The Devastation of Baal

by Guy Haley

  ‘Get him back!’ commanded Erwin.

  ‘My lord. There is heavy interference on all frequencies. Our communications are being targeted.’

  ‘I care not for reasons! Do as I command, bring the captain back!’

  The Servile of Response worked as best he could with Erwin glaring at him. Servitors moaned and gave out their monotone reports. The hololith crackled and Asante burst back into existence.

  ‘…ese coordinates. Come to a halt, and prepare for further orders.’ Asante half moved out of the projection field, shouting orders that the crew of the Splendid Pinion could not hear.

  Behind Asante’s wavering head, the battle had filled the oculus. Zozan Tertius’ blackening orb filled most of the great window, the fires of its death creeping round the far side. The ships of the hive fleet were revealed as void leviathans, things with curled shells and mouths of writhing tentacles, or bodies like slugs covered in asteroidal rock glued into place over their skin, like the aquatic larvae of predatory insects. The variety of craft in the swarm was astounding. The tyranids had weight classes to match every vessel the Imperium possessed, from individual fighters to capital ships, and more besides. The planet’s orbit was crammed with xenos life propelled by gas plumes. Darts of gristle and bone took the place of torpedoes, fast hunting beasts driven by bioplasma jets replaced interceptors; long, whale-like carrier beasts ejected spores and hunter-killers from their sides by the thousand. The tacticaria hololiths were a red blizzard of life signs.

  Asante looked back into his hololith imager. ‘Asante out.’

  ‘Friendly,’ said Erwin.

  ‘He is preoccupied,’ said Achemen.

  ‘You know, when the Emperor’s gifts were implanted into your body, Achemen, I think they left out the organ responsible for a sense of humour. Where is your joy? We go into battle!’

  ‘There is only room for duty in my heart.’

  ‘You have two,’ Erwin reminded him.

  ‘The other is full of sorrow for the people of our Imperium,’ said Achemen.

  Erwin made an exasperated noise. ‘Put the tactical display back on the main hololith. Do we have the captain’s coordinates?’

  ‘Yes, my lord,’ said the Servile of the Watch. The glowing sphere of the tactical hololith took place at the centre of the deck again. Upon it a blue signifier blinked amid the swirling mess of tyranid life signs. A dotted line described the Splendid Pinion’s track, as desired by Captain Asante.

  Erwin leaned on the railing around the command throne’s dais. He stared at the suggested course intently for several minutes as the Splendid Pinion hurtled towards the devouring swarm. ‘Not there,’ said Erwin finally.

  ‘My lord?’ said the Servile Locum.

  ‘Asante gave us orders,’ said Achemen.

  ‘The last time I looked, you wore the winged axe of the Angels Excelsis upon your pauldron and not the blood drip of Baal,’ said Erwin.

  ‘He is not of our Chapter, I admit, but he has seniority,’ said Achemen.

  ‘You would obey him, then?’

  ‘They are our founder Chapter. Asante is renowned across the segmentum as a talented void commander. He commands a battle-barge. We go to the aid of the Blood Angels. Yes, I would obey him, for these and many other reasons, brother.’

  ‘Well, I will not,’ said Erwin. ‘Not until Lord Follordark tells me that I must abandon my judgement and blindly follow another’s. Asante’s withdrawal is flawed. They will be cut off by these two groupings here.’ Erwin worked a console with buttons sized for his armoured hands, his fingers clacking on the plastek. Additional indicators leapt onto the hololith. ‘Do you see? These movements look random, but they are not, there is a predation pattern concealed within it. If he breaks the way he says he will, his trailing vessels will be cut off and destroyed.’

  Achemen scrutinised the graphics thrown up by his captain onto the display. ‘Why did Asante not see it?’

  ‘Maybe he is not as fine a commander as you say he is, though I shall be charitable and attribute the oversight to his preoccupation with the battle. Servile of the Helm, take us on this heading.’ Erwin, not linked to the ship’s systems directly while he was out of the throne, was once again obliged to use physical interfaces to display his desired path on the hololith. ‘Bring us down to quarter speed. Turn seventy-five degrees. Present our port flank to the swarm. Maintain an oblique heading towards the main body of the fleet. Servile Belligerent, have all our weapons brought online, loaded and standing by. Servile Scutus, activate void shields. Increase reactor output to maximum – I will need all our speed and all our power.’

