Blades of Damocles
Page 28
‘Enough,’ said Golotan. ‘That’s enough.’
‘It feels like enough,’ said Sicarius through a mouthful of blood, spitting teeth onto the floor.
‘Brother Kaetoros has a point,’ said Glavius. ‘You’re not fit to lead this company.’
The accusation hit Sicarius far harder than Kaetoros’ assault. It was doubly shocking coming from Ignacio Glavius. His battle-brother had always been there at his side, ready to snap to, or to fight at his shoulder.
Sicarius backed away from Kaetoros as he slumped onto his bunk, grimacing and clutching his wounded chest. The sergeant glanced at his second in command with an expression of aggrieved shock, and saw Glavius as if for the first time, eyes narrow in the gloom.
‘You’ve been acting like a Fenrisian tribesman fresh off the ice,’ said Glavius. ‘You know it, and we know it. Austos knew it too, talked to me about it more than once. By splitting the squad at Gel’bryn City, you effectively got him killed. Dalaton and Endrion died on your watch too, when you went after the pilot caste instead of seeing the drop through to the end.’
‘For that, I am truly sorry,’ said Sicarius.
‘And then you shot off into the wastes, after your stunt with Kaetoros’ flamer,’ continued Glavius calmly. ‘We went after you, as we always do. I suffered for that decision.’ He gestured to the four finger-thick holes in his torso. ‘Four more on the back, shallow enough but still painful as all hell. That’s just how it is, I thought. That’s how it is in the Eighth.’
Kaetoros snorted, then winced in pain.
‘Until here, at Theta Tert,’ said Glavius. ‘This time you actually gave orders, and even talked to Numitor first before bounding off into the fight. I thought you’d turned a corner, but you split us up again, Cato. And just like always, it was the squad, not its glorious leader, that paid the price. Ionsian paid with his life.’
‘Splitting into combat squads is Codex-adherent,’ said Sicarius.
‘Only when necessary,’ said Glavius. ‘Ask Veletan if you want. You always split us up at a moment’s provocation, Cato. You do not see us as brothers at all, but distractions.’
‘We are Space Marines!’ shouted Sicarius. Around the room, wounded Guardsmen stirred in their half-comatose slumbers. ‘Warriors of Ultramar! You are supposed to be able to look after yourselves. You don’t need a shepherd!’
‘We look after each other. That’s why we’re still alive. Some of us, at least.’ He gestured at Ionsian’s cadaver, and Sicarius saw for the first time the gouged holes in his neck where Drekos had recovered the warrior’s progenoids. The wounds were black with dried blood.
‘A true leader unites those around him,’ continued Glavius. ‘You’re a destroyer, Cato. You thrive on it. Your talent for war and your tactical nous have got you far. But you have to temper that part of yourself if you are to be a decent sergeant, let alone a captain.’
Golotan turned from the vigil slit on the other side of the room and nodded sombrely. ‘It’s true. We have discussed the matter at length.’
‘I know I have acted rashly, and I have resolved to learn from it,’ said Sicarius, his face already beginning to bruise. ‘Yet why do you not speak against Numitor, Golotan? He has lost more of his squad than I!’
Kaetoros gave a disgusted cry from his bunk, throwing up his hands. ‘We are not just numbers, sergeant, to be compared as metrics of victory! We are Ultramarines! And more than that, we are your kinsmen!’ He gave a long sigh, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth. ‘To you, everything is a competition to be won. That is the diametric opposite of good leadership. It blinds you, makes you vulnerable by proxy.’
‘A true warrior’s shield is the brother he trusts,’ said Golotan sombrely.
‘The primarch’s words,’ said Glavius. ‘But of late, Cato, you have put them aside. Disregarded them in your haste to prove yourself better than Numitor. You think yourself on the brink of the captaincy, but I tell you now, you are not ready for it.’
Sicarius had no answer. Silence stretched out in the bastion, broken only by the occasional cough or moan from a wounded Guardsman.
‘Perhaps it is just the Talassarian way,’ said Sicarius after a while. ‘We are encouraged to compete, to excel, to strain for new heights.’
