Legends of the dark ange.., p.61
Legends Of The Dark Angels, page 61
The main citadel was a solid hexagonal building nearly two hundred metres to each wall, soaring a hundred metres above the courtyard. The walls bulged with angular defensive positions, and each corner was reinforced with round towers broken with narrow windows for small-arms fire.
Halftrack vehicles were drawn up in lines beneath armoured canopies some distance to the left. Quadruped battle walkers stood guard by the main gates of the curtain wall – three of them, each with twin turrets mounting heavy cannons. These rose up and turned towards the Terminators that had appeared in their midst, while las-fire and bullets started to rain down from the inner fortress.
‘Gate breach!’ called Azrael as he moved towards the citadel. Behind, his squad fell in line and as one they raised their storm bolters and poured fire at the closest defenders, their hail of bolts forcing the enemy back from their firing slits above the citadel gates. Through the sensorium Azrael could see Belial’s squad had moved to intercept a platoon of rebels pouring from a guard house behind the outer wall. In the corner of his eye he could see the countdown until the teleporters aboard the Penitent Warrior had cycled through the recharge phase. Forty-six seconds until the next squads arrived.
The Deathwing moved as a single entity to form a protective ring around Brother Garvel as he strode towards the citadel gates with his thunder hammer. Enemy fire flashed from his raised storm shield and sparked from the armour of the others. Azrael stood next to Therizon and the two of them turned their weapons on the halftracks, scything through the renegades trying to board the vehicles, sparks racing along the armoured hulls of the bulky transports.
Bracing himself, Garvel swung his thunder hammer at the massive metal gates. The impact was like the crack of a storm, a flare of light and a rolling crash that reverberated across the courtyard. Azrael kept his attention focused on the halftracks, where rebel soldiers now skulked behind the vehicles, sniping at Therizon’s men with their lasguns.
The walkers opened fire, cannons belching smoke and flame. The shells exploded against the Tactical Dreadnought armour of the Deathwing, rocking Brother Sammeus and engulfing Brother Daellin with broken ferrocrete and shrapnel. As the bitter wind cleared the smoke, the two Terminators emerged from the fume, the assault cannon of the first chewing fist-sized hunks of steel from the armour of the closest walker, the storm bolter of the second rippling fire across the armoured hydraulics powering the walker’s legs.
Garvel smashed his hammer against the gates a second time with another explosion of power. The banded metal of the gate flexed; stress fractures ran up its length from the point of impact.
A couple of rebels had managed to crawl up into the cupolas of the halftracks and now swung their heavy machine guns around. A stream of bullets scoured across the ground in front of Azrael, ripping towards the Grand Master in a zig-zag. With bullets shrieking over his breastplate, Azrael levelled his storm bolter at the gunner on the right, the targeting crosshair dancing over the pale face of a woman behind the gunshield. He opened fire and the rebel disappeared from view in a mist of crimson. The machine gun swung upwards, caught in her death grip, emptying its fury into the sky.
Another sharp crack of air brought forth squads Daeron and Balthasar; the former appeared behind the halftracks, the latter a few metres from Squad Belial. Azrael could see movement on the outer wall – traitor officers assessing the threat in the heart of their stronghold, caught between the Deathwing and the approach of Sheol’s incoming attack.
The third blow from Garvel’s thunder hammer split the gate.
Needing no prompting from their sergeant or Grand Master, Garvel and Luciel swapped places, thunder hammer replaced with field-sheathed chainfist. The teeth of Luciel’s weapon growled into a blur and sparks flew as he directed slashing blows at the rent created by Garvel’s hammer.
‘All squads converge on the gate,’ Azrael told his warriors. ‘Cover fire against those walkers.’
A burst of missiles from the cyclone launcher in Squad Balthasar flared over the heads of Belial’s warriors as they retreated from the continuing barrage of the walking tanks. The warheads detonated against the slanted armour plates of the rebel engines, scattering white-hot shards of shrapnel and broken ceramite.
