by Chris Dows
The Chapter Master had not spent a lot of time on Salandraxis, but even he was struck by the carnage visited upon the planet in such a short time. The landing area was the very same spot at which he had arrived so triumphantly with Lozepath, but the avenue down which they had walked was a burning ruin. Those buildings that had not disappeared into enormous gaping craters were ablaze, and every statue that lined the way to the High Temple had been destroyed. There was no sign of Canoness Alecia or her armoured column, and the plumes of thick black smoke behind the shattered buildings to his left suggested they had not made it this far. As he looked to the citadel, most of it was obscured by sheets of flame. He could not even see the approach to the High Temple through the acrid gloom. Chaos had rained down its darkness onto this shining pearl, and it was up to him and his brothers to save it from eternal damnation.
The ground erupted into chunks of stone and earth. Gaul looked up to see an enemy gunship approaching and signalled to Captain Maedinar of the 1st Company to address the threat. As the captain’s Sternguard Veterans took aim at the closing Thunderhawk with a pair of lascannons, Gaul knew that it was already neutralised. Within five seconds Maedinar had deployed a handful of brothers to secure the massive landing field, and within ten Gaul was leading the remainder of the 1st Company at full charge up the avenue towards the citadel.
The explosion blew Gaul off his feet. Thumping into a still-smoking crater, he quickly scrambled upright only to find that Epilesus, one of his best Vanguard Veterans, had been hit squarely in the chest by at least two missiles. Parts of his armour lay strewn around the broken walkway, his battle-brothers crouching and laying down a salvo in the direction of the fire. Somewhere behind, Gaul could hear his drop-ship lifting into the air at the head of the flight. He bellowed a warning to its commander but it was too late; a second wave of missiles streaked overhead and into it, catching the bottom of the cargo pod just as it cleared the ground. The underside disappeared in a dazzling white flash and the Thunderhawk pitched forwards, its nose smashing into the ground as the company scattered out of its way. Gaul threw himself into the belly of the crater, avoiding the blast wave that came a fraction of a second later. He felt the heat sear over him in a sheet of burning promethium, but the instant it had passed he was up on his feet. Signalling his squads to maintain their position, he advanced alone, staying low until he could fully ascertain the location and strength of the enemy.
Another salvo streaked towards him, and through the clearing smoke ahead Gaul could see about two dozen figures – squads of Havocs – armed with missile launchers and autocannons. Behind them, past their trophy-hung Rhino transports, the steps to the High Temple were consumed by a mass of swarming bodies. Some of them wore scarlet power armour, but most were clad in black. The Sisters of Battle were fighting at suicidally close quarters with the berzerkers to protect the Living Saint’s sanctuary and, from what Gaul could see, they were losing. Ducking around the side of the Thunderhawk’s gutted shell, he ran wide and used the broken statues for cover, weaving out into the avenue only for rockets to sail past him and plough into the ruined gunship as his brothers laid down supporting fire behind him. Gaul faced a choice. He either charged the well-positioned Havoc squad and took the losses that would surely come, or he looked for a way to get around them. The wall of the citadel stretched into the distance to the left and right, explosions and plumes of smoke telling their own stories of deadly combat. The situation provided only one logical course of action.
‘Sergeant Ordelon, take your squad down the left flank. Kodaelak, break right. Concentrate fire on the transports behind the heavy weapons strongpoint. Captain Maedinar, I will draw fire so you can target the traitors from your position.’
The acknowledgements came immediately. Gaul tightened his grip on Acritus and checked his bolter for ammunition.
‘Keep low, move fast and do the Chapter honour.’
To the eternal credit of his brothers, a few of them actually chuckled at the parade-ground instruction.
‘For the Emperor!’
