Master of sanctity, p.31
Master of Sanctity, page 31
‘Downstairs,’ Belial announced. ‘Sub-level.’
As the bionic warriors had outmatched the local milita, in turn they were outclassed and outgunned by the Dark Angels First Company. Blinded to their plight by stimms and lies, not a single man or woman amongst Anovel’s guard tried to surrender. In the close quarters of the basement store rooms they were hacked down by power swords and lightning claws, pummelled with power fists and crushed by thunder hammers.
In a crate-filled cellar they ran Anovel to ground. Asmodai was there the moment the last of the traitorous bodyguards were cut in half by the Sword of Silence wielded by Belial. The Fallen’s once-white armour was much stained, the paint little but flecks on the grey and brown ceramite, metal tarnished, old symbols of loyalty crudely defaced.
The desperate traitor snatched up a power maul from one of his dead warriors and launched himself at Belial. A Deathwing Knight intercepted him, his two-handed mace clubbing the Fallen to the ground with one blow, cracking open armour. Belial moved swiftly, directing a kick into the side of the downed Space Marine’s helm.
Dazed, Anovel’s struggles were instinctual as Asmodai tore off the Fallen’s helm. He gestured to Apothecary Temraen, who flicked a dagger-like point from the narthecium built into his right vambrace. Temraen steadied Anovel’s head and drove the point of the injector into the Fallen’s neck, administering a sedative dose that would have killed any lesser man.
Eyes rolling up, Anovel slumped and a trail of drool spilled from his gaping mouth, the acidic saliva hissing gently as it spattered on the floor.
‘Target Alpha is secure,’ Asmodai announced. The words gave him a sense of achievement that bordered on ecstasy.
‘This place is not secure,’ said Belial. ‘Tharsian forces are still in the vicinity even if the enemy are broken.’
‘Signal the Penitent Warrior to stand in for teleport withdrawal. We will move to the palace and await their arrival.’
Belial seemed hesitant.
‘Brother Sapphon reports that the Terminus Est is not yet committing to orbit,’ said the Grand Master of the Deathwing. ‘It would seem the fiend Typhus is not prepared to risk his warriors.’
‘We will deal with him in due course,’ said Asmodai. ‘Anovel was our primary objective. We must secure the prisoner first. You will provide escort back to the palaces.’
‘It seems poor bargain to exchange a world for one warrior,’ said Belial. ‘The Hunt is not the sole duty of the Chapter, brother. Your honour guard will be sufficient to provide security and protection for your withdrawal.’
‘A single squad? What do you intend to do with the rest of the company, brother?’
‘I intend to win the war for Tharsis.’
Teleport Assault
‘Lord Sapphon, we have been detecting a narrow band transmission from the enemy flagship,’ reported Lasla Chirpet. The deck-captain saluted with fist on chest and handed a datapad to the Chaplain. ‘It has been pulsing on and off for the last twenty minutes. The origin is definitely the heavy cruiser but we cannot locate the destination.’
‘I am sure that the flagship is sending all kinds of signals,’ said Sapphon.
‘Yes, Lord Sapphon, but this one is too intermittent to be any kind of vox-channel. I would suggest a locator beacon of some kind, but not very powerful.’
‘A teleport lock attempt?’
‘I cannot say from this range, lord.’
Sapphon analysed the readings on the datapad and came to the same conclusion: too weak for a command-vox. There had to be some other purpose.
‘If we move closer can we trace the signal to the surface?’ he asked Lasla. The officer shook his head.
‘Too much residual scatter from weapons fire and other transmissions, lord.’
The traitor heavy cruiser had moved out of direct orbit over Streisgant, driven off by anti-orbital fire. In its place the Penitent Warrior was preparing to enter low orbit over the city to teleport Asmodai and his prisoner. That was clearly Sapphon’s priority but the enemy signal nagged at him.
The unknown of the darkness beckoned.
Sapphon inwardly cursed his curiosity but he could not ignore it.
‘Set intercept course for the enemy flagship,’ he announced. Lasla met the command with a look of shock.
‘The teleport action, lord?’
‘Suspended.’
