Rebirth Page 3

  The ships touched down on the landing field, a host of ground crew hustling back and forth in the resultant dust storm kicked up by a host of descent thrusters. Whilst the ground crews coughed behind their sleeves, trying to keep the grit from their eyes and waving to their comrades in an attempt to exert some order on the unexpected arrivals, Drakgaard’s warriors stood and watched. To the practised military eye, they had formed a defensive perimeter.

  ‘Believe me, brother, there is nothing amusing about the Order of the Ebon Chalice,’ Elysius concluded.

  Then they descended the stairs from the preceptory, and went to meet the Sisters of Battle.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Heletine, Canticus southern war zone

  The ambush had come swiftly, leaving Va’lin and his brothers pinned down and estranged from their commanding officer.

  Sergeant Iaptus was further up the street, shouting vainly against the din of exploding shells and solid shot raining down on half his squad. Even through the carnage, Va’lin could see Iaptus had his storm shield raised and was using it to ward off the worst of the frag.

  From a distance he looked angry, the hammer in his gauntleted fist rippling with energy to match his rising temper. No warrior ever liked to be trapped by his enemy, especially when he was used to soaring across the battlefield on jets of fire.

  Va’lin activated the vox-feed in his battle-helm. Comms had been scratchy ever since the last hit. He saw Iaptus nod then smack the vocaliser of his own helm and after a few seconds of crackling static, the sergeant’s voice bled through.

  ‘Push up with the rest of the squad…’ He battle-signed to a tower fortified by flak board and razor-wire. From it, a static cannon emplacement was ripping up most of the plaza where his squad were currently hemmed in. ‘Neutralise that gun nest then we re-take the high ground and move west along–’

  An explosion interrupted the sergeant’s orders, forcing him back into cover as the heretics brought up a pair of rocket crews.

  Two infantry squads in varying degrees of combat efficacy were currently stymied until Iaptus could establish territorial dominance.

  A burst of flame drew Va’lin’s attention as Brother Herador maintained the small cordon the Salamanders did control.

  With the Space Marines essentially penned in by heavy artillery from above, the heretic infantry forces were attempting to overrun them on the ground. They hadn’t reckoned on Salamanders’ tenacity.

  The street where the fire-born hunkered down was broad and long, offering little in the way of cover. They had been marching in dispersed formation when the attack came. The area was supposed to have been cleared, but something got through. A battalion’s worth of something.

  As soon as the ambush hit, after Agrek and Nemis went down, the rest of the Salamanders darted into alcoves and doorways. Black Legion Havocs in the buildings overlooking the road were quick to establish a punitive firing pattern. Hard, barking chatter from autocannons and heavy bolters became a constant drone.

  Three separate breakouts were attempted. All failed. The last one had killed Kra’tor. He was lying face down in the middle of the road, his armour shot to pieces.

  Snatching glimpses of their enemy between salvoes, Va’lin counted three squads of legionnaires. The rest were cultists, a ragged band of half-armoured but well-supplied human soldiery. Some, judging by their scratched out livery, were ex-Heletine defenders. Man was easy prey for Chaos. His fear and selfishness made him weak. Va’lin tried not to despise the turncoats for that – they had merely succumbed to instinct. It didn’t mean he would find any impediment to ending their lives, however. For once on the path to damnation, even a single footstep cannot be taken back. Zen’de had once said that, and all Salamanders heeded his wisdom. Chaos was a moral choice, not a disease. The mind had to be willing, for the spirit to suffer.

  ‘Must be close to fifty or sixty up there.’ The voice that came from Va’lin’s left belonged to Naeb and was altogether too eager. He wore a Mark VI battle-helm with an extended nose cone. Part of the helmet’s structure had also been altered to accommodate a bionic eye in place of the left retinal lens.

  ‘Are you concerned for your safety, brother? I can protect you.’

  Naeb laughed, the humour suited him. ‘Your protection? Now that is something to be feared.’

  In the wake of the explosion, the smoke concealing Iaptus and the rest of the squad was clearing. They were less than twenty metres in front of them, but with the amount of solid shot and las-shot stitching the rockcrete between the two halves of the squad it may as well have been a gulf. Va’lin’s tactical display reported no casualties.

