Baneblade

by Guy Haley

  ‘Sir!’ said the surviving crew of Mars Triumphant.

  ‘For the Emperor, For Paragon, For Mars Triumphant,’ said Cortein. ‘Now get into your positions. Vorkosigen.’

  The little tech-adept blinked his bulging eyes nervously, his skinny arms bare and slick with sweat. ‘Sir?’

  ‘You can activate the reactor?’

  ‘Sir. It is dormant, not offline. I can awaken it. I am ready.’

  ‘Very well,’ Cortein watched as they moved back to their stations. ‘On my mark, tech-adept…’

  Muttering the prayers of the tech-priests under his breath, Vorkosigen flicked the switches and toggles that would arm the reactor for reactivation.

  ‘Sound off!’ said Cortein.

  ‘Turret ready!’ shouted Radden.

  ‘Secondary weapon ready!’ said Meggen.

  ‘Tertiary weapons systems ready!’ said Bannick.

  ‘Tech ready,’ said Vorkosigen.

  ‘Comms and tac ready,’ said Epperaliant.

  ‘Driver ready,’ said Outlanner.

  Bannick looked round the cabin, at Marsello’s empty seat, at the scorch damage from shorted systems. He saw Cortein doing the same. Their eyes locked, and Cortein gave him a brief nod.

  ‘Command ready,’ said Cortein, concluding the roll-call. ‘On my mark, three, two, one. Activate main reactor!’

  Vorkosigen bent right over his desk as he depressed the twin activation sigils, prostrating himself at his station before the Omnissiah.

  A click, a thrum of engines. A bang.

  Mars Triumphant roared into life, screaming defiance at the fat ork giant stood before it.

  ‘Open fire!’ bellowed Cortein. ‘All weapons!’

  On the railed platform atop his Gargant, Greeneye surveyed the battle. He liked much of what the Imperium had. He liked this world, so he grabbed it, and like Gratzdakka, he liked their wagons, so he took them.

  Before him the big battlewagon sat, the humans inside fried dead by the power of his own Morkishness. He could not feel their silly minds, but he had his boys move in slowly just in case. He was not a fool, not like the warboss. He’d seen the humans try to outflank the orks’ position, try to attack from two sides at once. He laughed at their pathetic attempts to stop him from seeing them. They were weak, and would be destroyed.

  Outside of his protective psychic umbrella, artillery shells hammered down on the surface town, killing orks and men alike as they fought. Pink beams burst through the clouds and scorched whole buildings to vapour, fusing the sand into glass. But he was safe, his power, augmented by the nearly finished Mork shout, focused by the mek know-wots within his Gargant, protected him as well as a squiggoth-hide shield would deflect a stone spearhead. If only Gratzdakka knew how powerful he had become, he would have him killed, but it was much too late for that, and much too late for Gratzdakka.

  Greeneye watched the orks approach the tank, the Killa Kan behind them wiggling about like a squig with a broken back was hilarious, and he roared with laughter. Green energies arced from his hair, his eyes bulged, and he howled with joy. War! War! War! All was chaos and destruction about him. The humans had no hope, this world would be his, and then another, and another, and another, his armies swollen by orks drawn in by the power of the Mork shout! He laughed and laughed and laughed, gretchin oilers and crewmen scurrying fearfully away from him.

  ‘WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGHHHHHHH!’ he howled, and laughed some more.

  There was a lurch in his Gargant. Through the open hatch Greeneye heard the captain shouting orders in the head below and the heavy smack of ork hand on ork skull. Weapons fire followed. Greeneye opened his eyes, drawn back from his dreams of conquest.

  How could this be? The human wagon was grinding forwards over the rubble, dragging its battered shell towards him! As he watched, the big shootas on the front and side opened fire and killed many of the boys coming forwards. A blasta atop the wagon lanced out, burning a hole right through the last killer kan, stopping it dead in its tracks.

  ‘What’s happening!’ he shouted into the speaking tube attached to the rail. ‘Stop them! I want that wagon!’

  Greeneye’s Gargant opened up with its cannons and rockets, blasting holes in the ground all around the human wagon, hammering into its hull, shells dragging sparks from its hide, pulling chunks of it away. The little turret with its funny heavy shootas on the front crashed away, the armour on one side buckled, but it still came on.

