by Guy Haley
The Plaguefather looked skywards, his diseased ears picking up the sound of approaching aircraft. The mortals were reacting quickly, but it would not help them. He yawned as bombs fell and blazing mushrooms sprouted from his advancing horde. The mortals used weapons of fire, but the horde’s flesh was sodden, and vital with Chaos magic. The promethium gels sent to cleanse them guttered out swiftly.
The greater daemons of the Plague Guard chortled loudly as an attack craft fell hurtling from the sky, blue fire wreathing its jets, its air intakes clogged with insects. It plunged into the marsh, its engine’s howl coming to a gurgling stop as it sank beneath the water’s surface.
‘Gangrel! Famine!’ Ku’gath bellowed. ‘Fetch out the mortal sorcerers. Bring me the Cult of Renewal and the Cult of Blessed Protrusion. Begin the ritual to summon the remainder of the Bubonicus Infectus!’
Ku’gath scowled as his minions rushed to do his bidding. From one of the whale-ships, the final members of his vanguard marched: human worshippers of the Great Father. It was good they did his work, though there were fewer in the cults than there had been. The Garden of Nurgle was not kind to mortals, and many would have been killed by their journey in the meatships.
He sighed. Such was the circle of life. Their bodies were now food for Nurgle’s blessed vermin.
Ku’gath did not smile. He never did. There could be no joy in his life, not until he had proven himself worthy of Papa Nurgle’s love. But he allowed himself a tentative hope as his eyes lighted again on the hospital, and then on the great cauldron being dragged that way.
Perhaps, here on Iax, he would redeem himself.
Part Three
The Spear
of Espandor
Chapter Seventeen
Death in Illyria
The Thandian Pass was burning. From the top of a First Company Land Raider, Marneus Calgar appraised the situation at the Museo Illyricus with a sense of weary irritation.
There were rebels within the museum. They had a device they said would kill thousands, though they said all they wished was to talk peacefully.
Calgar would not deal with men who would threaten death while speaking of peace.
Smoke hazed the air. Woody shrubs burned on both steep slopes either side of the road, the wind shaping the fires into u-shaped lines of flame that advanced on the Ultramarines’ position. The smokescreen curled across the road in blue sheets, washing over the plascrete roadblock placed across the carriageway some fifteen metres in front of the Land Raider and the line of three Rhinos a hundred metres behind.
Members of the Ultramar Auxilia crouched behind the barrier, guns ready. The roadblock was at the extreme end of the effective range of a lascannon – the fumes from the fires the rebels had set would not help, as the beam focus would diffuse more easily in the smoke. The rebels had made poor tactical choices, but they did have a lascannon, stolen from the militia barracks in Illyricon a week ago. The audacious theft had probably spurred the group into this rash action; success often bred folly.
Calgar would not hide from them. He wished them to feel his contempt. They called themselves ‘concerned citizens’. The very phrase sickened him. The fools in the museum rose up against their protectors at the urging of creatures they could not comprehend.
What Marneus Calgar could not understand was why so many would betray the realm, wittingly or otherwise. Ultramar was under attack – the Cicatrix Maledictum spread its warping fire across the sky every night, and stories of the bloodshed and woe of other worlds spilled freely from the lips of weeping refugees. But in the heart of the nation, traitors still crept out of the dark. This band was but the latest.
He should not have to get involved in this.
The smoke partly hid the Museo Illyricus situated at the brow of the pass. Details were obscured, but the overall shape was discernible to the unaided eye: the massive drum of the main building, with a three-stepped roof and balconies interposed between the layers. There was an attached tower built over the pass itself, almost equal in girth to the main building and slightly taller. A four-lane road passed under this symbolic gatehouse on the way to Illyria.
A very long time ago, this pass was the site of genuine warfare. The rebels aped history crudely, occupying a museum meant to commemorate Macragge’s unity. Weak tactics, weak propaganda. Calgar had come personally to send a strong response.
The road was closed, the dense traffic that used it absent. The rebels held the museum. Amateurish, young, poorly led rebels. But they were there nonetheless.