‘Gate breached!’ announced Luciel. He tore the last remnant of the broken gate away with the gauntlet of the chainfist and tossed it aside. Dim yellow light seeped from within, fluctuating with the shadows of movement inside.
Azrael stepped closer. An incandescent blast from beyond the shattered portal engulfed Luciel. It was impossible to see exactly what happened in the midst of the blinding light but broken pieces of Tactical Dreadnought armour and burning flesh sprayed across the other members of the squad. As one they poured fire into the breach, firing blind in retaliation.
‘Lion’s shade, what was that?’ exclaimed Brother Galad, his armour pitted with smouldering pieces of adamantium and plasteel.
‘Keep firing!’ ordered Belial.
Azrael readied the grenade launcher fitted to the back of his power fist. Clenching his fingers, he fired a spread of frag charges through the opening. A second later the blossom of their detonation lit the interior of the gatehouse.
In the split-second of illumination the Grand Master saw a tableau of figures in stark contrast to the shadows of the gatehouse hall, which was a vaulted structure about twenty metres high, the walls unbroken but for an inner portal.
Dark robes obscured overlapping plates of segmented power armour, the defenders’ faces hidden behind masks shaped like snarling wolves, eye-lenses like smooth rubies. Arcane machinery sprouted from packs upon their backs, coiled about with thick cables that ran to the guns in their hands. The cerulean pulse of plasma chambers glowed dully through the folds of their robes.
Thanks to the integrated surveyor systems of the sensorium web, the others saw exactly what Azrael witnessed. Alert to the danger, the Terminators withdrew from the breach still firing, while Brother Horst unleashed the fury of his heavy flamer. The burning promethium lapped at the ragged edges of the gate remains and poured into the interior.
‘Daeron!’
The sergeant and his squad were moving even as the command left Azrael’s lips. Breaking into a lumbering charge the Terminator assault squad pushed into the still-burning breach, thunder hammers and lightning claws crackling with power.
Azrael and Therizon’s warriors followed close behind, in time to see Daeron’s squad fall on the mechanically augmented defenders. In the glow of guttering flames, their claws sheared and hammers crushed plates of armour, rending and pulping the bodies within. Fractured plasma cells sprayed sparks of cerulean energy that left melt-lines streaked across the outer skin of the Terminators’ armoured suits.
‘Dark technomancy,’ muttered Sergeant Daeron as he crushed the helmeted head of a dead foe beneath his massive boot. ‘The foes arrayed against us have made unholy alliances here.’
‘There is certainly a darker purpose,’ said Azrael. He surveyed the inner doors, the heavy metal flawlessly sealed, the locking mechanism hidden on the other side.
A hiss attracted his attention and he looked up to see dark gas pouring from vents in the ceiling. His suit’s sensors picked up several toxic substances. None of them would be lethal to him even outside of his armour. The acidic compounds in the cloud hissed as they flowed over the Terminators, peeling away enamel and gilding but doing little damage to the ceramite beneath, though an unarmoured attacker may have been swiftly stripped down to muscle and bone. The noxious cloud billowed out through the breached gate.
‘Crude,’ said Belial, ‘and perhaps desperate. They were not expecting teleport attack. Their force is concentrated on the wall.’
‘Or they have sealed the citadel for another reason,’ said Therizon. ‘The Supreme Grand Master’s locator is still transmitting.’
Azrael focused his suit’s systems, homing in on Naberius’ transponder. Through the sensorium he picked up the signal. Due to the interlinked nature of the sensor web, the others found it too. Galad stepped towards the door.
‘We must hasten, before something unspeakable happens to our lord’s remains.’
‘Into a waiting trap, brother?’ said Belial. ‘The advantage of our surprise arrival is swiftly diminishing.’
‘There is not a warrior in this stronghold that can hold against the Deathwing, brother-sergeant,’ Galad replied. He slammed his storm bolter against his eagle-embossed plastron. The crash of it rang loudly in the entrance chamber. ‘The finest plate of the Chapter, the most skilful warriors. Rhamiel has nothing to threaten us.’
‘So the greatest danger is arrogance,’ said Belial.
