On Wings of Blood

by Warhammer 40K

  Phrao hissed bitterly over the comm-link: ‘Trust those damned Devils. We do all the bleeding, they get all the glory!’

  ‘Not this time, Phrao.’ Jaeger answered. ‘Form up on my wing. Let’s give the Devils a hand.’

  ‘I hear you, Raptor Leader!’ Phrao replied happily.

  As the bombs and missiles of Devil Squadron erupted across one of the hulk’s immense engines, the surviving two Marauders of the Raptors swept low, their lascannons picking out weak points in the armour, punching through buckled shields and twisted plates. Soon a dozen fires were blazing, and the engine ruptured with a swirling cloud of superheated matter. Explosions blossomed across the whole section of the hulk and one by one each of the massive stellar drives lost power and went dim, leaving the hulk drifting without control. As the Marauders sped back towards the Divine Justice, the cruiser was sweeping in victoriously for the kill. Wave after wave of torpedoes sped past; Jaeger adjusted the rear viewer to see the plasma warheads punching massive holes in the hulk’s armoured skin. Gun batteries exploded across the ork vessel in bright pinpricks of light. Fires began raging across the hulk’s midsection, becoming raging infernos as the atmosphere inside the hulk pushed out with ever-increasing pressure.

  As he prepared to dock, Jaeger got one last glimpse of the hulk. Unable to manoeuvre without its main engines, and helpless to resist the Imperial cruiser raking it from the rear, the hulk was slowly deteriorating. Salvo after salvo from the Divine Justice’s gun decks pounded into the hulk, ripping off huge swathes with every broadside. Ancient reactors in the hulk’s depths began to overload, smashing open gaping holes from within. Then the bomber passed into the shadow of the Divine Justice and the hulk was lost from view.

  Cleaned up and in his dress uniform, Jaeger hurried to the briefing chamber. As he entered, Admiral Veniston was debriefing the Devils. Kaurl was there too, standing silently behind the admiral, his face a blank mask. Jaeger listened to Veniston’s praise for Devil Squadron’s part in the day’s victory, and what he heard set his teeth on edge.

  ‘And I can say without doubt that the whole mission was a complete success,’ the admiral said, ‘and I am glad that it was achieved with acceptable losses.’

  That was too much to bear. Jaeger stepped into the centre of the briefing chamber, blazing with fury. He’d already gone through too much, without having to stand around while the admiral praised the Devils’ conduct and said that the Raptors’ casualties simply didn’t matter.

  ‘”Acceptable losses”?’ Jaeger demanded, eyes ablaze. ‘What the hell do you mean, “acceptable losses”? I lost fifteen good men on that mission while these flyboys were sitting on their carefully polished backsides waiting for their orders! Fifteen men lost while thirty others watched and waited! If you had sent us out together, we could have handled ourselves better. Damn it, you didn’t even tell us what our target was, did you?’

  Veniston and Kaurl stared at Jaeger in rank disbelief, which only served to fuel his fury. ‘Of course,’ he spat, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper, ‘we’re just the Raptors, we don’t really count, do we? Well I’m sorry if we’re not related, admiral, but my life is worth as much to the Emperor as that of your own kin!’

  Kaurl was beside himself. ‘What is the meaning of this, flight commander?’ the captain stormed, face like thunder. ‘How dare you speak to a senior officer like this! Call for the Officer of the Watch. Have Commander Jaeger taken to the brig immediately!’

  Jaeger clamped his mouth shut with a snort, and bristled in impotent fury. Without a word or look, Veniston walked from the chamber, ignoring the icy glare that Jaeger shot him as the admiral walked past. Jaeger felt his arm grabbed just below the elbow and he spun round.

  Lieutenant Strand was standing there, flanked by two ­ratings. ‘We’ve orders to take you down, Mister Jaeger,’ he said, face impassive. Jaeger nodded numbly and followed them out of the briefing room. After a moment, Captain Kaurl caught up with the group and dismissed the lieutenant and guards with a waved hand.

  ‘You went too far, Jacques,’ Kaurl started, his voice soft, his eyes meeting the flight commander’s gaze. ‘If you don’t have respect, then you don’t have anything.’

