The Ultramarines Omnibus

by Graham McNeill

  ‘I cannot,’ said de Corte. ‘We are too far beyond them. It will be impossible to turn in time. We are manoeuvring to a position behind the hive ship as planned.’

  ‘Do it!’ snapped Kryptman, hammering his cane on the deck. ‘Do it now!’

  Kryptman spun to face the black uniformed Jaemar, the ship’s commissar. ‘You! Make him turn this Emperor forsaken ship around and support these brave warriors.’

  Jaemar unholstered his pistol, cowed by Kryptman’s reputation.

  ‘The admiral is correct, lord inquisitor, commissar,’ said de Corte’s flag lieutenant, Jex Viert, moving to stand between Jaemar and his admiral. He placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, the threat clear. ‘The image you are seeing is from our

  port surveyors. Even were the order given now, we will not be able to turn quickly enough to matter. In this respect, the Mortifactors are on their own.’

  But Jex Viert was wrong.

  CAPTAIN PAYNE, ABOARD the wounded Mariatus, shouted, ‘For the Emperor!’ as he gripped the arms of his command chair. The hive ship loomed large in the viewing bay and he knew that even if he survived this battle, he would be summoned before a court martial for disobeying a direct order. But with two of his ships put out of action by this monstrosity, he would have risked much more to avenge their gallant crews.

  The Mariatus shuddered as blazing gouts of plasma fired from the hive ship drooled over her hull. Her guns hammered the alien monster, blowing chunks of its armoured carapace spinning into space and leaving a trail of seeping wounds along its mountainous body.

  Ahead, he saw the graceful form of the Mortifactors’ ship locked together with a thrashing beast with claws as big as a Battle Titan that raked its side and tore great swathes of its armour away. More bio-ships surrounded her, ready to sweep down and attack. Despite this, the massive cannon mounted on its prow continued to fire on the hive ship and though the heroism of the Space Marines was truly magnificent, there could only be one outcome.

  Well, not if Payne and the Mariatus had anything to say about it.

  URIEL RACED TO the bridge, hearing the desperate vox-traffic travelling between the ships of the fleet, dismayed at the sheer carnage unleashed. His armour was blackened and his leg flared painfully as he ran. The tyranid creatures were all dead and the damaged areas of the ship were finally secured.

  He couldn’t believe what the Mortifactors had done. Breaking the battle line and charging forward to engage the hive ship at close quarters was about as far from the teachings of the primarch as it was possible to get.

  He mounted the steps to the bridge three at a time, sheathing his bloodied sword and sprinting through the arched entrance to the command bridge. Lord Admiral Tiberius turned as he entered, his face set in a mask of controlled fury.

  ‘Uriel, thank the Emperor,’ said the master of the Vae Victus.

  ‘The boarders are repelled,’ reported Uriel, staring in horror at the viewing bay as the Mortifactors’ ship was slowly engulfed by the tyranid craft. Its bombardment cannon continued to fire, even as it was slowly being taken apart.

  ‘What have they done?’ he whispered.

  Tiberius shook his head, words failing the ancient admiral. Then the battered shape of a Sword class frigate hove into view, trailing blazing plumes of venting plasma and golden streamers of sparks and freezing oxygen.

  ‘Guilliman’s blood, look!’ shouted Philotas, as the prow of the Mariatus swung around and ploughed straight into the heart of the creature attacking the Mortis Probati.

  The hull of the Imperial vessel buckled as it struck the hardened carapace of the tyranid creature, but its forward momentum could not be denied and it cracked through the flesh of the beast, spewing its bodily fluids all across the hull of the Space Marine vessel. It thrashed in its death agonies, releasing the strike cruiser and tumbled away with the Mariatus embedded deep within its body.

  As valiant as the sacrifice of the Mariatus had been, there were tyranid ships aplenty to finish off the Mortis Probati, but before any could react to its unexpected survival, she unleashed a final shot from her bombardment cannon that struck a knotted growth tucked away at the rear of the hive ship. Bright liquid spurted from the wound like an enormous geyser and a visible shudder ran the length of the hive ship as the main synapse link to its attendant bio-ships was severed.

