by Gav Thorpe
Secondly, Incitatus. Pulling himself over the bike’s remains, Cassiel inspected his fallen steed’s weapon systems. The right-mounted bolter was operational but the ammunition and feed had been destroyed by the plasma blast. The left bolter system was still intact.
His hands moved without thought, centuries of maintenance and experience guiding his fingers better than conscious effort, as he decoupled the bolter from its mounting and dragged free the chain of bolt ammunition. Setting this to one side, he checked on the doors, seeing droplets of metal now running down the inside. He still had a couple of minutes until the Unworthy made their first breach.
He freed the right-hand bolter next, pulling it away from the mangled remnants of the feed mechanism. He gave silent thanks to the ancient tech-priests that had first devised the wargear of the Adeptus Astartes ten thousand years before as he slipped back the bolter’s casing, exposing a slot that matched his pistol magazines. He slammed in the spare and reattached the bolter to Incitatus, dragging the bike through ninety degrees so that the front mounting was aimed towards the door. The fairing canopy would add to the protection afforded by his power armour.
The outline of a roughly man-sized hole was glowing across the door now, the metal flowing into pools to cool on the decking.
Cassiel settled as best he could and rested his arm on the top of the bike’s fairing, pistol in hand, and waited.
With a clang, the cut section of door dropped into the warehouse. Cassiel did not wait to see an enemy, but opened fire immediately, sending a flurry of bolts into the opening, rewarded by shrieks of pain from whoever had been wielding the las-cutter.
The first pirate through was cut in half by Cassiel’s next salvo, as was the next. There seemed to be no fear in the Unworthy as they leapt through the gap, wildly snapping shots from lasguns and autoguns, each met by one or two carefully-placed bolt-rounds.
In the press of bodies, one of the pirates made a move for the door control panel. From the inside, the override code could be circumvented. Cassiel recognised the danger immediately and adjusted his aim, ignoring another Unworthy who was levelling her automatic pistol in his direction. The pirate reaching for the door controls fell with a fist-sized hole in the back of his head as the other let loose with a burst of fire.
Bullets sprayed from Incitatus’s front mounting, flecking chips of ceramite and paint into Cassiel’s face. He didn’t flinch, and calmly fired back, sending two bolts into the Unworthy’s gut and chest. The momentary distraction had allowed two more pirates to enter, and they again split, forcing Cassiel to divide his fire as a las-flash streaked off his left shoulder guard.
Ditching the empty bolt pistol, Cassiel grabbed the manual trigger of the bike bolter and fired on full automatic, emptying the fifteen-bolt magazine in a few seconds, shredding the handful of Unworthy that had gained entry. A glance down at the auspex glowing beside him showed that there were about half a dozen foes left.
Cassiel freed a grenade from his belt and lobbed it through the hole in the door, the flash of its detonation silhouetting two pirates for a moment before the fragmentation shards flung their bodies through the opening.
Silence descended, broken by the patter of feet as the surviving Unworthy retreated. Through the ragged breach in the door he could see them regrouping at the far end of the corridor. With this he realised that as well as he could see them, they could see him. If he remained where he was, and if the Unworthy could find another plasma gun or perhaps a rocket launcher or other heavy weapon, he would be in plain sight for a long-range shot.
He rolled away from the bike to get out of sight, taking the dismounted bolter with him. From this angle he could still see a few metres up the passageway, but no further. Cassiel gathered up the snaking cable of the ammunition feed and coiled it on the floor next to him.
Pressing the firing stud on his bike’s handlebars, Gideon unleashed a ripple of bolt detonations into the packed enemies ahead. Around him, more fire spewed down the passageway from his escort. The green-skinned brutes parted like a wave before the charge of the Black Knights; the presence of orks aboard Port Imperial had come as a surprise to the Dark Angels. Somehow, the xenos fiends had found common cause with the Unworthy and were proving a tougher foe to eliminate.
