Shadowbreaker - Steve Parker

by Warhammer 40K

  ‘Song of Scaldara,’ breathed Gedeon.

  She was typical of an Inquisition stealth-infiltration craft, her lines sleeker, less blocky, than a corvette or cruiser. Far from elegant, but there was something of a great, dark bird of prey about her, a brooding thing, a silent watcher that missed little.

  ‘I’d not thought we’d ever see her again,’ said Pelion, staring up at the smooth black hull.

  ‘Now that I’m in front of her,’ said Gedeon, ‘I feel nothing. I remember only the foul betrayal of her mistress.’

  ‘Just a ship,’ rumbled Chyron, ‘and not the one we seek.’

  ‘So Epsilon will travel on a t’au ship,’ said Roen. ‘That makes sense. The t’au executed our Navigator. They’ll use their own people to get wherever they’re going.’

  Mindful that Scimitar had been buried under a hangar such as this, Androcles had everyone search for explosives, but none were found.

  Over the vox, Dargen of Reaper Three addressed him. ‘Sabre Alpha, you have t’au forces converging on your position from the west. Reaper Three moving to engage, but they have a Sky Shark. In daylight, their missile AIs can get a visual lock. High risk. Advise you move things along down there.’

  Chyron was already stomping towards the hangar’s main entrance. His power fist had ripped the heavy plasteel shutter apart at the beginning of the attack, gaining him and Spear Team Three initial entry. Through the ruin of the shutter, he spotted a broad line of enemy forces approaching. His battle lust suddenly reignited. Inside his armoured chassis, what remained of his original organic body flooded with adrenaline and excitement.

  ‘Androcles, Grigolicz,’ he boomed. ‘Go scour the other hangars. I will keep these curs busy.’

  ‘Pelion,’ said Androcles, ‘search the ship then catch up to us.’

  From outside there came the familiar drumming of heavy-bolters.

  Reaper Three screamed from the sky, raking the t’au forces, ripping into a dozen infantry and blowing one of the Sky Shark’s impulse jets.

  The anti-air tank rocked sideways with the explosion of its left engine. Its right side scraped rockcrete, throwing up a shower of sparks. As it did, it managed to turn its turret and lock onto Reaper Three. There was a roar and a flash of fire. A seeker missile slid from its pylon and lunged into the air after the Stormraven.

  The rest of the t’au column, spread in a broad battle line, continued to advance.

  From just inside the hangar, Chyron lined his twin-linked lascannons up on the Devilfish armoured transport in the centre. He aimed roughly at where the craft’s reactor would be and loosed a shot.

  Beams buried deep into the curving, tan-coloured hull.

  The machine froze, then the reactor detonated, blasting the armour apart from within, hurling shrapnel into the closest infantry and cutting down seven of them.

  Chyron chuckled to himself. ‘A good kill to start things off,’ he boomed to the others.

  There was no one there.

  They were already moving north to the next hangar at a run.

  ‘Bah! I never needed an audience anyway,’ he said happily, and broke from cover to throw himself in among the foe.

  As he thundered forward, his next lascannon blast struck one of the Sky Shark’s remaining five seeker missiles and started a stutter of explosions that ripped the tank and surrounding infantry apart.

  ‘Reaper Three,’ he voxed. ‘Sky Shark destroyed. You are free to re-engage with impunity.’

  No answer.

  He noticed a column of thick black smoke five hundred metres south, tilting with the wind as it rose.

  He stitched the advancing t’au line with storm bolter fire now that they were in range, then stole a quick look south that confirmed his suspicions.

  Reaper Three was down, scattered over Landing Field Three in a thousand twisted pieces. The Sky Shark’s missile had knocked the Stormraven from the sky.

  The Lamenter remembered his momentary feeling of kinship with the pilot, unified with his craft, the machine becoming the body. And now Dargen was dead, killed by puny t’au.

  At least he had died in battle. Chyron envied him that.

  His spirit would have peace.

  T’au rounds rattled off his chassis, drawing him back. The xenos were closing, trying to deploy heavier, closer-range weapons that might stand a chance of bringing the Dreadnought down.

