by Marc
‘We stand ready.’ Vaelus declared. At his words, the Scouts snapped to attention. Korpus surveyed them and nodded approvingly. Of the five survivors who stood before him, only Marus had suffered serious injury.
‘Then we move.’ he said. ‘Bring his weapons.’ He gestured to the body which lay against one wall of the container-canyon – Flavus, his torso all but bisected by a berserker’s chain-axe – then stabbed a finger first at Salvus, then Tallis, both busily donning their helmets while Orris clipped Flavus’s bolt pistol and chainsword to his equipment belt. ‘You take point. You guard the rear.’
As Korpus expected, decisive orders served to ease the Scouts’ disquiet. Since the death of their sergeant, incinerated by a Chaos Marine’s melta while leading them in a probing mission beyond the Avenging Sons’ former perimeter, the Scouts had been playing a deadly game of cat-and-mouse with the enemy, zig-zagging across the battlefield in the hope of re-locating the Second Company. Bearings lost, communications frustrated by the blizzard of ash and static, they had sought shelter in this vast container yard, believing that they had shaken off their pursuers, only to find themselves trapped by a pincer attack.
‘The Emperor sent you.’ Vaelus had told Korpus. ‘We were daemon-fodder, but for your arrival.’
‘The Emperor watches over us all.’ Korpus had replied automatically. His blood was still singing in his ears, the urge to rend and kill without thought, without emotion had yet to subside – and, in truth, he wished that it never would. The killing rage – the ‘Vengeful Heart’ as it had been dubbed, centuries ago – was the state aspired to by every Avenging Son. A unit of Avenging Sons in such a condition was all but unstoppable on the battlefield; their only desire was to move forward through whatever enemy stood before them, their only desire to kill.
Which is what made Selleus’s last act so incomprehensible. As an Apothecary, Korpus understood that he should temper his own Vengeful Heart in order to perform his duties. It was an honour and he accepted it as the Emperor’s will. But for Selleus to deliberately extinguish the hearts of his entire company…
Such doubts had crept back as the killing rage subsided. To quiet them once again, Korpus turned his mind to his new role as leader of the Scout Squad. But deep within the cage of his soul, his Vengeful Heart beat strong demanding to be heard.
‘THERE’S MOVEMENT,’ VAELUS reported as he peered through the ocularius. He adjusted the focusing dials. Lenses spun within the brass casing, allowing him a greater depth of field. ‘Possibly human.’
‘Doubtful,’ Korpus said. He and the Scout crouched behind a pile of discarded aero-engines at the edge of the airfield. Warehouses and hangars curved away to either side, many of them punctured by heavy cannon and las-fire. The field itself was pock-marked with craters, dotted with the remains of commercial and military aircraft. When their dropships had landed, both the aircraft and the buildings had been intact.
‘The Thunderhawks?’ he asked. Vaelus adjusted the dials again.
‘Not good.’ the Scout reported. ‘Two are complete wrecks. The other three have all taken a pounding. There’s no way to tell if any can fly.’
‘We only need one.’ Korpus replied, all too aware of the irony of his words, but determined to remain focused on the mission.
The sudden cough of bolter fire from the rear drew their attention from the attack ships. Vaelus stowed the ocularius and followed Korpus, who was already running towards the nearest hangar.
They arrived to find the other Scouts standing over the bodies of three Imperial Guardsman, members of the unit assigned to guard the Thunderhawks. Their bodies bore the marks of impacts both old and new, but also the buboes and other malformations that spoke of only one thing.
‘Necromancy.’ Korpus stated flatly. ‘This world is now securely in Chaos’s grasp. Time is short. Soon even the living will be unable to resist its influence.’
As if to underline his words, one of the corpses began to twitch. Impossibly, it raised itself on one shattered arm, opened its exploded eyes…
Tallis’s chainsword sliced through the ex-Guardsman’s head, rupturing it like an overripe fruit. Its brains, turned black and fluid by the same necromantic power which had re-animated its hours-dead corpse, splashed across the ground. A rank sewer-stench filled the air.
‘Any sentient being in the vicinity will know we’re here by now.’ said Korpus. ‘Make for the nearest Thunderhawk. Stay tight and stay alert.’
