by Gav Thorpe
Chamell moved across to the other side of the passageway so that he could see past his fellow Shadowmaster. Fasur had noticed the approaching threat too and stood stock still against the door, pistol raised.
Chamell froze, allowing himself to become one with his surroundings. He sensed the flicker of the glow strips along the ceiling, the tiniest dimming and brightening. He felt the moments of dimness and latched onto them, feeling them stretch out, pulling them into an eternity.
There was no real shadow in the corridor but the two warriors of the Mor Deythan did not need to remain hidden for long. In the few moments their extraordinary powers granted them, two uniformed human soldiers had rounded the corner, utterly oblivious to the two massive warriors ahead.
Fasur fired, his pistol coughing gently as a gas-propelled round sped towards the guard on the right. Her eyes were just beginning to widen with surprise as her brain registered the two intruders, a moment before the bolt took her in the throat. It detonated quietly, ripping out windpipe and spine, and almost severing her head.
The other had half a second to move the muzzle of his autogun a few centimetres before Chamell’s silenced bolt pierced his upper chest, punching through breastplate and flesh. It exploded, buried inside lungs and heart, shredding both with a fountain of blood.
Both soldiers collapsed, guns clattering to the floor.
Chamell crossed back to the door and eased it open, finding himself in a small storage lockup. Coming back out he saw Fasur exiting the room ahead. The legionary looked back at his leader and shook his head.
The two of them moved on. Fasur held position at the corridor, currently empty, while Chamell investigated a signal in the last room coming off the passageway.
Augmented hearing and suit auto-senses picked up heavy breathing as the sergeant stopped beside the open door. He rounded the frame with pistol ready, but held his fire. Chair tipped back against a file-laden set of shelves, a guard lay asleep, the peak of his cap drawn over his eyes, feet up on the monitor desk. Two vid-screens showed static-broken images that flicked through various pict-feeds on rotation.
Sheathing his knife, Chamell grabbed the man by the throat, gauntlet encompassing his whole neck. A simple twist detached the man’s vertebrae before he was even fully awake. Chamell left the corpse to sag, easing the chair back onto four legs. He checked the vid-monitors but there did not seem to be anything to indicate that there was another security station. This was, after all, just a power station – not the prison itself, or the commandant’s keep.
He rejoined Fasur and they followed the short corridor across the middle of the storey, which had a door to either side, facing each other, and a heavier portal at the end. Chamell motioned for his partner to go left while he headed for the right-hand door.
The augur showed multiple signals behind both doors. Fasur looked to the sergeant for instructions and received a series of gestures indicating that they would go in hard and fast. Fasur nodded and braced himself next to the door.
From his belt Chamell palmed two small, disc-like detonators. One was an electromagnetic pulse grenade, the other a blind-screen device. He primed both with his thumb and slammed into the door, smashing it open.
The two discs left his hand at the same moment. He stepped out for an instant while the two grenades detonated. Electricity sparked and blackness shrouded the air.
Into this whirling gloom stepped the sergeant, pistol moving from one target to the next, imprinted into the memory-coils of the auspex moments before and now displayed through his auto-senses. He fired twice at each glowing apparition, moving blindly through the darkness but placing two rounds into every enemy with unwavering accuracy. He could see and hear nothing for several seconds, pacing to the right to fire two bolts into the last of the sensor-targets writ in glowing yellow in his vision.
The blind field collapsed, allowing sight and sound to return with a snap. Auto-senses dimmed the bright lights to a dusky glow to protect Chamell’s eyes against the sudden change. He quickly surveyed the room. Eight technicians and guards littered the floor, each with two gaping wounds in their torso. All were dead.
The pulse grenade had been set to its weakest level; just enough to interfere with any automated systems and prevent an alarm signal. As it was, the banks of dials and readouts displaying the feed-through energy of the station were already flickering back into life.
‘Entrance secured,’ reported Senderwat. Strang and Korin followed with news that the lower floors had been cleared of the few men and women on duty.
