Ultramarines

by Graham McNeill

  ‘This is Cassius,’ he said over the comm. His eyes roved over the facade of the warehouse, finding the identifying plate next to the wide doors. ‘Possible sighting, warehouse three.’

  ‘Squad Dacia will be with you in two minutes, Brother-Chaplain,’ came the first reply.

  ‘Negative, sergeant,’ replied the Chaplain. ‘Continue to sweep the north sector. I will call for assistance if required.’

  Rather than follow the infiltrator up the ladder, where it might be lying in wait on the roof, Cassius entered the warehouse through a side door. It was dim inside, the open space lit only by a few narrow windows at ground level. Activating his thermal view, the Chaplain looked left and right, seeking any anomalous heat signatures. The warehouse floor was almost empty, only a few empty crates stacked along one wall. Metal steps ran up to the upper storey, ten metres above his head, where the clerks’ offices would be located.

  Still checking the shadows as he advanced, Cassius crossed the freight floor towards the stairway. He was aware of the loud thudding of his boots on the ferrocrete, but there was nothing he could do about that. Reaching the bottom of the steps, the Chaplain holstered his pistol and drew out a frag grenade from his belt.

  ‘Ground floor clear,’ he told his warriors. ‘Continuing to upper level.’

  Thumb poised over the primer rune of the grenade, he ascended quickly, taking the steps three at a time, the cavernous warehouse ringing with his heavy tread.

  He stopped just a few steps from the top and tossed the grenade ahead, suspecting that the lictor might be poised to attack as he emerged from below. Two seconds later, the warehouse echoed again with the crack of its detonation, shrapnel clattering against the walls and floor, the top of the stairs illuminated by the flash of the blast.

  Hurling himself up the last few steps, Cassius came out onto the upper floor with bolt pistol readied again, the glow of his crozius bouncing back from thin walls peppered with grenade shrapnel. Spinning on his heel, he checked the passageway behind him but saw nothing in the gloom. By the gleam of his weapon, Cassius navi­gated his way towards the north side of the building, glancing into cubicle windows as he passed, finding nothing. He came to a ladder leading up to a small access panel in the ceiling. As far as he could tell, the hatch had not been opened for some time. There was rust around the lock-bolt and undisturbed cobwebs on the ladder.

  It did not mean for certain that the lictor was still on the roof, though it seemed increasingly likely. There could be other ways into the warehouse from above. Still on his guard, Cassius continued his circumnavigation of the offices, the outer wall on his right-hand side.

  Coming to a place where another corridor met the outer walkway from the centre of the building, Cassius paused once more, checking each approach. As he glanced behind, he thought for a moment that he saw movement in the darkness – a smudge of deeper red amongst the mist of heat left by his armour.

  Suddenly feeling that he was being observed, Cassius did not look back to verify what he had glimpsed, but instead stepped into the central corridor. He knew that the lictor would attack as soon as it thought it had been discovered, but until then would stalk its prey for the most opportune moment. At such close quarters, the Chaplain knew that the lictor would be able to strike him down in an instant if it had the chance to attack. Somehow he needed to gain the upper hand, to manoeuvre into a position from which he would be the hunter.

  Stepping backwards at the same steady pace he had been walking before, Cassius moved away from the junction, pistol raised towards the outer passageway. He knew he would not get much warning of the impending attack. The lictor’s skin was covered with chameleonic scales that blended with the environment, and its exoskeleton was capable of masking all but a small fraction of its body heat. Sound would be the best detector, but with the whole warehouse quietly thrumming with the pounding of the nearby cataract, it would be almost impossible to detect the scrape of a clawed foot on the floor or the rubbing together of chitinous plates, even with the Chaplain’s superhuman hearing and the aid of his armour’s autosenses.

  Lictors had been evolved by the tyranids to be stealth incarnate, and their oversized claws made them experts at ambush attacks, slicing apart their victims before they even knew they were in danger. Such a being was a threat to even a power-armoured Space Marine, but it would be even more deadly if it remained undiscovered and was able to attack whilst the Ultramarines were dealing with the first wave of assault organisms that were surely following the pheromone trail it had left in its wake.

