‘My lord, you are well within Death Guard territory. They have maintained their perimeter around the fortress at a remove of between three and five miles since their siege began. They have some sorcery that shields them from our auspex. You should have had some engagement by now. If you haven’t seen them yet, it’s because–’
‘They know we’re coming,’ said Cassian.
Lord Gurloch stood still as a statue on the ground floor of a skeletal ruin.
Every inch of his armour was covered with fat-bodied plague flies whose only movement was a slight riffling of their wings. Blorthos’ Blightlord Terminators stood around him, each with their own coating of bloated insects. Beyond the ruin, Gurloch’s forces spread away to either flank, forming a long, deep battle-line utterly carpeted in plague flies.
No one moved.
The vox was silent.
The ambush was ready.
Gurloch saw the first flash of blue armour through the greasy drizzle. A tall, clean-limbed loyalist, different to any he had seen before, picked his way through the ruins as he swept left and right with a long-barrelled bolt weapon.
Then came another one, and another. The Murmuring Swarm had concealed
Gurloch and his warriors from the enemy’s auspex, but any second now they would make visual contact. It was time.
‘In the name of Mortarion and the Grandfather,’ said Gurloch over the vox,
‘begin the attack.’
As one, a billion flies lifted off from the Death Guard warriors and swarmed into the air with a thunderous droning. In the same instant, Gurloch’s warriors raised their guns, bellowed gargling war cries and attacked.
Gurloch himself stomped through the crumbled ruins of a low wall, crushing the rubble to dust. Around him, the Blightlord Terminators opened fire. Their shots blitzed the Ultramarines’ front line, bolts sparking from blue power armour and gouts of plague-ridden filth sizzling as they ate through
adamantium and ceramite.
The Ultramarines responded with commendable speed, and Gurloch was surprised to see just how resilient they were. The warriors took shots to their torsos, helms and limbs, some of which even punched through their armour and blasted bloody craters in their flesh, but they still returned fire, hammering volleys of bolts into their ambushers. Gurloch heard one of the Witherlings grunt in pain as a shot found a weak spot in his armour, blowing a bucketful of greasy pus across the walls.
Shots spanged off Gurloch’s breastplate, and he gave a wet laugh.
‘You will have to do better than that, little brothers!’ he roared. ‘Your Corpse-Emperor is nothing compared to the might of Nurgle. Come, let me bathe you in the generosity of my god!’
Crashing through another wall, Gurloch shrugged off the hammering fire of the nearest Ultramarine and swung his plaguereaper in a mighty arc. The axe was as tall as a grown man, and had three buzz-saw blades mounted within its cutting edge, forming the tri-lobed sigil of Nurgle. Those blades howled as they cut through the Ultramarine’s chest-plate, scything in under his left arm and tearing out under his right.
The Ultramarine staggered, blood jetting from the catastrophic wound in his torso. Chuckling, Gurloch levelled his axe and smashed its head like a spear into his enemy’s faceplate. Ceramite crumpled, eye-lenses shattered, and the butchered Space Marine crashed onto his back.
Another Ultramarines warrior came at Gurloch, hurling a primed krak grenade at him. The implosive charge struck his shoulder and detonated, crumpling rusted armour and tearing through rotten flesh. Gurloch growled in pain as foul fluids and gobbets of fat drizzled from the wound. The Ultramarine pressed forwards, drawing a bolt pistol and firing it point-blank into Gurloch’s face.
The shot rebounded from his helm, rocking his head back, but the Lord of Contagion rallied with a roar of anger.
‘You slopsome little slug!’ he bellowed. ‘You think that the sons of Mortarion fall so easily, do you?’
Swatting the Ultramarine’s pistol aside, Gurloch grabbed his assailant around the throat and hefted him high. He brought the revving blades of his plaguereaper up and rammed them into the Ultramarine’s midriff, ripping through power armour and churning into the flesh beneath. His victim roared
in agony as he was disembowelled, limbs spasming and dancing. The Space Marine managed to ball a fist and drive it into Gurloch’s faceplate once, then twice. The third swing had no strength behind it, and then he was nothing but dead meat.
Gurloch tossed his enemy aside, glancing at the wound already sucking closed in his shoulder. Thick tentacles squirmed from his skin and wove together, secreting a slimy gruel that rapidly hardened into chitinous plates.
