by Gav Thorpe
A blaze of phosphorescent bullets engulfed Boreas. Each projectile had its own shimmering field and punched into his armour, cracking plates as if they were made of brittle porcelain. Something buried itself in the Chaplain’s right bicep, stinging like a giant wasp. Pockmarks opened up across his chest and shoulder pad, pieces of ceramite splitting away and falling to the ground like artificial hail.
‘Lion’s shade,’ he swore. Boreas’s arm had barely healed from the injury suffered at the basilica. He was sure the bone had not suffered any further damage, but he found it hard to move the fingers of his hand. His pistol felt fat and heavy in his grasp.
The Chaplain glanced at his chest, wondering why the rosarius hadn’t protected him. He saw a small crack in the ruby power crystal.
‘He has not forsaken me,’ the Chaplain muttered. ‘Imperator fortis exalta. My soul is my armour.’
Another rocket screamed past the barrier, catching the lieutenant in the shoulder. An epaulette flew into the air as the officer was hurled backwards. The lieutenant sat up groggily and peered at the rocket lying next to him, a few desultory sparks popping from its propellant. The Piscinan picked up the projectile with a laugh.
‘It didn’t go o–’
The lieutenant’s relief was cut short as the rocket exploded, ripping off his hand and sending shrapnel into his eyes. He fell back, face a bloody mask, lips and nose torn apart, burnt skin peeling away.
There were bullets whizzing at Boreas from his right. Without looking, he knew that the orks had broken out of the power plant and swept away the troopers. He pointed his bolt pistol towards the geothermal station and fired the remaining seeking bolts, letting them loose in a single burst while his eyes were fixed on the warlord stomping closer.
The towering greenskin lumbered onwards, armour pistons wheezing, heavy booted feet thudding into the packed earth. Boreas tossed his empty bolt pistol aside. With his free hand, he reached up and unsealed the clasps of his helm. He lifted the helmet away and hung it on his belt, fixing the greenskin with his stare.
The warlord met his gaze, his rubbery lips turning up at the corners in a grimacing smile. The ork said something and nodded, waving its bodyguards back with its claw. The beast lifted its right arm sideways. Mechanical clasps hissed and the multi-barrelled cannon dropped to the ground with a clang.
Boreas waited for the monster in a crouch, crozius held in both hands. He spat, though his mouth was dry. The opening verse of the Litany of Devotion sprang to mind. He began to whisper the words, his voice growing in strength as the warlord heaved itself in Boreas’s direction.
‘Where there is uncertainty, I shall bring light. Where there is doubt, I shall sow faith. Where there is shame, I shall point atonement. Where there is rage, I shall show its course.’ Boreas broke into a run, crozius ready. ‘My word in the soul shall be as my bolter in the field!’
His first blow deflected off the ork’s upraised claw. The Chaplain ducked beneath the swinging fist and smashed the blazing head of the crozius arcanum into the engine block upon the warlord’s back.
‘Never forget!’ Boreas growled, sending an exhaust pipe spinning away with a swing of his crozius. ‘Never forgive!’
As the warlord stumbled around to face Boreas, the Chaplain continued to rain blow after blow against the monstrous ork’s armour, buckling and ripping the metal plates.
‘Impudianta xenos, mortia et indignatia!’
He could hear the chime of his comm from his helmet but ignored it and slammed the head of his crozius into the warlord’s chest. The Chaplain raged as his relentless assault continued, every spat word punctuated by a blow from his weapon.
‘Suffer… not… the… unclean… to… live!’
The ork punched out with its claw, driving into Boreas’s gut. The Chaplain stumbled back, his crumpled, torn armour biting into the muscles of his abdomen. The serrated toe of the warlord’s boot connected with the Chaplain’s chin, slamming him to his back. The ork’s face twisted in a feral snarl, heavy brows knotted deeply above its piercing red eyes. Thick blood streamed from the corner of its mouth.
Boreas’s jaw was broken, his teeth shattered. He couldn’t speak, could no longer give voice to his rage and hate. The warlord placed a foot on the Chaplain’s chest, pinning him down. Armour creaked and bent under the ork’s weight as it bowed forwards to look Boreas in the eye.
