Warhammer 40,000 - [Weekender 02]

by Black Library Weekender- Volume Two (epub)

  “We are sure that the flank at Lavlin is secure?” he asked Kayhil.

  “No enemy troops there twelve hours ago,” the general said with a shrug. “We could perform another reconnaissance sweep into the ruins, but that would take time; I cannot spare men from the main attack.”

  Marcus considered his options, stroking his freshly shaven chin. For all that the plan seemed to be secure—as secure as any plan could be—he could not rid himself of the doubts caused by his nightmare and the retreat earlier that day.

  “I will detail ten companies to act as a reserve, in case the flank is threatened.” He turned his attention to one of the screens, showing the face of Princeps Senioris Niadansal of the Legio Vindictus, who had joined the council from the bridge of his Warlord Titan.

  “Please assign two Battle Titans to the reserve, princeps,” said Marcus.

  “It seems a waste of resource,” the Titan commander replied brusquely, brow furrowing. “Ten companies and two Titans might be sorely missed during the main assault.”

  “We can breach the lightning field without them,” Marcus countered. “They can move forwards and support the main attack once the flank is secure.”

  “Do you have some intelligence we have not seen, vice-caesari?” asked Colonel Golade of the Capricorns.

  “No intelligence,” Marcus said quickly. He took a moment, calming himself. “It is imperative that we advance on the city unmolested, that is all. Better to be sure than regretful.”

  “Perhaps you are being overly cautious, vice-caesari,” suggested Golade. “Casualties are an inevitable consequence of war.”

  Valerius bit back a reply, thinking that the Capricorns were not in the assault force, safe behind siege lines located kilometres from the city. Instead, he simply grunted and shrugged.

  “Cautious, yes, but not overly so, colonel,” Marcus said evenly, keeping his temper in check. Golade did not know what Marcus felt deep inside and could not be blamed for his doubts.

  “Who is to command the reserve?” asked Antonius. Dressed in the colourful uniform of the Therions, complete with the red sash of office across his breastplate, the praefector reminded Marcus of himself a few years ago when he had been bringing planets to compliance. More than two years of war against the traitors had not marred Antonius’s optimism. Marcus envied his younger brother’s hopefulness, but after seeing what had happened at Isstvan and experiencing the treachery of Horus first-hand, Marcus had given up any thought of ultimate victory and simply accepted each battle as it came.

  “You will,” Marcus replied. There was nobody he trusted more and the presence of the Iron General was not essential to the main assault. “I will send details of the detachment, six infantry companies, four armoured, before you take your shuttle back to the Iron General.”

  Antonius accepted the responsibility with a nod, a curious look in his eyes. At first Marcus thought he saw suspicion in the expressions of the others, but realised it was his paranoia, the other officers were dubious of the sudden change of plan but nothing more.

  “Any other considerations we have not covered?” Marcus asked, changing the subject. The assembled council offered no further comments or questions in the brief pause. “Good. Golade’s bombardment commences in thirty minutes. We attack in forty-five.”

  The bridge of the Contemptuous buzzed with comm-net feeds and the vox-chatter of Marcus’s subordinates. Every minute or so the main cannon fired, causing the Capitol Imperialis to shudder, the deafening boom muffled by audio dampeners.

  Marcus concentrated on the main display, which had been divided into seven sub-screens showing the battle-telemetry across the five-kilometre-long front. One display was hooked into a live-feed from the recon craft in the upper atmosphere above the city, showing the pulverised defences below. The fire of the Capricorns continued to rain down, shells and missiles concentrating on the pillboxes and weapons batteries.

  Five more were schematics of the Pioneers’ and Therions’ advance into the outskirts of Milvian. Infantry brigades moved swiftly from building to building, covered by Warhound Titans of the Legio Vindictus. Progress was swift, and it seemed the bulk of the enemy had been withdrawn to the wall as Marcus had expected. Even so, the attack was methodical and thorough, leaving nothing to fortune.

  A kilometre behind the infantry came the tanks and assault guns of Therion and Capricorn. In long columns they crawled forwards along the main boulevards and avenues, accompanied by more infantry to ensure they were not ambushed.

