by Gav Thorpe
Branne reached into his belt and pulled out a ring with two large keys on it. They were dull, much scratched and slightly bent, the wear of decades plain to see.
‘I took these from the first man I killed during the liberation war,’ said Branne. ‘If Sanguinius kills Horus, they’re yours.’
‘A wager?’ said Noriz.
‘If you like,’ said Branne. ‘What do you offer up?’
Noriz glanced at his legionaries and received nods of encouragement.
‘All right,’ said Noriz. He unhooked a golden shield from the lanyard on his right shoulder plate and held it up to Branne. It was inscribed with a single word: ‘Narandia’. ‘My first battle honour, awarded for slaying an ork commander. If Russ gets to Horus first, you can have it.’
This was greeted with claps and a cheer from the Raven Guard.
‘I‘ll be watching your back, to make sure that you survive long enough to hand over that shiny medal,’ said Branne.
‘And I will be watching yours, commander,’ replied Noriz, slapping his hand against Branne’s breastplate. ‘I have always desired to own a rusty set of keys.’
Returning the keys to their pouch, Branne hoped that one of them would prove right. If Horus reached Terra, nothing would be certain.
THE SLOW DRUMMING of Agapito’s fingers sounded from the metal desk. He stared at the communications log, angered by the single highlighted line of data.
Someone had broken his personal cipher and endangered everything. He wondered who it might be, and narrowed his suspicions to a few individuals, legionaries that had caught his eye by their idiosyncratic behaviour. There was nothing solid on which to base his accusations though, just an uncertainty that nagged at him.
With Branne scrutinising everything he was doing, Agapito felt trapped. His questions had been off the mark, but they were unwelcome attention. Branne was stumbling around, searching for something but not knowing what it was. His careless investigation threatened to uncover everything by accident, and that couldn’t be allowed. Not before Agapito had a chance to make his move.
A vox-chime interrupted his thoughts. He switched off the display and activated the speaker.
‘Commander Agapito, I have a matter to discuss with you.’ He recognised the voice of Custodian Arcatus. The Custodian Guard had kept to themselves for most of the time since arriving on Deliverance, quartered in the mid-levels of Ravenspire that had once been home to the lost companies. Every now and then they would emerge, conducting inspections of the armourium, the docks and other secure areas. That was another inconvenience, but Corax had been adamant that the Custodians were given free range of Deliverance and Agapito’s protests had been ignored. The one concession the commander had managed to extract meant that the Custodians were not entitled to travel to Ravendelve. That would have been too much for the primarch, who guarded the gene-project and its secrecy the same way he had guarded his followers during the uprising.
‘I am in my chambers now, Custodian,’ said Agapito. ‘We can talk here.’
‘Very well, commander, I am on my way.’
Agapito wondered what subject would be up for discussion. It was unusual for the Custodian Guard to interact with the Legion in this way. He wondered if Branne had got involved somehow, and his thoughts soured again. At least the gene-tech and new recruits seemed to be a complete success. Branne would soon have no time to ponder other matters. As Commander of Recruits he would be kept occupied at Ravendelve.
IT SEEMED A pointless exercise, but Alpharius was not going to attract attention by mentioning it. He lowered into a half-crouch, arms a little apart, and circled around the recruit. As he sidestepped to the left, he could see Corax and Branne out of the corner of his eye, watching him and Kaddian gauging each other.
The newly-enhanced Kaddian looked the part: taller than, but not quite as broad as, Alpharius, with rangy limbs and a determined glare. He might possess the physical qualities of a legionary, but he had none of the training and experience. Alpharius had noticed the Raven Guard were prone to wagers, and had bet Sergeant Dor that he would best Kaddian within two minutes. The stake was ten days of armour maintenance. Alpharius flexed his fingers as he pictured the sergeant polishing his suit.
The two warriors wore only loose black trousers for the bout, leaving little for Alpharius to grip for a throw. He lunged, attempting to grab Kaddian’s left wrist, but the recruit was two steps away within a heartbeat, Alpharius’s grapple missing badly. The recruit’s face was a mask of concentration, eyes flicking between Alpharius’s hands, feet and face, looking for any warning of his next move.
