Corax

by Gav Thorpe

  The Night Lords frigate seemed to slide from view as the gunship turned away. A few seconds passed and then the cockpit displays blazed into life, scanner warnings flickering like celebration lights.

  ‘Commander, we are detecting rapid energy surge,’ reported Jasson over the vox.

  ‘We’re being targeted,’ added Vanda. ‘Point defence turrets activating!’

  Henn pushed the gunship into a rolling dive while automatic countermeasures ejected scanner-baffling clouds of metal filaments and flares behind the accelerating Thunderhawk.

  ‘Shadowed Guardian, open fire!’ Agapito snapped across the vox.

  ‘Commander, the blast could–’

  The commander’s voice rose to a shout. ‘Blow it out of the stars!’

  Klaxons blared as the frigate’s augurs locked onto the jinking gunship; the moan of the sensor warning rose to a wail. A second later Vanda cursed.

  ‘Rockets launched,’ he said. ‘A score of them full cluster. Thirteen seconds to impact. Cannon rangefinder arrays have locked on.’

  Ahead, the bright dot that was the battle-barge flared into an orange star for a moment. A second later trails of plasma silently seared towards the corkscrewing Thunderhawk. The closest passed within a dozen metres. More warning lights and sirens sparked into life from the proximity of the energy blasts.

  ‘Multiple impacts, no void shields active,’ Vanda remarked, his fingers moving quickly across the runepad of the scanners.

  ‘Straight and fast!’ Agapito snapped at his pilot. Henn did as ordered, pulling the Thunderhawk from its evasive rolls into a direct course away from the enemy frigate, jets leaving blue trails as it powered across the void.

  A salvo of missiles from the Raven Guard ship followed eight seconds after the plasma volley, thankfully some distance away from the still-accelerating gunship. Agapito pulled himself out of his harness and floated across the cockpit to the main gunnery array. He activated the lascannon and turned its feed-link to the stern to look back at the Night Lords ship.

  The frigate was aflame from midships to prow; plasma and burning gas licked along its ruptured plates like ripples of iridescent oil. The whine from the targeting detectors had fallen silent, the incoming missiles swallowed by the wave of fire from the Shadowed Guardian. Letting out a long breath, Agapito pulled himself back to his seat. As he dragged on the harness, the vox-link to the Shadowed Guardian crackled into life.

  ‘Commander, we are detecting multiple signals at the Mandeville boundary.’

  ‘More ships? Speed, direction?’

  ‘Coming straight for us. Six ships so far. Navigator Fasuusi thinks there are at least four more about to break through.’

  ‘Damn,’ muttered Agapito. ‘The ship was the trap, after all. Just not the one we were expecting.’

  The first reports were understandably fractured. From first impression it might have seemed plausible that the Night Lords had come across Corax’s rally system by accident. An hour after the initial warp breaches had been detected and the scale of the incursion had grown to thirteen enemy ships, half of them warships of the line and the rest heavy transports, that theory had been proven terribly false. Aboard the Avenger, his occasional flagship, the primarch had to concede the inevitable.

  Branne, the commander of the Raptors company, was talking with Strategium Controller Ephrenia, discussing the continuing emergence of enemy ships. They fell silent as Corax approached.

  ‘This is a deliberate attempt to wipe us out.’ The primarch grimaced and turned his gaze from the screens to address his subordinates. ‘Look at their dispositions. Directly across the shortest route to the Mandeville boundary.’

  ‘And I’d bet my bolter as soon as we start moving the other way, some more ships are going to come in-system ahead of us,’ replied Branne. ‘They’re trying to flush us like game birds.’

  ‘We need to scatter.’ Branne looked horrified at Corax’s assessment, but the primarch cut off any protest before it could be voiced. ‘We are outclassed.’

  ‘We have time to call in more ships,’ suggested Ephrenia. ‘There are patrols in the neighbouring systems.’

  ‘Are there? Have we heard from them recently?’

  Branne stepped back and sucked in a deep breath.

  ‘The Night Lords couldn’t possibly...’ He fell quiet, expression dark as the possibilities hit home. ‘How did we miss them?’

