.

  The ork battlewagons had come in first. In so doing, they had crippled the greenskin advance. The heavy vehicles were now caught in the web. They could not turn around in dead ends, and ambushes destroyed the following tanks, trapping the leading ones between wreckage and mounds too steep to climb. Reckless drivers overturned in trenches. Collisions multiplied as the battlewagons struggled to manoeuvre and change direction in constricted spaces. The ork tanks became obstacles, blocking more and more of the channels towards the wall. The warbikes would have been able to navigate, but by the time they arrived, every route was now jammed solid. The bikers were deprived of speed. Bolter shells pinned them as they stalled. The infantry had to squeeze through the interstices. The mob was thinned, transformed from a flood into a stream. The militia fired from the trenches. It was the orks who were vulnerable now, exposed to heavy, interlocking las fire. The more vehicles came, the more they slowed the advance, and the infantry added their corpses to the barricades.

  Brenken had Kuyper make numerous attempts before they finally reached Captain Stahl’s contingent. The captain came on the vox. He was breathless, but excited. ‘We have them on the run, colonel,’ he said. ‘They’re charging your way and we’re hitting them hard.’

  ‘How fast?’ she asked.

  ‘Fast. It’s a job to keep up with them.’

  But at this end, the advance had stopped. The implication made Brenken grin. ‘Thank you, captain.’ She switched to the regimental channel to announce the news – they were doing more than slowing the orks. They were killing them.

  The green tide was receding.

  5. Mannheim

  He knew what von Strab would say. A glorious day had dawned. His every tactical decision vindicated. The surface import of the latest vox-transmission from Brenken seemed to be in support of the overlord’s position. But Mannheim knew the fluidity of war. The situation on Armageddon Prime had changed suddenly. It could do so again. The momentum the Steel Legion had seized was fragile. There was no depth to the 252nd’s strength. It had suffered too many losses, and had been an insufficient response in the first place. For this gain to be real, it had to be consolidated immediately.

  Mannheim ran through the corridors of the Hive Infernus governmental seat. There was no point speaking to von Strab. But there was Seroff. Mannheim had noticed how the lord commissar appeared to have the overlord’s ear. The chance was a small one. It might already be too late.

  The chance was still an action Mannheim could take. He controlled a power that levelled cities, but he had been reduced to irrelevance while a xenos warlord stretched his claw over the planet Mannheim was charged to defend. He had to pursue any path that might end the madness.

  Seroff’s staff directed Mannheim to a study. It was lined with bookshelves, and the worn spines of the volumes suggested heavy use. It was a small chamber, far less ostentatious than anything of von Strab’s. Even so, it was unusual. Seroff did not quarter with the Steel Legion. There was an air of permanence to the chambers he occupied. It was not unheard of for commissars to have long postings with a given regiment. Yarrick had also been serving with Armageddon for many years. But by basing himself here, Seroff linked himself with the governing establishment of the planet. It was an effective strategy for the consolidation of personal influence. Mannheim was uncertain what value it had for the actual duties of a lord commissar.

  Seroff stood on the right-hand side of the chamber. He had three leather-bound volumes in his arm, and was just pulling down a fourth. ‘Good morning, princeps,’ he said without turning around. He carried the books to his desk. ‘What news?’

  ‘The attack is going well for the moment.’

  Seroff looked up. He smiled, and Mannheim thought he looked genuinely relieved. ‘I’m glad to hear it. Very glad.’

  ‘You and I both know how tenuous such progress can be.’

  ‘True.’

  ‘Then will you speak to the overlord? He must be convinced to reinforce the 252nd’s efforts.’

  Seroff hesitated. He drummed his fingers on the top book of the stack. ‘You think he’ll listen to me?’

  ‘More likely you than anyone else, as far as I can tell.’ Why that was, Mannheim could not guess. He didn’t care about the reasons today. What mattered was the result. ‘This isn’t a question of the loss of a single hive,’ he insisted. ‘This could be a turning point. If we act now, we might secure Armageddon.’

