“Done, sergeant!” came the voice of Fulgencio over the vox. “It’s sealed.”
Hilts tightened his grip on his bolter, and nodded.
“Then let’s move in and take these wretches out, once and for all,” Hilts voxed in reply.
Fulgencio came to stand beside him, looking as unsteady on his feet as Hilts currently felt. The Scout was just as marked by enemy fire as Hilts himself was, if not worse.
“Stand fast,” Hilts said, putting a stabilising hand on Fulgencio’s bleeding and burned shoulder. “You are a son of Dorn, and he is always with you.” Hilts nodded towards the gloom at the far end of the passageway, lit only occasionally by the flash of las-fire from the approaching invaders. “The primarch will light the way.”
Fulgencio straightened, as best he could, and then he and the veteran-sergeant limped down the passageway towards the enemy, weapons primed and ready.
At the main hatch, the three defending Scouts stood steadfast, their combat blades in hand. They’d filled the gap and the floor within with the bodies of the enemy fallen, but still the Roaring Blades came, wave after endless wave. Captain Taelos still sat along the wall, but he’d not moved or spoken in some time, and the Scouts were beginning to suspect the worst.
Each of the three Triandrians were bloodied and bruised, covered in innumerable cuts from the enemies’ swords. But all three were still on their feet, and would remain so until there was no more blood or life left in them.
But with the seemingly endless waves of Roaring Blades still pouring through the gap, and the continual bursts of sonic attack from the Noise Marines outside, it was beginning to seem as if the Scouts’ lifeblood would not last long enough for them to stand against them all.
Their hearing was beginning to return for a moment, before the next sonic blast of the Noise Marines beyond. At first, the Scouts thought that the rumble and roar they could hear from outside was a trick of the mind, or some new assault the Emperor’s Children were bringing to bear. And when the floor began to vibrate beneath their feet, sending jarring waves of vibration up their legs, they could scarcely imagine what sort of munitions the enemy might have held in abeyance and only now unleashed upon them.
“Veteran-Sergeant Karn to any and all Imperial Fists,” came a voice buzzing over the vox. “Affirmative?”
The three Scouts were struck momentarily dumb with surprise, and so it was the wavering voice of Captain Taelos that was the first to answer over the vox.
“Taelos receiving,” the captain said, sounding faint and distant. “What is your situation?”
“Thunderhawk Pugnus is in operation, but barely, and we are commencing strafing runs on the enemy positions to the east of the Bastion. We’re pounding them with heavy las-fire and missiles, and the first pass appears to have taken out a good number of the enemy elements. A few more passes should be enough to deal with the rest. Hold fast and we will join you shortly.”
“Acknowledged, Karn,” the captain replied, and the Scouts could almost hear the pride and satisfaction in his tone.
The Scouts glanced over in the captain’s direction, in time to see Taelos hold his arm against his ruined breastplate. Then he raised his fist unsteadily in the air.
“Primarch-progenitor…” Taelos said, his strength fading.
The three Scouts turned back towards the gap, to see a stream of Roaring Blades slipping inside. The Scouts’ duty was to defend the Bastion, and that’s what they would do.
“To your glory,” the three Triandrians voxed in unison, raising their combat blades against the invaders, “and the glory of Him on Earth!”
There were moments when it seemed to Scout Zatori that the night would never end, and that the Roaring Blades who slipped in their twos and threes through the gap were without number. Through the narrow opening in the hatch could be heard the constant cacophony of heavy-weapons fire as the Thunderhawk poured turbolaser fire and ordnance down on the besieging force, and the Emperor’s Children and the Roaring Blades returned with whatever weapons they had at their disposal.
But as the first light of dawn came streaming through the gap, the number of Roaring Blades slowed to a trickle. And it seemed to Zatori that the last few that he and his squadmates had cut down hadn’t had much fight left in them, and had made their way through the gap in search of refuge, trying to escape the firestorm outside, and not out of any serious attempt to invade the bastion.
“It’s been some time since we’ve heard from Veteran-Sergeant Hilts,” Scout du Queste observed as he skewered a hapless Roaring Blade through the belly with his combat blade.
