Lend me strength, she silently begged Him.
‘Fellow members of the house,’ she began, her voice amplified by the vox-mic concealed in the eagle’s head that decorated the lectern, ‘We face something each of us has only ever read about in the archives. No one thought the greenskins foolish enough to return here. Now they have, and I understand your fears. But I do not share them.’ This, of course, was something of a lie. ‘We are leaders,’ she continued, ‘and we must act as such. It is to us that the common man will look for his example. The Crimson Fists are here in force. Surely there is no greater source of comfort than that.’
On a bench to her left, Eduardo Corda looked as if he might disagree. His hair was still a little damp.
The other faces turned towards her were pale and beaded with cold sweat. Regardless of her words, they still seemed terrified. Only Viscount Isopho looked composed. That shouldn’t have surprised her. As a young man, he had bucked family tradition to remain in the Rynnsguard for a commission twice as long as any other noble, and had only left due to his father’s passing. By all accounts, he had been a good officer, and the Rynnsguard still afforded him a certain respect they did not afford others.
I should keep Nilo close, Maia thought. His perspective might be useful if…
‘The Rynnsguard, too,’ she went on, ‘assure me that they will protect us. Additional forces are even now being sent from Targis Fields. Once they arrive, they will help to secure the city. The people in the fringe settlements are being brought into the protection of the outer wall even as we speak. We do not expect a protracted siege, if indeed the orks get through at all. Nevertheless, emergency provisions are being shipped in by sea and road, and all goods for export have been recalled from the spaceport.’
Presented with these facts, the ministers seemed to calm a little, their minds latching onto details rather than visions of a hideous alien scourge undoing all they held dear. One woman, Countess Maragretto, whimpered from the back row on the right at mention of a siege, but she managed to stifle it quickly.
‘Trust in our protectors,’ Maia told them. ‘They have taken an oath to defend this planet, and so they shall. Trust, too, in the Civitas enforcers and, by extension, the Adeptus Arbites that supervise them. They too have sworn a solemn oath before the Emperor and will not allow our society to descend into panic and self-destruction. A curfew is being put into effect to facilitate proper control. And trust, above all others save the Emperor Himself, the mighty Space Marines of the Crimson Fists. Therein lies our surest hope. They will end the nightmare. Already, they are about it, and my own faith in them is absolute. Let your faith be as mine, and it will be rewarded.’
She looked out at her peers, reaching for more words that would gird them, but there was nothing more to say for now. They would simply have to watch and wait while others took the fight to the foe.
‘I now offer the floor up to any member who wishes to speak.’
She stepped out from behind the lectern and, with the same measured grace, returned to her bench.
When she was seated, the Speaker rasped, ‘Raise your hand, you who wish to address this noble House.’
Immediately, a hundred arms were thrust into the air, and the chamber exploded once again into the din of voices raised in abject panic.
Fourteen
Arx Tyrannus, Hellblade Mountains
Kantor was striding rapidly across the inner courtyard towards the central hall of the Strategium when he saw the first signs of battle in the sky above.
The sky was darkening. From the peaks of the Hellblade Mountains, the last remnants of the day shone as little more than a soft, lambent glow beyond the horizon in the far west, but the sunset was hidden from view by the high walls all around him, not that he would have had time to stop and appreciate it anyway. Above him, the sky was dark purple, shifting towards black, and the stars were coming out.
It was there, up among the familiar constellations, that he saw it all begin. There were more stars than normal tonight, and many of them moved restlessly towards each other. Some were short lived. Every bright flash the Chapter Master saw up there represented either the blast of powerful energy weapons, or the dying moments of a sizable craft. For every one of the latter, how many lives were lost in those ever-so-brief flares? He could only hope that each marked the violent end of ork lives, not human.
Other lights, even brighter and more distinct, appeared, following fiery arcs across the sky. They glowed with the orange heat of atmospheric entry, and he knew the worst had now begun. The line had been breached.
Orks began to rain down on the planet.
So soon, he thought to himself? Can it really be?