‘You forget,’ said Golotan. ‘I, too, hail from Talassar. It is our way, yes. The way we teach the young ones. But we have grown to adulthood. We must reassess the simple blacks and whites of our youth. Colour them with the greys of experience. And sometimes we must lose, that others might win.’
There was another long moment of silence. It was the most they had ever heard Golotan say at one time.
‘You are right, of course, brother,’ said Sicarius. ‘I must learn to fight for the Imperium, for the war effort as a whole, not just for my own causes.’
Glavius stood upright, making for the door. ‘That is good to hear. We shall not speak of this outside the bunker, and these men,’ he said, motioning to the wounded and the dying, ‘they are too far gone to care.’ Glavius walked past his sergeant without a backward glance, bracing his wounded chest. Sicarius let him go without rebuttal, watching his brother open the door and emerge into the wan sunlight.
Sicarius looked at Kaetoros, but the warrior turned away, shaking his head. Golotan was already back at his post, staring out through the vigil slit with shoulders hunched.
‘I am sorry, Brother Kaetoros,’ said Sicarius. ‘I realised too late what I was doing in the wastes, but… but I suppose I have not yet learned from it. Not truly.’
Kaetoros looked up at him from beneath flame-ravaged eyelids. ‘So learn. It is never too late.’
‘I shall think long on the matter,’ said Sicarius. ‘You have my word on that. First, though, I have information that needs to be shared, I think. And thank you, brother, for bringing me to my senses.’
‘Hmm,’ said Kaetoros. ‘You can thank me by letting me sleep.’
‘Of course.’
Sicarius turned and left the bastion, shoulders slumped as he made for the watch post.
Numitor and Magros were discussing the campaign’s latest developments in their makeshift strategium when they were called to attend company command. The sergeant nodded to the servo-skull that had brought the message parchment, linking his thumbs in the sign of the aquila and telling it he was on his way.
Leaving the bastion and walking into the centre of the munitorum zone, Numitor was puzzled to see the rest of Eighth Company – some sixty warriors in total – standing to attention in parade ground formation. With them were three squads from the Tenth Company, chameleoline cloaks cast back over their shoulders, and four from the Fifth, each Space Marine holding his bolter upright in front of him. At their fore the skull-helmed Chaplain Uticos was standing atop one of the promethium silos, his deep bass voice filling the air as he regaled those gathered with the glory of the immortal Emperor.
‘Any idea what this is about?’ asked Numitor, looking sidelong at Magros.
‘Some,’ admitted his battle-brother.
At the head of the gathered Ultramarines were Veteran Enitor, Apothecary Drekos, returned from his mission of recovery, and the newly elevated company champion Vellu, sword and shield gleaming in the evening light. Next to them was Zaetus, holding aloft the Eighth Company standard with his shining new bionic arm. The priceless banner’s shaft had been meld-torched together, the joint polished to a high sheen. Its heavy embroidered cloth stirred in the wind, bullet holes dotting its face and purity seals flapping on its crosspiece. The heraldry it displayed was a rousing sight: the champion skull over the icon of the Ultramarines, the gladii of the swordmaster, and the laurels of victory on a field of steel grey.
‘The Eighth is out in force,’ said Numitor. ‘Looks like we have new orders. Maybe a big push, at last.’
‘Looks likely,’ replied Magros, nodding slowly.
The apparition they were projecting flickered blue, gold, crimson and tan, but only when the lightfields overlapped fully did Numitor realise what he was seeing.
‘Brothers,’ came a booming voice, rich and seasoned. ‘In the name of Ultramar, I bid you welcome.’
The speaker was Marneus Augustus Calgar, the Lord Macragge, Chapter Master of the Ultramarines.
Every warrior standing in formation, from the oldest veteran to the youngest Baleghast conscript, stood tall and saluted the giant lumen-spectre of Lord Calgar. Those upon the rooftops continued their watch for tau attacks unabated, aware that to turn away from duty before the master of Ultramar was to dishonour themselves beyond measure.