The thunder of autocannon fire started the second Gaul broke cover. Missile contrails reached towards him, some shells exploding forwards to hinder his progress, others aimed directly at his brothers. Running at full speed, he fired in short bursts, keeping his aim as he advanced. A berzerker emerged from a Rhino’s top hatch and opened fire with the combi-bolter over the heads of the Havoc squad. Gaul heard the strangled grunts of his brothers as they shrugged off explosive hits. In response, the forward armour of the vehicle disintegrated in a series of searing beams, and the head of one of the Havocs disappeared in a smear of blood as Maedinar’s bolter found its first target. Gaul felt a thump in his chest that spun him to one side, but he recovered quickly and kept on running towards the line. Ordelon had caught up with him on the left with half a dozen of his warriors still with him. There was no sign of Kodaelak on the right. Enraged, Gaul shouted over the din of battle.
‘Grenade the enemy position! Put them to the blade!’
Ordelon’s veterans readied their frag grenades as they ran. After three more strides, a shock wave blew Gaul off his feet.
Chunks of metal clattered to the floor all around him, and while some of the warning runes on his visor display were flashing red, the majority of them indicated that he was largely unhurt. As he got to his feet, Gaul was gratified to see that this was more than could be said of the Havoc squads. Whatever munitions they had carried with them had left nothing but a deep, smoking hole and a path blasted for him between the mangled tanks. Gaul roared his encouragement to the remaining Angels Eradicant behind him, and they joined him at his flanks, chainswords, power mauls and axes out and ready for hand-to-hand combat with the berzerkers infesting the base of the High Temple.
Within seconds they were at the foot of the steps, although it was difficult to judge where the stone began because of the heap of dead Sisters of Battle piled at the bottom. Gaul raised Acritus to strike at the nearest enemy, and felt a crushing force hit him from the side. As he was smashed to the ground, a chainsword plunged towards his head and Gaul kicked violently upwards with his knee, dislodging his assailant and sending him out of his view. Gaul was up in a heartbeat, and saw that the berzerker’s armour had been melted and burned at the base of the spine, inhibiting his movement. Turning with a roar of rage, the barbarian threw himself forwards with all of his might, his broken-horned helmet low. Gaul angled his relic blade down, allowing his attacker’s weapon to grate its way down its length. Gaul spun and struck back, but his opponent had already adjusted his grip to deflect the blow. Regardless of his ungodly nature, his foe was very, very good. This would only add to the satisfaction of sending him back to the foul depths from whence he had crawled.
Bolter fire tore past Gaul’s head, forcing him to separate from his opponent. The berzerker jumped up into a gap between two Sisters of Battle and swept down with his chainsword, making Gaul pitch backwards out of the way of the lethal arc. More fire came from the Sisters of Battle close to the doors to the High Temple, hitting the berzerker on his arm and sending his weapon spinning into the air. Gaul noticed it bore white and red honour markings, likely a trophy taken in some blasphemous attack. That the berzerker had dared to wield such a noble weapon enraged Gaul, and he thrust Acritus upwards towards the now disarmed figure. The berzerker angled to his side, the blade carving through the front of his chest armour. Bellowing some foul oath, his opponent kicked sideways, using his advantage of elevation to send Gaul crashing into Sergeant Ordelon at the very edge of the steps. Gaul recovered himself to see the berzerker pounding up towards the gates of the High Temple, his massive boots stomping over the fallen corpses of a dozen Sisters. Gaul could spare no more thought for them than his enemy, and with a roar of fury at the desecration the Chaos warrior was committing, bounded after his foe.
Barging his way upwards through a seething mass of fighting, Gaul reached the top of the steps. Her
e, the melee was beginning to thin, with more bodies on the ground than upright and battling. It did not take long to spot the berzerker with the broken helmet pulling a newly acquired chainaxe from the mangled body of a Sister Superior. Gaul charged, rotating Acritus in a circle and raising the relic blade high to smite down the foul creature. The berzerker turned and blocked the blow with the shaft of his axe. Acritus cleaved the grip, but the force of his blow unbalanced Gaul and for a fraction of a second, his left flank was exposed. It was all the time the berzerker needed to spin and ram the head of the axe into Gaul’s leg. The Chapter Master’s world slid sideways as his knee gave way. Raising his relic blade instinctively, Gaul managed to fend off the next murderous swing, but as the berzerker raised his axe above his head for the third, Gaul knew he would not be able to deflect the final blow. This, then, was the price for his hubris.