‘A desperate, pointless tactic,’ said Marneus Calgar of the smoke. It obscured nothing. His bionic eye saw through it as easily if it were not there. The walls of the museum were no greater obstacle to his augmetic sight. False-colour thermal silhouettes flashed every time he passed his eye over the position of an insurgent. They skulked behind the walls next to windows, stolen weapons held ready to fire. They hid themselves in the balconies between the overlapping roofs. All the obvious places.
He shook his head in disbelief.
‘Julio,’ he voxed. ‘I have seen enough. It is time to put an end to this.’
He stepped down off the front of the Land Raider and jumped to the ground. If the rebels had any marksmen worthy of the name, they could feasibly have hit him there. Having seen what he had, Calgar judged himself perfectly safe.
He landed as surely as a man a hundred years younger, unimpeded by his battleplate or by the massive Gauntlets of Ultramar that formed part of it, and walked around the back of the tank. The engine muttered low, trembling the space around the vehicle’s rear with heat and noise, and adding blue exhaust to the thin smoke. By the engine block, Sergeant Julio of the Fourth Squad, First Company stood with Calgar’s honour guard and the Chapter Ancient, a hulking Primaris Space Marine by the name of Andron Ney. Ney had been among the first of the Primaris recruits sent to the Ultramarines decades ago, and he had served with distinction. Back then, the new influx of warriors had called themselves the Three Hundred. They were new, different and apart. Now, they were just another valued element of the Ultramarines Chapter.
The warriors stood to attention and saluted Calgar with their hands over their hearts.
‘Then you will not speak with them, my lord?’ asked Julio.
‘I will not speak with them,’ said Calgar.
‘How many do you count, my lord?’ asked Julio. He wore his Terminator plate, and the rest of his squad waited back with the Rhinos. Calgar had selected them to clear the museum. It was ridiculous overkill for the situation, but statements had to be made.
‘One hundred and thirty-two. There will be more. You will have no trouble. There could be a thousand. Look at their disposition,’ said Calgar. ‘Can these men truly be sons of Macragge?’
‘They will have had little training, my lord,’ said Julio. ‘Levels of dissent within the auxilia are practically zero, and most are shipped out as soon as they are trained. The men within are the unsuitable. The weak. The failures.’
‘The agents of Chaos ever appeal to the weak,’ said Calgar. ‘Only weak men would threaten the lives of their own families with devices of mass destruction in order to secure peaceful negotiation. You are my reply to their request, Julio. Their demands are ridiculous. There can be no increase in rations. There can be no slowing of recruitment. The privations of the people of Macragge are done with the aim of stopping the enemy they unwittingly invite within.’
‘The ringleader is a master of the Juventia,’ said Ney. ‘He has a whole troop of them in there. He has poisoned their young ears.’ Ney spoke like a man who had never been a child. He was dispassionate, rational to a fault, even for an Ultramarine.
‘This is not their fault. I look forward to making an example of their leader,’ said Julio.
‘It disappoints me that our countrymen should put on such a poor showing,’ said Calgar. ‘No matter their age and
whether they are opposed to us or not. When this is over, call the local Juventia troop masters to the capital.’
‘They will all be screened thoroughly, my lord,’ said Ney.
‘For betrayal, yes,’ said Calgar. ‘But I want them all re-educated or replaced. This uprising is shamefully executed. The Juventia syllabus needs revision. More drill, less history. The Juventia are the last line of defence for Macragge, and the first place we go to for recruits. How could they stop an ork with this debacle? They are supposed to be young warriors.’
‘My lord,’ said Ney.
Calgar tapped his gauntlet fingers against his leg. ‘When you lead the assault, Julio, do not kill the boys,’ he added. ‘Most will be before the age of majority. Bring as many in alive as you can. We will make examples of the leaders and the adults, and all the rest of the appalling dregs unhappy enough with their lot in life to listen to the whispers of obvious enemy agents, but the youth must be spared and given the chance to redeem themselves. If the lies of the great enemy seem more appealing than reality of life in Ultramar, and we are seen to be merciless, then we will encourage more to flock to the same foolish cause. Activists, indeed. Locate the device. Purge the leaders.’
