Legends of the dark ange.., p.15
Legends Of The Dark Angels, page 15
‘No!’ snapped Boreas. ‘It is because this legacy of shame was not yours to bear. Knowledge is a dangerous thing. It clouds the mind, it breeds laxity and heresy. Only the strongest-willed, only the most devout and pure can understand the guilt that lies upon us for this heinous deed at the time of our greatest glory. Only those with the courage to face the darkness within our own souls can strive to restore honour to our Chapter. I believe you are ready for that fight, and I tell you this not to cause you harm, but to give you the strength to prosecute your duties with zeal and vigour.’
‘And why now, Interrogator-Chaplain, do you decide to reveal this information?’ Nestor asked quietly. The others looked at him sharply and then turned their attention to Boreas, nodding in assent.
‘Because the opportunity for our redemption is at hand!’ Boreas declared, starting to pace up and down in front of them. ‘This is the vile foe of which I speak. The Lutherites, the Fallen Angels, may be here, in the Piscina system itself.’
‘The renegades are here?’ gasped Zaul. ‘How can you know that? How can we trust anything you say?’
‘For centuries you have all trusted in the Chapter, heeded the words of myself and the other Chaplains,’ Boreas pointed out. ‘We never lied to you, not directly. We sought to protect you, guard you against the stain of our history. It has been this way for ten thousand years. Do you not think I felt this way when I learnt the truth? Do you think I took my vows of secrecy light of heart, gleeful of what I then knew, and what you now know? I asked myself the same questions that now plague your thoughts. I sought meaning in the anarchy of my mind. And I found it, through my brethren, as you shall find it through me. This is your greatest test as Dark Angels. But it is not a test that you can pass or fail, there are no set standards. It is a test for you to judge in your own hearts how you deal with the truth. The truth is hard to bear, and now you are amongst those who must share that burden. You must walk amongst your battle-brothers knowing that which drives us while they do not. That is what it means to be Deathwing.’
‘The Deathwing?’ Hephaestus asked. ‘What connection do the Deathwing have with the Fallen?’
‘All those who are or have been in the Deathwing know what you have been told,’ Boreas explained. ‘You are all now, by the very fact of what you know, warriors of the Deathwing. They are one and same, the honour of the Chapter and the shame of our past shared in a single soul.’
‘I’m now in the Deathwing?’ laughed Thumiel. ‘Just like that, I become a member of the First Company, the elite of the Chapter?’
‘There are ceremonies, there are oaths to swear, and your armour to be painted,’ Boreas said, stopping in front of the battle-brother, laying a hand on his head. ‘But yes, you are now Deathwing, there is no other way. An ordinary battle-brother cannot know what you have been told, and so I shall induct you into the Deathwing, and instruct you in the secret knowledge of our Chapter.’
‘I ask this again, Interrogator-Chaplain, why now?’ Nestor asked.
‘The Fallen are in Piscina!’ Boreas repeated. ‘We hunt their ship as I speak. I declare crusade on this mission, this is a holy war against the most ancient enemy of our Chapter. We shall go from here and prepare for battle. We shall not rest, we shall don our armour and our weapons and they shall not be laid down until the enemy is destroyed. This is a reckoning that has waited a hundred centuries, and our vengeance is at hand. You see, this is the true purpose of the Dark Angels. This is the real mission of the Chapter. Whilst a Fallen still lives unrepentant of his sins, we can gain no true honour, we cannot truly serve the Emperor as his greatest warriors. All else we might do is ultimately in vain, but the hunt, the quest, these are what give us our meaning. Only when we have healed the grievous wounds of the Horus Heresy can we start to build again.’
‘I feel the pain burning inside me!’ Zaul declared, slapping a hand to his chest. His eyes were wide, his muscles taut. He fell to his knees at Boreas’s feet. ‘I understand, Interrogator-Chaplain! Forgive my doubts! Thank you for opening my eyes to this mystery. Thank you for giving my life purpose. I swear that I will follow you into the Eye of Terror itself to expunge this deed from our past.’
