by Gav Thorpe
‘Time for another visual sweep,’ said Dor, not looking up from his work.
Alpharius said nothing as he stood up and moved to the reinforced door. He keyed in the security code and the door extended out and slid to one side. Stepping into the airlock, he sealed the door behind him. He took his helmet from his belt and fitted it before opening the outer seal. Wind rushed in, bringing the acrid taint of pollution.
Stepping out onto the rampart, Alpharius glanced down at Ravendelve. Searchlights from the towers and walls scoured the surrounding ground, their beams lost in the hazy air no more than a hundred metres out. He could see armoured figures patrolling the walls beneath him, their eye lenses bright yellow dots in the gloom. Unslinging his bolter, he walked around the rampart, passing under the shadow of the huge twin-barrelled cannon in the emplacement atop the tower.
He performed a point check, using the magnification of his auto-senses to inspect the gatehouse, armourium doors and other points of entry. All he saw were Raven Guard, patrolling tirelessly or standing sentry. One thousand Talons had been sent down from Ravenspire to reinforce the garrison, taking the place of the Raptors who had succumbed to the genetic corruption.
It had pained Alpharius to see the tainted legionaries, some of them wracked with agony, all of them a perversion of the Legiones Astartes. It would be a mercy to kill them, and when the time came, the Alpha Legion would surely grant them swift release from their torment. The Raven Guard were enemies, but Alpharius had a great deal of respect for the warriors of Deliverance, having shared in their tribulations.
He continued on his circuit, moving to the outside of the tower to look out over the rad-wastes. He already knew from the sensor reports that there was nothing out there, but the Raven Guard were highly suspicious of guild-tech and left nothing to chance. It was possible that the insurgents possessed something that might mask them from the scanner sweeps.
There was nothing to see, only a tortured landscape of flattened buildings and cratered rock.
He started towards the door to complete one loop around the tower, but stopped at the corner to look into the far distance. To the north-east, five kilometres away, the outskirts of Nabrik jutted from the bank of red fog like the fingers of a drowning man breaking the surface of the water. Lights blinked from their rooftops and the lamps of armoured airships passed sedately between them.
Alpharius was about to turn away when he noticed a flickering in the gloom, close to the base of one of the towers. A series of flashes illuminated the fog. Moments later, a dirigible erupted into flames, the mangled remains of its gondola sent plummeting into the city. A second or two later, the Alpha Legionnaire heard the muffled but distinct rap of heavy cannons drifting over Ravendelve, followed by the crack of the airship’s detonation.
Astounded, he watched tracer fire erupting from several of the cloudscrapers at the heart of the city, and more explosions billowed into life further into Nabrik. He thought it to be just another insurgent attack at first, targeting the Mechanicum following recent defeats against the Raven Guard, but then several things happened at once.
Two huge detonations rocked one of the soaring towers, almost cutting it in half. The upper storeys crumbled and toppled, crashing into the streets below in a huge cloud of flame and smoke. Alpharius’s first thought was that it was a bomb, but his amazement grew as a gigantic figure appeared silhouetted against the growing column of fire. It was at least ninety metres tall, its right arm a massive multi-barrelled cannon, the left another immense weapon that gleamed with the blue sheen of plasma generators. Its armoured carapace was packed with turrets that streaked laser and shell fire into the city: an Imperator-class Titan!
As he watched the Imperator unleash a ball of ravening blue energy from its plasma annihilator, Alpharius heard Marko shouting over the vox.
‘Full alert, man stations! Threat imminent.’
‘Powering up defence cannons,’ announced Dor.
The words had barely sunk in when the macro-cannon above Alpharius opened fire. The shockwave from its twin muzzles hit the Alpha Legionnaire, his suit warning icons flashing amber and red as the concussive blast enveloped him. Two shells the size of battle tanks screamed into the distance, exploding kilometres away.
Just as the noise of the shell detonations reached Alpharius, a ticking started in his skull, a double pulse different from the one he had felt before. He knew immediately what it meant: Omegon had remotely activated the tracking function. The implant was now homing in on the devices of the other Alpha Legionnaires.
