by Gav Thorpe
‘Hydra!’ Nestil yelled, bringing up his combi-bolter.
‘Effrit,’ Alpharius replied instantly, the counter-signal. He stopped mid-swing, letting the chainsword drop to his side. Nestil also lowered his weapon.
‘Nestil?’ said Alpharius, not quite able to believe that the veteran sergeant was really an Alpha Legionnaire.
‘I am Alpharius,’ the sergeant replied. ‘Ort?’
‘I am Alpharius.’
‘So am I,’ said a voice behind the pair. ‘What a coincidence.’
Both Alpha Legionnaires turned.
‘You?’ said Nestil, shaking his head. ‘One of us is a commander?’
SIXTEEN
The Bombardment of Kiavahr
Ransacked
Sixx’s Revenge
THUNDERHAWKS AND STORMBIRDS were already soaring away from High Dock as Corax entered the landing area. Controller Ephrenia ran to keep up with his long stride, relaying the flow of information being sent to her by the command chamber.
‘Fighting is localised to two cities, lord,’ she said breathlessly, the vox-unit held to her ear. ‘Supreme Magos Deltiari says that he has mobilised the Legio Vindictus to respond. A corps-strength column of skitarii has been despatched to assist in the defence of Ravendelve. The Mark VI manufactorum is under heavy attack but holding out. Guild-loyal forces have besieged Prime Forge and are moving to occupy the old guildhouse at Santrix Tertia. Captain Noriz is already aboard the Wrathful Vanguard with his Imperial Fists, and is requesting permission to join the counter-attack on Kiavahr… One moment, lord, receiving direct transmission from Ravendelve. Routing it through.’
She handed the receiver to Corax and he stopped at the ramp to his Stormbird.
‘Commander Branne?’ he said. ‘Report.’
‘Not Branne, lord, it’s Vincente Sixx,’ came the reply. ‘Commander Branne has not arrived yet. Commanders Agapito and Solaro are here, though I cannot contact either at present.’
‘Understood,’ said Corax, pushing aside for the moment the question of where Branne was and what was occupying the other two commanders. ‘What is the situation?’
‘Lord, we are under fire from Warhound Titans, as well as several mobile artillery platforms. There’s a guilder column only half a kilometre from the compound, with battle tank and heavy weapons support. I think our defences have been breached, but I cannot confirm that. What should we do?’
‘What do you mean?’ snapped Corax. ‘Defend Ravendelve!’
‘The gene-template, lord,’ said Sixx. ‘We cannot allow it to be taken by guilders. Who could say whose hands it might end up in?’
Corax stopped himself from replying immediately, forcing himself to evaluate the situation objectively.
‘If we destroy the gene-template and research, we condemn nearly a thousand legionaries to a miserable existence,’ said the primarch. ‘We need that template to reverse the effect of the gene contamination.’
‘I understand, lord, but can we risk it?’
‘You will have to use your own judgement, Chief Apothecary,’ said Corax. ‘Lock down the implantation facility and round up some legionaries as a final guard. Have charges set, ready to destroy the gene-template and all associated material. It’s up to you to decide when the risk is too great. I will be at Ravendelve in ninety minutes.’
‘Understood, lord,’ said Sixx. ‘We’ll do everything we can to protect it.’
Shutting off the connection, Corax gave the receiver back to Ephrenia. Her words were lost in the roar of a Thunderhawk taking off a short distance away.
‘What did you say?’ said Corax.
‘Commander Agapito, lord,’ the controller repeated. ‘There have been several potential security breaches connected to Commander Agapito. I brought them to the attention of Commander Branne. That may account for their current incommunicado status.’
‘I don’t have time for a full explanation,’ said Corax, stepping onto the ramp. ‘Send an order to Ravendelve for Solaro to find and detain both of them.’
‘Understood, lord,’ said Ephrenia. ‘I will ensure that any important developments are relayed to your Stormbird channel.’
‘I know you will,’ said Corax, turning back to carefully lay a hand on her shoulder. A smile creased her elderly face. ‘My commanders might be absent with their own agendas, but I can always rely on you, Nasturi.’