  KRYPTMAN SAW THE great wound spew the hive ship’s lifeblood into space and the listless drifting of the drone ships that surrounded it. His eyes flickered from bio-ship to bio-ship as he saw them pause in their relentless attack.

  ‘Their connection to the hive mind is severed!’ yelled Kryptman, spinning to face de Corte so quickly he almost fell. ‘We must attack before it is restored! Immediately!’

  Admiral Bregant de Corte nodded to Lieutenant Viert, who still stood between him and Jaemar. ‘Mr Viert, order all ships forward. Let’s close and finish this beast.’

  WHILE THE TYRANID ships drifted in confusion, the captains of the Sword of Retribution, the Luxor, the Yermetov and the Argus all closed as quickly as possible, their gun decks loading and firing as fast as their crew chiefs could whip their gun gangs. The Vae Victus and Arx Praetora squadron swooped in and tore the underside of the tyranid vessel apart in a flurry of well-aimed fire. Fusillade after fusillade of explosive shells and lasblasts hammered the tyranid ship, pulverising vast sections of its carapace and spraying jets of ichor in all directions.

  Feeder tentacles vainly attempted to swat away the attacking craft, but their swipes were drunken and uncoordinated. The smaller organisms protecting the hive ship threw off their lethargy, returning to their basic, instinctual desires, but by then it was too late. The Imperial ships were in textbook positions to deliver the deathblow to nearly every one of the drone ships. As though on range practice at Bakka, the Sword of Retribution bracketed one tyranid ship after another, annihilating them with powerful broadsides.

  The battered Mortis Probati limped towards the listing hive ship and, in respect to her crew’s reckless heroism, every other ship in the fleet hung back, allowing Captain Gaiseric to take the killing shot.

  Fluid and fleshy entrails drifted from the mortally wounded beast, its alien lifeblood pumping into space from ruptured arteries and ruined organs. Those tentacles that had not been blasted off twitched spasmodically, and through a great rent. In its upper carapace a vast, pulsing organ could be seen, labouring to keep the beast alive.

  A single shell from the strike cruiser’s bombardment cannon punched through the tough, fleshy outer layer of the hive ship’s heart and detonated within its massive ventricle chambers. The explosion blasted the organ to shredded tissue and with a final, juddering spasm, the hive ship died.

  ADMIRAL DE CORTE breathed a sigh of relief and his bridge crew cheered as they watched the death of the hive ship, its massive heart utterly destroyed by the Mortifactors. De Corte knew he should be furious with Captain Gaiseric for breaking the battle line, but could not deny the fact that his actions had been key to the tyranids’ defeat. They went against everything taught at the naval academies, but de Corte knew that the truly great captains were the ones who could sometimes break all the teachings and still emerge victorious.

  He didn’t yet know if Captain Gaiseric fell into that category, or whether he had just been hugely lucky. Publicly, he would espouse the former, but privately, he suspected the latter. Had it not been for the valiant, but ultimately wasteful sacrifice of Captain Payne’s ship, then the corpses of the Mortifactors would even now be joining the listing body of the hive ship. Watching the massive vessel haemorrhaging into the darkness, he mouthed a short prayer to the battle spirits that invested his ship, thanking them for their faithful service in this fight.

  ‘Make a note, Mr Viert,’ said de Corte. ‘Commission a new victory seal to be added to our glorious ship’s honour banner.’

  ‘Aye sir, and perhaps a service of thanks?’

  ‘Yes, a service of thanks to be held in the ship’s chapels at ve
spers for all crew. Thank you, Mr Viert.’

  The admiral linked his hands behind his back and returned to his command lectern as Inquisitor Kryptman shuffled along the nave to join him.

  ‘A great victory,’ said the admiral, loud enough to be heard by his entire bridge crew.

  Kryptman nodded. ‘A victory, yes. It remains to be seen whether it is a great one.’

  The admiral leaned in close to Kryptman and whispered, ‘You and I both know that this engagement has cost us dearly, but it will avail us nothing if we allow our crews to know how costly. I would appreciate your support in this matter.’

  Kryptman looked ready to snap back at de Corte, but nodded curtly. ‘You are correct, Admiral de Corte. Morale is crucial at this point.’