Circling again, Alpharius could feel the expectation from the rest of the squad, urging him on to victory. There was no cheering though, just studied silence from everyone in the hall, the only sound coming from the slap of the combatants’ feet on the hard floor.
Kaddian sidestepped and swept a leg out, trying to trip Alpharius. The Alpha Legionnaire jumped just in time, already moving his weight forwards to shoulder-charge his opponent. He landed and leapt, only to find himself not connecting with Kaddian but running through empty air. A kick to his back sent Alpharius onwards a few more steps before he could halt his impetus and turn.
Immediately he was forced to throw up his arms to block a combination of punches aimed at his head, catching the blows on his forearms. Alpharius aimed a kick at Kaddian’s abdomen, catching a glancing blow on the recruit’s hip as he dodged back. Pressing forwards, seeking to exploit Kaddian’s imbalance, Alpharius again tried for a grapple. He seized hold of the recruit’s left arm and twisted, trying to force him down to the ground.
With a suppleness and strength that Alpharius had never encountered, Kaddian arched his back and heaved up with his trapped arm, lifting the legionnaire from his feet. Dropping to the floor, Kaddian turned to toss Alpharius over his back, forcing the legionary to release his grip to turn a hard landing into a forward roll.
A punch to the spine sent Alpharius sprawling, the attack coming so quickly from behind he had no idea how Kaddian had regained his feet in the half-second that had passed. He half-rolled to his right, coming up to face his opponent.
Just in time for his chin to meet the heel of Kaddian’s right foot.
Slamming back into the rockcrete, Alpharius smashed his head against the floor as he fell. He rolled away as the recruit’s foot slammed down onto the floor where Alpharius’s throat had been a moment before. Kaddian’s other foot lashed into his ribs almost instantly, forcing the air from the legionnaire’s lungs.
He anticipated the next kick, managing to twist far enough to grab Kaddian’s ankle in both hands before his foot connected with Alpharius’s gut. Surging to his feet, the Alpha Legionnaire heaved up, seeking to force Kaddian to his back.
With precise timing, Kaddian used Alpharius’s hold on his ankle for support, surging up to crash a knee into his chest. Alpharius toppled backwards and the two of them fell in a heap. Alpharius let go with one hand and hammered a fist into Kaddian’s side, even as the recruit slammed the tip of his elbow into the legionnaire’s cheek. Snatching his foot free from Alpharius’s grasp, Kaddian turned and knelt across his throat, pinning him down. Gasping, Alpharius locked eyes with Kaddian and saw ferocious intent. The recruit drew back his fist, aiming for Alpharius’s face.
‘Stop!’ Branne’s shout cut through the pounding of blood in Alpharius’s ears.
Kaddian jumped up and stepped away immediately, retreating with light steps. Alpharius’s head was ringing. The ceiling swam in and out of focus for a few moments before his vision cleared.
Sergeant Dor approached, hand outstretched to help him to his feet. Irritated, Alpharius ignored the assistance and pushed himself up. He glanced angrily at Kaddian, who was looking at him with a polite smile. Behind Kaddian, the other eight recruits were grinning at their companion’s victory.
Still smarting from his defeat, Alpharius returned to his squad, ignoring the smug look on Dor’s face. Another recruit an
d another legionary were called forwards, and the next bout began.
Recovering his senses, Alpharius could hear the conversation between Branne and Corax, standing not far to his left.
‘Reactions and strength are better than a matured legionary,’ said Branne. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’
‘Which is fine for unarmoured, unarmed combat,’ replied Corax. ‘Those advantages will be much reduced when they have their power armour.’
‘I’ve been thinking about that, lord,’ said Branne, eyes fixed on the two warriors sparring. ‘The new Mark VI suits… They’re far superior to anything else we have, except for a few artificer suits for officers, and even they’re pretty bashed up. We can’t implant the experience and guile of a veteran into these men, but the new armour and their advanced systems would go some way to helping with that.’