Scout s’Tonan nodded. “If they’re not answering vox-hails, one of us should go and ascertain the situation.”
A Roaring Blade staggered through the gap, badly burned by turbolaser fire, but collapsed to the floor before any of the Scouts had even approached him.
“Agreed,” Scout Zatori said. He paused to cast a glance back at Captain Taelos, who still lay on the rockcrete along the wall. He had been slipping in and out of consciousness throughout the night, but didn’t seem responsive at the moment. “I shall go,” Zatori announced, turning back to the others. “I will vox as soon as I reach the catacombs.”
His two squadmates turned back to the gap, their combat blades raised. They didn’t speak, didn’t wish Zatori good fortune or warn him to be careful. They didn’t have to.
Drawing his bolt pistol, Zatori hurried away from the hatch, heading deeper into the Bastion.
Scout du Queste stood before the gap, his combat blade held at the ready in a one-handed grip. He glanced over to Scout s’Tonan who stood a few paces to his left.
“Have I lost my hearing entirely,” Jean-Robur said in a low voice, “or has it quietened outside?”
Scout s’Tonan shook his head. “If you’ve lost your hearing, mine has gone as well.” He gestured with his chin towards the narrow opening of the hatch. “And it’s been some time since any traitors came through the gap, as well.”
Jean-Robur was considering venturing beyond the hatch and conducting a visual inspection when a voice came crackling over the vox.
“Veteran-Sergeant Karn to any and all Imperial Fists. Respond!”
After glancing to where Captain Taelos lay on the rockcrete floor, and seeing that the captain was in no condition to reply, Jean-Robur answered.
“Scout du Queste receiving from the Bastion,” he voxed.
“What is your situation, Scout?” Veteran-Sergeant Karn voxed. “Is the Bastion still secure?”
“This entrance is, sir. Scout Zatori has gone below to check on the subterranean access.”
“And Captain Taelos?” Karn asked.
Scout du Queste glanced back at Taelos, who was still living but seemed near to death. “Alive, but out of commission.”
“Acknowledged,” Karn replied. There was a pause, as if the veteran-sergeant were considering his options. “I won’t be able to keep this Thunderhawk in the air much longer. I’m bringing her down just east of the mountain. Provide cover from the ledge, in the event that any enemy forces remain in the area.”
“Is that safe, sir? That is, to land on the dunes?” Jean-Robur shot Scout s’Tonan a look, seeing if his squadmate was as confused as he was. The whole reason that the Thunderhawks had not landed close to the Bastion in the first place was that the ground surrounding the mountain stronghold was uneven and treacherous for landing. And what of the besieging force?
“The landing gear on the gunship is damaged, as it is, so it’s going to be a rough descent one way or the other. And we may not have fuel enough to reach the shores to the east. We’re going down, either way.”
“And the enemy?” This time it was Scout s’Tonan who voxed in confusion.
“Routed,” Veteran-Sergeant Karn replied. “But some fled, and might return to take a shot at the Thunderhawk as I bring her in. That’s why I want you on the ledge laying down suppressing fire.”
“Acknowledged,” Scout du Queste shot back
. When Veteran-Sergeant Karn broke vox-contact, Jean-Robur was already advancing towards the opening. “Come on,” he called over his shoulder to s’Tonan, as he stepped over the lifeless bodies of the fallen Roaring Blades. “Let’s see if we can’t pick off a few more of the wretches before we’re through.”
Scout Taloc s’Tonan fired a single round from his bolt pistol and caught the Roaring Blade who was creeping towards the Bastion. The traitor dropped like a stone, his rewired nervous system proving no protection against a well-placed bolt.
“A clean shot,” Veteran-Sergeant Karn said, coming up the ramp to gain the ledge, stepping around the barricade that Scout Zatori and the others had assembled in the first hours of the siege. Behind Karn followed two Scouts of Squad Vulpes.
Taloc nodded in Karn’s direction, and then went back to his vigil at the barricades. On the other end of the ledge Scout du Queste kept watch over the approach.