Small yellow eyes rose like blisters upon the unnatural skin, bursting open with little fluid pops.
Gurloch laughed and raised his head to the sky as, all around him, his warriors pressed home their ambush against the Imperial lapdogs.
‘Thank you, great Nurgle!’ cried Gurloch. ‘Thank you for your blessings!
We offer you tribute in return!’
Cassian ducked behind a wall, feeling it shudder as bolt shells slammed into it. Stone shrapnel flew, and flies boiled around him in a blinding cloud.
He ducked out from cover, firing his bolt rifle on full-auto. His shots slammed into the nearest Plague Marine, blasting a rent in the traitor’s chest-plate and another in his helm. The Plague Marine staggered, but stayed on his feet and kept firing.
‘Emperor curse their unholy resilience,’ said Cassian. ‘Sergeant Gallen, illuminate them please.’
‘At once, brother-lieutenant,’ replied Gallen. From across the courtyard, a salvo of sun-bright plasma slammed into the Plague Marines as Gallen’s Hellblasters let fly. Volley after searing volley struck home, melting power armour, vaporising fluids and blasting diseased flesh to ashes. The Plague Marines died to a man, their fused remains tangled together in a heap.
‘Magnificent, brother,’ said Cassian. ‘Thank you.’
‘We do the primarch’s work,’ said Gallen. ‘But we will need a moment –
our guns’ machine-spirits become enraged to excess. They must cool.’
‘Understood. Fall back and have Sergeant Emastus’ Hellblasters take your place. Circle around to Librarian Keritraeus’ position and reinforce against the push in that sector.’
‘At once, brother-lieutenant,’ said Gallen, and his men bore their glowing weapons away towards the rear lines.
‘Dematris,’ voxed Cassian, ‘how do you fare?’
‘They press hard,’ came the reply. Cassian heard the crackle of the Chaplain’s crozius arcanum in the background, and the sounds of rattling bolt fire. ‘But we shall not yield! Dreadnought-Brother Indomator is holding them back, and I have despatched squads Telor and Adamastes to work around the flank and provide enfilading fire.’
‘We will enfold the edge of their ambushing force and turn their flank,’ said Cassian, ‘then break through with the Aggressors. That will allow us to stall their momentum and regain our own.’
‘Lieutenant,’ voxed Keritraeus. ‘We’ve lost one of our Repulsors. Onslaught Intractable was struck from both flanks by armour-piercing projectiles. It’s a wreck.’
‘Damn,’ said Cassian under his breath. ‘What of Maximus’ Revenge and Pride of Talassar?’
‘Both still fighting, brother,’ said Keritraeus. ‘I’ve ordered them to pull back and stabilise our line. The enemy advance in dominant numbers, and they simply refuse to die.’
‘Here too,’ said Cassian. ‘I’ve sent you a squad of Hellblasters to help with that. Dematris is preparing a counter-attack on his flank. We need to hold our ground long enough for him to drive it home.’
‘Respectfully, I’m not sure that’s wise, brother-lieutenant,’ replied Keritraeus. ‘The enemy surprised us. They outnumber and outgun us. Retreat would be the wiser option.’
‘If Dematris’ attack fails, then I will give the order. But we must try. Duty compels us.’
‘ Wisdom
is not cowardice, brother, but I bow to your authority.’
Cassian leaned out from cover and fired again, severing a Plague Marine’s leg at the knee. He ducked back as ferocious return fire hammered his position.
‘Captain Dzansk,’ he said, switching channels. ‘Are you in position to reinforce?’
‘Negative, my lord,’ replied Dzansk. ‘Our enemy planned his ambush well –
we’re dealing with an attack of our own here. If I send forces to your position, I will irreparably weaken my own.’
‘Understood. Hold out. Survive. When we break these heretic curs, we will require your forces for the counterpunch.’
‘Yes, my lord,’ said Dzansk, and cut the link.
Cassian checked his auspex and scowled. Death Guard runes swarmed his forward positions, outnumbering his forces by a substantial margin.
However, he had his duty, and the blood of Guilliman running through his veins. He was determined that no heretic would defeat him.
