Legends of the dark ange.., p.43
Legends Of The Dark Angels, page 43
Naaman considered the lay of the land. There was another building even closer to the generator, but the Scouts would have to cross a few metres of open ground in full view of the portal. The teleporter was active for only a few seconds at a time and took several minutes to recharge between each opening, but Naaman had been timing the power surges and there was no definite pattern. It was risky, but that position would allow him to scan not only the power plant but also the portal itself.
‘We will close in on the plant first,’ said Naaman, deciding that Damas’s course of action presented the least risk of discovery, even though the Scouts would have to relocate to scan the portal. ‘You will lead with the squad and I will follow you.’
Damas nodded and crawled back to the others. Naaman connected the long-range comm and hailed Belial. When the connection was made, it was marred by bursts of static, in rhythm with the pulsing of the energy across the power plant’s transformers.
‘This is Master Belial, make your report.’
‘Initial readings confirm that a relay is being used to project the energy as a microwave beam, brother-captain,’ said Naaman. ‘I will obtain a more accurate energy signature for the Unrelenting Fury to trace so that we can locate its destination.’
‘What about the ork build-up? How soon should we expect another attack?’
‘I would say that the orks will be back to their previous strength in the next two hours, perhaps a little more, brother-captain. May I make a suggestion?’
‘Please do, brother-sergeant, your insight has proven very useful so far.’
‘The teleporter is not directly connected to the power plant on the ground. Wherever it is coming from, the teleporter beam is being powered from the source rather than the destination. The orks’ occupation of the power plant suggests that the teleporter cannot function on a sustainable basis on its own power; this is why Ghazghkull’s first attack was infantry alone. If you were to bombard the power station and destroy the source of energy, the teleporter will cease to function.’
‘Bombardment is an option of last resort, Naaman,’ replied Belial heavily. ‘The geothermal stations are located on the weakest fault lines of Kadillus, areas made more insecure by the boreholes from them driven into the island’s heart. Brother Hephaestus warns me that any bombardment risks rupturing the Kadillus magma chamber, which in turn could precipitate a chain-reaction eruption, destroying the entire island.’
‘I see,’ Naaman said, ashamed that he had not thought through the consequences of blasting a power station that was, in essence, an artificial volcano. He was tired and rubbed his eyes. ‘Would it be possible to conduct a tactical strike, brother-captain? If we can reclaim the power plant we can cut off the source of energy in a more controlled fashion.’
‘The only available resources are myself and Deathwing Squad Adamanta. We can launch an attack, but we have no means of holding any ground. If it is possible to conduct a strike, you must locate a suitable target for us.’
‘I understand, brother-captain. I will report again when I can furnish you with more accurate target information.’
‘You are doing well, Naaman,’ said Belial, surprising the sergeant. ‘I realise that you have been under a great deal of pressure the last few days and that I have placed a considerable burden upon you. I have utter faith in your abilities and judgement, sergeant. Carry on with your mission.’
‘Confirm, brother-captain. I aspire to the example of the Lion. We shall not fall short in our dedication.’
Buoyed up by Belial’s words of encouragement, Naaman nodded for Damas to head out. Naaman cast a last glance at the portal and then followed the Scouts, bolt pistol in hand. They moved down the slope and paused within the shadows of a stand of stunted trees. With a burst of light, the portal opened and disgorged a pair of warbikes, which raced off westwards. Certain that the portal could not open for a few more minutes, Naaman signalled for the Scouts to break cover.
One at a time they darted from the trees, crossing a few metres of ground in a stooped run until they reached a patch of rocks and boulders almost directly north of the power plant. Naaman sprinted after them, casting glances to his right until he reached the shelter of the boulders. The sergeant activated the auspex again, but still the energy signal from the power relays was too weak to get an accurate fix on their alignment. They had to get even closer.
