by Gav Thorpe
‘But we cannot ignore them as a military threat, lord,’ said Agapito. ‘With those same numbers we were able to take control of Atlas. If we fight them head-on we simply negate the advantage of our presence.’
‘That is exactly why we will not engage the Word Bearers directly, but leave them to the greater numbers of the skitarii. We must concentrate our effort and strength on achieving the central objective - the temple and Delvere.’
1 cannot order the Talons to ignore the Word Bearers, Lord,’ protested Agapito, though the argument was more from his own feeling than for his legionaries. ‘Our warriors have scores to settle.’
‘The legionaries will do as they are ordered,’ growled the primarch, turning his black stare on Agapito, making it clear that he included Agapito in that remark. The commander flinched as if he had been struck. ‘We have spent many years fighting alongside each other, Agapito, but do not test our friendship any further. I am your primarch and Legion commander and you will not disobey me. The Talons take their lead from you. You will set the right example.’
‘Yes, Lord Corax’ Agapito cast his gaze downwards, shamed by Corax’s words. ‘It will be as you say.’
‘Good.’ The primarch’s anger vanished as swiftly as it had appeared. ‘Delvere and Nathrakin will be expecting an attack from the tech-guard. In fact, I believe they will seek to attack first, forcing Atlas onto the defensive. We cannot allow that to happen. To ensure that surprise is maximised, the Raven Guard will form the first attack wave. Every Shadowhawk, Whispercutter and other craft you can muster will carry a single assault force into the heart of the enemy city. Your Talons must be like a lodestone, dragging the enemy into battle, forcing them to abandon their perimeter to contest against an attack from inside their lines.’
‘Hard fighting,’ said Agapito. ‘The best place for us. I take it that there can be no possibility of extraction?’
‘Only if annihilation is the alternative. This is not a terminus mission. Commander, I expect you to win through with as few casualties as possible. Manoeuvre, attack and speed.’
‘Attack, withdraw, attack again,’ Agapito said with a nod. ‘This is not my first battle, Lord Corax.’
The primarch smiled and shook his head.
‘Of course not. The longer you can remain fighting, the more forces will be drawn to you, and the further Loriark’s army can create an axis of attack for my assault. The temple is located in the starboard quadrant of the city, I will calculate the best routes and angles of attack to turn the enemy’s attention to the port districts and then I will swoop and claim the prize.’
‘I understand, lord,’ said Agapito. He banged a fist to his chest and bowed his head. ‘You can rely on the Talons.’
‘Do not allow yourselves to be surrounded, commander,’ Corax said with a grim expression. ‘There will be no reserves to break through to your position. Engage the enemy and lure them away from the temple. That is your only concern.’
Agapito nodded again, unsure if the primarch’s insistence was a sign of doubt or simply the wish to make certain that he was understood. There was no further assurance the commander could offer to his lord. If decades of valiant and dedicated service were not enough to convince Corax of his intent, words would not help.
Corax nodded a farewell and departed, leaving Agapito with mixed thoughts. The commander knew that if the primarch had serious doubts then he would have no hesitation in replacing Agapito as commander; Caderil and others were quite prepared for the role. On the other hand, Agapito did not know if he could trust himself. The primarch had explicitly ordered that the Talons should not go after the Word Bearers, but if the Word Bearers came for them then he might not shun the opportunity to exact a little revenge.
THE SMOG RISING from Iapetus’s scores of chimneys and furnaces fouled the horizon, though the capital city itself was still out of sight. Atlas closed steadily on the dark smear, cruising five hundred metres above the sea. In the skies over both cities clouds of aircraft circled like carrion birds sighting a carcass. The last peals of the warning sirens echoed along the empty streets of Atlas, sending stragglers dashing for the basements and bunkers cut into the bedrock of the city.
Beneath the constant groan of massive anti-grav engines came the rumbling of vehicle motors and the thud of booted feet, accompanied by the whine of bionically-augmented warriors. Columns of skitarii gathered half a kilometre from the prow quays. Crews made final checks of their vehicles. Squad leaders called out the last muster rolls. Inside the control chamber, Corax monitored the relative positions of the two barge-cities, a little less than fifty kilometres apart; two and a half hours if Atlas continued at its current speed. Iapetus had hove to, remaining in place as Delvere waited for the insurrectionists to make their move.
‘Extend fighter screen to thirty kilometres,’ the primarch ordered ‘No recon overflights this time.’
A lexmechanic relayed the command in a dull monotone and a servitor burbled a burst of the tech-priests’ argot - the lingua-technis - as a meaningless stream of piercing syllables and husky grunts. While the primarch waited patiently, Loriark paced back and forth behind him, hands lost in the sleeves of his robes as he clasped them at his waist, his strides short with agitation. Corax did not allow the Magokritarch’s behaviour to distract him; each man dealt with the nervous lull before battle in their own way and to force Loriark to cease his perambulations would only serve to perturb the tech-priest further.
Arms folded across his chest, Corax stared at the display screens and scanner panels, alert for any sign that would warn of Delvere’s intent. It was likely that the Archmagos was no veteran of war, but with the Word Bearer to guide him, he was not to be underestimated.