‘Your will is my command, lord, but we are a strike cruiser and they are a heavy cruiser. We are outgunned.’
‘I do not intend to destroy them, deck-captain. I need you to bring down their void shields and take us close enough for a teleport attack. If we cannot trace the signal we must go to the source.’
‘As you command, Lord Sapphon.’ Lasla hurried away, snapping orders to the navigation and command crews.
‘Comms, connect channel to Brother Asmodai, route through my vox.’
It took almost a minute until Asmodai’s voice crackled in Sapphon’s ear.
‘Are you ready to bring us aboard, brother?’ asked the Chaplain.
‘Not yet. There is a situation developing.’
Sapphon explained his discovery and his planned course of action. Unsurprisingly it was not to Asmodai’s liking.
‘Enemy forces are currently surrounding the commander’s palace, brother. If the Terminus Est commits its forces we may not be able to hold here. It is imperative that you bring us back aboard immediately!’
‘Have you recovered Astelan?’ Sapphon said, knowing that Asmodai would be burning with shame at the Fallen’s escape.
‘Tybalain and his squadron are chasing him down, brother. It is only a matter of time before he is in our custody once more.’
‘Not if this signal is intended for him. Perhaps you were right and he has been in concert with Anovel for all this time, or perhaps he has found a way of making contact since he eluded you. Either way, it is possible that the transmission is to guide him to a means of leaving Tharsis. Do you wish to simply swap one prisoner for another?’
Static hissed and Sapphon imagined the anguish of the decision wracking Asmodai. It did not really matter what his Brother-Chaplain felt about the matter, they would follow Sapphon’s plan. However, it would be better if Asmodai and his warriors were prepared for a lengthier wait until extraction.
‘Your plan has merit,’ Asmodai said at last. The admission was made with some effort, that much was clear from the Chaplain’s tone. ‘You are right to pursue this possibility.’
‘Then we are agreed, brother. I will update you as soon as I can. Transmission end.’
Sapphon turned his attention to the rotating hololith strategic display depicting the orbital situation. The enemy flagship was being harried by two squadrons of small intra-system escorts that had manoeuvred into its aft region away from the main guns. Two cruisers were turning to drive off these harassing attacks but would have to take a circuitous route unless they wanted to dare a ring of gun and missile platforms that had survived the initial assault.
The Penitent Warrior burst through the cordon of system monitors pursuing the enemy flagship, arrowing directly towards the heavy cruiser. As they closed the range on the ponderous enemy the prow bombardment cannon, normally used for surface attack, opened fire. The ship shuddered every ninety seconds with each titanic shell launched at the traitor flagship.
On the main display Sapphon watched as the plasma warheads detonated against the void shields of the heavy cruiser, splashing white against a shimmering curve of blue and purple. More flares of plasma erupted along the length of the target ship; arrestor thrusters firing to speed its turn towards the incoming attack. A dorsal turret swung towards the strike cruiser, stabbing a beam of lance energy towards the Space Marine vessel. The display momentarily fogged with static and alarms sounded.
‘Void shields intercepted the brunt of the attack,’ announced Lasla. ‘Alter three points to starboard and bring port batteries to bear.’
The bombardment cannon alone would not be enough to punch through the layers of void shields protecting the flagship, and that meant the Penitent Warrior was forced to slow to bring her main gun decks into the attack, exposing the ship to counter-fire. For the next few minutes only the enemy lance turrets could fire, scouring lasers along the length of the strike cruiser, rippling along the void shields with plumes of dispersing gas and energy. The regular pounding of the forward cannon was like the beating of a drum, every thunderous outburst met with a corresponding flare of power from the enemy ship’s defence shields.
Missiles and shells streaked from the Penitent Warrior’s main gun decks as Lasla ordered a full broadside. The firmament lit up as the strike cruiser unleashed the full fury of its batteries. Void shields coruscated with plasma and shell impacts, sparkling and spraying across the display in actinic waves as the generators fought to shunt the incoming energy and mass of the attack into the warp.
‘Enemy target lock,’ announced a servitor at the scanner banks.
