Ravenwing

by Gav Thorpe

  Dismounting, Annael strode the last few metres to the portal and inspected the panel beside the door. There was a simple runepad with four buttons, two of them more marked than the others.

  ‘It is an elevator, probably for transport of supplies,’ he told the others, pushing the call button. Chains clanked above him as the carriage motors groaned into life. ‘Do we ascend or descend?’

  ‘Contact! Signals incoming.’ Sabrael’s warning sent Annael hurrying back to Black Shadow. He looked at the sensor display as he swung a leg over his steed and saw several dozen signals converging, directly above the squadron.

  With a hiss of pneumatics the elevator door opened, revealing an empty car a few metres wide and ten metres long. A flickering yellow strip did little to light the grimy interior. There was another piston-driven door at the far end. The cluster of life signals was gathering around the shaft on the levels above.

  ‘They are lying in wait for us,’ said Araton.

  ‘Let us not disappoint,’ said Sabrael, gunning his bike onto the elevator without waiting for word from Cassiel.

  Annael looked at his sergeant, who was studying the bike’s telemetry display carefully.

  ‘The next three levels are too dense to operate effectively,’ said Cassiel, moving into the elevator after Sabrael. The rest of the squadron edged their bikes into the remaining space, Araton and Zarall turning their bikes around and backing in to cover the direction from which they were entering. ‘Punch the control for four levels up.’

  Annael was closest to the keypad, and he noted that the elevator served twelve floors, three below and eight above their current position. Jabbing a finger into the button for the eighth floor, he returned his attention to the scanner. There were several dozen signals, at least forty or fifty enemies waiting on the levels above.

  With a clang the elevator door shut and a screech of gears accompanied the clank of chains as the conveyor started to rise. The main car was little more than a mesh cage with a solid floor, and looking up Annael could see red lights marking the floors above. He saw light spilling through a crack above and drew his pistol.

  ‘Enemy forcing the doors, two levels up, forward,’ he warned the others, sighting on the widening splash of light.

  The elevator rose painfully slowly, creaking loudly as it passed one floor and then the next. Annael saw two figures silhouetted against the light above and opened fire, the spark of his bolts disappearing into the yellow glare. A pained shout echoed down the shaft and a pirate plummeted from the opening, slamming into the top of the cage, her right arm missing below the elbow. Blood poured down onto Sabrael, splashing across his black armour. The woman wore black coveralls tucked into heavy boots, a tattered white shirt beneath the straps.

  She stared down with horror at the Space Marines, still alive. Annael’s next bolt ripped apart her chest, spraying blood and bone down into the carriage.

  ‘The corpse is blocking my view,’ snarled Annael, leaning over as far as he could but not able to see the open door past the mangled remains of the woman.

  Enemy fire whined down the shaft, pinging and clattering from the cage and surrounding walls. A round scraped down Annael’s left arm, leaving a livid scratch through the paint on his armour. The others had drawn their pistols and those that could see – Araton and Cassiel – fired back, the bark of bolt-rounds ringing loud in the confined space. Exhaust smoke from the chugging engines of the bikes drifted up the shaft and Annael heard coughs and chokes from the pirates as they leaned out to fire down at the rising Space Marines.

  Another flurry of las-beams cut through the haze, several shots hitting Araton, puffs of ceramite and paint blossoming across his armour. He coolly returned fire with his pistol, the headless body of a renegade falling onto the cage roof a moment later. Blood dripped down, joined by more sprays of crimson as autogun rounds from above hit the corpse, the impacts making the body jerk as if still alive.

  When the elevator reached the floor beneath the pirates, it shuddered to a stop. There were signals in front, behind, above and below the squadron and Annael holstered his pistol, focusing on the opening door ahead. Bullets flashed into the elevator as the portal slowly cranked open.

  When there was just enough room, Sabrael hit the throttle and surged out of the carriage, his bolters blazing into the enemy waiting in the chamber outside, bike slamming through their falling bodies. With just enough room to pass Cassiel and hit the gap, Annael accelerated, exiting the car a second before the sergeant could follow.

