Chapter Three
832959.M41 / The Cargo Port. Atika Hive, Pythos
As the sun broke over the horizon on the second day of the conquest of Pythos, Atika burned.
Battered by artillery and the twisted engines of war landed on the surface by the enemy, the spire blazed, a beacon in the half-light of dawn to guide the invaders. For a day and a half, Strike and the 183rd Catachan regiment had defended Atika Hive as if it were their own home world but still the enemy drove at them, forcing the beleaguered Guardsmen ever backwards. The civilian population, a little over ten thousand by Strike’s reckoning, had been ordered into the vast network of tunnels that ran deep below the hive for their own safety and now, without collateral damage to worry about, the colonel found himself fighting a battle on two fronts.
The hive proper had been abandoned hours earlier as cultist and Traitor Legionary alike stormed through the hastily erected defences backed up by monolithic daemon engines and other debased servants of the Dark Gods, and so Strike had made the call to split his forces. Half of the regiment were valiantly keeping an escape route open to the Olympax Mountains ready for the inevitable retreat. The other half were desperately trying to hold the port long enough to load cargo ships – more accustomed to carrying ore – with the regiment’s armour so they could be ferried off to safety, held in reserve for the long war that would inevitably follow. Foul magicks had taken out Atika’s astropathic choir, driving them all mad the instant they had tried to send out a distress call.
No outside help would be coming to aid the Catachans. This would be Strike’s war to prosecute. He would not have it any other way.
‘Colonel, we’ve just heard from the garrison at Olympax. No enemy contact yet. Khan’s Hold and Beluosus are reporting the same,’ Thorne said, scrambling behind the same ore container the colonel was using for cover. Strike leaned around the side of the huge metal box and let off two shots from his lasrifle, each one felling an onrushing cultist. ‘Still no word from Mauscolca Primus,’ Thorne added.
Strike unleashed another volley and yet more cultists were swept down before they could reach the Catachan lines. Thorne added his firepower as more enemy soldiers poured into the killzone. Though they were consummate jungle fighters, all Catachans prided themselves on their cityfighting abilities. ‘They’re hitting the major population centres first. Once they’ve taken the hives, they’ll move on to the smaller settlements and outlying strongholds.’
Thorne continued firing, mowing down more of the seemingly endless tide of wailing, tattooed madmen. ‘How do you know that?’ he asked.
‘Because it’s good warcraft and exactly how I would have gone about invading this planet.’
Cries went up from their right and both men turned to see cultists breaching a section of barricade formed from stacks of unrefined ore. Although nearly two metres high, the enemy fighters were using the bodies of the dead as steps to climb over it, and several had already made it over the top. Leaving Thorne to man his section of barricade, Strike drew his Catachan fang and waded in. A brute of a man, bigger even than the largest Catachan, had two men pinned underneath him and was battering them both with a makeshift club. Strike’s first swipe of the blade took the cultist’s hand off at the wrist, forcing him to drop his cudgel. The second opened his throat and killed him stone dead.
‘Collapse the top section of the wall!’ Strike roared, punching his blade through the chest of an onrushing cultist. Lending his strength to the effort of his men, Strike clambered up the barricade and placed his shoulder against the rocks. On his signal, a dozen Catachans pushed at once, sliding the top of the wall down onto the hapless cultists below. Those who didn’t die instantly under the crushing weight of the ore were quickly mopped up by Imperial fire.
‘Defend this until the very last moment and then fall back to the next line of barricades,’ Strike commanded. The invasion of Pythos had been swift but the Catachans had been stuck here for three years and had been far from idle. Thanks to Strike’s predilection for overpreparedness, Atika was as defensible as any hive in the Imperium. He was about to retake his place alongside Thorne when the portable vox-unit clipped to his belt crackled into life.
‘Colonel Strike. This is Major Rayston. Do you receive? Over,’ fizzed the voice in an accent that was clearly from Catachan’s northern hemisphere.
