Where, then, was this tyranid hive to be found? And just how large was it?
'AVITUS! HOLD ON!'
Battle-Brother Barabbas raced over as the sergeant grappled across the mould-covered ground with the dying hormagaunt.
'N-no,' came Avitus's strained reply over the vox-comms. 'Stand. Back.'
The tyranid had its talons scythed around Avitus's head and neck, doing its best to decapitate the sergeant before the mutagenic acid of the hellfire shells ate it alive from the inside out. But just as fissures began to spider across the ceramite of Avitus's power armour, the sergeant threw aside his heavy bolter, and wrapped his own armoured arms around the hormagaunt's body. Clasping his hands together, the sergeant squeezed for all he was worth, his own enhanced strength redoubled by the servos in his power armour.
'Avitus!' Barabbas shouted again, seeing the gaunt's talons begin to bite through the pitted surface of the sergeant's armour.
'Not. Yet.' Avitus grunted into the vox-comms. 'Almost.'
With a final surge, the sergeant squeezed his arms together in a vice-like embrace, and the chitinous carapace of the hormagaunt cracked open like an egg. The hormagaunt let out a final keening squeal, and then fell silent, slumping forward onto the still-prostrate Avitus.
'There,' Avitus said, catching his breath. Unclasping his hands, he reached up and grabbed hold of a nodule on the gaunt's back, ripped it off, then pushed upwards and shoved the now-dead tyranid off of himself.
'Are you injured?' Barabbas called, rushing to help the sergeant up.
'It's no matter if I am,' Avitus answered, climbing unsteadily to his feet. When he was standing, he held aloft the nodule that he'd yanked off the gaunt's back, which still glistening with the tyranid's ichor.
It was one of the hormagaunt's toxin-sacs.
'Is it contaminated by the hellfire shells?' Barabbas asked, taking the toxin-sac from Avitus's hands. The battle-brother pulled out his auspex and began taking a reading. All around them the other members of the Ninth Squad continued to fire and reload, reload and fire at the remaining monsters of the hormagaunt brood.
'See for yourself,' Avitus said, taking a few steps to where his heavy bolter lay and retrieving the weapon. On his way back to where Barabbas stood the sergeant fired off a stream of shells at another gaunt, this one already wounded enough that it collapsed into paroxysms as the mutagenic acid began to burn.
Barabbas looked up from the severed nodule in his hand. 'No,' he answered, smiling behind his visor. 'There's no trace of mutagen in it. You got it free before the hellfire shells worked their magic on it.'
Avitus nodded. 'Then we may just have what we came for.' He fired another volley of hellfire shells at a hormagaunt who'd come racing towards Barabbas. 'Take a chemical profile and transmit it up to the Armageddon.'
'Already in progress, sergeant,' Barabbas answered, as he keyed the commands into his auspex. 'With the chemical profile of the biotoxin, Apothecary Gordian would be able to begin work on an antitoxin for the poisons that kept Captain Thule at death's door. With that done, then perhaps we can get off this ball of muck and mire.'
'If those are our orders,' Avitus replied without a trace of humour or sentiment, 'then yes.'
WITH SERGEANT ARAMUS having rejoined them, the Blood Ravens of the Third Squad had almost managed to eradicate the last of the ripper swarm when Sergeant Avitus voxed confirmation that he and his squad had secured a sample of tyranid toxin.
'Wrap it up here!' Aramus ordered the squad, lobbing a frag grenade at a cluster of rippers that had so far evaded his bolter's hellfire rounds. It exploded in their midst, shredding the monsters nearest the blast to ribbons. 'We're moving out.'
'Acknowledged,' Brother Voire called back, his left arm tucked against his chest. His elbow had been caught between the vicious jaws of one of the rippers, and the joint had been broken before another of the Blood Ravens had been able to pry the monster off.
'All Blood Ravens,' Aramus voxed on an open channel. 'Fall back to the village.'
The runes on the sergeant's visor flashed the squads' acknowledgement, though Aramus could not fail to notice how many of the runes were now glowing red. More brothers fallen.
'Sergeant Cyrus,' Aramus went on.