  The handlebars jerked in Annael’s hands as he rode over a pile of bodies, cries of pain cut short indicating that at least two had still been alive. Wheels throwing up a spume of body parts and crimson, Black Shadow hurtled into the mass of enemies while Annael kept the trigger rune pressed, unleashing a constant hail of bolts into the broad space where the foe had lain in ambush.

  Remarkably, a man beside the elevator door had been missed by both Sabrael and Annael and he hurled himself at them with a chainsword, the teeth of the weapon sparking across Annael’s backpack. Annael braked and hauled the bike sideways, using it as a weapon, the pirate disappearing beneath the rear wheel, the Dark Angel’s mount juddering as it pulped the man’s remains into the decking.

  Fire from Zarall and Araton announced the opening of the other elevator door but Annael could spare no attention for his brothers. The elevator had deposited them in a warehouse-like chamber, several hundred metres square, and from gantries above and behind enemy fire descended like a storm. Cassiel whirled his bike around, the bolters at maximum elevation as he cleared a gantry above the elevator door, while Sabrael was racing to the far end of the chamber, his weapons gunning down several foes who were making a break for a stairwell up to a mezzanine floor.

  Below the walkways more pirates used bulky cargo-lifters and metal-cased extractor vents as cover, poking out to snap off shots that were wide of their targets more often than they hit. Annael slewed his machine around and fired at a handful of foes skulking in the shadow of a bulk-hauler, the flash of bolts sparking from the upraised lifting blades on the front of the vehicle. Las-fire snapped back as he cruised across the warehouse, still firing, the fusillade puncturing balloon tyres and severing hydraulic hoses. Noticing a pool of fluid spreading out from beneath the engine, he directed his next salvo towards the floor, the explosive bolts igniting the leaking fuel.

  A blue fireball engulfed the bulk-hauler and several pirates, who staggered from their hiding places with clothes and hair aflame. Annael ignored them, aiming his next burst of fire at the uninjured enemies scurrying for cover behind a row of cylindrical canisters; four of them were cut down before they reached safety. The surviving pair continued to run as Annael continued to sweep his fire to the left, the tyres of Black Shadow screeching as they gripped across the blood- and oil-slicked deck.

  ‘Maintenance access, quadrant four, high,’ he told the others, spying more enemies issuing from a metre-high crawlspace. One of them was dragging a heavy stubber into view as a companion set up a tripod for the machine-gun. Sabrael cut back along the storage hold, bolt pistol in hand, and fired up through the mesh of the walkway. His volley tore the legs from the renegade with the stubber and sent another pitching back into the bulkhead minus his left arm.

  Trusting that the threat would be dealt with, Annael continued his circuit, picking up speed as he curved across the open space in the centre of the warehouse, searching the piles of crates and stacks of barrels for targets. He opened fire in brief bursts at any signature on his thermal scan, driving the pirates further back into the darkness behind the stores.

  Switching his fire to full automatic, his brought his bike to a stop facing a pallet laden with metal drums. Splinters filled the air as the bolts punched through the containers, splashing blood against the wall as the rounds found their mark inside the bodies of the men behind. A man crawled into view, his face a bloody mess f
rom a jagged sliver of steel jutting from his cheek, his right leg trailing uselessly behind him.

  Opening up the throttle of Black Shadow Annael roared past, lifting his foot to connect with the wounded pirate’s head. Spine snapped, the man was flung like a rag doll across the floor.

  There were only a handful of enemies left, but one of them had a final surprise for the Dark Angels. A blue plasma bolt shrieked down from overhead, smashing into the rear of Sergeant Cassiel’s steed. Molten metal, ceramite and hardened rubber sprayed into the air and the sergeant was flung from his mount as it careened past Annael, trailing sparks across the floor.

  As he turned his bike to face the threat, Annael saw that Cassiel’s right leg was missing below the knee. Undeterred, the sergeant pushed himself up, drew his pistol and fired at the plasma gunner. A round hit the combustion chamber of the weapon and it detonated, enveloping the pirate in superheated gas. Skin blistering, flesh slewing away from the bone, the man toppled over the walkway rail and span crazily to the floor, his impact punctuated by another small plasma detonation.

  ‘Brother-sergeant?’ Zarall drew his bike to a stop beside Cassiel, shielding the sergeant from the fire of the few remaining enemies.

