Apocalypse - Josh Reynolds

by Warhammer 40K

  Lakmhu used his crozius to scoop up a length of intestine. He whistled, and the blade slaves returned to his side. He offered them the intestine, and they fell upon it greedily, fighting like hungry dogs for a taste, jaws snapping in the ruins of their helms.

  As they squabbled, he looked at Ganor. ‘Come. He wishes to speak to you.’

  ‘A council of war,’ Ganor said, glancing at Dheel and the others.

  Lakmhu grunted dismissively. ‘Something like that.’

  Amatnim smiled as Lakmhu showed Ganor in. The pirate looked almost comical amid the dour crimson shapes of the Word Bearers. A clown. A jester. But there was something in him – a seed that might yet blossom into greatness, if it were properly nurtured. And that too was the duty of his Legion. Lorgar had bequeathed unto them responsibility for the souls of mankind, from the greatest lord to the meanest drudge. Amatnim intended to fulfil that responsibility.

  ‘Ah, welcome, Prince Ganor. Welcome.’

  Ganor bobbed his head, and took a wary glance around. His ambition burned in him like a flame, but it was tinged with fear. Amatnim set a comradely arm about his shoulders. ‘I am told that you have some knowledge of Almace, and the void around it. Is this true?’

  Ganor flinched slightly at the weight of Amatnim’s arm, but nodded. ‘I do. I was born there.’ He frowned. ‘My family…’ He trailed off. Amatnim nodded sympathetically.

  ‘I understand. It is ever the way with the followers of the Corpse-God. The same story, stretched across centuries. They take what rightfully belongs to others, and claim it as their own.’ Amatnim brought up the system map. ‘What can you tell me about these mining facilities here, dotting the asteroid fields around the planet? We’ve seen them here and there, but most of them are isolated, which is why we’ve ignored them. But the asteroid field between us and Almace is thicker than I anticipated, and riddled with them – hundreds, even.’

  ‘That’s a good estimate, my lord,’ Ganor said, peering at the display. ‘They grow by the decade. Used to only be a few, but now the asteroid field might as well be a city.’ He scratched his chin. ‘When I was a boy, pirates used to raid them regularly.’

  ‘But not now.’

  Ganor cleared his throat. ‘No. The facilities here now have defensive capabilities the others mostly lacked. It’s basically a chain of interlinked forts. Not good ones, but more than any ship could handle on its own.’ He leaned close, frowning. ‘They’ve got hop-ships, weapons. That makes them too dangerous to be profitable.’

  Lakmhu laughed. ‘You do not know what that word means, mortal.’

  Ganor bristled. ‘I know enough,’ he said hotly. At his tone, one of Lakmhu’s slaves gave a grunt of warning, but the mortal paid little heed. ‘Just like I know that they aren’t happy with the way things are.’

  Amatnim nodded. ‘They slave for unfriendly masters.’

  ‘That they do, your lordship. Not a pleasant life, being a roughneck. I should know – I have plenty among my crew.’ Ganor scratched his cheek. ‘They might be amenable to a change of employment, you might say.’

  Lakmhu snorted. ‘We have plenty of slaves.’

  Ganor’s hand dropped to his pistol. One of Lakmhu’s blade slaves raised his weapon, the edge resting perilously close to Ganor’s throat. The pirate froze. Amatnim sighed and pushed the weapon aside.

  ‘Control your hounds, brother.’

  ‘You control yours,’ Lakmhu said, glaring at the pirate. Ganor stepped back, stinking of fear. Amatnim shook his head.

  ‘Regardless, he is correct. Those facilities are too dangerous to be left sitting. We must take them, before they become an impediment.’ He turned. ‘That will be your task, brother.’

  ‘Mine?’ Lakmhu said. ‘Send Apis. I would be in at the kill.’

  ‘And I would that you were there. It is a vital task, brother. And one I entrust to you.’

  Lakmhu grimaced. Amatnim could feel the Dark Apostle’s frustration. The bloody helms of his beasts twitched, as if they’d caught a scent. Amatnim gestured for Ganor to step back, and then, more discreetly, for Apis to put away his sidearm.

