Legends of the dark ange.., p.59
Legends Of The Dark Angels, page 59
‘A token garrison, nothing more,’ said Charon. He pointed to a group of ork bodies, far more heavily armoured than the others. ‘These have the look of a warlord’s bodyguard. No such corpses were found at Koth Ridge.’
‘The second warlord has escaped,’ said Belial. ‘For the moment. The teleporter site is still watched by our forces. Even if one has escaped, the Beast is still trapped in Kadillus Harbour.’
Charon seemed distracted. He gazed along the line of defences, eyes narrow, a glow emanating from the cables of his psychic hood. Without word, he set off at a run, heading to the western side of the gorge. Belial headed after him.
‘What is it, brother?’ Belial asked as the Librarian came to a stop amongst a pile of dead Free Militia.
‘Here,’ he said, pointing at a black-armoured corpse.
It was Boreas.
‘He shall be remembered,’ said Belial, kneeling beside the Chaplain.
‘You misunderstand me, brother,’ said Charon. ‘Brother Nestor! We have a survivor!’
Belial looked more closely. Boreas’s skin was deathly white, a ragged gash across the side of his head, his armour torn and crumpled in many places. Switching on his thermal sight, the commander saw the tiniest vestiges of warmth moving along the Space Marine’s blood vessels.
He stood up as Nestor approached.
‘He is in the grip of his sus-an membrane, brother,’ said Nestor, crouching over the fallen Chaplain. ‘Life signs are minimal but steady. Cryptobiosis must have happened automatically in response to his injuries. The Orks probably thought he was dead, and thank the Emperor that they did not deal any further damage.’
The Apothecary spent some time examining Boreas before straightening.
‘It is best that we leave Brother Boreas in his suspended metabolic state while we return him to the Unrelenting Fury, where we can better resuscitate him. He has extensive external and internal injuries, brother-captain, but some augmetics and surgery should suffice to return him to full duty in the fullness of time.’
‘Praise the Emperor,’ said Charon. ‘We have lost many battle-brothers and it is a blessing to have even one of them returned to us.’
‘Praise the Emperor indeed, brothers,’ said Nestor, humour in his tone. ‘The bodies He created for us are proof almost against death itself.’
Leaving Nestor to detail a squad to remove Boreas, Belial walked back to his Rhino. His own injuries ached, perhaps a psychosomatic response to Nestor’s words. Alone for the first time in many days, Belial sat in his command chair and removed his helmet. He whispered the verses of a dedication to the Master of Mankind, and a few words of thanks to the primarch of the Dark Angels. It would be three more days before the rest of the Chapter returned; three days to keep Ghazghkull contained in the harbour and a tight watch on the ork teleporter.
They would perhaps be the hardest three days of the whole campaign for Belial. Militarily, they would be straightforward, but with the orks all but defeated, there would soon come the time when his conduct would be examined by Grand Master Azrael.
Charon had spoken words of encouragement, but Belial knew that he had made some bad decisions. The best he hoped for was an acknowledgement of the unique difficulties the Dark Angels had faced on Kadillus. He should have listened to Sergeant Naaman’s concerns earlier. Had the teleporter been located before the first attack on Koth Ridge, the orks would not have posed such a threat. Belial did not naturally indulge in hindsight or second-guessing, but he was keenly aware that he had allowed confidence to become arrogance; he had underestimated the ork threat and, in refusing to acknowledge the potential dangers, he had cost the lives of Astartes and thousands of Piscinans. It was likely that he would lose command of the 3rd Company and return to being a brother of the Deathwing.
Belial pushed aside these morose thoughts. The judgement of Azrael would wait. For the moment, there were still orks on Piscina and the campaign was not yet done.
He activated the comm.
‘Master Belial to all units. Free Militia forces are en route to secure the geothermal station. Embark on transports for immediate return to Kadillus Harbour. Diem victorum non. The battle continues, brothers.’
A strong sea breeze wafted smoke over the city, bringing with it the crack of artillery, the snap of las-fire and the rattle of bolters. The blackened ruin of the basilica stood proud, its spire hidden by the smog. Much of the city was nothing more than rubble, dust-coated corpses of men and orks buried beneath piles of bricks and shattered girders. The rumble of tank engines reverberated along the streets as a column of Free Militia edged their way through the destruction, flamers scouring the ruins, shells pounding possible enemy hiding places.
