Shadowbreaker

by Warhammer 40K

  Each patrol met a quick, quiet end courtesy of silenced bolt rounds.

  Both times, Karras, Rauth and Solarion lined up their targets and fired simultaneously on a vox-whispered three-count.

  Heads exploded into dark, wet mist. Bodies hit the dirt, then were dragged off into cover.

  With each patrol eliminated, Talon pressed closer and closer to their goal. They could see the tall, curving structure of the main power facility up ahead, towering over the storehouses, machine-works and admin buildings that surrounded it. Red lights, a warning to low aircraft, winked in the night from towers and antenna masts.

  ‘Almost there,’ voxed Solarion quietly from his point-man position twenty metres ahead of the others. ‘The streets end here. Open ground around the power station, with fire caste gun towers looking out over about thirty metres of killing ground. Searchlights and heavy weapons. Two blue-skins per tower. Hard-wall perimeter, not fencing. Ten metres high, so we either go through the main gate or blast our own. Noisy either way. Suggest we use cables to go over.’

  It would be easier for Zeed. He had deployed with a jump pack. Broden had left loadout selection to Talon Alpha’s discretion. Karras had opted to let his team deploy with the wargear of their choice. The Raven Guard went with the high-mobility option, knowing that most of the fighting would be outdoors, at least for Talon. The t’au were notorious for trying to stay at mid to long range. He’d rob them of that choice. The jump pack would allow him to stay right on them, no matter how much they moved.

  Here, it would get him over the walls with a single thought impulse and a brief flare of jets.

  Karras wanted a proper visual before he would commit to an entry method. Up ahead, he could see Solarion waiting, his right pauldron jutting slightly from the cover of the shadows at the end of the street.

  ‘Prophet,’ voxed the Death Spectre. ‘Go high. We’ll follow you up. Once I’ve got a good visual on things, I’ll decide how we’ll handle it.’

  Solarion grunted an affirmative. The edge of the pauldron melted into the shadows. A few moments later, looking up, Karras saw the Ultramarine on the roof, briefly silhouetted in black against the dark navy of the star-frosted sky.

  Karras followed him up, shouldering his bolter and jumping several metres to grab a ledge. From there, he moved to an outer stairwell that led to the roof’s north-east corner. Once on the roof, he moved at a crouch to the corner where Solarion lay belly down, looking through the scope of his beloved, personally modified sniper rifle.

  On another rooftop to the right, Rauth, Voss and Zeed took up observation positions.

  Karras assessed the scene before him.

  Through booted feet, he could feel the generators and exchangers vibrating even from here, a constant low hum.

  Solarion had been right – it would be easy enough to take down the t’au in the gun towers, but blowing a hole in the wall or trying to rush the main gate seemed ill advised.

  The longer he could keep the t’au guessing, the better.

  He dipped into his power, murmuring the Litany of Sight Beyond Sight, and sent his astral presence beyond the walls.

  As he had suspected, there was a reasonable fire caste presence within the grounds. A TX7 Hammerhead was sitting just inside the main gates. Its engines were powered down, but its weapons systems were fully activated.

  ‘Armour,’ he told the others. ‘Just inside and to the left of the main gate. Ion cannon and two gun drones. A squad of ten infantry beside it. Three more squads of five running clockwise patrols, each escorted by two drones.’

  ‘That complicates taking down the targets on the towers,’ grated Rauth.

  ‘Can’t have bodies falling from the towers,’ said Zeed. ‘They all have to go down nice and quiet and steady.’

  ‘Wake me when you’ve a proper challenge,’ said Solarion.

  ‘I hate to agree with the Prince of Macragge,’ voxed Voss sarcastically, ‘but at this range, it should be a breeze.’