  One of the blade slaves lunged, unable to control itself – or perhaps at Lakmhu’s instigation. The creature roared and swept its blade back for an overhand blow as it moved towards him. Amatnim twitched aside, and the blade narrowly missed him, before slamming into the floor. He could feel the heat of the runes etched into its length, even as he drove his fist into the side of the creature’s head, momentarily stunning it.

  Daemonically empowered though they were, the blade slaves were still limited to some degree by the physiology of their husks. They were faster than any legionary, but they still had bones and hearts and nerves. It was just a question of reaching them swiftly enough.

  Before it could rip its blade free, he had an arm about its neck, and a hand clamped to the top of its skull. He drove a knee into its spine, and wrestled it to the floor, pinning it beneath his weight. It was undignified, but effective. He heard Lakmhu shout, and the creature ceased its struggles.

  ‘Release him,’ the Dark Apostle said. There was a hint of a plea, there. But no apology. Amatnim sighed and looked at Lakmhu.

  ‘No.’

  Then, with a jerk and a twist, he tore the creature’s head from its shoulders. The body thrashed like a dying serpent, and the survivor gave a keening, inhuman wail. He rose and tossed the head at Lakmhu’s feet. ‘I told you to keep them under control. If you do not obey, there is no place for you here.’

  Lakmhu snarled and raised his crozius, but stopped as he heard the telltale click of weapons being readied. Apis and the others in the chamber had their bolt pistols aimed at the Dark Apostle. He bared his teeth and glared at them. ‘Treachery,’ he said.

  ‘Pragmatism,’ Amatnim said. ‘There is glory enough for all of us, brother. Do not fear. I will not deprive you of your just due.’

  Slowly, Lakmhu lowered his weapon. Without a word, he turned on his heel and departed, followed by his remaining slave. Amatnim made no move to stop him. He turned back to the map.

  ‘Now, where were we?’

  Chapter Fourteen

  76:00:07

  Odoacer System, coreward edge

  Raven’s Valour shuddered as lance-strikes burned its flanks. Commander Raquen pounded a fist against the side of his command throne in frustration. The bridge viewscreen was a flurry of static, and barely half the strike cruiser’s hull-mounted sensors were responding. Luckily, the weapons batteries were still operational.

  ‘Fire,’ he snarled.

  The order was relayed to the gunnery decks in dull monotones by the bridge servitors. A moment later, the strike cruiser shuddered again, this time in satisfaction as its guns roared. Disruption macro-cannons spat streams of ionised deuterium atoms across the black, as heavier Hecutor plasma batteries unleashed photonic salvoes.

  ‘My lord, incoming transmission from the Silent Horseman,’ a bridge serf called out.

  ‘Put it through,’ Raquen said as the bridge shook again. A hololithic projection flickered to life before him, revealing Suboden Khan’s hawklike features.

  ‘Status, brother?’

  ‘They were waiting for us – in the debris field between us and the core. As soon as we hit our target, they hit us. It seems you are not the only hunter in these stars, khan.’ Raquen winced as a wail of feedback cut through the vox. ‘You were right – it was too easy.’ Below, he saw servitors twitching in their thrones as blood seeped from their data ports. ‘They used their own slaves as bait to draw us in.’

  ‘We’re making for your coordinates now – can you hold out?’

  ‘We don’t seem to have much of a choice,’ Raquen growled. ‘They’ve got us boxed in, two to one. Both heavy cruisers. I haven’t managed to identify them yet.’

  ‘We can name them after we reduce them to scrap. Hold fast,
brother.’

  Raquen cut the transmission and sat back. Damage estimates scrolled upwards across his helmet display. His battleplate was connected to the command throne by a number of contact ports, allowing him to swiftly receive and synthesise the data. At the moment, all he was receiving were various flavours of bad news.

  They’d been caught in a pretty trap. Dorn’s Hand, the frigate that had been accompanying Raven’s Valour, was burning somewhere off starboard. Communications were a confused garble of static – likely, their vox-array had been damaged – but from the few images he’d got from the hull sensors, they didn’t look to be in good shape.

  The Drusus was gone as well – the cruiser had been torn nearly in two by a lucky salvo. If any of its crew were still alive, they soon wouldn’t be, once its engines reached critical mass. Raquen felt a flicker of regret. He’d quite liked the cruiser’s energetic young captain. He supposed the mortal was dead now. The ship’s bridge had been struck full on.