  They wanted to get closer? Good!

  He would crush them, pulp their bodies with his power fist. That would be much more satisfying.

  With a terrifying roar amplified by the vox-grilles on his glacis, he surged towards them, giving himself over completely to the savagery within.

  When he was done, the rockcrete around him was awash with blue blood.

  ‘More,’ he growled. ‘Not enough. Bring me more!’

  He remembered the report of t’au converging on the ruin of the hangar which had been brought down on top of Scimitar.

  Infantry. Armour. He barely stopped to think.

  On piston legs he cursed for not being faster, he struck out across open ground, making straight for the far side of the landing fields and the larger fight he hoped to find there.

  Fifty-one

  Copley grabbed the earth caste supervisor’s body by its collar and wrenched it backwards off the console.

  It hit the floor with a thud.

  Behind her, half of her remaining people were dragging xenos corpses out of the way. The other half were either welding the outer doors shut or hunched over the t’au consoles, pouring over holo-menus for any subsystems they could put to use.

  Copley let her gaze run over the displays and glyph boards in front of her. We’ve got everything here. Holo-vid feeds from practically everywhere. Long-range aerospace scanners. Even orbital satellite links.

  She just had to get control of it.

  From the tower windows, she had an unparalleled view. Fires still blazed in the north-east where Sabre Squad had hit the fuel silos. Black smoke still rose into the sky from the ruins of every defence tower the Imperial gunships had hit in the opening stages of the assault.

  She couldn’t see Black Eagle or Reaper flight, but if she could hack the holo-feeds, she’d have a much better picture of things.

  ‘Archangel to Scimitar Alpha,’ she voxed. ‘Spear One has the control tower. I say again, Spear One has the control tower.’

  She awaited Broden’s gruff response.

  Nothing.

  It was Morant who called her attention to a holo-feed from the periphery of the landing field to the west.

  ‘Flattened,’ he said grimly. ‘They brought the whole hangar down. Scimitar must’ve been in there. See the t’au surrounding the rubble?’

  Copley squinted at the display. Morant was right. The t’au had deployed infantry, Devilfish transports and a Hammerhead tank in a broad semi-circle around the ruins.

  ‘Archangel to Scimitar,’ she voxed, desperation edging her voice. ‘Respond.’

  Silence.

  ‘There’s something else,’ said Morant. He thrust his chin at another display.

  ‘Chyron,’ breathed Copley. ‘What’s he doing?’

  The hulking Lamenter was pounding in the direction of the ruined hangar and the t’au surrounding it.

  ‘He’s going to engage them alone,’ said Morant. He couldn’t keep the incredulity from his voice. The Dreadnought was fearsome, true, but didn’t he see how badly outnumbered he was? If the t’au saw him coming, and they surely would, the Hammerhead’s powerful ion cannon would cut him open like a can of beans, no matter how thick that chassis armour was.

  ‘Reaper Three,’ voxed Copley. ‘Assist Talon Six. Run a flyby on Landing Field One and strafe those damned t’au.’

  Static. No response.

  ‘Reaper Three. Dargen.’

  M
orant put a hand on her arm. ‘Ma’am…’

  Copley followed his gaze to the top-left holo-display.

  At the edge of the holo-picter’s field of view, she saw smoking metal strewn across the rockcrete.

  A lot of it.

  The familiar shapes of several of the larger pieces left no doubt.

  ‘We’re down a Stormraven,’ said Morant.

  ‘All Imperial air units,’ voxed Copley, ‘Archangel has the control tower. I want a sitrep. Now!’

  Graka, Reaper Two, was the first to respond. ‘Engaging ground forces, Archangel. Just north of your position.’

  She looked north and saw a black shape there, fast-moving, silhouetted against the sky.

  ‘They’re tightening the perimeter, major, pulling back from the junction barricades and pushing for the landing fields. I’m doing what I can to whittle them down.’

  ‘Understood, Graka. Stay on them till further orders,’ said Copley. ‘Reaper One, status.’