  His crew obeyed. The constant reactor vibration, that machine shake that stood in for a heartbeat, increased in frequency. Alarms and notification tocsins sounded and were duly silenced.

  ‘Now we will see if it is I or Asante who is the better voidsman,’ said Erwin with relish.

  By now the blackness of planet death had spread its way across all of Zozan Tertius. Lavabombs cracked the crust, shockwaves did the rest. Smoke obscured the face of the world. The void dimmed as Zozan’s planet shine went out, swallowed by a global pall of smoke.

  The Blade of Vengeance and the Crimson Tear broke and ran. Space Marine craft moved surprisingly quickly for ships of such mass. They turned about and reordered their formation, strike cruisers making a hollow box around the two battle-barges. They moved off even as they manoeuvred, all weapons blazing at the tyranid swarms now the planet was in its death throes. Lance batteries made a deadly lattice of laser beams around the battle group. Pinpoint torpedo strikes destroyed high priority threats.

  The hive fleet sent wave after wave of grapple-armed nautiloids at the battle-barges, but the Space Marines aboard maintained a punishing rate of fire. Planet killing bombardment cannons gutted hundreds of bio-ships. The tyranids had no protective energy fields, relying on sheer numbers to overwhelm their foe. Within moments the clouds of broken flesh and frozen fluids already around the Space Marine fleet had thickened considerably. The Space Marines powered away from the planet, a sphere of tyranids around them. The swarm distorted as the Space Marines moved off and thousands of bio-ships followed them, dragging the teeming life forms around the world into a teardrop.

  ‘The enemy is confounding our allies,’ said Erwin. ‘They are blinding them. Observe, the groups I indicated make their play, as predicted. There is a weakness at the rear of the enemy interception. They seek to tempt our ­brothers to make a swift run from their attackers. Of course, Asante will see that as a trap, but will be forced to exploit it anyway.’

  ‘And so they will be driven right into the arms of the approaching subswarm,’ said Achemen with dawning realisation.

  Erwin nodded. ‘Did I not suggest this would happen?’

  ‘We should warn them.’

  ‘We should,’ said Erwin. ‘I doubt it will be possible.’

  Achemen frowned. ‘We should at least try.’

  ‘Servile of Response! What say you?’

  The Servile of Response went around his small kingdom of desks and cyborg slaves with nervous efficiency. ‘We cannot, my lord. The enemy employ total band inhibitor broadcasts.’

  ‘So you see. You are not a foolish warrior, Achemen, but you over rely on those who command you. You make assumptions about situations, about what those above you know. You can think beyond these restrictions, yours is a fine mind. If you are ever to become captain, you must transcend these limitations. You have too little confidence in your own abilities.’

  The Splendid Pinion rushed across space. The hive mind finally deigned to pay attention to this new, negligible threat. Brass risk counter dials clicked upward. Servitors pedantically mumbled out unfavourable odds. On the hololith, two blots comprising hundreds of ships broke away from the world and made directly for the Splendid Pinion.

  ‘Enemy moving to intercept,’ said
the Servile of the Watch.

  ‘Hold course and hold fire,’ ordered Erwin.

  ‘You are taking us directly into the tail of the pursuit swarm,’ said Achemen.

  ‘As is my intention, senior sergeant,’ said Erwin. ‘Now the swarm. See how the assembled ships of the Blood Angels and the Angels Numinous attempt to break through the weakness in the encirclement sphere? See how the enemy is ready to respond?’

  Through the oculus, the feigned weak spot in the ­encirclement sphere cracked with the light of macrocannon bombardment. A wall of tyranid constructs blew apart, and from the interior sailed the Space Marines fleet.

  ‘Now watch how their hindmost vessel…’ Erwin looked questioningly at the Servile of the Watch.

  ‘The Staff of Light, my lord.’