The Imperial blockade simply hadn’t had time to organise itself. Snagrod must have known this, must have guessed his best hope lay in a full-frontal surprise attack that no human commander would dare. To translate from the warp so close to the planet… No human commander would have dared.
And that is why I should have foreseen this, Kantor thought bitterly. I should not have expected the beast to think as we do. I should have considered the alien nature of the ork mind.
This was no time to stand here and berate himself. The Chapter Council waited. He entered the Strategium’s outer halls, sped along the stone corridors, reached the broad double-doors a matter of seconds later, and flung them open.
A dozen faces, all lined with deep concern, turned to regard him. The Chapter Council rose to its feet. Kantor took the carpeted steps down towards the crystal table two at a time. Above the table hovered a static-ridden hololithic image of the battle in orbit.
‘My brothers,’ said Kantor as he reached his onyx throne. He sat down, and the throne accepted his weight. The gears under the floor began to grind, and the mechanism wheeled him forward, stopping when his breastplate was half a metre from the edge of the table and his booted feet were underneath it. ‘Sit.’
There was a clatter of ceramite on stone as they obeyed.
Catching Kantor’s eye, Alessio Cortez was the first to say anything. He gestured to the hololithic image above. ‘Absolute slaughter,’ he managed to say between jaws clenched tight with anger.
Forgemaster Adon had opened a link into the fleet communications net so that the council members could all hear what was going on as it happened. The voices they heard were filled with desperation, every word confirming the worst.
‘There was insufficient time to prepare,’ grated Forgemaster Adon.
High Chaplain Tomasi did not look up at the hololith. Instead he looked at his hands, the fingers interlocked, and said, ‘So many of the faithful have already made the ultimate sacrifice.’
‘They have,’ agreed Mateo Morrelis, ‘but they made it count. The fleet’s kill ratio must not be ignored. Our forces up there are fighting like cornered lions!’
‘And we sit here talking,’ spat Cortez. ‘Give us orders, lord. Send us out there.’
Kantor glared at him. ‘You’ll have all the fighting you want soon enough, Alessio. They are landing their drop-ships even now, and we will greet them with bolter and blade.’ He turned to Adon. ‘Forgemaster, I want every last enemy ship tracked to its landing coordinates. There will be an orbital bombardment soon. The void shields will protect us, but the moment it is over, we will send out purgation squads in our Thunderhawks. I want the entire effort coordinated through the Communicatus and the armoury. Those not selected to launch ground assaults will man our surface-to-orbit emplacements. While even one of our ships continues to fight in space, we will offer every last bit of support we can.’
‘The Technicarum is already monitoring the trajectory of each enemy vessel, my lord. There will be no mistakes.’
Kantor nodded, and there was a brief silence, broken when he said, ‘My Fists, I did not imagine that the ork warlord would risk the strength of his force in the way he has. His gamble has paid off. But, in centuries hence, when men read of this day, when analysts at war colleges across the Imperium lo
ok to their historical texts, they must see that we endured, and, ultimately, that we turned this blow aside. We are the Crimson Fists and this is our home. We will deal with the invaders as they deserve to be dealt with.’
‘We might manage to hold Sorocco,’ offered Raphael Acastus, ‘but what of Calliona and the Magalan?’
Kantor had already considered this. ‘The Monitor will liaise with local Rynnsguard forces on both those continents and keep us abreast of developments. But we must secure Sorocco first. The oceans will help in confining the foe to wherever they land. Sorocco must be cleansed first.’
‘If the orks create a strong blockade of their own,’ said Chief Apothecary Curien Droga, ‘they will be able to land additional forces wherever and whenever they like.’
Kantor faced the old Apothecary. ‘I am not giving up on our fleet yet, Curien,’ he said. Gesturing up at the spectral battle taking place above the surface of the table, he continued, ‘Ceval Ranparre has never lost an engagement in his life. Though he is greatly outnumbered, he will find a way to turn this around.’
‘The elimination of Snagrod,’ said Cortez. ‘But we cannot even be sure he is here in person.’
