Fall of Damnos

by Nick Kyme

  Praxor was torn. He had not believed he’d ever think this way, but here on Damnos… this was beyond what the Second had ever faced before. He was not superstitious but Praxor couldn’t deny the sense of foreboding that was building steadily within him. He didn’t like the sensation; it felt almost treasonous.

  Less able to pick their way through the denser rubble, the Dreadnoughts had shifted position in the battle line to walk along the roadway. It brought Agrippen close to Praxor and he nodded to the ancient warrior when he joined them.

  Ahead, the Lions grew distant as they forged off with their captain. Sicarius was ever eager to be the first to battle and kept a close counsel with his command squad. Save for Argonan, who had died in the landings, he had yet to lose a single one of his chosen Ultramarines.

  ‘They are a breed apart from the rest of us.’ It came out more ruefully than Praxor had intended.

  ‘And yet you aspire to join their ranks.’

  Praxor glanced at Agrippen but the hulking Dreadnought was unreadable. The words simply emerged from his vox-speakers as fact. ‘No. I am proud to serve as the sergeant of the Shieldbearers. It is my honour and oath to the Chapter.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it, brother. But I know your service record. You and the Shieldbearers are almost always leading the line, the first into any engagement, always at the forefront of our assaults. Some of a more cynical nature might suggest you were trying to prove something.’

  Insulted, Praxor’s voice took on a hard edge that he was careful to monitor in the face of the venerable Agrippen. ‘Only my unswerving loyalty and dedication to the Ultramarines.’

  ‘Do you think that is in question, brother?’

  ‘Is this really the time for such a conversation, on the cusp of battle as we are?’

  ‘Tell me of a better time to discuss honour and courage than before going into war against our enemies,’ said Agrippen. ‘But you are avoiding my question.’

  Praxor left a long pause. He did not find the answer easy. ‘Perhaps. There are times when I have questioned.’

  ‘At Ghospora, a campaign over a century old.’ It was a statement, not a suggestion.

  ‘You of all of us, venerable one, should know that time is immaterial when concerning matters of honour.’

  ‘Aye, I do. It displeased you that your captain left you behind?’

  ‘It stunned and humbled me,’ Praxor admitted. ‘It felt as if I were being punished, though I did not know why.’

  ‘Humility is as important a lesson as learning how to wield a gladius properly or fight in squad with your brothers.’

  Praxor nodded and saw the wisdom in the Dreadnought’s words.

  The roadway was coming to an end. They were deep into Arcona City now and the drifts were coming down in swathes. Even through the blizzard, Praxor could see the necron phalanxes manoeuvring to intercept them. It wouldn’t be long.

  ‘Before we go to battle, I must ask you something, Agrippen,’ Praxor said, voicing his mind as he had wanted to since they’d made planetfall.

  ‘Speak. I shall answer if I can, brother.’

  ‘Are you here to watch for Agemman’s interests? Is what they say in the senate true?’

  ‘As all should do, I serve the Chapter alone and my Lord Calgar.’ Agrippen was stern but there was no hint of reproach in his modulated diction. ‘I possess the wisdom of centuries and all I see are two great heroes, dissimilar in method but equal in courage and honour.’

  ‘In the senate, I have heard talk from Agemman’s ambassadors of Sicarius overreaching himself.’

  ‘He is daring and innovative,’ Agrippen conceded.

  ‘But there is concern that this will go too far and of the consequences when it does.’

  ‘And how does our Lord Calgar respond to such concerns?’

  ‘He is not present. His voice is absent from proceedings.’

  ‘And what does that tell you, brother?’

  Humbled again in the time it takes to field-strip a bolter, Praxor decided he would speak less to Dreadnoughts in future. Their logic was as redoubtable as their armoured bodies. ‘That I should not listen to Chapter politics.’

  ‘And what do you think, Praxor Manorian? Do you think Cato Sicarius, your captain, overreaches himself?’

  Praxor’s gaze went to the Lions out of reflex. Sicarius was as fine a warrior and a captain as there was in the Chapter. Perhaps he was even the best they had.

