Heroes of the Space Marines

by Nick Kyme

  There was a long pause as Am’hep undoubtedly conferred with his companions. Gessart glanced towards the throne, where Mu’shan was sat trembling, his eyes boring holes of hatred into the Space Marine captain. Gessart ignored him and looked away. ‘What guarantee can we be given that you have not spirited Mu’shan away by some means?’ said Am’hep.

  ‘None,’ replied Gessart. ‘However, should you try to double-cross me, my strike cruiser in orbit has locked onto your comms signal and is even now aiming its cannons at your position. If I fail to report to them once we leave the sepulchre they will reduce your camp to ashes, and you along with it.’

  ‘Really?’ whispered Willusch with a smile. ‘I never knew we could do that.’

  ‘He’s lying, you idiot,’ snapped Nicz. ‘Even if we were actually in contact with the Vengeful they can’t track a solitary carrier wave signal from orbit. We would have blasted their commanders to oblivion by now if we could.’

  Gessart shook his head despairingly and clicked the transmit stud once more.

  ‘I expect your reply within five minutes,’ he told the rebel leaders. ‘If I have not had confirmation by then, I will assume you wish the war to continue.’

  He tossed the pick-up to the floor and walked away.

  ‘What if they refuse?’ asked Tylo. ‘They could bombard us for days and reduce the sepulchre to rubble and trap us in here.’

  ‘No,’ Mu’shan called out. ‘They’re revolutionaries. They need to show their pawns that I have been truly overthrown. It is, however, a grave mistake to trust them. To defeat the Astartes will be a powerful symbol for them also.’

  Gessart stalked along the hallway, his eyes fixed upon the Imperial commander.

  ‘You try to goad me by speaking of defeat?’ Gessart said as he walked. ‘Your crude manipulations may have been sufficient to fool and subdue your council, but they do not work on me. You forget that we are trained to believe in the right of our cause. We do not flinch from the harsh truths that ordinary men would shy away from. Once committed to a cause we are indefatigable; swayed not by propaganda or deception.’

  ‘You believe your actions here are justified?’ croaked Mu’shan. ‘You have made your decision and will no longer listen to reason?’

  ‘The reason of men is filled with doubt and fear,’ said Gessart as he stopped in front of the governor. ‘Their logic is tainted by affection, compassion and mercy. They believe that life should be fair, rather than just.’

  ‘I did not realise that the argument of semantics was part of your training,’ said Mu’shan with a dismissive shake of the head. ‘It has bred arrogance.’

  ‘The insecure see self-assurance and call it hubris,’ said Gessart. ‘You call it semantics. In training it was called the shield of righteousness and the armour of contempt. We indeed learn of the trickery of words, so that we might spot the falsehoods presented as facts by our foes. Our minds are as hardened to doubt as our bodies are to injury. Your self-interest is plain, and so easily ignored.’

  ‘My self-interest?’ laughed Mu’shan bitterly. ‘You flee this battle to save yourself!’

  ‘It does not matter which course of action I have chosen,’ said Gessart. ‘Label it as you will. The fact remains that I am decided on it, and your so-called arguments are nothing more than a petty, irritating distraction. If you continue, I shall be forced to silence you.’

  Mu’shan looked into Gessart’s eyes and saw nothing but harsh sincerity. He shook his head once more and lifted up his cowl to hide his leathery face.

  Gessart was halfway back to the vox-caster when it crackled into life.

  ‘We have contacted our fellow Apostles and we have reached a decision,’ said Am’hep. ‘In two hours from now you shall assemble at the east gate and open it. You will be allowed to depart and will be given clear passage to your transport. You will not be hindered. When you have left we shall enter the sepulchre and arrest the treacherous Mu’shan. Are you agreed with this plan?’ Gessart took the proffered pick-up from Willusch and squeezed the transmit stud.

  ‘The east gate, in two hours,’ Gessart repeated. ‘It is agreed.’

  Dropping the handset to the floor he turned to his warriors.

  ‘Scout the sepulchre for power packs, ammunition and all other supplies of use to us,’ said Gessart. ‘Armour up and be ready for action in ninety minutes. Tylo, prepare your gene-seed extractions for transit. Brothers, we are leaving Helmabad.’