  Kaurl led the flyer into one of the secondary hangars. Inside were the coffins of the dead, waiting to be ejected into space during the burial ceremony that evening. On each was an inscribed nameplate, even for those who had left no body behind: Gunner Saile, Raptor Squadron; Gunner Barnus, Raptor Squadron; Gunner Cord, Raptor Squadron; Commander Drake, Raptor Squadron – the row went on and on.

  There were twenty-one coffins in all. When Jaeger read the nameplate of the sixteenth, he stumbled back a step in shock. It read Flight Commander Raf, Devil Squadron. He turned to Kaurl, his brow knitted in confusion.

  ‘I– I don’t–’ Jaeger stuttered, lost for words. His anger was gone; he felt empty.

  ‘The Devils’ attack wasn’t the “easy in, easy out” mission you seemed to think it was,’ the captain said tersely. ‘They still had to get through several ork attack ships, the roaming fighter-bombers. Raf was killed guiding his plane into the engines of one of the ork attack ships that was blocking the Divine Justice’s approach. He knowingly sacrificed himself for the completion of the task, and you’ll do well to remember him with pride.’

  Kaurl stepped between Jaeger and the coffin, forcing the flight commander to look at him. ‘I devised the plan of attack on the engines, not the admiral,’ the captain went on relentlessly. ‘It was me who decided that two waves were needed: the Raptors in first to silence the engine defence guns picked up by the Mechanicus’ scan, then the Devils to finish off the whole mission. If you’d gone in together, would you have had any more chance of success? Would ten Marauders have had a better chance of destroying that battery. No, don’t reply. You know what I say is true.

  ‘There were two separate targets which required two missions. We couldn’t risk the orks fixing the gun turret while the Marauders were back on board rearming and refuelling. It had to be done this way. Neither of the two squadrons had it particularly good, let me assure you. And the reason I didn’t tell you it was a battery was to make sure you didn’t worry. Come, be honest, if you’d known it was a massive gun battery, would you have been so confident?’

  Jaeger considered the captain’s argument, and he could see the logic. But that didn’t alter the fact that they were sent into a situation without knowing the full risks. ‘Taking on a massive gun battery isn’t as simple as blowing up defenceless engines, sir,’ Jaeger protested.

  ‘I knew it would be hard, and that men would die,’ the captain told Jaeger, his eyes showing that he understood the flight commander’s concerns. As they spoke, Kaurl led Jaeger out of the hangar and they continued down to the brig. ‘Don’t you think that every time I order an attack, I don’t consider the lives of my men? You had the cover from the Thunderbolts for that second fighter attack. Why do you think it took so long for them to arrive? They were supposed to be escorting Devil Squadron. I didn’t sign death warrants for your crews, I gave them a chance to prove themselves, to show what Raptor Squadron could really do. Admiral Veniston had the chance to overrule me, knowing that his nephew was going to be having just as much of a hard time as you were. But he did not.’

  ‘Why the hell not?’ Jaeger asked with a flick of his hand. ‘What the hell does Raptor Squadron mean to him? Raf was in the Devils, so surely his main loyalty lay there.’

  ‘That’s not for me to say. That aside, I know that the admiral was as keen as myself to give your squadron its chance for glory. Without your efforts, the Devils would have been obliterated by the ork cannons, and after that the Divine Justice would have been facing a fully operational enemy, instead of a sitting target. Everybody realises that – including Admiral Veniston.’

  As they spoke, Kaurl led Jaeger into the brig, where Admiral Veniston was waiting silently. Jaeger look
ed at the admiral, and for the first time realised the pain and anguish he must be feeling.

  ‘You can leave the prisoner in my care now, captain,’ the admiral said, meeting Jaeger’s gaze for the first time. Veni­ston appeared as calm and collected as ever at first glance, with only the occasional twitch of an eyelid or lip betraying any emotion he might be feeling at his nephew’s death.

  As Kaurl bowed and left, Veniston stepped up to Jaeger and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. ‘While you are in here, think on what has happened today.’ The admiral’s voice was quiet but strong. He spoke with years of authority, and for the first time since arriving on the Divine Justice, Jaeger could hear what the admiral had to say for himself.