Fasur joined Chamell.
‘Main controls are in here,’ said the Shadowmaster. ‘The other chamber is secondary cooling systems for the reactors. All of the grid data comes through these consoles.’
‘I want every spark of power unleashed across the grid. Overload it,’ said Chamell. ‘Let there be night.’
X
Carandiru
[Day of Vengeance]
Crouched on the ramp of the descending Stormbird, Corax had a perfect view of the unfolding battle for the main city of Carandiru. With the exception of a few buildings containing isolated emergency generators, the city was swathed in darkness. Fiery meteors carved trails against a violet sunset as the remnants of crashing orbital cannons and missile platforms burned up; weapons that had, until the Raven Guard strike, been pointed at the surface rather than into space.
Across the city below, encircled by its kilometre-high wall, las-fire sparkled across streets and rooftops. From several kilometres up it looked like glitter thrown onto a dark pool. Here and there fires raged from more substantial weapons. Soukhounou had done his job well though and such outbreaks were contained; a fire raging through the confines of the prison-city could kill thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands. It was impossible to protect everybody and many would die in the uprising, but they were not here to liberate charred corpses.
Around the Stormbird the dark shapes of Whispercutters and Shadowhawks carrying more of Corax’s Mor Deythan cut through the darkening sky. The Shadowmasters were splitting up, dropping towards selected targets throughout the conurbation. Further up, Thunderhawks and Stormbirds ploughed down, heading towards outlying work settlements and smaller security facilities – mineheads and mills surrounded by kilometres of razor wire, minefields and defence turrets. Columns of smoke rose from anti-air silos, removed by pinpoint strikes from the Raven Guard fleet in orbit over Carandiru.
There were other groups attacking across the world, targeting supply depots and military barracks, led by Raven Guard veterans but made up from warriors drawn from across the other Legion groups. It was the perfect training ground to teach the Raven Guard method of war. Small attack groups numbering only a few dozen warriors linked up with resistance cells rapidly raised by Soukhounou and existing dissidents.
Two kilometres up, it was time for Corax and the main attack to go their separate ways. The primarch glanced back at Arendi in the Stormbird compartment. The bodyguard lifted a fist in acknowledgement, the gesture duplicated by the legionaries around him.
‘Remember, I want the wall guns silenced and secured,’ the primarch said over the vox. The reminder was probably unnecessary but as with so many Raven Guard operations timing was paramount. ‘Rendezvous in three hours.’
‘Good hunting,’ Arendi replied.
Unfurling his flight pack wings, Corax jumped off the ramp, a combi-weapon gripped tightly in his right hand.
A thermal immediately caught the primarch, lifting him above the plunging drop-ship. He angled left and down, diving towards the wider streets and squares towards the centre of the city. Even from this height he could see the people thronging the streets, a mass of humanity converging on the fortress-palace that covered a hill in the northern reaches of the city.
There would be casualties. Few worthwhile endeavours could be accomplished without sacrifice, but it was not Corax’s d
esire to see the blood of the oppressed shed needlessly. He would not incite rebellion and then leave others to face the bloody consequences. Taking the city would not be a straightforward task and the people of Carandiru would need help whilst the Raven Guard established control. Corax had assigned himself the duty of staving off the first counter-attacks against the people while the rest of his force secured vital defence points.
Corax had wondered whether the Sons of Horus and other Space Marines would try to quench the uprising with the blood of the non-Legion soldiers acting as guards, but the legionaries left as garrison were responding strongly. Until now the Raven Guard presence had been hidden and the traitors looked as though they were seeking to quell the rebellion before it had established itself, not understanding the full extent of the forces now ranged against them. It made them vulnerable, as the primarch had planned.
Circling a kilometre up, Corax saw a Mastodon troop carrier leaving one of the depots close to the main watch keep. Its appeared to be heading for the central plaza. The Mastodon was capable of carrying forty Space Marines within its hull, slow but well armed and armoured. As a mobile command point it would be ideal for coordinating the suppression of the uprising and, if fortune favoured the primarch, a high-level officer or perhaps even the facility commandant himself might be found within.