Numitor felt a sense of pride and purpose well up inside him at the sight of his Chapter’s liege. Lord Calgar appeared as a glowing giant resplendent in deep blue Terminator armour – the Armour of Antilochus, no less, trimmed with gleaming Imperial symbols and a tilting plate in the style of a golden eagle. His regal features were framed by cropped hair as white as the cloak fanning out behind him, the garment unstirred by the evening wind.
Lord Calgar opened his arms wide to encompass his audience, his massive gauntlets articulating so finely it seemed he could conduct a Macraggian symphony. Numitor had seen those twin power fists pull apart a heretic stalk-tank as if it were made of damp parchment.
‘I come before you today with tragic news,’ intoned Lord Calgar, his rich tones rolling from the laud-hailers chained beneath the attendant cherubs, ‘and to mark a new beginning. A new start for the Eighth Company of the Ultramarines, and a new phase of war upon this xenos-tainted planet. A world that will soon be scoured clean.’
There were a few scattered murmurs of agreement from the Baleghast Castellans, but most of the assembled warriors watched in rapt silence.
‘Captain Ledo Atheus has been killed,’ said Lord Calgar. ‘He fell in service to the Imperium, shot down by a xenos warsuit. His like will not be seen again.’
Murmurs of assent from the crowd, many of the throng making the sign of the aquila in remembrance.
‘He died well, as a hero of the Imperium. During a command strike upon the primary invasion site, Captain Atheus fought a high champion of the tau warrior caste. He emerged triumphant, proving the supremacy of the human spirit over this most ambitious of foes. Only after he had struck a grievous blow to tau morale did he allow himself to fall. His legacy shall live on for eternity. Hail, Atheus.’
‘Hail, Atheus,’ came the response from the crowd.
‘The war he left behind is far from over,’ said Lord Calgar. ‘We have struck hard at the xenos in their nest, and been struck in return. Now we must assert our right to rule beyond doubt.’
Silence, but for the thump of explosions in the far distance.
‘There is one amongst you who took battle to the high commander of the tau empire’s military caste within an hour of making planetfall. He did so through instinct, and initiative. His squad has since uncovered, categorised and reported more information on the tau threat than any other gathered here.’
Numitor felt a hot coal of nervousness at the base of his throat, mingled with something like shame. He had lost near half of his squad in that same fateful hour.
‘Word will likely have reached you of the punitive assaults experienced by our invasion forces over the last few days. My advisors would have me name them setbacks. But I shall not lie to you, my brothers, my kindred. The tau are formidable strategists, and their weaponry is strong. They made great gains with a concerted counter-attack that tested our own tenets, the Codex Astartes and the Tactica Imperium, to the limit. Only a few days ago, the area in which you now stand was the only zone still in Imperial hands.’
The audience held their breath, eyes locked upon the magnificent apparition.
‘One amongst you saw a way to break the noose that closed around our throats,’ continued Calgar. ‘The Codex Astartes teaches us to use every weapon at our disposal, no matter its nature. One weapon we have that the tau cannot match is that of our minds. It was the weapons of the mind that saw this stronghold stand firm. It was that same inspirational solution that has seen the tide turned in a dozen critical locations since.’
The sanctioned psykers gathered near the command Chimera of the Baleghast Castellans were scruffy and mismatched, a freak show in comparison to the ordered Ultramarines, but they stood upright with eyes raised high. Since the defence of the munitorum zone there had been a quiet pride in their bearing.
‘We must weigh our blades,’ said Calgar. ‘We must drive them not into the body of the foe, but into his mind. We must take away his ability to plan, to think, to react. This is the duty I give to you. You are the force I now call upon to achieve this strike. But first, you must have one to lead you to victory.’
The Ultramarines stood stock still, awaiting their master’s pronouncement.
‘Leading this assault will be Jorus Numitor,’ said Lord Calgar. ‘Amongst the sergeants of the Eighth Company, he alone has fought this war not just as a Space Marine, but as an adept of the Imperium. In doing so, he united disparate forces to wrest victory from defeat.’
