Suddenly, as Kergis crept onto the foot of the Mons, he heard voices approaching. Careful not to make any noise, he signalled to his men to stay in cover and sought refuge in the shadow of a weathered boulder. As the voices came closer he crouched in the darkness, waiting. His knife was in his hand, the blade smudged with volcanic ash to dull its reflection.
There were two of them. As the enemy sentries drew nearer, he was able to distinguish their voices and footsteps. They were arguing quietly amongst themselves, making no attempt to hide their presence. Listening as he waited, Kergis learned they had been assigned to sentry duty as punishment for failing to recite the litany properly during a rite of offering on a recent day of worship; a collective failure that each one blamed on the other.
As the footsteps came closer, Kergis was struck by the banality of their evil. From their conversation it was clear the rite they were referring to involved the blood sacrifice of innocent victims to the gods of Chaos. Yet, the sentries were more concerned with a petty grievance against their immediate superior in the cult hierarchy.
“It ain’t right that Sinner Grell punished us,” the one on the left said. “The litany’s long and the Hierarch speaks so fast it’s hard to keep up. I bet Sinner Grell don’t know it no better than we do. He had the easy part, holding the salver for catching the blood. He ain’t careful, somebody will tell the Hierarch what he does with the sacrifices before we kills ’em.”
They were his last words. Waiting until the sentries had walked past him, Kergis was on him in an instant. Clamping a hand over the man’s mouth, he dragged the knife across his throat.
Hearing the sound of movement, the second sentry turned towards his partner. His eyes widening as he saw Kergis, he tried to raise his autogun. He was dead long before he could fire the weapon. Gurban emerged from the darkness behind him to press a hand over the second man’s mouth and cut his throat just as Kergis had done to the first.
“We will take the bodies with us,” Kergis whispered to Gurban once he was sure the killing of the sentries had not raised any alarms. “They are less likely to be discovered if we dump them in the tunnels.”
Gurban nodded. Kergis had made no gesture of thanks to the other man for killing the second sentry, nor would Gurban have expected one. Aware that his squad were nearby, Kergis had assumed that one of them would back him up when he launched his attack. If the position had been reversed and it was one of his men who had been left exposed by the sudden arrival of the sentries, Kergis would have behaved exactly as Gurban had done in supporting him. Such behaviour was taken for granted among the White Scars. As brother Astartes, they relied on each other implicitly.
Nearby, the rest of the squad emerged from cover. Motioning them to him, Kergis waited until they were huddled around him before he issued his orders.
“The entrance to the tunnels is that way,” he whispered, pointing to an area of the slope that was close at hand. Looking at the helmeted faces the men around him, he gave orders to several of the squad members in turn. “I will take the lead. Osol, you will help Gurban carry the bodies. Doshin, shift some of the dust to cover the blood splatter from the sentries, then take a piece of scrub bush and use it to obscure our tracks. Arik, you’re with me. The rest of you, follow behind us.”
The huddle dissolved as the squad followed his commands. Climbing the slope with Arik by the side of him, Kergis kept his senses sharp for any sign of the enemy. The lower reaches of the Ignis Mons were little more than a gentle incline, but the slopes of the volcano soon began to grow steeper.
Ahead, two kilometres above them, Kergis could see the smoking peak of the Mons. It was lit by a dull red glow from the lake of lava hidden inside it. They were on the northern slope, out of sight of the geothermal complex which was situated on the southern one, but they maintained the same habits of stealth that, so far, had taken them within striking distance of their objective. The most dangerous leg of the journey still lay ahead of them.
“I can see the hatchway,” Arik whispered over a secure channel on their vox. “It is in the low depression thirty metres away, at three degrees south-south-west.”
“I see it, too,” Kergis replied. “Signal to the others to stay back in case the enemy have left any unpleasant surprises waiting for us.”
While Arik communicated his orders to the rest of the squad by gesture, Kergis made his way cautiously across the slope.