  He ceased to think as an unquenchable fury took him, the unreasoning violence that existed in every ork, a need to smash and burn and win and conquer, to kill and kill until there was no one left, no one left at all but orks, and then they’d fight some more.

  His powerful mind swelled with it, drawing energy directly from the immaterial realm of the Great Green where Gork and Mork laughed and clapped at his anger. Lightning arced about him, fizzing from his head, skittering up to the great copper spheres high above the Gargant’s back, amplifying his power. He felt the mind of every ork on the planet, each alight with war and violence. He drew upon them, every one, and those beyond Kalidar, and beyond this system, the great green sea of eldritch energy that surrounded the orkish race, protected it, generated by their exuberance and lust for conquest. Time slowed and Greeneye ceased to see the material world, looking instead through his mind’s-eye, seeing the world reflected in the green of the weird.

  Through a crackling haze of sparks, Greeneye looked down; the power was building in him, surging to be set loose. He could not hold it for much longer. Unable to speak, he slammed his palm down. It fell slowly, although Greeneye knew it was moving fast, until it connected with a big button, activating the wailing siren that informed the captain of the Gargant’s warp cannon that it was time to deploy.

  Greeneye laughed and laughed as he felt the deck vibrate beneath his feet. Below him, the Gargant’s tongue would be jutting out, ready to unleash the fury of Gork and Mork on the stupid humans below him, fury that flowed through him.

  The big cannon on the tank turret ground upwards. Greeneye laughed, at it. So pathetic! It belched fire, and Greeneye stopped laughing.

  Something was wrong. There was an absence in the scene before him, in the world painted in shades of violent green, a black streak, a shell from the gun, a shell his weird-eyes could not see.

  When it reached the Gargant’s warp-born energy field, the shell did not stop. Greeneye felt the strange shell pierce his psychic defences, green energy rippling as it broke through.

  Greeneye did not know it, but his anger was born from fear, the fear of a race which died millions of years ago, a fear that drove them to grasp at any means of survival, in no matter how debased a form. That fear flared in him now as the shell continued on into the Gargant’s armour, smashed through it and exploded inside.

  Pain erupted in Greeneye’s alien mind and he lost control of the energies he wrestled with. He tried to force them through his weirding staff, to earth everything at once and save his head. Energy poured from him and through the Gargant. One of the copper globes exploded and Greeneye fell screaming to his knees.

  Fires burned unchecked in the cabin, Vorkosigen frantically trying to activate the suppression systems. Bannick was down to one bolter bank and one lascannon, on opposing sides of the tank, and his twitch sticks were becoming more difficult to operate. His displays popped and fizzed, most of his augurs were out, yet still he fired.

  ‘Lorelei shell is away!’ shouted Radden, and Mars Triumphant shifted as its main cannon fired.

  Bannick watched on his lascannon screen as the shell impacted on the ork Titan’s armoured belly, punching a hole in the armour and exploding within. Fire rushed out of the hole, and the Titan shook. It ground to a halt, but its head and arms continued to operate, hammering the tank with weapons fire.

  ‘Reactor’s hit!’ shouted Vorkosigen. ‘We’re losing
power!’

  ‘Look!’ shouted Epperaliant.

  The impact of the shell was a small thing to so large a machine as the ork Titan, but the lorelei in the shell, shattered and spread throughout the machine by the explosion, had done its work. The lightning playing around the head of the machine went wild, felling one of the focusing arms. Green fire played up and down the ork engine. A gun exploded, a turret fell, a lifeless ork with no head coming with it. The ground began to shake as shells from the Imperial bombardment once again found their way to the surface.

  ‘Meggen, Bannick, now!’ Cortein shouted.

  Bannick aimed at a large rocket launcher on the Titan’s left shoulder, his lasbolt flew true, and the whole array went up as one. A second later, a demolisher shell slammed home, tearing the right arm from the machine.

  ‘Keep it up! Keep it up!’ yelled Cortein.

  ‘What readings I can get say the main psychic shield over the hive shaft is still up, sir!’

  ‘We have to keep at it until the witch is dead!’ yelled Cortein.

  Psychic energies, less potent and unfocused by the machine now, began to assail them.