As Belial had expected, the orks were not content to sit and wait for the inevitable. Fighting had been fierce, but the combined might of the 3rd Company and Free Militia was keeping the greenskins penned in the area around the docks.
And now the time was fast approaching to crush them.
From the lip of the main apron at Northport, he looked up at the vapour trails of Thunderhawks cutting through the cloudy skies. Far above, the Tower of Angels floated in orbit, the whole Dark Angels fleet in attendance. Transporters and gunships were landing around the city, while others headed to Koth Ridge to reinforce the Free Militia. In the evening twilight, what looked to be shooting stars glittered over the East Barrens: the drop-pods of the 6th Company descending on the East Barrens.
A Thunderhawk bearing the livery of Grand Master Azrael dropped through the cloud, diving sharply for the starport. Belial felt some trepidation as it landed on pillars of plasma fire. The wheeze of servos sounded in his autosenses as Revered Venerari stepped up next to him.
‘Your judgement on yourself will be harsher than that of others,’ said the Dreadnought.
Belial said nothing as the Thunderhawk touched down. His armour picked up the wash of heat from the gunship’s engines and he could hear creaks of cooling metal. With a hiss of hydraulics, the ramp lowered. Beyond the gunship transporters were dropping down onto the other parts of the docks, carrying Land Raider heavy tanks, Vindicator assault guns and other treasures of the Dark Angels arsenal. The full force of the Chapter was being brought to bear.
Grand Master Azrael, Keeper of the Truth, was the first to disembark. The supreme commander of the Dark Angels wore ornate armour, the insignia of the Chapter and his personal heraldry inlaid with precious gems and rare metals. A small entourage accompanied him down the ramp: Brother Bethor carrying the sacred Standard of Retribution; Space Marines in the livery of Librarians and Interrogator-Chaplains and Techmarines; half-machine servitors; and numerous other functionaries garbed in the robes of Chapter serfs. A cowled figure no more than a metre tall followed close on Azrael’s heels, carrying the ornately winged Lion Helm of the Grand Master; a Watcher in the Dark, one of the strange creatures that shared the Tower of Angels with the Chapter.
Azrael’s expression was stern, his dark hair close-cropped, deep-set eyes shadowed in the evening sun. Belial detected the buzz of the interpersonal comm and a moment later Charon strode out across the plascrete to welcome the Grand Master.
Belial watched patiently as the two held a long conversation. He noticed Azrael’s eyes flicking in his direction on occasion, but could tell nothing of the Grand Master’s thoughts. Eventually the two of them parted and Azrael headed in Belial’s direction. The company master stepped forwards to meet his superior.
‘The blessing of the Lion upon you, Grand Master,’ said Belial, sinking to one knee before Azrael. ‘I am grateful for your presence.’
‘Non desperat countenanti, exemplar est bellis fortis extremis, mon frater’ replied Azrael, gesturing for Belial to stand. ‘I know that you have misgivings about calling to me for aid, brother. Put them from your mind, for there is no shame in what you have done. It takes strength to stand alone against the dark forces of the galaxy; it takes greater strength to admit the need for help.’
Azrael laid a hand upon Belial’s shoulder and smiled, a simple gesture that did more to alleviate Belial’s concerns than any amount of spoken praise.
‘You have done your duty,’ Azrael continued. ‘To me, to your Chapter, to the Lion and to the Emperor. By your actions, Piscina IV remains safe from the orks, and through that action the world of Piscina V stays free of taint. Future generations of Dark Angels will give thanks to you and your warriors for what their sacrifice has preserved here.’
‘I am grateful for your words, Grand Master,’ said Belial. ‘There are many that deserve praise more than I, none more so than Sergeant Naaman of the Tenth Company.’
Azrael nodded.
‘Many will be the names recorded in honour for this campaign,’ said the supreme commander. He looked towards the war-torn city. ‘Others may be added to that list before we are finished. You have brought the Beast of Armageddon to battle, now we must finish the task.’