The cone of the volcano and the ground beneath it were riddled with man-made tunnels designed to bleed off the hot magma and prevent the Ignis Mons from erupting. The same tunnels channelled the excess magma to heat steam which was then redirected to drive turbines to create an energy supply for the planet’s cities. Based on the information gathered from debriefing some of the Imperial refugees who had escaped the fall of Tephra VII, the invasion forces had learned some of the tunnels beneath the Ignis Mons had not been used for centuries. Assuming the intelligence was right, Kergis and his men could use the tunnels to sneak into the power complex right under the noses of the enemy.
The access hatchway into the tunnels was set in a shallow well of plascrete to help protect it from the elements. Despite such precautions, its surface was pitted and scarred with rust. It was clear it had not been opened for some time.
Checking the surface of the hatchway for heat, Kergis took hold of the wheel-like opening mechanism and experimentally tried to turn it. The hatchway held fast, its inner workings rusted in place through centuries of disuse. Kergis increased the pressure incrementally, wary in case his gene-seed-wrought strength caused the wheel to shear off in his hands. With a protesting squeal of rusted metal, the wheel started to move. Slowly, he managed to turn it half a revolution.
The shriek as the hatch finally came free seemed as loud as a gunshot in the silence of the night. Expecting to see sentries hurrying towards their position, Kergis waited with Arik beside him, carefully scanning their surroundings. To his surprise, there was no sign of activity. Evidently, the remaining sentries had been too far away to hear it.
“Quickly,” Kergis said, easing himself into the tunnel. “The moment I give the all clear, tell the men to follow me. I don’t want to test our luck out here any longer than necessary.”
Inside, the tunnel was dark and quiet. There was a vaguely sulphurous smell in the air; a side-effect, Kergis assumed, of the proximity of a live volcano. It was clear, however, that the intelligence from the refugees had been correct. The air was warm and damp, but it was obvious the tunnel had not been put to work in recent times.
The inner surface of the tunnel was rough with a residue of dried lava, but overlaying it was a thick layer of undisturbed dust. The tunnel itself was over four metres tall. Standing with ease once he had dropped through the hatchway, Kergis signalled to Arik above him that everything was all right.
Soon, the rest of the squad had joined him in the tunnel. As the last man dropped through, Doshin shut the hatchway behind him. Meanwhile, Gurban and Osol dumped the bodies of the dead sentries to one side of the tunnel.
“We will move forward in single file,” Kergis told his men once they were ready to proceed. “If we meet the enemy, we will fight with swords and knives. We will only use our bolt pistols as weapons of last resort. Remember, the sound of a shot might echo across the whole length of these tunnels, alerting the enemy.”
The squad nodded their understanding. Turning, Kergis faced into darkness. The tunnels were even blacker than the night had been outside.
He and his men carried compact luminators attached to the sides of their helmets. He gave a signal to switch them on. The dull glow of the luminators revealed the shape of the tunnel in their immediate vicinity. Beyond it, there lay yet more darkness.
They had been furnished with a layout of the tunnel network courtesy of an ancient survey blueprint from the planetary archives; one of thousands of such documents the planetary governor and his retinue had taken with them when they fled the fall of their world to Chaos. Ordinarily, Ker
gis would have expected a governor to spend more time defending his planet and less saving some mouldering parchments, but on this occasion he supposed the man’s weak backbone had played in his favour. Always assuming, of course, that the tunnels had not been substantially altered in the millennia since the survey had been completed.
“Move out,” he voxed his men.
As one, they marched forward into the darkness.
An hour later, they had made steady progress. The tunnel layout recorded in the survey blueprints had proven to be accurate, allowing the squad to move faster than Kergis had expected. The luminators supplied only limited radiance, but this was not an insurmountable obstacle. Within minutes, the White Scars’ eyes had begun to grow accustomed to the gloom. Soon, they could see as well in the tunnels as they had in the moonless night on the approach to the Ignis Mons.
By Kergis’ reckoning, they were another three quarters of an hour from their destination.
