The wolftime, p.14
The Wolftime, page 14
A Wolf Scout.
‘Teeth of Russ, Winterstride, I nearly shot you!’ snapped Ullr, lowering his weapon. He turned to the other pack members stood around the lowered rear ramp of the vehicle. ‘Are any of you actually keeping watch down there?’
Cries mixed of delight and dismay greeted their discovery of Brodd Winterstride. The Wolf Scout backed away as a couple of his former pack-brothers approached to greet him.
‘The Dragongaze thought it appropriate that I lead my old pack to the target,’ said the Wolf Scout. ‘I couldn’t really argue.’
‘It’s Ullr’s Greypelts now, Brodd,’ said Dethar, one of the Grey Hunters who had joined after Brodd’s departure.
‘It’s a pup’s fart in the north wind to me,’ replied Brodd. ‘I mean to guide you, not take command. I’d rather piss in my own boots than lead a pack again.’
‘Right,’ said Dethar, realising his error. ‘Lead, like show the way, not lead.’
‘Less talking, more walking,’ said Ullr, leaping down from the Rhino. Ash from huge fires in the orkish camp fluttered down like snow, coating their blue-grey armour with flecks of black. ‘Show us the way, Winterstride.’
The Scout unslung his marksman’s rifle and stalked off into the woods, as silently as a breeze blowing across a snowdrift. Though not silent – it was impossible to fully mask the weight of their armour – the pack were all experienced hunters and followed carefully, disturbing no branch or fallen stick.
‘What did you mean about the orks still building?’ said Ullr as he pushed to catch up with Brodd.
‘They’ve brought down half a dozen battle fortresses already, but they’re still widening and strengthening the ramp,’ said the Wolf Scout.
‘Something even bigger is coming.’ Ullr considered the implication. ‘Titan-mass war engines?’
‘That would be my thought.’
They advanced another hundred yards or so, the shadows lengthening as the sun rapidly dwindled towards twilight.
‘You told the Dragongaze… That’s why we’re attacking now.’
‘Better to stop them landing whatever is coming than to fight once it gets here,’ said the Wolf Scout. He held up a hand. The squad halted immediately, weapons pointed to cover every approach. Shouts and the noise of construction carried with the blare of horns, drone of engines and crackle of flames. Even against the background din it was possible to hear the crack of twigs underfoot not too far away.
‘They’re not being stupid.’ Winterstride’s voice was not even a whisper but to Ullr’s enhanced hearing it was as audible as a howl on a still night. ‘Patrols of the small ones. They loosed packs of fanged hunt-monsters, though most of them have scattered now.’
The pack waited for another two minutes, as still as the pale tree trunks around them. A handful of small greenskin creatures, none of them taller than waist-high to the Space Marines, came into a view about two hundred yards away. They were clearly unhappy at their duty, hissing and snapping at each other, barely looking around as they hurried through the woods.
Ullr motioned cutting his throat with a thumb. Brodd shook his head.
‘Somebody might actually miss them and get curious.’
They gave the patrol another minute and continued on, circling slightly to the north to keep their distance. The closer they came to the starport the greater the industrial din and the stench of the orks’ occupation. The roar of thrusters shook the treetops as another lander descended through the smog.
After another two minutes the edge of the woods was within sight, a line of hacked stumps left along the outskirts of the port area. Brodd halted the squad again. He knelt, dipping his fingers into an oily residue left on the scraped bark of a tree. The air was heavy with exhaust fumes.
‘Bike-mounted,’ said the Wolf Scout, pointing to peculiar wheel-and-track markings cutting across the moist ground ahead. He looked around, glancing up at the leaves and then back to the mud. ‘At least half an hour ago. The orks are more active. Something else is arriving soon.’
‘Perhaps we should warn the Wolf Lord,’ suggested Hari. The plasma gun in his hand was dormant to avoid the gleam of its energy chamber betraying their presence. He had a bolt pistol in the other, for quick response to a threat. ‘We could be throwing ourselves in front of a stampeding curlhorn herd.’
‘No, the plan has been agreed,’ Ullr said quickly. ‘No distractions.’