‘Yes, it is time to unleash a storm of vengeance against these foul aliens,’ said Belial. His fist crashed against his chest in salute. ‘What are your orders, Grand Master?’
EPILOGUE
The sound of shells was growing louder and louder. An explosion ripped the roof from a storage shed at the end of the street, burying a mob of orks under a heap of tiles and bricks.
Ghazghkull shook his head in disappointment; he guessed the humies had retaken the big laser cannon by now. It would only be a matter of time before their ships started blowing up his army from space. After that, they’d start looking for Nazdreg’s hulk. Humies would figure that out quick enough, he was sure of it.
‘Oi, Makari, grab me banna!’ The gretchin appeared as if by magic and plucked the huge flag free from the mound of rubble it had been driven into. ‘We’s goin’ fer a bit of a walk.’
Ghazghkull headed back into the shell of an empty warehouse, the clanking of his armour echoing from the walls. Makari scurried behind, hauling the giant banner with him.
‘We’s gonna give the humies some more boot levver, boss?’ asked the gretchin.
Ghazghkull nodded.
‘We’ll give the humies plenty of boot levver, but dere’s no need ta rush fings.’
The warlord unhooked an unlikely-looking device from his armour. The core of it seemed to be a battered wheel hub, coiled about with lots of coloured wires, with a red button in the middle.
‘What’cha got dere, boss?’ asked Makari.
‘Grab ’old,’ said Ghazghkull, holding out the device. ‘It’s a tellyporta fingy. When I push dis button, we’s gonna go back to Nazdreg’s ’ulk.’
‘What about da rest of da boyz? We ain’t runnin’ away, is we?’
‘Nah, dis ain’t runnin’ away. Dis is strat-er-jee. Runnin’ away’s only fer humies and pointy-ears. We’s just leavin’ for a bit. Da rest of da boyz is ’avin’ fun. We’ll let ’em keep da humies bizzy while we do sumfink strat-ee-jik.’
Ghazghkull bashed his fist against the button on the tellyporta device. Green lights glowed into life around the central hub and the thing began to shake in the warlord’s grip. Sparks sputtered along the wires and the warlord smelt burning plastic.
‘Is it meant to do dat, boss? Is it me–’
The warehouse disappeared and Ghazghkull found himself back in the warp for a moment. Like last time, there were all sorts of strange noises and faces leering at the warlord out of the soupy green miasma. He thought he could hear the guffaws and shouts of Gork (or possibly Mork).
Then they were back in the big room of Nazdreg’s hulk. With a puff of smoke, the tellyporta device stopped its shaking; bits of molten metal dropped onto the floor. The hall was almost empty, but the litter of the teeming horde that had been waiting a couple of days before covered the metal floor.
Still in his ornate mega-armour, Nazdreg was standing at one end of the hall, talking to his nobz. He looked up as Ghazghkull appeared in a flash of green light.
‘I wundered if dat fing would work,’ Nazdreg called out. ‘Good ta see ya again.’
Ghazghkull strode up the hall and pushed his way through the Bad Moon leaders.
‘Dis tellyporta stuff is all right, Nazdreg,’ said Ghazghkull, handing the fried piece of equipment to his fellow warlord.
‘I dunno,’ replied Nazdreg. ‘It’s a pain to get da power fer it.’
‘Just sum little problems, dat can be worked out,’ said Ghazghkull. ‘Makes me teef feel funny.’
‘Speakin’ of teef, dis little trip ’as been most good in da loot stakes,’ said Nazdreg. ‘Picked up all kinds of great gear from da humies. Plenty of dakka and teef.’
‘I didn’t too bad meself,’ said Ghazghkull. ‘Listen, if yoo don’t want ta keep da tellyporta, I will take it off yer ’ands.’
‘Fer sum extra teef…’
‘Course, fer sum extra teef. We ’ad a deal, din’t we?’
‘If da price is right, da tellyporta is yours. What do ya want wiv it?’
Ghazghkull’s mind went back many years, to a world of towering cities and choking wastes. A world that had almost been his, but for one stupid, brave, remarkable humie. This time he wouldn’t go easy on them.