Boreas spat in the ork’s face.
It was no meaningless act of defiance: the Space Marine’s saliva was laced with an acidic compound from the Betcher’s Gland implanted beneath his tongue. The ork recoiled, skin burning and bubbling. Boreas pushed himself to his feet and stepped forwards.
The ork warlord lashed out blindly. Boreas saw the blow coming and raised his crozius to parry but he was too weak to deflect it. The crackling claw swept aside the Chaplain’s weapon and crashed into the side of his head.
Thunder roared in Boreas’s ears. The world spun. The ground rushed up to meet him.
Everything went silent and dark.
THE TALE OF BELIAL
Counter-attack
The operations room aboard the Unrelenting Fury was silent but for the hiss of the command comm. Master Belial looked at the speaker intently. He was dressed only in a ceremonial robe, his armour left with the Techmarines to repair the damage sustained during the retrieval of the ork power relay. Half-healed scars from his encounter with Ghazghkull marred his exposed chest and arms, bright welts against tanned skin.
Occasionally the static was broken by a background thump or muffled impact. The company captain blinked in surprise as a deafening crash resounded around the room.
‘Boreas?’ The captain’s repeated call brought no reply. ‘Brother Boreas, this is Master Belial.’
He listened for a response but there was nothing. Belial crossed to the control panel set into the wood-panelled wall and was about to cut the link when he heard a loud panting. Guttural voices could be heard in the distance.
‘Brother-Chaplain Boreas? Respond. Report your situation.’
There was a scraping noise and more panting. Suddenly a bass voice echoed from the speakers.
‘Dey’s all dead.’
Deep laughter reverberated around the room. Then came a crash and the link died.
Belial sighed and turned the comm dial to general broadcast.
‘This is Master Belial to all forces. Barrak Gorge geothermal station has fallen to the orks. It is likely the enemy will recommence teleportation reinforcements in the near future. All stations prepare your defences and stand ready for attack.’ The commander adjusted the setting. ‘This is Master Belial to Ravenwing Sergeant Validus. Join me aboard the Unrelenting Fury. I am sending a Thunderhawk to your position.’ He twisted the dial again without waiting for a response. ‘Brothers Uriel, Hephaestus and Charon, rendezvous at Sergeant Validus’s position for transportation to orbit.’
He stepped away from the comm panel and crossed to the holo-desk that dominated the centre of the chamber. The affirmatives from his warriors sounded tinnily from the comm behind him. Punching in coordinates, Belial brought up a fuzzy display of Koth Ridge and the East Barrens. Red icons blinked here and there, showing the last recorded sightings of ork forces. He brought up the chronometer tags and sighed again. Other than those inside Kadillus Harbour, the latest report was Boreas’s. The only others were his own observations at the East Barrens station, now six hours old. He peered at the digital image as if he might see the orks on the planet below.
‘Where are you?’ he asked quietly, rubbing his chin. ‘What are you going to do next?’
The Company Council was convened within the hour. Belial had stared constantly at the digimap while he had waited for his advisors, but was no closer to deciding a course of action. He sat now at the head of the display desk, elbow on one arm of the command throne, chin on fist.
Uriel sat on the master’s left, his black armour covered by a sleeveless bone-coloured robe. His sunken eyes constantly flic
ked across the faces of the others in the room.
On Belial’s right was the most senior Librarian in the force, Lexicanium Charon. Though of the lowest rank within the Librarium, Charon was attached to the 3rd Company as Grand Master Azrael’s representative and no doubt had the ear of the Dark Angels’ supreme commander. The psyker sat upright, palms together in his lap, eyes intent on Belial. The cables of Charon’s psychic hood burrowed beneath the skin of his scalp and twitched with the Librarian’s pulse, scratching against each other with every double heartbeat.
Beside the Librarian hunched Ravenwing Sergeant Validus, the longest-serving member of the 2nd Company present on Piscina. The black paint of his armour was heavily scratched and burnt, the ceramite underneath patched with fresh resin casts and welding. His winged helmet was on the table in front, an eye lens cracked, mouth-grille dented.
