A click, followed by a distant whirring noise, sounded as the blast shutters protecting the bridge’s observation blisters slid back into their recessed bays to reveal the scene out in space.
‘We lowered the shutters as a precaution,’ said Stenius. ‘What with the failed attack on us and the attack on the Bold Conveyor I decided it best to take the fleet to general battle stations. Fortunately, the worst of it seems to be over.’
‘The attack on the Bold Conveyor?’ said Luther. ‘What attack?’
The Lion turned at the sound of his brother’s voice and his eyes narrowed as he took in the wounded state of Zahariel and Luther. He said nothing of their condition, clearly filing it away to ask about later.
Zahariel looked through the observation blister into space, horrified to see bodies floating in the cold of the void. Hundreds drifted slowly past the ship’s observation blisters like some grotesque form of parade inspection.
‘We’ve had attempted mutinies on three ships,’ said Stenius. ‘In each instance, small groups of no more than half a dozen men launched attacks on the bridges of their ships. Mostly, the mutinies were suppressed before they could do any real damage, but on the Arbalest the mutineers managed to let off a torpedo salvo. They hit the Bold Conveyor and damaged her. The bodies you can see outside are casualties from the Bold Conveyor. Once the shooting started, I ordered the fleet to different stations to put more distance between each ship. Some of the bodies from the Bold Conveyor must have got caught in the backwash from our engines. That’s why they’re in orbit around us.’
‘How badly was the Bold Conveyor damaged?’ demanded the Lion.
‘Hull rupture,’ explained Captain Stenius. ‘Most of the dead were Army troopers who were sucked out into the vacuum when the torpedo hit.’
He shrugged. ‘It could have been worse. I’ve sent extra repair crews to the Bold Conveyor via shuttle. Early reports indicate that the damage isn’t bad enough to threaten her space worthiness, though it’s likely to be a few days before she’s fully operational again.’
‘So the situation in space is under control?’
‘For the most part, yes,’ answered Stenius, ‘but according to Mistress Argenta, that’s the least of our worries.’
A CONFERENCE WAS held in the Invincible Reason’s staterooms, the senior members of the Dark Angels gathering to hear the words of Mistress Argenta. The Lion and Luther spoke in a huddled corner, their words unheard by anyone, though the intensity of their conversation was plain for all to see.
Brother-Librarian Israfael stood beside a robed member of the Mechanicum, and a number of servitors accompanied them both. The atmosphere was tense, and Zahariel could sense the urgent need in every man gathered here to strike back at the Saroshi.
He and Nemiel sat at the briefing table trying to make sense of the last few hours that had seen brother turn on brother and former allies take arms against them. Initial theories suggested that the mutineers on the Imperial ships had been dragged and rendered open to treacherous suggestion by a concoction distilled from the perfume of the plants that thronged every building and surface of the capital city.
This was a morsel of information to be digested later, for a much greater threat was apparently arising in the dusty hardpan of the deserts in the north of the main continental mass of Sarosh.
The Lion turned away from Luther abruptly, his face a mask of unreadable emotion as he took his seat at the head of the table. Luther took his seat at the table too, and Zahariel could read his features much more easily. Their second-in-command’s expression was one of despair and anguish.
‘We do not have much time,’ snapped the Lion, cutting through the babble of voices around the room. At his tone, every head turned in his direction and every voice was stilled.
‘Mistress Argenta,’ said the Lion. ‘Speak.’
The astropath took a hesitant step forward, as though being near the awesome figure of the primarch was too much for her to bear for any length of time.
‘You may have heard the high exalter talk of beings known as the Melachim during his outburst against the Imperium. It is my belief that this is the Saroshi name for a certain breed of xenos creature that dwells in the warp.’
‘How are they a danger to us?’ asked Nemiel. ‘Surely they are confined to the warp.’
‘Normally that would be the case,’ said the astropath, turning her blind eyes towards Zahariel’s cousin, ‘but the Astropathic Choir has become aware of a growing build up of psychic energy in the northern deserts, indicative of a major warp rift.’