  ‘I will signal command with my position. My steed is no more, anyway. Araton, you have the lead.’ The sergeant looked down at the remnants of his leg, his augmented blood clotting the injury, the spurts of dark red slowing to a trickle. ‘It looks like I will be not riding with you for some time. Not until we return to the Rock and I can have a bionic fitted.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Sabrael as he and Annael turned their bikes’ bolters on the remaining enemy. ‘You can still ride gunner in an attack bike. I will drive for you.’

  ‘I am obliged for the offer, brother, but if I am to be at the mercy of another’s riding, I will choose Zarall or Araton. You are too fast for my liking!’ There was a hint of a laugh in Cassiel’s voice, which was remarkable considering his condition.

  The last of the opposition died when a volley from Sabrael cut him in half across the chest. The warehouse suddenly fell quiet save for the throb of idling engines, the ping of cooling metal and the clink of settling shell cases. Annael scanned around once, both with his own eyes and the sensors of his mount, but nothing save for the Dark Angels was left alive in the chamber.

  ‘Area clear,’ he announced. He joined the others as they gathered around Cassiel. Zarall dismounted and helped the sergeant across to the gantry stair where he was able to sit down, the metal steps sagging slightly under the Space Marine’s weight.

  ‘Keep pushing hubwards and then come around to sector four to meet up with the Grand Master’s advance,’ Cassiel told them. The ruined stub of his leg was now a black and brown mottled mass of coagulant and Larraman cells, the scab thick and leathery. Reloading his pistol, the sergeant gestured towards the wide warehouse doors. ‘No delays. Get moving.’

  ‘We will return for you, brother,’ said Sabrael, slapping a fist to the aquila on his chest as he turned his bike away. ‘Unless the Apothecaries reach you first.’

  ‘Concentrate on the mission, brothers. I am not the first casualty we have ever suffered.’

  ‘Vengeance shall be ours,’ said Zarall. ‘Every drop of blood shed by our own will be atoned for by a river from our foes.’

  Annael said nothing, though he bowed his head in respect to the sergeant as he rode past, receiving a raised hand in thanks.

  ‘You are doing well, Annael,’ Cassiel said as Annael turned away and gunned his steed after the others. ‘A true brother of the Ravenwing.’

  Annael smiled at the praise but did not reply. Ahead, Sabrael had pulled up alongside the door controls. The shutters creaked open on runners, flooding the warehouse with white light. Checking the status display of Black Shadow Annael saw that he had already used up more than forty per cent of the bike’s ammunition.

  ‘We will be using fists and pistols before we are done,’ he said as the squadron rolled out through the opening doors.

  ‘We shall smite the enemy, brother,’ replied Zarall. ‘Any way that we can.’

  The last thing Annael heard before exiting the chamber was Cassiel signalling the Grand Master, reporting the squadron’s ongoing commitment to the completion of the mission.

  The Unworthy

  ‘Understood, brother. Remain in position. There is a squadron within two kilometres of your location, await their arrival.’ Sammael cut the link with Sergeant Cassiel and turned to Brother Gideon, the Apothecary. ‘Join with Sergeant Charael and his Black Knights. They will perform escort for you. Of the casualties, which is your priority?’

  ‘Brother Gabrael needs my attention swiftly,’ replied the Apothecary. ‘The others are stable as far as I can judge by the reports.’

  ‘Very well.’ Sammael brought up a schematic created from the close-range scans of the strike cruiser as the Dark Angels had launched their attack. It showed the broad layout of Port Imperial, though much of the display was filled with static where the sensors had been blocked by the density of the station’s structure. Telemetric feedback from the advanced squadrons was being transmitted to the Implacable Justice and the digital chart was being regularly updated. ‘Tell Charael you can cut through a maintenance hangar grid-north-west of here. That should take you to Gabrael and his squadron with least delay.’

  ‘As you command, Grand Master,’ said Gideon. The Apothecary turned his bike around and headed back towards the docking spar where the majority of the Ravenwing had inserted aboard their gunships.

