Cortez’s squad let the orks come to them, giving ground metre by metre as they backed away. The foliage thinned a little, cover for the orks began to lessen. Targeting the beasts became easier, and they went down in increasing numbers, their heads detonating in bright sprays as perfectly placed bolter rounds exploded inside their skulls.
Any moment now, thought Cortez.
And the moment was right. The orks took the bait, and Kantor ordered Squad Segala to swing in from the west flank and cut them down. Caught in a deadly crossfire, the greenskins were shredded to fleshy tatters. Those that survived fled back into the undergrowth, their green backs merging with the jungle.
For the moment, at least, the Space Marines had held them off.
‘North,’ said Kantor. ‘We’ll be closing on the capital soon. From here on in, we follow the River Rynn.’
Squads Cortez and Segala followed him.
Cortez gauged his remaining ammunition as he moved. He was running extremely low now. He would have to ask the others for extra rounds.
They had better reach New Rynn City soon.
Kantor had never intended for them to come this way. He had suspected from the beginning that the orks might use the River Rynn as a quick route to the capital from wherever their ships crash-landed. He re-assessed that decision now. He and his survivors looked out over the fast, cool waters and saw no sign of ork boats or rafts. They did see human corpses drifting by, floating spread-eagle, the wounded flesh of their backs just breaking the surface of the water. They were people who had been killed up-river, perhaps men and women from the small settlements in the foothills and mountain slopes where the river began its journey.
Of the pilgrims Kantor had wished so desperately to save, three more had been killed, though not through wounds inflicted directly, but by all they had suffered in the camp. That and the march through the jungle were just too much. Somehow, old Dasat held on, though he looked weaker by the day. Kantor guessed the pilgrim’s leader still felt responsible for the safety of his people. He would see them to the capital, no matter what.
This latest battle with the orks was something Kantor had desperately wished to avoid. Every encounter cost them time, valuable ammunition, and risked alerting even greater enemy forces to their presence. But he was proud of the three makeshift squads who travelled with him. With their backs to the proverbial wall since the destruction of their home, they had fought like swamp-tigers, leaving countless dead xenos in their wake.
After an hour’s march, Kantor and the two squads with him finally caught up to Squad Viejo and the refugees who had already reached the riverbank. Viejo saluted when he saw the Chapter Master and gave him a quick update. No one had been injured, but some of the pilgrims were in shock, terrified by the fighting.
Dasat waited behind Viejo until the sergeant had finished his report, then, when the sergeant moved off, he bowed deep and made the sign of the aquila on his chest. ‘Praise the Emperor, my lord,’ said the old man, ‘that the foe didn’t harm you.’
Kantor took off his helmet and looked down at the man. ‘I’ve faced far worse,’ he said. ‘And I will again.’
Tears began to course down the old man’s cheeks. ‘You and your warriors continually risk your lives for ours. I can hardly tell you the shame I feel. I’ve never seen such selfless bravery, lord. Our worthless lives are not worth the burden we place on you. You have so much else to cope with.’
Sobs of sorrow and guilt shook the man’s bony shoulders.
Kantor reached out a massive hand and steadied him.
‘Enough, Dasat,’ he rumbled quietly. ‘No life lived in dedication to the Emperor should be cut short by filthy, mindless xenos. Besides, we are almost at the capital. Another day will see us there, if I have it right. The bank of this river will take us to Jadeberry Hill. Be strong a while longer. A battle awaits us there. My brothers will try their best to protect you, but you will need your strength. Drink from the river. Find food. Sleep till we wake you. It is your last chance to do so. By the Emperor’s grace, this journey ends soon.’
Dasat nodded. ‘I’ll pray it ends well, lord. For all of us.’
Kantor decided that he, too, would pray, not on his knees like those who followed the Imperial creed, but in the act of caring for his armour and his weapons. He would quietly chant the holy litanies of the Chapter, litanies to keep him strong, litanies to invoke the spirits of the wargear he relied on. He thought of the Emperor. The Crimson Fists, like many Adeptus Astartes Chapters, did not revere the Master of Mankind as a god, per se, but as a father. Still, the gifted brothers of the Librarius had, since the dawn of the Chapter’s existence, always maintained that the Emperor was ever-present somehow, a shining psychic light, a beacon of hope that did indeed seem strengthened by the devotion of all those who laboured in His name.