Strike put the device to his mouth and pressed the switch on the side to speak. ‘Receiving you loud and clear, Rayston. Are you keeping that escape route open for us?’ Rayston had fought with distinction alongside the colonel in many of the key battles on Burlion VIII and when he volunteered to oversee the retreat, Strike had no qualms whatsoever about putting him in charge of the operation.
‘Affirmative, sir. That wasn’t why I raised you on the vox though.’
Strike ducked back against the cargo container to avoid a volley of shots aimed at him from the enemy lines. ‘Then what is this? A social call?’ Even in the midst of a firefight, a Catachan’s grim sense of humour very rarely deserted him.
‘No, sir. It’s Brigstone. He’s made it back and has the astropath with him.’
832959.M41 / The East Gate. Atika Hive, Pythos
It was difficult to determine who looked the most haggard as Strike leapt out of the still moving Chimera to greet Brigstone and the remnants of his jungle expeditionary team. The colonel bore the scars of battle: nicks and scratches from where he had got into close combat with the hive’s attackers, scorch marks and burns to his shoulders where lasweapons had discharged in close proximity to him. Brigstone on the other hand was coated from head to toe in mud, as were the other four survivors. All of them bore chemical burns from where they’d charged incautiously through the noxious Pythosian swamps.
‘I don’t know what surprises me more, the enemy attack or seeing you walk out of that jungle.’ Strike’s words were mirthless. ‘When those drop pods started falling out of the sky, I feared the worst.’ He looked down at the exhausted band sitting wearily on the filthy ground. Mack sat alongside Liall, the astropath hugging his own knees and gently rocking while muttering quietly. K’Cee was slumped against an ammo crate. Large areas of fur were missing from his legs and arms from where acidic marsh gas had burned them away. Tzula sat staring out at nothing in particular, her jaw set rigid with determination. ‘I take it the rest of you–’
‘Didn’t make it, chief.’ Brigstone finished the colonel’s sentence for him. He rose to his feet and the two men clasped arms in greeting. ‘We lost Furie to a land dragon and Zens was killed by the enemy along with the inquisitor and the gunslinger. Kotcheff went only a couple of hours ago. Poor bastard breathed in too much swamp gas and disintegrated his lungs.’
‘You’ve had enemy contact in the Deathglades?’ If what Brigstone was saying was true, Strike’s theory about the enemy hitting population centres was in doubt.
‘A small force, no more than a dozen elite troops.’ Brigstone paused but realised that the incredulity of what he was about to say did not hold up to many of the other events of the past week or so. ‘Plague Marines. They were lying in wait for us as soon as the inquisitor found whatever it was he’d been looking for. The blonde was in on it too judging by the way she was shooting at us as we made our escape.’ The flight towards Atika had been swift and desperate, pausing only for short breaks before mounting up and continuing on, even during the hours of darkness. Tzula had not yet spoken about what had transpired in the jungle clearing.
Strike soon rectified that. ‘On your feet,’ he commanded Tzula.
She slowly turned her head to regard him but made no other movement.
‘I said, on your feet,’ Strike repeated.
‘I am an agent of the Most Holy Ordos, colonel. I am not yours to command,’ she said, regretting it instantly when she realised how much like Brandd she sounded.
‘I am de facto governor of this planet and, if you hadn’t noticed already, trying to prevent it from falling into the hands of the Archenemy. I don
’t care if you’re an agent of any Ordo, a High Lord of Terra or have verified lineage to the God-Emperor himself. Men and women under my command are dying by the thousands out there and I think it has something to do with the mission your boss was on and whatever it is he was trying to find.’ He took a step closer to Tzula, invading her personal space. ‘So start giving me some bloody answers and start doing it now!’
Sighing with reluctance, Tzula stood up. Her bodyglove was torn and frayed, and her once neat corn row braids had started to unravel. She took a step back and looked the colonel straight in the eyes. ‘What I’m about to tell you–’
‘Yeah. Top secret. Beyond classified. I get all that. Now cut the crap and start talking,’ Strike snapped.
