by Gav Thorpe
As affirmatives chorused over the comm-net, Sammael switched his attention to Malcifer.
‘We will be ready to extract shortly, I hope,’ he said to the Chaplain. ‘What have you learnt?’
‘I have decrypted Boreas’s account of the actions he took prior to the intervention of the Fallen,’ said Malcifer, still looking at the flow of script moving across the screen in front of him. ‘It will take some time to evaluate its significance.’
‘Anything contained in the report that suggests our next step?’ asked Harahel. ‘The longer we remain here, the greater the feeling of injustice and resentment I am sensing. If we stay here much longer, we will be facing thousands, not hundreds.’
‘Noted, brother,’ said Malcifer. ‘In summary, Boreas learned of a transport ship known to be in use by the Fallen and led the garrison away from Piscina to seize the vessel. It seems that this was just a ruse, calculated to draw the garrison out of position. The Chapter Keep was compromised while they were absent and the Fallen... Oh Emperor, the Fallen broke into the storage vault and retrieved the gene-seed within.’
‘They took the gene-seed cache?’ Harahel was horrified by the thought. ‘To what purpose would the Fallen turn such a thing?’
‘We can think about that at a time more convenient,’ Sammael said, cutting off Malcifer before he could offer opinion on the matter. ‘What does it say about the Fallen after they took the gene-seed? Does Boreas know where they went?’
‘No, there is no further record,’ said Malcifer. ‘However, there is a cross-reference to one of the other logs. It is from Boreas’s personal records, an account of one of his interrogations of a Fallen named Astelan.’
‘Reference to any matter of importance?’ Sammael listened as a fresh wave of reports announced that the initial insurgents had resurfaced further to the east and were targeting the Ravenwing with more heavy weapons and mortar fire. His desire to be away from Kadillus was growing swiftly and his impatience made his tone curt. ‘What does this have to do with Piscina?’
‘Nothing, brother, that I can see,’ confessed Malcifer, stepping away from the terminal with a shake of his head. ‘It will take some time to analyse the testimony of Astelan to see what Boreas was trying to highlight.’
‘We have a city on the verge of outright attack; we do not have the luxury of time. Make a copy and erase all data files.’
‘This is too sensitive to transmit over any channel, no matter the level of encryption,’ said Malcifer. He went to one of the shelves lining the terminal chamber and looked through the metal containers stored there. Locating what he looked for, the Chaplain opened a slender box stencilled with the symbol of the Chapter on its lid. From within he produced a cube of emerald green. ‘I shall transfer all logs and accounts to data crystal.’
‘All warriors, this is Grand Master Sammael. I want a five hundred metre cordon between the Chapter Keep and the south gate. Athelman, Daedis, meet us at the keep gate. On my word, perimeter collapse and withdrawal to position of the Fifth Company. All aerial assets to prepare for extraction.’
‘Assist Malcifer with the cleansing of the datacore,’ he added, looking at Harahel. ‘Let us not tarry here a moment longer than necessary.’
The Seed of Doubt
Watching a third Thunderhawk strafing across Kadillus, its heavy bolters firing at the rooftops of a processing plant, Telemenus had to wonder what the Ravenwing had encountered inside the city. Certainly the whole southern district of Kadillus had come under intense fire. He could see columns of smoke from several burning buildings and the thunder of battle cannons rolled across the plains as the gunships continued their bombardment. There had been next to no information on the Fifth Company’s comm-net and Sergeant Seraphiel had refused all inquiries as to what was happening inside the city.
‘It must be the orks,’ said the Dark Angel, gaze fixed on the ongoing attack. ‘We should be moving to support our brothers.’
‘We remain here,’ Sergeant Amanael said curtly. ‘Wait. Receiving new orders.’
‘It seems our brothers might need some assistance, after all,’ said Cadael.
‘And there may yet be opportunity for the kill tally to rise on our account,’ added Telemenus. ‘It is selfish of our brothers to deny us equal opportunity for valour.’
‘If we had gone into Kadillus first, I doubt there would have been need to see such fury unleashed,’ said Daellon. ‘It will take many years to rebuild that district.’