‘I never did want dis place anywayz. Dis woz just practice fur da big wun. I’ve got a score ta settle…’
ORDER OF BATTLE
The Dark Angels 3rd Company at the start of the Kadillus Campaign
The 3rd Company was at full strength at the outset of the campaign. Due to its duties overseeing the final stage of recruitment from Piscina V, the 3rd Company had more than the usual number of Chaplains and Librarians attached from the Chapter Headquarters. In addition, the 3rd Company had been reinforced with many squads from the 1st, 2nd and 10th Companies.
Note on reorganisation: All forces underwent ad-hoc reorganisation throughout the campaign to account for losses and the splintering of Dark Angels across the two main fronts. This involved the battlefield promotion of several battle-brothers to the rank of sergeant and the allocation of temporary squad nomenclature (such as Exacta, Vindictus, Annihilus).
Headquarters
Master Belial, Company Commander
Interrogator-Chaplain Boreas, Company Chaplain
Brother Nestor, Company Apothecary
Brother Arael, Company Standard Bearer
Revered Venerari, Dreadnought
Additional Headquarters
Master Chaplain Uriel
Interrogator-Chaplain Sarpedon
Lexicanium Acutus, Librarian
Lexicanium Charon, Librarian
Lexicanium Hebron, Librarian
Armoury
Unrelenting Fury, Battle-barge
Zealous Guardian, Divine Judgement, Thunderhawk Gunships
Brother Hadrazael, Techmarine
Brother Hephaestus, Techmarine
4 Predator Battle Tanks
12 Rhino Transports
4 Razorback Transports
3rd Company Squads
Squad Andrael, Tactical Squad
Squad Azraeth, Tactical Squad
Squad Dominus, Tactical Squad
Squad Lemael, Tactical Squad
Squad Nemeaus, Tactical Squad
Squad Peliel, Tactical Squad
Squad Menelauis, Assault Squad
Squad Zaltys, Assault Squad
Squad Heman, Devastator Squad
Squad Scalprum, Devastator Squad
1st Company (Deathwing)
Squad Adamanta, Tactical Dreadnought Armour Squad
Squad Malignus, Tactical Dreadnought Armour Squad
Squad Vigilus, Tactical Dreadnought Armour Squad
2nd Company (Ravenwing)
Squad Aquila, Bike Squadron
Squad Laertius, Bike Squadron
Squad Orphaeus, Bike Squadron
Squad Validus, Bike Squadron
5 Land Speeders
2 Attack Bikes
10th Company (Scouts)
Squad Arcanus, Scouts Squad
Squad Astarael, Scouts Squad
Squad Damas, Scouts Squad
Squad Naaman, Scouts Squad
Squad Volcus, Scouts Squad
AZRAEL
GAV THORPE
‘Forget your past life. From this day on you are simply a Dark Angel – nothing else is of consequence. The Chapter is all that matters.’
PART ONE
DATE IDENT: UNKNOWN
Blood on the snow.
He remembers it pooling crimson against the white, crystals of ice melting. The wind kept at bay by the tall cliffs, leaving calm and quiet for the drip-drip-drip of emptying life fluid to sound impossibly loud in his ears.
The head had belonged to a Borsginian, his plaited hair caked in dried blood, pierced nose flattened by the blow that had knocked him down. His throat had been parted by the axe strike that had followed.
The head sits atop the third pole of defeated foes, crowning seven others below it. He steps back, admiring the battlework of the past year since he was old enough to join the hird. Twenty-four foes, all dead by his hand. He remembers each one and smiles at the recollection. Raiders defeated, guards slain, warriors bested.
A shout from the fires at the head of the valley draws his attention back to the others. He has nearly forgotten that tonight the elders will issue a pronouncement. He is to be confirmed as successor to the leadership of their people, to become chieftain when his father dies. Twenty-four heads prove that the blood is strong, that the line of Vangar the Bloodwoven still deserve to lead the Gothra.
His name is called, almost lost as the storm strengthens. The clouds are darkening rapidly, the snows coming thicker and faster. The light of the fires starts to dim as the sun dips below the cliff tops.