Last of those present was Techmarine Hephaestus, representative of the armoury. He looked strangely smaller than the others, having removed his servo-arm-equipped backpack and heavy shoulder pads. The Techmarine was at the display console’s controls, three cables snaking from the digi-desk to sockets in Hephaestus’s forearm armour.
‘There is another whose advice will be invaluable,’ announced Belial. He signalled to the robed serf sat at the comms unit. ‘Revered Venerari, can you hear me?’
A mechanically generated voice grated from the comm speakers.
‘I am here, brother. My experience is yours to share.’
‘Thank you, brother. Soon we will need not just your wisdom, but your strength and determination.’ Belial stood up and leaned on the edge of the large display plate, looking at each of his council in turn. ‘We face a tipping point in this war, brothers. We have held the orks at bay as best we can, but it may not be enough. It is still at least seven days before the rest of the Chapter will reach orbit. The orks have control of two power stations once more and will resume their previous level of reinforcement. Though we have bloodied our foes severely these last eight days and nights, we have no such reserves to draw upon. Casualties amongst the 3rd Company and other Astartes units under my command are at thirty-two per cent. The Piscina defence force reports nearly seventy per cent casualties, mostly in Kadillus Harbour.’
Belial stepped back and folded his arms across his broad chest.
‘We do not know exactly how quickly the orks can rebuild their strength for sure, or how soon they will attack, but we can be sure that the longer they wait, the greater will be the blow that lands upon us.’
‘Are all forces engaged, brother?’ Venerari asked through the chamber’s speakers. ‘Have we any other forces left to commit?’
‘There are Free Militia troops and tanks en route to Kadillus Harbour from other parts of the island,’ replied the company master. ‘We might have airlifted them to the city earlier, but the enemy’s possession of the defence laser rendered that impossible. Similarly, Ghazghkull’s occupation of the docks makes any transportation by sea equally difficult. Therefore these forces are travelling overland and will be expected in two days’ time.’
‘It is your hope that these forces will bolster the defence before the orks attack.’ Charon’s words were a statement not a question. ‘It is unwise to rely upon elements that are not directly under your control.’
‘And I do not intend to, brother,’ said Belial, sitting down again. ‘If we simply wait for the orks to build up their strength, we cannot stop them. They could grow in numbers for five days and have the far greater strength, sweeping away any forces we have in a day, before the Chapter reaches us.’
‘Perhaps the orks will attack early,’ suggested Uriel. ‘Excited by their success at Barrak Gorge they might continue their attack.’
‘Possible, but unlikely,’ said Venerari. ‘We know that Ghazghkull has demonstrated remarkable strategic acumen for an ork in the past, and his actions thus far have not demonstrated proof that he has lost that. This other warlord has also shown a certain amount of cunning.’
‘Indeed,’ said Belial. ‘It is to my shame that I underestimated the threat of the orks, and perhaps by doing so I have allowed them an advantage that we cannot now reverse.’
‘From what Naaman described, none of us could have imagined how the orks were reaching the planet,’ said Uriel. ‘You acted in accordance with the best teachings and doctrine of the Chapter. What we have faced is quite unprecedented. Not only have two ork warlords allied themselves to attack this world – which is in itself a strangely inconsequential target – but they have also mastered an advanced technology on a scale never before encountered in the ten thousand years of the Chapter. I am sure that Grand Master Azrael will not judge your actions harshly.’
Belial turned to Sergeant Validus.
‘Have the Ravenwing any fresher intelligence to offer this discussion?’ asked the captain.
‘No, brother, not at the moment,’ Validus replied with a shake of the head. ‘I have but three land speeders and a single bike squad left for reconnaissance, to cover several hundred square kilometres, and without orbital augury data. If you were to tell me where to look for the orks, we will do so, but we cannot patrol the wilderness endlessly or with any certainty.’
The company master chewed on the knuckle of his thumb as he considered this. His eyes darted to Uriel as the Chaplain sat forwards, hands on the wide table.