  Iaptus’s comm-rune lit up again, interrupting Va’lin and Naeb.

  ‘Belay order to advance, and hold position. Air support inbound.’

  ‘He’s pinned,’ said Naeb, afforded an enhanced view through his bionic. The explosion had been a marker and now every targeter the Black Legionnaires had was aimed at Iaptus and his half of the squad.

  Va’lin scoured the rooftops. The jump pack felt heavy on his back. He had not been an Assault Marine long, but he already felt the same frustration as the veterans in his squad at their wings being metaphorically clipped.

  ‘We’re useless down here,’ he muttered.

  Still no point of entry presented itself through the enemy’s defences, but amidst the smoke he did see a third squad of heavies moving up. More power armour, toting lascannons and plasma guns, enough to wipe out all three Salamanders squads.

  ‘How long for that air support, sergeant?’ Va’lin asked over the vox.

  ‘Soon, just be ready.’

  Va’lin switched the feed to Sergeant Kessoth, who was leading the stalled infantry wave on the opposite side of the street.

  ‘Sergeant Kessoth, can you advance and concentrate fire on that roof?’ Va’lin rune-marked the location on his tac-display and transferred it to the sergeant’s feed.

  There was a slight pause before Kessoth’s deep voice responded.

  ‘In Vulkan’s name, we will try, brother.’

  In the street, the other squad intensified their return fire but it was largely ineffective. Seven muzzle flares roared into life, while at the same time Kessoth led his men out into the open, pushing for an advanced position and a better line of fire.

  ‘If he makes that run, we must be ready to move,’ said Va’lin.

  Naeb nodded, then battle-signed to the rest of the squad who were strung out along the street in alcoves and doorways. Two crouched down behind Kessoth’s upturned Rhino that the sergeant’s squad had been quick to vacate before it exploded. The wreck was still burning, and spewing smoke.

  Above the stricken Imperial troops came the unmistakable engine drone of a Stormtalon.

  On the rooftop, the third Havoc squad rushed into position, trying to put some cover between themselves and the aerial threat. Several cultists turned and levelled weapons at the gunship. The high-pitched whine of an assault cannon superseded the engine drone. Fourteen cultists were sprayed across the adjoining rooftops, rendered to bloody chunks by the Stormtalon’s spinning nose-mount.

  The gunship hove into view, weapons flaring. It chased down a second group of cultists who had fled at the sight of their disintegration and were headed for a way off the roof.

  Kessoth pushed up. His squad was taking fire, and through the carnage Va’lin thought he saw one of the fire-born crumple from a direct lascannon hit but his view was obscured and uncertain.

  He glanced back to Sergeant Iaptus, still hemmed in and taking heavy fire.

  ‘Get ready,’ he voxed to the others.

  They would need to break cover and quickly boost jump packs. A single thrust should provide enough elevation to climb the first roof. From there they could–

  A sudden, ululating screech shattered Va’lin’s battle plan.

  Something fast, a flyer, swept in overhead.

  The Stormtalon saw it too. Its left turbofan switched to maximum rotation as the
gunship tried to turn. The underslung assault cannon was pivoting on its limited axis when a shadow descended on the gunship. In seconds its glacis was ripped away, the pilot with it. Va’lin saw his flailing body fall to the ground somewhere below. His eyes met those of the pilot’s slayer.

  Neck craned over its kill, wings at full span, it was akin to some immense but metallic bird of prey. The uglier truth was this was a daemon-engine, something that had once been a man and machine but had been turned, through the ruin of Chaos, into an abomination.

  Shrieking a war cry, the monstrous Heldrake cast the wreckage of the Stormtalon down and soared up into smoke and shadow. Distant las-fire chased it from somewhere deep in the city. It was enough to force the monster to disengage but too late to save the Stormtalon.

  It fell like a dying angel, striking the ground with lethal finality. A second explosion rocked the embattled Salamanders as the burning gunship hit Kessoth and his squad, who were scattered by the blast.

  The cheer that went up from the cultists dragged down on Va’lin’s resolve like an anchor as did the sight of Kessoth’s squad being so brutally neutralised.

  Before the smoke had cleared, heavy fire came down again from the towers and forced what was left of the battered Salamanders who were in the open into retreat.

