‘...there are only three of us,’ stated the Techmarine, his face betraying no emotion.
‘We stay together. When we are engaged, employ standard swarm tactics.’
Malika nodded. ‘Regularly switch targets in strict rotation.’
‘Never concentrating on one. Stay on top of them. We want them as low as possible so we have all the advantages...
‘...and they have none.’ Tyrus’ voice was as impassive as his aspect. Kerikus extinguished the data-slate. He knew he could trust this last remnant of their once proud squadron. In the midst of battle there would be no time to recall tactics anyway. In the theatre of combat, an aeronaut didn’t have time to think, just react. Malika and Tyrus would do their duty. They might even achieve their goal. If not, he knew what he had to do. Resting the slate on the cannon stack, Kerikus brought his hands up to his chest-plate, spreading his fingers to form the aquila.
‘The Emperor is our protection,’ he intoned, his brothers mimicking the gesture, Tyrus bending his fingers to make the sign of the cog favoured by members of the Cult Mechanicus.
‘The Emperor is our guide,’ they responded.
Kerikus let his hands fall back to his side. ‘And we shall be His teeth.’
Tyrus had done a fine job. Wrath of Aquila was responding well, even better than before.
Kerikus led the formation, the other gunships at his four and eight o’clock. A suspicion nagged at the back of the sergeant’s mind. Perhaps he should have outlined the entirety of his plan, taken the battle-brothers into his confidence, but would the knowledge have affected their decisions in the heat of battle? There was still a chance they could take the complex. That had to remain their primary objective. The alternative, no matter how inevitable, would remain just that until all other avenues were exhausted. A choice to be made when the moment arose. No doubts.
No hesitation.
The Stormtalons thundered across Quadcana Prime, staying at four thousand metres, the tortured cityscape stretching out in front of them.
‘Two minutes to target,’ Tyrus reported over the vox and Kerikus instructed the others to hold their positions. They had yet to be engaged but...
‘Sergeant, enemy at two o’clock.’ Malika’s voice was primed with eagerness, ever ready for combat. The sergeant turned to see a swarm of ork fighters flying in what laughably could be called a formation. While they were still forty kilometres away, they were closing fast, flashes already erupting from the front jets. Incredible. Even though they hadn’t a hope of reaching a target at such range, the gunners were already firing.
‘Turn into them,’ he commanded, banking towards the incoming storm, his battle-brothers mirroring his manoeuvre. They surged forward, crosshairs automatically picking out targets. The plan was simple. Appeal to the orks’ bloodlust, distract them from whatever loose strategy they were employing, encourage them to make mistakes.
Thirty kilometres.
Almost immediately the fighters fanned out, four – no, five – similar to the pair he had faced earlier. But they weren’t alone. In their midst a larger, more daunting craft hung in the sky. While the standard fighters were armed with simple stubbers, the crimson bomber’s wings were festooned with all manner of missiles and bombs. Emperor knew how it even got off the ground.
‘Death Deela,’ Malika all but snarled over the vox.
‘Who?’ Kerikus asked, switching his guns to lascannons and dropping the Wrath back into formation.
‘The scourge of the skies,’ came the response, Malika’s voice dripping with sarcasm. ‘All but worshipped by his kind. More kills than any other fighter.’
‘Let’s make sure he doesn’t add to his tally today. Defensive split on my mark. Three, two, one – mark!’
Twenty kilometres away all seven aggressors opened fire, screaming in for the kill. Malika and Tyrus immediately peeled off to the sides while Kerikus inverted, throwing himself into a loop. The gambit immediately paid off. The orks scattered, forced into chasing multiple targets, a couple of fighters almost smashing into each other in their haste.
The world turned upside down and Kerikus was rushing down at the overshooting fighters, negative G-forces pressing him back into his chair. An ork had veered up, but couldn’t match the Wrath’s vector. The Stormtalon’s las-fire sliced through its fuselage, finding a fuel tank. The fighter unfurled in a ball of flame and Kerikus barrel-rolled through the blast, bringing himself up, another target in his sights.