  The Imperial Fist had opted for an Infernus heavy-bolter – extremely large, noisy and cumbersome. Had anyone else chosen such a weapon, Karras would have vetoed it, but Voss wasn’t just anyone. Heavy weapons didn’t slow him down as they did others. As much as the Infernus wasn’t ideal for the opening phase of the op, Karras knew they would all be glad of its power later, when the fighting started. Once the sneaking around was over and the t’au were properly roused, Voss’ affinity for seriously heavy firepower would prove its worth.

  For now, Voss lowered it to the rooftop and tugged his silenced bolt pistol from the mag-lock on his right cuisse. He flicked the safety off and chambered a round.

  ‘Ghost, Watcher,’ said Karras. ‘Circle around and establish good kill angles on the north-east and north-west towers. Omni has the south-east. Prophet, go cover the south-west. I’ll take the two towers at the main gate. When you’re in position with a good bead on your targets, vox in and wait.’

  He felt them move off more than saw them, tracking their souls automatically, with one obvious exception. Then Karras rose from his position, slipped back to the rear edge of the roof, dropped to the sandy ground below and, with the buildings around him as cover, pushed south until he was sure he was parallel with the main gates.

  Soon, he was in position, crouching on the corner of a storehouse rooftop with a good view of the main gate and the towers on either side of it.

  With the exception of Solarion, who had the farthest to go, the others voxed back that they were ready. Solarion confirmed a few seconds later.

  ‘Scholar,’ voxed Rauth. ‘We need to do this before Sabre blow the fuel silos to the east. The whole town is going to wake up when that happens. It will put these blue-skins on immediate alert.’

  ‘Agreed,’ replied Karras. ‘Now listen carefully, all of you.’

  And he told them exactly how five Deathwatch Space Marines cloaked in shadow were going to overcome thirty-one alien soldiers, six armed drones and a heavily armoured battle-tank.

  Forty-three

  Space Marine scout armour with a layer of photo-reactive optical camouflage cells under a transparent coating of las- and plasma-ablative polymer.

  Light. Easy to move in.

  Pity it offered so little real protection.

  The feeling didn’t even come close to full power armour. Still, Androcles was grateful nonetheless. The Black Templar, Broden, was as cold and contemptuous a Space Marine as he’d ever met, and it was all too apparent that he saw Talon and Sabre as little more than tools with which to shape his own success. Despite all that, how could the Son of Antaeus feel anything but gratitude? From being a t’au prisoner just days ago to armed and loosed upon the foe, as it should be.

  A shot at redemption. At retribution.

  This is the Emperor’s will.

  He placed the last of his demo charges and moved off to the rendezvous to await the others. The Carcharadon, Striggo, was already there, hunched in the darkness, breathing like an animal through his razor-lined jaws like he always did.

  He and Androcles nodded at each other in the dark. The Carcharadon had never been much for words.

  Gedeon of the Howling Griffons joined them next in the shadow of the guardhouse where they’d left the corpses of the fire warriors protecting the silos. Four swift, silent blade kills. No alarms raised.

  Androcles was proud of his brothers. Their time in captivity had done nothing to blunt their edge. Each had wisely spent their days of imprisonment in deep meditation and visualisation, a powerful tool that kept important neural pathways from degenerating while out of active use.

  ‘Charges placed,’ whispered Gedeon. ‘It’ll be quite a show.’

  Gedeon was honourable, dutiful, steadfast. Androcles liked him. But, as newly named Sabre Alpha, Androcles had also had to deal with something he hadn’t seen coming.

  Gedeon had caused
a serious problem back at the rebel capital.

  On his introduction to Scimitar Four – Van Velden of the Executioners – old hatred had surged to the surface. The Executioners had wreaked havoc on the Howling Griffons during the Badab War, reducing their numbers drastically in a tragic clash that should never have happened.

  An old wound, but one never healed. Though the Executioners had been sentenced to a century-long penitent crusade in recompense, nothing would ever be enough in the eyes of the Howling Griffons.

