Ravenwing

by Gav Thorpe

  The departure of the column had been timed to ensure that the vehicles reached the gorge just after noon, when the sun lit the steep valley in its entirety. Unfortunately, the weather was not inclined to cooperate. Dark grey clouds filled the sky, unleashing a steady drizzle of rain onto Telemenus, splashing from his armour and the top of the Rhino with a constant, irritating patter.

  He moved the storm bolter to the right and left, scanning his sector, autosenses on thermal with full magnification. Small animals and birds fluttered between the trees, startled by the growl of the vehicles’ engines, but he saw nothing else.

  ‘One kilometre to Kaspor Gorge,’ announced Seraphiel. ‘Scanner clear.’

  Given recent incidents, Telemenus had left unasked the questions he had regarding the transfer of the Imperial Commander. Though he could understand why a potential security breach amongst his staff had prompted the relocation and the involvement of the Dark Angels, it made little sense to him to move Drazinoff by land. A Thunderhawk would be far less vulnerable and a lot swifter.

  At least he was away from the strike cruiser, he told himself. After the frustration of the last three missions – the rebels at Hadria Praetoris captured by Ravenwing, the withdrawal without action at Kadillus and the debacle that had concluded the attack on port Imperial – Telemenus was glad to have an objective that was clear and simple. With any luck, the rebels would find out about the convoy and try to mount some kind of kidnap attempt, giving him the opportunity to unburden himself of some of the dissatisfaction he had been feeling of late.

  Despite his meandering thoughts, he remained alert, conscious of the wooded slopes giving way to steeper, rockier ground as they passed into the mouth of the gorge. He waited for Seraphiel to signal the all clear, scanning back and forth across the boulders and scree.

  Telemenus heard the crack of a large gun firing a moment before Squad Atleus’s Rhino was hit by a shell. The front of the transport erupted outwards, flinging the driver and armoured plates across the highway.

  Acting despite the shock of the attack, Telemenus swung the storm bolter to look at the heights of the gorge walls. He saw something bulky and dark about two hundred metres ahead. There was a flash, just as he opened his mouth to give warning.

  ‘Enemy veh–’

  The shell hit the right flank of the Rhino, smashing into the tracks. The force of the blast lifted up the vehicle and Telemenus felt himself about to topple from the cupola as the Rhino flipped over. He pushed himself inside and slammed the hatch shut half a second before the transport crashed down onto its roof.

  The transport compartment was not breached, but his squad-brothers and Seraphiel lay heaped on the roof-now-floor of the vehicle just to the rear of Telemenus.

  ‘Report, brothers,’ snapped Seraphiel, dragging himself clear as the Dark Angels pushed themselves away from each other. Telemenus answered his name as Amanael snapped out the roll-call, pleased to hear that everyone still in the squad replied.

  ‘Some kind of vehicle with a battle cannon,’ said Telemenus. ‘Two, actually, at least. One on each side of the gorge.’

  ‘How could the rebels get a damned tank up there?’ asked Daellon. The Space Marine made his way to the rear hatch, bolter in one hand. He jabbed his fist against the emergency release. Explosive charges hurled the rear doors away from the chassis and pale light flooded into the compartment.

  ‘They were walkers,’ said Telemenus, recalling the glimpse of the enemy in the moments before the shell had struck, of a monstrous, spider-like vehicle perched on the edge of the ravine. He joined the others as they clambered from their wrecked transport. The flipped Rhino had become a deathtrap, but Telemenus waited patiently while the others disembarked, half-expecting another mighty explosion to rock the transport.

  ‘The only walkers on Thyestes Five are light recon units,’ said Seraphiel. ‘Where would the rebels get such vehicles?’

  The question went unanswered as another booming retort echoed along the gorge. Telemenus’s momentary relief that the shell had been targeted elsewhere was replaced by concern for his brothers in the lead Rhino. Right behind Amanael, he snatched a bolter from the rack beside the exit hatch and plunged out of the Rhino wreckage. As Amanael moved right with most of the squad, Telemenus veered to the left, moving around the inverted transport with Daellon, scanning the top of the gorge wall for more foes.