The scarlet fighter had mud-brown smoke flowing erratically from its wing and was being bombarded by Malika’s heavy bolters. As he sped past, Kerikus unleashed his cannons again, cutting into the enemy’s tail, but came about, leaving Malika with the kill. There was plenty to go around.
Ahead Tyrus was chasing a lone fighter, spiralling up to the clouds.
Kerikus scanned the horizon. ‘Where are you, scum?’ he hissed. They couldn’t afford to let him out of their sights. A missile shrieked across his line of vision, coming from behind. He glanced at the rear viewer. Two fighters coming in at four o’clock. Death Deela, flanked by a wingman.
‘There you are,’ Kerikus hissed, slamming on his air brakes and pulling starboard, flying straight across the ork’s path. The fighters overshot, Kerikus coming hard around, planning to pick up their tail until he spotted Malika was in trouble. He was chasing down a fleeing fighter but had another hanging off his tail, stubbers blazing.
Kerikus viffed his engines, levelling up, and toggled his guns over to assault cannons. On his helm display, the glowing crosshairs had already locked on to the pursuer. The ork had made a fatal error. It was so intent on bringing down Malika that it was flying straight and true – an easy target. The Wrath juddered as the cannons hammered the jet, shrapnel dancing up the aircraft’s hull towards the open canopy. The pilot jerked like a grotesque marionette in its seat as the shells ripped its body apart, the plane instantly screwing into a death-spin.
Kerikus pulled a crisp turn, coming up behind Malika just as a missile launched from his battle-brother’s port array and took out the fighter ahead.
That made four by his reckoning. The odds had evened, but what of Death Deela?
A flash overhead made Kerikus look up. Another ball of fire had illuminated the fast-darkening sky, but this time there was no cause for celebration. A blazing gunship dropped from a hundred metres above them, crossing their flight path. He heard Malika curse over the vox. That was no ork. Tyrus’ Stormtalon sprayed debris as it dived to its destruction, its engines burnt-out. High above, Death Deela threw its bomber into a celebratory roll, another scalp to add to its count. As it turned, Kerikus spotted marks scored into the jet’s undercarriage, one for every kill. How many were fresh, added on this very day? How many of them represented his own brothers?
Of the fighter Tyrus had been chasing there was no sign. Maybe he’d been successful, maybe not. Either way there was no time to honour his passing now. The fight had driven them off course and while Death Deela and its wingman were circling, Kerikus and Malika could press on.
Kerikus swung about, Malika falling back to his tail, and the twin Stormtalons soared back towards the east, towards the power plant. They opened their throttles, trying to put as much distance between them and the ace as possible, but they weren’t alone for long.
‘Targets at eleven o’ clock,’ Malika reported, ‘approximately eighty kilometres. Four fighters in two elements.’
Kerikus’ eyes flicked to the position, spotting the approaching aircraft, flying in two staggered rows. This time he didn’t have to give the order. They turned into them instinctively, gun batteries ready to fire.
‘Hold steady,’ came Malika’s urgent voice as they rocketed forwards. ‘I’ve got them.’
As soon as they were in range, a single missile shrieked over Kerikus’ port wing, slamming into the leading fighter. The ork didn’t stand a chance.
The aircraft all but disintegrated, bathing its wingman in a blazing shower. The fighter tried to evade the wreck but was struck by debris, its starboard wing ripped clean from the fuselage. Two kills with one shot. Impressive by any standards.
As the fighter dropped, the rear flyers broke formation, peeling in opposite directions. Kerikus wasn’t about to let them swing around and retaliate. Dipping his wing, he curved away, taking after the fighter to his left, a glance at his rear view confirming that Malika was doing the same with the other. His eyes narrowed into slits behind his helm. This one would be for Tyrus.
Leaning forward against his straps, Kerikus came out of the turn to see the ork dropping two hundred metres to dive between the towers of the city below. Nose down, Kerikus dropped in pursuit. What was the ork thinking? Dip down to pick up energy and increase airspeed, or simply try to lose him in the artificial canyons of Quadcana Prime?