  As soon as Gideon was gone, Sammael turned his attention to Malcifer. The two of them sat astride their mounts, the remainder of the command squad around them. At the far end of the passageway bolter fire resounded from plastered walls as squads from the Fifth Company extended their perimeter. Sammael motioned for the squadron to move, accelerating softly towards the open blast doors leading to the closest of the hub towers. ‘Three brothers’ dead, another five incapacitated. However, the breaches have been made and the landing secured.’

  ‘You mean to press on immediately?’ the Chaplain asked.

  ‘Not too swiftly, we must maintain contact with the Fifth Company,’ replied the Grand Master. ‘I have four bike squadrons on roving patrols along the transitways circling the hub spire, and Land Speeders moving in from grid-north to cut off any counter-attack on the main breach. Latest report from Pichon indicates the pirates are split into three groups, with the majority in the central spire. We will eliminate the outlying pockets of resistance first.’

  ‘We have attained our position through speed and precision, brother, are you sure you wish to risk the attack losing impetus? If the enemy are given time to secure their positions, the fight will be all the more difficult.’

  ‘Unless their leader is foolishly arrogant, provision will have been made to defend the station against attack. Scanner reports on the enemy movements convince me that they are falling back to prepared positions. The two outlying groups have had their line of retreat severed but they must be dealt with if we are to secure our flanks for the thrust to the inner spire. We need the Fifth Company to provide that security.’

  ‘Very well, brother. I do not seek to dissent from your plan, but it is imperative that we secure the enemy commanders as soon as we are able. Every minute risks them escaping the station.’

  ‘Have no fear on that account.’ The squadron slowed to negotiate the opening at the end of the passage, passing two abreast onto a skybridge that arched across the base towards the upper levels of one of the hub spires. ‘Defensive batteries have been silenced and both strike cruisers are moving into range for close sensor sweeps. I have fighters on standby to intercept any craft that attempt to leave Port Imperial.’

  ‘Then we have nothing to fear,’ said Malcifer as the group accelerated once more, passing underneath a thick armourglass canopy held up with plasteel arches. Thr
ough the transparent panes Sammael glimpsed flares of blue as a pair of fighters swept overhead. The squadron reached the crest of the bridge and began their descent, the arching tunnel reverberating with the noise of their steeds’ engines. ‘Our prey will be trapped.’

  ‘If they are here...’

  Sammael’s confidence that the Fallen were aboard Port Imperial was waning fast. Regardless of their loyalties, the Fallen were Space Marines and the poor discipline and shocking lack of maintenance evidenced by the renegades made the Grand Master doubt that their leaders were at all competent. It had been a slim chance, he recognised, but the likelihood was that the Fallen had long quit Port Imperial and left their followers to fend for themselves. It was not in Sammael’s mind to give voice to this pessimism, if only so that he could maintain a small nugget of hope himself. If he spoke his doubts they would be confirmed in his mind, and he did not desire to give up the hunt just yet.

  ‘We need to secure prisoners,’ Harahel announced. ‘If we can take some of the enemy alive we may learn more concerning their leaders.’

  ‘A sensible plan,’ said Malcifer, ‘though I would not burden our brothers with the task when we are suitably placed to perform it ourselves.’

  ‘So be it,’ said Sammael. Knowing that Athelman and Daedis could hear everything that passed between the Grand Master and Chaplain, he addressed the two Black Knights following a short distance behind their superiors. ‘Take no risks, but if we can take some of the enemy alive for interrogation, it will be for the better.’

  ‘As you command,’ the honour guards replied in unison.

  ‘It may not be simple,’ said Daedis, a hint of humour in his voice. ‘These pirates die very easily. Bolters and bikes are not the ideal weapons for taking prisoners.’

  ‘Do what you can,’ said Sammael. ‘I am sure you can improvise a solution.’

  The squadron fell silent as they reached the far end of the bridgeway. Sammael slowed Corvex, suspicious that the emergency doors had not been sealed. He had been expecting to use the plasma cannon on his jetbike to blast through, but the doorway stood open like a dark cavern beyond the lights of the bridge. Looking at his bike’s scanner, the Grand Master saw a mass of returns, but nothing conclusive; the signal was blurred by converging power conduits. Switching to thermal scan did little to clarify the image and his armour’s autosenses did not detect anything waiting in the darkness.