‘I was thinking the same,’ said the primarch. ‘These are not just recruits, they are the start of something new for the Legion. I have told Sixx to progress with another one hundred implantations. If we can successfully scale up, you’ll have a fighting force within fifty days. Commander of Recruits doesn’t seem to reflect your role properly.’
Branne glanced at his leader.
‘You said this would be a combat force when you gave me the title, lord.’
‘They need a name, Branne,’ said Corax. ‘We can’t keep calling them recruits, but it isn’t right that they simply get absorbed by Agapito’s Talons.’
‘I have a suggestion,’ said Branne.
‘Then share it, commander.’
‘We have the Talons, Falcons and Hawks, lord. I think we should be the Raptors.’
‘The Raptors?’ Corax smiled and placed a massive hand on Branne’s shoulder. ‘Yes, that will suit perfectly. Swift hunters. You are the Commander of the Raptors now. I’ll inform Agapito, Solaro and Aloni.’
With a grunt and a thud, the legionary duelling with the Raptor ended up face-first on the floor, one arm twisted hard against his back. The Raptor snaked an arm around his neck and pulled, eliciting a pained snarl from the legionary.
‘Stop!’ Branne called.
The Raptors, thought Alpharius, looking at the line of warriors nodding encouragement to their companion as he returned to the rank. If Corax was right, and the Raptors would be battle-ready within fifty days, Omegon had to hear about this. Alpharius had held off making any report so far, but this was news worthy of the risk. Whatever the Alpha Legion primarch was planning, he would have to move swiftly if he was to counter the resurgence in the Raven Guard’s fortunes.
Corax seemed to be content with what he saw. Alpharius watched him leave. Just before the primarch passed through the large doors from the hall, he stopped and looked back, deep in thought. A frown creased the pale skin of his brow, not of anger but of concern. It lasted only for a few seconds, and Alpharius was left to ponder what had passed through the primarch’s thoughts as he had gazed back at the young Raptors.
THE GUARD’S VISOR shattered inwards, sending shards of reinforced transpex into the man’s eyes. He fell back, howling. Corvus drove his fist into the screaming man’s chest, silencing him in an explosion of bone fragments and pulped organs.
The rattle of automatic weapons fire sounded behind him and he felt a stinging sensation across his back. Looking over his shoulder, Corvus saw three men at the outpost rampart, a jutting defence position that overlooked the approach from Wing Two to the vehicle compound. More gunfire chattered and another hail of bullets pattered from his pale flesh, flattened rounds tinkling to the floor around him.
The rebel leader reached down and took the rifle from the dead guard’s hands. The finger guard was too small for his huge digits, so he wrenched it off. Though in reality a large calibre weapon, the rifle felt like a child’s toy in his hands. Lifting his arm, he turned and sighted on the men in the guard post. They were about two hundred metres away and he adjusted his aim a fraction to account for the poor charge in the rifle’s bullets. The muzzle of the rampart gun flared again, ripping chunks from the pockmarked wall behind Corvus, rattling against his left arm.
He pulled the trigger.
The man firing the rampart gun sagged across his weapon, a hole punched through his left cheek just beneath the visor. His finger tightened as he died, sending a burst of bullets into the ground as the gun swung on its mounting.
Firing again, Corvus put his next shot through the throat of the loader, exposed by the swinging of the weapon. The third man turned to run. He was pitched from his feet as Corvus placed his third shot between the man’s shoulder blades, shattering his spine.
‘Here,’ said Corvus, seeing Delpha running past without a weapon. He handed the youth the rifle. The rebel leader jerked his head towards the body. ‘There are spare magazines in the guard’s belt.’
The first wave had nearly reached the gate. The guards had sealed it from inside, believing themselves to be safe behind three interlocking layers of steels and ferrocrete. They were wrong.
Corvus lifted the radio transmitter from his belt.
‘Constantin, enact the override.’
‘Yes, Corax,’ came the tinny reply. The word meant ‘saviour’. Corvus had asked his followers to call him by the name he had already been given, but more and more of them insisted on the honorific. If that was their attitude, he was determined to prove them right and live up to their expectations.
