Vulkan Lord of Drakes

by David Annandale

  There were two answers.

  ‘Orasus.’

  ‘Saluran.’

  ‘Blasius?’ Numeon called, but there was no reply.

  Numeon blinked his auto-senses back on. At the same time, his head cleared enough for him to take in his surroundings. He had landed a hundred metres ahead of the leading edge of the lava, in a jumbled mound where two previous flows had collided and cooled. The orks were in full retreat. Lava poured from the bottom of the volcano. The flow was wide as a lake, and it moved with the destructive energy of a river in flood. There was no break in its width, no way of crossing it to reach the upper slopes of the cone and the stronghold crouching on them. Thousands of orks, perhaps tens of thousands, had already perished. The army that had been pushing towards the Cauldron was gone, swallowed by the tidal wave of red. Here and there, Numeon saw a portion of one of the greenskins’ crude vehicles or a cannon slowly turning over in the lava, a metallic corpse pointing at the sky before disappearing beneath the shifting current of molten rock.

  The survivors were fleeing the advancing lava, racing south, back towards the other mountain chain. So far the orks had not noticed the legionaries, though Numeon saw greenskins pass within a hundred metres of his position.

  Numeon picked up the signals coming from Orasus and Saluran’s armour. They were only a few dozen metres to the south-west of where he stood. He looked for the signature of Blasius’ ident-marker, but found nothing. If the legionary was alive, he had fallen into deep silence.

  Numeon lurched into a clumsy run towards their positions. ‘I am coming, brothers,’ he voxed. ‘Is Blasius with you?’

  There was silence for a few long moments. Numeon wondered if the other two had fallen unconscious. Then Orasus said, ‘I can see him, captain. Ten metres from me. He is dead.’

  Mourn later, if there is a later, Numeon thought.

  Numeon saw Saluran now, a hunched silhouette on the broken plain. There was movement between the two of them, Orasus getting to his feet. As Numeon reached Orasus, he saw the remains of Blasius. He had been crushed, but not when he had landed. His body lay in the open, the armour shattered and melted. He was barely recognisable as human. There was nothing left of his upper torso and head. His corpse was a limp, pitiful thing, heroism and honour smashed to a memory by the explosion.

  Orasus walked with a limp, dragging his left leg, but at least he could walk.

  ‘We cannot stay here,’ said Numeon. The lava was only metres away, and the wave was closing in fast.

  The three legionaries began moving south, in the same direction as the orks.

  ‘This is not a retreat, brothers,’ Numeon said. ‘We bring the fire with us. We cover the land they thought to take.’

  There was a rocky mound some distance ahead. Numeon could just make it out in the swirl of ash. It might be high enough to use as a refuge from the flood. Numeon looked back towards the volcanic cone. The stronghold was invisible, hidden by the eruption on the lower flank. He faced forward and pointed at the mound. ‘That is our target,’ he said.

  Neither of his brothers asked how they would return to the Cauldron.

  The walls to port and starboard of the Termite disintegrated.

  The orks had managed to hold the Spear of Fire in the hall long enough to bring their weapons to bear. There were no openings large enough for the guns, so the orks knocked the walls down with cannon fire before turning the huge barrels on the Termite. The attack was madness, though it was also the product of a dangerous instinctive cunning. The cannons were too big for any rational army to use in an enclosed space.

  The orks were not rational. They created a volcanic hell of explosions and rejoiced in the devastation.

  The shells hammered the Termite, and the claw still held it fast. ‘How close are we to the core?’ Vulkan asked T’kell.

  ‘The measure is approximate, lord primarch. No more than a few kilometres.’

  This was as far as they would go, Vulkan accepted. And it would be far enough. The explosions reverberated through the stone of the attack moon, and the vibrations were further revelations to Vulkan. The simultaneous detonations of the seismic charges in a ring around this position would be fatal to the monster. ‘Praetors,’ he voxed. He jumped from the girders onto the claw, deeper into the centre of the bombardment. ‘Mobilise your companies. Begin your advances. Two thousand metres from this position is your goal.’