  ‘Your enthusiasm, your dedication, are laudable,’ Veniston was saying. ‘But you must expand your perspective, trust in your superiors. Remember always, the cause justifies the sacrifice. No mission I’ve ever flown or commanded in the Emperor’s name was ever a waste, and while I retain my mental faculties things will stay that way.’

  Jaeger didn’t know what to say. His mind was fuddled with post-battle exhaustion and his thoughts were reeling, trying to make some sense of the unexpected sequence of events that had followed his outburst in the briefing chamber. ‘I’ll think on that, sir,’ he managed to mumble.

  ‘Just see that you do, lad,’ the admiral said. With a cursory flick of his head, Veniston directed the two attendant sentries to lead Jaeger into the small, sparse cell.

  As the thick steel door closed behind him with an echoing clang, Jaeger’s thoughts were troubled. He sat down on the small bunk and hung his head in his hands. What did Veni­ston mean, ‘No mission I’ve ever flown’?

  In his head, he could not shake a small detail, barely glimpsed as the admiral had taken his hand from Jaeger’s shoulder. Jaeger looked down at his black gauntlets, part of the flight commander’s uniform required by regulations. Veni­ston had been wearing black gloves too, each with a small insignia. Picked out in delicate gold thread on Veniston’s gloves had been an Eagle Rampant, the unmistakable symbol of Raptor Squadron.

  STURMHEX

  E J Davies

  The Sturmhex incident still troubles me. Even now, a century after the events in that system, I am uncertain we chose the right path.

  ‘The veil was thinning,’ I was told. ‘Anahk’hir was the harbinger, a blanket of blight to shroud the system from our sight. The dying star naught but a doorway for the Despoiler and his legions to thrust their talons deep into our heart. He had to be stopped.’

  I had stood alongside my brothers for years as we were honed into weapons against the daemon. Centuries more as Astrotechnicus. And for nearly a decade as squadron leader. I always understood why we were summoned. I always understood our methods of war. But I still struggle to understand why it ended in that manner.

  – Extract from the personal journal of Aegir,

  Techmarine of the First Brotherhood.

  Long may he stand at the Emperor’s side.

  ‘Board the Stormravens!’ Brother-Captain Pelenas’ order was still fresh in his mind as Aegir pitched Kodachi down on his approach vector. The rapid deployment of a handful of squads behind enemy lines was an accepted stratagem. Airlifting the entire First Brotherhood on gunships was unprecedented.

  Aegir took a lingering look at the blue dwarf star slowly collapsing under its own gravity. Its corona bled away to the void. Nucleons, ions and atoms of short-lived isotopes were spirited away on stellar currents, fouling the scrying arrays and teleportaria of the argent Castigator as it orbited Sturmhex Prime. Without scanning capabilities, long-range bombardment was impossible. Aegir winged the gunship into a tight turn, his brothers following suit, as the planet filled his viewport.

  It’s an ugly thing,+ Iocaste pulsed. Aegir smirked slightly beneath his helm before responding.

  We were ordered to undertake a silent incursion,+ he sent.

  Iocaste was not wrong. Sturmhex Prime was an ugly rock. Dead, cold and grey. Its pockmarked surface was the legacy of collisions with meteors and asteroids. Stellar winds whipped dust across the planet’s surface. Aegir looked out towards the outer planets, no longer warmed by the system’s feeble sun, rendering them uninhabitable, while the penal colonies of the second and third planets mined ore beneath its dwindling light and the harsh atmospherics of retasked terraformers.

  Aegir pulled his gunship into a tight loop, following his vector to the ingress point – a vast opening dug by some long-extinct species of gigantic insect. With one last look out at the blue Sturmhex star, he dived.

  Kodachi’s assault cannon whined as it blasted rounds into the blight drone. The Bilecyst exploded in a mist of green-grey fire. It was snuffed instantly by the lack of oxygen, its existence ended. This was the eighteenth such drone to be ended in the tunnels that burrowed beneath Sturmhex Prime’s surface.

  A warm sensation washed over Aegir from the First Brother­hood who were assembled on a wing of Stormravens. Exposure to the combined psychic might of Grand Master Vardan Kai’s Grey Knights was like being bathed in the glow of Sol’s radiance – warm and peaceful, and roiling with restrained power. Despite this, the Techmarine could not lose the leaden weight in his occipital lobe.