‘You could lead another Terminator strike at the East Barrens site,’ declared the Chaplain. ‘It is not a permanent solution, but it would delay ork reinforcements again and generate time for us to better prepare our defences.’
‘Or mount an offensive to retake Barrak Gorge,’ added Validus.
Belial shook his head.
‘The last attack was only possible due to Naaman’s planting of the homing beacon. It has been destroyed.’ He looked at Validus. ‘Unless the Ravenwing are capable of planting a new homing signal transmitter?’
Validus shrugged.
‘It is worth investigation, brothers,’ said the 2nd Company sergeant. ‘Sergeant Naaman succeeded through stealth; perhaps we will meet with similar success with speed.’
‘It is a delaying tactic and nothing more, brothers,’ said Venerari. ‘It is not without merit but it is not a lasting solution to the situation that we face. It may succeed again, but I do not believe that the orks will be tricked a third time. We would still require a more permanent resolution if we are to resist their attacks until the rest of the Chapter arrives.’
‘If it is even possible a second time,’ said Hephaestus. ‘It is likely the enemy have further fortified their base since the last attack. I rate the chances of a Ravenwing strike to be slim considering the likely level of opposition.’
The Space Marines sat in silence for some time, amidst an air of frustration. It was galling to Belial that he had been wrong-footed by two savages. He wracked his brains to find some other strategy that would turn the tide back against the greenskins.
‘May I make a suggestion, brother-captain?’ Hephaestus broke the thoughtful silence.
‘That is why I brought you here, brother,’ Belial replied with some irritation. ‘Speak your mind.’
‘While it seems problematic to prevent the ork reinforcements from arriving, there is another alternative,’ said the Techmarine. The holo-display whirled and zoomed in on the East Barrens geothermal station. ‘We have a single point of entry to target. Now that we have the precise energy signature from Sergeant Naaman, we have been able to locate the teleporter beam on the long-range scanning arrays. It has not moved from its previous site. It is a logical conclusion from the evidence so far examined that the orks’ arrival point on-world is fixed, for some reason we do not yet understand.’
‘We don’t know where the orks are that are here already, but we can be sure where any new arrivals will be coming from.’ Belial smiled at the realisation.
‘An orbital strike,’ suggested Uriel.
‘Negative,’ said Hephaestus. ‘Proximity to the power plant s
till presents a threat to the entire geothermal network.’
‘Thunderhawk strike,’ said Venerari. ‘A gunship can deploy from orbit, attack the reinforcements and then return to the battle-barge to resupply and re-arm.’
Belial’s fingers tapped an agitated beat on the desktop.
‘We have only one gunship remaining,’ said the commander. ‘If we lose it, we have only civilian aircraft left to us.’
‘That is where the Ravenwing will help,’ said Validus. ‘I can have a squadron of land speeders in the area within three hours. They can report on the enemy’s defences and any changes since we lost touch with Naaman.’
‘Very well,’ said Belial, standing up. The others stood with him. ‘We will prepare for a succession of aerial strikes. Sergeant Validus will coordinate the reconnaissance and provide on-ground observation for the attack. Brother Hephaestus, prepare the remaining gunship for a heavy-bombardment role. Brother Uriel, draw up a list of surviving battle-brothers with specialist gunnery training who can crew the Thunderhawk with Hephaestus. I will organise for them to be extracted from their current duties.’
The Space Marines nodded their assent. As Validus, Hephaestus and Uriel left, Charon stayed behind.
‘You have something to add, brother?’ Belial asked the Librarian.
Charon sat down again and nodded.
‘I detected an emanation from my brothers in the Librarium shortly before I arrived at the council.’ The psyker fixed Belial with a penetrating stare. ‘It is a message from Grand Master Azrael. I thought it better that I pass it to you in private.’
‘Very well,’ said Belial. He gestured for the Librarian to continue.
Straightening in his chair, Charon laid his hands flat on the glassy surface of the display table. Motes of energy danced along the wires of his psychic hood. The Librarian’s eyes darkened, the veins standing out in stark contrast to the whites, flickering with blue. With a shuddering gasp, the Librarian arched his neck and his eyes rolled back, showing nothing but a tracery of coruscating energy.