Korpus led the Scouts from the cover of the hangar, jogging swiftly across the open ground between it and the attack zone. The closer they got the worse the situation looked. Even the three Thunderhawks which remained upright on their landing skids looked ready for the reclamation plants of the Adeptus Mechanicus.
Bolter fire sounded from his left. He turned. Orris had dispatched another re-animated Guardsman.
‘Head shots are not enough.’ he reminded the Scout. ‘Dismemberment is the only way to ensure they don’t come after you again.’
‘Understood.’ Orris replied and set about the corpse with his chainsword. More gunfire erupted from the far side of the group of Thunderhawks. Tallis and Maras had encountered more of the foul things.
‘Who here has received flight training?’ Korpus demanded. ‘I need someone to check the instrumentation.’
‘Salvus!’ Vaelus called. The Scout had stayed close to the Apothecary, adopting the role of aide-de-camp. Salvus ran back between two of the Thunderhawks, ducking to avoid the blackened and twisted remains of a sensor array.
‘We need to know which of these can fly, if any.’ Korpus told him. ‘They may look like wrecks, but I’ve known them to take off in a worse state than this.’ As Salvus ran up the ramp into the belly of the nearest craft, Korpus offered up a silent prayer that his words would prove to be more than a mere panacea.
The bark of Imperial-issue munitions echoed from the interior of the Thunderhawk. Both Korpus and Vaelus turned, stepped onto the drop-ramp, then dodged the selection of body parts that flew from the hatch, accompanied by a chainsword’s chattering.
‘Best check the others.’ Salvus called out from the belly of the ship. Before Korpus could issue an order, Vaelus was already halfway up the ramp of the neighbouring craft.
Good soldiers, Korpus thought. For the first time, he dared believe that they might escape this doomed world and reach the Chapter ship, where the Scouts would undergo implantation of the gene seed from the glands that he carried in his armour. Perhaps they might form the basis for a new Second Company. If so, they would bring honour to the memory of the corpses they would leave on Antillis IV.
‘PRESSURISING,’ SALVUS’S VOICE crackled over Korpus’s transceiver. He and Orris had spent the last hour jury-rigging the seal around the main hatch, using parts from interior hatches, making frequent reference to the Adeptus Mechanicus Prayer Book he had found in a locker on the flight deck.
Korpus stood outside the hatch, listening to the hiss and pop as the seal closed. After checking over each of the three Thunderhawks, Salvus had declared the first one to be the most spaceworthy While he and Orris worked, the others continued to prowl the airfield, using bolter and chainsword to dispatch the necromantically resurrected.
On the flight deck, Salvus watched the icons on the control board. Several relating to non-essential systems were dead; others – including the weapons board – glowed red, indicating failure, but they too should not prevent spaceflight. Salvus narrowed his eyes, concentrating on the set of icons that related to the craft’s internal environment. They showed green – for the moment.
Long moments passed. Through the gunship’s view-screens, Korpus scanned the edge of the airfield. It was a miracle that they had been allowed so much time, that the Chaos Marines and the daemons that commanded them had not scented their presence here and closed in to finish them off.
‘The Machine God is with us!’ Salvus’s relief-filled words jerked Korpus from his thoughts. Another hiss and pop, and the main hatc
h swung open. The smiling Scout stood in the doorway. ‘With your permission, Apothecary, I could transfer the weapons system from Hawk Four…’
‘No time.’ Korpus interjected. ‘Begin pre-flight rituals. We’ve been sitting around like targets on a shooting range for too long as it is.’
‘Understood.’ Salvus disappeared back into the craft.
Korpus strode up the ramp, following Salvus inside. While the Scout made for the raised flight deck, Korpus stooped to open a locker set into the wall beside the Navigator’s chart table, which bore the seal of the Apothecarion. Removing his helmet and gloves, Korpus released the catches on the locker door and felt the gentle kiss of air as its vacuum seal was breached. The door swung open, revealing the racks of empty phial-holders within. Minutes later, all were full.
‘Soon, my brothers. Be patient.’ In his mind, Korpus addressed the Avenging Sons Scouts who, like those with him here on Antillis IV, were awaiting implantation of the gene-seed. The glands he had harvested – and which now floated before him, their preservative-filled phials nestling securely in the locker’s racks – would help ensure that the Emperor’s crusade would continue.