‘You seem very sure of that,’ said Brodd.
The pack leader looked at the other Space Marine, remembering he had once been in Ullr’s position. If the roles were reversed, he was sure he would want an explanation.
‘Our allies from the Dragonspears Fourth Company were not keen,’ said Ullr. ‘News like this might put them off entirely.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Twenty yards perimeter watch,’ Ullr told his pack-brothers. They moved off without question. When they were further away, Ullr continued in a whisper. ‘All is not well between Lord Krom and Captain Orstanza. They fell to bad words over what to do about the orks. This attack was the desire of the Dragongaze.’
‘Let me guess,’ said Winterstride. ‘Orstanza of the Dragonspears wanted to reinforce the city defence?’
‘Just so.’ Ullr grimaced. ‘Lord Krom saw that as a challenge to his mettle and said as much. Orstanza took it as accusation against his own courage.’
‘I’m sure the Dragongaze was suitably humble and cleared up the matter with modesty and respect,’ said the Wolf Scout with a chuckle.
‘Exactly. He said the captain was the type of commander who had no blood to clean from his blade at battle’s end.’
Winterstride winced as though struck. He raised an eyebrow. ‘Really? He went that far?’
‘In defence of our commander, Orstanza suggested the Dragongaze had the strategic understanding of a feral dog.’
‘So, no help from the Dragonspears?’ The Scout looked towards the setting sun, shielding his eyes. ‘That is a pity.’
‘Fortunately blood cooled a little when Colonel Gander of the militia arrived. He’s brought seven thousand more troops to the city. That gave Dragongaze opportunity to convene the council again. With more soldiers to hold the city, Orstanza agreed to partial support. He’s sending his armour – three Predators, a Vindicator and a Land Raider – to attack the flank of the ork army.’
‘So we’re assaulting the landing site on foot while the orks deal with the armour,’ finished Winterstride. ‘Makes sense. My orders were to bring you as close as possible then join with the other Scouts to infiltrate to the north. Attack at last light?’
‘That’s when Dragongaze will give the signal,’ said Ullr.
‘Right.’ The Scout turned back to Ullr. ‘Hand of Russ.’
‘Hand of Russ, hunt-brother.’
The pack leader watched Winterstride head away from the dropsite for a hundred yards and then disappear to the north. Sunfall was predicted in eighteen minutes. Ullr pulled off his helm, checked the vox-channel was connected to his earpiece, and pulled a strip of cured meat from his belt to chew while he waited.
The landing site was awash with orks and light vehicles, but most of their heavier weapons and tanks had moved out to meet the armoured thrust of the Dragonspears. Roaring their battle cries, the Wolves of Fenris burst from the trees and gulleys, lighting the landing platforms with flamer, plasma gun and bolter. From the treeline the handful of Long Fangs that remained in the Great Company lay down fire with missile launchers and heavy bolters, while Blood Claws bounded forward with bursts of jump pack flare and chainswords snarling alongside their howls.
Ullr and his squad advanced through the broken remains of a thruster retention wall and across the lowest landing pad. Between the seven of them they kept up a hail of deadly fire, some moving while the others stopped and aimed their shots. They coordinated with intermittent, sharp exchanges of wurgen, a mix of snarled words and throaty growls. If a foe was not eliminated by a hit, a second from another pack member followed moments later, and on rare occasions a third. Now and then Hari’s plasma gun burst forth a pulse of energy to blast apart a more heavily armoured target. This combination of motion and accuracy cut down everything in front of them, leaving the path open to a fuel-processing station near the south side of the complex. Stalking past dozens of mangled ork corpses, they ignored the careening bikes and ork mobs to either side, trusting their companion packs to protect their flanks just as each warrior guarded his pack-brothers.
‘Greypelts on target in thirty seconds,’ Ullr transmitted to the Wolf Lord. He expected no reply and there was none – everything was going to plan.
