Space Marine Apocalypse (Extinction Fleet Book 3)

by Sean Michael Argo

  He thought of the Reaper's Lantern, fighting off garm bio-vessels in the void as its Einherjar legion desperately defended the ink-rock refineries. The marines had gone there to thwart a garm biomass raid to feed the hungry extinction fleet and had ended up under siege in order to keep the refineries running so that the thirst of the All-Father's ships could be slaked.

  When the horn sounded, every marine left the surface and boarded the Lantern, which in turn withdrew from the void battle and rushed to join the armada headed towards the rally point. The Watchman did not doubt for a moment that the handful of surviving UHC security staffers and rig workers were all dead by now, and it was likely the planet fell to the garm within hours of the Einherjar retreat.

  Such scenarios had played out from one end of the UHC to another, and most were even uglier to consider. The UHC core worlds, ones that had developed to the point that they were essentially planet-sized mega-cities, left to fend for themselves in the middle of an alien invasion by the very warriors who had devoted their lives to protecting them.

  The death toll from just the last seven days was an extinction level event. The word 'Einherjar' was being broadcast across the remaining open UHC channels as a dirty thing, a word to be reviled, and as worlds were consumed by the hungry swarm it was with a curse towards the All-Father that was on their lips.

  His thoughts focused on one warship in particular, the Bright Lance, that vessel of destiny that had already been through so much. They had been fighting like devils to buy time for Hephastian refugees when the horn blew, and as the warship burned hard for the rally point, the cyborg culture was left to fend for itself against the garm invaders.

  The Hephastians, at least, thought the Watchman had been spared the added violent chaos of the hybrid uprising, as the garm cults had not attempted to infiltrate the cyborg society due to the universal upgrades of the citizens. With their own advanced military elements, it was possible they could hold out for a short time, though the Watchman was sure that Hephastia would fall just like every other human planet.

  Many thought the Watchman was gambling with the future of the human species, though as he began to receive data from long range scanners about the garm presence that rushed towards them, the commander coldly disagreed. The UHC was lost, of that his certainty was absolute, but if this mad scheme worked, the future of the human species would be secured. It appeared that Loki was right, as the Watchman looked over the extinction fleet arrayed against them.

  The Hive Mind had indeed taken notice of the mass exodus of the All-Father's forces and had moved to check them.

  The enemy appeared to have taken the bait, and in trying to thwart what appeared to be an escape attempt, the extinction fleet was converging upon them.

  As the armada had moved through contested space on its way from Port Chirascuro to a rallying point just on the edge of the radiation field of the dying star Artemesia, the human force gathered as many enemies as it did allies.

  The Watchman and his warriors soared through the void towards their destination and a haphazard flotilla of enemy ships took shape some distance behind them. Dozens of small engagements had been fought on the distant edges of the moving perimeter, some won, and some lost, as human ships attempted to form up alongside the armada, at times having to fight their way through screens of garm bio-vessels.

  "All ships report full readiness and await your command," announced Kohath, using his voice instead of the silent key commands. It was something that had annoyed the Watchman when they first began serving together but had slowly become a small moment of human contact that the commander had grown to appreciate.

  "I estimate that twenty-three minutes from first contact, our armada will be completely enveloped in a spherical enemy swarm," said the Watchman, his voice low enough that Kohath had to strain to hear him, giving the impression that the man was talking to himself just as much, if not more, than to the attendant. "They outnumber us three to one based on initial scans, with unknown reinforcements en route."

  "We are facing at least half of the total extinction fleet, based on available conflict data from first contact through today's analysis," nodded Kohath as he brought up several bio-vessel schematics and sent them over to the Watchman's personal databank. "However, no ships within scanner range deviate from known vessels. Perhaps the Hive Mind has neglected to do us the service of attending this battle in person, such as it is."

  "It is out there," stated the Watchman, as he considered the titanic swarms of bio-vessels on a collision course with his armada. "As soon as they have range, individual captains are free to engage, but no dropships until we have confirmation of the Hive Mind's presence on the field. Have the needle ships spool up and put the deck on launch alert."