  ‘More to the point, how did they find us? I assume all of our ships followed proper jump security protocols. Nobody led them back here.’

  ‘And now, right now, when we are waiting for the victualling fleet from Essiry.’

  ‘Ah, of course. The supply convoy. Perhaps our security leak might be traced there.’

  ‘Why would the Essiryans betray us? We saved them from a Word Bearers invasion.’

  ‘Exactly, and where Lorgar’s minions are found so are his lies.’ Corax rubbed his forehead, agitated at the turn of events. ‘It only takes a handful of discontents to manufacture a betrayal, Branne. Someone that sought to profit from Horus’s patronage, perhaps.’

  ‘I suppose conjecture is pointless now,’ said Branne. ‘But we can still fight. If they think they can herd us like docile grox to the slaughter, we’ll offend them. One concerted strike, directly towards their main fleet. Let’s see if they have the stomach for a proper battle.’

  ‘I have not,’ Corax said quietly. His pronouncement stunned Branne for a second time. ‘At least, not here, not now. We are unprepared, under-strength and short of supplies.’

  ‘And that is what our enemies expect. They think we are weak. We will prove them wrong.’

  ‘We will not,’ Corax whispered. He looked at the legionaries and auxiliaries in the strategium chamber and kept his voice low. ‘I have not carefully marshalled our strength since Isstvan to throw it away in a gesture of pointless defiance. We may not be as weak as some think, but we are weak. We have been since these faithless traitors turned their guns on us.’

  The primarch saw disappointment in Branne’s expression, read the desire to argue further in his eyes. Ephrenia’s expression was guarded but he saw agreement. It was useful to have a touchstone like her. Brave, clever, but unaugmented. Mortal.

  A human perspective. The corners of her mouth were turned down slightly, her jaw tight. She would say nothing, but she was worried. And she had cause to be.

  ‘This is not a battle we can win.’ He could still picture Branne as the headstrong teenager that had been at the forefront of the revolt on Deliverance. The Raven Guard were Corax’s gene-sons, but some of them, like Branne, were akin to his brothers. He laid a hand on the commander’s shoulder. ‘There may come a day when we have no option, when the battle itself, the chance to fight, is the only victory we seek. Not today.’

  ‘Where do we run?’ asked Branne, resignation in his voice. ‘Our scouting patrols and the Librarians are reporting that more and more traitors are entering the surrounding sectors. The Warmaster moves his forces into the Segmentum Solar.’

  ‘It is true. There is a gathering, a growing momentum. We are reaching a tipping point, the moment of decision.’ Corax looked away to stare at nothing in particular. In his mind’s eyes he pictured the star map extending a few hundred light years around Dexius. ‘Horus is going to assault Earth. He must strike soon. We’ve seen his forces scattering, dissipating, commanders going rogue, planets slipping from his grasp with the lightest of encouragement. I think he knows that he must make his push now or lose the opportunity forever.’

  ‘So, we return to Terra.’ Branne’s smile was more wry than humoured. ‘It is time to stand upon a wall with the sons of Dorn and meet the traitors head-on.’

  ‘Not so, commander.’

  Corax moved to his command throne and activated one of the controls. A three-dimensional representation of the surrounding sectors glittered into life
. He manipulated the hololith, its scope expanding as though the observer drew a few thousand light years further away.

  ‘The Navigators have reported a decrease in the warp storms and the Librarians say that it is as if a tide has shifted. I think it will be possible to break out from under the weight of Horus’ incoming fleets and move behind them.’

  ‘We continue the guerrilla war?’

  ‘You sound doubtful, commander.’

  ‘If Horus is going to press for Terra, I don’t think he is going to care about the systems he leaves behind. The Imperial Palace is the prize. Once he has it he can reclaim as many worlds as he wants. A second and much darker crusade...’

  ‘If we were to continue as we were, that would be true. But we will not. I will reassemble the Legion in full, and such auxilia as remain to be drawn to my banner. A fighting force that must still be contended against.’ Corax stroked his chin, contemplating the idea. ‘We’ll find the Warmaster himself. Stay close to his Legion all the way to the Solar System. Horus won’t be able to ignore a dagger aimed directly at his back.’