‘The beast is here,’ said Eustace Mendoza. ‘I assure you.’
‘Can you pinpoint him?’ asked Kantor. ‘If we could guide the remainder of the fleet in on him before he makes planetfall–‘
Mendoza shook his shaved head. ‘The warp is in turmoil all around us, torn open so close and in so many places. It will take days, perhaps even weeks before we can read its flows and eddies again with any accuracy. I can sense Snagrod’s foul aura out there among all the psychic death screams, but that is all.’
‘If there’s any change in what you sense, tell me at once, brother.’
Something Forgemaster Adon was listening to made him look up. He turned his optic-lenses towards the Chapter Master and said, ‘The Master of the Fleet has just placed an emergency request to speak to you, my lord.’
Kantor frowned. ‘Let me hear him, brother.’
The rest of the council looked to Kantor, awaiting his dismissal so that he could converse with the Master of the Fleet in private, but Kantor shook his head and told them, ‘Whatever Ceval Ranparre has to say must be heard by all of us. You will stay. You will listen with me.’
So they stayed and they listened, and the news was not good.
‘The situation is now desperate,’ crackled the voice on the link. ‘I say again, put me through to the Chapter Master at once. There is no time for delay.’
‘Can he hear me?’ Kantor asked Adon.
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘Ceval, this is your Chapter Master. Report.’
Kantor had known the Master of the Fleet a very long time and, despite Ranparre’s best efforts, he could easily detect the strain in his voice. It disturbed him far more than the words themselves. He had always believed Ranparre unflappable.
‘My lord, we have lost more than fifty-six per cent of our force, and more ork vessels are still translating into real space. I no longer believe this conflict can be won in space. You must prepare for a ground offensive of significant proportions.’
Kantor imagined his own expression was reflected in the dour looks he could see on the faces of his fellow council members. ‘Are you telling me, Ceval, that you can do no more up there?’
There was a pause. Ranparre seemed taken aback by the question. ‘My lord? I’m not sure I understand the question. We will fight to the very last, naturally. Every ship we eliminate means less greenskins on the ground.’
‘That is not what I am getting at, Ceval,’ said Kantor. ‘I need to know if you feel it would be wiser for our surviving ships to disengage.’
Again, a pause.
‘I cannot see any circumstances, my lord,’ said Ranparre in tones heavy with emphasis, ‘that would cause me to consider disengaging. Every ship we have lost so far has accounted for a great many enemy craft. It would do our fallen a great disservice, and myself a great dishonour, were I to leave this fight without claiming victory in their name.’
‘There is no dishonour in a tactical withdrawal,’ replied Kantor, ‘least of all one that I order. I cannot have the entire fleet destroyed. Things are already far worse than we anticipated. Order The Crusader to reposition. She is to make for Segmentum Headquarters and solicit aid. I will not let pride be our undoing.’
‘She cannot possibly jump this close to a gravity well, my lord,’ said Ranparre. ‘And she will not break through the ork fleet alone.’
Kantor frowned. He knew he had no choice. ‘Then commit all remaining ships to getting her through. She will have to risk the jump. Many of Snagrod’s ships survived it. She can, too. These are my final orders to you, brother. After The Crusader is away, you may fight on to a worthy end. Your legend will live on forever.’
Ranparre would never know just how hard that had been for Kantor to say. He answered, ‘Thank you, lord. Fight well. May Dorn watch over you all.’
The link went to static as Ranparre broke the connection.
‘Farewell, brother,’ said Kantor solemnly, almost to himself. ‘I will see you again at the Emperor’s side.’
Fifteen
The Cassar, New Rynn City
Alvez did not sit. He paced back and forth at the head of the table, armoured boots heavy on the granite floor. The others watched him wordlessly.
The Cassar boasted only a small Strategium. Unlike its equivalent at Arx Tyrannus, it was square and boasted no ceiling dome. The table, too, was different – angular, fashioned from ebonwood rather than crystal, and as old as the building itself. Around it sat twelve Crimson Fists, including Huron Grimm, Epistolary Deguerro, and squad leaders from both the Crusade, Second and Third Companies.