‘As you wish, my lord,’ said Julio. ‘Vigilator Optimare Calleduus of the Vigil Opertii assures me they can handle this threat without our help. He insists on speaking with you.’
‘He is here still?’ said Calgar irritably.
‘He has been waiting to see you for over an hour,’ said Julio. ‘I did say he was insistent.’
‘I thought if I had him wait an hour, he might take the hint. He is supposed to be overseeing the other incident sites and tracking down the masterminds of this. They will be acting to Mortarion’s orders, we can be sure of that. This is a protest movement on the surface – rot lurks beneath. Very well. Calleduus will regret remaining here. Send him to me.’
Julio inclined his head slightly within the cowling of his armoured suit. ‘Send the vigilator optimare to us,’ he voxed. ‘Lord Macragge will speak with him.’
It took seconds for the vigilator optimare to come up from the rear of the position. His hurried walk revealed his desire to speak.
Calleduus was dressed ready for action in pale-cream combat fatigues and blue carapace, the same uniform the Ultramar Auxilia wore, though without their markings. A heavy respirator hung by one fastening from the side of his helmet. Calleduus halted and saluted smartly.
‘Vigilator optimare,’ said Calgar. ‘You have performed your role well for the five years you have held this office, until today. Today you must stand aside. The Ultramarines will handle this.’
‘My lord, with all due respect, the suppression of local unrest is the role of the Vigil Opertii,’ said Calleduus. ‘We are ready to bring the situation to an end. Do not trouble yourself with the resolution of this event. It is a minor matter, below your attention.’
Calgar looked up the pass.
‘From a certain point of view, Calleduus, you are right. Ardium is besieged and our fleet fights daily battles with Mortarion’s voidcraft in this system. The enemy has penetrated to the heart of Ultramar. Every day I lose more Space Marines to the enemy in the capital system alone. But this…’ He pointed at the museum. ‘This is not beneath my notice. There are fifteen current incidents across Macragge, all involving this group. The enemy is so clearly involved in agitating them that I am dumbfounded the rebels cannot see it themselves. The purpose of your organisation is to prevent these incidents before they happen, not to contain them afterwards. Your eagerness to resolve this stand-off suggests to me that you want to distract from your mistakes, or seek my approval for suppressing it. I assure you, my approval will not be forthcoming.’
‘My lord, we cannot catch every dissident. This year we have foiled–’
Calgar’s armour whined as he shifted his position. The movement was enough to silence the vigilator optimare. ‘This year, you have foiled twenty-six actions against the state, and missed fifteen today. You must admit your error. Illyria is too potent a symbol. I am tired of propaganda likening the cutthroats of old to these so-called freedoms. Worse still, their legacy is coupled with the lies of the enemy. First come the demands for greater freedom, then outright heresy. It will not be long before the enemy’s religion takes root, and all that offers is miserable slavery. Their leaders lie and pay their respects to the Chapter while condemning the civilian administration as corrupt and calling me to address their concerns.
‘I will not have it. The very finest of my warriors shall remove them from this place. Let the whole of Ultramar see what the Ultramarines think of their demands. The realm will see that my eyes are everywhere, and that no one – no matter their age or their station – is below my attention. Nothing, vigilator, is below my attention. In fact, I am displeased that you think it is so. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Yes, my lord defender,’ said the vigilator optimare reluctantly.
‘The other incidents?’
‘Are being handled by the Vigil Opertii, lord defender.’
‘And the agents behind all this?’
‘We are chasing several important leads, lord defender.’
Lord Defender of Greater Ultramar. Roboute Guilliman had given Calgar that title in recompense for taking the role of Master of Ultramar from him. The title made little difference to the actualities of Calgar’s rule. The Chapter Master had presided over Ultramar for centuries before Roboute Guilliman awoke. Apart from the brief period before Guilliman had set out on his Terran Crusade, Calgar’s reign had been unbroken. His word was absolute. Calleduus withered under it.
