‘Brother-sergeant,’ he began down the vox-link, though he knew that something was seriously wrong. ‘You will open fire on the enemy immed–’
The Stormwarden fired, but its heavy shell burst against the armour of The Vengeful. A second muzzle flash erupted from Venator a second later and crashed just wide of the Antonius.
‘What in Hera’s name does he think he’s doing?’ snapped Vutrius.
‘Disengage at once,’ ordered Chronus. ‘Egnatius, you are targeting friendlies. I repeat, you are opening fire on your brothers!’
Still no response came from Egnatius. Chronus hastily tried the other two engines in his squadron but got no answer there, either.
‘Have they gone mad?’ asked Vutrius. ‘Should I open fire?’
‘No, not until I know what’s going on. It could be targeting malfunction.’ The tank commander did not sound convinced.
Titus was moving in, too, when one of the necron arks hovered in behind it and gutted it with a direct hit to its rear facing. The subsequent explosion pushed the tank into a violent roll, barrelling it into a Razorback that was smashed aside and disabled.
Two more engine kills flashed red on Chronus’s tactical display.
Titus had just left itself open to attack. It was not a targeting malfunction.
The vox-link crackled, and Chronus answered it to find Sergeant Vorolanus on the other end.
‘I thought the Gladius destroyed, brother-sergeant.’
Scipio did not waste words. ‘Commander, one of your squadrons has been infiltrated by the enemy. I lost one of my squad to the same mind control.’
‘What?’
‘One of your squadrons is lost, commander. It is no longer loyal to Ultramar. I believe it to be one belonging to Sergeant Egnatius.’
Chronus abruptly cut the feed, resigned to finding out further answers later. He urgently activated the vox-link to the entire company.
‘All vehicles. Squadron Egnatius has been compromised. Engage as if enemy. All siege engines occupying the ridge, your orders are to neutralise the Stormwarden and Venator.’
Chronus severed the link, anger and denial warring in his heart. Whatever had happened to Egnatius, it obviously was not just comms malfunction. As Scipio had said, he was lost. Chronus only hoped he could stop him before he took anyone else with him.
‘Commander, I do not wish to question–’ Vutrius began.
‘Then don’t,’ Chronus snapped. ‘There is no other choice.’
Affirmation runes flashed up on the tactical display for Scion of Talassar, Wrath of Invictus and The Ram. All three had firing solutions on Squadron Egnatius.
Chronus tried one more time to raise his fellow tank commander, but Votan Egnatius was clearly no longer in control. He raised the three siege engines, and with steel in his heart gave the order.
‘Execute.’
Thunder felt all the way from the ridge line resonated through the Antonius’s hull as multiple hits registered against the Stormwarden and Venator. Chronus briefly closed his eyes, asking his dead primarch for forgiveness. He knew the crew of both tanks, had fought with them on countless occasions. Egnatius he had trusted with his life. Two engine kills flared up on the tactical display. The Stormwarden and Venator were gone.
Crushing down his grief, Chronus was about to bring the Rage of Antonius about to engage their pursuers, when an actinic flash lit up a distant ridge. A second flash followed moments later towards the north, and then a third to the east.
Three more necron battle formations, comprising further heavy weapons and infantry cohorts, according to the ranged auspex.
The skimmers currently engaged by the Ultramarines began to withdraw. One of the barges was destroyed by a vengeful assault cannon burst from the Merciless Orar as it tried to fall back, but none of the other necron engines responded. Soon they were beyond optimum weapons range, and Chronus was disinclined to give chase.
During the ill-fated skirmish, he had lost no fewer than seven major pieces of armour and almost twice that number in support vehicles. Chronus called all the tanks to a halt. While they idled on the ice plain with their engines humming and exhausts fuming, he tried to ascertain the enemy strength.
Even a conservative estimate placed it at much greater than their own.