Either way, Kerikus wasn’t sure how well its fighter could perform this close to the deck. Its turn had seemed laboured, but now the ork was weaving between the buildings with ease. As the fighter dipped even lower, Kerikus saw flashes ahead. ork war trucks racing towards him along a long wide track of road, guns barking. A heavily armoured tank was bringing up the rear, the prodigious missile on its back being prepped to fire.
‘No you don’t.’ Kerikus thumbed the trigger, ripping up the road with his assault cannons. He pitched up as his shells found the missile launcher and the warhead ignited.
The fighter was still ahead, slinging itself around a half-ruined spar. Kerikus hit hard-right rudder, coming in front of the mask and running along a parallel block. As the building flashed by, the sergeant caught glimpses of the running fighter, saw it dip its wing and bank to the left.
The Wrath shuddered as Kerikus brought it hard to port, his slipstream shattering the windows in an abandoned tower that he only narrowly avoided. The ork was still bobbing and diving, settling on a long route out of the city. Kerikus glanced at the fuel gauge. His primary cell was almost exhausted. If he had any hope of completing the mission he needed to end this.
Gunning the throttle, Kerikus slammed forwards, closing to a hundred metres, fighting the turbulence generated by being so close to the ground. He squeezed the trigger but amazingly the ork dumped its nose further still, screaming closer to the ground than ever.
In an instant, it all became clear. The fighter was trying to lure him close to the deck, in the hope that he wouldn’t be able to control the Stormtalon and crash. Letting out a grunt of derision, Kerikus viffed the engines, gaining altitude before raking the ork’s engines with bolter fire. The fighter dropped, the pilot ejecting from its deathtrap before the craft broke apart against the ground. The body howled past Kerikus’ canopy, smashing into his starboard wing and slicing clean in two. Kerikus pitched up, roaring out of the gorge of buildings, his eyes already searching for Malika. While Tyrus’ stealth measures were clever, they didn’t exactly help identify each other in a hurry.
Turning back towards the complex, Kerikus saw another aircraft racing towards him. Large, menacing. His fingers hovered over the lascannons’ trigger.
The incoming plane wiggled its wings and Kerikus relaxed. Malika. His battle-brother’s voice crackled over the vox.
‘Target eliminated. Are we going to do this?’
Kerikus pulled left, as Malika banked in to join him on his wing.
According to the auspex they were two minutes away from the power plant. The end was in sight.
‘Affirmative,’ Kerikus confirmed, knowing that the moment had come. Full disclosure. He took a breath, but Malika cut in.
‘Excellent. And don’t try to tell me that we’re going to try to take the complex by force. Emperor knows you’re a good pilot, but...’
‘Our orders were to secure the city...’
‘Or to render it inhabitable. Sergeant, the former is untenable. It has been from the moment we took to the skies.’
Death is inevitable.
‘We cannot allow Quadcana Prime to remain an ork stronghold,’ instructed Kerikus, his hand gripping the stick. ‘Destroy the power complex and we can take out half the city. What the firestorm doesn’t incinerate...’
‘... the resulting radiation will cripple. Deny the enemy victory by removing the prize, I understand.’
Kerikus hoped that Malika would be remembered for his courage. He jabbed at the operational runes on his tactical display.
‘Transmitting schematics. There are three targets. Hit any of these with force and it will trigger a chain reaction that will detonate the plasma reactors. Everything within the blast zone will be–’
‘Targets sighted,’ Malika cut in, ‘Eight o’clock, high. Moving in fast.’
Kerikus spat an oath. They were so close.
‘Brother, it’s Death Deela.’
The sergeant craned his neck, seeing the crimson bomber swooping in, a fighter in its wake.
‘I’ll hold them off,’ came Malika’s voice, even as his Stormtalon banked between the Wrath and the incoming craft. ‘You follow the objective.’
Kerikus didn’t argue. He ruddered right, the complex finally in sight, priming his lascannons. He would come in low, fixing the target and give it everything he’d got. His engines roaring in his ears, he dropped down, the gravitational forces he was pulling pushing his helm tight against his face. Over the vox he heard an excited voice: ‘The fighter is done. Repeat, the fighter is–’
The rest of the sentence was lost in an explosion, Malika’s scream cut short as the vox-link severed.
Kerikus had started this mission believing he was alone. Now he knew it was true.