‘Then this particular incident here will be dealt with by the Ultramarines personally, and publicly,’ continued Calgar. ‘And I will demonstrate that mercy remains with the armoury of the Chapter. Chaos turns our children against us. What kind of society are we if we punish youthful folly – serious though it is – with death, when all they believe they are doing is getting more food for the hungry? There will be some more guilty than others in that place. I will see them separated, and judged according to the relative severity of their error.’
The vigilator’s face went stony. ‘The dissidents will see this as a victory. You say you will not speak with them, and you should not. But whoever is behind this wants you to be provoked into action, my lord. They want your eyes away from the war. If they decide that these little actions can divert a single member of the Chapter, they will do it again.’
‘Then they have succeeded, but it will gain them nothing,’ said Calgar. ‘I am sending my own message. The lords of Macragge will not allow any dissent upon the capital world or in any other place.’
‘My lord defender, mercy will be seen as weakness.’
‘Mercy is a strength, because it is harder to forgive than it is to slay,’ said Calgar. ‘They are children led by demagogues. They will be treated as such.’ He turned to his sergeant. ‘Julio, retake the museum. Save as many of the boys as you can. Try not to destroy the artefacts – they are priceless, and an important reminder that the myth of Illyrian independence is indeed a myth.’
‘Yes, my lord. Squad Julio!’ the sergeant voxed.
‘We hear and obey,’ his warriors replied. Armour growling, they marched up from the line of Rhinos blocking the road further down, trudging slowly, their huge shapes as solid as the boulders of the pass’ crags.
Upon reaching their leader, the Terminators fell into formation. Julio drew his power sword and saluted Calgar. ‘We march for Macragge.’
‘This is overkill,’ said Calleduus. ‘An aerial insertion from Valkyries would have been sufficient.’
‘You have spoken – now be silent, Calleduus,’ said Calgar. ‘We will advance into the fullness of their fire and we will not fall. They will see the Ultramarines cannot be harmed by such as they. Terrorism is pointless.’
The auxilia by
the roadblock drew back the central wheeled section of rockcrete with long iron hooks, allowing the giant warriors through. When the last clumped by, they hurriedly replaced the segment and hunkered down behind it once again.
When the Ultramarines were a hundred metres from the museum, the rebels opened fire. A mixture of lasgun beams and solid bullets perturbed the smoke.
Many shots went wide, either from incompetence or from fear – talk of killing an angel of death was the sort of bravado that vanished when battle came. Those shots that hit sparked off the thick battleplate. Calleduus may have been right about the waste of using Terminators for this minor activity, but had the Vigil Opertii undertaken the task, several of them would now be dead. The secret police’s incompetence in allowing this to happen was irksome, but they were still more use to Calgar alive.
The lascannon fired once and missed. There was a long delay before the second shot clipped the shoulder of Julio’s lead warrior. The force of the impact threw him off balance a little, but he shrugged off the strike and lumbered back into formation, his pauldron dripping molten metal.
A good lascannon team could focus and fire four shots a minute. Calgar’s displeasure at the local Juventia leaders grew. Where was their weapons discipline?
Julio’s squad plodded on in the unstoppable manner of Terminators. They reached the glass frontage of the museum. One of Julio’s veterans smashed the glass with his power fist and walked through into the building. Bullets sparked off his armour as he disappeared inside. The sound of shattering glass tinkled down the pass as the rest of the squad forced their way in. More gunfire blasted at the squad. A grenade went off in the middle of their formation. They strode through the explosion and the bullets without hindrance, and the rest of them vanished from sight.
The shooting stopped. There was shouting, both of young men and that of the Ultramarines loudly amplified via voxmitter. Shooting broke out anew. Now the hard banging of bolters was intermingled with the pathetic popping of stubbers and autoguns. There were screams, more shouting, and then a final stutter of bolt explosions.