‘And what is causing this?’ asked the Lion.
‘We do not know.’
‘Speculate,’ ordered the Lion.
‘Perhaps the natives of this planet have some way of focusing the energies of the warp by some means we are not aware of, my lord.’
‘For what purpose would they do this?’
‘It is said that if one has a host of strong enough will, it is possible to imbue it with the presence of a creature from beyond the gates of the Empyrean.’
‘And you think that is what’s happening here?’
‘If such a thing is even possible,’ pointed out Zahariel.
The Lion shot him a venomous look that shocked Zahariel. ‘We must assume that it is, for now. The treachery and deviousness of the Saroshi are without bounds. We must trust nothing from this point onwards and assume the worst.’
The Lion turned his attention back to the astropath, and Zahariel felt a wave of relief wash over him at being released from that hostile glare.
‘Mistress Argenta,’ said the Lion. ‘If the Saroshi can indeed summon some xeno beast from the warp, how bad might it get?’
‘If they succeed, it could be the worst thing you have ever fought.’
‘Why can’t we simply bomb the site from orbit?’ asked the Lion. ‘That would put paid to most threats.’
‘Not this one, my lord,’ said Argenta. ‘The psychic build up is already underway, and any attack that fails to halt that build up will be doomed to failure.’
‘Then how do we fight it?’
In response to the Lion’s question, Brother-Librarian Israfael stepped forward. ‘I may be able to answer that, my lord. Ever since our Legion fought on the bloody fields of Perissus, I have been working to develop a means of fighting such creatures. This was before you joined us, my lord.’
The Lion scowled, and Zahariel was reminded how much their primarch disliked being reminded that the Legion had existed before he had become its master.
‘Go on,’ ordered the Lion. ‘How do we fight this rising power?’
‘An electro-psychic pulse,’ said Israfael. ‘Of course, it is difficult to know precisely how it will interact with the energies being gathered, but I am confident it should disrupt of the ambient psychic field and—’
‘Please, more slowly, Israfael,’ said the Lion, raising his hand with the palm facing outward to stem Israfael’s words. ‘I am sure you know what you are talking about, but remember we are warriors. If you want us to understand you, you will need to keep it simple and start from the beginning.’
‘More simply, of course,’ said Israfael, and Zahariel did not envy him being under the white heat of the primarch’s gaze. ‘I believe it may be possible to counteract the build up of psychic energy by detonating an electro-psychic pulse weapon in the vicinity.’
‘What is this “electro-psychic pulse weapon” you talk of?’ asked the Lion.
‘It is simply a modified cyclonic warhead,’ explained Israfael. ‘With the help of the Mechanicum adepts, we can remove the explosive part of the warhead and replace it with an electro-psychic pulse capacitor that will generate a massive blast of energy inimical to creatures composed of immaterial energies. As for destroying the psychic build up, ideally we need to detonate the device as close to the source as possible.’
‘I see,’ said the Lion. ‘What form will the device take? Obviously, it is a bomb, but can you adapt it to be d
ropped from a shuttle?’
‘No,’ said Israfael, ‘for the pulse of the blast must be directed by one schooled in the psychic arts.’
‘In other words, you need to be there when it detonates.’
‘I do,’ confirmed Israfael, ‘along with as many other brothers with psychic potential who can fight.’
The Lion nodded. ‘Begin work on adapting such a weapon immediately. How long do you estimate the work will take?’
‘A few hours at most,’ said Israfael.
‘Very well,’ said the Lion. ‘Begin at once.’
TWENTY-TWO
THE DARK ANGELS of Zahariel’s squad gathered around the assault ramp of the Stormbird to listen to Sar Hadariel’s final mission briefing before taking the fight to the surface of Sarosh.
The Stormbirds gathered on the portside embarkation deck, ready to be unleashed on the planet below, and the assembled warriors were in a killing mood. The Lion would lead this attack personally, and though Zahariel was still in great pain from the attack on the Invincible Reason, his training in the Librarius had selected him for this mission despite his injuries.