  ‘Sir, Lux Imperator coming in to our rear!’

  ‘Can it get a line on us?’

  ‘Too much intervening debris sir,’ replied Epperaliant.

  ‘Outlanner, keep it that way!’ ordered Cortein.

  Demolisher and main cannon shells impacted in a quick tattoo on the Titan. Fire billowed out from the cracks within its armour plates, and it slowly began to slump forwards.

  ‘It’s nearly finished!’ whooped Radden.

  ‘Lux Imperator is drawing near,’ shouted Epperaliant.

  ‘I see it,’ Outlanner shouted, and the Baneblade shifted leftwards.

  ‘Transmission efficiency down to fifty-four per cent and falling!’ said Vorkosigen.

  The Baneblade shuddered, Bannick’s sticks went limp. ‘I’ve lost fire control.’

  A bow wave of green energy washed out from the immobilised Titan. A flickering echo of it passed through the tank, arcing between components and shorting out electronics, the chart table ruptured and exploded, showering glass round the deck. Alarm after alarm blared for attention, Vorkosigen wept as he tried to aid his charge. From the turret above, Radden’s shouts became agonised screams.

  ‘Radden!’ shouted Cortein.

  Something massive impacted the frontal armour, the tank shook hard. Mars Triumphant ground round counterclockwise as the left track unit locked.

  ‘Outlanner’s down, sir!’ shouted Ralt. ‘The demolisher’s gone.’

  ‘Meggen, Ralt, get up here now.’ Cortein looked to everyone. ‘Listen to me, you are all to get out.’ He stood from his chair. ‘I’m staying here to finish the job. That witch must die. The shield over the entrance to Hive Meradon must come down.’

  Epperaliant stood, ‘Sir, I must protest…’

  ‘I am ordering you to abandon this vehicle with immediate effect. Will you refuse a direct order, Second Lieutenant Commsman Epperaliant?’

  ‘No, no, sir, but… I can’t leave you… I can’t…’

  Cortein placed his hand on the shoulder of his number two. ‘Leave now, Epperaliant. Go with Bannick. He’ll need looking after when all this is done. Serve him like you have served me.’

  Epperaliant wavered for a moment, then clicked his heels together and saluted. ‘Sir.’

  ‘Now get rebreathers and gear for the crew. Bannick, get Radden and get away from here as quick as you can. Once I’ve killed the witch, things are going to get hot here, they’ll blast the hive from orbit, keep down and stay low.’

  Ralt and Meggen came up, Ralt’s face blackened, one eye swollen shut. ‘Honoured lieutenant?’ he asked.

  ‘Get your survival gear, you’re leaving.’

  Ralt hesitated, then nodded. Meggen spat out his cigar, and said nothing. He grasped the Honoured Lieutenant’s hand as he passed. Taking respirators, coats and weapons belts from Epperaliant, they flicked open the hatch above the tech station and clambered out.

  Bannick dragged Radden down from the turret. He was unconscious, his eyes shut, face badly burned. He was in a bad way, but alive. As gently as they could, Bannick and Epperaliant pulled a rebreather over his mouth.

  Cortein moved over to the stairs, grabbing for support as the tank juddered. He picked a belt of frag grenades from the shelving round the command deck’s periphery and slung them over his shoulder. ‘Vorkosigen.’

  ‘I’m won’t go. I can’t.’

  ‘Tech-Adept…’

  ‘Sir, I can help you. You need me! Mars Triumphant needs me…’

  Cortein nodded. ‘As you wish. Keep us going for as long as you can.’

  Vorkosigen immediately turned back to his console, trying to keep the reactor online.

  ‘Honoured Lieutenant Cortein!’ called Bannick.

  Cortein looked at him.

  ‘It’s been an honour.’

  Cortein dipped his head. ‘Get out of here, Lieutenant Bannick.’

  Bannick nodded. Epperaliant passed up out of the hatch, leaned back in and took Radden under the armpits. He and Bannick manoeuvred him out of the hatch, and they were out into the battle.