The captain finally stopped, turned to scan the eyes of his fellows, and said, ‘Rynnsguard High Command is sending an armour and infantry column down from Targis Fields, so I want Carriageway 2 held secure at all costs. The moment that armour passes through the Umbris Gate, I want it sealed and barricaded. Orks tend to follow the lay of the land. The mountains of the Anshar Minoris protect our north-west flank, but they will also funnel the enemy down towards the northern districts. I’m expecting the Umbris Gate to come under heavy attack in the opening phases of the invasion.’ His eyes settled on one of the veteran sergeants seated at the far end of the table, a narrow-faced Adeptus Astartes with a sharp chin. ‘Sergeant Delos, you will be responsible for that section of the wall. There are four Rynnsguard platoons already stationed there. Assume command the moment you arrive. Make sure their senior officer understands exactly who is in charge.’
Delos gave a tiny bow of his head. ‘Understood, my lord.’
At last, Alvez deigned to sit. He put one gauntleted hand on the table and leaned back in his chair. ‘We bear a great burden, my brothers, but we are more than equal to the task ahead. The Chapter Master is depending on us. Word has just come through that the blockade has fallen. The orks will pour down on us like monsoon rains. It has already begun. The city is to be placed under martial law. Those citizens who are able will be drafted into militias. All food stores and key resources will be pooled and distributed in accordance with emergency Munitorum protocols. These things are of peripheral concern to us, of course. Let the Rynnsguard and the Arbites deal with the civilians. Our role is much simpler. We are here to win a war. To succeed, we need only remain standing when the last xenos falls.’
A few of the others nodded at this. Others murmured their assent, or sat in silence, as Huron Grimm did, with dark looks on their faces.
‘The city walls are solid,’ Alvez continued. ‘They are strong, and they will hold if we allow no mistakes. The gates are even stronger, and I have already assigned our heavy armour to guard them. Any breach will be met with immediate Predator and Vindicator fire. The Techmarines are on the parapets as we speak, readying the thunderfire cannons for operation. While we have ammunition and supplies equal to the task, I have abso
lute confidence in our ability to resist the foe, at least on the surface. The city underworks are another matter. I have no choice but to assign all our Terminator squads, with the exception of those posted at the spaceport, to the task of holding the tunnels.’ Pre-empting a protest from the Crusade Company sergeants seated before him, he held up an armoured hand. ‘I would not issue this order if it were not absolutely necessary, brothers. Dorn knows, I would rather place you at the city gates, but the orks will try to infiltrate our lines via the tunnels, and Tactical Dreadnought armour is best suited to resist them there. At least you will have your share of killing. We cannot afford to collapse the tunnels, since at least some are part of the city’s anti-flooding system. Others carry power and coolant to critical defensive emplacements. They must be secured.’
‘Then they shall be,’ said Barrien Gallacus, the sergeant in charge of the First Vanguard Squad. ‘We will choke them with greenskin dead.’
‘See that you do,’ said Alvez.
He leaned forward, eyeing each Adeptus Astartes in the room, a feral grin on his scarred and weathered features.
‘Rejoice in the battle to come, brothers,’ he added. ‘This is what we live for. This is what we were born to do. We will prove our strength in the heat of combat. We will breathe victory in like air. Trust me, legends will be made here.’
Sixteen
Arx Tyrannus, Hellblade Mountains
They came.
In later days, this night would come to be known as the Night of the Burning Sky, and well it deserved that name. The entire length of the Hellblades, over a thousand kilometres of jagged mountain range, shook and flashed with sharp detonations. The greenskin fleet, having swept aside the hastily prepared defensive blockade, launched a planetary bombardment that would claim the lives of millions. Snagrod’s ships had come prepared to carpet the towns and cities in flame. They didn’t need to be accurate, not with the sheer amount of ordnance at their disposal.
Space Marine Battles - the Novels Volume 1 Page 77