  It is behind me again.

  The thought came to Cassius from nowhere, a message sent to his reasoning mind from some animalistic, instinctual part of his brain.

  He turned and fired without questioning the moment of intuition, the muzzle flare of the bolt pistol illuminating the monstrous form of the lictor as it stretched up to its full height, nearly a metre taller than the Space Marine. Its main attack claws were drawn back overhead, serrated edges glinting sharply in the blaze of light. Its face was barely two metres from Cassius, faceted black eyes gleaming with dozens of tiny reflections of the Chaplain. Its maw was a bundle of tendrils writhing like a serpents’ nest, tasting the air. Hand-like claws flexed at the ends of its lower appendages, while sharply taloned feet were curling, digging into the stone of the floor to increase the beast’s purchase for the killing blow.

  The bolt hit the lictor in the left side of its abdomen, blowing out a hand-sized chunk of chitin and flesh.

  Even as he fired a second shot, Cassius dived to his left, crashing through a flimsy door, a moment before the lictor’s scythe-like claws flashed down in an instantaneous reaction to the Chaplain’s attack. One claw smashed into the ferrocrete where Cassius had been standing; the other caught him a glancing blow on his right greave, scoring a jagged gash through the black armour, exposing the suspensors and stabilising gyros within.

  Falling to his back, Cassius had his pistol pointed at the doorway within a double beat of his hearts, ready to fire again.

  The doorway remained empty for several seconds, but Cassius knew better than to believe the lictor had fled. Its presence known, it was biologically programmed to finish the hunt, eliminating all witnesses to ensure it could disappear once more. Cassius had seen such attacks first hand on Macragge and Ichar IV and half a dozen other worlds, and read treatises detailing the same from others who had faced the tyranids. He would not be fooled by a few moments’ pause.

  Then the lictor came on, ripping a hole through the wall to Cassius’s left rather than coming through the doorway, scattering chunks of plasterite across the room. The tyranid creature burst into the clerk’s chamber at the heart of an expanding cloud of dust, jabbing wildly with its scythe-talons, ripping gashes across the floor.

  Surging to his feet, Cassius narrowly avoided the next attack, the illuminator’s desk behind him detonating in a shower of wooden splinters, coloured inks splashing across the floor and walls. The Chaplain swung his crozius, one wing tip of the powered mace’s head burying itself into the wound opened by the Chaplain’s first shot.

  The lictor made no noise as it spasmed in pain, lashing out with its lower set of claws, tearing three lines across Cassius’s right shoulder plate. Twisting the crozius arcanum deeper into the lictor’s innards, the Chaplain pushed himself closer to his foe, underneath the deadly sweep of the beast’s upper limbs. He brought up his pistol and fired into the cluster of feeder tentacles pawing at his helmet. The lictor’s head split apart from within, spraying thick ichor and globules of brain matter across Cassius’s armour.

  Still off balance, Cassius found himself borne to the ground by the weight of the dying lictor, the servos of his armour whining in protest for a moment before he crashed sideways into the bare ferro­crete. He lay there, pinned down by the lictor’s corpse, the floor beneath him vibrating gently from the roar of the cataract while the creature abov
e twitched and spasmed.

  With a grunt, Cassius managed to heave himself onto his front, pushing the lictor’s body aside. Gaining his feet, the Chaplain fired three more rounds into the creature, targeting the brain stem, secondary neuroprocessor at the base of the spine and the ventricle chambers within its abdominal cavity.

  ‘Enemy destroyed,’ he announced over the comm. ‘Be vigilant. The first attack wave will not be far behind.’

  Chapter IV

  As day became night, a total of four lictors were discovered and destroyed inside the Cordus Via perimeter, though not before accounting for the death of two Ultramarines and the serious injury of three others. Brother-Apothecary Valion converted a floor of workers’ dorms into a field surgery, located close to the centre of the settlement, but his ministrations were not enough to keep the wounded brethren battle-ready. The dead were relieved of their battle gear and ammunition and along with the wounded were taken by Thunderhawk back to the strike cruiser. Cassius marked the names of the fallen in his battle litanies that night, and reminded the rest of the strike force that there was no greater honour than to die in battle against the enemies of the Emperor.