Kantor hoped He would hear Dasat’s prayers.
He moved off towards the riverbank where Cortez and some of the others were cleaning xenos gore from their armour.
Kantor waded into the shallows beside them and scooped water into his hands with which to clean his ancient suit.
We are sixteen against a world swarming with the foe, he thought. And yet, we sixteen have survived this far. There is meaning somewhere in all this. May I live long enough to discover it.
Fourteen
The Cassar, New Rynn City
‘Sergeant Grimm was the captain’s second-in-command,’ said Faradis Anto. ‘I can see no reason for your objection but simple pride, brother.’
Grimm hated this. How did it serve the memory of Drigo Alvez bickering over who was to command the forces that remained? Did the brothers assembled here around the ebonwood table of the Strategium think he wanted this? Coveted it? If he could have given his own life, right then and there, to have the brother-captain back, he would have taken his own blade and pierced both his hearts without hesitation.
He considered telling them this.
‘You seek to offend me, Anto?’ snarled Barrien Gallacus defensively, dangerously. ‘Pride is no factor in this. Drigo Alvez was a captain and a former brother of the Crusade Company. It is the latter that is important here. There is a hierarchy that must be adhered to. A Crusade Company sergeant is the obvious choice.’
‘And that would be you?’ asked Erdys Phrenotas.
Phrenotas led the Crusade Company’s Fourth Sternguard Squad. Gallacus led the First Vanguard Squad. Grimm shook his head in despair the moment Phrenotas opened his mouth. The old rivalry between the two elements would now dominate the debate. Any hope of a swift resolution had just vanished.
Or had it?
Gallacus was about to begin verbally sparring with Phrenotas when the doors of the Strategium swept open and three more Adeptus Astartes strode into the room.
‘What is going on here?’ demanded the figure in the centre of the trio. ‘Why are you wasting time? You should be on the walls, marshalling our forces. What is the meaning of this?’
Despite the harsh tone of the voice and a sudden dark change in the air, Grimm found himself suppressing a half-smile. Here was a swift resolution after all. The figure in the middle was Epistolary Deguerro. He was flanked by Codiciers Terraro and Corda.
‘We are in the process of selecting a temporary commander,’ explained a Vanguard Squad sergeant by the name of Hurien Thanator. He thrust his chin at Sergeant Anto, and added, ‘But our brothers in Second Company seem incapable of respecting the proper chain of command.’
Deguerro stopped beside Thanator’s chair and glared down at him. ‘Just as well, then, that I am here to simplify matters for you all.’
He looked over at Grimm, meeting his eyes, and said, ‘I will be taking temporary command of our forces. No!’ – he held up a hand towards Sergeant Gallacus, palm out – ‘Do not waste your breath attempting to debate it. There is clear precedent. You may check the archives in the Librarium downstairs. Sergeant Gallacus, I am placing you in charge of all Crusade Company assets. Sergeant Grimm, you wil
l be responsible for Second and Third Company assets. Both of you will follow my orders to the letter. Is that clear?’
Gallacus worked the muscles in his jaw angrily, but he knew well enough that Deguerro was right. In the absence of a captain, a senior member of the Librarius ultimately held highest rank. After a moment, he nodded.
‘Clear, brother.’
‘Sergeant Grimm?’ said Deguerro.
‘As you command, brother,’ said Grimm, and he meant it.
‘Excellent, then there is no more call for you to linger here. Your brothers need you on the walls. Gallacus, Brother-Codicier Terraro will accompany you. My liaison, if you will. Likewise, Brother-Codicier Cordo will assist Sergeant Grimm.’
The Adeptus Astartes seated around the table rose from their chairs and saluted with fist on breastplate, some begrudgingly, others with sincerity.