Gaul thought the light flooding through his soul was the beginning of his journey to the Emperor’s side. When the blast swept the berzerker before him away like an insect and the pain continued to scream from his leg, he realised his work was not yet done. Scarlet-armoured bodies flew past him, cartwheeling and twisting like dolls. A deep rumble shook the ground and Gaul craned over to the towering High Temple doors. They had opened, and between the fallen of the defenders and invaders stood a dazzling, beautiful sight – Lozepath, the Living Saint and holy protector of Salandraxis. In one hand he held a white-hot glowing blade and in the other an aquila-emblazoned shield. His entire body was pulsating with a golden aura, and through the shimmering energy field, Gaul could see a look of absolute malevolence on his face.
Khârn’s visions had promised great trophies on Salandraxis. He had not realised the Red Path might be leading him to give his own skull as a prize for the Blood God. If that be the case, thought Khârn, then so be it. Even in this impossible situation however, his head would be hard-earned. The column against which Khârn was resting shifted with the weight of his body, causing more lumps of masonry and stone to clang onto the ceramite of his armour. In his hand, Gorechild purred in readiness. The Dreadnought shifted its aim in response, and Khârn readied himself to strike. He had to put as much energy into the blow as possible, because in all likelihood he would not get to finish it. Khârn heard a series of clicks and whirrs. The machine warrior was readying itself to fire.
And then, the world went white.
Despite the coloured spots affecting his vision, it was all the distraction Khârn needed. With a roar, Khârn spun himself around and smashed Gorechild into the column. As he had anticipated, the fractures running up its length formed cracks and within a second, the entire section of the roof above him came smashing down. Khârn threw himself onto one knee and braced as great chunks of stone came raining down. The Dreadnought disappeared under a shower of dust and rubble, firing a withering salvo at the spot where Khârn had just been. Khârn leapt across the settling rubble, but the Dreadnought shook off the debris and whirled, unleashing a devastating burst of heavy bolter fire as it tracked around. The wall disintegrated behind Khârn, driving him towards the open gateway where the defensive line of tanks awaited him. A single column had survived the partial roof collapse, so Khârn threw himself behind it and to the ground. In seconds, it was reduced to rubble by the Dreadnought’s withering fire. More of the balcony came crashing down, but the cloud of dust thrown up was enough to mask his run. Khârn saw the Dreadnought catch up with him, but then a series of explosions detonated on its back. His warband had recovered themselves enough to continue their attack, and the machine suddenly faced more than a single berzerker.
The Dreadnought tried to turn and advance on the warriors, but the steel mesh from inside the balcony’s reinforced plascrete had wrapped itself around the lower part of one leg. Above, the Angels Eradicant had also spotted their battle-brother’s plight. To Khârn’s left and right, figures in sand-coloured armour thumped to the ground and charged the berzerkers in support of their venerable Chaplain. They streamed past and around Khârn, in front of the still open gate and into the defensive tank line’s field of fire on the other side of the wall. Khârn faced a decision – to use this advantage and get inside the citadel’s walls, or to take the head of the Dreadnought’s pilot. He had already decided to pursue his trophy when two Angels Eradicant landed beside him.
Sweeping Gorechild in a wide arc, Khârn rained blows down on the two Space Marines in a blur of rage. Smashing the flat of the blade into the head of one, he sent him staggering to the right, directly into the path of the Dreadnought, who was close to freeing its leg from the obstruction. Khârn swung the ancient chainaxe into the neck of the other, grinding through the side of his helmet and slicing the grille in two. Deactivating Gorechild’s mica-dragon teeth, Khârn swung the lifeless body into the recovering Angel Eradicant by the end of his axe, sending him stumbling over the rubble towards the Dreadnought. By now the machine’s leg was untangled, although several metal bars were still jammed between the exposed hydraulics running from its upper thighs into the lower abdomen. Khârn could see it trying to get a clear shot at him, so he pulled Gorechild out of the half-decapitated body and rammed the head of the chainaxe into the helmet of the surviving Angel Eradicant. As he fell backwards, Khârn bent down and threw himself into the abdomen of the Space Marine, lifting him up with the impact and carrying him towards the Dreadnought. It could not fire without eviscerating one of its battle-brothers, and by the time Khârn had thrown his shield away, he was sailing through the air towards the Dreadnought, Gorechild held high and ready to strike.