  ‘Merciful Vulkan…’ Naeb watched the beleaguered warriors drag their sergeant with them, leaving two more for the Apothecary’s reductor.

  Va’lin’s attention was on the second Havoc squad, scrambling back across the rooftops now the threat of the gunship had been ruthlessly dealt with. There was no sign of the murderous Heldrake, but its contribution had been telling. Unmolested, the Havocs could circle around and find a vantage over Iaptus’s position. Without cover, the sergeant and the fire-born with him would be annihilated.

  ‘Sergeant Iaptus, enemy high to your flank–’ Va’lin’s warning stopped short when the dead return came back. The vox was down again. ‘Blood of the primarch…’ he swore. Driven back into cover, neither half of the squad had a good sight line to the other.

  Va’lin half turned, careful to give the bulky jump pack he was wearing some room.

  ‘Battle-sign ineffective…’

  ‘Plan beta?’ asked Naeb.

  ‘Two krak grenades on this wall. We effect an insertion, work our way up through the structure.’

  ‘If this fails, brother, we bring the wall down on top of us, reduce our cover to rubble and become target practice for those Havocs up there.’

  ‘Then hope it does not fail.’

  ‘Affirmative.’

  Both pinned their charges in place and primed them. Then they hunkered down, Va’lin on one side, Naeb the other. The rest of the squad waited as the tactical feed through their retinal lenses divulged the strategy.

  ‘Sergeant Kadoran,’ Va’lin addressed the only officer he had comms with who was still conscious, ‘we are effecting an insertion and will attempt to gain a counterattacking vector through the structure. Hold firm.’

  ‘Holding, brother,’ replied Kadoran. ‘Bring them hell.’

  ‘Firing!’ cried Naeb a second later. An explosion rippled across the street but not from enemy incendiaries this time. Hot air, dust and debris plumed out in a wide, expanding cone from the point where the Salamanders had attached their krak grenades. As the smoke began to clear, a ragged hole large enough for a Space Marine was revealed.

  ‘Ingress now!’

  Naeb led them in, Va’lin hanging back to usher in the rest.

  Once far enough inside, the noise from the street lessened but only marginally. It was dark, the city evacuated several weeks ago, and cluttered with debris. Part of the upper floor had caved in after some previous bombardment. A wide lobby area was dominated by an ornamental prayer fountain. Clouded by dust, the water in the fountain was rimmed at the edges where a ruddy scum had developed. Pieces of broken masonry, timber and brickwork from the sundered upper floors jutted from its shallow basin.

  Quickly establishing a perimeter, the five fire-born led by Va’lin tromped noisily across the lower floor. Debris crunched underfoot and they smashed bodily through the remains of a narrow doorframe. Urgency fuelled their steps, and the certain knowledge that if they delayed their sergeant and the rest of their squad were dead.

  Across a long hallway a shaft of light indicated a breach in the ceiling and a possible route onto the roof.

  ‘Move up,’ Va’lin said quietly across the vox.

  They moved in single file with Ky’dak at the back maintaining rearguard. Targeters bled grainy red sight lines into the darkness but picked up on nothing. By now, the squad had switched to low light vision through their retinal lenses, but so far nothing stood out. It was a large space, badly damaged and that meant a lot of places to hide.

  Reaching the shaft of light, the Salamanders found themselves in a stairway large enough to accommodate the squad. A few splintered timbers and the odd broken balustrade intruded into a potential jump route that led all the way to the roof.

  Brother Sor’ad stepped up to clear the wreckage and put a larger hole in the ceiling through which the light was filtering. He got his bolt pistol to head height when something hit him… hard, and flung him across the room.

  Sor’ad hit the wall, his bolt pistol up and firing. Brass shells bounced off a hide of hulking war-plate, its servos groaning with the effort of propelling a Terminator-armoured monster across the room.

  Va’lin reacted, releasing a jet of promethium from his flamer just as Sor’ad’s hand was severed from his wrist, taking his sidearm with it. The burr of the Terminator’s chainblade sounded like a challenge as he turned to declare his allegiance to his enemies in some dark tongue.

  Clad in thick black battleplate with a stiffened topknot of indigo hair rising from the crown of his head, the Terminator was massive, easily twice as wide as the power-armoured Assault Marines and half again as tall.