Deguerro saluted back. ‘Thank you, my brothers. May the primarch go with you.’
The sergeants filed out the broad ebonwood doors in silence.
Grimm was about to join them, the last to leave, when a hand on his upper arm stopped him. He turned.
‘A moment, brother-sergeant,’ said Deguerro, and Grimm noted the anxious look that had appeared in his eyes.
‘Do you wish me to leave, brother?’ asked Codicier Corda.
‘No,’ said Deguerro without taking his eyes from Grimm. ‘You already know what I wish to say to the sergeant.’
Corda nodded and stood patiently.
Grimm raised an eyebrow in silent query.
‘Huron Grimm,’ said Deguerro. ‘There are two things I must ask you to do. The first is to trust me. The second is perhaps the harder of the two. It will be dangerous, and your success or failure may well affect the lives of all who have survived thus far.’
‘Go on, brother,’ said Grimm, not bothering to cover his sudden sense of apprehension. The psyker would see through any mask.
Deguerro’s eyes were intense. ‘We of the Librarius have divined certain possibilities. Potentialities, if you will. We believe a number of strong… presences… are coming to New Rynn City. If they survive the final stages of their journey, their arrival may have a most significant impact on the outcome of this war.’
‘You don’t sound very sure,’ said Grimm.
Deguerro smiled humourlessly. ‘That is the way of witch-sight. It is frustratingly vague at times. We know something is about to change. We are approaching a major branching point, a juncture in time where the paths to the future diverge in very different directions. We must do everything we can to guide this reality, our reality, along the correct path.’
Grimm squinted back at the Librarian and, after a moment, shook his head. ‘Matters of the empyrean are best left in your hands, brother. I need no explanations, only your orders. Tell me what you require of me, and I promise you, it will be done.’
Fifteen
The Azcalan Rainforest, Rynnland Province
The river curved and, following its slippery bank, Kantor and his battered fellow survivors saw Jadeberry Hill rising over the treetops in the near distance. The Hill was symbolic, representing, to Kantor’s mind at least, the coming end of a journey that should never have taken place. How different would things now be had the fortress-monastery not been sundered? How hard might the Chapter have been able to strike back at the xenos? He would never know, just as he would never know exactly how a single missile from the Laculum battery had managed to wreak such raw devastation on all he held dear.
Cortez, too, noted the profile of the hill as it became visible around the curve of the river and the trees on its bank. Opening a channel to Kantor, he said, ‘We are closing at last, Pedro. But I’ll wager the hardest part still lies ahead of us.’
‘I’m sure you’re right,’ replied Kantor. ‘The lack of communications bothers me. At this range, we should at least be able to hear some kind of traffic, even if it is weak and fragmented.’
‘Viejo reports nothing yet,’ said Cortez. Squad Viejo were on point, ranging ahead of the rest by half a kilometre. ‘It’s as if every wide-area transmitter on the planet was taken out of commission. Either that, or the orks are employing some kind of communications suppressor. We have encountered the like before.’
Kantor looked up at the sky over the wide expanse of the river. It was a mix of bright gold and dark grey. The Season of Rains would be here soon. How would the orks respond to it? Would it alter their behaviour somehow? He realised there was a gap in his knowledge. Documentation on the effects of weather patterns on the greenskin race was practically non-existent. If he lived through this, he would commission such a study by the Adeptus Mechanicus’ biologis arm. Such science was their exclusive domain, and forces throughout the Imperium would surely benefit by it.
Across the grey-gold sky, ork craft still occasionally roared, leaving smoky black trails like banners proclaiming this world as theirs. The very sight of them sent waves of anger and disgust through him. The thick forest canopy of the Azcalan had, until now, kept such things from plain view.
Jadeberry Hill loomed closer by the minute, its summit topped with clusters of grey mausoleums and white marble angels. They would reach its base within the hour. Peering at it, Kantor realised that there was movement on its summit. Even at full magnification, it was not yet clear what was going on, but he knew signs of a firefight when he saw them, no matter the distance.