  De Corte accepted Kryptman’s acquiescence gracefully and began issuing the orders that would see his fleet disengage from Barbarus Prime and fall back to the orbital docks of Chordelis.

  For the viewing bay was filled with a multitude of tyranid creatures rising from their feeding: a collection of hive ships and drones that dwarfed the group they had just destroyed. The Battle of Barbarus had been won, but in the face of such a vast fleet, it would be folly to fight again without first regrouping and rearming.

  This had been a great victory, but it was just the tip of the iceberg. The real battles were yet to come.

  SIX

  LEARCHUS GAZED UP at the sloping wall that stretched to either side of him for nearly five kilometres towards the valley’s flanks. Despite his disappointment in the manner in which this world upheld the ideals of Ultramar, he was pleased at the strength of its construction. Worthy of Macragge itself, he thought. Ten metres high and sheathed in smooth stone, the wall glittered like white marble in the low sun. A small revetment protected its golden gate and an icy moat drained below the level of the road into a sluggish river that wound its way to the plain below.

  A foaming waterfall, pouring from the centre of the wall, roared down a copper channel embedded in its centre, fed the moat and filled the surrounding air with a chill mist of icy water. The morning was bitingly cold and his breath feathered before him, though his power armour isolated him from the worst of the frosty air.

  Beside him stood a shivering officer of the Tarsis Ultra Citizens’ Defence Legion, his blue, fur-collared coat and white peaked cap immaculately clean. In addition to his dress uniform, he wore a grey scarf around his lower jaw and thick

  mittens, thrust deep in his coat’s baggy pockets. His name was Major Aries Satria and he commanded the armed forces of this city in the name of the Fabricator Marshal. His iron breastplate was polished to a silver sheen and the dress sword buckled to his gleaming leather belt shone like gold.

  ‘When winter comes, does this moat freeze?’ asked Learchus.

  ‘This far out, yes,’ nodded Major Satria, ‘but as you get further into the city, the heat gets trapped by the valley sides and keeps them from turning to ice.’

  ‘How far in do they freeze?’ pressed Learchus.

  ‘The moats at the first and second walls always freeze, and sometimes the third, but it really depends of the severity of the winter.’

  Learchus nodded, setting off for the gate in the wall. ‘What is the forecast for this coming winter?’

  ‘The meteorologists say it will be a tough one,’ said Satria, hurrying to keep up with Learchus, ‘but then they always say that, don’t they?’

  The winters on Macragge had taught Learchus how tough a winter could be on soldiers, and he knew that the war could not have come at a worse time for this world. The cold weather had caused them problems already, with men reporting frostbite and other cold-related injuries. Corps-men from the Logres regiment were instructing the men of the Krieg and local defence forces how to cope with such severe conditions, but it would take time for such practices to be adopted.

  The two men crossed the moat on a crowded steel bridge. Its arching spars were limned with hoar frost and drifting floes of ice were already forming in the water below. Learchus had ordered the bridge to be rigged with explosives so that it could be destroyed upon the first attacks, though he could see that it would not be long before the moat was a solid sheet of thick ice, as easily traversable as this bridge. Nevertheless, standard practice was to destroy all approaches that the enemy could make use of and thus he had ordered it prepared for destruction.

  But while the bridge still stood, many of the citizens of Erebus were making good use of it. Its metal deck vibrated with the passage of scores of vehicles, which rumbled past Learchus and Satria in the direction of the main spaceport below. All manner of vehicles, from gleaming limousines to battered agri-transports, streamed through the wall’s main gate, each crammed with people carrying as many of their possessions as they could fit inside.

  They stepped from the bridge onto a rutted road caked in grit that led to one of the wall’s few postern gates. Tightly packed trucks filled with frightened people passed them and the sudden roar of a nearby starship engine made conversation impossible for a few seconds. Both Learchus and Satria turned, watching a cargo vessel rise from the port facilities and climb into the pale sky on smoky trails. It was the eighth vessel to leave Tarsis Ultra this morning and, judging by the crowds pressing around the walls of the spaceport, would only be one of many.