‘I am not surprised,’ Telemenus replied. ‘The Ravenwing excel at encountering trouble where others would walk more softly. I suppose we will be clearing cellars and hallways for the next few days, clearing up the orks they cannot reach.’
‘A stairwell is no obstacle to the warriors of the Fifth Company,’ said Cadael. ‘The Ravenwing must submit to that eternal truth.’
‘We are not going into the city,’ announced Amanael. ‘We are to defend an extraction zone, four hundred metres from the southern gate. Gunships are already en route to pick up our brothers.’
‘Let us be sure that they receive a warm welcome,’ said Telemenus. He slapped a hand against the side of his bolter. ‘When the Ravenwing have been removed from our path, we will show these orks the ferocity of the Dark Angels in proper fashion.’
‘Negative,’ said the sergeant. ‘Our orders are to wait for second wave extraction.’
Amanael’s announcement was met by silence; proof that it was unexpected and highly controversial. Telemenus knew better than to make further remark as the sergeant signalled for the squad to begin the march north. Whatever trouble in which the Ravenwing had found themselves embroiled, it was enough to trigger the withdrawal of the whole force. For the Dark Angels, any retreat was remarkable. To do so when there were clearly still enemies to fight was unheard of by Telemenus and his flippant mood was quickly replaced by concern for his brothers in the Ravenwing.
Rearming
The clatter of machinery and autoloaders rang around the muster hall. Servitors, legs reinforced with heavy gauge callipers, arms replaced with hoists and crane arms, lifted the bikes of Squadron Cassiel onto the service ramps. Unaugmented serfs in the livery of the armourium swarmed over the machines with ratchets, bolt drivers, parts and replacement armoured plates, while others connected up diagnostic terminals and recharger cables. This activity was overseen by two Techmarines, their armour black like the rest of the Ravenwing except for their dark red shoulder pads.
The Space Marines were also surrounded by menials, offering protein-replenishing synth-loaves and ewers of thick, nutrient-enriched fluid. Hanging his helmet on his belt, Annael took the proffered drink and downed the contents of a jug in four long gulps, the sweetness of the liquid a salve to the acrid taste that always built up in his mouth during combat; a side effect of the Betcher’s gland that modified his saliva, he had once been told by an Apothecary.
He waved away the armourium attendants, who descended on Zarall instead, fussing over the cracks in his shoulder plates from several autogun hits. Zarall stood impassively munching on a synth-slab while they removed the shoulder guards from his armour and replacements were fixed in their place.
Pushing through the throng, Annael watched the serfs taking apart the fairing of Black Shadow, amazed at the number of las-marks and bullet holes. In the heat of the battle he had not realised how much enemy fire had found its mark.
‘You were lucky, brother.’ This came from Techmarine Naethel, who was on the opposite side of the service ramp, inspecting the innards of the bike.
Annael clambered over the ramp to join the Techmarine, who crouched down and pointed to a blackened chip in the casing of the bike’s secondary fuel tank.
‘Another two centimetres further forward and a fuel line would have been caught,’ explained Naethel. ‘Lucky indeed.’
‘It was bad luck to be hit in the first place,’ replied Annael
. ‘Their marksmanship was woeful. I would have expected better of men trained in a planetary defence force.’
‘That is why we trust to speed as well as armour, brother.’ Annael stood up and looked over Black Shadow to see Sabrael approaching, a jug in each hand. ‘I told you that you ride too slowly.’
‘I am in no mood for your jests, brother,’ Annael replied. ‘You should attend to your own steed.’
‘What for?’ Sabrael shrugged and took a mouthful of drink. ‘There is not a dent upon it.’
Annael turned to Naethel to disprove the boast but the Techmarine shook his head.
‘Our brother speaks truly, the worst his mount suffered is some scratched paintwork,’ said Naethel. ‘Would that you were all so blessed with such fortune, the armourium would be a quieter place.’