From here it was about twenty metres to the ruined outbuilding. Most of the upper storey had collapsed and Naaman could see the walls had been torn down by the orks and the reinforcing struts within the plascrete ripped out. The greenskins had used this material to erect crude gantries around the geothermal plant, criss-crossing the pylons and transformers with a maze of struts and ladders so that they could jury-rig their own cables and generators to the main relays.
With an idea germinating at the back of his mind, Naaman took the lead. Pulling up his cameleoline hood and wrapping his cloak tight, he dashed across the rubble-strewn ground to take cover in the ruined building. The scrunch of footfalls sounded the arrival of the others as he ghosted through the bare rooms. It was impossible to say what purpose the building had once served. The orks had stripped out every piece of machinery and furniture, leaving only the half-destroyed shell. Even the roof had been taken away, but the sun was not yet high enough to reach into the building’s interior.
A plascrete staircase still stood, jutting up from the centre of the ruin. Naaman directed the others to take up covering positions before slithering up the steps, wrapped in his cloak. At the top, he lay as still as death, auspex in hand, peering at the power plant from under the lip of his hood. Orks paced haphazardly around the station, no more than ten of them that Naaman could see. Another burst of crackling energy heralded more reinforcements through the portal, but Naaman ignored them. There was no way the Scouts would be found unless the orks were going out of their way to look for them; the truth was the orks patrolling the plant seemed bored and were spending more time arguing and joking with each other than keeping watch. It was possible that a lone Scout might be able to get into the plant itself without the alarm being raised.
Naaman counted four more portal openings while he lay at the top of the steps, the auspex beeping quietly in his hand as it absorbed and analysed the energy waves emanating from the power plant. He was no Techmarine and the intricacies of the data were as unintelligible as the grunts and roars of the orks, but he could see a pattern.
The energy from the power plant was being beamed to some other point, building in intensity roughly a minute prior to the portal opening. Once the teleporter was activated, the power link spiked at a level five times the build-up and lasted for only a few seconds. It was clear that no matter how long the pre-teleportation process, the portal could not be opened for more than a few seconds. Why this might be the case was a mystery, but it did confirm Naaman’s suspicion that without the power relay of the geothermal plant the teleporter could not be opened for any significant length of time. It required all of the plant’s output to generate a single pulse of teleporter energy, and all that was required to disrupt the beam was the removal of one of the bastardised relays the orks had added to the power station.
Armed with this information, Naaman contacted Belial.
‘Brother-captain, this is Sergeant Naaman. I will shortly be sending my collected data via the link. It is my belief that a small disruption to the power network of the plant will disrupt the entire operation. I will append monocular images of the relays for the examination of the Techmarines.’
‘Report received, brother-sergeant,’ replied Belial. ‘Standing by to receive data transmission.’
Naaman hooked the auspex into the long-range comm and punched in the rune sequence to uplink the information the scanner had collated. He waited impatiently until the auspex chimed three times to indicate the upload was completed. Switching connectors, Naaman attached his monocular to the comm-piece and spent several minutes sweeping the plant area with the optical device, transmitting the images to his commander. When he was done, he packed away the monocular and auspex and waited for Belial and his advisors to formulate a plan.
The minutes crept past. Naaman retreated from the tip of the stairway and joined the others. The orks had shown no sign that they were aware of the Scouts’ presence and Naaman felt relatively safe. He knew that such sanctuary was only temporary. If the Deathwing launched an attack it would stir up the orks, not only around the power station but also those westwards on the ridge.
There would be no way to get back to Koth Ridge, as Naaman had known since setting out. He called the Scouts together to make an announcement.
‘The time is fast approaching when we will be called upon to make the ultimate sacrifice for the Chapter,’ he said. He was pleased to see that none of the Scouts showed any sign of fear or surprise. ‘We have used stealth as a weapon and it has served us well, but there comes a time when stealth is no longer enough and pure force must prevail. We will not live to see the success of our mission today, for the consequences of our actions will not be measurable in moments but in hours and days.’
He looked at them in turn and saw nothing but determination and pride. Damas spoke next.