  Gedeon had struck Van Velden full in the face before anyone else could act. It was Lyandro Karras who had torn them off each other, tossing them apart with a psychic snap of his terrible power.

  Androcles had caught the look Broden had thrown Karras then – wary of where the real power lay in that room, despite operational rank. Few Space Marines, if any, stood a chance against a battle-hardened Librarian. They were a different animal entirely. The apparent ease with which Karras rendered two Space Marine veterans all but helpless had clearly unsettled the Black Templar.

  Rightly so. They seemed as children before his power.

  Gedeon had raged at being pulled off the Executioner. For all his honour on the battlefield, he was unable to control himself in the full fire of his inner anger and hate.

  Androcles had removed him, talked him down.

  Temporarily.

  Once the operation was over, if both lived, the fires of retribution would flare in him again.

  But later was later. For now, it mattered more that his mind was on the mission.

  Pelion and Roen joined the rest, charges placed. All looked at Androcles.

  ‘We don’t blow the silos till we’re well away,’ he said. ‘Burning fuel will flood the area. Fires will spread quickly. Buildings will burn. The t’au will respond hard, sending troops in force, doubling or tripling patrols, running drone sweeps. I want us well on our way to the spaceport grounds by then. To the true fight.’

  ‘To Kabannen and Lucianos,’ growled Pelion.

  ‘To the back-stabbing whore,’ hissed Striggo, eyes flashing.

  ‘I will see traitor blood spilled before this day is through,’ Roen insisted.

  The Reviler was typically almost as quiet as Striggo, but there was real venom in his words. He spoke for all of them.

  Androcles found himself picturing the faces of the three who had betrayed them, faces he had trusted, respected once. Aye, it was hard not to want blood, but the woman could not be harmed, and he reminded them of this.

  They would have to make do with the blood of the brothers who had turned against them. The ordo would deal with the woman. Traitors to the Inquisition did not die quickly.

  ‘My mind is as yours,’ growled Androcles through gritted teeth, ‘but revenge is not why we are here. We are Deathwatch, and we have a job to do. If we are to have a chance at justice, the Emperor will give it to us when the time is right. Now, move out.’

  As one, they slipped away from the silos, heading south-west through narrow streets, silently slaying t’au foot patrols where they found them and hiding the bodies as best they could.

  Soon they reached the edge of the effective range of their detonators. With consummate stealth, the cells in their armour bending what little light there was around them, blending them into the dark pre-dawn, they climbed to the roof of a storehouse and looked back the way they had come.

  ‘As one,’ said Androcles, holding forward the detonator in his left hand. The others raised their own.

  The Son of Antaeus grinned.

  ‘It’s morning. Let’s wake the blue-skins up to the worst day of their lives!’

  Forty-four

  One word. A dozen deaths.

  ‘Now!’

  Karras had already opened his inner gates to a trickle of power from the immaterium. He channelled it into speeding his perceptions and reflexes, slowing down the flow of time as he experienced it.

  With the main gate boasting two gun towers, he had twice the number of t’au lookouts to kill than anyone else. Only this way, utilising his gift, could he execute his part of the plan.

  With his bolter’s crosshairs on one fire warrior then another, he squeezed the trigger twice.

  Two soft coughs from his weapon’s muzzle.

  Two heads twitched – one, then another – as rounds struck dead centre in each skull. No explosions. Solid rounds for this, not mass-reactive. Solid rounds were cleaner, quieter, but rarely seen outside Deathwatch ops like this.

  With his synapses still psychically supercharged, time flowed like mud rather than water. He zeroed in on his targets in the second tower. His first two kills hadn’t yet dropped to their knees before his bolter coughed again.

  Once. Twice.

  Two more heads struck dead centre.

  Job done, he lessened his draw on the warp. Time snapped back into standard flow. Four bodies dropped in rapid succession, disappearing from view behind waist-high walls.

  One after another, his squad brothers voxed in their success.

