by Gav Thorpe
His hands were shaking with the excitement and his mouth was dry.
There were only five more recruits between Navar and Commander Branne. The next drew out a white nut: failure. Four more to go. The recruit who stepped forwards was Navar’s squad leader, a fair-haired youth a couple of years older than him called Molo. Navar could barely breathe as Molo reached into the box, one eye closed as if fearful of seeing what he brought out.
It was a black nut.
‘Good for you, Molo,’ whispered Navar, and received a nod of thanks and wink in return.
‘That’s it,’ said Branne, stepping out into the corridor.
‘Commander?’ said Navar, his gut tightening with disappointment.
‘That’s the next hundred,’ Branne explained. ‘Go back to your dorms and be ready for training at Falling Hour.’
Branne stepped back into the room and the door clanged shut, leaving the remaining recruits with sagging shoulders and scuffing feet. Navar felt like he had been kicked firmly between the legs, the knot of ache in his stomach much the same. He hadn’t been one of the First Nine. He wouldn’t be one of the Second Hundred.
‘Never mind,’ said Caol, slapping Navar on the shoulder from behind. ‘We might not be the first, but we’ll be Raptors soon enough. We can wait a week.’
A week seemed like an eternity to Navar.
ADJOINING THE COMMAND hall, Corax’s control chamber was a square room a dozen metres across, every wall filled with screens and analytical engines. Robed technicians and wheezing servitors busied themselves at the consoles, collating the data flow into revolving star maps and ever-changing tables of information.
Branne, Agapito, Solaro and Aloni sat around the glass-topped table at the room’s heart, while Corax stood to one side, a portable terminal in one hand. Apart from the others, silent in a corner of the chamber, stood Arcatus, invited out of courtesy by the primarch. Branne had just finished his report on the transformation of the second intake of Raptors. Two had died during the process; the rest were as impressive as the first wave.
‘Sixx says he has created enough gene-seed for two thousand more, though the facilities at Ravendelve only allow us to proceed with implantation on two hundred and fifty recruits at a time. He has requested that we shift the whole operation back to Ravenspire.’
‘Not yet,’ replied Corax. ‘What about the new armour?’
‘Tests are nearly complete,’ said Branne. ‘The Raptors are learning to use the enhanced systems quickly. I’ve had the first thousand suits painted up in Legion livery. We’ll need to finalise the squad organisation before I can pass on the insignia requirements to the armourium.’
‘I have drawn up a list of potential sergeant candidates,’ said Agapito, activating the touchpad on the table in front of him. ‘The Raptors may be well-prepared, but we’ll need to draft in Talons for some command experience.’
‘Agreed,’ said Corax. He glanced at the list. ‘All fine warriors, I’ll leave the final decision up to the two of you. Solaro, what is the vehicle situation?’
‘Poor, relatively speaking,’ said the commander. ‘The armourium has received three shipments from Kiavahr since we returned, mostly Rhinos, but we’re woefully light on heavier armour. Whatever you plan to do to get back at Horus, I hope you don’t have a tank battle in mind.’
‘It’ll be an infantry assault,’ said Corax. At a stroke of his hand, an image appeared on the surface of the table, of a star map showing the sector around Deliverance. A red circle highlighted a star towards the edge of the display and the image zoomed in.
‘Narsis?’ said Aloni. ‘That’s the objective?’
‘We’ve compiled reports from several Navigators who have been travelling in the vicinity,’ explained Corax. ‘While the warp storms are still raging, turbulence around the Narsis system is much reduced. Given the world’s proximity to several forge-worlds, as well as the resources of Agrapha, Chopix and Spartus, I believe that Narsis will be used by the rebels as a staging post to attack the sector.
‘The Perfect Fortress,’ said Branne. ‘The Emperor’s Children brought Narsis to compliance and built the Perfect Fortress there.’
‘Typical arrogance of Fulgrim,’ said Aloni. ‘No fortress is perfect. Still, we don’t have the heavy materiel for a siege.’
‘Nor the time,’ said Corax. ‘I have a plan for the Perfect Fortress, but that is not an issue yet. I need to know whether the Raptors will be ready for the fight.’