He ran up the ramp, calling to the pilot to take off. Seating himself in the custom-made harness in the main compartment, the primarch stared out of the window. The Stormbird shuddered as its engines growled into life, the black of the landing apron dropping away.
The Stormbird turned and accelerated away from the Ravenspire, bringing Kiavahr into view. Corax eyed the planet suspiciously. Like a thorn he had left to fester in his flesh, the guilds had returned to plague him. He had been so keen to leave, to take up the mantle of primarch and join the Great Crusade, he had underestimated their persistence. He chastised himself for the oversight, and added another reprimand for not expecting them to make a move. They had to have heard of Horus’s treachery and now was an ideal opportunity for them to make their play for power.
He remembered a time long past when he could have ended it once and for all.
‘WE CAN ’T LET them attack again,’ argued Reqaui. ‘They got thousands more troops to send and don’t care none about their losses. It don’t matter that we have an army of men willing to lay down their lives, we just can’t match them. They’ll come again and again and again until we’re dead or back in the cells.’
‘I wish I had never considered it,’ said Corvus, staring at the orb of Kiavahr through the wide window of the guard officers’ mess. The couches were ripped and bloodstained, the ornately carved and lacquered tables and cabinets riddled with bullet holes and scarred by las-fire. ‘It is too extreme. There are millions on that world who labour under the yoke of the guilds as much as we did, and who have committed no offence against us.’
‘Reqaui is right, Corax,’ said Nathian. The sub-commander of Wing Two lay on one of the couches, a decanter of distilled spirits balanced on his chest. He sat up, took a swig from the crystal bottle and pointed past Corvus, jabbing his finger at Kiavahr. ‘The bastards deserve it.’
‘I never said that!’ said Reqaui. ‘Didn’t say they deserved it, said it would be the quickest way to bring peace.’
‘You’re drunk,’ said Corvus, crossing the room in three strides to snatch the decanter away from his lieutenant. He placed it on the ripped velvet surface of a snareball table, noticing that there was a detached finger in one of the net pockets.
‘But I ain’t stupid,’ Nathian replied. ‘Kill all the bastards and there won’t be nobody left to fight. That’s peace, right there.’
‘What do you think?’ Corvus asked, turning his gaze towards Branne and Agapito. The two brothers were seated at a table with a collection of maps of the Kiavahran cities laid out between them.
‘I don’t even know if it’s possible,’ said Branne. ‘How do we get them to the surface?’
‘We’ll drop the first charges down the gravity corridor onto Nairhub,’ said Corvus, but then stopped himself, offering no further explanation. ‘It doesn’t matter. I’ve decided we can’t do it.’
‘Then we better get the defence lasers charged up again,’ said Agapito. ‘The last bombardment severed the mainline cables to the bunkers protecting Wings Four and Five.’
‘We’ll go down fighting, glorious deaths all around!’ said Nathian, using the opportunity to retrieve the decanter and take another mouthful.
‘If that’s what it comes to,’ said the rebels’ leader. ‘Every one of us is prepared to make that sacrifice.’
‘We have to do it, Corvus.’ Attention turned to Ephrenia, who had not yet uttered a word during the entire debate. She sat on the floor with a bandaged and splinted leg raised up on the remnants of a side table. ‘If we do not win, Lycaeus will never be free, and neither will Kiavahr. You have to surviv
e, Corvus. If you die, any hope of liberty dies as well. Thousands, tens of thousands, even hundreds of thousands will be killed, but millions will be freed.’
Corvus couldn’t make that choice. There was no guarantee it would work, and what sense was there in crippling Kiavahr, condemning the population to a slow death of thirst and starvation, if it did not bring victory?
‘Break the power of the guilds,’ urged Reqaui.
Corvus nodded reluctantly. There was no other way.
‘Great,’ said Nathian. ‘Let’s get a move on, no time to waste.’
‘It has already been arranged,’ admitted Corvus. He sank down into the couch vacated by Nathian, long legs stretching out across the burnt carpet. ‘Turman and Wing One have loaded five atomic charges into drop-shuttles. Their guidance systems have been locked on to Nairhub, Toldrian Magna and Chaes. All I have to do is send them the order.’
