On Wings of Blood

by Warhammer 40K

  As he made the request, Jaeger forced himself to relax. Adaptability was one of his greatest strengths, and he felt confident he could react to whatever situation developed.

  But can the others? he asked himself sourly. This invasion was the first time many of them had been under fire. So far their orders had been simple to execute and had gone by the book. How well would they react under real stress, with Jaeger barking orders out over the comm-net; orders that might save them from being shot down if followed quickly and accurately? He had drilled them long and hard in the simulators and on training flights, mercilessly pushing them each time, berating them loudly for the smallest errors. They thought he probably didn’t know, but he’d heard they called him the Iron Tyrant for his strict, disciplined approach. He didn’t care; they could call him all the names in the Imperium if it meant they listened to him and learnt from his experience.

  He had served under three flight commanders over nearly ten years as an Imperial Navy pilot. All three had impressed upon him the importance of duty and discipline, and it was a message he was determined to impart to his own men. He felt a responsibility to each of them, to give them the training and leadership they needed to excel, to become what the Emperor expected of them. It was why he was so hard on them, why he was the Iron Tyrant, because each small failure reflected on him in his own conscience.

  ‘Arrow leader, move ahead and see what’s waiting for us at the target,’ Jaeger ordered into the comm. ‘Storm Leader, remain in position ready to engage enemy from the west.’

  He hated fighting blind; the memory of the attack on the space hulk was still burnt into his mind. Twenty-one men had died that day because no one had told them what they were up against.

  Veniston had called it ‘acceptable losses’, but there was no such phrase in Jaeger’s head. No loss could be tolerated and already he felt guilty for the crew of Devil Five, which had been shot down by groundfire on the first mission over Mearopyis.

  This time is different, he told himself, trying to build up some conviction. This time our orders are simple. We have rules of engagement written specifically to protect my men. In, attack and then out again. They were the rules and he was bound by his duty to the Navy and his men to follow them.

  ‘Raptor Leader, this is Storm Leader. We have enemy incoming from the west. Permission to engage?’

  ‘Go ahead, Losark,’ Jaeger replied, staring out of the ­cockpit window towards the west for some hint of the enemy aircraft, but nothing was to be seen yet.

  ‘Okay Storm squadron, let’s chalk up some more kills,’ confirmed Losark, making Jaeger smile inside his face mask. The Storm squadron leader was the best dogfighter on the Divine Justice, but Dextra was his senior by two years and was always just a few kills ahead in his tally. Jaeger had wagered extra drinks rations to the whole of Raptor squadron that Losark would surpass his rival’s total by the end of the campaign.

  He watched as the Thunderbolts, eight of them, screamed overhead and banked to starboard. The squadron split into two wings of four craft each, one accelerating up towards the cloud base, the other dipping towards the ground. Jaeger saw a sparkle in the distance – the Mearopyis star glinting off metal as the enemy fighters closed in.

  ‘Maintain course to target,’ the flight commander ordered the Marauders. ‘Gunners prepare for interlocking fire, pattern omega.’

  As he finished, he heard the whine of electric motors as Marte swung the fuselage gun cradle into position. Through the reinforced screen, Jaeger watched as missile trails ghosted away from Storm squadron, arrowing their way across the skies towards the noctal plane. A moment later a bright explosion lit up the sky, an expanding star of blue created by a missile’s impact. As the blast dissipated, a haze of white smoke was left drifting on the gentle wind.

  ‘One less alien,’ Berhandt muttered contentedly to himself from beside Jaeger.

  The dogfight approached as the speedier noctal fighters burst between the two Thunderbolt formations, intent on the bombers. Jaeger saw vapour trails arcing across the sky as the Imperial interceptors banked round to follow the alien craft, but he knew they were too slow to catch them and the Marauders would have to look to their own guns for protection.

  ‘Power up the lascannon,’ Jaeger ordered Berhandt, who gave a satisfied grunt and swivelled his seat to grip hold of the nose-gun’s controls. Jaeger switched the comm-link to address all of the Marauders.

  ‘Hold your fire, wait for my order,’ he steadied them, knowing that if one trigger-happy soul started firing, the rest would join in and probably waste their limited ammunition.

