The Eye of Ezekiel

by C Z Dunn

  ‘Something’s not right here,’ Allix said, cresting the top of the wall and catching sight of the partially snow-obscured flyer.

  ‘You can say that again, Trooper Ketnemu,’ said Captain Kowalski, stepping into view from out of the snowstorm, flanked by the other nine members of his squad. ‘But then has anything ever been right with you or the rest of this bunch of freaks?’

  Grigori made to advance on Kowalski. Unexpectedly, it was Allix’s arm that rose up to bar his progress.

  ‘Speaking of freaks,’ Kowalski continued, ‘where is the giant? Or have you replaced him with Antilov’s whore?’

  Marita cursed in Honorian, the venom in her tone compensating for the fact that nobody could understand what she was saying. ‘My father is the governor of this world,’ she continued in Low Gothic. ‘When he hears of this–’

  ‘When he hears of this, Ketnemu and the rest of your friends will be put against a wall and shot. Desertion is one thing but commandeering an Imperial Navy vehicle to pursue a personal mission is something else entirely. As a superior officer I have no choice but to–’

  The only thing Kowalski had no choice in was throwing himself to the ground involuntarily as the Valkyrie behind him exploded without warning. One moment it was on the ground idling, the next it erupted in a bloom of bright orange fire and raucous noise, scattering needles of shrapnel in all directions. Two of Kowalski’s squad fell to the ground dead, the white snow beneath them turning crimson, as blood leaked from mortal head wounds. Over the sound of burning fuel and metal, something else could be heard. Engines.

  ‘Greenskins!’ Allix yelled, dropping to the ground, lasgun already shouldered.

  Two crudely constructed vehicles raced out of the dense black smoke, rear pintle-mounted guns cutting down yet more members of Kowalski’s squad still dazed from the blast. Both buggies looked as if they had been cobbled together from the spare parts of a hundred different donors. Even the wheels didn’t match, though the obvious difficulty that posed in terms of control and handling was seemingly ignored by the whooping drivers and the gunners behind them, who roared in approval as their shots found their mark.

  Allix’s squad returned fire, las-bolts bouncing harmlessly off armoured panels and solid tyres, before the buggies disappeared once more into the smoke and snowstorm, preparing to come around for another pass. The surviving members of Kowalski’s squad regrouped during the lull, readying themselves for the next attack.

  When it came, it came on two flanks.

  Rather than emerging from cover together as they had done the first time, the buggies approached from opposite sides, splitting the Guardsmen’s fire. Allix’s squad scattered as one of the ork vehicles headed straight for them, intent on mowing them down. As it zoomed past, Dmitri hit the firing stud on his flamer, bathing the vehicle with superheated promethium. It carried on going but could no longer take advantage of the obfuscation provided by the storm and the smoke, its blazing hull acting as a beacon.

  Kowalski’s squad were not so fortunate. Also peeling in different directions to avoid being hit by a speeding buggy, one of them lost his footing, falling face first into the recently settled powder. Spotting his predicament, the ork driver altered course slightly, crushing the stricken Guardsman beneath its wheels. It too sped off, blood from the dead Vostroyan’s pulped body leaving a trail as it went, retaliatory fire absorbed easily by its armoured hull.

  Both squads tracked the burning buggy, keeping alert for its partner the whole time. Dmitri was the first to spot it.

  ‘There!’ he yelled as the second ork vehicle burst from the smoke, all four wheels leaving the ground as it launched from a bank of drifted snow. The Vostroyans concentrated their fire on the gunner, who cut down yet more of Kowalski’s men with impunity. Allix did something else entirely.

  Waiting until the very last moment, Allix raised the flare gun and fired it at the driver at point-blank range before diving and rolling out of the way of the careening vehicle. The shot missed the driver, instead embedding in the armoured plating that protected the steering mechanism. The ork behind the wheel grunted in amusement. When the flare ignited and blinded it, those grunts turned to howls of rage. When it lost control of the buggy, crashing hard into the wreckage of the Valkyrie, its howls became screams, quickly drowned out by the noise of secondary explosions as the ork vehicle’s fuel tank ignited. The gunner staggered out of the flames, its entire upper body engulfed, only to be quickly cut down by las-fire.