  The bridge shook again, and he was nearly wrenched from his command throne. ‘Report,’ he barked.

  ‘They’re circling…’ a bridge serf said, coughing slightly. Smoke hung thick over the bridge now, and the circulation systems were faltering. ‘It’s like they’re waiting, my lord.’

  ‘Maybe we damaged them more badly than we thought,’ Raquen’s second, Geris, said. The other Space Marine stood at a tacticum console, where he’d been analysing the enemy’s firing patterns. He turned. ‘Or maybe they’re waiting for reinforcements…’

  Raquen turned. ‘Have we re-established contact with Dorn’s Hand?’

  ‘No, my lord,’ a serf said.

  ‘Bring up a sensor-feed, if we’ve got one. Patch it to my command throne.’

  A hololithic image, badly distorted, flickered into view. The frigate was turning slowly through the void. Raquen could tell that it had lost power. Its thrusters were burning, but it was going nowhere. Already, swarms of gunships and assault boats were streaking towards it. The few attack craft available to Raven’s Valour were attempting to intercept, but they wouldn’t be enough.

  And beyond the dying frigate, the enemy hung in the void and watched. Waited. Guns primed and ready. But not moving in for the kill. Raquen saw it then – they were waiting. But not for reinforcements. ‘Divert secondary power to the augur array,’ he said. ‘Do a sweep. Look for pingbacks, especially deeper in the debris field.’

  ‘My lord?’ Geris said.

  ‘Do it. Now.’

  Raquen watched Dorn’s Hand convulse. If its engines overloaded and went up, they would catch the edge of its death throes. But if they moved, they’d be exposing themselves to the enemy. He laughed softly. Damned if they did, damned if they didn’t.

  Geris cursed. Raquen didn’t look at him. ‘How many?’

  ‘Two definites, at least twice that in potentials. Battle cruisers by the look of them. They’re masking their signatures with the debris field. What are they waiting on?’

  ‘The Silent Horseman,’ Raquen said. ‘This is a kill-box. They drew us in, and now they’re using us to draw in the rest of the fleet. Check our communications.’

  A squeal of feedback filled the bridge. Raquen closed his eyes. ‘Jammed,’ Geris said. ‘They let us make contact.’

  ‘Suboden will rush in, guns blazing. And then they’ll strike. Even if the fleet manages to break off, casualties will be high.’ Raquen sat back. There was no good option. Their shields were faltering, their guns were running dry and their hull was bleeding fire. Soon, the assault boats would come, slinking through the black, and then there’d be no time for anything but fighting. No way to warn the White Scars, no way to escape.

  There was only one sure way to prevent Suboden from falling into the trap.

  ‘The choice is out of our hands.’ He pushed himself to his feet. ‘We must warn the fleet. Ready all guns. Come to a collision heading with the nearest enemy vessel on my mark. And begin preparations to overload the plasma reactors.’

  ‘My lord?’ Geris asked, quietly.

  ‘We need to send up a flare, brother. A warning to break off.’ Raquen clasped his hands behind his back. ‘One way or another, I intend to give them that warning. Three ships saved for the price of one. A good bargain.’

  ‘It would be better if we were not on the ship in question,’ Geris said.

  ‘Yes, well, you can’t have everything.’ Raquen looked at the viewscreen. Alarm klaxons wailed as the ship slid to a new heading, engines groaning. He gestured. ‘Set collision course. Prime all guns. Engage.’

  Raven’s Valour began its last flight. Raquen knew that Suboden would detect their destruction and break off, retreating into the debris field – or perhaps farther than that. What was left of the fleet would be saved. A satisfactory conclusion. He smiled.

  ‘Now… let us show them how ravens die.’

  Almace, Primaris-grade cardinal world

  Calder did not wait for the guards to open the doors to the council chamber. He pushed them aside, and shoved the doors open. The Ecumenical Council was in session, and the air was thick with cloying clouds of incense. Over twenty deacons, aristocrats and priests of rank sat arrayed about the table, accompanied by their scribes and adepts. Most of them were talking over one another, either arguing some point or directing complaints to Eamon, who sat at the far end of the table. Tyre stood behind his chair, hands clasped behind his back. The swordmaster nodded to Calder as he caught sight of him, and a slight smile spread across his scarred features.