Ephrenia pulled herself up with a grunt of pain and hobbled across the room. She lowered herself to the floor beside Corvus and rested her arm on his knee.
‘Time won’t make it any easier to give that command,’ she said, looking up at him with soft eyes.
With a sigh, Corvus gestured to Agapito, who pulled the radio from his jacket pocket and tossed it across the room. Catching it easily, Corvus flicked the switch to transmit.
‘Turman, this is Corvus,’ he said slowly. ‘Launch the shuttles.’
The guerrilla commander switched off the device and let it drop to the floor. He turned his head to look through the window. After a few minutes, the engines of the drop-shuttles could be seen moving away into the darkness that separated Lycaeus and Kiavahr.
‘Shit,’ said Nathian, flopping into a chair. He raised the decanter in Corvus’s direction. ‘We’re actually going to win, aren’t we?’
‘Branne, I want you on the main transmitter,’ Corvus said, staring at the ruddy orb of Kiavahr. The light of the system’s star was just starting to spread across the continent called Garrus. He pictured the thousands of people who were just waking to report for the first work shifts, thousands who would not finish those shifts. There was no point trying to hide from what he had done, though he knew the innocent would be incinerated along with the guilty. ‘I want you to make a general broadcast on every guild channel when the charges go off.’
‘No problem,’ said Branne. ‘What message should I send?’
‘Tell the guilders that over centuries of subjugation, they stockpiled one thousand three hundred and twenty atomic charges on Lycaeus. I have only used five.’
THE CLOUDS OF Kiavahr filled the view from the Stormbird, streaming past in vermillion tatters. Corax would be at Ravendelve in less than thirty minutes, but to the primarch it felt like it might as well be a century. He flexed his fingers in agitation, frustrated by the course of events that had overtaken the Raven Guard. Superstition was anathema to the Imperial Truth, and he had never been an irrational person, but it seemed as if his Legion had been cursed since they first made planetfall on Isstvan.
He corrected himself. They had survived Isstvan, when other Legions had not. Through determination and courage, the Raven Guard had endured, and would endure their current tribulations.
The chime of the communicator set into the head rest of his seat broke his thoughts, signalling a transmission on the command channel.
‘Establish contact,’ he said, leaning back from the port. ‘This is Corax.’
‘Lord Corax, this is Branne.’
‘Where in the Emperor’s name are you?’ snarled the primarch. ‘Ravendelve is in danger of being overrun.’
‘Lord Corax, you mustn’t land at Ra–’
Another chime interrupted Branne’s reply, and it was Ephrenia that Corax heard next.
‘Lord, we have registered a target signal directed at Ravendelve from orbit,’ the controller said hurriedly.
‘Source?’
‘It’s from the Avenger, lord!’
‘I can confirm that, lord,’ said Branne as the two channels merged.
‘How?’ said Corax.
‘Because I am aboard the Avenger and have four cyclotronic torpedoes loaded and aimed at Ravendelve, lord.’
Corax could scarcely believe what he was hearing. It took him several seconds to digest the information.
‘Why would you be doing that, commander?’ the primarch asked, his tone as cold as ice.
‘If there is any possibility of the guilders obtaining the gene-tech, I will vaporise the entire site,’ Branne said, his voice quiet. ‘Lord, we have made hard decisions before now to protect the Legion.’
‘There are Raven Guard on the surface, commander,’ Corax said, choosing his words carefully. ‘Why would you fire on your own Legion?’
‘Only out of necessity, lord,’ Branne replied evenly. ‘Please do not land at Ravendelve, that would complicate things.’
‘Are you trying to force my hand, commander?’ snapped Corax. ‘Is that a threat?’
‘No, lord, it is a plea,’ Branne replied. ‘If you land at Ravendelve, I will not open fire, but we may lose the gene-seed.’
Corax lashed out, his fist buckling the bulkhead beneath the port.
‘Why did you not wait for instruction from me?’ he demanded.
‘I feared you would overrule my decision, lord,’ Branne said. ‘Your desire to rebuild the Raven Guard has consumed you of late, and weighs on your ability to make clear judgement.’
Corax threw off his harness and stood up, seething.