  The walker he had first seen was lowering itself down the cliff with six mechanical limbs, serrated claws digging into the chalky rock. As it picked its way down the slope, the engine looked like an obscene metal spider with a turreted cannon atop its back. The machine was almost perpendicular to the floor of the valley and unable to fire, and Telemenus was grateful for this minor mercy.

  Reaching the front of the Rhino, he saw where the third shell had been aimed. Smoke billowed from the rear grating of Castigator, thick and oily from the burning engine. The tank’s turret was still operational though, the barrel elevating to target the crab-like walker on the far side of the gorge. The machine was silhouetted against the grey sky, its front appendages raised, tipped with spinning saw blades. A howl resonated along the defile, inhuman and drawn out, ringing with a metallic edge.

  ‘Heretic engines,’ muttered Seraphiel. ‘Daemonically possessed war machines. Imperial Commander, remain in your transport for the moment.’

  Whatever reply came from Drazinoff was made over the command channel, unheard by Telemenus and the rest of the squad.

  ‘Troops moving to the front of the column,’ Sergeant Atleus reported. His squad, only seven strong, Telemenus noted, fanned out through the rocks either side of the highway, following their leader. ‘Armoured.’

  ‘Renegade Space Marines,’ warned Seraphiel. ‘Betrayers of the Emperor.’

  This pronouncement hit Telemenus like a fist in the gut, making him stop in his tracks. It was not the first time he had faced such foes, but the memories of his previous encounters were vague, half-remembered as though only a dream. The realisation that he faced former warriors of the Adeptus Astartes brought to mind a plethora of questions; questions he suppressed as he focused on the immediate situation.

  ‘Damned traitors,’ snarled Daellon. He disappeared back into the upturned wreckage of the Rhino and emerged a few seconds later, a plasma gun in his hands. ‘This will prove most useful.’

  ‘Incoming!’

  The shout from Amanael sent the Dark Angels running from the Rhino. Moments later, the wreck exploded into flames as another shell from the machine atop the gorge wall hit the transport. Heat and smoke washed over Telemenus and secondary detonations rattled through the burning hull as storm bolter ammunition was cooked off by the flames.

  ‘Not targeting the chimera,’ he noted to the others. The observation came with a worrying conclusion. ‘This is no opportunistic attack. They know we are escorting Drazinoff!’

  ‘Traitor legionaires approaching from the north, three hundred metres. More walkers and battle tanks,’ said Atleus. His squad were firing along the canyon at targets out of Telemenus’s line of sight. The continuous hail of fire did not bode well. ‘We must extract the Imperial Commander and retreat.’

  ‘Negative!’ shouted Seraphiel. He paused as Castigator opened fire, its twin lascannons sending bright beams of energy lancing through the torso of the armoured walker atop the ridge. A keening wail drifted down the gorge as the machine slumped to one side and scrabbled out of view, its churning claws sending chunks of rock and boulders rolling and bouncing down the slope. ‘Sergeant Atleus, hold your ground. Squad Amanael, take out that other war engine.’

  Nethor readied the missile launcher as the rest of the squad turned their bolters on the approaching mechanical beast. Through the magnification of his targeter, Telemenus could see the unholy conglomeration of metal, flesh and daemon more clearly. Sheathed in metal, there seemed to be muscle and bone beneath the hull of the mach
ine. Dark runes emblazoned on the outer armour burned with black fire, trapping the ethereal spirits of the daemons inside the artifice of traitor tech-priests.

  ‘Notice the rust and decay?’ said Menthius. ‘Recent acquaintances make it familiar.’

  Castigator’s turret turned towards the remaining war machine as Nethor opened fire with a krak missile. His aim was pure, but the warhead split against the armour of the daemonic engine, showering sparks and shrapnel against the cliff-face but doing no lasting damage. Telemenus raised his bolter, but knew he was helpless against the armoured monster.

  The walker halted in its descent, digging in four of its claws deep into the stone. As it adjusted its stance, the machine’s wide-muzzled cannon swung towards the Predator and the Space Marines standing not far behind the tank. Castigator’s main gunner fired first as Telemenus and the others broke away from the battle tank, but the shot was too hasty, carving a gouge into the chalk below the abominable walker. The enemy walker returned fire, noxious smoke billowing from its gun as it sent a shell crashing into the side of the Predator. The battle tank skidded sideways, shedding track links across the highways as road wheels fell from their mountings and clanged onto the pitted ferrocrete. The heavy bolter sponson was a tangled mess of metal and flesh, the unfortunate gunner – Brother Amneos, Telemenus recalled – torn apart inside the weapon mounting.