  He could make out the noctal planes more clearly as they streaked towards him at the front of the double arrowhead of Marauders. They were racing in fast, keeping a tight formation. That was good; the closer the aliens stayed together, the more chance the firing from the turrets would hit something. Another ten seconds trickled past as Jaeger watched the bright specks turn into distinct shapes.

  A bolt of green energy erupted towards the bombers as the lead craft fired its laser, the flash passing comfortably overhead.

  ‘All crews, open fire!’ Jaeger bellowed into the comm-mic. An instant later Raptor One shook with the thunder of autocannons and heavy bolters firing, and a stream of tracer rounds soared across the shrinking gap between the two squadrons. More las-bolts blasted past, one so close it left a streak of after-image seared across Jaeger’s eyes for a few seconds.

  ‘Come on, up a bit… up a bit, you alien scum!’ muttered Berhandt, his face pressed down into the targeting visor of the lascannon. The noctal had dipped, trying to take the Marauders from below. But there was to be no refuge there either, as the guns of the lower squadron, the Devils, opened fire and the three sleek aircraft were surrounded by a storm of tracers.

  ‘Got yer!’ cackled Berhandt, pressing the firing stud. The lascannon burst into life, a beam of white energy lancing out to pass straight through the nearest foe. The enemy craft disintegrated, its triangular wings spiralling groundward until they were out of sight, the main fuselage utterly vaporised. As the noctal planes screamed past, Jaeger got a good look at their shape. They were like blunt darts, their stubby delta wings stretching from in front of the cockpit to the rear of the plane. Four tail fins surrounded bright blue jets as Jaeger tracked its course through the side screen, looking over his shoulder as it zoomed away.

  Fire from Raptor Four, Phrao’s Marauder, caught one wing of the noctal fighter, shredding it into hundreds of shrapnel fragments that scattered in its wake. Control lost, the plane went into a wild, rolling spin, tumbling headlong through the rest of squadron, whose gunners easily tracked it and sent a fusillade of fire into it until finally it broke in half before exploding.

  ‘I’ll get the last one,’ Losark assured him over the comm.

  ‘How many kills behind now?’ asked Jaeger, laughing softly.

  ‘Three to go, Raptor Leader,’ came the squadron leader’s reply, his eagerness conveyed even across the crackling comm-net.

  The Thunderbolts soared past just metres away, after­burners on full, the wash of their passing juddering the control column in Jaeger’s right hand.

  ‘Continue course to target, estimated time to attack is…’ Jaeger glanced up at the chrono-display in the top left corner of the cockpit window. ‘Thirteen minutes.’

  ‘Five minutes until target in sight,’ Berhandt’s rough voice reported. Jaeger glanced over towards the muscled bombardier, who was intent on his bomb targeter. The glowing green display under-lit his face as he stared into the aiming reticule, making final adjustments to the optics with a series of switches and dials on his control panel. He never took his eyes from the reticule. Instead his fingers danced over the controls as if powered by a will of their own – in fact they were driven by a familiarity only years of experience could develop.

  If they survive, all of the crews will be as good a
s him, thought Jaeger as he watched the bombardier at work. It’s up to me to ensure that they do.

  Jaeger knew that at times he was guilty of pride, but he had a dream that one day Raptor squadron and the Divine Justice would be recognised as the best across the whole segmentum. He wanted the admirals at Bakka to know he was there, to hear of his great work. It was a good ambition, he told himself.

  The flight commander turned his attention back outside the canopy as the Marauders’ altitude dropped. They were to make a low-level attack first, dropping their massive payload of incendiary explosives on an enemy bunker complex. After circling around they would make a second attack run with missiles and lascannons, picking off anything smoked out by the firebombs. It was straight out of the tactics manual, performed in drills and simulated battles a dozen times by the pilots and bombardiers.

  A subtle movement to Jaeger’s right caught his attention. Something was stirring in the yellow haze to the south-west. It looked to Jaeger like a dust cloud, quite a large one, several dozen kilometres away. Checking the gauges above his head, Jaeger noted a strong headwind, which would probably blow the dust storm in their direction. Concerned, he opened up the long-range comm-channel.

