by Guy Haley
‘Epperaliant, isolate Ultimate Sanction’s vox-feed. We need to hear this.’
‘Aye, sir,’ said Epperaliant. The roar of a thousand officers talking together vanished. A quiet hiss replaced it, cut through with the buzz of weapons-generated interference.
‘Armament dexter, you are firing wide. Moderatus, correct range and aim,’ came Yolanedesh’s voice. ‘Carapace mount, throw our last salvo at its feet. I want to see this monster dance. Force it away from the army.’
A stuttering light flickered in the distance. An alarm sounded in the background of Ultimate Sanction’s feed. A burst of static cut the transmission for a moment, then it returned with a shout and the singing of Adeptus Mechanicus damage control teams. ‘Fleet, that last hit winged us. Transmitting coordinates. Prepare lance strike. Target Warlord, repeat, target Warlord. Alpha one,’ Princeps Yolanedesh voxed.
‘That’s the signal,’ said Bannick. ‘Get ready!’
‘All weapons prepare to fire,’ ordered Askelios.
‘Preparing,’ said Epperaliant. ‘Weapon safeties off.’
Large switches clunked home as they were thrown.
The enemy loomed out of the dark, lit by the light of collapsing void shields. It was huge, monstrously so, bigger than the ork gargants Bannick had seen on Kalidar and more terrifying for its greater grace. The gargants had been little more than rickety fortresses on tracked feet; this had arms and legs, a hunched back protected by a heavy armoured carapace. The details of it were hazed by the spread of its void shields, presenting a sinister silhouette that had more of the look of a giant than a machine. It moved like a man, with all a man’s murderous intent. The orks knew no better; they were an enemy Bannick could understand. Bannick found that, as he could not forgive himself for killing Tuparillio, he could not forgive his species for the cruelty it inflicted upon itself. This iron god was all the hate and cruelty man had to offer the galaxy incarnate. It horrified him, more so because in its form he could see himself reflected.
‘Range twelve hundred yards and closing,’ said Epperaliant.
‘All tank gunners, fix range and focus,’ ordered Askelios. ‘Enginseers stand ready to reactivate reactors and charge cannon capacitors.’
The Warlord paced backwards, still unaware of the ambush hunters lurking to its rear. Now both god-engines were visible through the storm. A furious exchange of fire flew between the Warlord and the Imperial Reaver. The Traitor Titan was heavier, and carried far more armament. This was not a fight Ultimate Sanction could win on its own. Void shields on both Titans blazed as they collapsed, flaring layers of protection stripped back one by one. For a second the Reaver lost all of its own field protection. Only its armour prevented it being laid low, and this absorbed a punishing amount of fire before the shields burst back into life. When the soapy shimmer of field protection encased it again, the carapace missile launcher was ablaze, struck by plasma weapons hot enough to set the metal on fire.
‘Stand ready. Fleet, fire on my coordinates, now,’ spoke Yolanedesh.
Columns of light as broad as city blocks punched down from the heavens, emanating from orbit over the army castella and coming in at an angle at the Warlord Titan. Three lance strikes, all went wide. They hammered the ground, sending up geysers of super-heated steam that obscured Bannick’s limited view of the battle. Lance fire against a planet was imprecise, inappropriate for anything smaller than a city. To hit something as relatively small as a Titan from orbit was difficult without close-in observer direction. Any strike would have been a great boon, but it was not the first intention of the battlegroup.
‘Charge now!’ commanded Askelios, his voice blurred into vox-screech by the interference thrown out by the lances.
More lance strikes slammed down. The tremendous amount of energy they released blinded augur, auspex, eye and sensoria, masking the charging of the volcano cannons.
‘Engaging reactor,’ said Starstan, his prolixity truncated by combat. Banded metal tendrils snaked out from under his robes and plugged into the various ports and sockets that opened to receive him.
Lux Imperator trembled as the reactor was coaxed into full life. Machines whined as the motive force was applied to them.