The phasic materialisation of all three battlegroups was several kilometres out. Without air support, it would be impossible to know the enemy’s disposition, tactics and movements. If they possessed any gunships like the ones that had streaked towards Kellenport, that could alter the complexion of a second battle considerably.
Too many unknowns. Too few full-strength battle tanks. No Ultramarines vehicle had escaped unscathed. Necron phasic technology meant rapid redeployment was also a factor.
Steam rising off their battered hulls, a company of tanks patiently awaited their commander’s decision.
‘It serves no one if we die here this day,’ Chronus muttered bitterly.
The direct approach had failed. The necrons were not as beaten as he had first believed. Rearm, redeploy, were his only options now.
‘Full retreat,’ Chronus uttered, his voice dark and full of reticence. ‘Back to Kellenport.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
RESURRECTION
Ankh released the mindshackle, returning cognisance to the tank commander as he burned inside his own vehicle.
Such arrogance and belief in their own pre-eminence; the Architect despised them. Humans. Even the thought of the word left a bitter trace in his memory engrams. He had proven their weakness, as all alien races were, ultimately, weak.
Discovery of one of the northern ice tombs had forced Ankh to escalate his schedule of reactivation. Hundreds of canoptek drones now scurried about the subterranean chambers, nurturing, restoring, revivifying, all for the glory of the necrontyr.
War hosts, thousands strong, were slowly awakening. Ankh perceived each and every one of their soulless flames igniting with activation. It was patient work, careful work, but then the Architect had already waited for aeons. What did a few more years matter?
According to his global analysis, one faction of resistance yet remained between the Sautekh Dynasty and dominance of this world. It was concentrated in the human city, the one the Undying had failed to sack during his abortive siege. With the recently resurrected war cells, Ankh had deterred further interference from the armoured crusaders and their crude war engines. Unmolested, the Architect could divert his complete attention to revivifying a legion of such magnitude as to engulf the surface city and wipe it from existence.
There would be no siege, only annihilation.
Then he could turn his ageless mind towards other concerns. The beating heart of this tomb world was stirring. A sliver of a c’tan. A pale simulacrum of what it had once been, but still potent in spite of that. Ankh could feel it through its necrodermis, the agitation of its essence. It would not be long now. The slave would awaken soon and then the stars themselves would quail.
It took two days to limp back to the city. The Gladius had shadowed the survivors of the tank company every step of the way, allowing Chronus to learn of the fate of Egnatius from Sergeant Vorolanus. Neither of them knew for certain what had befallen the Ultramarines that had entered that cavern; even Techmarine Vantor could offer little by way of explanation. Several had lost their lives to it, and betrayed their sworn brothers into the bargain. Chronus only hoped that was an end to this particular blight, and tried not to fathom what other horrors the necrons possessed that the Ultramarines had yet to see.
Muted celebration greeted the tank company as it rolled through Kellenport’s western gate. Despite the improved fortifications, the city was still a ruin. Its walls carried the legacy of the previous siege, still breached in dozens of places. Many of the outer districts had been abandoned, allowing the Capitolis Administratum and the space
port adjacent to it to be bolstered. Gun emplacements lined these walls, and Ultramarines manned strategic points along them to better support the failing Damnosian courage.
Chronus rode up in the Antonius’s cupola, Novus having recovered enough to drive. He did it not to appear the conquering hero, he was anything but that, but to see their faces for himself. Antaro Chronus prided himself on knowing the measure of a soldier by the strength of conviction he saw in his or her eyes. What he saw in the downtrodden Guardsmen and militia that circled the city gates or gathered in packs around what few monuments still stood, was defeat. These were a broken people. He did not know if it had happened during the terror raid Sergeant Vandar had apprised him of or if it had been growing ever since that first day when Damnos’s lord governor had been slaughtered with his entire staff. It did not matter.
What he did know, what he had experienced first-hand, was that the necrons were a resourceful and insidious enemy. They could harness immense legions, far in excess of the Ultramarines’ ability to defeat with their current strength.
