Legends of the dark ange.., p.81
Legends Of The Dark Angels, page 81
The governor picked up a folder from the desk and flicked through the reams of paper within, nodding as though impressed as he did so. ‘I’ve been reviewing the action reports you’ve filed since you came planetside. Your squad has almost twenty confirmed ork kills and, with the exception of a few flesh wounds here and there, you’ve not taken a single casualty in all that time. Why is that, captain?’
Ladbon could feel his body temperature rise, sweat beginning to dampen his tunic at the small of his back. He took a breath then answered, ‘Because we’re damn good at what we do.’
‘Ha!’ the governor exclaimed, his scarred face contorting grotesquely as he laughed. ‘There’s no false modesty with you, is there, captain? I like that. You’re almost worthy.’
‘Worthy? Worthy of what?’
‘I was like you once, you know,’ the governor said, once again ignoring Ladbon. He moved out from behind the desk and began circling around the Vostroyan. ‘I made captain when I was young too. The Fourteenth Ynglevian Lancers. Nothing compared to the illustrious Vostroyan Firstborn, of course, but by the God-Emperor did we punch above our weight. Ten thousand men from a backwater planet who went out into the stars and reclaimed nearly a dozen worlds that had succumbed to heresy. We thought we were invincible – a decade of war and we had lost barely ten per cent of the men and boys who had shipped out from Ynglevia.’
‘Is that how you got those?’ Ladbon said, pointing to the row of medals at the governor’s breast.
‘We hadn’t done it alone. Other regiments had rallied behind the banner and an entire company of Raven Guard had been our spearhead, smashing open the enemy’s defences on each and every world so that we could sweep in behind and wipe out the heretics. We didn’t realise it at the time but we were only playing at war. The cultists we were fighting were just men, the same as us. But what came after…’
The governor was back at the window, staring out at the vast expanse of grey and white.
‘It was during the victory celebrations that they first made planetfall, spores at first but then came the swarms of rippers and the larger bioforms. We didn’t stand a chance. Half of us were drunker than we’d ever been in our lives and the speed of the assault caught us completely off guard. Tell me, son, have you ever fought against the tyranids?’
‘I don’t even know what tyranids are,’ Ladbon replied.
The governor exhaled. ‘Good for you, son. I’ll spare you the horror. Suffice to say that the Fourteenth were wiped out almost to a man that day. Within a week, the subsector we had devoted ten years of our lives to liberating no longer existed, a hundred billion souls wiped out in less time than it took to travel from one side of it to the other.’
‘But you escaped, lord. You were invincible.’
‘The Raven Guard did their best, but there were so few of them and so many tyranids, so very many tyranids. They knew from the instant the first spore hit the surface that the planet was doomed and sought only to stem the Imperium’s losses. They held a corridor open to the space port, holding off the tyranids so that Guardsmen could make it back to the waiting transport shuttles, but so few did. I was one of the last to make it there, the Raven Guard captain holding the final shuttle back as I ran across the landing zone, chased every metre of the way by the swarms. I made it, barely, but as I sprinted up the closing ramp, the lead ripper launched itself at the Space Marine, latching on to his throat and pulling him to the ground ready for the rest of the swarm to devour.
‘In the panic to flee the dying planet I hadn’t even stopped to pick up my lasrifle, but I still had my combat knife. Without thinking, I drew it and leapt from the shuttle, impaling the ripper on my blade. It burst open, showering me with acid, and damn near killed me. I would have died there and then but the Raven Guard captain dragged me back on the transport, got me to the medicae on board an orbiting Navy ship.’
The governor turned to face Ladbon.
‘That’s how I got these.’ He pointed to his medals. ‘That’s how I got that.’ He pointed to his left eye. ‘And that’s how I got this.’ He spread his arms wide, indicating his office.
Ladbon wasn’t sure what to say. ‘I hope that one day I too can become a great hero like you, lord. But please tell me, am I in some kind of trouble?’
‘Do you love Marita, captain?’ the governor said.