'Go ahead, sir,' came the Scout sergeant's response.
'Prepare for immediate extraction.'
Sergeant Cyrus signalled acknowledgement without a word wasted.
'Squad,' Aramus called out, unleashing a torrent of hellfire on a ripper that was lunging his direction. 'We're done here. Fastest speed back to the village. Now!'
The Space Marines of the Third Squad, some needing the help of their brothers to remain standing, much less walking, were only too ready to obey.
SERGEANT TARKUS AND the Blood Ravens of First Squad received and acknowledged their orders to withdraw. None was reluctant to turn away from what they had found.
Continuing on into the south-west, they had still to come into close contact with tyranid elements, though they had caught sight of a flight of gargoyles winging their way overhead some time before, too far out of range to waste the bolter rounds in firing upon. And once they had glimpsed what appeared to be a zoanthrope hovering along above the ground a half-kilometre or more away over the swampy lowlands.
But if they had yet to come into direct contact with the tyranid invaders, they had found ample evidence of the monsters' passage. They now found themselves in a landscape of death, stretching out to the south and west as far as their enhanced eyes could see.
The sun was just pinking the skies to the east, and as the dawn slowly flooded across the lowlands, they could better see the effects of the tyranids upon the blighted surroundings. What they had in the darkness taken to be towering trees in the distance were by the first light of day revealed instead to be tyranid bio-structures - spore chimneys, cone-shaped structures hundreds of metres tall, belching mycetic spores into the atmosphere to travel wherever the winds carried them. They were broodhives, in which new monsters were birthed to range out over the land to kill and consume. Sunlight glistened off reclamation pools, miniature lakes of enzymes and acids, in which the bodies of both tyranid victims and tyranids who had outlived their usefulness were rendered down into raw, consumable biomass. There were even the beginnings of capillary towers, which when fully grown would stretch high into the thermosphere, mind-bogglingly tall organic structures through which the biomass of the reclamation pools would eventually be carried up into orbit and transferred to the bellies of spacefaring bio-forms.
This was no initial outbreak, nor was it an infestation that might still be quelled. This was full-scale tyranoforming, the final phase of a tyranid invasion.
'Holy Throne,' Tarkus said in a harsh whisper, surveying the blighted landscape. He remembered another world, half a galaxy away, that had once been a bright and green place, and had ended in just such a nightmare.
The infestation of Typhon Primaris had clearly gone on far longer than any of them had realized, longer than any of them might have even guessed, the effects hidden for too long out in the dark and dense confines of the unpopulated jungles. While the natives had cowered in their villages, fearing the ''jungle spirits'' which they believed prowled the darkness, the offspring of the Great Devourer had been steadily converting and consuming the very stuff of the world itself.
And to all appearances, it was far too late in the process to do anything about it.
APOTHECARY GORDIAN HAD received the chemical profile of the biotoxin, and was already well on his way to devising an antitoxin that might serve to purge the poisons that prevented Captain Thule's body from healing itself. As servitors scuttled back and forth across the wide floor of the Apothecarion, Gordian laboured over the narthecium, a full-scale version of the medical kit he carried with him onto the field of battle. Nearby lay the sarcophagus in which Thule lay in a dreamless slumber, his body arrested at the very point of death.
Already Gordian had tried a half-dozen differe
nt strains of antitoxin, which had been tested against the samples drawn from Thule's poisoned body, and so far all half-dozen of the strains had failed. But even if the strains had so far failed to completely eradicate the toxins, Gordian had succeeded in creating two that served at least to diminish the amount of the toxin in the sample set. He was, it appeared, on track.
He only hoped that it was worth it. The few scattered reports he'd had from the planet's surface suggested that the Blood Ravens were taking casualties. Sergeant Aramus had sent word that the squads would be retrieving their fallen from the battlefield, and assuming that they were brought back to the Armageddon in time, Gordian believed it likely he could still retrieve the gene-seed from their bodies. But the progenoid glands would be at the outer limits of their viability by that point, and any delay would render them useless. And there would be another generation of Blood Ravens lost to the Chapter.