A pair of Thunderhawks plunged down through the smog banks, stubby wing tips tearing vortices through the oily smoke. Their cannons thundered for several seconds, shells slamming down into the ork column moving towards the Dragonspears’ armoured vehicles. Missiles screamed after, their hits throwing up pillars of fire from ruptured fuel tanks and exploding engines.
‘Ready melta bombs.’ Ullr pulled one of the bulky charges from the mag-clamp on his thigh. Along with Asgerd’s pack – heading for the support struts of the main platform – the Greypelts had been issued with the last of the Great Company’s demolition bombs. It had been over two lived-years since they had left Fenris. They had been returning to the Hearthworld before diverting to Noviomagus Superior and everything was running low.
‘Pick your spots well, there’re no second chances here.’
The pack was just a few dozen yards from their objective when Ullr’s vox crackled.
‘Greypelts, new orders.’
It was Kraki, the lone remaining Wolf Guard of Dragongaze’s entourage. In other circumstances Ullr and a few others would have been elevated to the vacant positions, but the unrelenting demands on their Great Company had left no luxury for such adjustments.
‘Place charges but do not detonate.’
‘Received, vaerengr.’
‘Good, Ullr. Hold until you get the command to blow it. Look up.’
The link severed with a hiss and Ullr followed the Wolf Guard’s last command. His auto-senses pierced the fog of campfires and exhaust, picking up the gleam of heat blast from atmospheric entry. The rangefinder estimated the distance to be about four miles up, approaching.
‘First-Shot, the orks are massing to the south,’ warned Eirik, pointing past the tanks and control building of the processor plant. Several large walkers and scores of orks congregated by the remains of a half-toppled building. Many wore heavy armour, some of it apparently crudely powered judging by the thermal plumes they gave off.
‘They’ll be coming right through here, I reckon,’ said Garnr.
Ullr agreed but it would be a waste of time and breath to confirm what everyone could see. The pack slowed as they reached the cracked ferrocrete ground around the plant. There had been a fence, but all that remained were a few broken twists of iron. Nothing showed up on the auto-senses within half a mile. The orks had not paid much attention to the refinery, and a quick examination revealed two of the three tanks were still full of processed fuel.
‘Place the bombs and then find defensive positions,’ Ullr announced. ‘We’re holding here.’
‘Counter-attack in front, enemy landing behind, sitting on tanks of muspelfyr,’ said Forskad, striding past the pack leader with a primed melta bomb in his hand. ‘What could go wrong?’
Dethar was down.
‘Cover my position, Garnr.’
As the other Grey Hunter took Ullr’s place, the pack leader knelt to search through Dethar’s belt. An armoured hand tapped at his arm insistently before fumbling at the flap of a pouch at the wounded Space Marine’s waist. Ullr rolled Dethar over to pull a magazine from beneath him, trying to ignore the pool of thick blood congealing under his pack-brother. The ruddy glow from Ullr’s eye-lenses danced across the slick puddle amid the yellow flash of bolt launches. Bullets from the orks whined out of the flame-lit night and cracked from the ironwork walkway, a few ricocheting from Ullr’s armour as he let Dethar drop back down.
The Grey Hunter tried to pull himself up to sit with his back against the wall of the control building. Lower jaw missing, half his throat torn out by an ork rocket, Dethar was a mess, but when Ullr pressed a reloaded bolter into his hand the Fenrisian took it in a firm grip and nodded, blood oozing from the ruin of his helm. He propped the bolter on his knee and took aim out through the struts of the walkway.
‘Eirik!’ Ullr stood, tossing the spare bolt magazine to the other Space Marine. ‘Hari, south flank, that second walker’s almost here.’
The wreckage of the first ork war machine burned fifty yards away, lighting the space between the processing plant and the blast-proof trenches that cut perpendicular across the nearest landing pad. Scattered patches of burning fuel spread the illumination, the brutish faces that popped up over the lip of the crew ditch picked out in flickering yellow. On the opposite flank a clanking, four-armed machine lumbered forward, two of its limbs spitting a fusillade at the trio of Space Marines still holding the south side.