Korpus closed the locker door, secured its vacuum seal, then refastened the long ceramite thigh-plates over his suit’s now empty storage bays. As he had placed each phial into the locker, he had felt a weight lift from his shoulders. Though he had performed this act on countless other worlds, never had the special duty of an Apothecary weighed so heavily upon him, nor had he felt such relief at its completion.
‘Apothecary!’ Vaelus stood at the Thunderhawk’s main hatch. Korpus hurried the length of the craft’s interior, re-attaching his gloves, automatically checking the load in his bolt pistol’s magazine and the charge in his power fist.
‘Report.’ he demanded of the Scout, though the sound of bolter fire and a discordant, guttural chanting provided all the answer he needed.
‘Brother, the enemy has found us!’
BEHIND THEM, THE Thunderhawk’s engine ratcheted upwards in pitch. At Korpus’s order, Salvus had rushed through the last verses of the pre-flight incantation. The engines didn’t sound too healthy – what should have been a smooth rise in tone and volume was interrupted by coughs and judders that had more in common with a chronic chest infection – but the Scout remained confident that the craft would fly.
Korpus and Vaelus had paced away from the Thunderhawk, sheltering from the ash-storm kicked up by its back- and down-drafts under the fuselage of Hawk Four. Korpus held the Scout’s ocularius to his eyes, scanning the perimeter of the airfield, while Vaelus continued his report. ‘We made contact with their point men during a sweep of the southern perimeter. We hit them hard and fast – I don’t think they had time to send out a warning. The others hung back. We still have a few frag mines. They were to lay the mines beyond the perimeter and then retreat. They should have been back by now.’
‘Here they come.’ Korpus said. ‘And they are not alone.’
Through the lenses of the instrument, Korpus watched as the three Scouts raced through the ragged remains of the airfield’s southern gate. Bolter fire chewed up the ash-covered ground all around them. A black-armoured horde was at their back, howling, scenting blood and one more victory in the name of their foul masters. From the unevenness of Tallis’s stride, Korpus judged that he must have taken a serious hit to one leg. Shifting focus, he tried to assess the exact size of the threat they were facing, when his gaze fell upon a sight that could mean only disaster.
‘Emperor’s mercy!’ he breathed as the vast, obscene bulk of a Dreadnought filled his view, towering over the troops around it, lurching as it stomped through the ash and mud. Its black armour was covered in twisted sigils proclaiming its daemonic allegiance, blasphemous verses in praise of the Dark Gods, and what looked like dolls hanging from chains attached to its carapace.
Despite his revulsion, Korpus adjusted the focusing dials again… Not dolls. Human corpses, some still wearing the tattered remains of Imperial Guard uniforms; faces bloated, limbs torn away, guts slit open and their contents hung like grotesque garlands around their necks. Final proof, if proof were needed, that Antillis IV had fallen.
‘They need covering fire!’ Korpus barked as he tore the ocularius from his eyes. His mind raced. Even if the jury-rigged Thunderhawk was airworthy, it would need time to achieve sufficient altitude to be out of range of the Chaos army’s guns. He tried not to think of the range of the Dreadnought’s cannon. It could swat the fleeing craft from the sky long after it had outdistanced the Chaos Marines’ bolters.
‘Hawk Four’s weapons system is still operational.’ he told Vaelus. ‘Get to work.’ With a nod, the Scout ran for the main hatch. Korpus donned and secured his helmet. By the time he spoke into his transceiver, he had come to a decision: ‘Scout Salvus, immediate dust-off. Do you understand? Go. Now!’
‘Apothecary, please repeat!’ came the uncomprehending reply. ‘Leave now? What about the others? Yourself? I cannot—’
‘My job is done. The future of the Second Company is in your hands. We’ll keep them busy until you’re out of range. Tell our brothers that we took the Emperor’s holy vengeance into the mouth of Hell. For are we not Avenging Sons?’
‘Avenging Sons!’ Salvus answered, his voice firm once again. ‘Your name shall live forever in the Chapel of Martyrs, Apothecary Korpus!’
The engine’s pitch changed again, rising to a scream as the control surfaces swung into the correct alignment. The landing skids groaned as the gunship’s bulk began to shift.