Gordian was beginning to generate a new strain of antitoxin when a voice from behind interrupted his concentration.
'Apothecary?'
Gordian turned to see Lexicanium Konan standing behind him.
'Forgive this intrusion, but I come on an urgent matter at the request of Master Niven.'
Gordian arched an eyebrow, inviting Konan to elaborate.
'Might you be able to provide a cultured sample of the tyranid material, based on the chemical profile you received?' The Lexicanium's tone was quiet, respectful, but there was an urgency beneath his words.
Gordian straightened from the narthecium, his expression thoughtful. 'I suppose I could have a sample fabricated for your use.' He paused, curious. 'To what end?'
Lexicanium Konan leaned forward, and answered in a hushed tone as if he were imparting some precious secret. 'Master Niven, it seems, believes that with such a sample, he can locate the source of the xenos scourge.'
SERGEANT THADDEUS AND the Blood Ravens of the Seventh Squad had nearly reached the village, as ordered, but the action and the withdrawal had come at a heavy price.
Brother Loew had fallen in the early hours of the night, to the claws of the lictor clutch that had burst out of the darkness and attacked them. Brother Shar had succumbed to the deathspitter-symbiote of a ravener only a short while later, the corrosive maggot-like projectiles disgorged by the weapon searing through Shar's helmet like hot rivets dropped on ice, and then melting into and through the face within. Shar's screams of agony had been horrible, made worse by the certain knowledge that, once the deathspitter organisms had eaten their way into his brain, it was only a matter of time.
Counting Thaddeus himself, only six Space Marines of the Seventh Squad were still on their feet, two of them weighted down by the bulk of their fallen brothers' bodies slung over their shoulders.
In a matter of moments, they would reach the village, and the Thunderhawks waiting just beyond it, ready to carry them back to the Armageddon in orbit high overhead. In previous undertakings, Thaddeus had always found joy in the knowledge that he had survived another action and would be returning, whether covered in glory or not, to the bosom of his ship. But seeing the lifeless bodies of his battle-brothers Loew and Shar, he found little reason for joy in the present action. The Seventh Squad had boasted a full complement of ten Blood Ravens only weeks before, but after Zalamis, and Calderis, and now Typhon Primaris, their number was reduced to a mere half-dozen. How many more would fall in the coming days, weeks, months?
Thaddeus had for so many years gone into combat with a grin on his lips, and returned from combat the same way.
'Come on, squad,' he called to his men, as the trees pressed closer and closer around them. 'Not much farther, and we'll be off this accursed world. And then we can properly mourn our fallen with the next tolling of the Bell of Souls.'
Now, he wondered if he would ever find reason to grin again.
ONBOARD THE LIGHT cruiser the Sword of Hadrian, Admiral Forbes sat on the bunk in her stateroom, eyes losing their focus as the words swam before them on the page. There were only a scant few hours left until the ship's ''day'' began, and still Forbes had been unable to surrender herself to slumber. Why she had assumed that the collected writings of Warmaster Solon might be an appropriate soporific, she now had difficulty remembering.
She was about to flip back a few pages and attempt to approach once more the warmaster's own account of his actions during the Macharian Heresy, in the hopes that there might be some tactical lesson which she might glean from it, when the door chimed, saving her the trouble. Setting the book aside, she rose from the bunk, absent-mindedly pulling straight her tunic.
'Enter,' she said in a loud voice.
The door slid open, and Commander Mitchels stepped in, a data-slate in his hand. Did the first officer ever go anywhere without a data-slate?
Forbes imagined that he did not, at that. Mitchels was a man who took his position very seriously, after all, and his responsibilities no less so.
'You're up late, commander,' Forbes said with a slight smile, sitting back down on the edge of her bunk.
'Up early, in fact, admiral,' Mitchels answered, almost apologetically. 'It is technically ship's morning.'
Forbes sighed. Of course he was. 'What service can I do you this morning?'
'We've just received this from the Blood Ravens strike cruiser, ma'am.'
