Despite the ambush, some cohesion was returning to the Ultramarines forces. The three battlegroups, together with the pair of disparate bombardment vehicles, were beginning to work together and this was taking its toll on the necrons who could not hope to match the tactical agility of Guilliman’s sons.
The wisdom of a primarch, the scion of Konor and the Immortal Emperor, flowed in their veins – Chronus saw this engagement ending only in an Ultramarines victory. All of this he processed in seconds, whilst the other half of his strategic attention was fixed on the two skimmers the Rage of Antonius was embattled with.
The pair of necron barges were swinging around, lightning cannons charging. One took a stray hit from The Ram and detonated explosively from the siege tank’s heavy ordnance. The blast buffeted the second skimmer but it was intent on the stricken Antonius, which Novus was desperately trying to turn about, and did not deviate. An arc of tesla-lightning spat out, searing the Predator’s hull but causing no significant damage. One of the side sponsons came into firing range and Vutrius gunned the heavy bolter from below. Thick shells hammered against the barge but its shielding was practically inviolable.
Both tanks had fired their secondary weapons to no avail, and like jousting knights of old, came at one another to finish it at close quarters. Chronus had his lance, the turret lascannon turning with agonising slowness, whilst the necron barge primed its main destructor.
At the edge of his vision through his battle-helm, the intimidating forms of Galatan and Strength of Konor came into view. Lascannon sponsons on both the Terminus Ultra and standard pattern Raider were flashing deadly bolts of light across the field, cutting the legs from under the two arachnid constructs as the necrons’ shields were overwhelmed. For a moment the walkers floundered on the ice, attempting to retaliate with their deadly heat weaponry. In advance of the other two Land Raiders in its formation, the Shield of Iax put paid to that by rolling over both walkers and crushing them beneath its merciless tracks.
Revenge for the Vigilant, thought Chronus, believing engines of the same template were of kindred machine-spirit.
The barges seemed to sense the demise of their walker outriders, one peeling off to escape the certain destruction of the ruthless Land Raiders, while the other was locked into its course against the Rage of Antonius.
A cascade of tesla-lightning flashed across the Predator’s flank, tearing up a heavy bolter but otherwise leaving the tank intact.
Chronus smiled behind his battle-helm’s faceplate.
‘Too soon…’
Two more crucial seconds and the twin-link let out a shrieking las-bolt. Chronus drove his lance right into his enemy’s heart and vanquished it. Before the kill could be confirmed, he was on the vox to the Raiders curtly expressing his gratitude. Disappearing back down below, he switched channels to his squadron brothers.
‘Fabricus, Deneor, form up on the Antonius’s lead.’
Both The Vengeful and Hellhunter moved towards formation with Chronus’s Predator. A cursory examination of the battlefield showed that Ultramarines engines outnumbered necron two to one. The enemy were also down to just their skimmers, all the walker constructs having fallen back beneath the ice. Whatever anima drove these creatures, they clearly understood the value of self-preservation.
Once the hatch was closed above, Chronus moved through the hold to the driver’s location.
‘Vutrius,’ he said on the way, crouching down as he navigated the tight confines of the tank, ‘you have all weapons.’ Chronus’s tactical display switched out the twin-link and transferred it to his gunner. He laid his hand on Novus’s shoulder. The driver was shaking, blood seeping freely from a savage crack in his power armour.
‘Switch to automatic,’ Chronus told him. ‘Antonius’s machine-spirit will guide us until I can take the controls.’
Novus was a proud warrior, and Chronus knew he would not easily relinquish his station. ‘I can do my duty, commander,’ he said.
‘Of that I have no doubt, brother. But you’re wounded, and that’s a direct order.’
Reluctantly, Novus reduced speed to allow the other Predators in their formation to catch up to them and form a bodyguard. He disengaged from his driver’s position, and Chronus caught him as he nearly fell. ‘Rest easy, brother. Bind that wound. I’d have you back at the Antonius’s controls before this war is done.’