Ladbon was taken aback. ‘I…’
‘Do you love my daughter, captain?’
Ladbon was sweating from head to foot. ‘I didn’t…’ He composed himself and looked the governor square in the eye. ‘Yes. With all my heart.’
‘And what about the child she is carrying? Will you love that with all your heart too?’
Ladbon was momentarily speechless. ‘She’s pregnant?’ he said eventually, his face splitting into a wide grin.
The governor’s features and tone relaxed. ‘So you plan to stand by her then?’
‘Absolutely,’ Ladbon said without hesitation. ‘Is she here? May I see her?’
Ladbon wasn’t sure what he wanted to say to Marita. They had been together almost since the day he had set foot on Honoria, the shy, pretty redhead assigned as an interpreter between the incoming Vostroyans and the local forces, instantly winning his affections. In all those months, she had never once mentioned that her father was the governor, which made Ladbon somewhat bitter – why didn’t she feel she could share that with him? But that could wait. Most of all Ladbon just wanted to wrap his arms around her and let her know that he was there for her, that everything was going to work out for them.
‘I don’t think that’s wise under the circumstances,’ the governor said.
‘You can’t keep me from her!’ Ladbon said, suddenly exploding with emotion. ‘I demand–’
‘You are in no position to demand anything, Captain Antilov,’ the governor said, meeting Ladbon’s rage with assertive calm. ‘It is only thanks to my intervention that the commissars haven’t put a bolt-round through your skull.’
Engaging in, as the Imperial Infantryman’s Primer put it, ‘amorous congress’ with civilians while on active duty was an infraction – like so many others in the Astra Miltarum – punishable by execution. Even Ladbon’s rank would not spare him from the wrath of the Commissariat.
‘I don’t understand,’ Ladbon said. ‘Why spare me from their guns? Surely you must be angry with me?’
‘I am positively choleric with rage, captain. A veritable volcano of anger waiting to erupt. It is taking all of my self-control not to tear that oversized augmetic from your face and beat you to death with it.’ The governor’s tone remained level.
‘So why–’
‘Because it is quite clear that my daughter loves you, and you love her. She hasn’t been close to anybody since her mother died and my role as governor leaves me precious little time to spend with her. I have already lost one woman that I love, and I fear that if I were to endorse your execution, or even fail to prevent it, I would lose another.’
Marita hadn’t spoken much about her mother to Ladbon. He knew that they had been very close, even during Marita’s teenage years, but other than that all he knew was that she’d died on the voyage that brought Marita to Honoria.
‘If you know I love her, then you must understand how important it is that I see her,’ Ladbon pleaded.
‘Can’t you see that I’m doing this for your own good?’ said the governor, raising his voice. ‘For the good of both of you? I am governor of this world but I have no sway over the Commissariat. If they find out about you and Marita then it is beyond my powers to prevent them carrying out the sentence. My daughter is quite safe and will remain so until after her child is born, but you will not have any contact with her until then. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Perfectly,’ Ladbon said through gritted teeth.
‘War is coming. Already the greenskins are at our threshold and the next few weeks are going to be bloody and costly, but we will prevail. The Imperium will be triumphant, though not without great sacrifice. If, in the confusion of battle, Captain Ladbon Antilov should go missing, presumed dead, left behind when his regiment returns to the stars, then that wouldn’t be the worst thing that could happen, would it?’
‘You’ve read my record. I love Marita more than life itself, but my duty is to my men. You know I’d never abandon them, especially on the eve of battle.’
‘A father’s love for his daughter runs deep, captain,’ the governor said, looking out through the window again. ‘I’ve pulled a few strings, called in some favours with Vostroyan brass. I’ve had you transferred here to the gubernatorial fortress as a liaison. For the duration of the war, you’ll be staying right here as my guest.’
‘You’re locking me up, aren’t you?’ Ladbon said, not needing his powers of foresight to come to that conclusion.
‘How did you two get in here?’ Ladbon said, getting up from the wooden stool in the corner of his cell. The stone stairs down into the cell block were cast in darkness, giving Ladbon no discernible way of identifying his visitors.