It’s started, Alpharius thought, his hearts racing. The Alpha Legion were making their move. He had to get into position and meet with the others.
Increasing the magnification of his sight, Alpharius saw four columns of vehicles and infantry snaking through the ruins where the cannon had fired, passing between flames and rising smoke from the double impact. There were transports and tanks, flanked by three armoured walkers, each twenty metres tall. One of the Warhounds – the walkers were clearly scout-class Titans – was enveloped by a shimmering dome of purple and black as its void shields collapsed from the initial macro-cannon bombardment. The other two Warhounds raised their weapons and returned fire as shots from Turret Two shrieked across Ravendelve to pound into the metal body of the compromised Titan.
Alpharius hurled himself to the rockcrete a moment before the cannonade erupted around him, showering him with stone-like shards and fragments of the plasteel reinforcing rods within the tower wall. Two white beams lanced out of the shifting fog, punching through the armoured casement of the macro-cannon.
Propelling himself towards the door, Alpharius was engulfed by a storm of sparks and fiery debris from above, spitting and clattering on his armour. He hauled open the outer door and threw himself inside, slamming the armoured portal as another volley of shells hammered into the rampart where he had been only two seconds before.
‘Nord and Falko are down,’ Sergeant Dor reported. ‘Cannon is non-operational. Withdrawing to central structure, there’s nothing we can do from here.’
The tower shuddered again from more impacts as the airlock cycled through the filtering process. Alpharius paced back and forth for a few seconds, waiting for the inner door to open. The interior of the tower had been plunged into darkness, lit only by sparks bursting from fractured consoles. Dor and Marko were waiting by the stairwell that linked the tower levels.
‘What about the others?’ asked Alpharius, glancing up to the landing above. Automatic fire suppression systems had flooded the gun casement, filling it with white, dusty smoke.
‘Done for. Let’s get moving,’ said Dor, setting off down the steps. ‘Muster at station four.’
Alpharius could not afford to be drawn into the general muster. His instructions from his primarch were to get to the main gate.
‘Go on,’ said Alpharius, waving Marko to follow Dor.
The Raven Guard turned his back on Alpharius as the Alpha Legionnaire unsheathed his combat knife. Alpharius drove his boot into the back of Marko’s knee, forcing him down even as he plunged the blade towards the side of the legionary’s neck. He sawed the serrated edge through Marko’s flesh, almost decapitating him.
‘What’s the delay?’ Dor shouted back up from the landing below.
Alpharius dropped Marko’s corpse to the floor, readied a grenade from his belt, and moved to the rail above the steps.
‘Take this!’ he called out, dropping the primed grenade.
Dor caught it out of instinct. A slow second passed as he realised what he had done, the grenade falling from his fingers, but too late. The grenade exploded, hurling the sergeant from his feet, razor-edged shrapnel cracking against his armour. Alpharius knew that a single grenade would not be enough to take down a legionary and vaulted over the rail, bolter in one hand.
He thudded onto the landing as Dor was pushing himself to one knee, chainsword already drawn. Gas hissed from split piping and oily fibre-bundle lubricant mixed wi
th the blood leaking from the sergeant’s midsection. Alpharius’s first bolt hit Dor in the left side of his helm, where the communication pick-up was located, silencing any warning he might broadcast.
Dor roared and leapt at Alpharius, who dodged back a moment before the spinning teeth of the chainsword would have taken off his arm. He fired blind, hammering bolts into the sergeant’s chest, the cascade of detonations sending Dor sprawling again. Alpharius followed up quickly, placing his next shot through the eye lens of Dor’s crumpled helmet. The already damaged helm split apart as the bolt detonated inside, spraying blood and brain matter across the metal floor.
Stopping only to prise the chainsword from Dor’s dead grip, Alpharius headed down the tower.
LOOKING UP AT the colossal form of the Magnus Casei as the Imperator Titan unleashed another miniature star into the heart of the city, Omegon felt a little trepidation. He had known that the Order of the Dragon had extensive resources, but had not appreciated just how much influence they had extended into the Mechanicum of Kiavahr. He had expected a distraction, infighting amongst the different temples. What the Order of the Dragon had delivered was all-out civil war.