  The hatches opened on the sides of the Termite, and the orks shouted in triumph. Their joy was short-lived as the true strength of the vehicle was unleashed upon them. Divided into eight companies, one thousand legionaries stormed out into the midst of the shelling. Seven radiated out from the Spear of Fire, while the eighth stayed with the Termite, Captain Ber’han at its head. Rhy’tan was part of it. This was where the Igniax needed to be. The events he must witness would unfold here.

  Beneath the thunder of the guns, Vulkan heard another roaring. It came from a single voice. The thing that the chieftain had feared was coming close.

  This, Vulkan thought, this is the crucible. Now is the lesson that must be learned.

  Taunted by Vulkan and his elevated position, blown up by their own shells and cut apart by a perfectly organised foe, the greenskins reacted with confusion. There were cross-currents in the green tide as the orks tried to reach Vulkan at the same time as they also went after the companies. The sea of brutes was in full turbulence.

  The companies advancing from the starboard side of the Termite reached the cannons. They had punched their way through the orks with zeal and discipline. Now coordinated rocket fire from the legionaries slammed into the barrels of the guns. Two of them, ruptured as they fired, exploded, creating a gap. But behind them more cannons were arriving, and the bellow of the approaching monster sounded almost like words, a challenge, as if the enemy had heard Vulkan’s declaration and had come to prove it to be a lie.

  A gargantuan ork warlord thundered through the breach in the wall. It shoved aside the smoking ruins of the cannons and trampled smaller orks beneath its feet. It glared at Vulkan and loosed a roar fit to bring down the ceiling of the cavernous hall. Its body was encased in armour so thick it looked as if the monster were wearing tanks. Each step as it marched towards the Termite shook the floor like the impact of a shell. Its hands were as big as power claws, and it wielded a monstrous chainhammer. The head of the weapon was half as big as Vulkan.

  The giant crossed the hall, pounding the floor with an earthquake tread as it rushed to the clash with Vulkan. The currents in the sea of orks shifted again, as all the greenskins who saw it run turned and ran with it, ignoring the Legion companies as they passed through the fallen walls to spread out into the attack moon. The orks’ leader was set on destroying the lone challenger atop the machine, and so they followed.

  ‘Pause for nothing, my sons,’ Vulkan said, and they obeyed. He saw with satisfaction that they did not try to take out the new cannons arriving to the fray. If the legionaries tried to stop the artillery bombardment, they would wind up bogged down in this one hall.

  ‘We must see the ground to be taken,’ Vulkan told his Legion as the warlord drew closer. ‘We must see the stands that are necessary. And if there is a sacrifice to make, let it be the one with purpose. Know why you make it. Know why it must be done.’

  Shells smashed the floor, and the Termite, and the claw. Vulkan stood his ground, holding firm where the claw trapped the vehicle. He charged Anvil’s Light, readying a welcome for the huge ork.

  A grouping of cannon shots hit right in front of him, obscuring the hall in a storm of fire and dust. The girders of the ceiling gave way. The claw and the Termite fell, and the enormous, ruinous fusion of Imperial and xenos metal crashed to the deck. His boots mag-locked to the surface of the hull, his balance sure as a mountain’s, Vulkan rode the drop. He was ready, waiting in the same position, as the giant burst through the flames
, its monstrous hammer raised over its head with both hands.

  Vulkan fired Anvil’s Light. The shot enveloped the frontal armour of the beast. It melted through a foot of dense metal, and exposed and burned the corded flesh beneath. A shot that would have evaporated a score of the warlord’s underlings did not even slow it down.

  The ork arrived before Vulkan, leapt onto the hull and swung the great hammer down. The weapon was offensively crude and yet, as he dodged away from its head, which was covered with half a dozen spinning chains, Vulkan recognised the power it held. He saw the pride of the beast in the summit of its art.

  In this moment of realisation, he acknowledged that it was right that they should meet now.

  The hammer struck the hull of the Spear of Fire with explosive force. The air rippled outwards and there was a clap of thunder. In the same instant the strike split the hull open, another barrage came down, and the explosion that came did not stop.