  ‘Until now, no.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘He does things, formulates tactics and executes plans that I could never even conceive of.’

  ‘That is why he is captain of the Second. It’s why his legend will endure long after he is dust. But you haven’t answered my question again.’

  Praxor bowed his head. His answer was forestalled by Sicarius’s voice blasting over the comm-feed.

  ‘Ultramarines! We are engaging!’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sporadic gauss-fire erupted across the ruins, forcing the Space Marines to hunch over. It kicked up snow and fragmented rubble but missed the Ultramarines who advanced steadily, returning fire. Bolter flashes lit up the icy gloom in retaliatory bursts and spread the necrons’ aim across the line so that no one part of it was ever under heavy barrage.

  A blanket of snow and ice rolled over the battlefield, carried by a biting wind. Neither necron nor Ultramarine felt it, their metal bodies and their armour protecting them, but it made targeting more difficult.

  ‘Holding positions!’ shouted Praxor, prompted by a rune-signal on his retinal display. The Shieldbearers adopted firing postures. Farther up the roadway, the Lions had slowed to allow the rest of the company to catch up.

  Sustained bolter fire came from the more advanced tactical squads, punctuated by plasma bursts and missile expulsions. At the end of the line, the Devastators unleashed their guns. A heavy bolter salvo filled the air with the dense chug-chank of high-velocity shells. Missiles boomed from their tubes. Plasma and lascannons spat incandescent death in a series of bright lances. The storm made it difficult to tell easily, but the necron frontliners were being torn apart by the fusillade.

  ‘Keep it up,’ ordered Daceus, shouting between bolter bursts. ‘Make them pay for every damned step.’

  It was as intense as any battlefield Praxor had fought on. His warrior-spirit soared. The line was dug in well, spread thin and hurting the necron phalanxes. But they were not like most enemies and could absorb a lot of punishment. Even obscured by the fog, their numbers were staggering too.

  ‘Seems we have poked the nest,’ offered Krixous.

  ‘And they respond to the threat,’ Praxor replied, pointing. He opened the comm-feed. ‘Captain, monolith rerouting on our position.’

  He saw Sicarius turn towards the floating pyramid of living metal moving slowly into a flanking position.

  ‘Maintain fire,’ he said. ‘We need to draw them on.’

  But the necrons had stopped advancing and occupied static positions. A small cohort of elites had joined the raider constructs, their heavier fire swelling the barrage.

  Praxor registered a couple of hits on his tactical display but so far no red icons. Several Space Marines were at amber status – injured but still effective.

  Elianu Trajan added his voice to the battle, ‘Repel them, brothers. Bring down the soulless xenos, hated in all its forms. Do not relent. There is no forgiveness, no quarter. Guilliman is watching!’

  He couldn’t see the Chaplain – the fog was too thick now – but Praxor noted his position on the tactical map, accompanying Atavian’s Devastators. He was advancing swiftly: soon he’d be with the tactical squads. Praxor could almost feel his wrath already.

  ‘Pour it on!’ yelled Daceus. All the while the shadow of the monolith was getting closer. Still the necrons took the hammering, refusing to move, refusin
g to commit their command nodes to the fight.

  ‘Do they know our plan, captain?’ he asked over the clangour.

  Sicarius was adamant. ‘Impossible. They are not engaging because of the monolith.’ Daceus heard the snarl behind his captain’s battle-helm. So far, the captain’s objectives were eluding him. The storm was worsening, though. Visibility was weak to poor. If they were going to break off then now was the time.

  ‘We need to destroy that thing. Do you still have your melta bombs, sergeant?’

  Daceus let off a burst of bolter fire then nodded.

  Sicarius holstered his plasma pistol. ‘Give them up.’

  Handing them over, Daceus said, ‘What are you going to do?’

  Mag-locking the additional melta bombs to his armour, Sicarius replied, ‘Take out that monolith. Gaius, I’ll need your blade.’

  The company champion bowed his head. ‘I am yours to command, my lord.’

  ‘Captain–’ Daceus began.

  ‘It is my duty, sergeant,’ he said, and his posture took on a nurturing look. ‘I know you would throw yourself into the hells of the warp for me, Daceus. You are more than merely my sergeant – you are my ally, my friend.’