“We need to pick up speed,” he told his men. “The assault will be easier if we time our attack to the middle of the workers’ shift, when they are likely to be at their most tired and dull-witted. From now on, double-time.”
Uncomplaining, the squad followed his example and broke into a jog.
Their objective was the control room which oversaw the operation of the lava tunnels. It was the most critical part of the facility. The White Scars were carrying a number of demolition charges with them; more than enough, he hoped, to destroy the control systems responsible for directing the movement of lava. Back on the strike cruiser, Goju, the Techmarine attached to their company, had given the squad an in-depth briefing, highlighting what each piece of the control apparatus looked like and where to place the charges to achieve the greatest effect. If the White Scars were successful in their plan of sabotage, the geothermal complex would be destroyed.
It would be harsh medicine for the people of Tephra VII. Assuming the invasion was a success, the newly liberated population in the western regions would be left without power. But the needs of victory outweighed any other consideration. First, Tephra VII would have to be liberated from the yoke of Chaos.
Compared to that noble aim, anything else was of secondary importance.
* * *
The White Scars had travelled another half a kilometre before they discovered the tunnels had guardians. Hunters by nature, these guardians did not practise the lax habits of the sentries protecting the slopes of the Mons. They did not announce their presence with loud footsteps or idle conversation. They were not even human.
Kergis and his men had reached a place where the tunnel they were following suddenly opened out into a broad, empty space at least a hundred metres long and an equal distance wide. The ceiling high above was partially hidden in the gloom, but Kergis could see it was gently rounded, while the floor of the chamber was rough and uneven due to a coating of dried lava.
Entering cautiously into the hemispherical expanse, Kergis noted that the walls were dotted with the entrances of dozens of other tunnels, some of them set high above the floor of the chamber.
“What is it, do you think?” Gurban asked as he followed Kergis into the open. In keeping with Chapter tactics, the rest of the squad had stayed back at the mouth of the tunnel, ready to cover them in the event of an ambush.
“Some kind of overflow chamber, perhaps?” Kergis shrugged. “If Goju was here, we could ask him.”
Summoning up the tunnel blueprints on his helmet display, he checked for the chamber in the layout. There was no sign of it.
“Whatever it is, it was built after the survey blueprints were made. Still, it doesn’t look as though it was created recently. The stonework appears ancient. What does the auspex say?”
“The area reads clear,” Gurban said, grimacing as he checked the handheld unit he was carrying. “But the reading may be unreliable. The tunnel walls are warm, hot even in places. I think some of these disused tunnels run parallel to pockets of lava. The temperature fluxions are confusing the auspex.”
“Understood,” Kergis said. He contacted the rest of the squad by vox. “The auspex readings are unclear. Gurban and I will remain on point. Osol, you’ll cover the others as last man. The rest of you, spread out. We move with caution.”
Blades at the ready, the White Scars fanned out across the chamber. Taking the lead with Gurban at his side, Kergis followed the lessons he had first learned as a Scout, then later as a battle-brother under the tutelage of Balat.
Given the proliferation of tunnels entering into the chamber, there were dozens of places an ambusher could hide. Rather than allowing his attention to become fixated on any particular point, Kergis broadened his perception and tried to take in the totality of his surroundings, relying on his armour’s autosenses to supply him with a continuous feed of details. Above all else, he attuned himself to respond to any sign of movement—be it sight or sound—from the various tunnel mouths around him. At the same time, he listened for a warning shout from any of his fellow White Scars, each of whom acted as an extra set of eyes and ears for their brothers.
In the end, it was the smell that warned him of the enemy’s presence. He picked up on a rank odour. It was only the merest trace. An animal stench, familiar yet elusive.
“Contact!” Gurban yelled a warning as the proximity alert on the auspex in his hand burst suddenly into noisy life. “I make a dozen at least. They are all around us…”
The rest of his words were lost as the first of the attackers emerged from their hiding places to ambush the White Scars.