‘It would be my honour, commander.’ Novus saluted – it lacked some of his usual vehemence – and retreated to the back of the hold where they kept the Predator’s medi-kit.
Replacing him at the driver’s console, Chronus slaved all systems to his retinal display and opened up the company-wide vox.
‘Brothers,’ he said, ‘let us end this. Ultramar victoris!’
CHAPTER TEN
ICE CAVERNS
Standing on his vantage at the top of the ice ridge, Vantor and Brakkius looked distinctly small to Scipio. From on high, the Gladius appeared in worse condition than the sergeant had first believed. One of its wings had almost completely sheared off and the fuselage was battered. Brakkius was still sat up against the largely intact side, whilst the Techmarine worked at the other, sparks caused by his plasma-welder flashing in the gloom.
An hour, Vantor had said. The wing would be repaired, the glacis restored and hermetically sound, landing struts straightened and re-strengthened.
It had taken Scipio’s reduced combat squad almost twenty minutes to summit the ice ridge and, looking down now, he could not see how the gunship would be ready for flight by the time they returned.
He briefly tried the vox and got more static.
Brother Auris was consulting an auspex. ‘According to the scan,’ he relayed to the squad, ‘we are in the Vogenhoff region.’ Inputting some data, he then added, ‘It’s riddled with caverns and ravines. We are fortunate to have landed at all.’
‘Can you tell me where this one leads?’ Scipio asked, indicating the vast cave mouth yawning in front of them. Close up, it was even larger than it had appeared in the valley. Frost encrusted the rocky edge of the mouth that faced the elements, and fangs of ice protruded from the irregular arch at its apex. Superstitious men might have believed it to be the maw of some frost giant of old, entombed in the ice and asleep.
Auris stepped forwards. ‘Running topographical scan now…’ he reported. ‘It will take a few seconds.’
Whilst Largo kept his gaze and his bolter trained on the darkness within the cave, Garrik faced north towards the battlefield they had left behind.
‘When we were hit,’ he said as Scipio approached, ‘Chronus was not only outmanoeuvred, he was outgunned.’
Garrik had removed his helmet. It was sitting in the crook of his arm, his other hand just then lowering the scopes. He was scarred, a jagged line of pink flesh running from his chin to alongside his right eye. It was an old wound, received long ago. The hair on that side of his face was patchy too, the black fading to grey. Fortunately, his eyesight was unaffected or that would have been the end of his role as a heavy weapons specialist. Either that, or take a bionic.
He and Scipio had fought together a long time.
‘You think Chronus has fallen?’ asked the sergeant.
‘No,’ Garrik replied, ‘he seems too stubborn for that. But I wonder what else waits under the ice of this world.’ He turned to face Scipio. ‘How many necrons are on Damnos, brother-sergeant? How many is too many?’
‘We’ll know that when we’re back aboard the Valin’s Revenge or lying dead on an icy battlefield, brother.’
‘I don’t fear death, sergeant.’
‘Of course you don’t, none of us do, but something has unsettled you.’
‘It’s Damnos,’ Garrik confessed frankly. ‘Ever since we arrived on this world and engaged the necrons, I’ve felt as if something was aware of us. I didn’t understand it at first, but after the siege I s
poke to Largo and some of the others. Something is buried deep, and it’s not human, not remotely. I’m not referring to whatever legions are slumbering below the ice. This is a singular mind. During meditation, I have dreamed about it.’
‘A beating heart at the world’s core,’ said Scipio. ‘It’s no delusion, Garrik, but we can only face what is in front of us, and not the enemies in our thoughts. Only Master Tigurius can do that.’
Garrik handed back the scopes, having said what he needed to on the matter. ‘No sign of the battle tanks. I couldn’t even find the Thunderstorm.’
‘Vandar’s back at Kellenport by now,’ Scipio replied, locking the magnoculars back onto his armour, ‘dealing with whatever flew by us before the attack.’ He clapped his hand on Garrik’s armoured shoulder. ‘We are, all of us, being sorely tested in this campaign. But I believe we will not yield to this pressure, brother. We are sons of Ultramar and do not bend easily.’