‘Incoming fire,’ Lasla warned, grabbing the edge of a console to support his wiry frame. Sapphon locked his power armour as deck after deck of the heavy cruiser’s guns opened fire, illuminating dozens of buttresses and galleries along the length of the ship.
The fusillade slammed into the Penitent Warrior’s void shields. Warning klaxons blared and red lamps lit up across a handful of consoles. The main lights dimmed as power was siphoned to the void shield generators and the vid- and navigational displays pulsed and whirled as the ship’s sensors overloaded with the outpouring of refracted laser and radiation splash.
‘Void shield generator overloaded, enemy void shields also down,’ Lasla announced breathlessly. ‘All damage control crews responding.’
‘Brothers,’ Sapphon turned to his bodyguards. Caulderain had been watching the main display intently but turned and saluted at Sapphon’s word. ‘We go to the teleportarium.’
The Terminators fell in beside the Chaplain as he exited the bridge. Sapphon briefed them on the mission as they headed to the teleportation hall a few decks beneath the command chamber, whilst monitoring Lasla’s reports over the command channel.
The Penitent Warrior was relatively unscathed but with both ships vulnerable it was only a matter of time before the heavier guns of the enemy flagship started to tell. With the cruiser’s void shields down the Terminators could teleport directly into the enemy bridge, but they would only be able to remain for a handful of minutes.
‘Registering energy output on enemy void shields, lord,’ Lasla told Sapphon as the Chaplain led his warriors onto the marble-like pads of the teleportation ring. ‘Estimate between four and seven minutes before their generators are recharged.’
‘Which is it? Four or seven minutes?’ snapped Caulderain. ‘The margin of error is too broad.’
‘It does not matter,’ said Sapphon before Lasla could reply. ‘Four minutes should be all we need. We strike fast, access the comm-network and then teleport back. That is the mission, nothing else.’
He looked at the tech-adept manning the teleporter controls and raised a fist in command. The red-robed serf acknowledged the order and bent over his console. Red forks of energy arced between the teleporter coils, turning the pale armour of the Deathwing crimson in their glare.
The Penitent Warrior trembled as a mighty barrage of fire slammed into the strike cruiser’s upper decks.
‘If we have a ship to come bac–’ Decemius’s quip was lost as warp energy suffused the teleporter.
An instant of dislocation and existential emptiness gnawed at the heart and soul of the Chaplain.
Sapphon opened fire before his conscious mind had recovered from the jarring effects of teleportation. His bolt pistol ripped open the torso of a bionically-altered woman standing next to the command throne of the flagship bridge. Around him the Deathwing honour guard blazed with storm bolters, cutting down the shocked command crew.
Most of the officers were augmented in some fashion like the soldiers on the world below; bionic harnesses, piston-driven exoskeletons supported stimm-contorted bodies. Bolts sparked from lacquered armour plates and metal rods, punched into sallow flesh and unnaturally bulging muscles. Dark blood and viscous hydraulic fluid sprayed across the deck.
‘Secure the comms-panel,’ the Chaplain snapped, turning his fire towards the main doors as he heard the pneumatic mechanism hiss open. Two men carrying bulky las-blasters were sent tumbling, missing their heads. ‘Fidellus, Satrael – overwatch.’
At their leader’s command the two Terminators moved to the doorway; Fidellus with his thunder hammer and storm shield, Satrael carrying an assault cannon. The rip of the heavy weapon firing announced the presence of more enemies outside the bridge.
‘Signal source located,’ said Caulderain. Blood spatters dribbled down the comm-panel screens as he prodded at runes, trying to identify the purpose of the transmission. ‘Some kind of beacon pulse, but not strong enough for a teleporter lock.’
‘Where?’ Sapphon demanded, joining the sergeant. ‘Where is the receiver?’
‘Decoding now, Brother-Chaplain.’
The crackle of Fidellus’s thunder hammer indicated that at least a few enemies had survived the ongoing bursts of fire from Satrael and had reached the bridge doors.
‘Status!’ snapped Sapphon. They were not here for a prolonged fight. It would be a matter of minutes, perhaps two or three at the most, before the traitor ship’s engine crew restored one of their void shield generators. As soon as that happened, the Deathwing squad would be cut off from their homing signal, unable to teleport back.