‘We will demonstrate the most fundamental power of the Astartes,’ said the sergeant, glancing at Naaman before continuing. ‘All of your training, all of our secrecy and circumspection is but a preliminary to one simple purpose: the destruction of the Emperor’s enemies. Though our mission shall succeed and our part in the greater campaign will come to an end, it still remains our duty to slay as many of the foe as is possible. We will fight to our last breath and even then we will fight until death claims us. We are all Space Marines, inheritors of the Lion’s legacy, upholders of the Imperial Will.’
The comm-chime attracted Naaman’s attention.
‘Sergeant Naaman, this is Master Belial. We have analysed the data and discerned a weakness in the enemy structure. The orks’ teleporter beam is interfering with our own lock-on signal. The orks are still in possession of the defence-laser silo and the Unrelenting Fury can only make a quick pass. Estimated window of operation is less than five minutes. For these reasons, you must place the teleport homer as close to the objective as you can. Is that possible?’
Naaman looked out of the window at the orks scattered around the power plant.
‘Affirmative, brother-captain,’ he said. ‘I can have you teleported directly into the power station precinct.’
‘Good,’ said Belial. ‘We are ready to commence the operation as soon as we receive the lock-on signal from you. Energy interference prevents teleporter lock on your squad. We will not be able to extract you.’
‘We are aware of that factor, brother-captain. Squad Damas and I will provide a diversionary attack to ensure minimal resistance to your arrival. We are honoured to serve.’
‘You will be remembered, Brother Naaman. You and your warriors are an inspiration to us all.’
The link went silent. Naaman unslung the comm-unit and set it to one side. He did not need it any more. He looked at the Scouts and saw that they had been listening to his part of the conversation. Standing up, they formed a circle, weapons raised in salute to each other, brothers in battle.
‘Fight hard, fight long,’ said Naaman. ‘No surrender, no retreat. We are Astartes, the bane of the heretic, the mutant and the alien. We are the Dark Angels, the first and the greatest. Honour our battle-brothers and cherish the opportunity for sacrifice.’
‘What is the plan, Naaman?’ asked Damas.
‘I have a teleport homer. On my signal you will open fire. In the resulting confusion I will infiltrate the power-plant complex and place the beacon. Master Belial and Squad Adamanta will insert by teleporter, disable or dismantle the energy relays and teleport back to orbit. We will remain to inflict as many casualties as possible. There will be no withdrawal.’
‘Understood, brother,’ said Damas. The sergeant pulled free his chainsword. ‘Purge the alien.’
‘Purge the alien,’ the Scouts quietly chorused in reply.
‘For the Lion,’ whispered Naaman, heading towards the door.
The veteran sergeant broke from the building at a run, bolt pistol in one hand, teleporter beacon in the other. He moved as fast as possible, heading directly for the closest generator housing. An ork strutted across a walkway above. The greenskin stopped as it caught sight of Naaman. It started to raise its gun. A moment later, the sergeant’s shot caught it in the throat, hurling it over the railing to plummet to the hard ground. Naaman heard startled grunts from the other orks around the power plant.
‘Bellicus extremis,’ he growled over the comm. ‘Open fire!’
Naaman rounded the corner of the generator and came face-to-face with a startled ork coming the other way. The Scout-sergeant fired twice, putting two bolt-rounds into the creature’s gnarled face. He was about twenty metres from the optimal spot for the beacon. Jumping over the fallen ork, he headed straight on while the station echoed with the snap of bolter rounds from the Scouts and the crackle of the orks’ primitive guns.
The sergeant could smell ozone in the air and feel the building energy on his skin. A fork of lightning leapt across the relays above, heralding another portal opening and sending a tingle of static across the sergeant’s flesh. Bare cables and bundles of wires hung like bunting between the generator blocks and the ground throbbed underfoot from the geothermal reactors hundreds of metres below.