The primarch furled his wings and dropped, arrowing towards the city like a black meteor. A few hundred metres up he started to angle towards the Mastodon, opening his wings a little to slow his descent as he soared over the rooftops. Ahead scattered marksmen had taken up positions in garrets and walkways overlooking the advance of the surging populace. The cold-hearted killers were sniping at will, gunning down unarmed civilians in the streets below. Corax adjusted his flight path, curving to the left and right, a flicked wingtip or fist decapitating and disembowelling the exposed guards as he swept past.
The Mastodon’s size limited it to the main thoroughfares, making its course easy to predict. Gaining a little more height, Corax turned and came at the armoured carrier from the front, dropping almost to street level.
Small-arms fire sprayed at the primarch as he sped between the buildings towards the slab-sided transport, but approaching from directly in front kept him out of the arc of the main sponson weapons on the Mastodon’s flanks.
Through the slit of the driver’s position in the jutting front cab, Corax could see eyes widen with surprise as he powered towards the vehicle, seemingly intent on a collision. At the last moment Corax flipped a wing and rolled to his left, passing along the side of the carrier. He fired the melta part of his combi-weapon, ripping through the gun blister of the sponson.
Using his wings as an airbrake, he drove his fingertips between ruptured plates of ceramite and used his momentum to swing up to the top of the vehicle. Wings snapping out of the way, Corax strode to the nearest cupola, manned by a mortal guard in a black-visored helm. Hooking his combi-weapon to his belt, Corax grabbed the man’s head and wrenched him from his position. He threw the soldier over the side of the Mastodon, where he crumpled on the rockcrete a few metres below.
Another gunner swung a twin-barrelled heavy bolter in Corax’s direction. The primarch dodged left and then right, eluding the salvo of explosive-tipped rounds. A kick flattened the armour plate protecting the gunner, trapping his arms beneath the bent metal. With an open-handed chop, Corax decapitated the man and then with a return blow severed the arms so that the headless corpse dropped down into the body of the vehicle.
With a hiss of pneumatics, a hatch opened behind Corax. He ripped the twisted metal shield free from the broken cupola weapon and pulled a heavy bolter off its mount, hefting it easily. Three rounds met the first man scrambling out of the hatch, each detonation tearing a chunk out of guts and chest. The second clambered into view, clearly forced out by someone below. Two more heavy bolter shots obliterated his head.
The Mastodon stopped. Corax heard the clang of the assault ramp at the front and moved to stand behind the driver’s compartment. A stream of red-uniformed soldiers spilled out of the carrier’s innards. He cut them down with bursts from the heavy bolter as they emerged, leaving not one enough time to raise a weapon.
The belt feed of the heavy bolter was almost finished. Corax swung down to the front of the carrier, hanging on with one hand as he fired the remaining three bolts through the driver’s slit, rewarded by the wet crump of exploding flesh and a shriek of pain cut short.
Throwing the spent weapon aside, the primarch let himself drop onto the assault ramp, landing directly onto another guard, pulverising her into the metal mesh. A mixture of visored faces and fear-filled eyes met Corax as he stepped up to the entrance hatch of the carrier.
‘I will make this quick,’ Corax promised them, pulling his gun free.
And he did.
When he was done, disappointed that he had not encountered a single legionary, Corax moved to the command console on the upper level of the transport, punching his way through the upper deck to force entry. There was one survivor remaining, gabbling over the vox-link, requesting immediate assistance. Corax lanced a fist through the man’s spine, severing it between the shoulders. A flick of the wrist ended the paralysed man’s brief horror, tearing out heart and lungs.