  With the sky swiftly darkening, Cassius faced a thorny decision: whether to bring the outer patrols closer to Cordus Via or not. The further the patrolling squads – three of them in total – were from the settlement, the more warning and information the main force would receive in the event of a tyranid assault. Counter to this, the likelihood of any patrol surviving such a first encounter was greatly reduced if they were beyond the range of swift support from their battle-brethren.

  Cassius and Dacia discussed the matter in person. They met in a small outbuilding attached to the refuelling depot, which Cassius had dedicated as a battlefield chapelry. One of the Chapter’s battle banners was laid over a cluster of tables and such small relics as Cassius had been able to bring with him were placed on this makeshift altar: a silver goblet that Roboute Guilliman had drunk from during his first meeting with the Emperor; the knife of Antonius Galeus, a much-revered Chapter Master of the Ultramarines; a second-revision copy of the Codex Astartes; and a claw from a tyranid hive tyrant, gilded and engraved by Cassius himself, taken as a token of the victory at Macragge.

  The two of them stood on opposite sides of the altar, and addressed each other over their external speakers, not wishing to air their disagreement over the comm net. Cassius had granted audience to the veteran sergeant in recognition of his status as second­-­in-command, but had made it plain that he was all but set on keeping the patrols at long range.

  ‘There is no advantage in keeping our patrols so far from assistance,’ complained Dacia, leaning forwards onto the altar. ‘If we are to keep Cordus Via from being overrun, every warrior must account for the highest toll of the enemy. Our patrols will be swiftly destroyed by any large tyranid force, for little advantage to our strategy.’

  ‘We cannot risk the enemy coming upon us unseen,’ countered Cassius. He was irked that Dacia was second-guessing his strategy in this way, though it was the role of a veteran sergeant to provide guidance and advice to his commanders. ‘We also cannot afford the tyranids discovering some other route to Plains Fall – one that bypasses our position here.’

  ‘So it is your intent that our patrols will be discovered, and in that way attract the tyranids to Cordus Via?’ Dacia shook his head slightly and there was incredulity in the metal-tinged voice that came from his helm. ‘You would use our battle-brothers as bait?’

  ‘A harsh assessment, brother-sergeant,’ replied Cassius. ‘I have no intent to allow our patrols to be killed. They will withdraw immediately upon contacting the enemy, bringing the tyranids down the highway and into the strongest part of our defence.’

  ‘I am not convinced that we could not achieve such an end in other ways, without the attendant risk to our patrol squads.’

  ‘If you have a suggestion to make, sergeant, I will be prepared to give it audience.’

  Before Dacia could voice his alternative plan, the comm crackled with a priority signal, cutting across the routine report transmissions that had been flowing back and forth between the Space Marine squads.

  ‘Light source from the east, Brother-Chaplain,’ said Sergeant Capilla. The sergeant led one of the devastator squads stationed atop the highest dormitory block. ‘I estimate they are five kilometres away and approaching.’

  ‘Understood, brother-sergeant,’ said Cassius. ‘Sergeant Dacia and I will join you shortly.’

  The Chaplain walked around the altar and gestured for Dacia to follow.

  ‘I believe we have a third option to resolve our difference of opinion,’ said Cassius, switching back to external address. ‘A lure that will ensure the tyranids attack here, but will not place our patrols in unnecessary danger.’

  From their vantage point atop the tenement, the Ultramarines could clearly see the approaching Battle Titans. Beams from four massive searchlights blazed across the fields, mounted sixty metres above the ground atop the carapaces of the walking war engines. Smaller spotlights illuminated the windswept crops beneath the advancing behemoths, while the helmet-like command bridge of each Titan was lit from within, viewing canopies glaring like ruby eyes in the darkness.

  With ponderous strides, the Warlords covered the ground effortlessly, stepping over walls and farmsteads without hesitation. Canals and irrigation ditches proved no obstacle either, bypassed by the massive legs of the Titans. The dull thump of each immense footfall could be heard more clearly, and silhouettes resolved into more detail, as the Warlords came closer.