Gideon and the squadron were responding to a call for aid from a squad from the Fifth Company, who had been set upon by the orks whilst clearing out a maze of chambers beneath one of the major power and coolant interchanges. One of the Space Marines was already dead and another critically wounded, forcing the Apothecary to adjust his priorities.
As more orks tumbled lifelessly to the floor, Gideon caught a glimpse of his green-armoured brethren defending a stairwell and intersection. The orks came at them from above and below and the squad was engulfed in a storm of bullets, las-fire and grenade blasts.
Like a thunderbolt, the Black Knights swept into the press of foes, swinging their glowing corvus hammers, Charael leading the charge with glittering power sword chopping to the left and right. Gideon tracked his fire to one side, sending another hail of bullets into one of the adjoining corridors as he slowed at the junction, cutting down more foes.
Stirred by the arrival of reinforcements, the warriors of the Fifth Company sallied out from their defensive position, bolters blazing, their sergeant wading into the orks with wide sweeps of his chainsword. Gideon slowed only enough to avoid a pile of the dead, cannoning through the orks directly, sending them sprawling to either side; the Black Knights were around him to guard against counter-attack.
Tyres screeching, Gideon brought Eclipse to a stop at the foot of the stairwell and leapt onto the steps, his narthecium activated. Halfway to the next landing, two brothers of the squad stood guard over their wounded companion, their bolters holding back a mob of human pirates trying to descend.
Gideon ignored the fighting and stooped over the injured Space Marine. His helmet had been cleaved almost in two, skull and face opened up by the jagged teeth of some viciously toothed chain-weapon. His right ear was missing and his jaw hanging limply, breaths coming fast and ragged. Now and then a spray of bullets or spatter of las-fire sparked from the bulkhead beside the Apothecary but he focused on the task at hand.
He inserted one of the narthecium’s injectors into the neck of the wounded battle-brother, sending a stream of stimulants into the Dark Angel. Almost immediately his eyes flickered open, confused and roving. The Larraman cells coursing through the Space Marine’s bloodstream had created a thick clot over the worst of the wound, but prevented Gideon from seeing the damage within. He applied an anti-coagulant and deftly scraped away the scab, exposing torn artery and shattered skull.
‘Not much I can do about the bone damage here,’ he told the warrior, who had now fixed the Apothecary with an intent, almost mindless stare. ‘The blood loss is another matter.’
Reaching into a pouch at his belt, Gideon brought forth a length of resinous, flexible piping. It was a crude substitute for cartilage and flesh but would suffice for the moment.
‘Be still, brother,’ he said, laying a hand on the Space Marine’s chest as he attempted to sit up.
Skilfully and swiftly, Gideon removed two centimetres of damaged artery from the neck of the Space Marine, quickly replacing it with the surgical tubing. Bio-gel and organic weld secured the bypass in place, but before the Apothecary could apply a layer of protective foam sheath a shouted warning from above drew his attention.
The Unworthy had rushed the two Space Marines at the top of the stair, and though a handful lay dead, one had managed to slip past in the fray and came at Gideon with an upraised axe.
The Apothecary reacted in a moment, punching the blades and syringes of his narthecium into the pirate’s chest, hurling him backwards. Blood frothed from the gaping wound and the man spasmed and thrashed as a lethal cocktail of elixirs created for the augmented physiology of Space Marines coursed throu
gh his all-too-human system. Blood poured from his ears and mouth and his eyes burst from the internal pressure.
Two seconds later the man fell still, organs and nervous system totally overloaded by the stimms and vital fluids that had ravaged his body.
Back at the top of the stairwell, the Space Marines had thrown back the fresh attack and were finishing off the wounded with single bolt-rounds.
‘Apologies, Brother-Apothecary,’ one of them said, turning to look at Gideon. ‘Such disturbance will not happen again.’
Gideon nodded and returned to his charge, cauterising and sealing the wound. When he was done, he glanced back down to the intersection to see that Charael and his warriors, with the help of the Fifth Company battle-brothers, had slain the orks.
‘My work here is almost complete,’ said Gideon.
‘The presence of the orks has changed the strategic situation,’ replied Charael. ‘Master Sammael requests that we rejoin the main assault.’