‘Corvus, you have known me for many years and I have never been anything other than loyal to you,’ Branne’s voice continued through the speaker. ‘We will find another way to survive if we have to. Please do not land at Ravendelve. The Legion, the Emperor and the Imperium, need you to stay alive. I await your orders.’
The words cut through the primarch’s anger. It was the same voice that had been with him when Lycaeus was freed and Deliverance born. It was the voice that had calmly relayed his orders over a hundred battlefields. It was the voice that had welcomed him back after the nightmare of Isstvan.
It was a voice he trusted.
Corax was breathing heavily, blood surging through his body, his thoughts a whirlwind. A face appeared in his thoughts, contorted with hatred, black eyes filled with venom, the face of a creature prey to dark passion. The face of Konrad Curze, the Night Haunter, whom he should have slain.
He could not let love of his Legion destroy him, the way hatred had destroyed Curze.
‘Very well, commander,’ he said. ‘Remain on station and await my order. If Ravendelve is to be destroyed, it will be by my command.’
Caught between several courses of action, Sixx had begun the lockdown process but not finalised the protocols. He needed to secure some thermal charges from the armourium, but every squad seemed to be occupied in defending the curtain wall. Neither Solaro nor Agapito could be raised, leaving the Apothecary in a quandary: should he leave the infirmary to fetch the explosives himself?
He decided that the infirmary was not under immediate threat, so he would have to risk making the trip in person. Sealing the outer door with his command key, Sixx hurried along the corridor to the conveyor. It was not there and he urgently pulled the call lever.
He stepped back in surprise as the elevator doors slammed open just a few seconds later, leaving him standing face-to-face with Commander Solaro. He was flanked by a handful of legionaries, their black armour glinting in the blue glow of the commander’s drawn power sword.
‘A great mercy!’ said Sixx. ‘Commander, I need you t–’
Solaro lanced his blade through Sixx’s chest without a word. Blood bubbled up the throat of the Chief Apothecary, turning his exclamation of shock into a gargling flurry of crimson bubbles.
Solaro pulled the power sword free, leaving Sixx to drop face-first to the ground.
‘Get the digi-key,’ said Solaro, heading up the corridor.
Sixx could do nothing as one of the legionaries crouche
d down and tore the chain from around his neck. As blackness swept over him, Sixx’s last thought was of the terrible mistake he had made.
‘WHAT’S THE DELAY?’ demanded Nexin Orlandriaz as he threw open the top hatch of his crawler. He swivelled in the cupola to glare back down the column of tanks and transports snaking back into the mist. His lungs stung in the acrid air, but the pollution was nothing his modified body could not process.
The skitarii corps consisted of two thousand cybernetically enhanced warriors travelling in eight slab-sided Dominator mobile fortresses, another five hundred marching alongside. Around the armoured behemoths were several more of the small recon crawlers, hidden behind a rag-tag assortment of tanks that had been gathered together to provide further protection: Imperial Army Leman Russ battle tanks and Falchions, Predators that had been destined for the Raven Guard and three Iron Angel-class heavy walkers that stomped along on four legs, their hulls bristling with anti-personnel weapons.
‘Some of the praetorians got bogged down,’ a ballistae sergeant shouted back from the back of his four-man self-propelled assault gun. He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder to where large figures were emerging from the fog.
Each was as large as a legionary or bigger, vat-grown for the purpose, and each of the dozen combat servitors was armed with an assortment of chainguns, rocket pods and multi-lasers. Some weapons were carried on armoured harnesses, others replaced limbs or were riveted and welded into the artificial flesh of the praetorians.
Alongside them strode the herakli, more vat-grown giants clad in thick robes and cowls covered in Mechanicum sigils, chests and shoulders protected by plates of ceramite. They hefted multi-barrelled cannons and heavy lasers as easily as a skitarii carried his lasgun. One of the herakli stopped beside Orlandriaz’s crawler, staring up at him with his face hidden by the shadow of his hood. This caused the others to pause and gaze at the magos.
‘Taskmaster! Keep them going forwards,’ Orlandriaz bellowed.
A functionary in heavy coveralls and visored helmet barked orders at the servitors and they lumbered on again.
