When the ork gunship was gone from view, Kantor turned, and met the visored eyes of Terminator Squad Victurix.
It was Rogo Victurix, the squad sergeant, who spoke first. “He got away.”
“This time,” Kantor snarled back.
“We have the spaceport secure,” said Victurix. “Anais has the defence grid online. Ruzco is already guiding in the first of the landers. It is minutes away.”
Kantor looked out across the Nolfeas Plate. The damaged ork bombers were still there.
“We need to clear the tops of the three terminal towers,” he said.
His voice was low, rasping. He was coming down from the adrenaline surge, and even his Astartes physiology felt weary after a battle like that. The pain of the blows Snagrod had landed began to push through to his brain now as the adrenal high seeped away.
Victurix nodded to his fellow Terminators and said, “I think we can take care of that.”
They would simply push the bombers over the edge of the plate. Together, the Terminators had more than enough combined strength for that. They would clear the areas below of their brother Space Marines first, of course.
“You know, my lord,” said Victurix, his tone suggesting a wry smile under that heavy ceramite faceplate, “you look terrible.”
Kantor didn’t have it in him to laugh, not right now.
The warlord lived.
The secondary sun was rising, poking up just beyond the lip of the eastern horizon.
Golden beams of light kissed Kantor’s battered armour. He turned to look north, wondering how the Silver Citadel fared. What of Maia Cagliestra and her people? What of the Old Ones, the Dreadnoughts he had left to fight on the walls. The void-shields had probably fallen by now, or would be close to it. In a few minutes, the first of the Naval landers would be here. The Legio Titanicus were coming, but were they too late? He and his dauntless Astartes had done everything they could. They had seen to the things that were within their power, and at great cost. Much of the Chapter’s blood had been spilled. Many brave brothers would be mourned.
What happened next lay as much in the hands of others as it did in those of the Crimson Fists.
Kantor knew this for certain: his Chapter would survive. The Crimson Fists would claw this world back, province by province, metre by metre if necessary. Everything would be put right. If he did nothing else in this life, he would see to that.
He was Lord Hellblade, twenty-ninth Chapter Master of the Crimson Fists, Scion of Dorn, born to wage war in the name of the Emperor.
Alessio Cortez would stand with him, and so would his unflinching battle-brothers, warriors like Daecor, Victurix, Grimm, Deguerro, all of them.
Dark decades still lay ahead, but he would endure.
The Chapter would endure.
EPILOGUE
Remembrance
“It is only on days like today, the anniversary of the day the tables finally turned, that I allow the memories to resurface, that I truly dwell on the totality of the destruction we faced. Despite my rank, despite my years of petitioning, I was never able to gain access to the complete truth of what happened at the spaceport. I know only this: had brave Space Marines not given their lives knowing they would never hear our thanks, not a single man, woman or child would live to remember the war.
The void-shields of the Zona Regis were close to overload when the greenskin gargants finally turned to engage the fresh Imperial forces suddenly attacking them from the rear. From the relative shelter of the gun towers, we saw Navy landers descend, vast armoured craft studded with guns and missile-pylons, filled to the brim with brave and hardy souls. We saw wings of fighters and Marauder bombers roar out over enemy lines, something we had never thought to see again, and watched those lines blaze yellow-white as deadly payloads hit their mark. Tired as we were, wounded, desperately hungry, we cheered as I know I will never hear men cheer again. We watched the greenskin invaders die by the thousands, then the tens of thousands, and somehow, somewhere, we found the energy to lift our guns again, and lend the last of our strength to the fight.
Ten years have passed. Ten years to the day. As we do every year, we gathered on Jadeberry Hill, veterans, politicians, survivors, to pay our respects to those that gave everything, men and Astartes both.
The governor was there. She has aged so quickly since the war. She looks haunted, and rumours abound that she will abdicate in favour of her granddaughter soon.
Of course, we are all a little haunted.
At midday, the skies opened. A cold rain lashed down. We took shelter in the memorial building where a string quartet played Guidollero’s Vasparda et Gloris, and, together, we stood and wept in quiet gratitude for the souls of all those mighty warriors by whose determination and ultimate sacrifice we yet lived, and who, in this life, we could never hope to repay.”
Extract: In the Shadow of Giants: A Retrospective
General Saedus Mir (934.M41-)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Born and raised in Edinburgh, Scotland, Steve Parker now lives and works in Tokyo, Japan. In 2005, his short fiction started appearing in American sci-fi/fantasy/horror magazines, soon followed by a commission to write for Black Library in 2006. His debut novel, Rebel Winter, was published in 2007, followed in 2009 by his second novel, Gunheads. Rynn’s World is his third novel set in the dark future of Warhammer 40,000.
Aside from writing, his interests include reading, gaming, movies, bodybuilding, non-traditional martial arts and wildlife conservation.
Follow his blog at: www.red-stevie.com
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[Space Marine Battles 01] - Rynn's World Page 37