  The remaining screen was a pict-feed around the headquarters transport, the vista of smoke-shrouded streets slightly blurred by the six banks of void shields protecting the massive command vehicle. A flicker of las-fire, blossoms of explosions and columns of smoke painted the scene. The blur of artillery sped across the cloudy sky and plumes of dust from collapsing buildings billowed along streets. From a across the comm, a constant background to innumerably reports and conversations, the chatter and whine of small, arms fire was punctuated by louder detonations, men and women exchanged terse reports, swore and cursed, reeled off target grids and barked the names of subordinates.

  It felt quite distant, a step removed from Marcus as he listened and watched. He would catch a snippet of a sergeant berating his squad for falling back and then the sonorous chant of a Mechanicum servitor churning out scan vectors, broken by the crackle of static and hiss of cipher dampening. There were shouts, cries of pain, and on the screens tiny symbols would flash or disappear as the battle ebbed and flowed. Minuscule markings wormed their way along back alleys and were baulked at enemy-held junctions. Arrows of projected advances, triangles of tertiary objectives seized and circles denoting cannon fire zones covered the screens in a seemingly anarchic pattern.

  Marcus did not try to comprehend it all. Now and then he would ask for clarification from one of his tribunes, but it was not his part to manage every detail of the conflict. His eye was on the broad sweep, and in this regard all was progressing as he had hoped.

  Now and then his attention was drawn to the last subscreen, over which scrolled the casualty listing of the eighteen phalanxes of the Therions. Two thousand and thirty men had fallen in the first attack—not all of them dead—but the rate of loss had slowed as the army made progress past the outer line of defenders.

  Four kilometres behind and three kilometres to the west, on the right flank of the advance, the Iron General and attending companies waited for the command to attack. The assault had begun an hour ago and there was no sign of threat from Lavlin, but Marcus was not yet ready to shake off his misgivings and commit the reserve.

  The Contemptuous supported the main attack, ploughing along the main thoroughfare of Milvian towards the outer limits of the lightning field. The defensive screen had not been tested against the void shields of a Titan or Capitol Imperialis and Marcus had determined the super-fortress was the best means of destroying one of the generators. Once a breach was made in the field’s coverage other forces would target the rest of the generators.

  There was more to Marcus leading the attack than simple pragmatism. After the repulse of his earlier assault he wanted to prove to his men, and more importantly to Lord Corax, that he and his Therions could be relied upon. When they had been founded they had served the Emperor himself and the primarch of the Raven Guard deserved no lesser service.

  The Contemptuous ground forwards, pulverising deserted groundcars and abandoned tanks that lay in the command fortress’s path. The batteries on both flanks and the main cannon were unleashing their fire into the surrounding city blocks, levelling everything within a few hundred metres. The shells of the defenders detonated around the advancing behemoth. Now and then a direct hit would shimmer across the void shields, engulfing the Contemptuous in a blazing aura of purple and gold.

  In the wake of the gargantuan engine, Therion tanks and infantry waited to pour forwards to exploit any breakthrough.

  Marcus knew that the battle was at its hinge-point, with th
e success or failure of the entire invasion in the balance of the next hour. Though the advance through the outer city had been swift, the traitors had been wise to marshal their resources inside the lightning field and the attack had almost ground to a standstill. There were numerous requests from Marcus’s subordinates to commit the reserve; the added firepower of the Titans and companies were in demand all across the front.

  “Generator site within range, vice-caesari,” reported one of the tribunes.

  “Target main weapon systems, fire for full effect.”

  As the order left Marcus’s lips another tribune blurted out a warning from his position at the sensor panels.

  “Enemy Warlord Titan, eight hundred metres, sector four, targeting us.” A sub-screen blurred and brought up an image of the traitor war engine, its outline hazy beyond its void shields. “Shall we redirect fire?”

  “Negative,” snapped Marcus. “Concentrate all weapons on the field generator. Our void shields can weather the enemy fire. Our Titans will respond.”