  The rest of the squad whooped and hollered in celebration, Allix looked around in desperation. ‘Damn it! We’ve lost sight of the other one.’

  Everybody shut up, raised lasrifles aiming into the smoke and snow.

  ‘I hear an engine,’ Dmitri said, tracking the noise with his weapon. ‘Over there.’ He thrust his flamer forwards to indicate the source, which was growing louder by the second.

  Caught unawares, the remaining ork buggy broke cover from the opposite direction, getting several shots in before the Vostroyans could turn and react. Most of them missed their mark but Gaspar took a glancing hit to his shoulder, causing him to fumble his las­rifle. His brother was at his side in an instant, checking his condition and laying down covering fire.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Dmitri said. ‘The engine noise is coming from that direction.’

  He soon understood. Its engines parting the billowing black smoke, the Valkyrie carrying Kas hove into view, the big Vostroyan opening up with the heavy bolter as the flyer skimmed just a couple of metres from the ground. Unable to react quickly enough, the ork driver sped straight into the hail of shells, which shredded armour and flesh alike. As the beast struggled for control, one of the front wheels struck a bank of packed snow sending the buggy into a spin, which terminated in it flipping over. The gunner threw itself clear at the very last moment, but the driver – already badly wounded – did not fare so well, its neck snapping with a sickening crunch as the vehicle came to rest on its roof.

  ‘What kept you?’ Allix said as the Valkyrie touched down, allowing the Vostroyans and Marita to embark. Grigori and Gaspar were the last to board, the latter giving everybody a thumbs up to show that his wound wasn’t that serious.

  ‘Our friend here began to have second thoughts about coming back for you,’ Kas said, jerking a thumb towards the cockpit. ‘I convinced him that if he didn’t come back for you, he would never have any thoughts again.’

  Allix smiled before yelling, ‘Come on. Let’s get out of here,’ towards the pilot.

  The Valkyrie began to lift off but Mute grabbed hold of Allix’s cuff, pointing frantically out into the snow. Through the blizzard, the unmistakable outline of a Vostroyan hat and trench coat was sprinting towards the ascending flyer.

  ‘Hold on,’ Allix called to the pilot.

  As the figure got closer, his identity became apparent. It was Kowalski.

  ‘My mistake,’ Allix said. ‘Carry on, pilot.’

  ‘Don’t do this, Allix,’ Gaspar said, teeth gritted in pain. ‘Kowalski’s an arsehole but he’s not the enemy.’

  ‘He was quite happy to see us executed,’ Allix said. ‘My conscience is clear.’

  ‘We’re better than this,’ Dmitri said. ‘You’re better than this.’

  Allix looked around the troop hold; every set of eyes pleaded with her not to leave Kowalski behind.

  ‘Take her back down,’ Allix called out, reluctantly.

  His hat lost in his desperate flight to reach the Valkyrie, Kowalski leapt up to meet the flyer before its skids had even touched the ground. He was only half on board, legs hanging out of the side door. ‘Quick. Get out of here. It’s right behind me!’

  ‘What–?’

  The answer to Allix’s question was instantaneous. Arms aloft ready to smash down a killing blow onto Kowalski’s back, the ork gunner loomed large out of the snowstorm. Dmitri was the first to rea
ct, bathing the beast in promethium flame, stopping it in its tracks.

  ‘Go! Go! Go!’ Allix shouted, hauling Kowalski aboard, his trench coat starting to catch light in several places. As the Valkyrie rose quickly into the air, Kas peppered the burning ork with a barrage from the heavy bolter while Kowalski dropped and rolled. Satisfied that the flames were out, he lay there exhaling deeply until a hand was proffered to him.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Allix asked, lifting him to his feet.

  ‘I think so. Thank–’

  Allix’s fist connected hard with Kowalski’s jaw. Before he could react, he was half hanging out of the Valkyrie’s side door again, this time head first with Allix’s hands gripping his lapels.

  ‘Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t let go,’ Allix spat.

  ‘Please…’ Kowalski pleaded, the flesh on his face already reddening from the biting cold wind.

  ‘You were going to sell us out. We just saved the life of a man who was going to send us to the firing squad.’

  ‘I’m sorry…’

  ‘No. You’re more than sorry, Kowalski. You’re indebted to us now, and you can start repaying that debt by keeping our little side mission to yourself, do you understand?’ To reinforce the point, Allix’s grip on Kowalski’s lapels loosened.