‘In theory, yes,’ said Branne. ‘But they’re untested in real battle. Drills and firing ranges are one matter. The fire of war is another. I wouldn’t want to pitch them up against the Perfect Fortress in the first engagement.’
‘What about Cruciax?’ said Solaro. He adjusted the table’s display so that it veered towards another star system, much closer to Deliverance. ‘Small moon base in a dead system. It was set up by the Word Bearers, probably a monitoring station. We can test the Raptors and close off one of the traitors’ intelligence channels in the sector.’
Branne rubbed his chin and studied the schematic, while Corax nodded.
‘How soon?’ asked the primarch.
‘How many do you want to test?’ replied Branne.
‘The first five hundred,’ said the primarch. ‘A proper battle, not some training skirmish. I expect the Raptors to fight independently of the Talons, Falcons and Hawks. They are our first strike formation.’
‘Ten days to complete implantation, another ten preparing and arming,’ muttered Branne. ‘Who can say how long it will take us to get there. Fifteen days at least given the warp conditions.’
‘Very well,’ said Corax. ‘You will lead the Raptors on a raid against the facility at Cruciax. I will accompany you for first-hand observation of their performance. What else do you need to be prepared in time?’
‘Just some sergeants,’ said Branne, looking at Agapito. ‘Other than that, we’ve got everything in hand.’
‘I’ll have the new squad leaders reassigned and sent down to Ravendelve in the next two days,’ replied Agapito.
‘You’ll still need some recon,’ said Solaro. ‘I can have my squads ready whenever you need them.’
‘We’ll rely on orbital data,’ said Corax. ‘This is just a small engagement. The force will deploy on the Avenger only, no need to risk getting a flotilla scattered in the storms. We hit the Word Bearers, destroy the station and withdraw. That is all.’
‘Understood, lord,’ said Branne.
‘Are you sure?’ said Corax. He looked at each of the commanders in turn. ‘Narsis is our main objective. I want to be ready to launch a full-scale attack on the Emperor’s Children garrison within fifty days. We must strike back at the traitors soon.’
‘Have your plans been approved by the Emperor?’ asked Arcatus, rising from his seat. ‘What support can you expect?’
‘There has been no meaningful contact with Terra,’ said Corax. ‘The Emperor granted us autonomy when he allowed us to take the gene-tech from the vault. We can expect no other forces for the moment. It’s just the Raven Guard, nobody else. I don’t know the situation with the other Legions, so we can only rely on ourselves.’
‘My Custodians will accompany you to Narsis,’ said Arcatus. ‘If possible, we will secure prisoners from the Emperor’s Children for transportation back to Terra.’
‘That is a secondary concern,’ said Corax. ‘Our primary goal must be the elimination of the Perfect Fortress and its garrison. It will hamper our enemies considerably if Narsis falls into the hands of those loyal to the Emperor.’
‘It is your command privilege, primarch,’ said Arcatus. ‘Remember that though you may fight alone at the moment, there are others who will be waging this war too.’
‘I have not forgotten them,’ said Corax. ‘It is for them that the Raven Guard will place themselves into the jaws of the beast and draw its bite.’
THE ACID-CLOUD HAD reduced visibility to less than a hundred metres, and was already etc
hing strange sworls in the paint of Alpharius’s armour. He stepped forwards carefully, avoiding the forming pools of corrosive liquid. Everything in the rad-zone was tinged with a ruddy hue, the shadows of the ruined buildings ahead a darker blot against the crimson skyline.
The bleeping of the rad-detector was insistent but steady, low enough that his suit had not yet started pumping counteractive agents into his bloodstream. The recycled air he breathed was growing a little stale, but was far from intolerable despite the antiseptic tinge.
Stepping over the corroded remnants of a rail track, Alpharius looked to his right, where the rest of the squad was advancing with weapons ready. The in-vision schematic in the corner of his eye showed that they were seven hundred and fifty metres from the Ravendelve beacon, five hundred short of the patrol limit.