The streets were packed with tech-priests and Mechanicum functionaries fleeing the carnage. Slack-faced servitors wandered around, unable to process what was happening, staring vacantly at the explosions and flames. Here and there, soldiers in reflective bodysuits herded the crowd away from the fighting, urging them out of their lines of fire with their rifles. Praetorian servitors – half-human war machines even larger than Omegon – watched over the exodus with chainguns, lascannons and sonic disruptors.
Guild forces were pouring into the city, thousands of warriors clad in armoured environment suits. The distant crackle of las-fire and thunder of heavier weapons cut through the sound of flames and the panicked shouts of the surging throng. Here and there, the fabric of the streets themselves exploded from below as indiscriminate mole mortar fire raked the city from the outskirts.
Screaming and shouting erupted with renewed fervour as the Magnus Casei lifted its foot and stepped along the broad boulevard between two smoking hab-blocks. Defence turrets atop its buttressed and crenellated carapace barked into life as the vapour trails of aircraft cut through the sky above the city.
Amongst the surge of fleeing civilians, Omegon had perfect cover. He stepped from the doorway of a forgehouse and into the crowd, head wrapped in a thick scarf, heavy robes concealing his immense frame. He had discarded his armour, sinking it into a chem-pool in the wastes; it was stealth and not physical defences that would protect him now.
Allowing himself to be pulled along by the stream of people, he flowed with them to where the boulevard broke into a large plaza. There the crowd began to fill the square and their panic grew. Squads of the Mechanicum’s soldiers – the skitarii – were blocking off the exits, forcing back the refugees with electro-staves and warning shots from their autoguns. Tracked weapons platforms were positioned at the intersections, their cyber-augmented crews alert for danger.
It was simple enough for Omegon to use his bulk to force a path through the throng, heading for one of the other roads leading into the plaza. Shouldering aside a tech-priest, he strode to the skitarii cordon. He was met by a company leader, the plates of his carapace armour engraved with Mechanicum runes. The officer looked up at Omegon with mechanical eyes, lenses reflecting the flames consuming the cloudscraper behind the primarch.
‘Captain Vertz of the Talons, let me through,’ snapped Omegon, not allowing the officer a chance to speak. ‘I must report to Ravendelve.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said the officer, waving for his men to drag aside part of the barricade they had erected across the street. ‘There is a column from the sixth district assembling at Foundry Arc, responding to a request from your primarch. You might want to join with them.’
‘Thank you for the information,’ said Omegon, stepping past the skitarii leader. He was genuinely grateful for the knowledge, as it would mean the next phase of his plan would be made a lot easier.
He broke into a run, heading out of the city towards the edges of the rad-wastes.
THE CRASH OF falling masonry announced the destruction of another turret. Ravendelve’s main building shook with the impact as the lights flickered and warning sirens screeched. Agapito had no time to wonder about the significance of this development as he pounded down a flight of stairs towards the armourium.
He was met at the next landing by a squad of Raptors, who were assembling a multi-laser on its tripod. For the last few days, he had spent much of his time with Captain Noriz, taking his advice on the basic defensive strategies his Legion employed. Agapito’s mind was brim-full of attrition ratios, specific killzones and interlocking deployment patterns.
‘That’s no good there!’ he snapped. ‘If the enemy get this far in, it’ll make no difference. Move it to the south transept for a decent field of fire.’
‘Yes, commander!’ replied the squad’s sergeant, even as Agapito continued on his hurried course.
Besides, he thought, I still need an escape route open to me if things get out of hand.
AS AGAPITO ENTERED the armourium level he found the area almost deserted. A few servitors trundled back and forth, hauling ammunition onto the bed of a bulk carrier. They paid him no heed as he ran past. Hearing voices ahead, the commander sidestepped into one of the practice ranges. Footsteps rang on the floor outside and then passed away.