Seeing a discarded shotgun, Corvus strode forwards and snatched it up. The fighting was about to get close and brutal. He pulled his knife – in fact, it was a security colonel’s parade sword – from his belt and quickly caught up with the front of the mob streaming down the wide corridor towards the gate. If they could secure the garage facility, they would have enclosed vehicles to cross the airless wasteland outside. The strategic advantage of being freed from the confines of the prison buildings had made the compound one of Corvus’s priorities.
‘Override in five seconds, Corax,’ reported Constantin.
‘Press on!’ the guerrilla leader roared, waving his shotgun towards the gates.
He was only a dozen strides from the blank surface of the portal. If the charges he had placed within the mechanism during his last unseen infiltration had been discovered, he was about to look very stupid.
A ripple of tiny pops rang through the metal. Corvus reached the lockdown lever a few seconds later – the corpse of the man who had pulled it lay crumpled at the rebel’s feet. If all had gone as Corvus planned, the lockdown was anything but secure. He pushed the lever up, feeling no resistance. In that moment he knew he had been right.
Sirens blared and warning lights spun along the top of the gate as the massive portal ground open.
‘Ready weapons!’ Corvus bellowed over the deafening rumble of immense gears.
The door had lifted no more than half a metre from the ground when a hail of bullets erupted from beyond it, ripping through knees and shins. More than twenty men and women fell screaming, clutching at their ruined legs. A swathe of the inmates turned and ran to avoid the same fate.
Corvus’s eye was drawn immediately to Lensa. She lay on her right side, left leg pulled up, her foot hanging off by a few scraps of sinew. Her young eyes met Corvus’s and she relaxed. Her shrieking stopped and she smiled.
A second later, another hail of bullets thudded into her body, tearing off half her face and punching great holes through the rest of her body.
With a snarl, Corvus dropped to the floor and rolled under the ascending door. He came to his feet in front of two men standing behind a heavy stubber, its tripod lowered as far as possible. The shotgun roared in Corvus’s hand, ripping through the protective vest of the closest guard. The second fumbled for a pistol, pulling it free from its holster at his hip just as Corvus pumped another round into the chamber.
The guard frantically pulled the trigger, sending bullets bouncing off Corvus’s chest. The gun clicked empty several times and the man’s face fell in horror. A hail of shot tore th
rough his arm and shoulder, sending him spinning to the ground in a fountain of ruddy droplets.
The other gun crew was trying to turn their weapon towards the rebel leader. Tossing aside the shotgun, Corvus heaved the stubber from its mounting, kicking the tripod aside. He slung the belt of ammunition over his arm and brought the weapon to bear on the remaining men. Three short bursts were enough to kill them, the shots carefully placed not to damage the other heavy stubber.
The gate was now about a metre and a half off the ground and more rebels were pouring through. Corvus directed Branne, Agapito and Starken to take possession of the heavy weapon.
‘Keep moving!’ Corvus shouted. ‘Keep moving!’
THIRTEEN
Corax’s Hope
Hydra Contact Two
The Path to Victory
THE LINE TOOK one pace forwards, winding along one side of the corridor and back down the other. Navar Hef glanced to his left through the open doorway to see what was going on. The recruits – they weren’t allowed to call themselves Raptors yet – were filing past Commander Branne. Next to him was Sergeant Nestil with a box covered with black cloth. Each recruit dipped his hand into the box and pulled out a hexagonal nut. Some were black and some were white.
Those who pulled out white nuts sighed and slipped away. Those lucky enough to produce a black nut – about one in three of the recruits – stepped into the room. They were the ones who would be next in line for the transformation.
Navar had seen the new Raptors training in the hall. They were an inspiration, more so even than the legionaries that Navar had looked up to for his whole life. He could remember each and every one of the First Nine when they had been like him, just a few weeks ago. Now they were sparring with the legionaries and practising fire drill with bolters and heavy weapons.
It was so close. If Navar could pick out a black nut, he would be one of the next cadre of recruits to become Raptors. The wait was agonising, taking one step at a time away from the door and then back towards it. When he had turned at the end of the corridor, by the double doors that led to the mess, Navar had realised how close he was to the back of the line. There were fewer than twenty other recruits behind him.