  Branne nodded, his eyes filled with a fresh enthusiasm.

  ‘How do we extricate ourselves from the Night Lords?’ asked Ephrenia, always concerned with the practical nature of war. ‘Reflex shields and silent running, my lord?’

  ‘No, I do not think that will work this time. They found us here, they may well already know our disposition in detail. We need to scatter the fleet, draw the enemy in all directions.’

  ‘And where do we rendezvous, my lord?’ she asked.

  Corax considered the void schematic, lips pursed. A long, pale finger pierced the hololith light to indicate a system.

  ‘Rosario?’ Branne frowned. ‘A waste-hole. There’s virtually nothing there. Some disaster with an alien species rendered it almost lifeless.’

  ‘Exactly,’ replied the primarch. ‘I want astropaths and Librarians broadcasting cipher nav-codes immediately. Be sure they also dedicate some messages for the Therions to pick up. Despatch standard protocol evasion orders to the fleet.’

  ‘Attack, withdraw, attack again, my lord?’

  ‘Something like that, Branne. Something like that.’

  The thunder of the Shadowed Guardian’s guns died away, leaving the bridge comparatively still. Agapito took a moment to appreciate the quiet while the scanner team assessed the damage from the salvo. They were less than half a day from a safe warp translation, one of the last Raven Guard vessels not to have reached the Mandeville point. The Night Lords strike cruiser had sacrificed itself – there was no chance of it taking down the much larger battle-barge – but perhaps its commander had hoped to damage the engines or other­wise stall the Shadowed Guardian for other pursuing forces.

  ‘Enemy ship has been breached, commander,’ reported the senior scanner operator. ‘Void shields non-functional. Weapon systems non-functional. Navigation compromised.’

  ‘They’re crippled, commander, no longer a threat,’ said Jasson, as though this needed pointing out. Agapito shook his head.

  ‘No longer a threat? It seems likely the Night Lords have taken one of our victualling convoys – we’ve just abandoned docking facilities for a score of ships. Two weeks maximum, and this strike cruiser will be in action again.’

  The whine of power armour told Agapito of Captain Chovani’s approach. The newly promoted officer motioned for Jasson to give him some time with their superior.

  ‘We are trying to escape, aren’t we?’ the captain asked. ‘Those were the lord primarch’s orders.’

  ‘There’s not another ship between us and the outer system,’ Agapito replied. ‘The nearest pursuit is two hours behind us. We can spare a little time.’

  ‘To blast the ship to pieces?’

  ‘Our supplies are low, captain,’ Agapito said with a solemn shake of the head. ‘I do not think it wise to expend more torpedoes or shells here.’

  ‘No bombardment?’

  ‘We’ll board. I want to see if we can find out where these Night Lords sprang from. This is a considerable fleet, but for three years we’ve seen nothing more than one or two ships from Curze’s Legion. Why have they turned up all of a sudden? Are you not curious?’

  Chovani’s silence answered for him.

  ‘The problem with bombardment, captain, is that it is inefficient. Massive expenditure of ordnance and still no guarantee that there are no survivors. I think it is our duty to ensure that not one of them survives to continue the fight against the Emperor.’ Agapito leaned closer. ‘Remember Isstvan, brother. Remember whose colours were at the forefront of the ambush. It may have been the guns of the Iron Warriors that fired first, but it was the Night Lords and Word Bearers that plunged in the blade.’

  The captain’s brow furrowed to a fierce scowl at the thought.

  ‘We have seven suits of Tactical Dreadnought armour still operational, captain,’ Agapito continued. ‘I assume the teleporters are still working. Would you like to pay the treacherous sons of Nostramo a visit? Maybe ask them some awkward questions?’

  Chovani nodded his agreement. Agapito signalled for Jasson to assume control of the bridge. He led his fellow Raven Guard down to the armoury and called for his command squad to assemble there.