  Heads turned as Calder made his way to the centre of the chamber, steadfastly ignoring all attempts by servants and guards to stop him. Eamon looked up from the stack of documents he was examining and stood. ‘Lieutenant, to what do we owe this unexpected visit?’ He smiled. ‘Come to commandeer the ornamental gardens on the southern edge of the spire for the defence effort?’ Deacons and priests laughed politely, but Calder could sense their concern.

  ‘The enemy is approaching sensor range of Almace,’ he said, without preamble. His voice, amplified by his helmet’s vox, carried throughout the chamber. Silence fell. The smile slipped from Eamon’s face.

  ‘You’re certain?’

  ‘I’ve received an astropathic communication from Suboden Khan. His efforts to bleed the enemy fleet have met with little result. Their numbers have, in fact, swelled.’

  Eamon closed his eyes. ‘How is this possible?’

  ‘Pirates,’ Tyre said. ‘The outer sector and the asteroid fields are full of them. Most are no threat, but get enough of them together…’

  ‘Surely even a horde of pirates is no threat to the vaunted ships of the Adeptus Astartes?’ a priest called out. Murmurs of assent rose from the crowd. Calder nodded.

  ‘They are not. The enemy fleet, however, is not solely composed of stolen cutters or badly maintained frigates. There are at least ten warships remaining, including a battle-barge. And most of them are heading this way, even as we speak.’

  ‘Can the system defence fleet not slow them down?’ someone called out. ‘Else what is it good for?’

  ‘The fleet has taken substantial losses doing just that,’ Calder said. ‘They are still doing it. But they will not be able to draw off the bulk of the fleet. We must ready ourselves for the siege.’

  ‘What about our orbital defences?’ a woman asked. She was clad in the traditional garb of one of the planet’s noble houses – thick robes of crimson, layered with rectangular scales of gold and silver. ‘And is there not still a cruiser in orbit?’

  ‘One cruiser against a fleet?’ a deacon said dismissively.

  ‘It is better than nothing,’ she snapped. ‘Perhaps we can use it to evacuate…’

  ‘And go where?’ Eamon said. Though he spoke quietly, everyone fell silent. ‘Where would you go, Artesia? Would you abandon your family’s holdings, the people of this world?’ He shook his head
. ‘No. The enemy are no longer a storm on the horizon. They are here, and we must make ready to withstand them.’

  ‘More so than we already have, you mean?’ another deacon interjected. ‘How much more must we do?’

  ‘And what have you done, exactly, Avrich?’ Eamon asked. ‘Besides clutter my desk with official complaints about your ornamental ponds being drained?’ He looked around. ‘What have any of you done to ready your dioceses for what is coming?’ He paused. ‘I will tell you – nothing. You have left the preparations to me, and to our saviours. As if by ignoring the issue, you can make it go away.’

  A murmur of protest rose at this, but Eamon shook his head. ‘No. I have given you every opportunity to contribute. Instead, you have wasted time pretending the problem isn’t there. The time for argument is past.’

  The murmurs grew louder. Calder could see that the council was not used to being chastised. Eamon glanced at him and then gestured to Tyre. ‘Swordmaster – bring this meeting to order.’

  Tyre stood, drew his sidearm and fired into the air. A shocked silence fell. Eamon sighed and nodded. ‘Thank you, Domenico.’

  ‘My pleasure, cardinal-governor.’

  Eamon looked at Calder. ‘Well, lieutenant? What’s first?’

  Calder looked around the chamber. He could smell fear on the air, and see resentment in every eye. The representatives of the Ecclesiarchy were not used to being powerless.

  ‘Preliminary preparations have been completed. All that remains is the dispersal of forces to preapproved locations. The city has three major arteries – to the east, the west and the south. We will collapse the westernmost causeways, leaving the eastern and southern approaches viable for a ground assault.’

  ‘Would it not be better to collapse them all?’

  ‘No. The enemy will enter the city. That much is a given.’ Calder saw the looks on their faces, and softened his tone. ‘Reports from Pergamon indicate that they have the numbers and the materials to do so. This city was not designed to withstand a conventional siege.’ He turned back to the hololithic projection. ‘Thus, we must ensure that if they are going to enter the city, they do so on our terms.’