‘Do not confuse me for a braggart, Brother Annael,’ said Sabrael, his expression grim. ‘You will learn to be as one with your mount, so that it moves without your conscious thought. Then you too will be able to ride through the fury of the storm without concern.’
There was nothing to say to that, and Annael let Sabrael depart without retort. He lowered himself down to the deck, murmuring thanks to the spirit of Black Shadow, and voicing more loudly his appreciation of Naethel’s work.
‘Your steed will be ready for you soon enough, brother,’ the Techmarine informed Annael when he asked how long the repairs would take. ‘When the order comes for the next drop, you will be reunited with your faithful mount.’
‘May it come swiftly,’ said Annael, feeling dishonoured by Sabrael’s words. ‘I would stand to rectify my account with the rebels below.’
‘Do not wish such a thing too swiftly,’ cautioned Araton. The other squadron member had been silently attending to his machine, and rose up from behind it, leaning forward to rest on the saddle. ‘Not to second-guess Grand Master Sammael’s intent, but I do not think we should be returning to Kadillus soon.’
‘How so? The city was in uproar when we left, between insurgents and the orks. We have fought only a brief skirmish, the real battle remains to be won.’
‘And had Sammael the desire to prosecute that battle he would have done so while he still had the company on the ground,’ replied Araton. ‘To pull back from battle engaged is no easy decision, but it is one he has already made.’
‘What of our losses? Will they not be avenged?’
‘Five there are, never to ride with us again, but their deaths will not find greater meaning in the blood of innocents.’
‘Innocents?’ Annael could not believe Araton’s argument. ‘It was they that opened fire upon us. We did not bring this war to Piscina.’
‘Yet it is Piscina that will suffer if we continue to wage it,’ Araton said evenly, stroking a gauntleted hand along the handlebars of his bike. ‘If we are to unleash the full weight of our fury, will you be able to set apart the guilty from the bystander? If the Ravenwing falls upon Kadillus, it will be to destroy the city, not to save it. City-fighting is no arena for the Ravenwing.’
‘So we must leave it to the Fifth Company squads to restore our honour?’ Annael surprised himself with the vehemence of his words. It was not long since he had been a member of another company, but already he felt the acute sense of duty and honour that was the preserve of the Ravenwing to uphold. ‘It is the blood of the Ravenwing that stains Kadillus, and it is the Ravenwing that should balance the scales.’
‘Justice, brother?’ Annael stiffened as he recognised the voice of Sergeant Cassiel behind him. ‘Or revenge?’
‘Insurrection against the Emperor cannot go unpunished,’ Annael said as he turned, believing in his heart that it was not revenge he sought. ‘If the Dark Angels do not respond, it will be a sign of weakness, and that I cannot abide.’
‘It is not for you to decide, brother,’ Cassiel continued, his words softly spoken. ‘If it is the choice of Grand Master Sammael that this matter is left to the Piscina Free Militia to resolve, that will be the end of it.’
‘Of course, brother-sergeant,’ Annael replied quickly, realising his words had bordered on insubordination. ‘No dissent was intended.’
‘Either way, we have not yet received orders to stand down,’ Cassiel said. ‘Repair and rearm. I suggest that when the present mobilisation is concluded, you should seek out Brother Malcifer if you continue to have questions regarding our duty here.’
Annael realised the words were sincerely meant, advice rather than chastisement. He considered the sergeant’s words as Cassiel walked away, and tried to come to terms with what had happened in Kadillus. Combat was second-nature to him, and in the heat of battle he had not given a moment’s thought to the nature of his enemies. Looking at the dents and scratches on Black Shadow, thinking of how a lascannon blast or missile might have struck him down as it had five other members of the company, he realised that he would have died without knowing why.
It was his purpose to fight for the Emperor and Annael knew that he was fated to fall in battle one day. Even the greatest Supreme Grand Masters of the Dark Angels eventually succumbed to a lifetime of war, one way or another. Yet he had been taught also that his death was to have purpose, and if rebels were allowed to rise up without reply – to attack the Adeptus Astartes, the Emperor’s Angels of Death no less – then he was not quite sure what purpose he was now serving.