After Chronus had entered the shell of the city, driven past the drum fires and the hollow ruins thronged by hollow men and women, and reached the end of the roadway, he learned of Agrippen’s war council. Few strategies remained, but it seemed the veteran wanted to consider them all.
They gathered in the Capitolis Administratum’s debating chamber. It was a large, oval room that could better accommodate the Adeptus Astartes and their Dreadnought commander. It would also serve to keep the Ultramarines officers and the delicate nature of their council away from the prying eyes and ears of the populace.
‘It is hard for me to admit this,’ Tigurius began. ‘Upon Commander Chronus’s arrival, I dared to believe we could resist. But now we must all acknowledge that Damnos is lost.’
A few high-ranking Guardsmen, here to represent the natives, tried to stand a little straighter or show steel in the face of adversity, but Chronus could see the light had already died in their eyes. Tigurius had just given word to the fear they had all been living with ever since the invasion began, and made it real.
No Ultramarines officer present gainsaid him. Even Agrippen bowed his armoured form slightly at this admission of defeat.
A sergeant, Chronus recalled his name was Praxor, spoke up.
‘So what recourses are left to us? We cannot abandon these people.’
Like all the wall guard, Praxor Manorian bore the scars of battle upon his armour. Evidently, he had been caught in the fighting during the now infamous terror strikes by the necron flyers.
Tigurius met the gaze of each and every warrior in the room, be they Adeptus Astartes or Guardsman.
‘Evacuation is our only option now.’
‘You want to abandon Damnos?’ asked a tremulous Ark Guard captain who was trying to hold it together, his despair of the plan overriding his fear of the Chief Librarian.
Tigurius tried to be sympathetic. ‘I want to save its people.’
‘Doom has come to your world, captain,’ Agrippen told him in his deep, mechanised voice. ‘I am ashamed for my Chapter that we have been unable to turn back this tide, but we must now be pragmatic.’
‘Evacuating the city will take time,’ said Scipio, having joined the council whilst the Gladius was undergoing repairs. He had also been summoned for his report about his squad’s encounter in the caverns at Vogenhoff and the necron forces amassing there. ‘Yet the necrons are advancing with purpose and in numbers from every direction.’
‘Can we stall them?’ asked Praxor. ‘Slow them down enough so we get the people out?’
‘The Valin’s Revenge and its frigates are at anchor in low orbit,’ said Tigurius. ‘Lighters from the surface have already begun to ferry the population to them, but we have had casualties.’
Since the re-emergence of the necron forces, some of their ground-to-air weaponry had resurfaced and was keeping a steady stream of gauss fire aimed at the skies above Kellenport.
‘Our forces on the wall are depleted,’ offered another, a bald, grizzled-looking sergeant with a face like a granite cliff. ‘I should be back there now, keeping an eye on them.’
‘They can endure without your presence for a short while, Sergeant Fennion,’ said Tigurius. ‘You were present during the attack on Infirmary Seven, were you not?’
Fennion nodded. ‘It has left morale extremely low amongst the Guard cohorts, and we will be in need of them if we are to mount a significant defence. Many are still suffering the psychological after-effects of the attack.’
‘And what would you deem as significant, Iulus?’ asked Scipio. Evidently, the two knew each other fairly well.
‘One that doesn’t capitulate after the first assault. But my assessment, for what it’s worth–’
‘The same as everyone else’s in this chamber, Sergeant Fennion,’ Agrippen advised him.
Iulus Fennion nodded in appreciation. ‘I do not think defence is even tenable at this point. If we can slow them down, if… then I’d suggest a series of fall-backs. We try to hold the walls and they will not hold. We draw the necrons into the city, behind several carefully engineered firebreaks, then we might retard their progress enough to make a difference.’
Agrippen activated a hololith of revolving blue light that described Kellenport in exact detail.
‘This is from an orbital capture of the city,’ he began. ‘As you can all see, the outer defences are abandoned, leaving our forces concentrated on the walls around the Courtyard of Thor and the capitolis building in which we now debate. Our third strongpoint is the spaceport, which must be protected at all costs. Points of ingress for the necrons are the north and west gates. That is where their strength will likely be focused.’