‘Charging capacitors,’ said Starstan. He threw a huge lever switch mounted upon a section of wall painted in the holy yellow-and-black stripes of warning. It connected with an impressive crackle. Blue light shone through the cracks of the deck-plates, mixing uncomfortably with the red of the operations lumens. One after another, the tanks reported their capacitors charged, the vox-officers speaking in whispers, as though afraid that if they spoke too loudly, the Titan would hear them.
More lance strikes burned the air.
‘Target left knee. Prepare to open fire.’
‘Final safeties off,’ ordered Bannick.
‘Final safeties off,’ repeated Epperaliant as he flicked half a dozen large toggle switches. The tension in the tank built.
‘Meggen, the weapon is free and at your disposal,’ said Bannick.
‘Aye, sir,’ said Meggen, placing his eyes against the seal of his rangefinder.
Another lance strike blazed down. The beam hit the Titan full on. Light as close to collimation as it was possible to get within an atmospheric envelope contacted void shields. The beam held on. The shields shone brighter and brighter as they displaced the energy of the lance into the immaterium. Shining a bright white at first, the outermost shield dimmed through red to blue and violet, then collapsed with a shower of writhing lightning. The lance shut off.
‘Shield down,’ said Yolanedesh. ‘We shall take the last. Moderati, open fire, all weapons.’
Ultimate Sanction’s blurry form, lit as much as it was obscured by its void shields, opened fire with all its weapons. A wall of energy a hundred feet in front of the enemy war machine shone like molten gold, and the last shield gave out.
The Titan stood revealed, naked of energy, streaming with rain, war-horns blaring hatred against all good things.
‘Open fire!’ yelled Askelios.
Three volcano beams intersected on the Warlord’s knee. Scaled-down versions of lance technology, they could inflict terrible damage even on a god-machine. The Titan staggered, molten metal coursing down its leg. The machine stumbled to one side, joint locking. It swayed, but it did not fall.
‘It’s not down!’ yelled Askelios with rising panic. ‘Prepare to fire again!’
‘It’s registered us. Emperor, it’s bringing weapons to bear!’ said Epperaliant.
The Titan was stuck in place, the joint of its left knee spot-welded together. With the hazing effects of the shields gone its hideous decoration was clear. All over its curved armour plates gaped screaming, daemoniacal faces. The head was made in the likeness of a skull still clad in shrunken, corpse-white flesh. A helmet of antique style capped this face, from under whose louring brows glowered a pair of blood-red eye-lenses yards across, the occuli of the great machine. The torso swivelled, the god-machine contemptuous of the fire slamming into its side from the advancing Ultimate Sanction.
War-horns blew a polyphonic wail that struck dread into the tank crews. A weapon twice as long as the Shadowsword moved to target the tanks’ position while those on the carapace and the right arm swivelled to continue tracking the Reaver.
‘Emperor, it’s locked on to our position!’ shouted Epperaliant over the wailing of alarms.
‘Brace! Brace! Brace!’ shouted Bannick.
A point of light grew from the muzzle of the Titan’s weapon and engulfed the world.
Bannick was thrown from his seat as Lux Imperator was blasted by massive discharge. Instruments shorted out, screens died in the wash of accompanying electromagnetic energy. Sparks shot from instruments. A surge of visible energy arced up from the engineering desk through Starstan’s mechadendrites and crackled all over his body. Smoke rose from his robes
, his eyes blazed and he gave a hideous metallic screech. The short-range vox was filled with agonised screams, abruptly cut off as the equipment failed. The red operations lumens went out, plunging them all into darkness lit by the read-outs of isolated functioning instruments. Bannick’s hearing burred and lights danced before his eyes, the pulse strong enough to momentarily disrupt the proper functioning of his brain. When he came to himself, Lux Imperator was moving out of control, sliding forwards. It slipped a few degrees to the left and came to a slow halt, the potential to move again prominent in Bannick’s thoughts.
Bannick pulled himself up. ‘Sound off!’
The crew shouted out their names. No one was hurt, except Starstan.
The operations lights flickered back on.
‘Damage report!’
‘All hale,’ replied Epperaliant. ‘The pulse knocked out our instruments, but they are functional. Fail-safes operated accordingly. I’m putting them back online. We weren’t hit.’