‘How did you know it was us?’ said Allix, stepping into the weak shaft of light cast by the sole, tiny window high above Ladbon’s cell. Dmitri followed, his alabaster skin lending him a ghostly aspect in the gloom.
‘I could smell you,’ Ladbon lied. His foresight had kicked in just before he heard the cell block door creak open. ‘Neither of you have showered since we deployed here.’
‘That’s a damn lie, captain,’ Allix said, grinning. ‘I had one two weeks ago to get the ork blood out of my hair.’
‘What are you even doing here? How did you get in?’ Ladbon said, gripping the plasteel bars of his cell.
‘Remember those Honorians we saved from that pair of greenskins a while back?’ Dmitri said.
‘I remember. Kas decapitated one with the heavy bolter, Grigori led the other into a minefield.’
‘That’s right. Well, they’ve rotated onto guarding the governor’s fortress. We figured they owed us their lives and convinced them to look the other way while we paid our captain a visit,’ said Dmitri.
‘While I appreciate the gesture, you didn’t need to go AWOL on my account,’ Ladbon sighed.
‘We didn’t,’ Allix laughed. ‘Right after the commissar hauled you off, the order came down the line that we were to abandon the northern territories and pull back to reinforce the capital. We’re billeted at one of the gates on the eastern side of the city. Took us less than an hour to get here on foot and, unless you’ve got a really long and complicated explanation as to why you’re locked up in here, we’ll be back in our bivvy bags before first light.’
‘Marita is pregnant,’ Ladbon said.
There was an awkward silence. ‘Erm… congratulations?’ Allix said.
‘And her father is the governor.’
‘Wow. For somebody who has been so good at avoiding trouble up until now, you really have sunk deep into the brown stuff,’ said Dmitri. ‘What are you going to do for an encore? Climb naked up a statue of a primarch and proclaim yourself the new God-Emperor?’
‘So why are you rotting in here instead of swinging from a yardarm?’ Allix asked. ‘Amorous congress and all that crap.’
‘That thing I just told you about her father being the governor? He’s keen that I stick around and take care of Marita and the baby once it’s born.’
‘You’re the best man I know,’ Allix said. ‘A better man than me, at least. You would never abandon your child.’
‘I think he knows that, but he also knows that I wouldn’t abandon my squad. He’s ex-Militarum himself and knows all too well the risks. Thinks I’m likely to get killed in the forthcoming war so he’s making me sit it out down here for the duration.’
‘Good job the cavalry’s here to bust you out then,’ Dmitri said, pulling out an enormous pair of bolt croppers from his backpack.
‘Don’t be an idiot,’ Ladbon said, to Dmitri’s obvious dismay. ‘If I escape then we will have to go AWOL and any chance I have of being with Marita disappears forever. As much as I hate it, I’m going to have to stay put.’
Allix swore in Vostroyan. ‘But we need you, secondborn. Who else is going to keep us out of trouble?’
‘I think my second in command is going to take care of that perfectly well.’ Allix blushed at the compliment. ‘There is something you need to do for me though, one last order before I cede command.’
‘Name it,’ Allix said.
‘I need you to find Marita.’
CHAPTER FIVE
The flight deck of the Sword of Caliban reverberated with the noise of battle preparation as serfs fitted power armour to their Dark Angels masters, and the brothers of the Fifth Company anointed and prepared their weapons.
The command squad went among them, proffering advice, encouragement and leadership. Puriel regaled Ninth and Tenth Squads – several of whom were newly elevated from the Scout Company – with parables and litanies of how the sons of the Lion had battled the greenskins in millennia past, extolling them to acts of greater glory in the war to come. Rephial sought out Fourth Squad, all of whom bore scars and injuries from the campaign against the tau, and checked them over as their armour was lifted onto their bodies, looking for anything he might have missed when he had declared them fit for action. Serpicus moved from squad to squad, giving final blessings to the arms carried by the brothers of the Fifth Company but paying special attention to the Dark Angels’ signature plasma weapons, which were prone to overheating and even exploding. Zadakiel did similarly, steeling his warriors’ resolve and issuing final orders before they boarded the waiting Thunderhawks.