  ‘Divine Justice, this is Raptor Leader. Any reports of storm activity on our approach?’ he asked, still looking intently at the swirling cloud of ochre sand and dust.

  ‘That is negative, Raptor Leader. Strong winds, low cloud, no storm activity,’ came the reply after several seconds.

  ‘Okay, Divine Justice. Please monitor this channel, I may have found something,’ Jaeger told the officer in orbit, an uneasy feeling growing in the pit of his stomach.

  Turning in his seat, Jaeger punched a few runes on the screen display and, after a swirl of static, a chart of the local geography was superimposed over the front canopy window. He focused the map onto his current recorded location and, glancing up again to check the direction towards the storm, placed its position. It seemed to be issuing from a long canyon complex that ran for hundreds of kilometres perpendicular to the axis of the Imperial attack, some twelve kilometres behind the forward Guard positions.

  ‘They would have checked it out,’ he muttered to himself. Berhandt looked up at him quizzically.

  ‘Somethin’ wrong?’ the bombardier asked, looking out of the cockpit to follow Jaeger’s gaze.

  ‘Ferix!’ Jaeger snapped, glancing over his shoulder down the length of the Marauder. The tech-adept emerged from his maintenance alcove, trailing a twist of cabling. ‘Talk to one of the missile auspexes, find out if it can see anything in that dust cloud.’

  Ferix nodded, and ducked through a low hatchway into the maintenance crawl space that led to the starboard wing. His voice arrived in Jaeger’s ear direct through the Marauder’s internal comm-system.

  ‘Initiating activation sequence, aktiva cons sequentia,’ the tech-adept intoned, reciting the rites out loud. His voice took on a different timbre as his brain merged with the mechanical workings of the missile, feeling its spirit moving inside him, divorcing him from the world of the flesh. ‘Librius machina auroris dei. Contact established with machine-spirit of “Flail” missile, designate 14-56. Praise the Machine-God. Ignis optika carta mond. Invoking surveyor sweep over target area. Calculating… Calculating… Calculating… Targets present, multiple, unknown designation.’

  ‘Emperor’s claws,’ cursed Jaeger hotly. Something was inside that canyon, hiding from orbital surveillance. ‘Can you be more specific, how many is “multiple”?’

  ‘Unknown, target acquisition beyond recall capacity,’ Ferix replied. His voice lost its distant edge. ‘Flight commander, this missile type has a half-kilobrain of memory, capable of storing information on seventy-five separate targets.’

  ‘So there’s more than seventy-five possible targets down there?’ Jaeger demanded, the clenching sensation in his stomach moving up to his throat. ‘More than seventy-five armoured vehicles?’

  ‘That is correct,’ came Ferix’s dispassionate reply. ‘Smaller objects are disregarded.’

  ‘In all that’s holy–’ came Berhandt’s response, who had been listening in, eyes locked to Jaeger’s.

  ‘That’s enough to cut their supplies… We have to warn the Guard!’

  ‘You have very specific orders, flight commander,’ Kaurl’s stern voice told Jaeger over the comms network. ‘Proceed with the attack as planned.’

  Jaeger glanced at the small display screen just to the left of the control stick. Ferix had remapped the wiring of Raptor One so that the artificial eyes of its missiles were directed towards that display. There were one hundred and twenty-three separate signals there now and still rising as they approached the canyon. Jaeger eyed the small blobs of green light with hatred. His two squadrons were enough to seriously dent the enemy force, but it would be risky. Added to that, the captain had specifically ordered him to ignore them.

  If the counter-attack was allowed to continue, though, who could tell what damage it would do to the whole war effort? Speed was the basis of the assault, and if it was slowed down by an incursion into its supply lines, the whole invasion might falter. If it faltered, all would be lost as the noctal used the time to gather their armies from across the planet. Who could tell if they had more ships in the vicinity, each now warned and powering its way to raise the orbital siege of the alien-held world? And what of the humans below?

  The noctal had been so shocked there had been no time for them to bargain or use them as hostages, but millions of lives could end in torment and death if the noctal regained the upper hand.