‘Starstan! Epperaliant, is he alive?’
Epperaliant got half out of his seat to go check, but with a wheezing groan the tech-priest pulled himself upright. He responded with a burst of binaric, before switching to Gothic.
‘Minor damage sustained. My organism is still operational. Praise be to the Omnissiah, who replaceth weak flesh with the permanence of steel.’
‘Then re-engage reactor with the drive units. Shoam! Pull us back. We must have slipped part-way into the crater. I do not want us sliding any further in, and we can’t get a shot from here. Epperaliant, give me augur views of the others.’
‘All external augurs are non-functional, sir. We’re half buried. But I’m not reading the Atraxians on the vox or on our datanet. They’re gone.’
Bannick looked out of the viewing slit. Mud and debris covered the tank’s glacis.
‘A shock like that will delay the recoupling of reactor with motive units. Two minutes, maybe more,’ said Starstan. ‘First, I must pray.’
‘You can pray afterwards. Do it now, and give my apologies to the Machine-God.’
‘But that is unwise. To re-engage major power sources without the correct rites can only–’
‘Tech-priest, the wishes of the Emperor are paramount here,’ said Chensormen, speaking for the first time. ‘Not your god.’
‘I’ll pray with you later,’ said Bannick. ‘Just do it. That is an order, if it makes you feel better. Meggen, can you make the shot? Can you take out the knee?’
‘If someone gets up on the roof and scrapes all the dreck off the rangefinder, I’ll not miss.’
‘I’ll do it,’ said Bannick.
‘Colaron? Colaron?’ Jonas spoke over the formation vox-net. ‘Are you still alive? I can see your tank.’
‘Jonas? We’re still here.’
‘Praise be to the Emperor! You’re halfway down to the lake in the crater bottom. The rest of the tanks are dead.’
‘We’ll get a clear shot. We’re going to bring that Titan down. Maybe you should fall back. When we begin powering the capacitors it’ll see us again. We’ll have to move, disconnect and charge. That will take us at least a minute, plenty of time to see us. Epperaliant, prepare to signal Princeps Gonzar and Yolanedesh, full encrypted datasquirt, no vox. We have to let them know we’re alive.’
‘Countermand that. They’ll hear us, vox or not. Even if they don’t know what we’re saying, we’ll draw the enemy engine’s fire,’ said Chensormen.
‘You, sir, with all due respect, are here to ensure I follow my orders, not to question the methods I employ to do so. Or are you afraid?’ Bannick gave Chensormen a challenging stare.
Chensormen’s jaw tightened. ‘A commissar fears nothing. Watch your tone, honoured lieutenant.’
‘Then please hold your silence. Epperaliant, proceed as I instructed. The enemy engine will have plenty of time to kill us once our reactors spike for capacitor charge. If the Titans cannot hold its attention and keep fire off us, then it won’t matter if it notices us ten seconds earlier or later. We will be just as dead. Epperaliant, relay the following message – Shadowsword Lux Imperator ready to re-engage. Distract enemy engine from the front. Draw fire. We shall take out the weakened knee.’
‘Message sent,’ said Epperaliant. Ten seconds later he spoke again. ‘Reply incoming. Princeps Yolanedesh responds in the affirmative. Ultimate Sanction and War’s Gift moving in for close engagement. Emperor’s light guide you. Yolanedesh out.’
Bannick patted the rear of the massive volcano cannon. ‘Do you hear that, Lux? You have proved that you can still fight. Now is your time to shine.’
Parrigar’s voice cut in through the short-range vox. ‘Maybe it is, but we have other problems. Traitor Space Marines, coming in fast.’
Chapter Twenty
Revelry and revelation
IMPERIAL GOVERNOR’S PALACE, MAGOR’S SEAT
GERATOMRO
087498.M41
Dostain’s coronation did not quite match his dream. There were the people, the lords and ladies of Geratomro – more in court than under his aunt’s rule, as so many of them had fled their own demesnes to take refuge in the capital. And they were dressed as in his dream, resplendent with the gathered wealth of a world, clad in jewels and shining gowns. There were the women, there was the feast. But whereas his dreams had been full of glory and pomp, the reality was full of fear. The palace shook with the impact of artillery strikes. Every impact brought a crackling thrum from the void shield, audible through the thick stone walls, that threatened its collapse. Dostain stared ahead, determined not to look up every time a shell slammed into the shield.