If there was one lesson that the primarch had taken from Isstvan V, it was never to expect victory as a right, and even as he cast a glance across flickering displays he gauged the mood of the overseeing tech-priests. For the moment they seemed calm enough, given the circumstances, but the coming battle afforded no room for hesitation or error.
Corax’s way of war was finely tuned, the timings perfect, the manoeuvres precise. Though underlined with brutal simplicity - an encircling attack designed to separate the bulk of the enemy from Iapetus’s main temple - the assault plans of the Raven Guard and skitarii were an intricately-choreographed process devised through many hours of study of Iapetus’s layout and what was known or could be supposed concerning the forces under Delvere’s command.
‘I searched your archives for precedents of this battle,’ Corax said conversationally, attempting to engage Loriark and distract the tech-priest from whatever doom-laden scenarios he was considering. Even so, the primarch’s gaze did not stray from the monitor banks. ‘There was civil war on Constanix during the Long Night, but few details survive.’
‘It is true.’ Loriark’s artificially modulated voice had only one volume and tempo, making it impossible to gauge his mood. ‘Twelve hundred and sixty-eight years have passed since the Years of Peril and much that was known was destroyed in the war. The magi loyal to the purity of the Machine-God’s creed prevailed, but at great cost. Data was lost that will never be recovered. A great setback to our cause.’
‘You have studied the old recordings and logs?’
‘I have spent much of my life with them, lord primarch,’ said Loriark. It was impossible to know for sure, but it seemed that there was chastisement in the magos’s posture and sharp gestures; perhaps resentment that Corax would think Loriark ignorant of his world’s history. ‘I am familiar with the accounts of inter-city battle. It seems destructive and wasteful of resources. The arrangement of the Cognoscenti is a far superior form of conflict resolution.’
‘I agree.’
‘Yet you are a warrior and a general, lord primarch. It is your nature to wage war.’
Corax paused before replying, telling himself that no insult was intended by the tech-priest, only observation. He chose his words carefully, trying to summarise a lifetime’
s philosophy in a few sentences.
‘War is a necessity to bring peace. Some of my brothers are war-makers, pure and simple, but I am not. Some, like Rogal Dorn, are architects, both of fortresses and of worlds. Guilliman’s empire stands testament to his abilities as statesman as well as warleader. The Emperor created us as perfect warriors and commanders, but the primarchs are far greater than simple warlords.’
‘And what do you build, lord primarch?’ Loriark’s dark eyes fixed Corax with a long stare. ‘If Horus had not turned, what would your legacy have been, if not a trail of conquered worlds, a multitude of widowed and orphaned people?’
‘I build hope, in the hearts of men and women. I show them that from the Long Night we can emerge into enlightenment. I never persecuted those I conquered and I never refused a surrender sincerely offered. I have shed the blood of the guilty and the innocent, laid waste to civilisations for the cause of the Emperor, but I never brought ruin needlessly. Each death was laid as a sacrifice to a better future; a life free from suppression and tyranny.’
‘Would not a tyrant claim the same? No man believes himself to do wrong.’
‘No tyrant would be willing to give up his power once all enemies were thwarted. I was prepared for just such an eventuality.’
‘I speak not of you, but the Emperor. What makes his vision of the galaxy any purer than that of Horus, or yours, or the Mechanicum’s? You may have been the weapon the Emperor used against a galaxy of foes, but it was his power that wielded you, unleashed your Legions against those that opposed him.’
Again Corax was forced to think for a moment, to formulate his reply so that a knot of instinct and simple knowing could be unravelled into something more reasoned.
‘The Emperor is all the things he wishes to be. He has been a tyrant and compassionate, merciless and merciful. But I have seen into him, and I have touched minds with him in a way no other can. And at the core of what others see is a man of humility and wisdom and learning. He is a man driven by the rational. A tyrant craves domination, but the Emperor carries his power like a burden, the responsibility for all of humanity on his shoulders. He is everything he must be, not out of desire, but from duty and necessity.’
Loriark said nothing, and it was impossible to know whether he believed Corax or not. Talk of the Emperor always left Corax feeling grateful and humbled.
Grateful for the gene-father that had created him.
Humbled by the power of the ruler who had guided him.
The rebellion of the Warmaster and the primarchs who had sided with him made all the more clear the temptations and perils that came with near-unlimited power. Hunger for glory, desire for personal ambition, resentment and hatred had all taken their toll upon the mightiest creations of the Emperor. What effort of will did it take for the Emperor not to succumb to the same? What inhuman mind could spend millennia seeing the galaxy fall to ruin and yet never once abandon the vision of a greater future? Corax had been sorely tested, from the moment he had awoken in the ice caves of Lycaeus to this very second, but never could he come close to knowing the decisions that weighed so heavily upon his Imperial master.
Wrapped up with these thoughts, he regarded the monitors with some regret. More would die today, soldier and civilian alike. He could not count the numbers dead by his actions over a long lifetime of bloodshed. Billions, surely. Yet just as the Emperor carried the burden of his responsibility without complaint, so too would Corax.