  The Contemptuous shook as it unleashed a full barrage from its cannons and heavy weapons. Half a kilometre ahead a building exploded into a storm as the lightning field detonated, sending rockcrete and molten metal hundreds of metres into the air amongst arcing shafts of energy.

  A triumphant shout across the command deck was silenced by a call from the sensorium tribune.

  “Warp missile, vice-caesari!”

  The sub-screen zoomed in on one of the traitor Titan’s carapace weapon hard points. A missile ten metres long launched in a plume of blue fire. It covered the first hundred metres in seconds before its miniature warp engine activated. The missile disappeared for a moment, leaving a contrail of wavering white-and-green warp energy. A second later it reappeared, just two hundred metres from the Contemptuous.

  “Brace for impact!” roared Valerius as the incoming ordnance skipped into the warp again.

  The vice-caesari grabbed hold of the command console as the warp missile appeared inside the Capitol Imperialis void shields and detonated. Marcus was flung to the deck as the Contemptuous rocked on its tracks, teetering for a few long moments before crashing back onto the road.

  Warning sirens blared, deafening Marcus as he pushed himself to his feet. Blood streamed down his face from a cut on his brow. He wiped it away with the frocked sleeve of his shirt.

  “Damage control. Return fire. Is the field down yet?”

  “No, vice-caesari,” said one of the tribunes. “Wait... I think it’s... Yes, it’s down!”

  “Shall we commit the reserves?” asked another.

  Marcus was on the verge of complying, knowing that any significant delay risked the enemy recovering from the lightning field’s failure, delaying the assault on the anti-orbital guns. His men and their allies were dying in their hundreds to push on but their deaths would be for nothing if the batteries on the far side were not secured by midday.

  He was about to contact Antonius when his personal comm-link beeped. To Marcus’s surprise, it was his brother.

  “Vice-caesari, we are detecting movement through the ruins of Lavlin. They are broadcasting Raven Guard identifiers and are requesting passage through the line.”

  “Are you sure, Antonius?” Marcus could barely concentrate amongst the blaring of the klaxons, the barked reports of his tribunes and the throbbing from the wound on his face. “I have had no report from the primarch or his commanders of more forces operating in this area.”

  “Comm-checks and sensor sweeps confirm a sizeable force of warriors and vehicles moving on our position. Perhaps there has been a change of plan?”

  Marcus was taken aback by the news. While it was possible more of the Raven Guard’s army auxiliaries were joining the battle—several were spread across the planet fighting independently in line with Corax’s strategy—it stretched credulity to think that he would not be informed of their presence on his battle front.

  “You are sure they are transmitting the appropriate call signs and codes?”

  “They are Raven Guard signals, vice-caesari. A few days old, but they clear our protocol servitors.”

  The vision of the many-headed serpent fluttered through Marcus’s thoughts and his gut writhed. It was more than coincidence, it had to be.

  “The signals are false, Antonius. Open fire.”

  “Brother? You want us to fire on allies? Have you gone mad?”

  Marcus considered the accusation for a moment, and drew no conclusion one way or the other. Perhaps he was mad, but perhaps not. If the arriving force were enemies they would have a clear attack into the rear of the Therions. The whole force would have to be pulled back to counter them. Though Marcus was not sure of his sanity, his instincts were screaming at him to be aware of deception. The primarch himself had given strict orders concerning comms security since the crisis at Ravendelve. Marcus was well within his authority.

  “Open fire on approaching forces. Traitors have breached our protocols. This is an enemy attack!”

  “Marcus...”

  “Open fire, or I will have you removed from command!”

  The comm went silent. Marcus waited nervously, fidgeting with the red sash across his chest, yet there was no doubt in his mind he had done the right thing. He watched as the enemy Titan’s void shields flared and failed under the pounding of the main cannon and converging fire from friendly Titans arriving from all directions.

  Nearly three minutes trickled past, during which Marcus was expecting to receive an irate communication from Branne, or perhaps even Lord Corax himself. He wiped the sweat from his face with the cuff of his jacket and stared at the screens, forcing himself to observe the ongoing battle.