In the time it had taken Veteran-Sergeant Karn and the two Scouts to cover the distance from the place where Thunderhawk Pugnus lay canted at a considerable angle over the dunes, a handful of Roaring Blades had emerged from hiding and mounted ineffective attacks, but each time Taloc and Scout du Queste had been able to put them down with minimal bolt-fire.
“Where is the rest of Squad Vulpes?” Scout du Queste called over to Veteran-Sergeant Karn.
“This is the rest of Squad Vulpes.”
The Squad Vulpes Scouts were badly injured, one holding a still-bleeding wound at his side, the other walking with a pronounced limp.
“The rest fell when the daemons attacked,” Veteran-Sergeant Karn went on. “We three were all that made it back to the Thunderhawk alive.”
Scout s’Tonan looked from the veteran-sergeant out to Thunderhawk Pugnus, which looked as though it might never get airborne again. “We are grateful that you did, sir. Had you not arrived, I’m not sure we’d have been able to hold out.”
Veteran-Sergeant Karn reached out and laid a gauntleted hand on s’Tonan’s shoulder. “That you lasted as long as you did brings honour to your Chapter, and those who trained you.” He paused, and then glanced around. “But what of Captain Taelos? And Veteran-Sergeant Hilts?”
Taloc glanced back at the hatch. “The captain is this way. As for Sergeant Hilts…” He paused, his gaze darting over to Scout du Queste, who lowered his eyes in response. “We are still waiting.”
Scout Zatori Zan made his way through the catacombs, searching for any sign of his squadmates or their sergeant. The passageways and tunnels were eerily quiet, and he received no replies to his vox-calls, and no answer to his shouts but his own voice echoing back to him.
But he had begun to encounter evidence of his squadmates’ bravery. The deeper he moved into the catacomb, the more bodies he found, the fallen Roaring Blades who had infiltrated the mountain stronghold’s subterranean passages. The rockcrete floor and walls were pockmarked with weapons-fire, and blackened with the smoke of explosions.
Then he came to the sealed-off tunnel through which the enemy had gained access to the Bastion, and found that Veteran-Sergeant Hilts and Scouts Fulgencio and Rhomec had been successful in sealing it off. No more Roaring Blades would be making their way into the Bastion from those tunnels. And though he found Scout Rhomec’s lifeless body a short distance away, he still had not found Hilts or Fulgencio.
He continued on, deeper and deeper into the catacombs, until the bodies of the enemy dead were so thick on the ground underfoot that he could scarcely take another step.
And there he found Veteran-Sergeant Hilts and Scout Fulgencio, lying within arm’s reach of each other on the ground, their bolters and blades still in hand. They were surrounded by a ringed mound of their fallen foes.
“Scout Zatori transmitting,” he voxed back up to the surface.
Having sealed off the access from below, the two Imperial Fists had gone on to hunt down and eliminate all of the enemy forces that had infiltrated the Bastion’s subterranean passages. And though it had cost their lives to do so, to all appearances the two had been successful.
“The catacombs are secure.”
Scout du Queste shoved one last time, and the now-unlocked hatch was finally open wide enough for Veteran-Sergeant Karn and Scout s’Tonan to manoeuvre Captain Taelos out of the opening and into the daylight.
There had not been any sign of lingering enemy elements on the slopes of the Bastion since Scout s’Tonan had picked off the last one some time before. And when Scout Zatori voxed from the catacombs that the underground passages beneath the mountain stronghold were now secure, it appeared that the siege had at last come to an end.
Captain Taelos was still severely injured, but his body’s regenerative abilities were gradually finding a state of equilibrium, and he had managed to regain full consciousness. He was still unable to move under his own power, but now that Veteran-Sergeant Karn had propped him up in a sitting position against the jamb of the hatch, the captain was able to survey the situation.
“It would appear,” Captain Taelos said, his voice sounding to Jean-Robur as though it were coming from a long way off, “that against all odds we have prevailed.”