Skirting around a molten heap of slag that had once been a line of rail carts, the squad crossed the cargo yard at a steady pace. Nemron walked a little ahead of the others, bolter in one hand, auspex in the other. Periodically he would declare no contacts.
The patrol was a standard procedure to ensure that the perimeter of the facility was secure, but with the Raptors recruitment stepping up, Alpharius had detected a greater sense of importance in the orders of Commander Branne. It was not a good sign, an indicator perhaps that the Raven Guard upper echelons might have heard something about the rebellion Omegon was inciting. The patrol range had been pushed out by five hundred metres, covering the outskirts of the desolate transport hub.
Another hundred metres further on, the cloud was thickening even further as the squad moved into a depression caused by the subsidence of underground tunnels and hallways. Descending over broken ferrocrete, Alpharius felt something new. There was a small but insistent pressure at the base of his skull, nestled next to the vertebrae in the gap where one of his progenoid glands had been removed.
He recognised the cause immediately and took a sharp breath. The microscopic Alpha Legion implant set into his spine had detected an alert broadcast. Somewhere within a hundred metres was a Legion transmitter.
‘Sweep right, strafe fifty metres,’ he said, pushing the rest of the squad away from his line of advance. ‘Nemron, active scan of that building seventy metres to the right.’
Alpharius stayed on his course, opening up a gap between himself and the rest of the legionaries. The ticking sensation in his neck was becoming more distinct. Glancing at the others, he saw them only as half-seen shadows in the corrosive mist, and was sure they could see little of him.
He stopped and concentrated on the signal the implant was detecting. He sensed a minor increase in the device’s alert tempo as he stepped to his left. Looking around, he saw the remnants of a power pylon, collapsed and folded as if it had been made of wet paper. With one more glance to ensure he was unobserved, he headed towards the pylon, the ticking in his skull becoming quicker and quicker.
He made a quick survey of the rubble around the base of the crumpled tower but could not see any obvious sign of disturbance. He was glad there was nothing to see. He didn’t have to have access to the node station to interact with it. Kneeling down, he opened up the access panel in his right forearm and disabled his squad monitor.
‘Sergeant, losing your signal,’ came the immediate call from Gallid, the vox-link heavy with interference.
‘Rad-pocket, nothing to worry about,’ Alpharius replied in a measured tone. ‘Continue sweep, I will rejoin you shortly.’
The Alpha Legionnaire activated the short-range receiver/transmitter, a small coil of aerial extruding from the back of his gauntlet.
‘Effrit code, omega-nine-hydra,’ came the electronically muffled voice of the transponder. ‘Contact Two. Make report. Action imminent. Ready yourself for commands.’
‘Effrit code, hydra-nine-omega,’ said Alpharius. ‘Contact Two understood. New formation designated “the Raptors”. Gene-tech highly stable. Twenty-three days until first operations of Raptors. Target secure but ingress route has been established. Ready for orders.’
A loud crackle surprised Alpharius, indicating a live link was being established.
‘Contact Two, this is Effrit. Confirm status of Raptor development.’
‘Effrit, Hydra Contact Two. Implantation sequence scaled up. Full processing imminent. Estimate return of enemy to military threat within seventy days. Orders?’
There was a lengthy delay until the reply crackled through. Alpharius guessed that his news had required some deliberation for his master to resolve.
‘Report understood, Contact Two. Orders to stand by remain.’
The link closed with a hiss and Alpharius retracted the transmitter. He was a little worried by the response. Though it was hard to tell through the layers of tampering, the Alpha Legionnaire thought he had detected hesitancy in Omegon’s message, as if he had been taken back by the swiftly moving current of events.
There was little Alpharius could do at the moment, and the standby order implicitly instructed him not to make any attempt on the gene-tech yet, nor to interfere in or obstruct the ongoing recruitment process. He hoped his primarch had a plan and was ready to act soon. If not, the Raven Guard would be well on their way to recreating their Legion.
‘TOUCHDOWN IN FIVE… four… three… two… one. Mark.’
The Thunderhawk rocked heavily and a plume of grit and sand billowed up past the port. Branne was already out of his harness and heading towards the assault ramp. The rest of the thirty Raptors aboard quickly lined up behind him, their newly painted armour gleaming in the combat lighting, their bolters shining with fresh oil.