‘Your problem is not the overwhelming force the necrons will bring to bear on Kellenport.’ Having listened to all good counsel thus far, Chronus finally spoke up. All eyes turned to him at the sound of his voice. ‘It is the rapidity with which our enemy can deploy. Twice, I was outmanoeuvred on the ice plain. Vast forces simply teleported in, surrounded us and would have destroyed us had I not ordered the retreat.’ This last part was hard for the tank commander to say, spoken as it was through clenched teeth.
‘You refer to the necron phasic generators,’ Tigurius replied.
‘I do. We must destroy them first if we are to stand any chance of evacuating a significant amount of the population and wresting something from this disastrous campaign.’
For a few seconds no one spoke. Chronus had just said aloud what they had all been thinking. That did not mean it stung their pride any less.
‘Ever since Sicarius fell, we have struggled,’ he went on. No one denied it. Chronus meant no disrespect, he was merely stating facts at this point. ‘So then, show me where the generators are and I’ll try and buy us some time.’
Agrippen broadened the hololith’s scope so it encompassed the much larger continental region around Kellenport and Damnos Prime.
‘Thanks to your efforts out on the ice, commander, we have been able to track the position of three crucial phasic generators. The Valin’s sensorium places them in these locations.’
Three nodes flashed up on the display in hazy red.
‘We’ll secure a drop-zone with low strafing attacks from Gladius and Thunderstorm,’ Agrippen continued.
‘Why not just destroy the generators in a series of bombing runs?’ Praxor asked the obvious question.
Chronus answered. ‘Because they’ll be shielded just like their walkers and skimmers. We’ll need to get in close, on the ground, penetrate their defences first.’
‘Indeed,’ said Agrippen. ‘If you’re looking for vengeance for Egnatius and the others, this is it. But choose your formations carefully, commander.’
Now Chronus smiled like the true lion of Macragge he was.
‘I have just the warriors in mind.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ACTS OF SABOTAGE
Fabricus had accepted the field promotion with all the solemnity and humility Chronus had come to expect from the warrior. Someone needed to take Egnatius’s place. Gnaeus had wholeheartedly supported his brother’s elevation.
They had left Kellenport far behind and were bound for one of the phasic generators. A pair of Thunderhawk transporters ferried both the Rage of Antonius and Triumph of Espandor, as well as a Rhino transport bearing Squad Atavian. Two similar forces led by Fabricus in The Vengeful and Gnaeus in Secutor Maximus were headed for the other sites. The remnants of Egnatius’s battle tanks, their crew having been cleared by Techmarine Vantor of any technological contagion, had been split up amongst the new command structure.
Ahead of all three forces were Gladius and Thunderstorm, who would scorch the earth heralding the armoured squadrons’ arrival.
Three primary objectives: two to be hit simultaneously, the third, slightly more remote, to be attacked a few minutes later. Chronus had opted for the third and more difficult target, feeling it was his responsibility and risk as commander to do it.
A voice crackled over the vox inside the hold of the Antonius. Though the vision slits were sealed, the passage of air as their transporter cut through it at speed buffeted the sides of the Predator loudly and made the hull shudder. The effect was disconcerting for someone used to fighting all of his battles on terra firma with the grind of tracks, not the whipping of air, as his combat refrain.
So Chronus was a little agitated when he responded to the hail.
‘Speak.’
‘We are two minutes out,’ came the voice of Scipio from Gladius. ‘You sound perturbed, commander.’
‘I’ll be glad when we’re on the ground, sergeant.’
‘Resistance is fairly thick around all three generators. You’ll need to go in hard and fast once you hit the ground.’
‘Nothing would give me greater pleasure, Scipio. Burn me a path and we’ll roll right up it and tear that generator apart.’
Damnos - Nick Kyme Page 44