Nemiel had been chosen to accompany the Lion’s squads, and even in the urgent fervour that gripped every warrior before battle, Zahariel was stung by his cousin’s inclusion in the group. Luther was not present, and Zahariel had been surprised by his absence, but had left the matter unremarked, seeing the Lion’s hooded expression when Sar Hadariel had mentioned their second-in-command.
‘This smacks of great danger,’ said Attias, and Zahariel was glad to hear the familiar voice of his friend. Attias had made a fine member of the Astartes, and was a valued and trusted battle-brother.
‘We always face danger,’ said Eliath, quoting some of the Legion’s teachings. Like Attias, Eliath had come through the training of the Astartes with honour and was one of the Legion’s best heavy weapon troopers. ‘We are Astartes. We are Dark Angels. We were not made to die of old age. Death or glory! Loyalty and honour!’
‘Loyalty and honour,’ echoed Attias. ‘Understand, I am not questioning the need for danger. I merely ask whether we should base our strategy in this theatre on the workings of an experimental device. If the bomb doesn’t work, what then? I’d hate to face an enemy with Eliath’s good looks as our only fallback weapon if it proves to be a damp squib.’
There was momentary laughter among the assembled warriors. Even from Eliath, whose squat, hardworn features and heavyset build were the source of some occasional fun at his expense.
‘Better my good looks than your swordsmanship,’ responded Eliath, ‘unless you hope the enemy will be driven to distraction by the whistling sound your blade makes as it misses them over and over again.’
‘We are Dark Angels,’ said Hadariel, and the laughter stopped. ‘We are the First Legion, the warriors of the Emperor. You ask whether we should trust ourselves to the science of the Mechanicum and the wisdom of our Brother-Librarian? I ask you, how can we not? Is not science the Imperium’s guiding light? Is it not our bedrock? Is it not the stone on which the foundations of our new society have been built? So, yes, we will trust their science. We will trust our lives to it, just as we trust ourselves and all humanity to the guidance of the Emperor, beloved of all.’
‘I am sorry, Chapter Master,’ said Attias, chastened. ‘I meant no offence.’
‘You caused none,’ said Hadariel. ‘You simply asked a question, and there is no harm in that. If ever a time comes when the Dark Angels see reason to avoid questions, we will have lost our souls.’
Zahariel looked across the faces of the men surrounding him as he listened to the Chapter Master’s words. Some were men he had known back on Caliban, and the bond that existed between them as brothers and fellow warriors was as strong as ceramite, stronger, in fact, for where ceramite could be cut through with the right kind of weapon, he could never imagine the bond of loyalty he felt for his brother Astartes ever being broken.
‘The Chapter Master is right,’ said Zahariel, as words he had heard long ago returned to resonate within his skull. ‘We Astartes were made to serve mankind. We are Dark Angels and in the practice of war, we follow the teachings of the Lion. He tells us war is a matter of adaptation, and whoever adapts most quickly to changing circumstances and takes advantage of the vagaries of warfare, will be victorious. We have been presented with a powerful weapon with which to defeat our foe and we would be fools not to use it.’
‘So we will make use of the device,’ said Eliath. ‘I hope you will forgive my presumption, Chapter Master, but I have known you for long enough to know when there is a plan forming in your head. The device is only part of what we need. We also need a plan to help us put it into operation. Do you have a plan?’
‘I have a plan,’ agreed Hadariel.
Zahariel looked into the faces of his brothers and saw an expression of complete determination in each of them as Sar Hadariel outlined their plan of attack.
The Saroshi were doomed, they just didn’t know it yet.
IT WAS MIDDAY, and the burning sun had reached its apex.
Among the indigenous folk of Sarosh, it was seen as a quiet time, a part of the day usually spent sleeping in the shade of their dwellings until the worst of the afternoon heat had passed. The planet’s newly arrived Imperial forces did not choose to follow the same routines however, least of all the warriors of the Astartes.
Four Stormbirds screamed over the desert, keeping low and fast as they flew towards their objective, a cluster of prefabricated buildings identified from orbit as Mining Station One Zeta Five.