‘Second strike has crippled eastern defence turret, you are clear for disembarkation,’ announced the pilot.
The ramp lowered quickly, filling the interior of the gunship with harsh blue light. Branne’s auto-senses filtered out the worst of the glare as he thudded down the ramp and onto a wind-swept dune.
‘Standard dispersal, Corron take left flank, Nal on the right,’ snapped Branne.
The Raptors fanned out quickly, their armour dark against the light grey desert. One squad split to either side and the third followed Branne straight ahead. In front of them, the monitoring station squatted beneath a rocky cliff, its flat roof a tangle of communications dishes and sensor arrays.
Three missiles streaked down from overhead, detonating towards the western end of the station, to Branne’s left. Rockcrete exploded outwards from the bunker-busters, showering debris over a sand-choked yard.
‘Breach achieved, third unit moving forwards, second unit provide fire support,’ said Branne.
The sand was shifting constantly, making the ground underfoot unstable. The heavy legionaries surged through the drifts in clouds of grey, weapons aimed at the low building ahead. The scream of plasma jets erupted overhead as another Thunderhawk made a pass, its lascannons punching through heavily shuttered windows on the southern face of the station. Downblast from Branne’s gunship momentarily swathed the advancing Raptors in a storm of grit as it lifted off to take up a covering position above.
‘Targets, point fifteen, third window,’ snarled Branne, seeing armoured figures moving at one of the destroyed windows. A moment later, bolter rounds spat from the inside of the building, streaking towards Sergeant Nal’s squad.
Return fire blazed from Corron’s warriors, a hail of bolter shells and plasma blasts. Branne signalled for the squad accompanying him to lay down their own covering fire as Nal and his legionaries pressed on into the defenders’ fire.
‘Keep them busy,’ said Branne, drawing up his combi-bolter. He fired both barrels simultaneously, sending a hail of bolts through the window and into the twisted metal frame around it. The bark of bolters intensified, joined by the thunderous beat of the squad’s rotary autocannon, wielded by Kavin. The heavier shells of the autocannon ripped out chunks of plascrete from the wall.
Branne realised this was the first time he had fired at other warriors of the Legiones Astartes. Like the Raptors he led, he h
ad not fought on Isstvan, and it was a moment he was proud to share with the new recruits. He wondered if Corax had been even smarter than the commander had realised when he had put Branne in charge of the Raptors. Not having shared the experience of the dropsite massacre and escape, he had found it hard to relate to the legionaries that had. There was no such divide between him and his new command.
This attack was not just to prove the capability of the Raptors, it was a chance for him to demonstrate to his brother, and the rest of the Legion, that he was as determined to press this war against the traitors as any warrior who had seen his battle-brothers cut down on Isstvan V.
‘Thermal scans show the enemy are responding in force towards the southern attack.’ Corax spoke slowly and calmly. The primarch had not joined the attack in person, preferring to observe proceedings from the Avenger in orbit over Cruciax’s largest moon. The gas giant itself could just about be seen as a large arc of dark red beyond the jagged line of mountains behind the monitoring post.
‘Hold position, draw fire,’ Branne ordered his companions. They had made great display of their landing and first attack, but theirs was a diversionary assault designed to bring the Word Bearers to one side of the compound. Meanwhile, another force was approaching on the opposite side, from atop the cliff, unseen by the defenders.
A bolt cracked into Branne’s right arm. Splinters of ceramite pattered against his chest and faceplate. He saw that an access door had been opened about fifty metres to his right, from which a squad of red-clad Word Bearers was pouring fire into his three squads from the flank. One of Nal’s legionaries went down, pitching face first into the sand. Another spun to the ground a second later, arcs of energy crackling from a punctured backpack.
Switching his grip to his left hand, the commander fired back with a salvo of ten rounds. Kavin swung his autocannon onto this new threat before Branne had spoken the order. Autocannon rounds punched into the squad sheltering in the doorway, felling a Word Bearer and forcing the others out of sight.