  His bolter no better than thrown stones, his armour no defence against the firepower of the mechanical beast, Telemenus snarled in frustration. Nethor was bracing himself, lifting the missile launcher to his shoulder.

  ‘For Emperor’s sake, take it out,’ Telemenus snapped, stepping up beside his squad-brother. ‘We cannot let it reach the convoy.’

  The Predator’s lascannons swivelled as they adjusted for their new position and let forth twin stabs of energy. The blasts sheared through one of the walker’s legs, melting through the metal in a flash. A mixture of oil and blood spilled from the damage, splashing down the white slope in a slick of black and scarlet.

  The firing from Atleus’s squad attracted Telemenus’s attention for a moment. The Dark Angels were still unleashing a steady hail from their bolters at targets further along the highway. Telemenus wanted to move forward to join them knowing that his superior marksmanship would prove valuable. Seraphiel’s orders were clear, though, and Telemenus returned his gaze to the machine.

  Recovering from losing its rear leg, the daemon engine ripped its claws free, letting itself slide down the white slope towards the column. Nethor lined up another shot with the missile launcher as the enemy walker ploughed onto the highway fifty metres in front of Squad Atleus. Twin beams of laser energy from the Predator obliterated a boulder that had tumbled along with the walker, turning it to dust and fragments but leaving no mark on the machine. The metal beast picked up speed, legs pumping as it headed towards the Space Marine force. Churning up the ferrocrete road with its claws, the half-daemonic machine leaked a trail of dark fluid from its severed limb. Telemenus lifted his bolter, ready to fire. He knew it was a futile gesture, and the thought of fighting against the other Space Marines following in its wake left him feeling cold inside, but he would not simply allow the enemy to attack without reply.

  Nethor fired. The missile streaked over the wreckage of the lead Rhino to slam into the front armour of the walker’s turret. The machine stumbled, swaying to its left, knees buckling with a hiss of hydraulics. The daemon-machine let forth a loud, plaintive moan. As the smoke of the missile’s detonation cleared, a large gouge could be seen, running for two-thirds of the cannon barrel protruding from the turret. Bubbling, unnatural liquid dribbled from the wound, dripping like tar on to the hull.

  ‘Again!’ snapped Amanael.

  ‘One more hit should finish it,’ said Telemenus.

  His satisfaction was short-lived though as the half-machine beast reared up on its three remaining legs, claw-tipped front limbs raised high. A piercing screech of defiance caused Telemenus’s autosenses to momentarily shut out all audio input. When his hearing returned the noise of bolters firing and rounds pinging from metal filled the gorge. He added the fire of his weapon to his brothers’ trying to hit the swaying pipes and cables that ran along its splayed limbs.

  Atleus’s squad switched their fire from the approaching renegades to the war machine lumbering into their midst. Armed with an autocannon, one of the brothers fired a salvo of shells into the approaching engine, buckling and cracking rusted armour plates but not penetrating into the machine’s innards. Just as hope was beginning to stir in Telemenus’s heart once more, it was quashed.

  Without stopping in its stride, the daemon-tank lashed out with a claw the size of a Space Marine, smashing aside the Dark Angel with the autocannon. The unfortunate battle-brother was hurled several metres into the air and crashed down onto the road, where he lay unmoving. The squad’s flamer set light to the remains of the turret but the war engine thundered on, heading straight for the Castigator. Bolter fire from Telemenus and the others sprayed harmlessly from its metal skin as it threw aside the smouldering remnants of the lead Rhino.

  Clambering to the top of the battle tank, the enemy walker set upon the Predator, its front claws leaving ragged welts across the metal as it sought to drive its pincer-like appendages underneath the turret. Telemenus reloaded and fired again, desperate to pick out some weak point revealed by the enemy walker’s elevated position. His rounds pattered harmlessly, sending up puffs of rust and slivers of metal but inflicting no real damage.