‘Avenging Sons!’ Vaelus’s voice echoed in the Apothecary’s ears as the Scout fired a first volley from Hawk Four’s lascannon into the approaching black horde. As he ran to meet the other Scouts, Korpus saw their impact: dark-armoured bodyparts flew in all directions like confetti, leaving holes in the oncoming line, which were quickly filled by more of their treacherous brethren. Vaelus fired again, punching more holes in the onrushing tide of Chaos. Behind him, the engines of Salvus’s Thunderhawk had taken on the unmistakable tone of an airborne craft. His precious cargo was on its way home.
‘Avenging Sons!’ Korpus cried, his blood singing as he raced to battle. His last duty performed, he was an Apothecary no longer. Now he was just a warrior. A warrior with a Vengeful Heart.
KORPUS HIT THE Chaos line like a weapon wielded by the Emperor himself. Black-armoured abominations flew left and right, skull-helms shattered by close-quarters bolter fire and blows from his power fist at full discharge. To either side of him, Tallis, Orris and one-armed Marus carved sections from their enemy with their chainswords, blew away limbs and punctured breastplates with their bolters.
Marus was the first to fall. His bolter empty, he reached across his body to unhook his chainsword. In the few seconds it took for him to grasp the hilt of his weapon, a Khorne-chanting Chaos Marine tore his head from his shoulders with a chattering, sigil-etched chain-axe. Tallis returned the favour, severing the Chaos Marine’s axe-arm with a well-placed sword-strike to its elbow, followed by a bolter volley in the face, but there was nothing to be done for Marus and no time to mourn. Tallis and Orris surged on, keeping pace with Korpus, cutting a gory swathe through the servants of the Outer Dark. The black tide closed behind them, still making for the Thunderhawks, some already wasting bolts in an attempt to bring down the accelerating Thunderhawk, already several hundred feet above them.
Korpus and the others ignored them. Vaelus, still at the weapons board of Hawk Four, scythed them down with the lascannon. Korpus had issued fresh orders as he ran, leading the Scouts into battle. They knew their target: the Dreadnought.
It already loomed above them, marching with implacable, earth-shaking strides to meet them. In one steel-clawed arm it held a mace the size of a man; its other upper limb had been replaced by a double-linked lascannon which was aimed far above the heads of the Marines. Korpus didn’t need to turn to see its target. The half-dead, totally insane Chaos Marine encased within its in
ches-thick hide was drawing a bead on the fleeing Thunderhawk gunship.
Kicking aside the last, headless victim of his bolter, Korpus holstered the weapon and made an adjustment to his power fist. Already buzzing with energy, the glove began to emit a continuous high-pitched squeal. The plates of Korpus’s battle suit rang with sympathetic vibrations. His teeth began to chatter insanely as the energy from the overloading glove hummed through his bones. His head felt as if it might explode within his helmet.
A single Chaos Marine stood between Korpus and the Dreadnought. Rapid fire from its bolter sprayed diagonally across the Apothecary’s armour, knocking him back several steps, but the ceramite plates held. Korpus stepped up to his assailant and punched him squarely in the chest.
But for the lingering smell of ozone and the fragments of fused flesh and armour that lay scattered at Korpus’s feet, the Chaos Marine might never have existed. For a heartbeat, the power fist was silent. Korpus feared that its power cell was already empty, that his plan would be undone by his unwise, pre-emptive strike. Then the glove resumed its ear-splitting squeal. Korpus smiled, then sprinted for the Dreadnought’s nearest leg.
A VOLLEY OF las-fire arced up from the Dreadnought’s cannon. Flashing across the intervening space, it missed the nose of the still-rising Thunderhawk by what felt like inches. The craft’s superstructure groaned and creaked as it was buffeted by the shock-waves of super-heated air. As he jockeyed the flight controls, Salvus muttered a short prayer to the Machine God.
‘Whatever you plan to do to that cursed thing, Apothecary,’ Salvus added, sparing a thought for the comrades he was leaving behind, ‘do it now!’
THE DREADNOUGHT paused in its march to adjust its aim. Korpus knew that it would not miss a second time. Shucking his power fist, whose squeal had passed beyond the range of human hearing, he jammed it between the web of struts and power conduits that ran behind the unholy war machine’s knee joint. Blue fire played across the surface of the glove. Tendrils of the barely-tamed lightning began to arc across the surface of the Dreadnought’s lower extremities.