He opened a general channel and said, ‘We must hurry, brothers. Conflict rages up ahead. Our brothers have need of us. Be ready.’
All along the muddy bank, the marching Adeptus Astartes prepared their weapons for battle once again, locking the last of their magazines into their trusty bolters and cocking them. Their pace increased, and the refugees behind them had to hurry to keep up.
Whatever lay ahead, Kantor and his battle-brothers would overcome it, or die trying.
It was the only way they knew.
Sixteen
Jadeberry Hill, New Rynn City
Grimm had only four squads with which to hold the Jadeberry Underpass. It was here, to the mouth of the underpass, that Epistolary Duegerro had sent him, adamant that those approaching, whoever they were, would enter the city through it, or not at all. Even through the psychic haze, the roiling clouds of alien thought that billowed out from the minds of the ork psykers, the Crimson Fists Librarians had read this much clearly in the currents of the immaterial realm. Deguerro had not said who he believed the approaching presences to be, perhaps so as not to raise anyone’s hopes, but Grimm couldn’t suppress his own fervent hopes. Surely it was a group of survivors from Arx Tyrannus. Some of the Crimson Fists had to have survived. Dare he hope that the Chapter Master was among them?
From the underpass, the base of Jadeberry Hill was only two hundred metres away, just north, a pale, stony path snaking up its dark southern flank leading to the cemetery at the top. To the north-west of the hill, the waters of the Pakomac River split from those of the River Rynn. They meandered south then south-west, feeding a network of canals within the city limits before spreading out towards the farmlands where they followed countless irrigation ditches. Finally, the Pakomac split into a thousand smaller tributaries before it met the mighty Medean Sea.
The orks had not let the rivers and canals stop them from spreading into the region in force. In fact, they thrived with such an abundance of water. They used it in the massive steam-driven machines which filled the foundries they had hastily established, taking their cue from the manufactora they had already overrun. Their position was strong. They had encircled the city as completely as they could.
As Grimm looked out from behind the barricades he and his squads had erected around this, the mouth of the last Imperial-held underpass this side of the river, he cursed at all the greenskins had accomplished so far.
They were every bit as savage and violent as they had always been, but he couldn’t deny a certain brutal intelligence behind all they had achieved. Their elimination of Imperial communic
ations at the very earliest had been a masterstroke, a strategy clearly learned over their countless clashes with the Emperor’s forces. The storm trooper units of the Imperial Guard were regularly deployed early in war to achieve exactly such an objective. Adeptus Astartes strike forces executed such operations as a matter of course. Someone should have realised that, sooner or later, the orks would learn from the tactics of their enemies. Such knowledge may have taken a long time to permeate the greenskins’ limited minds, but it had finally dawned on them, and here were the results.
The barricades – mostly Aegis prefab shield-walls, concrete-filled steel drums, razorwire and sandbags – were the best he and his men could manage in the time they’d had. So far, they had held against the last four attack waves, but that was as much to do with the gridwork of anti-vehicle and anti-personnel mines Grimm had ordered placed on the main access road as it was the strength of the Aegis plating.
The minefield was largely depleted now. How close would the next wave get?
If there were Adeptus Astartes coming in from the east, they would soon discover the challenge they faced entering the city. The towering columns of black smoke and the endless drumbeat of heavy artillery would make it clear, long before they were within striking distance, that the orks controlled everything outside the walls. Everything, that is, except this last way in.
But how long do I wait, Grimm wondered?
He knew the enemy were already mustering for another run on his position. If his brothers from Arx Tyrannus were out there, they would have to hurry.
He turned his eyes left and up to the top of Jadeberry Hill. He had positioned a Devastator squad there, the only one he’d been assigned. It was a good spot for heavy fire support, as the last two hours had proven. The Devastators were fielding two lascannons, two missile launchers and a plasma cannon. Already, they had taken a staggering toll on the foe, ripping their vehicles to burning pieces from long range and atomising hundreds of alien infantry. But their ammunition was finite. If the attacks continued to intensify, they would soon run out.
Space Marine Battles - the Novels Volume 1 Page 90