  Daellon stepped forward, raising the plasma gun to the firing position. As the walker sank its claws through the top of the Predator’s hull, the scream of tearing metal almost deafening, Daellon fired. The plasma bolt passed between the machine’s legs, striking the armoured underbelly. Droplets of molten metal showered onto the roof of the Predator, but still the daemon-machine was not stopped.

  Levering with its arms and remaining legs, the daemonic engine ripped free Castigator’s sloping turret. With a fluid movement, it tossed the turret aside, the wreckage sent through Squad Atleus. Roaring insanely, the mechanical creature slammed its claws down, smashing into the interior of the roofless Predator with blow after blow.

  ‘We have to get Drazinoff,’ said Amanael.

  Telemenus moved slowly, recovering from the fugue of confusion that had gripped him since the first shell had hit the convoy. He broke into a run, following after his sergeant and Menthius as they dashed towards the Imperial Commander’s armoured carrier.

  ‘Fall back!’ yelled Seraphiel, grabbing Daellon as he tried to run past. ‘Protect yourselves.’

  The war machine pounced, leaping from the back of the Predator to land on the roof of the Chimera. Suspension cylinders exploded and rivets popped from their seals under the sudden weight. The walker swept out with a claw, driving a pointed tip into the shoulder of Amanael, hurling the sergeant sideways.

  ‘Fall back!’ Seraphiel’s order was a bellow, cutting through the fog of madness that had descended on Telemenus. The Dark Angel looked up at the behemoth of flesh and metal towering over him and realised that his commander was right; there was nothing that he or his brothers could do to save Drazinoff.

  ‘Help me with the sergeant.’ Telemenus dragged his eyes away from the enemy at the shout from Menthius.

  The other Space Marine had Amanael by one arm. Telemenus grabbed the other wrist and between the two of them they dragged the unconscious sergeant back along the road. Ahead of them, the dead and wounded of Squad Atleus were being pulled back by two of the battle-brothers, leaving two more to hold the front of the convoy. Splinters of rock surrounded them as the approaching renegades showered their position with bolter fire.

  A flurry of explosions tore through the rocks and stunted trees where Squad Atleus were still holding ground. Depositing Amanael beside the wreckage of the squad’s Rhino, Telemenus could just about make out the attacking traitors a
long the road. Figures in filth-daubed white and green power armour advanced in the wake of two Rhinos, the hulls of the vehicles encrusted with rust and filth like the walker. A Land Raider, almost twice as large as the troop transports, its heavy tracks grinding along the ferrocrete, loomed over the attacking column. From its back long pennants and tall banners fluttered, the white of the cloth heavily soiled and marked. A Space Marine in the top hatch directed the fire of a heavy bolter towards Squad Atleus, forcing them back into cover.

  ‘Death Guard,’ snarled Seraphiel. The name meant nothing to Telemenus, nor did the pale-green livery and dirt-smeared armour of the foe. It did not matter. The column was clearly outmatched. Just metres from Telemenus, the daemon engine was peeling back the top of the Chimera like an Imperial Guardsman opening a rations can. Las-fire erupted from the transport’s interior as the Imperial Commander’s bodyguard defended their charge.

  ‘Better that the governor is not taken prisoner,’ said Telemenus, thinking clearly for the first time in several minutes. He raised his bolter to his shoulder and sighted on the target. His finger rested lightly on the trigger of his bolter as the claw of the machine reached inside. It lifted out a slender, aging man dressed in dark robes of office.

  For a moment Telemenus’s cross hairs were centred in the forehead of the Imperial Commander; a sure kill.

  ‘All brothers, withdraw,’ ordered Seraphiel, stepping in front of Telemenus, the sergeant blocking the shot as he waved the front line of Space Marines to fall back.

  The moment had passed. Telemenus moved his finger from the trigger and lowered his weapon when Seraphiel had cleared the line of fire, seeing that the walker had shifted. Its bulk now between him and the Chimera, the Imperial Commander obscured from view as the engine clambered back to the roadway with its prize.

  ‘Thunderhawk extraction is on the way,’ announced Seraphiel.

  The words filled Telemenus with a mixture of relief and regret. It was not the first time he had been forced to retreat, but it felt like a more damning failure than before. The Imperial Commander was just twenty metres away and there was nothing he could do as heavy weapon fire from the Death Guard raked the convoy, forcing the Dark Angels to retreat further.