  Though he wore the Eye of Horus and sigil of the Despoiler, the Terminator was not a pureblood warrior of the Black Legion. Human flesh stretched across his immense chest plate, strips of skin like gonfalons hanging from his greaves and shoulder guards. Each cured and leathery offering was daubed with the crescent rune of Slaanesh, the Chaos god of carnal pleasures and excess. Many warbands had gone on bended knee before the one they called ‘Warmaster’, and he had accepted them all and seen his legions grow. This particular horde called themselves the Children of Torment, revelling in the torture and pain they had subjected Heletine to.

  That legacy of pain continued with Sor’ad.

  With a growl that came closer to ecstasy than fury, the black-clad Terminator plunged the churning teeth of his chainblade into Sor’ad’s torso. Driven by the traitor’s immense strength and mounted to a power fist, the Salamander was brutally gutted.

  Naeb roared, voicing his anguish at the sight of a brother slain so callously, and went in with his chainsword. None could fault Naeb’s bravery but he was outmatched and the Terminator swatted him aside even as he lifted Sor’ad off his feet, impaled on the still turning chainblade. Blood fountained against the monster’s graven armour, drooling into sigils and the simulacra of screaming faces. For a moment as they drank in the blood, it was as if they actually were screaming and Va’lin shook his head to banish the image from his mind.

  He triggered his flamer again, sending a gout of promethium over the monster and forcing him back a step. Time was slipping away, precious seconds that could make the difference between life and death for Iaptus and the others, but this monster had come as if from nowhere.

  ‘Naeb, the roof…’ Va’lin gestured to the upper floor.

  Naeb was back on his feet and eager for vengeance but duty prevailed.

  Dersius and Ky’dak were circling the monster. He had no helmet, his face ravaged by conflict and the entropy of the warp. Spiked chains hung from his battle-gear, which was ancient and war-beaten. Mounted to his wrist were two bolters, combined to fire in unison. It was archaic, not
as potent as the storm bolters used by the Chapter Terminators, but could still tear an armoured Space Marine apart with enough concentration of firepower. Muzzle flash brightened the gloom, and the heavy boom of bolter shells accompanied it.

  Ky’dak boosted to avoid the storm of rounds spitting from the combi-bolter. Dersius was about to attack when Va’lin stopped him.

  ‘Go now!’

  Ky’dak was grounded where the ceiling jutted over him, but Naeb and Dersius soared upward on tongues of flame, their twin fusillade clearing the wreckage above. The backwash from their boosted jump packs spilled down into the room below, filling it with a conflagration.

  Va’lin crouched and let the fire wash over his armour, seeking Ky’dak through the heat haze.

  A glancing hit from the Terminator’s chainfist sent Ky’dak sprawling and half-wrenched his helmet off. Ky’dak did the rest, tearing away the seals between helm and gorget with his gauntleted hand. Eyes like burning coals glared back at the monster. Like all sons of Nocturne, Ky’dak’s skin was onyx-black. It was almost invisible in the darkness. In his anger, his eyes became dagger-slits of blood red.

  The Terminator charged Ky’dak, and at the same time Va’lin pushed himself up into a run, tossing a frag grenade in the monster’s midst. The close detonation staggered the Terminator, but not for long. He also turned, his hellish glare fixed on Va’lin who stood his ground and braced his flamer.

  With a brief spurt of ignition, Ky’dak leapt onto the Terminator’s back and thrust downward with his chainsword, finding the gap between gorget and neck. Pipes, cabling and servo lines were all shredded. Spitting machine oil quickly became blood as the churning teeth bit into flesh.

  ‘Burn it!’ Ky’dak snarled, shouting to be heard.

  Va’lin fed the Terminator a burst of promethium, dousing the monster’s torso and face. Ky’dak snarled as the flames lapped up and over him too, but clung on as his foe flailed and stomped. His hair was on fire, but Ky’dak would not relent and roared through the pain.

  Bellowing, trying to dislodge the Salamander on his back, the Terminator brought up his combi-bolter. As his arm came around, brass shells roaring from the gun mouth, Va’lin charged. Boosted across the room by his jump pack, he hit the Terminator hard and forced his aim. A shell clipped Ky’dak, tearing him off the monster’s back, but three more punched through the Terminator’s skull and detonated.