  As he and the others stripped out of their regular war-plate and, with the assistance of the techmarines and their attendants, donned the much heavier-gauge Terminator armour, the commander set a countdown timer into his suit’s chronometer. By the time they were fully geared up, weapons loaded, and on the teleporter grid they would have forty-one minutes before the pursuing flotilla of Night Lords was in range of the Shadowed Guardian.

  ‘Bridge, confirm teleporter homer lock.’

  It took several seconds for Jasson to ascertain the strength of the beacon signals for the Terminator suits.

  ‘Homing signal lock confirmed, commander.’

  ‘Automatic retrieval in thirty minutes, watch captain. We’ll not let the Night Lords get too close.’

  ‘Affirmative, commander. Engines and navigation will be on full standby for your return.’

  Agapito did a last check with his companions, ensuring their integrated surveyor systems were operating properly. Assured that their suits were in fully functioning order, he gave the command to the tech-priests at the teleport controls.

  The whine of the generators grew to piercing pitch, and the flash of artificial lightning surged across the generator columns. Sparks of power oscillated up and down each armoured warrior, the frequency building over several seconds until each was engulfed head to foot in a curtain of golden light.

  The deck of the Shadowed Guardian disappeared.

  For a timeless instant Agapito was exposed to the incongruous immaterium, utterly divorced from reality and conventional space-time. Subjective experience lasted a few seconds – a few seconds in which Agapito’s thoughts clustered with the roar of traitor batteries and the crack of splitting ceramite as the opening cannonade of the Iron Warriors fell upon the companies of the XIX Legion…

  The fleeting feeling that occupied him as a dimly lit corridor resolved into focus around him was of confusion – a momentary bafflement that he could not remember anything from before the Dropsite Massacre.

  More immediate concerns shunted that revelation to the back of his mind when a bolt-shell exploded against his left shoulder.

  He turned and fired without conscious thought. The two barrels of his combi-bolter spat a hail of rounds at the midnight-blue armour of the Night Lord who had happened upon the boarding team, detonations wracking the traitor’s plate from hip to gorget. A moment later the fire of two more Terminators tore at the ceramite, obliterating the plastron and turning the Space Marine within to bloody gobbets.

  Agapito smiled.

  ‘With me. Punishment is due.’

  They headed in the direction of the comm
and deck. Tactical data placed them somewhere amidships, about three levels below the bridge. Gangly, starved humans in filthy rags with whip-scourged flesh fled before their advance.

  ‘Hold your fire,’ Agapito told his warriors. ‘These are slaves, not slavers.’

  They pushed on towards the prow, unopposed, reaching the central access way that ran most of the ship’s length. As they did so, Agapito noticed movement on the upper floor of the main arterial corridor. Floods of unaugmented humans, many of them not much older than children, streamed along the walkways and mezzanines. The pattering of naked feet and drum of boots disappeared towards the stern, away from the command bridge and, Agapito assumed, the rulers of the vessel.

  ‘What do they know that we don’t?’ joked Corbyk.

  Agapito said nothing, having come to the same conclusion but without mirth.

  ‘Scanners to maximum. Anything comes near, kill it, slave or not.’ The commander switched his vox-channel to signal the Shadowed Guardian. ‘Confirm teleport recall signal.’

  ‘Still clear, commander. No interference. We can you bring you back instantly.’

  ‘I want an active scan, precision burst directed at the command bridge area.’

  ‘Understood. Directing the surveyors and compiling data will take approximately one hundred and twenty seconds.’

  ‘Yes, just do it.’

  They continued their advance, the lamps of their suits shining bright beams through the murk of the ship’s gloomy belly. They did not veer from their course, but looking into some of the adjacent chambers – magazines, storerooms and dorms for the most part – they found a lot of detritus and graffiti. Agapito had thought the poor lighting was some kind of energy conservation measure but the entire ship was in disrepair. Maintenance was clearly poor, with exposed cabling, broken lighting and intermittent atmospheric cleansers in several halls and corridors. The decks were rusting from lack of care and the bulkhead paint was peeled down to the bare metal and plasteel in many places.