Ezekiel, constantly shadowed by Turmiel, chose to spend the final minutes before exiting the warp with Balthasar’s squad. Though anybody who travelled through the immaterium could feel the change as the translation back into real space occurred, the shifting of the soul was felt more keenly by the psychically attuned.
Ezekiel had read extensively from the journals and writings of previous brothers of the Dark Angels Librarius, and many had shared their experiences and feelings of being a psyker adrift in the warp. One Librarian in particular, the long-lived Gradiel, who had served during the 36th millennium and was one of Ezekiel’s favourite writers, had compared warp travel to being in the womb – nurturing and familiar – and the return to real space akin to birth – sudden and traumatic. Right now, Ezekiel was doing what he could to take his mind off what was to come.
‘Impressive, sergeant,’ Ezekiel said. ‘We have yet to exit the warp and are more than an hour from insertion, yet your squad is already fully armoured and prepared to deploy.’
In the hours since they had convened in the strategium, Company Master Zadakiel had finessed the battle plan he had discussed with the command squad. Rather than rushing blindly down onto the planet’s surface, they would allow time for the Sword of Caliban’s sensors to sweep the surface and ascertain where the best insertion point, or points, were. Then, in anticipation of heavy anti-aircraft fire from the entrenched orks, they would make planetfall in the more manoeuvrable Thunderhawks, rather than drop pods.
His thinking was sound and also flexible; if the forces of the Imperium on Honoria had already succumbed to the ork onslaught then it would simply be a matter of virus bombing the planet from orbit rather than engaging in a protracted and pointless ground war. The terms of the Pact of Kulgotha only bound the Dark Angels to come to the aid of the Mechanicus, not do their job for them. Whatever technology they hungered for could spend the next ten thousand years under a shroud of pestilence and disease.
‘First Squad sets the standard that all of Fifth Company must aspire to, Epistolary,’ Balthasar said. Despite the sergeant’s naked hatred of psykers, Ezekiel was warming to Balthasar. His devotion to not only the Dark Angels, but also excellence in battle, was unswerving.
‘Were it not for an accident of birth, of being raised upon a world under the sworn protection of the Dark Angels, you might have made a fine Ultramarine, brother,’ Ezekiel said. Balthasar had spent his years prior to ascending to the ranks of the Dark Angels on one of the thousands of worlds that the Chapter was oathed to protect and, in return, recruited from. The sergeant’s home world had laboured under the predations of a psychic cult, one that he himself had helped bring down as a boy soldier in a resistance movement, which was the source of his distrust and borderline hostility towards the warp-touched.
‘And if it weren’t for an accident of birth, you might wear green power armour instead of blue, Brother Ezekiel,’ Balthasar said. It was a statement of fact, no malice in his voice.
‘I do not grasp the point you are trying to make, sergeant,’ Ezekiel replied.
‘We have both undergone the same transformation, you and I. We have the same implants and have undergone the same procedures that have turned us into Space Marines. If an ork or any other xenos filth was to be placed in front of us, either of us would be more than capable of defeating it in combat, even without our armour or our boltguns or our combat blades.’
‘I still don’t see your meaning.’
‘But what if that ork or eldar or tau was on the other side of the flight deck?’ Balthasar gestured to the far side of the vast space the Fifth Company had assembled in, towards enormous doors several metres thick, closed to protect those within from the perils without while in warp transit. ‘Without a weapon in my hand, I would be powerless. But you? You could compel it to turn its own gun upon itself, surround it in a cocoon and starve it of oxygen, or kill it in countless other ways.’
For a moment, Ezekiel considered that Balthasar was actually jealous, that the accident of birth was him being deprived of psychic abilities.
‘But what if you weren’t warp-touched? What if you were deprived of your psychic gifts? Would we still be equals? Would you even be wearing power armour of any colour?’