Stooping over the comm-net panel, Corax looked for the epicentre of the command channel traffic. There were two locations on the grid – the main citadel and a complex of guard towers and bunkers just outside the south wall. Soukhounou was already in the keep and would soon be supported by the arrival of Arendi and his warriors. The whole insurrection was focused on storming the keep and there was little point in Corax adding his might to that battle. The secondary station intrigued him; it was the centre of a large amount of the strategic data criss-crossing the city and the outer guard stations.
Corax knew that if he was the ruler of a prison world, he would not place his strength in an easily identified city fortress. The compound outside the city seemed the most likely location to find the commandant.
There were no other assets free to storm the compound and Corax was determined that whoever was responsible for running this despicable world would be brought to account. Already the arrival of the Raven Guard would be causing the commandant serious doubts and Corax wanted him captured before he could disappear into the wilderness or perhaps escape into orbit. He had no desire for an extended hunt – his mantra was to attack fast and leave quickly – so the only option appeared to be personal intervention.
‘This is Corax to all forces. Secondary facilities detected outside the complex. I am investigating. Expect low resistance. Continue with current objectives, no reinforcement needed.’
Exiting the Mastodon, Corax spread his wings and soared into the sky.
XI
Carandiru
[DV +1 hour]
‘Sometimes,’ Branne turned to address the Raptors around him, ‘sneaking about isn’t going to help. Sometimes you just have to destroy everything in your way.’
Lieutenant Navar Hef followed his commander off the ramp of the Stormbird, accompanied by the other members of the command squad. More warriors, both twisted and unchanged, ran out of the drop-ships around them, moving into the waist-high grass that covered the wildlands around the fort.
While the much of the Legion was tackling the central citadel complex with typical Raven Guard stealth and misdirection, the Raptors were tasked with eliminating a secondary garrison three hundred kilometres away. With the fall of the capital it was likely that any continued resistance or counter-attack would emanate from the bunkers and forts here at Nadrezes.
It was also the site of the high security detainees, according to intelligence from Commander Soukhounou’s sources. Nobody was quite sure who was being held inside Nadrezes, but unlike the rest of the Carandiru population they were under constant guard, held behind lock and bars.
And that meant Corax was very ke
en to see them released.
Thunderhawks were still spitting lascannon blasts, battle cannon shells and missiles at the outer ring of fortifications while Stormbirds disgorged nearly five hundred legionaries, accompanied by tanks, transports, fast-attack vehicles and heavy guns. On the flanks of the hills overlooking Nadrezes to the south-east drop pods were falling, bringing another two hundred Raptors right on top of depots and storehouses identified by last-minute orbital scans before the fleet had unleashed its payload of deadly warriors.
Around the Thunderhawks, smaller Storm Eagle gunships laid down curtains of fire with ripples of rocket launches, bombarding pillboxes and hardpoints that punctuated the defensive line. Heavier transport craft lowered what assault vehicles still remained in the Raven Guard armouries, while batteries of Hydra anti-air guns watched the skies and self-propelled cannons moved into position to pound any forces that dared to sally forth. Bunker-busting Vindicator tanks rolled forwards at the head of the assault, the massive barrels of their guns belching fire and destruction.
‘Curious thing,’ said Branne as he clambered into the compartment of a waiting Land Raider, Hef close on his heel. ‘Nearly half the emplacements around the fort are facing inwards. What do you make of that?’
‘They are afraid of whoever is inside, and want to keep them there,’ replied Hef. He spoke slowly and surely, negotiating the words with thick tongue and bulging fangs. It had been a while since he could wear a helm, though the armoury had done a fine job of modifying parts from old Mark II and III warplate to fashion a suit of armour to fit the lieutenant’s hugely muscled form and bent spine. ‘And so we should help them get out.’
‘Just so,’ said Branne. He spoke to the driver over the internal vox and the assault tank lurched into motion, ploughing across the wildlands towards the outer perimeter of Nadrezes. Around them the column formed – more Land Raiders and Ulysses-class ram vehicles, Predator tanks and Rhino troop carriers ready to smash through into the heart of the enemy positions.