Khârn heard a roar of fury from somewhere inside the massive machine as it twisted upwards to bring its fist to bear. Feinting a strike at the thick frontal armour, he instead used Gorechild’s momentum to strike under the rotating upper torso. The Dreadnought swivelled and lowered its bolters, but Khârn raised Gorechild and blocked the downward movement with the chainaxe’s head. His body shook as the weapons fired, but the shells exploded some yards away. Raising its fist, the machine brought it crashing down towards Khârn’s head. Again he blocked the blow with Gorechild, and Khârn heard the whine of servos and motors as the Dreadnought tried to overpower him. Khârn could feel the ceramite claw creeping down, his left arm giving in to the many injuries it had received in his recent battles.
Khârn suddenly dropped away from the parry and took hold of one of the pieces of metal sticking out of the machine’s armour and rammed it into the cables dangling between its legs. Hydraulic fluid spurted out like blood from a severed artery, and the Dreadnought’s left leg locked into position. Khârn threw himself back as the machine’s gun arm swept at him again. This time it connected with the top of his helmet, knocking him to the floor.
Weapons fire erupted all around. The Angels Eradicant had seen Khârn’s success, and were turning from their fights with the berzerkers to rally around their icon. Khârn threw himself between the legs of the frantically whirring machine and sliced again, this time with Gorechild. More cables came away, and both legs stopped moving. The Dreadnought tried to angle its weapon down to fire at Khârn but it could not achieve a solution. Khârn felt the ground erupt around his feet. Pushing himself forwards slightly, he presented his head just in front of the Dreadnought’s forward casing. It fell for the ruse and rotated, firing its bolters as it moved. Shell casings rained down onto Khârn’s exposed left arm and burned his flesh, but he paid them no heed. Pushing backwards, he was on his feet just as the Dreadnought realised its mistake. Gorechild chewed into the thick armour at the base of its spine, ripping it open and exposing a network of conduits and gears.
Khârn rammed his chainaxe further into the workings of the Dreadnought, then pulled it back towards him. He knew that somewhere inside, there were the festering remains of the hero that had been given the dubious honour of a living death, and when he found that crippled bag of flesh the machine would die. Its occupant realised the danger and began rotating left and right, but Khârn kept a tight gr
ip on Gorechild. Angels Eradicant streamed towards him, but the berzerkers were right behind, attacking them as they advanced on the wall.
Khârn pushed and twisted Gorechild deeper into the Dreadnought and as something suddenly gave in, the machine shivered violently. With a triumphant cry, Khârn realised he had reached the Dreadnought’s core. Now the melee surrounded them, scarlet and sand-white armoured bodies spilling towards the open gateway before the defenders had time to close it. Khârn twisted again, and the gun arm dropped lifelessly to one side. One final scream of anger came from within the metal coffin, and he pulled back on Gorechild with a roar to release it from the now-burning innards of the machine. Khârn staggered backwards and revved Gorechild hard, spinning its mica-dragon teeth to the full. There was something he had to retrieve from the body of this Dreadnought.
‘Hold the gate! Fire!’
Balacet screamed into the handset of his vox. He did not have the best view of the battlefield through the gateway, but he did not need his field glasses to see the engagement was funnelling into the citadel. Somewhere out there, the remains of his infantry needed to regroup and launch a counter-attack. They could have the enemy outflanked, caught between their surviving armour and his defensive line in the assembly yard, if only they moved now. Apart from losing air superiority earlier than he had expected, so far Balacet felt his plan had worked well. He had allowed the berzerkers to get through his line relatively unscathed, and while the break-off group had admittedly made it to the High Temple far faster than he had anticipated, Gaul and his Angels Eradicant had gone to the aid of the Sisters of Battle to redress the balance of power. That, of course, had been before the spectacular entrance of the Living Saint. The colonel did not have to worry about what was happening behind, only to contain and destroy the threat moving towards him.