The contrast between Hadria Praetoris and Kadillus could not be starker and Annael was left to wonder what divide there was between the foes he had encountered. His first two engagements with the Ravenwing were causing him more doubts and raising more questions than he had experienced in the previous four hundred years. Heeding the advice of Cassiel, he resolved that a conversation with the Chaplain might well be what he needed to reinforce his conviction.
A Cursed Name
The name spoken by Malcifer hung in the air of the command chamber, reverberating through Sammael’s thoughts like the tolling of a great bell. It was a name that had haunted the Dark Angels for ten thousand years, and plagued Sammael ever since he had first heard it from the lips of Grand Master Gideon two centuries before. That had been at Kaphon, when Sammael had still been a sergeant in the Ravenwing. Now that he thought about the situation on Piscina, Sammael was surprised he had not recognised the similarities with the uprising on Kaphon Betis; a world under threat from alien attack driven into anarchy by the acts of a handful of Fallen. Kaphon Betis had been repeatedly assaulted by eldar pirates who had provided cover for the diabolic Fallen and his band to destabilise the rule of the Imperial Commander. Now the traitors had used the ork resurgence to repeat the misdeed on Piscina.
It had been a regret of Grand Master Gideon that they had been so close to catching the Dark Angels’ greatest threat at Kaphon. The Fallen had still been in-system when the Ravenwing had arrived, supported by warriors from the Third Company and the Deathwing, though the Dark Angels had not known at the time that their elusive quarry were still nearby. By the time the Dark Angels had driven off the eldar attacks, the Fallen had slipped away once more. Sammael had taken several dissident prisoners and overheard their discussions of ‘Lord Cypher’, intimating that this mysterious individual had been the architect behind the overthrow of the Imperial Commander. Faced with Sammael’s questions, Gideon had chosen to take Sammael into his confidence, inducting him unofficially into the Inner Circle; an induction that was formally ratified when they had returned to the Chapter.
Though he recalled Kaphon Betis with anguish and chastised himself for not seeing similar manipulation on Piscina, Sammael took heart from the fact that he had once more crossed trails with the greatest enemy of the Dark Angels. Such opportunities were rare, and if there was any hope of catching the worst of the Fallen, it had been rekindled in the Grand Master. Piscina had been laid low by the Fallen, but the Ravenwing were on hand, ready to hunt down the fiend once more. With dedication, initiative and perseverance, Sammael c
ould be the one to succeed where so many previous Masters had failed before.
Malcifer said nothing more, allowing the import of his announcement to sink in. There was a growl of distaste from Harahel and the Librarian leaned forwards, head bowed, fists resting on the dormant display console.
‘You are certain?’ Sammael asked when he had collected his thoughts, seeking more than just similarity to the events at Kaphon before getting ahead of himself. ‘He was at Piscina?’
‘As certain as one could ever be when considering the actions of such a deviant,’ the Chaplain replied. ‘Descriptions of the Fallen gathered by Boreas strongly indicate that their leader bore wargear identical to that witnessed in previous encounters.’
‘That he was here is informative, but it does not give us further intelligence regarding where he is now,’ said Harahel, straightening. He folded his arms and shrugged. ‘It has been many days since the Fallen quit Piscina, who can say where they have gone?’
‘Boreas, for all that he strayed from the righteous path, did not abdicate his duties fully,’ replied Malcifer. ‘I have read through the sections of his interrogation of Astelan that Boreas referenced. It deals with Astelan’s actions at an independent star fort named Port Imperial. A den of pirates and outcasts, Astelan and two other Fallen frequented Port Imperial for several years. Though I cannot confirm that the one we seek is connected to Port Imperial, we have the testimony of Astelan that it was certainly used by the Fallen.’
‘I remember the name,’ said Sammael, dredging up decades-old memories. ‘Boreas passed me this information not long after I became Grand Master. The trail was a dead end from the outset, with no clue from Astelan’s account regarding where we might find this Port Imperial. And, by that same account, Astelan claimed that he and his fellow Fallen destroyed the star fort when they decided to part company with the pirates.’