In the lead Stormbird, Zahariel sat against the bucking fuselage of the aircraft as it tore through the air towards battle. All around him, Dark Angels sat clutching their weapons, ready to take a measure of revenge for the attack on their ships and people. The Saroshi had started this war, but the Dark Angels were going to finish it.
‘This is the Lion to all assigned units,’ said their leader’s voice over the vox, and despite the growing aloofness the Legion’s master had been displaying recently, Zahariel was still struck by the commanding tone of his voice. ‘Mission target is confirmed as Mining Station One Zeta Five. Initiate all mission protocols.’
Zahariel heard a flurry of vox-traffic as the relevant units responded in the affirmative.
The Stormbirds were heavily armoured assault shuttles, designed to ferry a complement of Astartes warriors into the middle of even the most ferocious of firefights.
Each was painted black and marked with the winged sword icon on its hull, in accordance with Legion heraldry.
‘We are ready, my lord,’ said Hadariel, and Zahariel could hear the relish in his Chapter Master’s voice. It was a relish shared by every man in the Stormbird.
Eliath sat across from Zahariel, his broad shoulders and thickset build making a flight seat a cramped proposition for him. His friend was an impressive physical specimen, even for an Astartes, and he saluted as he sensed Zahariel’s scrutiny.
‘Not long now,’ said Eliath. His friend was not wearing his helmet and had to yell to be heard above the roar of the craft’s engines. ‘Be good to strike back, eh?’
‘Aye, that it will,’ replied Zahariel.
‘How are we going to make the assault, Chapter Master?’ asked Attias.
‘We will be using jump packs for the descent,’ said Hadariel. ‘Our orders are to deploy from the shuttle at an altitude of five hundred metres to make a controlled combat drop. We’ll land in the area of open scrub north of the station. From there we will advance to clear the station building by building until we rendezvous with the approach of the Lion and his men from the south. Naturally, we can expect the enemy to respond. In fact, we are counting on it.’
Around the compartment, the Astartes listened to his words intently. From his own position, seated at the head of the troop compartment, Zahariel was struck by the almost reverential air with which the men of his company greeted the news.
‘Remember, our
mission here is to fight through any resistance as quickly as possible and deliver the Brother-Librarian and his cargo,’ said Hadariel. ‘Once we have deployed from the Stormbirds, the pilots will ascend to a holding pattern ready to pick us up when they are given the order to begin the extraction. I want helmets on and all purity seals engaged. One Zeta Five is to be treated as a toxic environment.’
Zahariel could barely contain his excitement at the prospect of combat. He had been trained to counteract any fear, but as much as the Astartes were defined by fearlessness, they were defined equally by their aptitude for war.
Their bodies had been crafted to superhuman levels so that they would not just defeat the Imperium’s enemies, they would annihilate them.
The Astartes expected to face danger in the natural course of their lives; in fact, they welcomed it, as though without a battle to fight they were incomplete.
‘Finally, let us be clear on one thing,’ said Hadariel. ‘This is a mission of destruction, not capture. We are not interested in prisoners, so if there is anyone alive at One Zeta Five we do not stop fighting until they are dead.’
His words were punctuated by a trilling from the Stormbird’s inter-vox as a red light began to flash inside the compartment. Hadariel responded with a wolfish grin.
‘There’s the signal,’ he said. ‘We are approaching the target. Helmets on and activate your seals. And, good hunting to all of you.’
Zahariel’s heart quickened at the prospect of action. ‘If we are not fighting within the next five minutes, I shall be disappointed,’ he said to Eliath and Attias.
He could feel his senses sharpening as the prospect of the drop came closer.
Eliath nodded in response to his words and gave the Dark Angel battle-cry. ‘For the Lion! For Luther! For Caliban!’
‘For the Lion! For Luther! For Caliban!’ repeated the Astartes, and the combined tenor of their words seemed to shake the metal bulkheads of the compartment. At Hadariel’s signal, they rose from their seats and filed towards the assault door at the back of the shuttle, ready for the drop to begin.
Descent of Angels Page 31