  Each was a humanoid metallic beast, hunched over beneath an armoured carapace of adamantium and plasteel. Two gigantic weapons were mounted upon the back of each Titan and hung from hardpoints either side of chamfered bodies where a man’s arms would be. Triangular banners hung from these arm weapons, flapping and swaying with every stride, and another standard was slung on thick chains between the legs of each Titan.

  The machine on the left, Victorix, was armed with two multiple rockets launchers atop its carapace, each rocket held within the gigantic cylinders containing several dozen warheads capable of obliterating entire companies of infantry and smashing armoured vehicles. Victorix’s right arm was a squat, thick weapon surrounded by coiled pipes and bundles of cables: a plasma cannon powerful enough to level buildings. Its left was a multi-barrelled gatler that could spew forth a stream of titanium-tipped shells each several times larger than a Space Marine.

  On the right, Dominatus Rex sported two such gatling cannons on its broad back. Beneath the crenellated carapace were slung two long-barrelled laser weapons that had been brought up into a locked position either side of the Titan’s head-shaped ­cockpit. Known as volcano cannons, the fifteen-metre-long guns were designed to destroy enemy super-heavy machines, but would be equally useful searing through the massed broods of a tyranid swarm or vaporising the larger bio-constructs Styxia’s defenders might expect to face.

  Taller than the building on which Cassius stood, the Titans towered over Cordus Via. As well as the huge battle honour flags, each Warlord was strung with streamers and banners carrying the markings of the Cult Mechanicus. More than just weapons of war, these were idols of the Machine-God, wrought in sacred forge-factories to obliterate the enemies of Mars and its adepts.

  Cassius had fought alongside Titans before, but had never encountered one of the metal beasts at such close hand. The thudding of their steps was loud even above the incessant sound of the cataract, every mighty tread causing the ground to shudder slightly, and with each stride came a symphony of growls, whines, hisses and clanking. By the light of their own lamps, the red-and-black livery of the Legio Fortitudis was plain to see, painted in broad stripes across the upper carapace turrets and the armoured plates protecting the Titans’ lower legs. Cog devices and half-skulls in bright metals marked the hard-angled surfaces of their bodies, gleaming
in the reflected glow of the searchlights.

  ‘Princeps Jasyn of the Legio Fortitudis.’ The announcement was made over the strategic frequency chosen by General Arka for the disparate Imperial forces, the voice quiet, almost a whisper. Victorix raised its gatling cannon in salute, kill banner sweeping over a row of empty grain silos, its shadow passing across the tactical squad standing guard on the gantries around them.

  ‘Princeps Perthion, pleased to make your acquaintance, Chaplain.’ Perthion’s voice was deeper, tainted with a hollow ring that reminded Cassius of the artificial voice boxes used by his Chapter’s Dreadnoughts.

  ‘Your presence is welcome,’ replied Cassius.

  ‘We are honoured to assist the Adeptus Astartes of the Ultra­marines,’ said Jasyn. ‘Where would you like us to fight?’

  Cassius had been considering this matter for some time, and in discussion with Dacia as they had made their way to the tenement block, had formulated a plan.

  ‘I would have Dominatus Rex positioned on the highway, a kilometre to the west,’ said the Chaplain. ‘We have no weapons capable of covering the far side of the gorge to the north, but that will present little problem to you.’

  ‘Understood, Chaplain,’ said Perthion. ‘I will protect your flank from encirclement.’

  ‘And Victorix?’ asked Jasyn. There was something about the way the princeps used the name of his Titan, a familiar inflection, that made it sound to Cassius as if Jasyn were referring to himself.

  ‘On the southern flank, overlooking the refuelling depot and highway would be appropriate, princeps. Your sensor arrays are more powerful than anything we possess and will provide warning of the enemy’s approach.’

  ‘We will be your eyes and ears, Chaplain,’ said Perthion. A series of thunderous rattles preceded a drawn out, deafening hiss as the lock-bolts were released from Dominatus Rex’s volcano cannons. The immense weapons lowered into position with a creak and a clank. ‘And your fists.’