  Seroff nodded, and Mannheim’s hope flared. ‘Does this request come from Colonel Brenken?’

  ‘She has been asking for reinforcements since the beginning. What she and Yarrick have accomplished is miraculous, but–’

  ‘Yarrick?’ Seroff interrupted. ‘He survived Tempestora?’

  ‘He did.’

  The temperature in the room plunged ten degrees.

  ‘I’ll speak with Overlord von Strab,’ Seroff said. ‘I think that you overestimate my ability to persuade him, though.’

  ‘Thank you for trying,’ said Mannheim.

  Seroff was lying. The words were hollow platitudes designed to satisfy Mannheim and send him on his way. Mannheim was sure that Seroff had been on the point of agreeing with him. He was an intelligent officer. He couldn’t have had any more confidence in von Strab’s conduct of the campaign than Mann­heim did. Yet at the mention of Yarrick, the about-face had been instantaneous.

  Defeated again, Mannheim left. Under his breath, he uttered a prayer for the 252nd and for Armageddon.

  6. Seroff

  The books were treatises on loyalty, honour and sacrifice. These subjects had been robbing Seroff of sleep again, and he had turned to the wisdom of saints for help. He needed support for his decisions. They were correct. They had to be. They placed him opposite Yarrick.

  Loyalty. Honour. Yarrick had betrayed both. Which made sacrifice necessary.

  Seroff sat at his steel desk long after Mannheim had left. The books remained stacked, unopened. He stared at his folded hands. For the hundredth time, he worked through his choices. He had been truthful with von Strab when he had recommended authorising Yarrick’s deployment to Armageddon Prime. He knew what Yarrick was worth. When it came to loyalty, nothing. In the field, much. The limited deployment was a mistake. Yarrick’s skills could help mitigate it.

  When he had heard of the double disaster of the airlift and Tempestora, he had presumed Yarrick was among the casualties. He should have known better.

  And now? Was he letting his hatred for the commissar cloud his judgement?

  Where did his own loyalty lie?

  It lay with the memory of the great man Yarrick had betrayed. The official memory of Simeon Rasp was a travesty. The lord commissar deserved better from the Imperium and from the officers he had guided.

  And his loyalty lay with Armageddon. He believed this to be true. Perhaps he should have tried to convince von Strab to send more regiments to Tempestora and Volcanus. ‘Pointless,’ h
e murmured. Von Strab’s mind was set. The overlord was a contradictory mix of overconfidence and paranoia. He believed the orks could never touch Secundus, yet he barricaded all the hives this side of the Equatorial Jungle with troops. He was contemptuous of the orks, yet he retreated into a defensive mode. Pointless to try to shift that kind of a mind.

  Pointless.

  Just as it was pointless to attempt to reinforce Brenken at this stage. The 252nd would stand or fall on its own merits before any help arrived.

  He had made the right decision. His judgement was sound. He had no cause to question his motives.

  Even so, he pulled the books towards him. He began to read, seeking reassurance from the long dead.

  7. Yarrick

  The victory fever spread. Even those who weren’t near the vox could see the difference we were making. We were driving the infantry forwards into a hell of paralyzed armour. Our pincer attack should never have worked. But it had.

  We were marching in line with the Chimeras now. We were running to keep up with the armour and the retreating enemy. We had been fighting for hours now, but the troopers around me showed no signs of exhaustion. Their body language was one of exhilaration. They tasted the blood of the enemy. If the orks had not feared the masked face of the Steel Legion before, they would from this day forward.

  That was what I told the troopers around me. That was how I fired their ardour even higher. That was what I wanted to believe.

  The faster we moved, the more uneasy I became.

  I kept firing, but I glanced around for Setheno. She had walked fifty metres to my right. I moved to join her, still shooting, still killing the enemy. The orks’ return fire was becoming more and more haphazard as they focused all of their attention on the obstacles ahead of them.

  Setheno turned her head towards me. The howling visage on her helmet felt like an answer to my question before I spoke. ‘The numbers are wrong,’ I said.

  ‘This is not a force on the same scale as the one that took Tempestora,’ she agreed.