The others followed his lead, kneeling before the Interrogator-Chaplain. Nestor hesitated for a moment, glancing at the others, and then knelt at the end of the line. Pride swelled within Boreas’s heart as he walked down the line, touching each of them on the scalp. His doubts seemed to dissipate like a mist as he looked at the row of kneeling warriors. Zaul was right. Here was purpose. Here was what he had been seeking these last two years. They were ready to fight to eradicate the shame of the Chapter.
Boreas was ready to fight, to eradicate the memory of Astelan and his own personal shame.
For the next few days, as the Blade of Caliban prowled into the inner Piscina system, the Dark Angels prepared themselves. They were not just preparing for war; they were readying themselves for a crusade, the most sacred undertaking a Space Marine could make. It was not just a mission, it was a sacred oath they had sworn, and they would not rest until it was complete or they were dead. It was more than a simple quest, it was a state of mind that the Space Marines entered, foregoing all other considerations in pursuit of their goal.
During a crusade, they did not rest or sleep, spending only an hour each day in the semi-conscious meditative state allowed by the catalepsean node implant. They spent the remainder of their time readying their battlegear and in prayer. Now that Boreas had made them members of the Deathwing, they repainted their armour in the bone-white colour of the Dark Angels First Company, and applied new markings. They were now entitled to personal heraldry, and spent hours with Boreas and the old texts he possessed, researching their crests and colours according to Chapter tradition. The Interrogator-Chaplain taught them new battle hymns – the secret Catechism of Hate reserved for the Fallen, the Opus Victorius in honour of the loyal Dark Angels’ victory over the Lutherites, and the Verses of Condemnation that listed the uncovering of the Fallen and their misdeeds since the quest had begun.
All the while, the Blade of Caliban cut through the ether searching for the Saint Carthen. Sen Neziel was in regular contact with the Thor Fifteen, and after eight days had passed, they had proceeded beyond Piscina III and were heading further into the inner reaches of the system. There had been a few false alarms, when one or other of the ships had detected an anomalous reading. Most turned out to be system malfunctions, radioactive asteroids, and once they came across a merchant trader that had suffered damage dropping out of the warp and had drifted in system, their long range communications array out of operation. The Blade of Caliban had nearly passed them by when they encountered the distress call. Boreas had a short and explosive exchange with the trader’s master, refusing to abandon his search to guide the stray vessel back to the trade routes. A message of concern from the captain of the Thor Fifteen and Commander Kayle followed, but Boreas ignored them. He was focussed on the crusade, and would countenance no distraction or deviation from the goal of their search.
Boreas spent much time with the others, helping them come to terms with the revelations they had heard. He guided their prayers until they came to some rough understanding. Zaul had responded with anger, his hatred of the renegades fanned into a barely-controllable fury as Boreas taught him more of their betrayal and the civil war that had riven the Chapter. Damas’s ire was colder, more introverted. He took every moment he could to work on his weapons and armour, painstakingly writing out the Opus Victorius on his power armour in tiny script, the act itself giving him release and focussing his thoughts on vengeance. Hephaestus similarly laboured in the ship’s forge and workshop, blessing every gun, every bolt shell, every energy pack and blade with the strength of the Machine God. Thumiel spent his time on the firing range, chanting breathlessly as he fired round after round into static and moving targets, cursing the Fallen with every shot. For him, the confrontation could not come soon enough.
And then there was Nestor. He seemed least changed by Boreas’s unveiling of the Chapter’s hidden past. He gave them all a thorough physical examination, the most rigorous he could devise, and declared them all to be in perfect fighting condition, ready for the holy war. He had perhaps changed in one way though – he seemed even quieter. He became even more closed and uncommunicative the longer the search dragged on, as if he wanted to be free of the ship itself. Whenever Boreas broached the subject, he would reply that he was intent on concluding their mission as soon as possible, for he feared for Piscina while the Fallen might be in the system.