‘Wait.’ Azrael’s calm command cut through the discussion. ‘The traitors have to know we are coming for him. We must be wary not to fall to the same hazard as Naberius.’
From the viewpoints of the Terminators still outside he could see that one of the walkers had been destroyed, the others beset by Squad Balthasar who were prying open armour and tearing at hydraulics with their power fists. There was no immediate danger from the courtyard; the troops on the wall were still occupied with the incoming Dark Angels company.
‘Balthasar, I want you to seize the outer gate,’ he voxed to the sergeant. ‘Master Sheol’s attack is underway – I’ll not have him humbled at the walls.’
‘By the Lion’s command, it shall be done, Grand Master,’ Balthasar assured him, his visual feed showing his sword plunged into the exposed engine grille of the armoured walker. ‘We’ll hold until Master Sheol arrives.’
Satisfied that the initial assault was progressing as intended, Azrael tapped into the sensorium feed from the others to triangulate the source of the Supreme Grand Master’s transponder code.
‘Above us, somewhere on the upper levels. Therizon, hold the gate.’ He checked the chronometer. ‘Reinforcement in twenty-three seconds. Sheol’s attack will reach the walls in another minute. When it arrives I want a collapsing cordon – all Deathwing will converge on my signal and reinforce the assault.’
Their affirmatives crackled across the vox.
‘By the Lion’s shade, we shall restore our honour with the blood of our enemies,’ growled Belial.
‘Step aside, brother,’ Garvel told Galad. His thunder hammer flared into life, casting long, wavering shadows across the hall. ‘Let me use my key.’
DATE IDENT: 887939.M41#1423
Azrael had expected sudden confrontation, an attack the moment they had broken through the inner gate. No such ambuscade came and it was with concern that he led his warriors into the wide hall beyond – a vast space that took up almost the entirety of the lowest floor.
‘Their best fighters expend their energy at the walls,’ said Galad, ‘as I expected.’
‘Or they conserve their attack for the most opportune moment,’ countered Azrael. ‘Watch your sectors, stay alert.’
The sensorium picture grew out of a fuzz of static as sophisticated cogitators assimilated the datafeeds of the Terminators to create a secondary reality of lines and runes over Azrael’s view. The citadel extended above and below, reached by elevators and stairwells through doorways at the far end of the hall. Dozens of tertiary readings – probably life signs – flashed along chambers and corridors to either side and above.
‘Where is the Supreme Grand Master?’ asked Belial. Fluctuating energy readings intermittently obscured the beacon signal from Naberius’ armour.
‘We secure the conveyors,’ said Azrael, pointing ahead. His arm swept round, to the right and then left. ‘This is the killzone. Nothing enters that is not destroyed.’
The heavy thud of their tread reverberated around the vaulted space, echoing back from bare ferrocrete walls along which were mounted yellow lanterns like torches in sconces, fed by exposed cabling that crawled over the grey artificial stone. Overhead lumen strips hung from the metal rafters, their dull light barely enough to reach the slabs of the floor.
The Deathwing advanced swiftly, a broad line abreast, weapons angled to cover the archways and doors to either side. The returns from the sensorium shifted, signals melting away, heading down and beneath the Terminators to flow behind them like the sea churning in the wake of a ship.
‘Therizon, watch your rear,’ Belial warned.
‘We see them,’ the other sergeant replied. ‘We have your backs.’
Azrael had pushed on in full confidence that the other squads would secure the battle zone behind them. He trusted his sergeants and their squads to fight impeccably, freeing him to concentrate solely on more strategic matters. His thoughts were fixed on the fluctuating sensor beacon from his objective.
‘What is the mission, Grand Master?’ asked Belial.
‘To retrieve the Chapter banner and the corpse of the Supreme Grand Master. We will secure the area and await reinforcement from the Fourth Company. We will then scour the remaining area of all rebels.’
‘Understood, brother-captain.’
They continued in silence, unmolested until they reached the far end of the hall some three hundred metres from the entrance.