  Jaeger felt torn in several directions at once. He had his orders, they were very specific and Captain Kaurl had said as much. If he attacked the enemy column – whatever else happened – he would have to face a court of inquiry for disobeying those orders. Also, this noctal army was bound to have defences against air attack; after all they had been suffering badly from airstrikes for the last twelve hours. If this counter-attack was as important as Jaeger thought it was, it would have every available protection. And that meant a lot of added risk. Risk to himself, his planes and their crews. Risks Jaeger was loath to take. Had he not, minutes before, been ruing the day he led Raptor squadron on that deadly attack against the ork hulk? And now here he was, contemplating disobeying a direct order to lead his men down a canyon full of the enemy, into Emperor-knew-what kind of trouble and bloodshed. Jaeger swallowed hard and made his decision.

  ‘Raptors, Devils, change of plan,’ he announced to his command through gritted teeth. His duty was ultimately to the campaign as a whole, and through that to the Emperor. He had no other course of action open to him. ‘Follow me to the enemy, free attack once you are in range.’

  ‘Let’s do some huntin’!’ came Gesper’s reply from Devil Two.

  ‘Behind you all the way, sir,’ agreed Phrao.

  ‘Come in low and fast, hit them with everything you’ve got, then make for the Divine Justice.’ Jaeger was talking quickly now, feeling adrenaline surge through him as he banked the squadrons towards the canyon and nosed Raptor One towards the ground. ‘No waiting around!’

  ‘Raptor One, this is Storm. We are on intercept course to enemy fighters over new target.’

  ‘Storm One, this is Arrow One, you’ll have to get there before me!’

  Even as the message ended, Dextra’s Thunderbolt screamed across Jaeger’s field of vision, its jets at full burn leaving a brief after-image in the flight commander’s eyes. It was swiftly followed by the shapes of the other four Thunderbolts, spreading out in readiness for the coming battle. As Jaeger continued to bank, Storm squadron roared overhead, just seconds behind the Arrows.

  ‘We’ll be at the canyon in twenty-five seconds,’ Berhandt reported.

  Jaeger nodded and levelled the Marauder, pushing up the engines to maximum as Raptor One powered towards the enemy a mere two hundred metres above the soft
ly undulating dunes of Mearopyis.

  ‘Fifteen seconds to canyon,’ Berhandt informed him, bent once more over the aiming reticule.

  Above him, Jaeger could see the fighters duelling in and out of the rising dust cloud. A moment later and the sand and grit was swirling around the Marauder, skittering off the windshield and obscuring everything past a couple of metres.

  ‘I hope those engine filters hold, Ferix.’ Jaeger glanced over his shoulder to the tech-adept in the maintenance bay.

  ‘I fitted them myself, flight commander,’ Ferix assured him coldly, bringing a smile to Jaeger’s lips beneath his air mask.

  ‘Ten seconds to target,’ came Berhandt’s coutdown. ‘Nine… Eight… Seven… Six… Five… Four… Three… Two… One… Target acquired!’

  Jaeger felt rather than saw the ground drop away beneath him and banked the Marauder to port, heading north, and down into the canyon. Flickers of green las-fire illuminated the dust cloud ahead and to either side, but none was close yet. A hum started in Jaeger’s ear as Berhandt locked on to one of the Flail missiles, its warning tone rising to a screech as it became aware of its target’s location.

  ‘Fly, sweet vengeance!’ Berhandt spat, pressing down on the firing stud. A half-second later the missile streaked downwards and then levelled, disappearing into the dust on a trail of white fire. Jaeger felt his heart beat once, then again, then there was a bright patch in the storm and a moment later a muffled boom shook the canopy.

  ‘Fuel carrier, I think,’ Berhandt commented, not looking up from the sighting array.

  The dust began to thin rapidly and soon Jaeger could see the bottom of the canyon, still half a kilometre below. No wonder the orbital augurs didn’t notice this, it’s as deep as the pits of hell, he thought. Another missile flared off towards the enemy, its vapour trail joined by eight more as the other Marauders opened fire. They jinked and weaved as strong eddies in the wind, caused by the funnelling effect of the deep canyon, forced them to adjust their flight path towards their prey.