‘Enemy numbers increasing. Estimate fifty dead, that number again incoming,’ reported Fidellus. ‘No heavy weapons yet.’
‘There you are,’ announced Caulderain. He turned to Sapphon. ‘I have the coordinates.’
Sapphon looked at the line of numbers on the main vox-bank display.
‘Outside the city?’ said the Chaplain. ‘That makes no sense.’
‘I remember those coordinates,’ said Caulderain. ‘That is the site of the old governor’s palace – the fortress where we first captured Astelan.’
‘Tybalain’s squadron is already en route,’ said Sapphon. ‘Use the ship’s channel to broadcast an update to their mission. Tell them what we have found.’
‘What have we found?’ asked Caulderain. ‘If Brother Asmodai has Target Alpha in custody, who is the signal intended for?’
‘A good question, brother. The Ravenwing will provide the answer.’
With the transmission sent, Sapphon ordered the squad to destroy as many of the ship controls as possible. With storm bolter and power fist they spent thirty seconds smashing and ripping apart every console, screen, runepad and cable. Under the cover of Satrael’s assault cannon they convened close to the main doors.
‘Sapphon to Penitent Warrior. Sending signal lock.’ Sapphon checked his chronometer. Four and half minutes had passed since they had arrived. ‘Bring us back!’
EPILOGUE
Hunter and Hunted
The transponder signal was a blinking rune in the middle of Black Shadow’s navigational display, directly ahead of Annael and two kilometres away. The hab-lined plazas and wide boulevards of the city centre had given way to factories and depots clustered around the highways and magrail termini serving the capital’s starport a few kilometres to the west.
Looking ahead, Annael saw a stretch of ramshackle ruins, several square kilometres of towers and broken walls sprawling to either side of the cracked ferrocrete road. It was an incongruous sight after the freshly raised blocks and newly laid roads of the city. Past the plasteel and ironworks of manufactories and power plants a flat expanse of bare ferrocrete surrounded the tumbled citadel.
Approaching from this direction it had seemed unfamiliar, but looking at the coordinates on the bike screen he suddenly realised that this was where he had dropped onto Tharsis with the Fifth Company fifteen years ago.
Back then it had simply been Objective Prime, though those the Dark Angels had liberated from its dungeons and execution galleries had called it something else: Slaughterkeep. The name struck a chord even now and brought back a flood of memory.
Tracer fire from staggered gun emplacements tore the night sky while airbursts lit the underside of the low clouds. Storming down the ramp of the drop pod, Annael watched as a pulse of lance fire spat down from the heavens, turning an armoured spire into vapour and slag in moments. The bass thunder of battle cannon fire from circling Thunderhawks drummed out the war beat in time to the pounding of his hearts.
Land Raider and Predator tanks had already formed a beachhead half a kilometre from the drop site. Lascannon and autocannon fire spewed from the tanks towards the ramparts of the outer curtain wall, slicing and smashing at gun slits and sandbagged artillery positions. A constant storm of las-fire streamed from firing galleries and a ring of bunkers surrounding the citadel, answered by the flickering bolts of the attacking Dark Angels.
Sergeant Rameus shouted a warning and directed the squad to the left where dozens of enemy soldiers dashed from trenchworks under the cover of staccato heavy stubber fire and the boom of mortar bomb detonations. Squad Hadrael were fifty metres ahead, advancing into the teeth of the enemy fire, las-blasts and shrapnel ringing from their armour. Beside them stomped the massive form of Brother Tarallean, the hulking Dreadnought supporting his smaller companions with blistering fusillades of plasma fire and heavy bolter-rounds.
Annael was right next to Sergeant Rameus when they reached the trenchline. As he plunged down into the trench he came face-to-face with the defenders of Tharsis. They seemed terribly young, most of them no more than teenagers. The face of each was marked by ritual scarring, a crude device in the shape of an eagle with outstretched wings covering nose, cheeks and forehead. Annael fired, the dark green, slab-like carapace armour of his target little defence against the explosive bolt, which punched into the soldier’s shoulder before detonating, sending his arm spinning into the trench wall.