  GESSART’S SPACE MARINES were a peculiar sight as they gathered just inside the massive bastion of the east gateway. Helmeted once more, they assumed the appearance of faceless angels of death, but now tempered with the baggage of their war on Helmabad. Their armour was rent and pitted with damage from the long fighting, patched here and there with battlefield repairs. They carried kit-bags from the slain Guardsmen stuffed with power packs and water canteens. Nicz had an ornate power sword looted from the body of Colonel Akhaim; it looked small in his armoured fist, but was still a valuable prize.

  Some of them had promethium containers hung from their belts, and the small fragmentation grenades used by the Imperial commander’s forces. Lehenhart had supplemented his bolter with an autocannon taken from its tripod, which he now carried over his shoulder, belts of shells hooked over one of the exhaust vents of his backpack.

  They had been busy this last hour and a half, that was for sure.

  ‘Ready?’ asked Gessart. He received nods and affirmatives in response. He gave the signal to Heynke to start the gate-opening sequence.

  He was stood at a rune panel set atop a lectern facing the huge armoured doors. Heynke’s gauntleted hands moved quickly over the glowing screen. Gears hidden in the floor far below the sepulchre started to turn slowly, their rumbling causing the floor to shudder. A warning klaxon sounded and red lights flashed on and off in the mass of machinery above the Space Marines.

  The inner gate creaked and squealed as it opened outwards, driven by massive pistons. Amber lights flickered into life in the high, narrow hallway beyond.

  ‘Move out,’ snapped Gessart.

  With the four captured rebels in front of them, the Space Marines strode into the antechamber. Gessart gave Heynke the nod, who activated the outer door locks and then followed his leader into the gatehouse.

  There was more grinding of huge engines beneath them and then a sliver of bright light appeared in the plasteel door ahead. The sliver became a crack and then widened into a shaft of blinding sunlight. It was sunset and Helmabad’s star was low on the horizon, almost directly opposite the east gate. Gessart’s visor darkened immediately as the auto-senses filtered out the sudden brightness.

  Through the tint, Gessart could see a massive ruined hallway, with tall windows all along its length through which the light was streaming. A long colonnade, its columns broken in places, ran down the centre, lined with troops and vehicles. Hundreds of weapons from las-guns to battle cannons were directed towards the Space Marines as they emerged. Most of the roof had collapsed and the dusk sky provided a ruddy ceiling.

  A shimmering aurora hung to the north, making the sky look like a curtain of blood. At the realisation, Gessart hurriedly glanced at Zacherys. The Librarian nodded meaningfully.

  Ahead, and to the left, stood a knot of serious-looking men in grey robes. There were eight of them, each with his head shaven, his face and scalp painted black. Their white eyes stood out like pearls floating upon ink. Gessart looked at the Apostles of the Awakening but they all cast their gaze upon the rubble-strewn floor; out of disdain, fear or shame, Gessart could not tell.

  The shattered plascrete crunched underfoot in the quiet, joined only by the throbbing of combustion engines. Gessart turned his eyes directly ahead and walked without fear down the steps of the eastern gatehouse and into the hall.

  ‘Go,’ he said to the captured rebels, waving them away. They gave grateful smiles and grins as they scurried across the debris to rejoin their insurrectionist comrades.

  The Space M
arines’ advance along the hall was not hurried, but nor was it slow. Gessart was keen not to show any fear, but he was very aware that it was more than a mile to the Thunderhawk’s landing pad up on the roof of the palace, and time was a resource that was rapidly running out.

  The tramp of booted feet signalled an escort falling into place behind the Space Marines. Gessart glanced back and saw the fear etched into the faces of those that followed. If the Astartes chose to fight, the men closest to the Space Marines knew they would be the first to die.

  Further on, tank engines belched into fuming life and the crunch and clatter of treads announced the armoured element of their guard was now getting underway. Gessart was not worried. At this close range, the presence of the tanks was for show rather than any real protection. With another glance towards the darkening red sky, he began to slowly increase his pace.