And so Tzula did. She told him why they’d come to Pythos, about her master’s lifelong devotion and how they’d come here to destroy the Hellfire Stone. And she told him how, thanks to Brandd’s betrayal, they had unwittingly aided the enemy. But in everything she told him, she was careful to leave out one very important detail.
‘So this “seal” that they opened, there are more of them?’ Brigstone asked once she had finished.
‘They said seven, though the nature of the remaining six and what they hold bound are not known to me,’ she said, honestly.
‘And Abaddon himself is leading the assault?’ said Strike. There was a very slight quiver to the colonel’s voice.
His question hung there a moment.
‘Yes,’ she said eventually, the weight and inference of her answer evident to all.
Strike eyed her suspiciously. ‘You’re holding something back. What aren’t you telling us?’
A man does not rise to command of an entire regiment of Catachans without being able to read people, and that was exactly what Strike was doing with Tzula. She briefly considered maintaining the deceit but carefully removed the blade from where it was safely stowed in her belt and held it out to show the two men.
‘My master entrusted me with this knife and also with its secrets.’
Brigstone looked to his own blade at his hip, then at the tiny thing in Tzula’s hand.
‘It is not a weapon, but I have no doubt that if it was used as such its effect would be devastating. Ever since my master…’ Tzula paused, before correcting herself. ‘Ever since my former master took me on as his apprentice, he trained me in its operation so that when it came into his possession we could be ready to use it to its full potential.’
‘“Its operation”? It’s just a bloody knife and not a very big one at that,’ Strike scoffed. When it came to knives, few in the Imperium could rival those of Catachan for both enthusiasm and knowledge.
‘As I said, this is not a weapon. Though it is capable of tearing through flesh and armour, its true purpose is to tear through reality and act as a bridge between worlds,’ Tzula said, the conviction of her words disarming the two Catachans.
‘You’re saying that if you were to use it you could put a hole in reality and we could step right through it back to Catachan?’ Strike said after the implications of what Tzula had just said became apparent.
‘If only it were that simple. I could use it and be as likely to open a portal to a world within the Eye of Terror as I would Catachan. And besides, even if I could get you and your regiment back to Catachan, you’re not the kind of man to run away and abandon this world to the forces of the Archenemy.’
Strike smiled, Tzula having read him as well as he’d got the measure of her.
‘What is vital,’ she continued, ‘is that this blade does not make it into the hands of Abaddon or any of the enemy agents. Entire cults have spent millennia studying and coveting this blade and they know far more about its power and application than either Lord Dinalt did or any other faithful servant of the Golden Throne. In their hands they may be able to harness it so that rifts may be opened directly to Catachan, Cadia or wherever they choose. Even Terra.’ Strike and Brigstone noticeably flinched at the mention of their home world. ‘Catachans above all others know the true value of a good blade. This one could be worth as much as the Imperium itself, and so we must defend it with our lives until reinforcements arrive to liberate Pythos.’
‘There are no reinforcements,’ Strike said coldly. ‘The astropaths tried to get a message out as soon as the first drop pods hit but something prevented them. They went crazy and turned on themselves, ripping out each other’s throats with their teeth and clawing at the walls of the choir chamber until fingers wore down to knuckles. By the time Thorne got to them, the only ones left breathing had to be put down out of mercy.’
‘We’re on our own then,’ Tzula said.
‘Not necessarily…’ Strike turned to look at Liall, who was still sitting with his hands clasped around his legs.
‘He’s a single astropath. If an entire choir couldn’t get a message through, what makes you think he can?’
‘If a lone astropath was good enough for Dinalt’s purposes then I’m sure he’s more than capable of getting a message out to fleet command. And if we can get him to an astropathic chamber, his chances of success will be far greater.’
‘Hollowfal?’ Tzula said. ‘It’ll take weeks to reach there through the jungle.’
‘Weeks we can’t afford. That message has to be sent as soon as possible otherwise all any reinforcements will find on Pythos will be our corpses.’ Strike looked skyward towards the smouldering spire of Atika Hive.