  Daceus saluted by slamming his fist against his chestplate. ‘Courage and honour, Cato.’

  ‘Courage and honour, Retius.’ It had been many years since the two had exchanged first-name greetings, and never before on the battlefield. There was something about it, and this war, that Daceus did not like. It felt significant in a way, an ending of sorts. It did not portend well.

  Sicarius showed none of his sergeant’s misgivings. ‘You have command. See the plan out.’

  Then, together with Gaius, he ran into the fog.

  Praxor saw two cobalt figures running from the Lions’ position. With the adverse weather, he couldn’t be sure who they were.

  ‘Brother-sergeant?’

  ‘I don’t know, Etrius. Maintain fire.’

  Sergeant Daceus’s voice crackled over the feed. ‘All flanking forces, converge on the Lions’ lead. We move now!’

  The rest of the command squad broke off from the battle line, headed in the opposite direction to the pair of Ultramarines.

  ‘Temple of Hera,’ breathed Praxor. ‘It was Captain Sicarius.’

  ‘Guilliman’s breath, what is he doing?’ asked Krixous.

  Though he was saying it, Praxor could still not quite believe it. ‘He is living up to his legend, and going to destroy the monolith.’

  Etrius was incredulous. ‘Alone?’

  The reply sounded hollow even to Praxor. ‘Gaius Prabian is with him.’

  ‘Make their sacrifice a deed of honour!’ boomed Agrippen, plasma cannon pulsing. ‘He is Cato Sicarius, High Suzerain, Captain of the Second and Master of the Watch. On this field, he is Guilliman’s sword; we are all Guilliman’s sword.’ The Dreadnought had regrouped with the Devastators and was intensifying fire along with Ultracius.

  Praxor found his purpose refocussed after the ancient warrior’s words. Sicarius’s reckless bravery would not be in vain. In his retinal display, he saw Indomitable was moving. Not to be outdone by Sergeant Solinus, Praxor led the Shieldbearers after them. As they joined up with the Lions, his gaze met Trajan’s.

  ‘He has the courage of Invictus and the guile of Galatan. Banish your doubts, brother-sergeant.’

  They were moving too swiftly for a long reply, so Praxor merely nodded. Still the necron phalanxes weren’t moving, content to hold and defend while their ponderous war engine got into position. If the monolith managed to open up its power matrix in a singular beam-pulse, the plan was finished. Broken off from its phalanx, the machine was fairly isolated but attacking such a thing beggared belief.

  ‘Stay on me! Move as one!’ Daceus was keeping the line intact, marshalling the tactical squads into position so they could prosecute Sicarius’s plan.

  They deviated far from the roadway, which was now wholly occupied by the Devastators and Dreadnoughts. The necrons’ reaction to the barrage was feeding more mechanoids into the grinder. Their supplies were endless, their sense of self-preservation obsolete, despite the strange cries that came from each mechanoid as it was struck down. Phase-outs were happening constantly but just as many of the creatures self-repaired and returned to the fight.

  The Ultramarines couldn’t win by sheer weight of arms – they didn’t have enough battle-brothers.

  ‘Any eyes on the command node, yet?’ Daceus had drawn them to halt, out of the firing line and approaching the flank of a necron phalanx exchanging fire with the Space Marine heavy guns. The storm was so thick now, they could only see through their retinal senses or magnoculars.

  Solinus was at the scopes, scanning the silver horde. ‘Nothing from here.’

  On the opposite side, Praxor also returned a negative.

  ‘We need to get into them, force their hand,’ said Daceus. He opened the feed. ‘All heavies advance and resume fire.’

  Praxor watched the line move up through the fog. Agrippen and Ultracius anchored it with Tirian and Atavian’s Devastators in the middle. The necron casualties intensified. And with slow inevitability they started to shift.

  Daceus grinned ferally, ‘That’s it, you xenos scum…’

  But the attack would still be stalled if the monolith couldn’t be destroyed, and without Sicarius they would have little chance of eliminating a necron overlord.