  ‘Watch how the Staff of Light is sure to be caught. It is damaged,’ said Erwin. He brought up a magnified view and circled plasma venting from its drive stack with a quick movement of his finger over a gelscreen interface. ‘Your vaunted Captain Asante has not seen this. See how desperately they run to keep up. They are doomed.’

  The sun welled around the black edge of Zozan Tertius, haloed through the densely packed tyranids. Realising their prey world had been rendered inedible, the governing mind of the swarm disengaged the rest of the splinter fleet from the planet and set a pursuit course for the Imperial ships. The xenos had no chance of gaining on the human vessels, and so those set to trap them were redirected to close surely around the Staff of Light. The numbers attacking the battle-barges and other ships dwindled. Asante’s taskforce pulled free, though they remained under heavy fire. Void shields blinked and flickered. Auspex banks warbled aboard the command deck of the Splendid Pinion at their collapse. An escort cruiser peeled away from the formation, fire streaming from it as its atmosphere burned up, and broke apart.

  ‘Asante is making a run for safe translation distance,’ said Achemen. ‘If we follow his orders–’

  ‘His suggestion, Achemen,’ interrupted Erwin.

  ‘His suggestion then, we shall also be safe, and we can cover their retreat. That was his intention.’

  Erwin watched Asante’s fleet pull away, leaving the lagging Staff of Light further behind. Hundreds of hive ships were turning from the pursuit, and falling like pelagic predators on bleeding prey.

  ‘Do we wish to lose however many of our bloodline brothers are aboard that ship?’ said Erwin.

  ‘No, my lord,’ said Achemen.

  ‘No, indeed. So, watch me save them. Full speed ahead. Servile Belligerent, prepare to open fire, all weapons!’

  Two battle-barges punching their way out of total ­encirclement was a spectacle to be remembered. Broadsides rippling, they annihilated thousands of the tyranid ships mobbing them. Void shields burned with purple fire. Tyranid torpedoes and boarding spines flashed into nothing, shunted into the warp by ancient technologies, or their atoms sundered and the energies caged inside set loose in blinding flashes of annihilated matter.

  Strike cruisers and escort craft operated around the paired leviathans, protecting the battle-barge’s more vulnerable approaches, but it was the battle-barges that did the majority of the work, efficiently sectioning the three-dimensional battlefield between them and filling it with a punishing barrage. Macrocannons lobbed timed-fuse munitions into the midst of tyranid attack squadrons. Fusion beamers burned across space, slicing apart ship after ship before shutting off, then firing again.

  ‘Look at that,’ said Erwin. ‘Asante is running his fusion beams to the overheating threshold. His gun crews must be exemplary.’ He raised his voice. ‘See, serviles! That is how a real ship is run. Take note.’

  Plasma projectors sent out shorter-lived rays of energy, solar bright and damaging to the eyes of those who looked at them.

  ‘Yes,’ said Erwin. ‘Asante deserves his reputation, but no man is perfect.’ Erwin pointed an armoured finger at the Staff of Light. It was increasingly isolated at the edge of the fleet. Tyranid response squadrons turned back from the assault on the main battle group and bore down on it. ‘Servile of the Helm, take us on a direct intercept course for the Staff of Light. Open fire now as we close – make me a hole in the xenos so that we might come alongside and help them.’

  The Angels Numinous strike cruiser was of the same class as the Splendid Pinion, albeit of a differing pattern. The variation of its armament and shape was superficial. It had the same blocky rear hull containing the engines, main weapons and fighter bays. A short neck housed bombardment cannon batteries, embarkation deck and drop ports. Its flat prow was protected by a pair of blast shields giving it a hammer-headed appearance. The Staff of Light was a pale grey with vermillion shields. The Splendid Pinion was bright white with red accents. They were sisters, and the Splendid Pinion rushed to help its beleaguered sibling.

  ‘Send a message to Captain Asante. Inform him we are moving to aid the Staff of Life.’

  ‘There is extensive interference still, my lord. I cannot raise them,’ said the Servile of Response.

  ‘Keep trying.’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  ‘My lord,’ said the Servile of the Watch. ‘The Staff of Light has lost its shields. The enemy are boarding in strength.’

  ‘We should leave them. Asante will have had his reasons,’ said Achemen.