As each lord or lady came to kneel at the foot of his throne dais and proclaim allegiance, their eyes could not help but flick from Dostain’s face to the creature stood next to him – Dib, who had grown in stature and beauty to rival the most glorious of men. Long, golden hair lay on his shoulders. His smile held the promise of easy friendship and joyous times. The gleam in his eye spoke of wit and intelligence. His clothes were cut to accentuate his cleanly muscled frame. And yet, although all these characteristics should have marked him out as a friend or lover any human would desire, the combined effect was to terrify. Between he and Dostain’s throne stood Pollein. She held the hand of Dib on one side, and of Dostain on the other. In this way, there was a connection directly between Dostain and the Devil-in-the-bush, a greasy current that appalled the flesh as much as thrilled it that he wished dearly to be rid of. Pollein had no such reservations. She stood there looking as beautiful as the stars themselves, her eyes sparkling but focused on nothing, saying, ‘How wonderful,’ over and over.
The next lord came. The lord-civil of Matua Inferior. Dostain bristled. The city had fallen not long after Matua Superior.
‘My lord, my planetary commander, I pledge the allegiance of Matua Inferior to your rule and through you the... the...’ The man stumbled over his words, a look of horror creeping across his face as he realised he was about to repeat the old oath to the Imperium. ‘And through you to your descendants,’ he said, saving himself. ‘Long may they ever rule over us in blessed isolation and freedom from the depredations of the most vicious Imperium.’ Bowed by the weight of Dib’s glowing smile, the lord-civil of Matua Inferior lowered his head and raised a fist. ‘Long live Lord Dostain!’
The cry that answered him was insipid. Too many eyes were on Dib. Dostain yanked his hand from Pollein’s. Her brow creased a second, but the idiotic smile remained.
‘How wonderful,’ she said.
Dostain wiped his hands on his coronation robe. They were slick with scented oil. The strange sensation of Dib’s presence grew even though Dostain was free of that indirect contact. He filled the room with his being, like a sickly perfume that crept down the back of a man’s nose and choked him.
Dostain was angry, and anger yearns to be vented.
�
��You!’ he shouted at the lord-civil. ‘How dare you. How dare all of you! You come creeping into my throne-room and kiss my hand, demanding I look favourably upon you. But where were you when the Imperium came? Where?’
‘I... I...’ said the lord-civil. ‘My lord.’
‘Crawling out of your palaces like serpents fleeing a fire in the dead of night. Matua Inferior fell without a single shot being fired. And yet you come here protesting its loyalty? How dare you!’
‘What is to be done, my lord?’ said Dib insinuatingly.
‘I... I should punish him. Punish him for cowardice! Yes!’ Dostain’s moral sense warned him against pursuing this argument. He ignored it. He was too hot. Sweat dribbled from under his ornamental helm and down his pudgy face. Someone would pay for his discomfort.
‘And how are cowards punished?’ said Dib.
‘Death! Death!’ said Dostain feverishly. He fumbled at the gold-plated bolt pistol at his belt. With a shaking hand, clumsy in its flared glove, he pulled the weapon out of its holster and pointed it at the lord-civil’s head. It was a small calibre, but would kill with a single shot.
‘Coward!’ shouted Dostain.
‘My lord!’ said the lord-civil.
‘My lord, Dostain, reconsider,’ said the Lord-Fiduciary Ando. ‘This is not you. You are a good man, my lord.’
‘The old Dostain is dead! I was forced to kill my aunt to prevent our defeat. I will show no mercy to cowards who flee their cities.’ Dostain levelled the gun at Ando. ‘You wish to take his place?’
Ando raised his hands and stepped back. ‘No, no, my lord. I merely seek to advise.’ He disappeared back into the crowd.