When the sound of the legionaries had faded, Agapito emerged into the main corridor, checking that he was not seen. If his presence was remarked upon he would surely be called upon to take charge in Branne’s absence, a delay he could not afford. He did not know how long he would have, but every second wasted might see his opportunity lost.
ALPHARIUS ENTERED THE gatehouse with a confident stride to find an assortment of Raven Guard already there. Most were Talons, but a squad of Raptors manned the controls of the lascannon batteries overlooking the approach. There were certainly too many legionaries for him to overcome in the same way he had disposed of Dor and Marko.
There was a commotion at the other door as Sergeant Nestil entered, flanked by two warriors from his squad.
‘Activate landing beacons,’ the sergeant ordered. ‘Reinforcements are arriving. Be ready to open the sub-gate to let them in.’
Checking a snarl of frustration, Alpharius moved away from the massive doors of the main gate. His task had been to secure the gates and open them for the arrival of more Alpha Legion troops, but with even more Raven Guard arriving it seemed like a foolhardy move. The implant in his skull was ticking madly, telling him that another Alpha Legionnaire was close at hand, probably within the bastion of the gatehouse. He could not risk arousing suspicion by revealing himself just yet.
Under Nestil’s instruction, the lock bars on a smaller gateway set inside the huge slabs of adamantium-sheathed ferrocrete were disengaged. The postern opened on hydraulic rams, revealing a view of the landing apron between the gatehouse and outer wall. The gatehouse was soon going to be very full, so Alpharius headed up the stairwell leading to the observation gallery that ran above the gates themselves. He found himself in the company of five other Raven Guard, sitting in the cradles of the quad-heavy bolters mounted along the gallery’s outer wall.
Ignoring them, Alpharius looked out of the metre-thick glasteel window. The flare of ramjets descended through the ruddy murk and he recognised the shape of an approaching Thunderhawk, another a hundred metres behind. Touching down on the apron, the black-armoured drop-ship lowered its ramps to disgorge several squads of legionaries moving at the double. As soon as the last Raven Guard disembarked, the Thunderhawk pilot gunned the engines and took off. The second touched down as the first wave of reinforcements filed towards the open postern gate.
At a loss, Alpharius glared down at the two lines of black-armoured figures jogging towards the gatehouse. He watched the second Thunderhawk lift off again as the first wheeled
around a few hundred metres from the wall. Something struck him as odd about the Thunderhawk’s manoeuvre and he paid closer attention to the gunship’s approach.
Increasing the magnification of his auto-senses, he zoomed in on the gunship and saw that the locking arms on its missiles had been disengaged. It was about to make an attack run.
He sprinted back towards the stairwell. Four near-simultaneous blasts filled the gallery with flying shrapnel and fire, the shockwave hurling Alpharius through the doorway to send him clattering down the first flight of stairs.
Head ringing, he pushed himself to his feet as he heard the report of bolters from below. The vox was suddenly alive with shouted warnings, before being cut off by deafening static. Two Raven Guard backed into the stairwell beneath, one blazing with his bolter, the other sending a stream of burning promethium from his flamer at some unseen enemy in the main gatehouse.
Alpharius levelled his bolter and opened fire, cutting down the legionary with the flamer. His companion turned in surprise, weapon lifting towards Alpharius. Before he could fire, a ball of plasma screamed through the doorway, exploding against his left side, incinerating half of his body in an instant.
Holding his bolter in one hand to pull free his looted chainsword, Alpharius advanced slowly down the steps, eyes fixed on the doorway. He stopped as he reached ground level, hearing the sounds of fighting lessening. Bolter held out, he stepped around the edge of the arch. The ticking in his head was near-constant now.
He saw Sergeant Nestil striding through a pool of burning promethium, almost on top of Alpharius, flames licking from his breastplate and left arm.
Alpharius readied the chainsword and sprang at the sergeant, sweeping the weapon towards his throat.
Nestil saw the attack and pivoted, catching the side of the chainsword with his forearm to deflect the blow onto his shoulder plate. Monomolecular teeth screeched, churning through paint and ceramite.