  The others were running ahead of Bannick and Epperaliant, who moved as fast as they could with Radden’s arms slung over their shoulders. Bannick risked a look at the tank. It had stopped turning on the spot, Cortein evidently in the driver’s seat. Green flares stabbed down at it. A rocket spanged off its thick armour. Then it stopped, the engine dying, and that was the last Bannick saw for a few moments, for he stumbled and was forced to look to the path before him. They ran on, the battle receding behind them, shells exploding left and right. A trio of atmospheric fighters roared overhead, a rare sight in Kalidar’s turbulent skies, bombs dropping, hitting some target hidden to him. Sounds of a large battle were becoming apparent, as the Imperial battlegroup forced its way towards the strikeforce’s position. But in the square, only the three vehicles fought. Ork and human dead lay in pieces all around. Bannick and Epperaliant, lungs labouring under the stinking rebreathers, dodged around a burning Chimera. They were skirting the edge of the volcano cannon’s crater where the Atraxians had died.

  Then they were closing on the building line. He could see a number of Atraxians peeking out from shell holes. Arms waved at them frantically. A burst of automatic fire came in from the left. Ralt went down, dead. Lasfire sprayed out from the Atraxians in the building, covering them, and then Bannick was inside. He and Epperaliant collapsed against a ruined buttress by an Atraxian, as friendly hands took Radden away.

  ‘How many are you?’ gasped Bannick.

  ‘Twelve,’ said the Atraxian. ‘Suicide mission. What do you expect? But we nearly did it.’

  ‘Don’t count the honoured lieutenant out yet,’ said Bannick, and he rolled over to look at the scene.

  ‘You can count us out,’ said the Atraxian. ‘We’ve got three dozen orks out there closing in on us. They’ve been a little timid of our heavy bolter.’ he nodded to a shell hole where a two-man weapon team hunkered down. ‘It won’t last. When they rush us, it’s all over.’

  Bannick looked out. Things appeared hopeless. The ork Titan burned merrily, but gunfire and psychic attacks still issued from it. Mars Triumphant sat, dead. Lux Imperator was lining up for a shot, rocking as it twisted a little left, a little right, to gain a good firing solution. From the edge of the square, Bannick could see through the burning ruins to where shells and ship lance beams battered ineffectually at the psychic shield protecting the heart of Hive Meradon.

  ‘Have you got a spare rifle?’ he asked.

  Delirious with pain, Brasslock moaned. But his physical agony was the least of his hurts, for one of his charges was about to destroy the other. He was cursed enough to be aware of that.

  ‘Hush no
w, brother,’ said the stranger. He hung in the air before the tank, insubstantial as smoke.

  ‘You…’ hissed Brasslock. His iron lungs were almost dead. He did not have long to live. ‘You have returned to me.’ It was some comfort.

  ‘You can help,’ said the ghost. ‘Even now, your friend Cortein struggles with Mars Triumphant. He intends to sacrifice himself to kill the witch.’

  ‘But, he will surely be destroyed by Lux Imperator,’ sighed the tech-priest. He was tired, the world was greying around the edges. He was dying. The tank’s hull vibrated underneath him with the clangs and shouts of excited ork crew rushing to and fro as they prepared to fire the cannon.

  ‘You can stop that.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Reach out, speak to the machine’s spirit,’ said the ghost. ‘Calm it, make it disobey its new masters.’

  ‘I cannot,’ said Brasslock. ‘I have not the augmitters now, and I cannot pray.’

  ‘Have faith, tech-priest. Faith will be enough.’

  And Brasslock reached out. His mind was foggy, but its boundaries seemed less hard than they had been, as if his consciousness no longer stopped at the limits of his skull or intelligence core. Away from himself, he felt a huge and powerful spirit, caged and enraged – the machine spirit of Lux Imperator. It roared helplessly as rough ork hands twisted at the levers of its metal shell, Brasslock felt its pain and sorrow at the changes wrought upon it. Softly, Brasslock reached out, chanting the litanies of calming in his mind, soothing the beast within the machine. He encircled it with his prayers; it calmed.

  He felt the capacitors as a reservoir of light. He touched them, felt a greater presence still guiding him as he bade them vent their energy through the hull of the tank. Like waters through a ruptured dam, four terawatts of caged electricity leapt joyously through the skin of Lux Imperator.

  Orks howled as they cooked, and Brasslock felt the spirit of the tank sigh with release. All activity within ceased. He himself was untouched.