  Kohath nodded silently and transmitted the orders.

  The Watchman was not a sentimental man, in fact, such things were a liability in a position such as his, yet he found himself thinking of the Wageri generation ships and their flight into unknown space. What worlds might they find and what might humanity create with this second chance at civilization? Narrative strategy or not, the UHC would be consumed, and all hope now slumbered in the holds of Embla and Askr, watched over by the guns of the Merchants Militant.

  Ahead of the armada, swarms of spine frigates flowed across the void towards the humans, and behind those loomed monstrous sized nightmares. These mega-bioships were encountered so infrequently that the Einherjar had no names for them beyond simply calling them behemoths, an apt, if unofficial name. They actually had an appearance similar to the garm welks that had been encountered by Taskforce Grendel some years past. Great shells with seemingly endless spiral patterns and sporting cascading rows of thick spikes on their hulls, with massive soft tissue layers on the underside that spat out crystalized projectiles that liquefied upon impact. The crystals shattered, releasing a caustic flood so corrosive that it ate through armor. Entire decks would depressurize before its destructive power was spent.

  The garm had never been focused on wanton destruction as much as they had been on devouring their prey, and that was a small mercy, as it meant that the aliens had not appeared to develop the kinds of devastating weapons that humanity had always strived to create. The garm had little use for the inert wastelands left by nuclear blasts or the carbonized and ashen corpses of humans slain by explosions.

  The enemy wanted flesh in its teeth and bellies full of fresh kills, and that appeared to hold true for space battles as much as it did on the ground.

  As such the Watchman knew that the enemy was likely to use the behemoth ships sparingly, and would instead, focus on disabling the All-Father's ships with the spine frigates so that the manta ray looking assault craft could vomit boarding parties into the wounds. Knowing this, the Watchman's plan was to punch through the frigate swarms and attack the behemoths, to force the enemy into a shooting war as long as possible before everything devolved into boarding actions. The commander knew that he must get past the behemoths, for it was behind them that the Hive Mind was likely to be positioned and everything hinged upon drawing the alien intellect into a direct confrontation.

  Even if that meant the sacrifice of not only the UHC but every ship in the armada.

  The Watchman opened the panel that gave him access to the Gjallerhorn. For the second and final time, he turned the key. The green light that strobed from the panel told him that he was set to broadcast. He took a deep breath, considered his words, and then spoke.

  "It is said that the men of Valhalla are many, but that they will seem too few when the wolf comes," spoke the Watchman, his voice broadcasting across all channels, the words coming out from shipboard intercoms and filling the headsets of individual marines across the armada.

  "Then let it be said, by those who will one day tell our story, that we few were enough. The enemy is upon the field gentlemen, good hunting."

  The Watchman turned off the Gjallerhorn and set himself to the task.

  Already the spine frigates
were closing in, and as the Watchman opened his viewport he could see ordinance from his heavy warships detonating amidst the enemy. The Watchman's own ship, the only super heavy warship of the All-Father's navy, plowed ahead of the armada with its superior engines and unleashed a furious salvo of firepower from multitudes of gun batteries. The Watchman held back with his magna-cannon, saving the weapon for larger prey, and focused his attention on directing the fire of smaller batteries. The concentrated fire from the flagship obliterated a particularly thick cluster of spine frigates, and he urged the ship through the gap in the enemy lines.

  They were five minutes into the battle by the time the flagship smashed into the enemy line, and the Watchman was pleased to see that several of his warships had followed in his wake, exploiting the breach.

  To his right, a warship, the Ghost Ally, began listing badly as it endured withering fire from dozens of frigates that managed to survive rushing through its anti-air screen. While the corpses of several ships floated through the void, so many had rushed the Ally that its gunners were overwhelmed. Already, the Watchman could see flights of assault ships screaming in through the carnage to insert boarding parties.