Having seen the lack of effect of their bolts on the first, and with the orks not yet ready to mass behind the machine as they had on their first attack, Ullr, Garnr and Eirik saved their ammunition and waited. Bolter fire resounded from the opposite side of the main building, where the rest of the pack kept the orks from circling around to the east and north. The fuel tanks stood to the west, the blinking of primed melta bombs lighting the supports and undersides; Ullr had decided it was better to give the orks nothing to shoot at in that direction, and so far even the poor aim of the greenskins had concentrated on the control building.
An azure glow preceded the arrival of Hari and his plasma gun. Boots ringing on the metal, he took up a kneeling fire position at the far end of the walkway.
‘First-Shot, movement in the trench,’ reported Garnr. ‘Armoured orks climbing out.’
The plan was obvious – for the heavy fighters to attack while the plasma gunner tackled the war engine. For all it was simple, the basic principle was sound. If they did not try to destroy the walker it would be on them within the minute, but the last had taken four shots to take down and the plasma gun had to cool and recharge between each, plenty of time for the other orks to cross the open ground.
‘Skitja, these greenskins think too much,’ said Eirik.
‘Target?’ asked Hari as the accelerator hum of the plasma gun became a whine of readiness.
In the dark by the trench, Ullr could see the crackling power of savage claws and spiked fists where the ork’s best warriors stomped up the steps to the ferrocrete. A couple of their suits had built-in guns that gleamed with a baleful green energy, others sported machine guns trailing long belts of ammunition or bulky with drum magazines. There was an unhealthy possibility that they had some kind of armour-piercing rounds, given what had happened to Dethar from a burst during the orks’ retreat a few minutes before.
‘West approach?’ Ullr asked. The report of bolters from the other side of the building was almost rhythmic.
‘Busy,’ replied Sáthor. ‘Forty dead enemy. About another hundred on their way, doubled back through the woods where we came from.’
Even at their most efficient, that was barely one bolt-round per ork and despite the brag of his title, Ullr knew that even the best hit sometimes wasn’t enough to take down one of the resilient aliens.
‘Take out the walker,’ Ullr told Hari.
A blue flare lit the night a second later and a ball of raging plasma hit the mechanical behemoth square in the front. Paint and metal exploded, showering molten droplets and sparks, and the machine was rocked for a few seconds, swaying on its bandy legs.
‘Lord Krom, this is Ullr. We need to withdraw and detonate.’
Ullr could hear the plasma gun ticking as it cooled, but his eye was on the five heavily armoured figures stomping through the firelight of the broken walker. Eyes reflecting the flames, dozens more orks followed them, gaining courage from their leaders’ display.
‘Nowhere to withdraw to, First-Shot,’ came the Wolf Lord’s voice. ‘Orstanza’s trying to push through to relieve the pressure from the east. Thunderhawks have reloaded and are on their way to engage the ork drop-ship, but it’s a big bastard. If you fall back the orks will be all over the main landing area and we’ll be surrounded.’
‘Understood,’ said Ullr. There was nothing else to say.
The ork walker had started forward again, about seventy yards away. Its guns tracked left and right, rattling fire off the ferrocrete wall just to Ullr’s left, striking sparks from the metal around Hari. A crackling bolt of green fire raced across the dark from further away as one of the ork heavies tried its luck. The energy blast flew over Hari’s head by several yards but it wouldn’t be long until the range was so close the orks could hardly miss.
Ullr’s instinct was to open fire but there was no point; the walker was too well armoured and for any chance against the heavy fighters they needed them close enough to pick out weak spots. Another ball of plasma spat from Hari’s gun and ripped through one of the walker’s arms, scattering broken pieces over the pitted ferrocrete, the claw snapping of its own accord as it spun away.
‘Teeth of Russ!’ snarled Ullr, his frustration breaking like a spring flood on a dam. ‘Get a kill shot!’
Steam vented from the plasma, coating Hari’s helm with droplets as he turned his head to his pack leader.
‘Power pack at thirty per cent,’ the warrior said, unflustered by the situation and his leader’s rebuke. ‘Even if I take this bastard down, I’ll have nothing left for those heavy orks.’
‘Focus on the walker,’ Ullr told him.