He gunned the engine, dropping his nose, powering towards the plant. He didn’t need the proximity alarm to tell him Death Deela had him in its crosshairs. A missile screeched past and detonated harmlessly against a nearby block. The next wouldn’t be so easy to dodge. Death Deela was firing from a position well out of range, but the moment he drew nearer...
Solid-shot clattered against the underside of the Wrath’s nose like the buzzing of angry swamp-wasps. The ground-to-air defences. Enemies to the front, a predator at his tail. He’d never make it flying head-on. Pulling back on the throttle, Kerikus turned wide, throwing the Stormtalon into a wide loop. He would circle the power complex, evading the ground-to-air missiles and swoop in from the east, coming in low and striking hard.
As he came about, black orbs dancing in front of his vision, the flaw in the stratagem became obvious. Death Deela was flying straight at him, incendiary missiles already away. Kerikus dipped his wing, a rocket passing so close the canopy shook, but couldn’t roll fast enough to avoid a second.
The missile smashed into his starboard engine, erupting into flame and ripping away the plasteel wing. The gunship spun, tumbling out of control, the horizon whipping out of sight. He was going down. There was no way of stopping it now. Reaching down to grab the chainsword he kept by his side, Kerikus slammed a fist against the canopy release.
The glassite enclosure shot away and the ejector rockets fired, propelling his flight seat through the now open gap. He couldn’t look up, couldn’t see what direction he was heading. All he knew was that it wasn’t up. Kerikus barrelled into something hard, his power armour hardly absorbing any impact. He barely noticed when his pilot’s seat disappeared beneath him. He hit the ground and rolled, every jolt fracturing another bone, paring off more battle armour, his world consumed by noise and pain. Use the pain, he told himself as he finally came to a stop, make it your anchor. Stay alive to finish the mission.
Even as stubber fire raked against his remaining armour, Kerikus yanked his smashed helm from his head, feeling the cold night air against the gash in his forehead. There were inhuman cries to his right, the thrum of an engine. An ork biker, barrelling towards him, a gunner on its backplate bringing a heavy stubber to bear. Bones scraping aga
inst each other, he rolled onto his feet, feeling strangely unsteady. His balance was off, his Lyman’s ear struggling to compensate. No matter, the Larraman cells swarming through his bloodstream would deal with that. The bike roared closer, shot ricocheting off his armour. He threw up an arm to protect his exposed head, looking around for a weapon, his chainsword lost in the crash. A twisted length of plasteel from the Wrath lay at his feet. His faithful craft would serve him one last time. He snatched it up, twisting his body around, swinging the plasteel like a club. The metal connected with the ork rider, knocking it howling into the gunner, the bike skidding out beneath them. The rider’s kinetic weapon flew from its hand and skittered across the ground. Kerikus scooped it up, falling back as he twisted towards the lumbering ork and squeezing off a volley. The biker’s head exploded in a spray of blood and gristle, the bolt slamming into the gunner’s shoulder, dropping both orks in one.
Kerikus didn’t wait to see if the greenskin got back to its feet. To the east, a bomber was flying in fast. Death Deela had overshot when the Wrath had hit the deck and was on the return, ready to complete the kill. There was one last chance.
Spinning around, desperate to gain his bearings, a bloodstained smile spread across the sergeant’s face. The cooling tower. Limping badly, Kerikus raced for a metal ladder bolted into the tower’s side. An ork appeared to his left, but was felled by a shot through its neck, foul blood erupting from the exit wound. All the time, the Doom Eagle could hear Death Deela’s throbbing engines draw ever closer, hear the report of its stubbers.
Not long now.
He half stumbled into the ladder, throwing up his left hand to grab a rung. The left hand that was no longer there. That was why gaining his balance was proving so difficult. His left arm had been ripped from its socket during the crash, the wound already closing, sealed by fresh scar tissue. His body would repair, but not even a Space Marine could grow back a limb.
Kerikus turned, facing the incoming bomber, the ground around him churning beneath stubber fire. At the end it all depended on how much Death Deela wanted the kill, how much it longed for glory, for another notch on its bomber’s undercarriage.
On Wings of Blood Page 34