  The captain had no choice but to launch his dropships before his vessel was overrun, and in seconds a full legion of five thousand Einherjar space marines poured out of the Ghost Ally like flies from a corpse. The Watchman angled his ship so that he could bring his broadside batteries into an overwatch position, and his gunnery teams did their best to provide cover fire for the fleet of dropships. As soon as the troop carriers hit void they were under attack from fresh spine frigates that swarmed on the wounded vessel, and the darkness of space was lit up by the destruction of both garm vessels and dropships.

  The dropships from Ghost Ally that survived the blistering fire of the enemy were able to find some modicum of protection inside the anti-air perimeter of the Watchtower, though in such a target-rich environment there were still dropship casualties as the super-heavy warship continued to plow through enemy lines. The Watchman took notice as three Prax gunships swooped in from spinward and fought a screening action to help protect the remaining dropships. The Watchman recognized the Foe Seeker, the Siege Perilous, and the hated Angrboda as they used their multi-directional thrusters to execute dynamic maneuvers while delivering crippling rocket attacks to spine frigates and errant assault craft alike.

  The Watchman still found even the sight of the Angrboda to be extremely distasteful, though his rational mind swiftly stamped out these emotions, as they did not serve him.

  The great betrayal by Thatcher and his skalds was a deep wound in the psyche of every man who served the All-Father, and yet it was up to the Watchman to lead by example in order to move forward. Loki had met his well-deserved end, and the beast had gone to his doom willingly.

  The skalds and naval staff who crewed the vile gunship were almost more unsettling than their master, for none of them bore the taint of the garm upon their flesh. They were just men, like any other, who had made a choice, albeit a terrible one. At the end of all things, they rode with the Watchman's armada into certain death, and so whatever sins that could be laid at their feet would be paid for by the day's deeds.

  The Watchtower smashed into the other side of the spine frigate swarms, its thick hull bristling with a forest of garm projectiles, a ship bloodied, but far from beaten. The Watchman could see that he'd lost a quarter of his weapons batteries, though now he was in a position to bring up his magna-cannons. The behemoths rose to meet him, their sickening organ weapon puckering with ordinance soon to be hurled in his direction.

  "Sir, we have incoming, left of stern and downside, thirty degrees," said Kohath suddenly, his keen attendant's eyes specifically looking for threats to the Watchtower itself, taking that particular burden from his master so that the Watchman could devote himself to armada wide affairs.

  "I see them," responded the Watchman, as he quickly relayed orders and firing solutions to not only a number of his stern batteries but Reaper's Lantern, the nearest heavy warship to have fought its way clear of the enemy frigates.

  In seconds, the new enemy vessels filled his viewport. Looking at them, the Watchman felt they were like giant scorpions, rising from the darkness to strike. Less like ships and more like alien monsters. Then he corrected himself, they were exactly that, alien monsters more than they were spacecraft.

  Reaper's Lantern found its range and unleashed its ship-to-ship guns, and one of the three ghastly bio-vessels that rushed towards the conflict was reduced to spasming hunks of flesh and chitin that quivered as they hurled through space, freezing by the second. The Lantern banked hard as the other two scorpions moved in, each of the garm vessels igniting what seemed to be booster engines as they closed the distance. The close range batteries of both the Lantern and the Watchtower punished the nearest scorpion and in seconds it was bleeding liquid tons of fluids and organs as it depressurized and began to drift, its momentum and fouled trajectory sending it spiraling away from the conflict.

  The third scorpion reached the Lantern, moving faster than the human ships could adjust their firing solutions and the segmented pincers lashed out to grasp the warship.

  The pincers were armored and serrated, and though the Reaper's Lantern was nearly twice the size of the enemy vessel, the garm ship appeared unconcerned. The pincers crumpled metal in the Lantern’s hull as they tightened and in it became instantly clear that the pincers were a way for the garm bio-vessel to stabilize itself for what came next.

  The scorpion ship brought its segmented tail down hard on the Lantern, the barbed tip roughly the same size as the business end of the Rimworld needle ships. The tip slammed into the hull of the Lantern over and over, each time punching a small hole in the ship that was equivalent to a solid hit from conventional artillery. The Lantern fought back mightily, as close quarters batteries that could find any piece of the beast in their sights rained down tremendous amounts of fire.