  On your guard.+ Thebe’s warning was a pinprick of ice in the back of Aegir’s skull. An image lanced into his consciousness – another drone, to the left and slightly below. Like the first, it was as large as a Dreadnought – a huge rust-mottled insectoid carapace attached to two corroded iron rotors. Aegir tasked the servitor. Turning the dorsal weapons array, he loosed a tight burst from the assault cannons. Bullets ripped through the drone’s armour, destroying it in a cloud of baleful fire. Its biomechanical corpse tumbled to the tunnel floor.

  This is an Emperor-forsaken place,+ Iocaste pulsed, his thoughts mirroring those of his brothers.

  The planet is too close to its star, Iocaste,+ Aegir replied.

  And so, like everything, it dies,+ Metis added.

  Aegir allowed himself a half-smile beneath his crusader helm. He felt proud of the squadron he now commanded. They functioned well together, even when separated by miles of rock. He could feel each of them communing with their Stormraven’s machine-spirits, relaying binharic commands to the lone gunnery servitors.

  They are becoming more abundant.+

  Then perhaps, Iocaste, we might get a rest from your rambling.+

  A psychic presence imposed itself on the collective. It felt like a lodestone: hard and magnetic, pulling the brotherhood to it with its very existence. And then, it was gone, and with it went the Grand Master.

  For a fraction of a second, Aegir felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. The rapid appearance and disappearance of such a magnificent psyche disorientated him. He breathed, long and slow, reciting his catechisms and returning balance to his talon. He could feel each of them return: Iocaste’s childlike inquisitiveness, Thebe’s stoicism, Metis’ cold rationality, and Kalyke’s zeal. Through him, they focused their talents, and through them, he was a more potent weapon against the daemon.

  Company,+ Kalyke interrupted.

  Aegir skimmed the surface of his ceramite-like mind, gleaning the information. Seven squads of Raptors lit their ancient jump packs, and streaked straight for the Stormraven.

  On your guard,+ he communed. +Renegade contact made. Engaging now.+

  By the Raptors’ movements it was evident the planet still retained its gravity. They leapt from outcrop to outcrop, scurrying like flies over a carcass, searching for sustenance. Aegir could feel the hatred rising in him; his breath was hot, and his hearts beat faster.

  Aegir recited litanies of warding as he pitched Kodachi downwards. Thumbing the activation stud on his control column, he sprayed the incoming renegades with rounds from the nose-mounted heavy bolters. He could feel the passengers below, and their hate magnifying with each second of inaction.


  The Raptors spun, swooping to avoid the oncoming wave of mass-reactive shells. One shell exploded inside a Raptor’s torso, spattering his comrades with black-brown ichor and bone shards. Another Raptor erupted in mid-air as a shell punctured his back-mounted reactor, taking out two of his comrades in a miniature nucleonic mushroom cloud.

  The rest of the Raptors threw their heads back and keened at the loss of their brothers. Screeching howls filled the air, and the sound waves fed on each other, building to a fevered scream in the honeycombed tunnels of Sturmhex Prime. The Raptors scattered, presenting too many targets for the gunship’s weapons. Aegir fired into the greatest cluster of them, taking down five more with the assault cannons.

  We need more guns,+ he pulsed.

  We have more guns.+ Brother-Captain Pelenas’ voice was low and deep, even in Aegir’s mind. +Open the door.+

  Warning klaxons echoed through the cargo space. A red lumen globe flashed its warning as the front access door lowered. Aegir’s litanies changed as he tried to placate the belligerent machine-spirit, which baulked at this improper use of its body.

  Aegir could feel his brothers communicating, selecting targets and shooting solutions through the void to maximise casualties. Utilising the egregore was among the very first talents the Grey Knights were ever taught.

  Fire,+ came Pelenas’ silver-edged command. Storm bolters chattered along with the Stormraven’s assault cannons, picking off Raptors as they weaved between the bolt shells, trying desperately to survive. In the close confines of the tunnel, they were no match for the Grey Knights’ guns. The Raptors were annihilated within seconds of sustained fire. The few survivors fled down the tunnels. Aegir felt the speed of the Stormraven pick up, the machine-spirit eager to press the advantage.