Scout du Queste stood alongside Scout s’Tonan and the others, listening to the captain address them in a strained voice. The sun was approaching its zenith overhead, and it was nearing midday.
“The Vernalian refugees are safe,” the captain went on, “despite the best efforts of their heretical ‘leaders’. Finally, and perhaps most significantly, the Bastion has withstood invasion. The defences we prepared were equal to the task, and the enemy was not able to defeat them.”
The sound of echoing footsteps from within the hatchway heralded the return of Scout Zatori, who had voxed his full findings of the catacombs while Jean-Robur still fiddled with the hatch’s locking mechanism to get it unstuck.
Zatori glanced at Captain Taelos as he approached, seeming pleased to see the captain more-or-less upright and communicative, but his attentions were quickly diverted to something past Scout du Queste’s shoulder, out past the barricades.
“What is that?” Scout Zatori asked, pointing.
Scout du Queste turned, expecting perhaps to see a small resurgent force of the enemy appearing from cover, making one last-ditch attempt to storm the Bastion. He raised his bolt pistol in one hand, his other hand finding the handle of his combat blade.
But what he saw instead froze him like a statue, his mouth hanging open in shock.
It was as if a second sun had risen in the east.
Out past the undulating grey landscape, the shore on which they’d first stepped foot on Vernalis now ended at a towering wall of orange flame. Black smoke curled up into the sky, and even at this distance they could smell the acrid scent.
The petrochem seas to the east had been set on fire.
“Emperor preserve us,” said one of the Squad Vulpes Scouts.
Like a fast-approaching storm front a huge cloud of black smoke came pouring off the burning petrochem sea and roiled over the landscape towards them. And above the sound of the burning oil, which sounded like a chorus chanting somewhere in the distance, they began to hear howls and discordant shouting.
“There!” Scout s’Tonan shouted, pointing towards the northern end of the roiling cloud of black smoke as it verged ever nearer.
“And there!” Scout du Queste added, pointing off to the south.
A teeming mass of figures came surging out of the black clouds to the north and south, making straight for the Bastion.
It was an army of Chaos. But unlike any the Scouts had ever seen before.
There were thousands upon thousands of Roaring Blades, waving their sabres and scimitars overhead, howling at the top of their lungs.
There were Chaos Space Marines in their dozens, wielding massive sonic weaponry and singing unholy hymns to their dark masters.
Daemons, little more than purple-tinged corpse-white streaks, dashed this way and that, moving almost faster than the eye could
see.
The warband was so large that it dwarfed the besieging force that the Imperial Fists had withstood in the previous day and night.
This was an army devoted to Slaanesh, marching straight towards the Bastion, with the petrochem lifeblood of the planet burning to soot and ash in their wake.
“Wait,” Veteran-Sergeant Karn said, narrowing his gaze. He unclipped the magnoculars from his waist and raised them to his eyes. “So I was right.” He lowered the magnoculars and turned to Captain Taelos, who still sat propped against the hatch’s jamb.
“What is it, brother-sergeant?”
“I’ve spotted their leader, captain,” Karn replied. “It is the arch-traitor Sybaris himself.”
Captain Taelos struggled into a standing position, using the jamb of the hatch to support his weight. He looked around the ledge at the others—Veteran-Sergeant Karn and five Scouts, two of whom were badly injured. Along with him, a captain scarcely able to stand without assistance, they hardly presented an imposing force. Through a day and a night the Imperial Fists had, at considerable loss of life, barely managed to hold off a besieging force that was barely a fraction the size of the warband which now advanced on them.
What chance did they have of standing fast against so large a force, much less one led by the arch-traitor Sybaris?
Taelos’ thoughts raced, as he considered their options. Like any battle-brother of the Imperial Fists he was always aware of the defensive possibilities inherent in any position or locale, and did not walk into an area that he did not first consider how to fortify. It was that instinct that had meant for the successful defence of the Bastion, he was sure. But with only a half-dozen Imperial Fists, half of them incapable of operating at full capacity, what possible defensive posture was available to him?
[Warhammer 40K] - Sons of Dorn Page 28