This fact also troubled Boreas. In his urgency to pursue the Saint Carthen, he had brought all of his command with him. For the first time in millennia, there were no Space Marines on Piscina IV, only their attendants. Always, even on the short recruiting missions to Piscina V, Damas, Zaul or Thumiel had been left behind as commander of the keep. Boreas fretted that he had misjudged the situation, that perhaps he had been lured from Piscina by his foe. He dismissed the idea but it kept coming back to him, nagging at the back of his mind during prayer, teasing him as he practised battle drill with his brethren. But there was nothing he could do except follow to its conclusion the course of action he had chosen. It was his sacred duty as a member of the Deathwing to seek out the Fallen wherever they might be, and here was a golden opportunity to fulfil that duty. He had declared crusade and the future was now set, for good or ill. Piscina IV was still garrisoned by fifteen thousand Imperial Guard and the Imperial commander’s own troops; even the Fallen would not be able to face such numbers if they attacked.
After nine days of searching, contact was made. The Thor Fifteen had detected a ship just outside the stellar orbit of Piscina II and was moving to investigate. Boreas ordered the Blade of Caliban to power with all speed to the area. Outwardly, there was nothing more significant about this contact than any of the others, but he felt inside that this time they were on to the foe, that the ultimate moment of confrontation was fast approaching. It was still two days’ journey to intercept the rogue vessel, and he gathered the Dark Angels in the chapel. All was physically ready for the coming battle, now they were to make the last preparations of their minds and souls.
For the first day they fasted and meditated, each Space Marine alone with his own thoughts. Boreas spent this time on contemplation musing on the future. Unless the Chapter was engaged in a full-scale war, the Tower of Angels would be redirecting itself to Piscina, dropping into the warp in response to Boreas’s warning. Part of him worried that his fears were unfounded, and that his actions would be deemed rash and selfish. There was also part of him that wished that were true, for it would mean there were no Lutherites at Piscina, and he would not have to conduct another interrogation. He had performed one other since his encounter with Astelan, but it had been more straightforward than the first. The Space Marine had ranted and raved, totally corrupted by the Ruinous Powers, and despite the agonising attentions of Boreas had refused right to the end to repent his sins. He had finally died screaming from his numerous injuries, cursing the name of Lion El’Jonson. There had been none of the innuendo and guile of Astelan, none of the supposed revelations about the Horus Heresy, which even now disturbed the Chaplain’s thoughts.
But the greater part of him wished for another confrontation with the ancient enemy. Boreas wanted the chance to prove his loyalty again, after many months of doubt and introspection. As much as Zaul, he longed for the cleansing of holy battle to wash over him, to wash away his questions and fears with the blood of his foes. Truly, Boreas realised with a shock as he prayed through the night, we live for battle and battle alone. A Space Marine never felt so strong of purpose, so alive and aware of his own potential, as when he was on the battlefield, and it was a feeling that Boreas had too long been denied. Even the clash with the orks had been perfunctory, clinical, a mere brawl compared to the battle of the basilica – a cold, precise engagement that had not tested him or distracted him from his problems.
On the second day, Boreas led the battle-brothers in final prayer.
Born in the darkness, a dream given life,
Holy warriors to bring forth the light.
Armed with zeal, armoured with faith,
Gods of battle at the fore of the fight.
Swords of the Emperor, shields of mankind,
Destined for war, fated for death.
Protectors of the weak, slayers of evil,
We fight ’til we draw our last dying breath.
There is no retreat, there is no surrender,
Our hate of the foe drives us eternally on.
While aliens live, while heresy festers,
There can be no peace until the last war is won.
Strengthen your heart, harden your soul,
Launch yourself gladly into death’s hungry maw.
There is no time for peace, no respite, no forgiveness,
There is only war.
Physically ready, and spiritually pure, the Dark Angels waited impatiently as the Blade of Caliban neared the interception point. The Thor Fifteen was approaching from the inner planets, having made the detection on a return pass. It was partway through the middle watch of the day when the attendants at the rapid strike vessel’s own augurs reported an energy source close at hand.