Garrik nodded. ‘Courage and honour, sergeant.’
Scipio smiled back, and felt some of the humanity he had thought lost on Damnos start to return. ‘Courage and honour. It’s what separates us from the necrons.’
Auris approached them, having completed the scan.
‘Cave leads out to a plateau higher up the range. We should be clear of interference there.’
‘Weapons ready, brothers,’ Scipio told them both, facing the cave mouth. ‘Be prepared for anything.’
Just before they entered the cave, Scipio opened the short-range vox to the warriors they had been forced to leave behind. The signal was patchy, but localised, so he got through almost unimpeded.
Brakkius answered.
‘All’s quiet down here, sergeant,’ he said. ‘Assuming you’re not counting our Techmarine’s labours. If there are any necrons slumbering beneath us, they’ll soon be awake and upon us.’
‘Keep your eyes open, brother. Soon as we get word to Kellenport or Commander Chronus, we will return. How go the repairs?’
‘Difficult to judge. Vantor and I have yet to exchange words on the subject. I hope well, for I doubt I’ll be walking back to the city.’
Brakkius’s black humour was encouraging, as was his thinly veiled annoyance at being trapped with the Techmarine.
‘Guard my ship for me, brother. Keep Vantor on course, if you can.’
‘Aye, sergeant. I’ll watch him too.’
‘He’s one of us, Brakkius,’ Scipio reminded him.
‘No he isn’t, sergeant. He is not one of the Thunderbolts, and I have not fought with him before.’ He paused, then asked, ‘May I speak freely?’
‘Proceed, but whatever it is be quick. We are about to embark.’
‘Something is fundamentally wrong with this world, Scipio. There is a… presence here.’
Scipio was instantly reminded of his previous conversation with Garrik but a moment ago.
‘And I believe we have all felt it,’ Brakkius went on. ‘Perhaps some of us more deeply than others, the Techmarine amongst them.’
‘The Martian creed is an esoteric and clandestine one, but Vantor still wears a white Ultima on a blue field on his shoulder, Brakkius. You’d do well to keep that in mind.’
‘I will watch his back, as you would, sergeant.’
‘Just make sure the Gladius is ready upon our return. Eyes open, as I said, brother.’
‘Eyes open, sergeant,’ Brakkius confirmed, ‘and good hunting.’
Scipio cut the vox-link, and waved Largo forwards. He was acting scout, and the first to snap on his helmet’s luminators. A sharp magnesium glow filled the outer threshold of the cave, but revealed only further rock and ice.
Eyes open, thought Scipio and went in after Largo.
During his service as an Ultramarine, Brakkius had stood sentry many times. The fact he was technically sitting this duty made it no different to all those others. Scanning the immediate surroundings revealed no threats on his retinal lens display. An icon showed the position of the Techmarine relative to Brakkius, but his bio-reading was green and all was apparently well. He had no line of sight to Vantor and periodically checked in over the vox to keep apprised on the progress of repairs. Brakkius felt no regret at the loss of his legs. He would either walk again naturally or bionics would be grafted in place of his ruined limbs. As long as he was able to serve, he remained unconcerned. It did leave him feeling vulnerable, however, and the constant reports with the Techmarine helped to assuage that feeling and served to make up the shortfall in vigilance he knew was a reality of his current condition.
Both his legs had been crushed during the crash. They lay mangled in their greaves in front of him, utterly useless. Had Vantor not pinned him through the shoulder, it might be him and Kastus comatose in the hold. As it was, though, Brakkius felt of little service to the Techmarine.
‘All clear on this side,’ he voxed.
Vantor’s few seconds’ delay was infuriating, and Brakkius was about to repeat his message when the Techmarine answered.
‘Is there something you need, brother? I am currently quite preoccupied with the repairs to the Gladius.’