  Karras sent out questing strands of psychic awareness. The t’au stationed below the watchtowers were oblivious to the kills above them. All around the power station perimeter, the xenos on lookout had dropped silently in pairs.

  None had fallen from their nests. Flawless, but now it got harder.

  Each Space Marine knew what to do.

  Karras gave the word.

  Zeed wasn’t about to argue – Karras had been clear.

  Use of the Raven Guard’s jump pack was a risk. Even ordo-modified, it would probably tip off the t’au on the ground. So he’d ordered Zeed to go by zipline like everyone else. It was the quietest option available. Zeed had to concede that.

  Once everyone was in position above the circling patrols and the squad inside the gate, they would unleash death in synchronicity. No heroics. No reckless mistakes. Not Zeed’s style at all, but he saw the need well enough.

  The main power station structure was typical of t’au construction, all smooth curves and sloping sides, but there was a walkway, an encircling balcony halfway up that led to several emergency exits, presumably for the earth caste techs inside to use if there was an accident. Talon Squad would cross to it before dropping on the foe.

  Zeed fixed the zipline harpoon attachment from his webbing to the muzzle of his silenced bolt pistol. From his perch overlooking the power station, he took aim at a point on the wall some two and a half metres above the balcony, enough to clear the railing there.

  Around the power station, the others voxed their readiness.

  Karras counted them down.

  Five plasteel harpoons bit into the outer surface of the building, ziplines spooling out behind them then going taut. An anchoring round was then fired into the rooftop at each Space Marine’s feet, fixing the lines in place.

  Zeed checked that his armour’s stealth systems were fully engaged, masking the bright Deathwatch silver of pauldron and left arm. All good.

  ‘Ready, Scholar.’

  The rest of the team confirmed.

  Karras gave the word. From five positions around the station, dark shapes quietly crossed the air above the heads of the t’au patrolling within the outer walls and landed with practised agility on the walkway.

  Zeed unclipped himself from the line and walked south around the building to meet with Karras above the main entrance facing the gate. He found him there, looking down on the Hammerhead tank and the squad standing not far from it.

  ‘Scholar.’

  ‘Ghost.’

  The tank’s turret hatch was open. The gunner was standing half out of it, drawing lungfuls of smoke from a small cylinder of compressed leaves not unlike the tabac popular among Imperial Guardsmen. The habit was a lot less common among the t’au. This one would pay the price for it. His addiction presented Karras with a perfect means b
y which to quickly deal with the armoured threat.

  Voss, Solarion and Rauth called in, confirming their readiness to drop on the patrolling squads and their drones.

  ‘You ready?’ asked Karras.

  Zeed nodded and rolled his armoured shoulders. At a single thought impulse, a rune on his retinal display switched from red to green. His lightning claws gleamed with the power field now activated around them.

  ‘On your mark, Scholar.’

  Karras slung his bolter and drew his combat knife. ‘Do it!’

  They leapt over the railing together, propelling themselves out over their targets in a wide arc.

  Heavy in full armour, they dropped fast.

  Zeed struck the ground right among his marks. Before they could gasp, three were down, carved apart with ease. The others barely had time to raise weapons. Zeed was a tornado of slaughter among them, a dark blur of long razors and ceramite shell, apparently unhindered by the jump pack at all.

  Blue gore splashed armour and dirt. Bodies collapsed like toppled dolls.

  Karras hit the tank’s turret just behind the gunner and thrust his knife straight into the alien’s skull. He tugged it free, then hauled the body out of the hatch and tossed it. It bounced off the sloping sides of the tank before it hit the dirt.

  He pulled a frag grenade from his webbing and pulled the pin, then dropped it into the hatch and leaned back.

  A sharp crack. An outpouring of thick smoke.

  A side hatch was thrown open and one bloodstained, wounded t’au crawled out groaning, followed a second later by another. They lay on the ground, desperately trying to staunch the bloodflow from grievous shrapnel wounds.