  Ventius sounded tense. ‘Strafing ground targets north-east of the landing fields. Can confirm Reaper Two’s report. T’au ground forces converging en masse around the spaceport. They’ve abandoned their blockades. Coldwave is tightening the noose.’

  Morant glanced anxiously at her. She didn’t meet his gaze. Instead, she studied the other holo-displays.

  Where the hell is Epsilon? No sign of her or Coldwave yet.

  ‘Black Eagle, are you reading me?’

  ‘Black Eagle copies. Go ahead, Archangel.’

  ‘What’s your status?’

  ‘Engaging the Razorsharks, ma’am, but they keep dancing just out of range. Best I can do is keep them off our ground teams.’

  Copley stepped back from Morant’s console and took in all the displays above it at once.

  Why did she feel so exposed right now? Something was definitely wrong. Those hairs on her neck, again…

  A voice called out from the other side of the control room. It was Triskel.

  ‘Major, I’ve got air contacts leaving Zu’shan and Na’tol. ETA eight and eleven minutes respectively.’

  ‘Read their glyphs.’

  ‘All fighters, ma’am. No bombers. No transports.’

  Copley’s shoulders sank. She felt a deep aching in her muscles and joints. Tiredness was creeping up on her. Post-adrenaline crash. Or were the meds she’d taken wearing off already? The harsh, wet cough that repeatedly reminded her of their degenerating condition was getting worse among her men.

  Behind her, Vanoff had finished welding shut the doors. Before that, he had set trip-lines and frag mines out in the hallway. No one was getting in anytime soon. Certainly not in the eight minutes it would take the first of the damned air caste jets to arrive.

  When they did, Black Eagle and the Stormravens would be badly outnumbered. Easy prey. Once they were down, she and her team would be sitting ducks up here in the tower.

  ‘This shitstorm is about to get a lot messier,’ groaned Morant.

  She could hardly argue with him, but the others didn’t need to hear it. ‘Arcturus has handled messy before,’ she said for everyone’s ears. ‘We’ll handle it again.’ She pressed a finger to the transmit stud of her vox pickup. ‘Talon, where are you?’

  Karras’ voice came back, deep and somehow reassuring. At least the Death Spectre was still in play. He was something different, powerful in ways she didn’t understand. For some reason, he made her feel like almost anything might be possible, even here, with Shadowbreaker barely holding together at all.

  ‘Talon on site now, Archangel. We remain undetected. Spaceport north side. I can see Reaper Two above us. Still no word from Broden?’

  ‘Nothing,’ replied Copley. ‘I’m taking back operational command, Scholar. Any objections?’

  ‘None,’ said Karras. ‘Let’s get this done. Orders?’

  ‘Talon Six is making for the hangar where Scimitar went down. Heavy t’au presence… He’s on his own, Scholar. Not responding to hails.’

  Karras was briefly silent. ‘Chyron can handle himself, Archangel. Suggest we focus on finding Epsilon.’

  Eight minutes. Just eight minutes.

  ‘Agreed, Talon. Be quick. We’re about to lose air control. Fighters inbound. Eight minutes out.’

  ‘Talon hears, Archangel. We move.’

  ‘Black Eagle,’ voxed Copley. ‘Coordinate with Talon Squad. Keep the t’au from slowing them down.’

  ‘Understood, Archangel. Black Eagle moving in to support.’

  ‘Reaper Two, I want you running close support for Sabre Squad. They’re sweeping the hangars around Landing Field Three. And watch out for Sky Sharks. We’ve already lost one gunship to anti-air. Can’t lose another.’

  That left only Reaper One. Ventius. It was all she could do for the Dreadnought, give him the last of their air support and hope it would be enough. Maybe the Dreadnought’s fight would draw additional t’au forces away from the kill-teams.

  Maybe not.

  Reaper One confirmed orders.

  A moment later, a bulky black shape with Deathwatch and Ordo Xenos markings screamed past the tower so close it shook it – Ventius on his way to aid Chyron.

  Copley covered her mouth and coughed. When she looked into her hand, she saw red flecks there.

  She wiped her palm on her thigh.

  No, she told herself. Not until this is over.