With a quick flurry of runic commands, Cassian ordered Aggressor squads
Temeter and Doras forward on the left, and called Intercessor squad Latreaus up to his position. His brothers raised their bolt rifles as he led them out across the courtyard, pouring fire into the Plague Marines in the ruins on the other side.
A sudden scream filled the air, swelling to deafening proportions. Cassian saw shells dropping through the fly-thick air.
‘Incoming!’ he yelled. ‘Disperse!’
His men leapt to obey, flinging themselves aside as the huge shells crashed down upon the courtyard. They detonated, hurling warriors through the air and throwing Cassian backwards through a stained-glass window.
He staggered to his feet, ears ringing, and stared through the shattered remains of the window at the slaughter before him. The shells had disgorged swirling clouds of black spores that were dissolving everything they touched.
Intercessors writhed and choked as their armour, flesh and bone were eaten away. The ruins themselves began to crumble and dissolve, and the ground tipped as the spores chewed a deep crater in the earth.
Cassian scrambled back, diving through an arched doorway as the courtyard and the ruins around it fell away into the pit. He cursed the reckless insanity of his foes, to hurl such inimical munitions into the midst of a point-blank firefight. His fury became horror as he heard the rolling boom of another barrage being fired from behind the Death Guard lines, then another.
Huge shells rained down along the Ultramarines line, vomiting fire and spore clouds.
‘Lieutenant Cassian,’ voxed Dematris. ‘Squad Telor is all but annihilated, and Sergeant Adamastes is pulling his surviving battle-brothers back. We cannot endure in the face of such firepower.’
‘Lieutenant,’ said Keritraeus a moment later, ‘I am doing what I can to shield our brothers with the force of my mind, but those shells are death incarnate. If we don’t do something quickly, we’re going to be shelled into oblivion!’
‘Brother-lieutenant,’ voxed Reiver Sergeant Marcus, ‘the enemy are moving
industrial track units around the flanks. They’re carrying iron cages the size of Thunderhawk gunships. Throne, they’re full of… They’re hard to identify –
humanoid, mutant-like characteristics, packed in like livestock and groaning like the damned.’
‘Our enemy mean to pen us in with these creatures and then finish us off with shelling and gunfire,’ Cassian said as the artillery boomed again.
‘Primarch, forgive me. This isn’t a battle. I’ve led us into a massacre…’
CHAPTER FIVE
The rain fell harder. It hissed against ferrocrete and drew oily streaks down the Ultramarines’ power armour. A chorus of groans echoed through the ruins as hundreds of plague mutants spilled from their cages and shambled towards Guilliman’s sons. Shells screamed like daemons as they plunged down into the battle, and the Death Guard pressed their attack.
Cassian slid Duty from its sheath. He pressed his thumb against the sword’s activation rune, and a field of crackling power leapt up its blade.
‘Emperor and primarch hear my oath,’ he said as the Plague Marines lumbered closer through the rain. ‘I will not let my brothers die here. I will not sacrifice them upon the altar of my ambition. Lend me strength – I shall pay whatever price I must.’
Lunging from cover, Cassian drove his blade through the gut of the closest heretic. He ripped the weapon free in a shower of foul viscera, and his victim crashed to his knees.
Cassian staggered as a second Plague Marine shot him point-blank, cratering his chest-plate and cracking the black carapace that fused his power armour to his body.
Rallying, the lieutenant placed a bolt through his attacker’s right eye-lens, blowing out the back of the Plague Marine’s head. He then spun around and under an axe swing that would have cut him in half, before lopping the third Plague Marine’s arm from his shoulder.
Cassian’s enemy gave a gurgle of anger, seeming not to feel the wound. The Plague Marine swung again, one-handed, but Cassian parried before ramming Duty point first through the traitor’s throat.
The Plague Marine sagged as fluids pumped from his ruined neck, but still
he took another swing that almost connected with Cassian’s chest. Angrily, the lieutenant ripped his blade free and swept it in a killing arc to remove the Plague Marine’s helm from his shoulders.
‘Stay dead, filth,’ spat Cassian as his enemy crumpled.
‘Brother-lieutenant,’ came Dematris’ voice over the vox, ‘they’re outflanking us, but with zeal we can still prevail! I shall rally my forces and lead them in a counter-attack.’
‘No,’ said Cassian firmly. ‘We serve no one by dying here for nothing.’