‘Daeron, flank left,’ Azrael told the accompanying squad. ‘I see an energy cluster about thirty metres away. Possible conveyor control chamber. Investigate. We will secure the transit lobby.’
The assault Terminators peeled away, heading to one of the large archways leading to the surrounding rooms. As the distance increased, the sensorium link wavered. When Sergeant Daeron passed into the adjoining corridor the link was severed, reducing Azrael’s input to the Terminators in his immediate vicinity.
‘Thermal concentration ahead,’ remarked Meritus. ‘Could be enemy.’
‘Or an environmental heat exchange,’ said Azrael as he studied the blur of orange on his display. He motioned for Belial, Meritus and Galad to break right towards one set of doors while he led Turivael and Garvel to another doorway to the left.
Garvel went first with his thunder hammer readied, storm shield raised against possible attack. The door was barely high enough for him to pass through, and his pauldrons scraped the frames as he turned sideways through the doorway.
‘Tight fit,’ he muttered. ‘Barely room to swing a sword.’
The foyer beyond was small, just large enough for Azrael to follow Garvel, the two of them shoulder to shoulder in front of a flight of steps and the doors of an ascender cage. Belial and Meritus arrived at the other end of the corridor, the space filled with their bulk.
The conveyor beside Belial was open and he backed away as far as he could while he gestured to Azrael.
‘I doubt more than one of us could get in there,’ said the sergeant.
‘If it can take the weight,’ added Meritus.
‘Perhaps that is the intent of the foe,’ said Azrael. ‘To divide and isolate us in the close confines.’
Before the others could respond, the sharp crack of bolters rattled in the distance and the vox snarled into life.
‘Targets engaged,’ reported Therizon. ‘Nothing dramatic, brother-captain.’
‘Daeron, report,’ said Azrael, concerned that the sergeant and his squad were separated from the sensorium link. ‘What have you found?’
‘As you suspected, Grand Master, we have located a generator chamber. Oil-fed, very basic. Shall we shut it down?’
Azrael looked at the small conveyors and then the stairs.
‘No, not at present. We will attempt to find a more suitable route to the upper levels. Continue to guard our flank.’
‘Affirmative, Grand Master. The enemy are keeping their distance at present. Will report any significant change.’
Azrael turned to Belial.
‘There must be some means for the citadel to transport heavier loads to the gun turrets. A munitions elevator or similar. Back to the hall – we shall investigate the rooms on the northern side of the fortress.’
They filed back into the central grand chamber and followed Azrael as he headed towards the archway opposite the one by which Daeron’s squad had departed. The bareness of the walls disturbed Azrael. Though the Iron Stalagmite was military in origin it was also a seat of planetary governance that would have played host to visiting dignitaries, trade delegations and others. It was too austere for such ceremonies.
He realised the hall must have previously been decorated with banners and other hangings – torn down when the occupants had rebelled against the Imperium. Even so, the lack of slogans and graffiti was at odds with his experience. Dissidents were keen to make their own mark in the vacuum of Imperial sigils, to display their independence and greater power, but there was nothing to denote the allegiance, goals or ideals of the rebels at all.
Did they have an agenda at all, or had they merely been manipulated into uprising by the Night Lords? What precisely had brought the renegades to Rhamiel? The Supreme Grand Master had believed it was the work of the Fallen, the Dark Angels own secret traitors from the dark days of the Horus Heresy. If that was the case there was still a monumental task ahead: to overthrow the rebels, defeat the Night Lords and, if possible, apprehend the Fallen without involving battle-brothers kept ignorant of their existence.
In the light of such thoughts, Azrael understood a little better Naberius’ decision to launch a focused lightning strike against the Iron Stalagmite. The Chapter Master had hoped to deliver a decisive stroke against their foes whilst isolating any potential Fallen involvement. The Deathwing, each First Company veteran already aware of the Fallen’s existence, had been on standby to provide a swift response. Similarly the Ravenwing, the mounted Second Company, formed a swift moving cordon to intercept any traitors that might escape the fortress, taking them into custody before they reached the battle-brothers of the main siege line.