‘Then do so,’ said the Apothecary. He switched his comm-feed and hailed Sergeant Cassiel.
‘This is Cassiel,’ came the reply.
‘What is your current situation, brother-sergeant?’
‘Combat outcome is deteriorating, Brother-Apothecary, although physically I have suffered no further injury.’
‘I am only a few hundred metres from your position, but we have a substantial enemy presence between us. Can you relocate?’
There was a pause and some grunting.
‘I shall attempt to move position, brother, though I must confess I am not wholly sure where I might find sufficient surcease from attack.’
‘If possible head to rimwards, brother, the fighting is strongest towards the central spires.’
‘Understood. Location transponder still operational.’
‘Keep strong, sergeant, I am coming.’
‘We cannot ride escort, brother,’ said Charael as Gideon cut the link. ‘Did you not hear?’
‘I understand, huntmaster,’ Gideon replied. He strode back to Eclipse and mounted. ‘Thank you for your assistance but I will proceed alone from here.’
Charael lifted his blade in salute to the Apothecary’s decision and Gideon raised a fist in reply.
‘Speed well and bring salvation, brother,’ said the huntmaster, before leading his squadron away.
Cassiel had not been entirely truthful in his report to the Apothecary. His entire leg was now numb and his right side and arm were also starting to lose sensation. Knowing that his strength would not last forever, he worked quickly, knowing from the auspex scan that his foes were once again gathering their strength before their next attack. He had accounted for another forty enemies, give or take a couple, but each Unworthy that fell seemed to only add to their determination to see him dead; perhaps they desired to settle the score regardless of cost.
Looping the bolter feed around his arm, the sergeant set about uncoupling the main unit from Incitatus, the bulky cogitator and display that retained the spirit of his steed. Detaching the device from the bike, he set it to one side and primed the anti-tamper mechanism of his fallen mount. With a grunt, he grabbed the machine-spirit casing under one arm, took up the bolter and crawled back across the warehouse towards the open elevator shaft.
Detached from the bike’s scanning systems, the auspex had been reduced to short range, intermittently beeping out the welter of contacts behind Cassiel as he dragged himself metre-by-metre towards his escape route. The sound became a more insistent shrilling as the enemy signals started to close once more, and with a last effort, the sergeant hauled himself to the edge of the shaft. A glance at the display showed that the Unworthy, dozens of them, were only a few metres beyond the broken doors.
Taking a deep breath, Cassiel looked down the shaft. The remnants of the elevator cage were about twenty metres below, three levels down. Pieces of snapped metal jutted dangerously up towards him, but a look up confirmed there were no good handholds to effect a climb. At least not with the bolter and machine-spirit console to carry.
The sound of running footsteps spurred the sergeant into action.
He pushed himself over the lip of the drop, angling his fall so that his backpack would take the brunt of the damage.
Cassiel’s landing smashed his head into something hard and through the ringing in his ears he dimly heard the thunderous reverberation of his fall echoing back up the shaft. He lay dazed for a moment, vision swimming. A damage warning indicator flashed at the edge of his vision and a whining tone alerted him to several systems failures in his armour, but he did not care.
‘The Machine-God blessed you well,’ he muttered in thanks to the spirit of his powered suit. ‘I shall see that proper honour is paid when opportunity presents.’
The open access door above glowed brighter for an instant, followed by the sharp noise from the explosion of his bike’s self-termination – one of the Unworthy had not been able to fight curiosity, apparently. Shrieks of the wounded and cries of surprise sounded out moments later.
Smiling grimly to himself, faculties returning, Cassiel pulled himself free from the tangle of the cage around him; the metal struts had been flattened by the impact of his fall. Rolling to one side, he managed to pull himself upright, powered fingers tearing at the mesh of the cage door. Shots started to ring out from above, shells and las-blasts lighting the interior of the elevator shaft.
Cassiel considered firing back but decided to conserve energy and ammunition. With a snarl, he pulled apart the last segment of the cage door and flopped out into the hallway beyond.