  Fifty-two

  As he bore down on the t’au around the destroyed hangar, Chyron laughed at himself. He knew the odds were not in his favour. His chances of survival were poor. It excited him. Maybe he would finally die in battle.

  He’d have preferred tyranids, selling his life dear against the foe he hated most of all. But xenos were xenos. Honour was honour. And death in service to his oath and the Emperor would see him reunited with his brothers at last.

  Before that, he would revel in carnage.

  Archangel tried to direct him elsewhere, to support Sabre Squad and Spear Team Three. He was having none of it. They would manage. They had a Stormraven on station overhead. He had made his choice.

  Full credit to the woman, though – she hadn’t used armour lock on him for failure to obey. Sigma would have.

  Closer now.

  Up ahead, he saw fire warriors in sand-coloured armour moving methodically over the great mound of plasteel and rockcrete that had crushed Scimitar Squad. They probed the rubble, searching for signs of the bodies underneath.

  Hard to believe Broden had been taken out of the game so early and so easily, but the Black Templar had seemed the type to make hasty mistakes. All bluster, no brains.

  Like knows like, Chyron thought, and laughed aloud.

  The sound boomed from his vox-grilles, harsh and clear, carrying to his targets. Those closest heard him. They spun and saw his black bulk powering towards them like a runaway train, little over a hundred metres off.

  Fireblade officers began gesturing and shouting. Those among the rubble stopped what they were doing and ducked into cover to take up firing positions. The others, out in the open, dropped to a knee and levelled their guns at him.

  The two Devilfish transports swung around to face him, their gun drones and pulse cannons zeroing in. The Hammerhead turned its turret in his direction. Its railgun was the only weapon they had which was capable of one-shotting him.

  You’re first, thought Chyron.

  He sighted his twin-linked lascannon on the t’au tank. The ion cannon was powering up, the muzzle aglow.

  Pulse and plasma fire filled the air like a sudden squall, pouring at him, smacking into his glacis, scoring the thick ceramite of his huge, boxy shoulders.

  He was about to fire when something dark plummeted from the sky above like a diving falcon. There was a sound somewhere between a low bark and a rattle.

  The t’au Hammerhead
shook, armour-piercing bolt rounds rippling over its turret, biting deep, shredding armour.

  Reaper One screamed back up into the air, out of range, and swiftly banked for another run.

  In her wake, the railgun’s powercell detonated, a flash of blue light that turned the tank into blazing scrap. Grav-engines died. It dropped, hitting the rockcrete hard.

  Kill denied, thought Chyron, part rage, part admiration. It had been a graceful kill, pleasing to watch.

  His lascannons swung left, locked onto one of the Devilfishes and cut right to its machine heart.

  Reaper One screamed in and strafed the ground again, this time smacking a dozen t’au from their feet, spreading them across the landing field in wet blue smears.

  Grisly and merciless.

  Chyron cored the other Devilfish, then charged forward again, ignoring the rounds biting fist-sized craters in his armour. He pushed into storm bolter range. Raising his power fist, under which the storm bolter was mounted, he raked blistering fire across the infantry, cutting down seven in the first sweep.

  He laughed, lost in the rush, his mind unclouded. In battle came the only reprieve from his sorrows. It was all that made continued existence worthwhile.

  As he killed, he prayed for more. More enemies. More armour. More risk. Greater odds. More!

  Don’t let it stop. Don’t let me win. Make this the day, damn you. Give me a foe to equal my solemn wish!

  From further along the edge of the landing field, hangar shutters began rolling upwards. Fire warriors spilled out, followed by the flowing shapes of more t’au armour.

  The infantry taking cover in the rubble on his left began peppering him with shots.

  Above him, Reaper One banked left and angled in again.

  ‘Yes!’ Chyron roared into the air. ‘All of it. Unleash everything you have at me. We will all die together in a mighty clash of metal and flesh! To me, xenos filth. To me! The last Lamenter is ready!’

  Talon Squad stacked up against the wall of the only dedicated military hangar at the spaceport. Far bigger than any other, it sat on the northernmost edge of Landing Field One.