  As the small group reached the end of the hall, Gessart turned back towards the sepulchre. Already squads of troops were streaming up the steps to search for the Imperial commander. Mu’shan wouldn’t be hard to find; Gessart had manacled him to his chair of office and transmitted the location of the inner chamber just before he’d left for the gatehouse.

  Assured that there would be no treachery, Gessart lead his Space Marines onwards.

  THE AVENGING SONS’ last remaining Thunderhawk gunship sat atop one of the landing platforms of the palace’s east wing, surrounded by a cordon of guards. The Avenging Sons had lost their other craft one by one during the course of many missions against the rebels, and Gessart had wisely decided to keep one of the gunships intact. Fearing the vessel to be booby-trapped the rebels had not interfered with the Thunderhawk or tried to gain entry; early in the campaign the traitors had tried to capture a damaged Rhino personnel carrier and the transport’s machine-spirit had detonated its engines, slaying several dozen looters.

  The Helmabadians guarding the craft withdrew into the palace as Gessart and his warriors approached, giving the Space Marines unimpeded access. Nicz moved to the assault ramp at the front of the slab-sided craft and opened the access controls while Gessart and the others scanned the surrounding gantries and rooftops for signs of heavy weapons ready to bring them down once they were airborne. Gessart could see nothing with enough firepower to down the Thunderhawk and gave Nicz the signal to open the ramp.

  The ring of Space Marines collapsed back towards the gunship as the ramp growled down from the hull of the Thunderhawk. They were as alert now as they had been throughout the march from the sepulchre, expecting treachery but careful not to provoke a response from the rebels that had shadowed them. Gessart was the last to board, and gave a look towards the heavens where the night sky was dominated by the rippling waves of the red aurora. He slammed a hand onto the button that would close the ramp as he strode into the Thunderhawk’s interior.

  Nicz was already in the cockpit at the pilot’s controls, Vanghort beside him in the navigator’s position. Gessart stepped backwards into one of the flight alcoves along the flanks of the hull. Mechanics hissed as servo arms came down from the ceiling and detached the Space Marine’s backpack and plugged it into the Thunderhawk’s system to recharge. Even the compensating muscle-like fibre bundles of his power armour felt lighter without the backpack’s reactor weighing him down. A quick check of the suit’s systems in his visor display confirmed that his armour had internal power for several hours; more than enough for them to reach the strike cruiser in orbit. Thus freed of the bulky backpack, Gessart was able to work his way between the rows of benches into the control chamber and climb up into the command chair behind Nicz. He activated the comm-link and punched in the frequency of the strike cruiser’s bridge.

  ‘Vengeful, this is Gessart,’ he said, the Thunderhawk’s own communications system picking up his helmet’s signal and amplifying it into orbit. ‘Confirm extraction by Thunderhawk imminent. Stand in to low orbit above our position and beat to quarters. Be ready to leave at flank speed upon our arrival.’

  ‘Captain!’ came the surprised voice of Kholich Beyne, Gessart’s chief functionary aboard the Vengeful. ‘We thought you might be dead.’

  ‘I still might be if you don’t get ready to leave right now,’ Gessart snarled. ‘You can leave the celebrations until we’re out-system.’

  ‘Understood, captain,’ said Beyne, his tone controlled once more. ‘Will rendezvous over your position in one-eight standard minutes. Confirm.’

  ‘Confirmed,’ said Gessart before he closed the contact. He reached up and pulled down the restraint harness above his head, fixing its locking bolts into position on his shoulder pads. ‘Everybody get secure for rapid departure!’

  When the other Space Marines confirmed that they were in their positions Gessart reached out and patted Nicz on the back of the head. Without a word, Nicz gunned the engines into life, which kicked in with a throaty roar that set the whole gunship to juddering.

  ‘Goodbye Helmabad,’ said Lehenhart over the comm-net. As Nicz opened up the launch thrusters the Thunderhawk surged into the air upon columns of plasma fire. Gessart felt the gravitational forces pushing at him even through the pressurised balance of his armour and he gritted his teeth against the sickening sensation in his stomach.

  Nicz rolled the Thunderhawk to the right as they pulled up into a steep climb, taking them over the ruins of the palace. ‘Come take a look at this, captain,’ said Heynke from his position at the starboard lascannon array.