The admiral's eyes narrowed. The news from the planet below had not been good. The most recent report had been dated less than an hour previous, informing the Sword of Hadrian that a sample of the biotoxin they sought had been obtained, and that they would shortly be extracting from the planet, returning to their strike cruiser. It appeared that the level of tyranid incursion on Typhon Primaris was severe, but unless and until there was sign of any spaceborne elements of the xenos threat, there was little that Admiral Forbes and her light cruiser could do to assist, short of sending down landing craft to evacuate as much of the civilian population as was practicable. She was not prepared to authorize such an evacuation attempt, though, until she had received the final report from the Blood Ravens officer in charge of the landing party, to gauge his opinion of the situation.
Was this the word on which she'd been waiting? Was it time to order the boats launched, and to have the cargo bays prepared to receive as many as a few hundred refugees? She was sure that Governor Vandis would be less sanguine about receiving the penniless and uncultured refugees of Typhon Primaris than he was about the few hundred wealthy Calderians currently making their way to Meridian. But Admiral Forbes wasn't about to stand idly by doing nothing if there was a chance to save at least a few innocent lives, at no cost or risk to her own vessel.
'What does Sergeant Aramus report?' Forbes asked.
Mitchels shook his head. 'It's not the sergeant sending the message, ma'am, but a Lexicanium Konan.' Seeing her somewhat puzzled expression, he clarified. 'The Librarian serving as the Armageddon's astropath.'
Forbes nodded. 'What does he want, then?'
Mitchels handed her the data-slate, covered in what appeared to be complex biochemical information. 'He requests that this be given to our own astropaths, and made available to the Navis dome, as well.'
The admiral looked up from the data-slate with incredulity. 'Whatever for?'
'YOU SEE, SERGEANT Aramus,' Librarian Niven was explaining to the sergeant, 'there is a tyranid mind out there, however large or small, but it cannot be located from here.'
The two Blood Ravens stood at the centre of the village, while Scouts Xenakis, Jutan, and Watral prepared the Thunderhawks, and Sergeant Cyrus escorted the trio of potential aspirants that had been culled from among the village youth. The evaluations had not been a complete loss, it appeared, but even so there would yet again be no opportunity for Blood Trials, and the aspirants would have to be tested in some other way, at some other time.
'And the chemical profile of the tyranid helps you… How?'Aramus asked.
The sun was creeping up the eastern sky, and the other squads were just now reporting in. Avitus's squ
ad had arrived first, and had already mustered in the long shadows of the Thunderhawks by the time that Aramus and the Third Squad reached the village. Thaddeus and the Seventh arrived a short while later, and began immediately to load their dead and wounded onboard.
Only Sergeant Tarkus's squad remained in the field, and had voxed word that they would be reaching the village at any moment.
'Because, sergeant,' Librarian Niven explained, 'with the sample in hand, it is possible to search for psychic resonances, to attempt to pinpoint the origin of the tyranid thought patterns.'
'So you could find the hive mind?'
'Precisely. If we were to locate the source of the original infestation, then perhaps there might be some way to eradicate it and prevent future outbreaks.'
Aramus scratched his chin with a gauntleted finger, thoughtfully, his helmet held under his arm. 'Then why can't you simply get some of the sample Avitus carries now? And do just the sort of resonance search you outline, but from the surface?'
Niven shook his head, impatiently. 'Because that would simply give us a single vector. Triangulation is required. But with Lexicanium Konan and I on board the Armageddon, and the astropaths on board the Sword of Hadrian operating at some non-trivial distance, then we would have two vectors with which to operate, and would be able to determine not only the direction, but the distance as well.'
Aramus considered for a moment. 'Very well,' he said, then narrowed his eyes. 'Though I would have preferred you to run this by me before issuing orders to Lexicanium Konan to this effect.'
Niven nodded, absently, and then began turning away to walk towards the Thunderhawks. 'I had considered it a matter of some urgency, sergeant. I thought you would agree.'
WHILE ARAMUS AND his Blood Ravens still gathered on the planet below, the psykers and Navis Nobilite on board the two ships began to extend their senses out into the darkness, searching for resonances with the sample that Librarian Niven had provided.
Dawn Of War II Page 16