  Praxor looked to the looming pyramid. Its capacitors were wreathed with emerald lightning, preparing to fire. It would need to be soon.

  ‘Keep low, brother.’ Gauss-beams flashed overhead, forcing Sicarius into a stooping run.

  Gaius Prabian kept his combat shield up and close to his body. Several blasts had already skimmed off its surface.

  The power armour of both Ultramarines was pitted and scored from where they’d run the necron gauntlet. Ahead, the shadow of the monolith finally reached them.

  It was immense, a horrifying testament to the mechanoids’ power. In truth, Sicarius believed the necrons to be much more than mere robots. They were something else entirely. Something ancient.

  Although Arcona City had been pummelled into dust during the necron invasion, some ruined structures were still standing. Using the fog to cover their movements, the two Ultramarines skirted around to the monolith’s flank. Its gauss-arc projectors were patrolling the immediate vicinity but looked incapable of firing whilst the machine was feeding energy to its crystal power matrix. Close up they got a chance to see the shimmering unreality of the monolith’s surface and the eldritch sigils engraved upon it. Truly, this was an engine of evil.

  Sicarius noticed the crystal at the pyramid’s summit start to glow brighter as the capacitors fed it power from their lightning field. Its power matrix was coming on-line.

  A small retinue of raider constructs protected the monolith, moving in step with it, their weapons ready but not yet firing. In his time as a warrior of Ultramar, Sicarius had prosecuted many tank ambushes. An armoured column was a fearsome force in battle; its guns were powerful and its resilience potent against all but the heaviest weapons. But it was also relatively slow and cumbersome. Surgical strikes by squads bearing armour-busting grenades were deadly to tank formations. This monolith was no tank, and Sicarius suspected its strange surface would be resistant to most weapons, but he was determined to at least neutralise if not destroy it utterly.

  A commando move such as the one he was about to attempt didn’t exactly follow the strictures of the Codex but then Sicarius had his own way of interpreting Guilliman’s writings. He hoped the primarch would approve of his ingenuity and bravura.

  ‘Champion,’ he said, resting a hand on Gaius’s shoulder guard as they crouched in the ruins and peered out at the passing monolith, ‘you are my unsheathed sword.’

  Gaius nodded slowly, his eyes on the ra
iders. There were only five of them. He ignited the blade of his power sword and it hummed hungrily.

  Before he let him go, Sicarius added, ‘Beware that portal at the front. Only Hera knows where it might lead you. Courage and honour.’

  Gaius growled back through the vox-grille of his ornate helm. ‘Courage and honour, my lord.’

  The two then split apart, Sicarius headed around what appeared to be the rear of the monolith and Gaius engaging from the front.

  The Champion vaulted the ruins and cried, ‘For Ultramar!’

  Turning as one, the raider screen opened fire with their gauss-weapons. Gaius Prabian was an experienced warrior. As Champion he had slain countless warlords, alien potentates and demagogues. Before Damnos, he had never engaged necrons. Held in an aggressive gladiatorial position, his combat shield absorbed much of the mechanoids’ fire and enabled him to run and defend at the same time. Several beams lanced his shoulder guard and greaves, but he ignored the damage runes flashing on his retinal display. Perhaps realising hand-to-hand combat was inevitable, the closest of the raiders stopped firing. Instead, it brandished its gauss-flayer like a club, intending to cut the Ultramarines Champion apart with its barrel-blade.

  Gaius’s shield broke skeletal teeth and snapped the necron’s corded neck as he thrust it into the creature’s face. The head was hanging by a piece of cabling at an odd angle when the mechanoid crumpled. A second creature Gaius cut down with his power sword, slicing through weapon barrel and then the necron itself. The wound was catastrophic and it phased out. The third and fourth were dispatched by fierce sweeps of his blade – the air hummed and crackled as the weapon bisected it. The fifth he battered with the shield. He was a force of will, a deadly guardian intent on his mission. All three necrons phased out. He stalked over to the last, the one he’d injured but not quite enough. Already, the necron’s broken neck was repairing itself. Gaius slammed the edge of his shield against the cabling that was holding the mechanoid’s head to its body, severing it.