  Gessart glanced at the launch chronometer and saw that they were still over a hundred seconds from orbital thrust. Plenty of time to investigate. He punched the harness release and levered it back over his head. The Thunderhawk shaking under the tread of his magno-grip boots, Gessart made his way down the steeply inclined hull towards Heynke. The Space Marine pointed to the monitor displaying the image from the external gun camera. He had the magnification set at thirty times normal Space Marine vision and it showed the steps of the sepulchre eastern gate. Gessart could see thousands of rebels were crowded into the outer hall and tens of thousands more could be seen outside the palace and crushing into the galleries and on balconies. Through the remnants of the hall’s roof the scene playing out upon the steps was clear to see.

  The eight Apostles of the Awakening stood in a circle around a golden-robed figure: unmistakeably Mu’shan.

  The dwindling light of the dusk glittered on blades as they struck him down and the surrounding rebels threw up their arms and cast their hats and helmets into the air in celebration. Lasrifle shots flashed into the sky as they fired victory volleys.

  Heynke looked over his shoulder but said nothing. Gessart nodded in understanding and patted Heynke hard on the shoulder pad. ‘It would have happened even if we had stayed,’ said Gessart. ‘He was slain swiftly. Perhaps it is better that he died at the hands of those who despised him than he survived to be taken by the daemons.’

  Gessart clambered his way back to the control cabin and locked himself in once more. By now the Thunderhawk was shaking violently as its thrusters accelerated the gunship to hypersonic speeds. The external pick-ups of his helm relayed the creaks and groans of straining metal and ceramite as the Thunderhawk fought against gravity and friction. Looking out of the armoured canopy, Gessart could see the stubby nose of the craft beginning to glow with heat, and beyond that the great wound in reality like a pulsing red sheet of energy.

  ‘Check seals for depressurisation,’ Nicz said over the link. ‘Orbital velocity in thirty seconds.’

  Gessart hoped fervently that they reached the safety of the strike cruiser before the rift opened and the hellish legions that waited beyond were unleashed. He didn’t need Zacherys’s psychic insight to know that it would be close. Very close.

  EVEN AS NICZ switched power to the landing thrusters and the Thunderhawk screamed into the docking bay of the Vengeful Gessart was already out of his seat. He tapped into the internal ship link to the bridge.

  ‘Kholich, full power to engines, maximum acceleration!’ he sn
apped.

  ‘Understood, captain,’ came Beyne’s reply.

  The roar of plasma was joined by the screech of metal as the Thunderhawk touched down onto the docking platform. Gessart leapt down into the main compartment and activated the assault ramp.

  ‘Zacherys, with me,’ he ordered as he thundered onto the lowering ramp. ‘The rest of you get to battle stations and prepare the gun crews.’

  Gessart was off the Thunderhawk before the ramp had finished lowering, leaping the last few metres to the decking, Zacherys a few strides behind him. The Vengeful was awash with tremors as her powerful engines burned into life. Stunned serfs looked up from their consoles and cranes as the Space Marines dashed past. Gessart exited the hangar into the main dorsal corridor at a run. Turning left he headed towards the nearest conveyor and punched in the code for the bridge.

  ‘Report on the warp breach,’ Gessart demanded as he waited for the conveyor to arrive.

  ‘Activity increasing, captain,’ said Beyne.

  ‘It’s opening,’ whispered Zacherys. ‘It’s almost time.’

  The conveyor arrived with a hiss of brakes and a clang. The doors squealed open at a touch of the runepad. Gessart stepped inside and almost dragged Zacherys with him. Closing the door, Gessart set the transporter into motion and forced himself to calm down. In the three minutes it took for the conveyor to arrive at the main bridge station he was back in control, his rising sense of urgency brutally quashed.

  The armoured doors to the bridge grumbled open at his approach to reveal a scene of frenzied activity. The warp breach was front and centre of the main display, algorithms and symbols scrolling past as its energies were detected and measured.

  Gessart was no more than a pace inside the bridge when Zacherys gave a cry of pain. Turning, Gessart saw the Librarian fall to one knee, his hands clasped to his head.

  ‘The curtain of blood falls away!’ he shouted. ‘The rift opens!’