  The echoes of the eruption reverberated through the Cauldron’s command centre. On his medicae bed, Vaughn jerked with new pain, consciousness racing back to him again.

  Xerexenia was leaning over him. ‘Lava is flowing from the lower portion of the cone, lord commander,’ she said. ‘First Captain Numeon was successful.’

  ‘Contact him,’ said Vaughn.

  ‘We are attempting to do so, lord commander.’ Behind her, serfs were occupied with the vox-unit.

  While Vaughn waited, Xerexenia read out the results of the eruption in her flat, machinic buzz. ‘The flow is a large one,’ she said. ‘Its spread is rapid and ongoing. While it lasts, it will provide an effective barrier to the orks. They are retreating.’

  Retreating for now, Vaughn thought. The reversal of fortune would last only until the end of the eruption, if then. But the Cauldron had more time. Enough, he hoped, for the truth of the new fleet to be revealed.

  Vaughn pushed the thought of final outcomes from his mind. There was room only in his pain to focus on one event at a time, and thus it had to be the most immediate. ‘Numeon,’ he said, forgetting that Xerexenia was controlling the communications, ‘can you hear me?’

  Vaughn blinked and time slipped. He lost a few seconds, because Xerexenia was suddenly leaning over him, when she had been standing before her console, a few metres away, the moment before.

  ‘I have Captain Numeon,’ Xerexenia said. She adjusted the controls on the vox, lowering the sound of the primary open channel, but not shutting it off. She brought a second unit closer to Vaughn.

  ‘Artellus?’ Vaughn said.

  ‘We have succeeded, lord commander.’

  ‘You have. And you have survived.’

  ‘Some of us have. Not all.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘On a cooled mound a few kilometres south of the mountain’s base. We are relaying coordinates now.’

  ‘We will send a Thunderhawk to extract you.’

  ‘Flying conditions are extremely poor, lord commander.’

  ‘Everything is extremely poor, Artellus. So we must try.’

  Reth Sho’mar’s Sixth Company fought through a passage formed by the intersections of fused wreckage. The walls leaned at all angles. Where they came together, they formed an irregular ceiling. Where they didn’t, shafts gaped upwards into darkness. Other, smaller passages and fissures intersected with the main tunnel, and its direction was jagged, advancing straight for fifty metres or so at most. Orks attacked from ahead and behind, and on the flanks at every intersection. The protruding wreckage gave plenty of cover for both forces.

  Sound tactics would have been to take the passage gradually, advancing from cover to cover. Strategically, that was not an option. The seismic charges had to be placed quickly. The assault in the main cavern could not hold and withstand the main ork counter-attack indefinitely.

  The legionaries charged through the passage, firing to the sides as they approached each intersection, sending grenades around corners, maintaining a steady onslaught of flamer and bolter fire ahead, blasting through wreckage and orks.

  The greenskins came in their thousands, but the narrower confines worked to the advantage of the XVIII. Off to Sho’mar’s right, through the tangle of scrap metal, there was a hint of a larger space, and something big moved. A cannon went off. The jagged mass of plating was too thick for the shell and the gun blew up, triggering a collapse. The walls and ceiling of the passageway sagged and now the company was running, crouched, through a triangle.

  Sho’mar ran faster, setting the pace, and the legionaries charged head-on into ork bullets and blades.

  ‘Do we still have a signal for the primarch’s position?’ Sho’mar asked.

  ‘We do,’ said Veteran Ven’tal. He and Legionary Nal’kor had the seismic charge. ‘We are less than a thousand metres from the target point. But if the greenskins bring more cannons on us, they can trap us here.’

  ‘If they do,’ said Sho’mar. ‘I do not think they will.’ The company had barrelled past so many guns that were being trained on the great hall. ‘Lord Vulkan has drawn the greater strength of the enemy to him. The orks intend their guns for him. We are fighting a distracted and diminished force.’

  The passageway angled sharply and dropped. The company ripped through another group of orks and entered the cargo hold of what had once been a human freighter. There was a large body of a few thousand orks here, but there were no more arriving from the other entrances into the hold. The magnitude of what Vulkan had achieved became clear. The orks elsewhere in the attack moon were answering the call of their leader and responding to the threat of the great challenger.