Kergis caught a blurred glimpse of slavering jaws as their owner leapt towards him. He responded with a sweep of his sword, the blade of the power weapon sizzling eagerly through the air as it hurried to meet its target. The blow caught the creature in the flanks in mid-leap. Kergis heard the attacker scream as his armour was splashed with hot alien gore.
Amid the stench of blood he smelled the same rank odour he had sensed before, stronger this time. It was a enamel smell of malice and corruption, one he recognised from bloody encounters on a dozen different worlds.
A second creature emerged from a nearby tunnel and bounded towards him. This time, given more opportunity to ready his defence, Kergis was able to take in the full nature of the creature as it charged. To any man who was not Astartes, it would have seemed a source of terrifying horror; a thing of nightmare given swift and shrieking life.
The beast was perhaps two metres long. Its body was lean and hungry, with powerful rippling muscles and a head that seemed too large for its torso. Its legs ended in sharp claws that gouged scratches into the surface of the ground as it ran. The oversized head ended in a long snout set with a row of massive, interlocking fangs. The first beast had been covered in matted fur, but this one was disturbingly hairless. Its skin was a leprous ashen shade of grey.
As the creature began its death-leap towards him, Kergis saw a pair of bony hooks emerge from concealed sheaths on its shoulders, ready to strike in unison with its jaws. Holding to the last moment with the confident assurance of a skilled swordsman, Kergis waited until the creature was almost upon him before he lashed out with his sword.
The blow caught the beast in the centre line of its skull. The head and brain were split down the middle, killing it.
Propelled by momentum, the dead creature’s body continued moving. Sidestepping it with ease, Kergis heard it flop to the ground behind him.
In the brief breathing space accorded by the death of the second attacker, he snapped a quick glance towards his men. Behind him, the rest of the squad were each busy with their own battles, fighting with knives and whirring chainswords against the teeth and claws of a horde of similar monsters.
Kergis turned, intent on offering aid to his brothers. Suddenly, he felt a blow hit his side. Caught unawares, it knocked him from his feet.
Too late, he realised the creatures attacked in threes.
Falling to the ground, Kergis found himself looking up at a pair of red, rage
-filled eyes. The third beast was bigger than either of its two fellow hunters. It had Kergis on his back, its weight pressing down on his chest. His sword arm was held gripped in its jaws. Kergis tried to pull the arm free, but the creature’s hold was too strong.
As he struggled, it bit down harder into his arm. Incredibly, Kergis saw the teeth had made an impression on the ceramite skin of his armour. A minute series of cracks had begun to appear in the armour’s surface. Kergis would have hardly thought it possible, but the creature gave every impression of being able to bite through his armour if he gave it long enough. Unable to bring his sword to bear as long as his right arm was in its grip, Kergis’ left hand scrabbled to free his knife, then stabbed the creature with all his strength.
He felt a brief moment of resistance as the blade cut through the beast’s tough outer skin before sliding deep into its body. The monster seemed indifferent to the blow; if anything, its grip on his arm tightened.
Kergis pulled out the knife and stabbed it again. And again. The blade of the knife arced back and forth in a rapid succession of blows, making a bloody ruin of the creature’s side as Kergis fought desperately to kill it.
Abruptly, his efforts were rewarded. Still gripping tightly on his sword arm, the beast closed its eyes and died.
Kergis’ view of his fellow White Scars was obscured by the body of the creature on top of him, but as he recovered his breath he became dimly aware the struggle around him had been brought to a close. The noises of war, the battle cries of his men and roars of the creatures had faded. In their place he heard a strange, mournful howl echo in the distance.
Unsure of the sound’s origin, Kergis pushed the creature’s bulk to one side. Unable to break its death-grip on his arm, he managed to work his power sword free and took it in his left hand. Then, activating the blade, he sliced through the upper and lower jaws of the dead animal’s snout just below the point where they gripped his arm.
[Warhammer 40K] - Legends of the Space Marines Page 8