  They watched as hundreds of tyranid assault spores rushed at the ship, but it was not done yet, and most were burst apart by point defence weaponry.

  ‘They are still firing,’ said Erwin. ‘The Blood Angels may condone this sacrifice, but I will not. Serviles, how lies the field for pulsed laser communication?’

  ‘Possible, but difficult, my lord,’ said the Servile of Response. ‘There is a great deal of debris between us that will corrupt databursts or disperse them completely.’

  ‘Then they will be surprised to see us. Achemen, summon your squad and Orsini’s, have them report to the drop deck. Servile Belligerent, target preference for boarding spines. Take us in closer. The shorter distance our boarding torpedoes must go, the better it will be. Shelter the Staff of Light as much as possible with our void shields. Keep attempting communication with both Captain Asante and the Staff of Light. See if you can form a data bridge so we might coordinate our fire.’

  The sparse human crew gave a chorus of ‘yes, my lord’ as each order was passed down the chain of command.

  The Staff of Light rolled in the oculus as the Splendid Pinion sailed over it. The grey skin of the hull was pocked with acid burns all along its length, particularly towards the rear port side. Whipping tendrils disappeared into maggot holes twenty yards across as boarding spines wriggled their way through the ship’s armour and into the interior in search of meat.

  With the two ships firing in tandem, the immediate space around the two vessels was cleared, although some of the small tyranid craft running ahead of the main fleet got through, while the wall of wriggling tentacles and calloused flesh blotting out the dying world of Zozan was gaining on them.

  ‘Achemen, we have to go now. Servile Locum, you have command.’

  ‘My lord.’ The Servile Locum activated his command station; the crew of the bridge reoriented their attention to him.

  ‘Come, Achemen,’ said Erwin. ‘Let us show the Angels Numinous how the Angels Excelsis fight. Serviles, maintain bombardment. We do not depart until every one of the Angels Numinous is aboard the Splendid Pinion or their ship is free of the swarm.’

  Three boarding torpedoes burned through the spinal way of the Staff of Life. Melta arrays whooshed. The air shimmered with heat and molten metal ran down the walls. The torpedoes shuddered as their track units shut off and the melta arrays cut out. For a second, quiet returned. Guns boomed in the distance, shaking the ship. Molten plasteel glowed from white to orange to red in the unlit corridor. Metal pinked as it cooled.

  Explosive bolts blew on the torpedoe
s’ prows, smashing their access ramps down with enough force to push away any final obstruction. Erwin and his men deployed rapidly, and were immediately confronted by a tumbling spill of attack organisms. Hissing things the size of human children sped at them from both ends of the way, long scythe-limbs raised and ready to kill. Bolters opened fire before the metal slag created by the Angels Excelsis’ landing had hardened. Bolt propulsion flares strobed the dim spinal corridor. The battlefield was dark, full of acrid fumes, but the Space Marines could barely miss. Their bolts ploughed into a crowd of aliens, blasting internal organs to pulp and sending shattered chitin cracking off the walls. Creatures behind their fallen broodmates slipped on spilled entrails. The tyranids came on regardless, heedlessly trampling the fallen.

  Despite the toll the Space Marines took on the beasts, they continued to advance quickly from both stern and prow of the ship, leaping over one another in their mindless haste to close. The Angels Excelsis adopted a standard spread order as they fired, forming into two loose skirmish lines back to back. They stood with two yard gaps between each Space Marine, so that their lines covered about half the width of the spinal way. The lines bent back at each end, and the brothers anchoring the ends stood with their backpacks almost touching. With the Space Marines position adjusted, xenos fell like crops before the harvester. Registering their losses, the swarm abruptly changed tactics. Large numbers of them switched direction simultaneously, heading for the open edges of the corridor to box the Space Marines in while yet more poured forward directly at their preys’ guns to tie them up.

  Not one of the creatures got within striking distance.

  For a full minute, the Space Marines fired, each battle-brother keeping to his own pace, reloading when necessary, covering his squad mates when it was needed. Despite the number of beasts attacking them, the Space Marines sighted every burst carefully, their adapted brains making microsecond adjustments so that all their rounds hit their mark.