  The Watchman had to turn away from the fate of the Lantern, leaving the warship to fight on as best it could, focusing his attention on the behemoth that now spat a crystalline projectile towards the super-heavy warship. The Watchtower was more of an armored fighting ship than it was a craft capable of dramatic evasive maneuvers, though it was not without its own countermeasures. The projectile exploded harmlessly in the void between the two ships as several anti-air batteries managed to shatter the incoming projectile with concentrated salvos.

  "Magna-cannon, engage," growled the Watchman even though he need not have said a word. The silent key command and firing solution went straight from his personal deck to the gunnery team. It felt good to give voice to such things, and as detached as he tried to be, the Watchman was still a man, and there was an undeniable satisfaction in dealing the enemy a deadly blow of such magnitude.

  The magna-cannon fired and the entire warship shuddered from the recoil of the tremendous plasma weapon. It was such a gigantic machine that the super-heavy warship had substituted in its design, the entire capacity for a launch bay in place of it. While the other warships all had their own Einherjar legions, armor units and air support of varying sizes, and full compliments of in-atmosphere transports as well as void capable dropships, the Watchtower instead had the titanic weapon.

  The magna-cannon was capable of firing a plasma bolt that was the size of a gunship, each of the projectiles having the potential to destroy enemy ships or even cause catastrophic planetary damage from orbit. No sooner had it fired huge batches, the topside of the great ship opened to vent the heat discharged by the weapon, turning several spine frigates to ash.

  The bolt slipped silently through space, a planet killer if ever there was one, and thanks to the Watchman's careful placement of the ship relative to the target, the firing solution was poised for a direct hit. The behemoth had exposed its soft tissues in order to fire its crystalline projectile. Before it could retract the exposed tissues and adjust its own position, the bolt hit its mark. It
pounded through the flesh of the bio-vessel and, much like the way garm organism reacted to pulse rifle rounds, the behemoth's internal organs exploded because of the superheated round burning its way through the beast's body. The hard chitin of the spiral shell shattered from the detonation and expanded in a cloud of deadly shrapnel. The killer projectiles flew back, following the momentum of the shot along with the remaining bulk of the beast's corpse, straight into the stern of another behemoth that had been swooping in for its own shot.

  The Watchman risked a shift in focus and took stock of his armada's progress through the last minutes of the chaotic engagement. The heavy warships had successfully mulched the truly horrendous number of spine frigate swarms, though it had cost numerous decorated vessels, each of them launching their dropship contingents before dying.

  With the spine frigates, at least this wave of them, eliminated, the security frigates and skirmish class mobile batteries moved in behind the picket set by the surviving heavy warships. The smaller ships worked alongside the Prax gunships to escort the growing mass of orphaned dropships.

  Already he could see the engine signatures of the myriad garm splinter fleets that had been dogging the armada every step of the way from Port Chirascuro to Artemesia. It had been a harrowing journey, to say the least, fraught with a near constant state of skirmish for many of the aft and flank portions of the armada.

  The human forces only had minutes before these splinter groups slammed into them from behind, and once they did the All-Father's warriors would be surrounded. The heavy warship captains had their orders and would move into a spherical formation, with the smaller ships filling the gaps, and they would hold out as long as they could.

  Which might not be as long as the Watchman had hoped, he realized, as he bore witness to a garm bio-vessel with what appeared to be tentacles slide out from behind the shadow of a behemoth and attack one of the warships.

  Its tentacles wrapped around the vessel much like a squid on some of the ocean bearing worlds, and its beak drove itself deep into the human vessel. Whether it was vomiting some manner of projectile into the ship or simply disgorging multitudes of boarders, the Watchman could not tell and did not have the time to investigate or intervene. Another ship lost in the embrace of the enemy, fallen by the wayside of the larger mission as the Watchtower plowed through the freezing behemoth wreckage and came at the next garm vessel with all guns blazing.