Numitor felt his mouth go suddenly dry.
‘Sergeant Numitor, step forward.’
The sergeant felt suddenly very alive. Over a hundred Space Marines turned and fell back to make space for him to walk up to the command podium, weapons held tight to their chests. The sergeant walked forward, approaching the giant apparition of his Chapter Master and the officers that looked down from beside it.
‘Jorus Numitor, I hereby elevate you to Captain of the Eighth Company,’ said Marneus Calgar, ‘and name you Lord Executioner.’
The Chapter Master gestured towards Numitor, and a quartet of manipulator servo-skulls came forward, bearing the massive two-handed greataxe that had once belonged to Captain Atheus.
Numitor stared, disbelieving. The honour accorded to him was beyond measure. Hundreds of warriors turned to him as one, saluting with a stamp of the heel.
The servo-skulls hovered closer, their hinged manipulators holding the axe within Numitor’s reach. The weapon was magnificent, a true work of the Macraggian mastersmith’s art. Twin power blades curved on either side of a polished gold generator, thick cables linking it to seven feet of ornate haft inscribed with the Twelve Triumphs.
The weapon had a cobalt blue gauntlet still clasping its haft.
‘Captain Atheus’ will to fight was so strong he would not relinquish this weapon even in death,’ said the Lord Macragge. ‘It is his command squad’s wish that you respect the tenacity of his spirit by wearing his gauntlet instead of your own.’
Though taken aback by the request, Numitor disengaged his power fist with a series of harsh, decompressive hisses. He eased it off and placed it carefully on a nearby ammo crate, his exposed hand feeling strangely naked and small in front of the vast apparition of the Chapter Master.
Numitor took a deep breath. Taking the axe with his right hand, he slid his left into Atheus’ gauntlet. It was cold and slightly clammy but it fit. He worked his fingers all the way to the tips, his grasp forced tight around the greataxe. The weapon was heavy and solid; it would take some getting used to. Part of Numitor’s soul rejoiced in the idea of seeing what it could do to a tau warsuit.
Pride, unease, grief and joy all mingled into an overwhelming surge of emotion. Sensing hundreds of eyes upon him, Numitor pushed the feelings down, forcing himself to focus and keep his expression neutral.
Then he turned, raising the r
elic greataxe in both hands above his head.
The roar of applause from Space Marines and Imperial Guardsmen alike was like a physical force. It continued long after Techmarine Omnid had torch-fused Atheus’ iron halo to the back of Numitor’s power armour, long after the command squad of Enitor, Drekos and Vellu had walked forward to stand at his side. Zaetus raised the company standard high and the applause was joined by war cries and shouts of approbation. Numitor’s eyes met those of Sicarius. The sergeant nodded sagely, making the sign of the aquila.
Numitor turned back to face his Chapter Master and give a Macraggian salute – not as a sergeant, but as the master of an entire company.
‘The Librarius has spoken to me of the valour they saw upon this field of war,’ said Marneus Calgar. ‘Epistolary Elixus has personally vouched for the conduct of the One Hundred and Twenty-Second Baleghast Castellans. He tells me that without their sallying forth into the open, he would have been slain in the street. They are to be commended.’
There was a ragged chorus of cheers from the Castellans, and many a thump on the back. Numitor could see Lord Commissar Duggan from the corner of his eye, standing to rigid attention at the front of the Astra Militarum assembly. Even in profile it was obvious the officer’s expression was that of a constipated grox. The commissar motioned an aide forward with a flick of his white-gloved fingers, and whispered something from the corner of his mouth. No doubt rescinding the 122nd’s imminent court martials, thought Numitor.
‘Epistolary Elixus also spoke of one who approached him, one of your number who wishes to remain nameless. This warrior brought knowledge concerning the caste structure by which the tau arrange themselves.’
Numitor frowned. He had heard nothing of this.
‘We had previously believed tau society to be loosely structured around the four classical elements, but it seems there is in fact a fifth caste that oversees the others. The Librarius have since scried the mind-states of captured enemies, and have concluded the information is sound.’