The Thor Fifteen had encountered the Saint Carthen first and was engaged in a long-range duel. The Thor Fifteen’s captain, Jahel Stehr, was calling for aid when Boreas strode onto the bridge. He glanced at the main display screen and watched the battle for a moment. Flickering lasers rippled out from the gun decks of the renegade ship, strobing across the system ship’s void shields in explosions of undulating blue waves. Missiles fired in return streaked across the starry backdrop but passed harmlessly beneath the Saint Carthen. The pirate vessel was closing on the Imperial ship, and within a few minutes would be able to pass her stern and fire into her engines. On all fronts, the Thor Fifteen looked outclassed.
‘She’s heavily armed for a merchantman,’ Stehr’s crackling voice reported. Boreas knew only too well what the enemy ship was capable of, having heard from Astelan how he had her fitted out as a pirate vessel that had laid waste to many convoys under his command.
The Thor Fifteen was ill-prepared and poorly commanded, Boreas assessed, and ordered maximum power from the plasma reactors in an attempt to close the distance as quickly as possible. He commanded the others to stand ready in the loading bays. His plan was to cripple the Saint Carthen’s engines and then make a small strike at her command deck. Once under control, he would turn off the life support systems and kill everyone inside. He could take the vessel with minimal losses and, more importantly, if there were Fallen aboard, only he and the other Dark Angels would encounter them. As he had done a century ago, he and the others had sworn to protect the Chapter’s dark secret with their lives. Like him, they would go to any lengths to prevent knowledge of the Fallen becoming widespread, for the shame was of the Dark Angels’ making and it would be they alone who atoned for it.
‘Whatever you do, ensure that you close off any escape route,’ Boreas responded. He glanced at the tactical display that was illuminated on the main screen. ‘We will be within attack range soon.’
‘Very well, Lord Boreas, we shall engage her for as long as possible,’ Stehr said. ‘We shall target her engines when we are able and attempt to board her.’
‘No!’ Boreas bellowed, causing everyone on the bridge to stop in shock. ‘My orders are clear, you are not to board the Saint Carthen.’
‘We risk getting cut to pieces here,’ Stehr protested. ‘Closing the range and boarding is the only chance we have.’
Boreas started to signal back, before realising that the Thor Fifteen had broken contact.
‘Keep signalling Captain Stehr to stand off the Saint Carthen,’ Boreas ordered the comms officer. ‘Tell him that if he attempts to do so, we shall be forced to intervene.’
Sen Neziel walked from the weapons command position with a data-slate in his hand and gave it to Boreas. He shared a smile with the old officer as he looked at the tactical information it contained. Readings from the Blade of Caliban’s sensor arrays, combined with a steady stream of technical reports from the Thor Fifteen indicated that the Saint Carthen’s weapons systems were broadside only. She had yet to fire to the fore during the engagement. It was perfect for Boreas’s purposes – they could attack from the front, launch an assault boat and fly in without facing a hail of fire. Of course, it was an assumption, and would be very dangerous if it proved wrong, but Boreas could see no other course of action if he wanted to take the enemy vessel without a protracted fight.
‘Capturing the vessel is our primary goal,’ Boreas told Neziel. ‘She must not escape, ram her if you have to.’
The weapons officer reported that they were nearly within firing range.
‘Sound full battle alert!’ shouted Boreas and the klaxons began to beat the crew to quarters as they prepared to open fire. The bridge buzzed into frantic activity as the orders were relayed to the stations across the ship.
‘Drop to combat speed, divert power to void shields,’ Neziel ordered after a nod from Boreas. ‘Load torpedo tubes two and four, plot firing solution to target.’
‘Torpedoes targeted.’
‘Shields at ninety per cent power.’
‘Engines at fifty per cent thrust, manoeuvring transferred from navigational to helm position.’
‘Gun batteries powered, crews mustering.’
‘Blast doors sealed, fires extinguished.’
‘Switch display to enhanced visual,’ Neziel concluded and the tactical display blinked out and reappeared on a sub screen, replaced by a view of the Saint Carthen. She was an elegant ship, with a raked cross-section and two clusters of plasma engines flanking her hull. Her metallic skin glinted with hundreds of yellow flashes as pulses of laser fire erupted from the cannons concealed within her belly. A flicker of blue and violet shimmered around her aft section as her shields absorbed a blast from the Thor Fifteen.