Feeling the thrum of the power lines, Naaman realised that the place he had chosen was too close to the main transmitter: there was a chance the teleporter signal would be fractured by interference from the orks’ energy relays.
He cut to his left through a crumbling archway looking for an open space and was confronted by half a dozen orks dressed in red flak jackets, with grinning suns painted on their faces. The orks were intent on reaching the Scouts and did not see him as he ducked back into the archway. He crouched in the shadow with his pistol ready and peered around the corner to see the front three orks shredded by a hail of heavy bolter rounds.
‘Good aim, Luthor,’ Naaman said over the comm. ‘Keep up your fire!’
The orks scurried for cover as more heavy bolter fire screamed into the power plant, severing wires and ripping small craters into the generator housings. Naaman dashed from the archway, bolt pistol blazing to cut down an ork sheltering behind an angled girder. Bullets whined in the sergeant’s direction as he reached the cover of a pillar, rockcrete shards spraying around him. A glance at the portal hill revealed more orks hurrying towards the power plant, their padded vests and armour plates decorated with red and black checks. The orks wielded stubby pistols and cleavers, their fanged mouths wide as they bellowed encouragement or warnings to the other greenskins.
Naaman holstered his pistol and keyed in the activation sequence of the teleport homer. More and more bullets converged on his hiding place as the device shed its outer sheath. With a series of growls and clicks, transmitter vanes opened up, splaying from the tip of the beacon.
With a benediction to the Emperor in mind, Naaman broke cover and dashed across the dusty ground just to the south of the power plant. The black-clad orks were less than fifty metres away as Naaman speared the teleport homer into the dirt and leapt back. A bullet caught him on the arm, ripping through his sleeve to carve a furrow across his bicep. He knew he had to distract the orks from the beacon and sprinted to his left, firing his pistol as he did so. Behind him the teleport homer opened fully and sent its silent, invisible signal.
Naaman dived through the leaves of a bush as more bullets kicked up puffs of dust around him. Rolling to his left, he came up on one knee and sighted on the closest ork. Three bolt-rounds punched through the alien’s jacket with spurts of dark blood, toppling the creature. The orks returned fire, howling faces bathed in the flare of their pistols.
In the storm of fire, another ork bullet found its mark, catching Naaman in the thigh. Grunting, he shot back, finger hammering the trigger of his bolt pistol to send a salvo of bolts into the orks. Two of the beasts tumbled into the dirt but the survivors were now less than twenty metres away.
Then Naaman felt something: his highly attuned senses detected a slight increase in air pressure, like the bow-wave of an aircraft. Miniature dust devils writhed across the dusty ground and the air swirled into a haze.
In a blistering ball of blue light, the Deathwing arrived with a thunderous crack. Five hulking armoured suits appeared between Naaman and the onrushing orks. The Terminators opened fire immediately, their storm bolters scything through the remaining orks in a couple of seconds.
In the glare of muzzle flare stood Captain Belial, Master of the 3rd Company. His shoulder pads displayed the heraldry of the Chapter and the skull device of a veteran, the white robe of a Deathwing warrior hanging from his shoulders. He fired a storm bolter with his right hand, a crackling power sword in the left.
Surrounded by the five heavily armoured Space Marines, Master Belial waved the squad forwards with his glittering power sword. Ahead of them the ork portal pulsed again and another stream of greenskins surged through onto Kadillus. Meanwhile, Naaman could hear shooting coming from the ridge. The orks to the west were alert to the attack and were turning back to the power plant.
Reloading his pistol, Naaman ran through the power station, heading back towards the Scouts. To his left Belial and Squad Adamanta plunged into the heart of the transformers and generators, heading for the ork power relays that were transmitting energy from the geothermal station. Pulses from weapons screamed down from the ridge above the heads of a sea of greenskins. The Deathwing moved out of sight as Naaman emerged from the power plant. Ahead of him, the Scouts kept up a constant stream of bolter and heavy bolter fire from the ruined building, gunning down the orks that had emerged from the teleporter opening.