  Vulkan had come as close as he could to clearing the way for his companies.

  The remainder of a greenskin horde in the cargo bay was barrier enough, and the orks had vehicles here, armoured transports as ramshackle as they were solid.

  ‘Lord protector,’ Ven’tal voxed. ‘The doors on the far side are less than two hundred metres from our target range.’

  ‘The path is clear,’ Sho’mar said. ‘It takes us through the foe.’

  At the sight of the legionaries, more than half of the thousands of orks present ran forwards, while the others piled into the trucks. The Sixth Company spilled into the bay, formed up into blocks of ten warriors and hit the orks with a wall of fire. The brutes went down, pulverised before they could get within range.

  Now a score of trucks came roaring across the deck, filling the stinking air with thick smoke. The vehicles charged like battering rams, huge spikes on their grilles, orks manning crude heavy stubbers and shotguns hanging onto their sides and roofs.

  Sho’mar held position as long as possible, directing fire past the grilles and through the windscreens. One of the drivers was splattered across its compartment. The corpse slumped over the controls and the truck careened on. It veered wildly, flipped and rolled towards the company.

  Sho’mar and his squad ran to the side as the vehicle crushed orks, burst into flames and collided with the rear wall of the bay. The other squads evaded the first, disorganised charges of the trucks, but huge, spiked wrecking balls, swung from crane arms mounted on the machines, flew outwards from the momentum of the turns. A ball caught Legionary Ra’zak square in the chest, impaled him on the spikes and lifted him high in the air. The truck turned again, away from the end of the bay. The ball slammed Ra’zak against the wall and down into wreckage. As the truck pulled away, the ball stuck for an instant in the ruin, then came out dragging the burning legionary, now enmeshed in the debris of the other vehicle, with it.

  The orks drove in mad circles, their trucks rampaging weaponised monsters. They turned the cargo bay into a maelstrom of careening vehicles as they tried to crush the legionaries under their spiked wheels.

  The squads moved fast and maintained unit coherence. Every legionary was a veteran of the struggles against the raiders on Nocturne. Those
dark figures had vehicles too, and they were much faster and more agile than anything belonging to the orks. The Nocturneans knew how to battle this kind of foe.

  ‘Draw them in,’ Sho’mar ordered.

  His warriors moved along the periphery of the cargo bay and concentrated fire on a truck closing on them. They paused, then moved suddenly as one to the right. The ork vehicle slewed around, almost upended, then came back at them. But it had bled off speed, and now the squad charged at it.

  Sho’mar reached the truck first. He jumped over the grille, landed on the hood and sprayed bolt shells over the roof, taking out the front gunners. The driver shrieked in fury and jerked the truck from side to side as if he could shake Sho’mar off. Other legionaries climbed the truck on both sides and set up a crossfire, killing the rest of the orks on board. The driver screamed. It turned even more erratically.

  Sho’mar grabbed one of the ork corpses and dropped it in front of the driver, blocking the ork’s view. Then he and his squad jumped off. Maddened and blinded, frenzied in its attempts to get rid of the foe, the driver cared only for speed and drove the truck head-on into another. The vehicles hit each other hard enough that their fronts crumpled and fused together, before they exploded with such force that they rose into the air. They came back down and two others could not change their courses in time and crashed into the wreckage.

  Two more trucks, either through luck or skill, avoided the disaster, veered around the edges of the blaze and came back together on the other side to plough into the legionaries before they could regroup. Te’bel went under the wheels. Grille spikes impaled Un’ash and held him like a bloody trophy, driving him away from his brothers while the orks turned all of their fire onto the trapped Space Marine.

  Terminator Koral Ru’than whirled and hit the back of a truck with a rocket, tearing away the rear half of the vehicle. The truck dragged sparks along the deck as it slewed to a stop. Sho’mar and the others ran to the wreck. Un’ash was dead, and the surviving orks were laughing over his corpse.