  ‘Yes! Yes! I understand,’ he called, practically in tears.

  ‘Good. I’m glad we cleared that up,’ Allix said before punching Kowalski again, rendering him unconscious for the rest of the journey back to the capital.

  Part Two

  Chapter Nine

  Danatheum slew with impunity, Traitor’s Bane taking necron heads with each swipe and thrust. Alongside him, a score of Ravenwing laid down a wall of bolter and plasma fire, killing and re-killing the horde of undead metal warriors over and over. A deafening crescendo of weapons fire echoed from the dark stone walls of the vast cavern they battled within, illuminated by the sickly green strobe light of gauss discharge. Bolter barrels glowed red, such was the rate of fire, and plasma guns threatened to overheat and explode, but with the Dark Angels about to be overrun, the flood of necron reinforcements dried up, their numbers bolstered only by the few reanimating among the ruined shells of their ilk.

  ‘No survivors,’ Danatheum said grimly. Not that he needed to give voice to his order; black-armoured Space Marines were already picking their way through the inert golden constructs, finishing off any that stirred with a point-blank shot to the head or a combat blade through the skull.

  ‘At least somebody is seeing some action,’ Ezekiel said, his flickering form drifting from the edge of the subterranean chamber to stand alongside the Grand Master of the Librarius. Danatheum ran a gauntleted hand along the edge of his sword, wiping necron circuitry from the blade and checking it for nicks and imperfections.

  ‘The orks still refuse to attack?’ Danatheum said, sheathing Traitor’s Bane and turning his attentions to his bolt pistol. ‘There are some among your strike force’s command structure who believe that the greenskins still linger in the void because they’re scared of facing the psychotic blue-armoured Space Marine who beats them to death with his bare hands.’

  Ezekiel furrowed his brow. He had not made contact with the Grand Master since he had received the order to divert to Honoria. Somebody else must have told Danatheum about his actions upon making planetfall. That could only have been one brother from among their number.

  ‘Turmiel,’ Ezekiel said through gritted teeth.

  ‘I have communed with Lexicanium Turmiel but he mentioned nothing of your savagery. In fact he seemed reticent to talk about you at all,’ Danatheum said, removing the clip from his pistol and replacing it with a fresh one. ‘That boy will go far, mark my words. He can keep secrets almost as well as you can, Ezekiel.’

  ‘I don’t understand. If it wasn’t Turmiel, then who?’

  ‘There are other ways of communicating that do not require psychic gifts, brother.’ Danatheum pointed to a servitor marching monotonously through the underground chamber, a long-range vox-unit grafted to its back. ‘Both Master Zadakiel and Chaplain Puriel reached out to me with concerns over your actions. Not just the incident with the ork but your inability to foresee when the Sword of Caliban would emerge from the warp. I am starting to think I erred when I declared you fit to rejoin your brothers.’

  ‘What I did to the ork was merely to prove a point,’ Ezekiel said. ‘I was showing Brother Balthasar that a Librarian has other means of defeating a foe than solely his mind. If my show of force has instilled fear in the greenskins then that is merely a bonus.’

  Four days had passed since the Dark Angels landed on Honoria and in that time the orks had shown no intention of launching their assault. Even the trickle of unfortunate and foolhardy greenskins crashing onto the planet had ceased entirely. Ezekiel had heard the whispers among the ranks of the Fifth Company, that word of his brutality had made it back to the ork fleet and they were now afraid to set foot on the planet because of him. The Dark Angels commanders on Honoria – Ezekiel included – subscribed to another theory, one put forward by Serpicus and the mind-atrophied tech-priest who never left his side: the orks were merely massing numbers. They already had enough forces in orbit to conquer the planet, but they seemed to be waiting until they had an army big enough to not only annihilate the defenders but utterly lay waste to the world. Though they had yet to encounter the ork general leading the invasion, the Dark Angels already knew that they had underestimated not only his tactical acumen but his potential for barbarity too.

  ‘So how do you explain your misreading of when you would arrive at Honoria? I know you too well, Ezekiel. You either foresee events or you do not. You don’t make errors when it comes to divining the tides of the warp,’ Danatheum said, mag-locking the pistol to his armoured thigh. ‘There is something wrong with you and I demand to know what it is.’