He checked his surroundings, finding himself at the end of a short corridor, which split into a T-junction ten metres away. There were no other routes of entry or exit.
Would the Unworthy attempt the climb down? Unlikely, he concluded, but not impossible. Also, a grenade thrown down the shaft might gift his foes a lucky bounce into the hall. And, when he thought about it, he was Ravenwing and mobility, however much impaired, was still a weapon to be used.
The throbbing pain from his leg was becoming harder to ignore as his armour’s suppressant systems started to run out of stimulants. Steeling himself, Cassiel forced himself upright, slumping against the bulkhead wall. He looked back at the remains of the elevator cage but saw nothing that would be strong enough to fashion into a crutch, so he turned away and started hop-shuffling his way along the corridor, bolter in one hand, Incitatus’s spirit in the other.
The Dark Angels’ drive towards the central command and habitation spires had punched through the defenders of Port Imperial, leaving scattered bands of pirates and orks in their wake. As Gideon rode through the dilapidated tunnels the roar of Eclipse’s engine heralded his approach, sending stray auspex returns and half-seen figures running from his path.
Here and there he encountered signs of fighting – bullet-pocked walls, bloody corpses and discarded weapons. Occasionally shots sounded in the distance, echoing oddly through the maze of chambers and passages, their sources unknown.
Gideon opened a vox-channel, concerned that his efforts might yet turn out to be in vain.
‘Sergeant Cassiel, respond. What is your situation?’
Several seconds passed without reply. The Apothecary turned his bike onto a main thoroughfare, noting as he did so the orkish graffiti and the drifts of garbage against the walls. A check of the bike display confirmed that he was only four hundred metres from Cassiel’s transponder position, but also that there were quite a number of unknown energy signatures converging in front of him. An off-ramp less than a hundred metres ahead would take him into the sub-decks where Cassiel would be found.
Taking the curving ramp, Gideon had to brake sharply as he almost rode into an improvised barricade across the roadway. Storage vats, plates of corrugated metal and other detritus were heaped across his path, metal spars jutting out like the stakes of a revetment.
As he wrenched Eclipse to the side, tyres juddering over the uneven floor, Gideon saw something else: metal discs half-hidden amongst the trash strewn over the ferrocrete surface. Explosive mines. He braked harder, shedding beads of rubber from the reinforced tyres of his steed, avoiding a mine by less than a metre.
He stopped, staring at the obstacle, calculating a path through the mess of explosives and debris, but as he did so he also saw a number of enemy signals congregating on his position from stairs and ducts along the rampway.
A pair of Unworthy burst out of a floor-level maintenance hatch to his right, pistols spitting bullets. A glance directed Eclipse’s bolters in their direction and the Apothecary opened fire, cutting them down as shells sparked from his armour and the canopy of his steed. Others were taking position behind the cover of the barricades; pirates and orks together.
‘Shade of the Lion,’ Gideon cursed, returning fire with his bolt pistol as enemy shots zipped and buzzed around him.
Immobile, he would make too easy a target for his foes, but the mines and obstacles gave him no room to manoeuvre. With a frustrated snarl, Gideon wrenched his mount around, turning back to the main tunnel. As much as he wished to fight, he had a greater priority. Just as the Grand Master was intent upon reaching his objective and would deal with the survivors later, so he too had to withdraw from battle to achieve a higher goal, though it pained him to do so. He might be an Apothecary by rank and expertise, but he was still a Space Marine of the Dark Angels and it wounded his honour to leave the enemy without retort.
Hitting the main transit route again, he opened the throttle full, knowing that every delay and backtrack cost him time and might cost Cassiel his life.
Firing again as another Unworthy came around the corner of the corridor, Cassiel put a bolt into the man’s leg, sending him toppling sideways. Another shot ripped open the pirate’s chest as he struggled to stand. The sergeant continued to unleash a hail of bolts as more foes tried to dash across the passage to the sanctuary of a doorway to his right. None reached their goal, their bodies and limbs ripped and torn by the flurry of detonations.