‘Not for nothing,’ said Dematris angrily. ‘For vengeance! For ten thousand years of wrongdoing! What is the crusade, if not a war of revenge? We don’t need to rejoin the primarch to claim that – there are plenty of foes before us.’
‘The crusade is a war of unity,’ said Cassian. ‘It is the primarch’s quest to drive back the shadow of Chaos from the Emperor’s realm. We are part of that quest. We are his weapons, and I guarantee you that Lord Guilliman has a better use for us than to see us blunted and ruined on this backwater.’
Dematris gave a grunt of acknowledgement. It was enough.
‘Lieutenant,’ voxed Keritraeus, ‘what is our plan? We are mired in the living dead here, and we will soon be overrun.’
Cassian thought furiously, knowing he had moments to act. He heard the scream of incoming ordnance, and saw the heavy shells slam down in the ruins to his right. Spores billowed.
‘Dematris, Keritraeus,’ he voxed. ‘Pull your battle-brothers back and find what cover you can. Regroup and be ready to fall back.’
‘Lieutenant,’ said Keritraeus urgently, ‘if we close ranks they’ll kill us all the quicker.’
‘They’re not the only ones with ordnance to deploy,’ said Cassian, before switching vox-channels. ‘Shipmaster Aethor, this is Lieutenant Cassian.’
‘I hear you, my lord,’ came Aethor’s clipped tones.
‘Aethor, can you pinpoint the position of the enemy batteries?’
‘Within a quarter mile. No closer. The storm, my lord.’
‘It will do,’ said Cassian. ‘On my order, fire a spread of orbital torpedoes at the enemy artillery’s position, then commence a creeping barrage of lance fire towards our own. Stop only when you reach us.’
‘Our efforts will be inaccurate, lord,’ said Aethor.
‘Do what you can. The Emperor expects.’
‘Understood, my lord.’
‘Be ready, brothers,’ said Cassian, addressing the strike force. ‘Sergeant Marcus, get your Reivers clear. Everyone else, brace for barrage shock.’
Vox-pips and confirmation runes flashed back to him as his warriors continued to lay down fire into their attackers. Cassian saw corpse-like figures stumbling through the rain towards him. Dozens of them. Hundr
eds.
A shambling wall of diseased flesh and mutant appendages, their rictus grins and staring eyes burning themselves into his memory.
High above, he could see black specks plunge through the clouds, driven groundwards on trails of flame. This was going to be close.
‘Emperor, shield your servants from harm,’ he said, firing his bolt rifle into the horde before ducking behind the rusting wreck of a cargo transport.
The orbital torpedoes struck. The first sign was a searing brightness, a false dawn that threw hard-edged shadows across the ruins. Then came the sound, a mounting roar accompanied by a hammer blow of hyperbaric shock. If Cassian’s power armour hadn’t protected him, his lungs would have been torn out through his throat by the sudden pressure wave and his flesh seared from his bones by the roiling firestorm.
The wreck was plucked up and hurled through the air, taking Cassian with it. He had a fleeting impression of towering blast clouds rising above the cityscape, perhaps a mile to the north, and of the mangled remains of diseased corpses scattering like fleshy rain.
Then Cassian hit the ground, and the cargo transport slammed down on top of him.
Dim light.
The flickering of electrical input and runic signals.
Dull chatter, resolving itself slowly into distinct voices. His brothers’ voices.
Cassian opened his eyes and assessed the damage. His auto-senses were flashing with amber and red hazard runes. He couldn’t move.
It took Cassian a moment to realise that he was pinned firmly under the wreck of the cargo hauler, with only his head and one arm protruding. He gasped a breath and flexed his fingers, straining to reach Duty, but the power sword’s hilt was just out of reach.
He pushed, trying to lift the wreck off himself. Fibre-bundles in his armour flexed, lending their strength to his own. He snarled with effort as the wreck shifted and slowly rose – one inch, two, three. Yet the weight was just too
much, even for one of the Emperor’s finest, and the wreck thumped back down. Cassian hissed with pain.
Macabre remains lay in piles of corpse-meat around him, much of it still twitching. He grunted as he saw a half-figure tumble from the nearest pile and start dragging itself towards him using the hilt of a shattered sword.
Crusade & Other Stories - Dan Abnett Et Al. Page 5