‘Just your status report, Techmarine.’
‘Work would proceed faster without interruption,’ Vantor replied.
Brakkius was cursing his misfortune to be stranded with this of all Ultramarines and about to give a terse reply, when he noticed the slightest seismic tremor register on his lens display.
‘Brother Brakkius?’ prompted Vantor when the expected rejoinder was not forthcoming.
‘Wait…’ Brakkius replied. The tremor returned, stronger than before… and again, stronger still and with greater frequency. ‘Something is happening.’
‘You’ll need to be more specific.’
Brakkius raised his bolter at a spot on the ground that had begun to shake. As he looked down the targeter, he saw small fissures beginning to form and a mound rising from the ice.
‘Get around here now.’
Vantor cut the link.
‘Damn it!’ Brakkius swore. The mound was rising, developing into a large inverted funnel. Something burst through at its apex, the size of a gauntleted fist, insectoid and obviously metallic.
Whilst on Damnos, Brakkius had seen a swarm of necron scarabs reduce a speeder to scrap. He tried not to imagine what one would do to a prone Space Marine slumped against the side of a downed gunship.
He fired two rounds into the side of the funnel that exploded upon impact. Machine parts, insect limbs, broken mandibles and chunks of carapace fountained outwards in a plume of wreckage. In their wake came more of the creatures, scurrying over the metal carcasses of the others, pincers clacking.
To the left of Brakkius a second funnel speared up from the ice, followed by a wave of high-pitched chittering.
Switching to burst fire, he broke apart the second funnel before quickly turning his attention to the surviving scarabs of the first. Alternating from one to the other, he conserved ammunition but kept up a steady rate of fire. Slowly, the diminutive constructs were broken apart, their emergence funnels collapsed and destroyed. But, miraculously, two scarabs from the first funnel made it through the shell storm and leapt at the injured Ultramarine. Brakkius caught the first, having switched to a one-handed grip. The bolter’s recoil violently jolted his shoulder and the pain came back anew, but he gritted his teeth and smashed the scarab against the gunship’s flank. The second latched onto his face and immediately he could hear its tiny mandibles chewing through ceramite. He head-butted the Gladius, destroying the construct before it could do any real damage.
Three more funnels spiralled up from the ground.
Brakkius’s ammo gauge was flashing, warning him to slot in a fresh clip. That would take precious seconds and the scarabs were already spilling out onto the ice. Firing off the last three rounds, sharing them evenly between the funnels, Brakkiu
s cast his bolter aside and drew his combat blade. He had mag-locked it to his chest, knowing that drawing it from his thigh would be a needless hindrance in his current position.
Even so, it would not stop the twenty or so constructs scuttling towards him.
‘Come on then,’ he growled, determined that if he was going to fall he would do so fighting.
A sheet of flame swept over the swarm, setting them ablaze and turning the scarabs to fire-blackened metal.
Brakkius turned and saw Vantor, a flame-unit attached to his servo harness, releasing a constant plume of super-heated promethium that washed over the constructs and turned their emergence funnels into slurries of melted snow.
Only once all of the scarabs had been utterly destroyed did the Techmarine relent.
‘I thought you’d abandoned me,’ Brakkius told him, sheathing his combat blade so he could pick up his bolter again and rearm.
‘Because I am part machine?’ asked Vantor, coming over to inspect what was left of the constructs.
‘Yes.’
‘I will always be more son of Ultramar than of Mars, Brakkius.’
‘I am beginning to appreciate that.’
Vantor turned his head, regarding the other Ultramarine through his cold retinal lenses.
‘Evidently, saving your life during the crash was not proof enough.’
‘Forgive me, brother.’
Vantor gestured to the fused remains of the scarabs.
‘They are feeder constructs, consuming matter and turning it into energy, designed to maintain the horde. Protect it during dormancy.’
‘How can you know that?’ asked Brakkius, still unable to shake his disgust at Vantor’s seeming admiration for the necrons.
Damnos - Nick Kyme Page 42