  ‘It is unseemly that your people do not stay to fight,’ said Learchus, turning back to watch the labouring men below. ‘Where is their spirit? Their world is threatened and they flee before the enemy,’ He shook his head in disappointment. ‘No citizen of Ultramar would desert their homeworld. I believed the news of the great victory at Barbarus Prime would have put some steel in these people’s spines, but it only seems to have weakened them.’

  ‘People are frightened,’ shrugged Satria. ‘And I can’t say I blame them. If even half of what I’ve heard about these aliens is true, then I can understand their desire to get away.’

  ‘Given the chance, would you flee?’ asked Learchus.

  ‘No,’ admitted Satria with a smile, ‘but I swore an oath to defend this world and I don’t break my word.’

  ‘That is good to know, Major Satria. The warrior spirit of Ultramar is in you.’

  Satria beamed with pride at the compliment as they eased past a madly revving supply truck. Laden with two-dozen frightened citizens of Erebus, its back wheels had sunk into the churned soil of the road and, behind it, angry horns blared continuously, as though their owners believed sheer volume of noise alone could shift the immobilised truck. Fountains of mud and chunks of grit from its spinning back wheels sprayed the limousine behind the truck, cracking its windscreen and leaving streaks of bare metal where they ripped across its pristine bodywork.

  The driver of the truck continued gunning the engine, oblivious to the damage he was causing, gasoline rainbows forming in the clouds of filthy blue oilsmoke jetting from the track’s exhaust. The limousine’s passenger, a tall man with a slicked widow’s peak and a prominent hooked nose, climbed from the back of the vehicle and began screaming at the truck driver, delivering choice insults regarding his parents’ promiscuity and bodily hygiene.

  Learchus stepped forward to berate the man for his uncivil behaviour and coarse language, but Major Satria quickly shook his head saying, ‘Best let me handle this one, Sergeant Learchus, I know this fellow. A gentle touch required, I think.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Learchus reluctantly.

  Major Satria banged on the cab of the truck and made a chopping motion across his throat to the driver. Immediately, its engine shut down and the noise of the protesting motor faded to a throaty rumble as Satria made his way towards the limousine.

  ‘Come now, Mr van Gelder,’ said Satria, nimbly hopping across the mud of the road to address the limousine’s passenger. There’s no need for such language.’

  The tall man drew himself up to his full height and tucked his thumbs into the pockets of his long frock coat. A caustic sneer spread across his features as Satria approached
.

  ‘Did you see what that imbecile has done?’ he snapped.

  ‘I did indeed, Mr van Gelder, and if you’ll just bear with us, we’ll get you on your way as soon as we can find some planks to put under the back wheels of this track and get it out of the mud.’

  ‘I want that wretched driver’s name so that I can be properly compensated upon my return to Tarsis Ultra.’

  ‘I assure you that I shall attend to the matter, sir,’ soothed Satria. ‘Now, if you’ll just return to the lovely heated interior of your limousine, we’ll soon have you out of the city.’

  Before van Gelder could reply, a groan of metal sounded from behind the major. Satria turned to see Sergeant Learchus effortlessly lifting the back end of the fully laden truck from the sucking mud and push it forwards to more solid ground. The sergeant dropped the truck to the road and almost immediately it sped off to the spaceport.

  Satria had heard of the great strength of Space Marines, but had thought that most were overblown exaggerations. Now he knew better.

  The sergeant’s face was thunderous as he marched back along the road towards van Gelder.

  He pointed at the crowd that had gathered and the line of vehicles extending from the gate, shouting, ‘Enough! This stops now. There will be no more departures from Tarsis Ultra. Get back in your vehicles, turn them around and get back within the city walls where you belong!’

  Satria grimaced at Learchus’s lack of tact and even van Gelder was momentarily taken aback. But he was not a man to be cowed easily.

  ‘Do you know who I am?’ he blustered.

  ‘No,’ said Learchus, dismissively. ‘Nor do I care. Now turn this vehicle around before I do it myself.’

  Having seen the Space Marine’s strength demonstrated upon the track, van Gelder was under no illusions concerning Learchus’s ability to do such a thing, and reluctantly climbed into the back of his limousine.