  Not for the first time since he had become a Dark Angel, and certainly not for the last, Ezekiel offered up a half-truth to one of his brothers to obscure actuality.

  ‘I… I have been troubled of late, Grand Master,’ Ezekiel said, inclining his head forwards so that his psychic hood almost entirely covered the projection of his face. ‘Brother Turmiel’s divinations have revealed an ill portent that he chose to share with me. I do not survive the battle on Honoria. I die here.’

  ‘The boy’s readings are wrong as often as they are right,’ Danatheum scoffed, almost amused. ‘What do your readings tell you, Ezekiel?’

  ‘I have been unable to foresee what happens on Honoria,’ Ezekiel replied.

  ‘So even if Turmiel’s prophecy is accurate, what of it? Are you telling me that you fear dying, Ezekiel? Because if you are, then what happened to you on Korsh has left scars much deeper than those that cover your body.’

  ‘Of course I do not fear death, but nor do I welcome it,’ Ezekiel said, his head flicking up sharply so that his psychic doppelganger looked the Grand Master squarely in the eyes. ‘What troubles me is that I will let down my brother Dark Angels, that I will not be there to stand shoulder to shoulder with them when they need me most.’

  ‘Do I detect a touch of hubris there, Epistolary? That Fifth Company are doomed to failure unless the great Ezekiel is by their side?’ Danatheum bared his teeth. Ezekiel was not sure whether he was smiling. ‘I think your assault on the ork, the sheer barbarism of it, was a manifestation of your unease. You were overcompensating.’

  Ezekiel hesitated briefly. ‘Maybe you are right, Grand Master. I believe that I will not be there for my brothers in the final reckoning so I am making up for it in advance.’ A dark thought occurred to Ezekiel. Perhaps he was overcompensating not for his belief that Turmiel was right – Danatheum’s assertion that the Lexicanium’s predictions were right half the time was a touch generous – but for the loss of his own powers of foresight. Maybe the show of ruthlessness and brutality with the ork was as m
uch for his benefit as it was Balthasar’s.

  With the last of the necrons despatched and the cavern secured, the Ravenwing commenced their advance through the next rat run of tunnels.

  ‘One thing I am certain of is that the orks will attack eventually. If you continue to display the lack of control you’ve been exhibiting so far on your mission then Turmiel’s prophecy will be self-fulfilling. If you are going to die on Honoria, so be it – many a Dark Angel has fallen in less auspicious circumstances – but do not rush to your grave, brother.’ Danatheum followed the black-armoured Dark Angels filing out of the chamber. As he reached the entrance to the narrow tunnel, he turned back to Ezekiel and made the salute of the Lion. ‘May the Lion and the Emperor watch over you.’

  Ezekiel returned neither the salute nor the platitude, his aetheric duplicate fading rapidly in the subterranean gloom.

  ‘Shipmaster Selenaz to all ground forces.’

  The voice crackled harshly through the vox-bead in Ezekiel’s ear, rudely snapping him out of his psychic reverie.

  ‘The ork fleet is on the move and headed your way. Ground invasion imminent,’ she continued. There was an urgency to Selenaz’s tone but it could not be mistaken for panic.

  ‘Hit them from the rear,’ Zadakiel said, his voice buzzing with distortion. ‘Thin their numbers in the void to give us a fighting chance down here.’

  ‘Affirmative,’ came the reply from Selenaz. Ezekiel was on the move before the bead in his ear fell silent. Bursting from the windowless chamber housed in the thick walls of Aurelianum that he had used for his communion, Ezekiel headed for the stairway that led to the battlements, a sea of Imperial Guardsmen parting as the towering figure passed through them.

  In short order he was atop the walls, the grey skies of Honoria glowing red as countless ork craft burned up upon entry into the upper atmosphere. The great guns were already in action, booming every couple of seconds as they blew the ork craft from the sky, causing black streaks of smoke to appear like tears on the fiery horizon. Had the circumstances been different, Ezekiel would have marvelled at the sheer efficiency of the huge turrets, perhaps even registered that he detected no presence in the warp of any operatives behind those thick armoured walls, but he and his Dark Angels brothers were on a war footing now and his concerns lay elsewhere.