And if ever true peace was to come, then he would look back on his bloody life without regret, knowing that the cause had always been just.
AGAPITO TAPPED OUT a quick beat on the plate of his leg armour as he waited in the confines of the Shadowhawk. He made himself stop, conscious that it might be seen as a sign of nervousness and was probably irritating to the other Raven Guard, though none would ever voice complaint.
Two hours from Iapetus.
Two hours that would crawl past, his thoughts alive with possibilities: his death and the death of his companions; victory or defeat; vengeance or failure. He tried to move his thoughts elsewhere, to rites of battle and the layout of the target city. He mentally recited Corax’s doctrines, but they were no longer the calming mantra they had once been.
Two hours, not of fear, but anticipation. He tapped his fingers not as a response to dread but in excitement.
Two hours until another battle. Two hours until the righteousness would claim him again and he could drown out the haunting cries of his dead brothers with the din of war.
Without conscious thought, his fingers started to tap again.
V
OVER THE LONG decades of the Years of Peril, the barge-cities of Constanix had evolved through a bloody process of weapon and counter-measure, attack and defence so that they had each become near-impregnable to the assaults of the others. Forced by bloody stalemate into consensus, the rulers of the tech-temples had not waged war since. Yet still there remained an ordained way to wage war between cities; a process that Corax had studied carefully, seeking to overturn the dogma of centuries of received wisdom.
The energy shields of Atlas and Iapetus rendered long-range attack a waste of energy and munitions - in order to maximise its capabilities of bombardment in an effort to overload an opponent’s defences, a barge-city would first have to weaken its own shield to allow its guns to fire out, rendering it vulnerable to a swift counter-attack.
Instead of such artillery exchanges, the approach of Atlas to Iapetus was heralded by a battle in the skies.
The energy fields provided no barrier to aircraft and both sides wove tangled trails about each other as they attempted to bring their foundation-penetrating payloads over the enemy city, if one side gained the upper hand they would be able to target the power field generators of the enemy, neutralising their defences and leaving them open to crushing waves of artillery and the devastating blasts of volcano cannons. Another option was to destroy the engines and grav-matrices that kept the enemy city afloat, but Corax had no desire to see Iapetus plunged into the sea. Not only would the loss of life be incredible, there was no guarantee that Delvere and his allies would not simply escape the destruction of the capital by gunship or other craft.
As the two air forces duelled overhead, scores of strike craft exchanged missile, bolter and heavy cannon fire, both attempting to pierce the cordon and pave a way for the heavier bombers and ground attack craft. Explosions blossomed against the dark clouds and the burning trails of wrecked fighters and debris cut downwards towards the tossing ocean.
‘Why are we slowing?’ Corax asked as he noticed the soft nudge of deceleration. ‘I gave no such order.’
‘Until Iapetus’s energy field has been weakened we must stand our ground,’ replied Loriark. ‘Power is being diverted to air defence turrets in case of enemy breakthrough. Delvere’s aerial assets outnumber ours, we must take precautionary measures.’
‘Continue at full speed,’ Corax barked at the gaggle of tech-adepts standing by the city’s engine controls. He turned back to Loriark. ‘I have no intention of waiting while we lose the aerial battle.’
‘On our current course we will collide with Iapetus,’ said the Magokritarch, though whether this was a protest or simply an observation was unclear.
‘That is my intent,’ Corax replied. ‘We will treat this as a boarding action. Perhaps the largest the galaxy will ever see. Atlas will ram Iapetus and then we will move ground forces over.’
‘Ram?’ The magos seemed put out by the simple word. It is more logical to render Iapetus’s defence grid incapable and then dock at lower speed to precipitate the ground assault.’
‘War is not always about logic, Loriark,’ Corax said calmly.
‘But if the enemy energy field is still operational, we will have to drop our own defences to prevent a feedback cycle of possibly devastating proportions.’
‘How devastating?’
Loriark turned to the other tech-priests and there followed a brief crackling exchang
e of lingua-technis as they consulted with each other. Shaking his head, Loriark returned his attention back to Corax.
‘We are unsure. Possibly catastrophic. Highly inadvisable.’
‘War is a series of intentional catastrophes, Magokritarch,’ Corax said sternly. ‘Continue at full speed, course set for Iapetus.’
No further protest was forthcoming, though more exchanges buzzed between the tech-priests as the order was carried out. Checking the main viewer, Corax could see Iapetus clearly, only three kilometres distant. The grey of the turbulent seas between the two barge-cities seemed to be growing smaller with a glacial slowness, but in truth Atlas was closing at nearly twenty kilometres per hour. Even if the merging of the energy shields did not cause widespread damage, the impact certainly would.
Alarms cried shrilly in the control chamber, and banks of lights flashed red.
A lexmechanic issued a proximity warning. ‘Two hundred metres to power field overlap.’
Sirens sounded out across the city once more and the comm-net was filled with warnings for exposed troops to brace themselves and take whatever cover was available.
At one hundred metres the ionised air between the two energy shields crackled while the sea beneath began to churn, issuing fountains of acidic steam clouds hundreds of metres into the air.