  “Vice-caesari, reports of fighting on the western flank.” One of the tribunes delivered the message breathlessly, face reddened with shock. “Praefector Antonius has engaged an enemy force on the outskirts of Lavlin. Reserve phalanx and Titans are moving forwards to engage.”

  “I understand.” Marcus forced himself to remain calm. He let out a long breath and spoke in a measured tone. “Send word to all commanders. Focus on the assault. The threat is being dealt with. Any confirmation on the identity of the enemy?”

  “Nothing confirmed, vice-caesari, but initial visual reports indicate army units bearing the colours of the Alpha Legion.”

  Marcus nodded, the news unsurprising. Ever since their attempt to destroy the Raven Guard gene-seed two years earlier, Alpha Legion warriors and operatives had been dogging the primarch’s warriors, though Marcus had not faced them directly.

  “Send word to Legion command. Inform them that security protocols have been compromised. Recommend immediate evaluation of all forces and plans.”

  The comm beeped again in his ear.

  “By the Emperor, brother, why did you not tell us you suspected such an attack?” asked Antonius.

  What could Marcus say? None save for Pelon knew about the dream, and Marcus was not about to broadcast the fact to the entire army.

  “Simply prudence, brother, nothing more. Do you need additional forces?”

  “No, vice-caesari. The Titans and tanks are pushing them back already. Prudence be praised, eh?”

  “Something like that.”

  Weary but victorious, Marcus flopped onto his bed. It was past midnight and there were still forces fighting in the city but he could leave the mopping-up to the others. He had received word from Branne that the drop on the enemy bunker complex had been a complete success. Four thousand enemy had been killed and a number of traitor commanders had been captured, including a single Alpha Legionnaire who had been coordinating the defence. The Raven Guard commander had been earnest in his praise of Marcus and the efforts of his army and had, thankfully, made no mention of Marcus’s interception of the treacherous attack.

  “Do you wish to undress, vice-caesari?”

  Marcus had not noticed Pelon, who had been waiting patiently for his master’s return. The attendant stood by the bed, hands held out to
take Marcus’s jacket. His arm was heavily bandaged and there were bums on his hands. Marcus had heard reports of Pelon’s heroic actions in saving several crewmen from a fire on the weapons decks, and had commended him in his reports to the primarch. He sat up and shrugged off his coat.

  “A moment, Pelon,” he said as the manservant turned towards the wardrobe.

  “Master?”

  “Those scribblings you had... What did you do with them?”

  “I still have them, vice-caesari.” Pelon looked crestfallen. “Sorry, did you wish me to dispose of them?”

  “No, not yet,” Marcus said quietly. He thought of the day’s events and knew that he had to find hope from somewhere. He could not continue simply fighting each battle as it came. The emptiness inside would consume him even if the enemy did not kill him. The lightning field, the warp missile and, most of all, the Alpha Legion preyed on his thoughts. “Let me see them.”

  Pelon delved into his pocket and fished out the sheaf of texts, passing them to Marcus after a moment’s pause. Fingers tugging at an earlobe, the vice-caesari started to read.

  “Love the Emperor for He is the salvation of Mankind. Obey His words for He will lead you into the light of the future. Heed His wisdom for He will protect you from evil. Whisper his prayers with devotion for they will save your soul. Honour His servants for they speak in His voice. Tremble before His majesty for we all walk in His immortal shadow.

  07.13 hrs

  “Tell me of Karos, Pradeus. I understand you have walked upon its surface once before.” Daed’s voice echoed around the chapel, deep and booming, like the low rumble of an oncoming storm.

  Pradeus thought his own voice seemed thin and inadequate by comparison. He sucked his teeth—a nervous habit he’d developed in childhood and been unable to shake. “A long time ago, when the twin suns still burned, bright and bloody red in the sky. It was a lush planet, covered in vast savannahs and soaring Imperial cities. Now it is a dead world, captain. Little can survive its harsh climate. What human population there is ekes out a paltry existence in vast thermal hives, a warren of tunnels and sunken conurbations deep below ground.”