‘You can’t be serious. Even if you could fight your way up there, he’ll never agree to it.’ Tzula looked forlornly upon the emaciated figure of Liall, his filthy robes swaddled around him as he talked to himself and rocked.
‘I have a feeling he could be persuaded,’ said Brigstone. ‘Mack? Come over here. There’s something I need you to do for me.’
833959.M41 / The base of Atika Hive, Pythos
Tzula’s sleep had been fitful and restless and she had awoken feeling as tired as she had done before Strike had ordered her and the rest of the jungle survivors to get some sleep. No more than a few minutes would go by before the noise of another artillery barrage or missile strike would rouse her from her slumber and the continued chatter of small arms fire and distant enemy chanting from the frontlines made it an effort to get back to sleep. Not that Brigstone or Mack had the same trouble – an orbital bombardment could not wake a Catachan, or so they claimed – and K’Cee could grab some shuteye almost on command. Even Liall seemed to have little trouble entering a restful state, though his lack of eyes made it hard for Tzula to tell if he was truly sleeping or not.
Liall.
He had been part of Dinalt’s retinue before Tzula had been taken under her former master’s wing, and despite being less than useless – practically a liability, in fact – in a combat situation, his astropathic abilities had saved them on many occasions. Tzula was only here on Pythos because Liall had been able to signal for reinforcements, raise an evacuation or direct a precision strike so many times over she had lost count.
So why did she find it so easy to send him on his way to certain death?
Duty. Duty and revenge.
Dinalt and Chao were dead but the Lord Inquisitor’s mission was incomplete. The Hellfire Stone was lost, not to appear again for decades, the knife still needed protecting and there was still the matter of the remaining seals. The fact that the sky had not turned upside down, the atmosphere had yet to become pure warp-stuff nor had the planet’s population sprouted horns and cloven hooves, suggested that the enemy had not achieved that particular feat. Yet, as long as the seals remained unbroken, there was still a chance that she could stop them and gain some measure of vengeance while she was at it.
Nobody spoke as they trudged towards the makeshift entrance at the base of Atika Hive. Rayston had pulled some of his men away from keeping the escape route to the mountains clear to open up a corridor to the hive and, in between sporadic exchanges of fire with enemy zealots, to a man the Catachans all turned away from their emplacements and acknowled
ged Mack and the squad he was leading. They weren’t sure what to make of the little man in scruffy robes at their compatriot’s shoulder mumbling away to himself, but if he was brave enough to make his way deep into enemy territory with only a dozen Catachans by way of bodyguard, he was worthy of their respect. Or pity.
To everybody’s surprise, Liall had not protested in the slightest when Mack had asked him if he would go to the top of the hive to send the message. All that he had asked was for Mack to go with him to which the brawny Catachan had agreed without hesitation. Strike had shown similar decisiveness when he put Mack in charge of the mission and told him to go and find volunteers, but even the colonel was surprised when almost a hundred men had put themselves forwards. For the first time since the invasion, Strike began to have doubts – was this simply heroic camaraderie, wanting to stand by one of their own, or was it something much darker, that they’d given up hope and sought a quick death?
No. These were men and women of Catachan, born unto a world that had tried to strangle the life out of them since birth and where survival itself was a badge of honour. Sons and daughters of Catachan did not barter their lives so cheaply, they exacted a toll from the enemy in blood and would keep them paying until the breath fled their lungs and their hearts beat their last.
The sombre troop stopped as they neared a wide rent in the hive wall. Unlike typical hive cities where buildings were piled atop each other until a crazed, haphazard structure thrust toward the sky, Atika had been built with a thick outer wall to protect those within from both the elements and the planet’s native life forms.
‘We’re all proud of you, son,’ said Strike, who had ceded command of defending the docks to Thorne while he helped cover Mack and his team’s entrance into the hive. ‘I’m proud of you, your uncle’s proud of you. This whole damn regiment is proud of you.’ A cheer went up from those manning the barricades, the sound incongruous against the din of las-fire and the screams of the dying.
Space Marine Battles - the Novels Volume 1 Page 315