Yarrick: The Pyres of Armageddon

by David Annandale

  We would never have been able to whittle that army down as quickly as we did this one.

  Yet the army we had been shadowing had been huge. Its length had never diminished. It was only now that it seemed diluted.

  Where had the rest of the orks gone?

  As soon as I asked myself that question, others arose. It wasn’t just numbers that were missing. I knew the greenskin’s habits, his foul beliefs, and his way of war. The makeup of the army was wrong. There was not enough variety. The vehicles and energy cannons, and the desperation of our charge had distracted me from this critical truth. The infantry was weak by ork standards. It was composed entirely of the lower castes. Their leaders, though large, were fewer in number than they should have been, and their armour was lighter, less elaborate, less adorned than that of the powerful bosses. Their weapons were mundane.

  ‘Where are all the warbosses?’ I asked.

  Setheno’s helmet turned my way again. She said nothing. I had conjured a shadow too great for an answer.

  Still moving forward, I looked behind us. The summoned shadow was approaching.

  Looking through my magnoculars I saw a second ork force approaching. It was far enough away that its clamour was obscured by the din of the one we were pursuing. It was eating up the distance quickly, though. Already I could make out some of its shapes. There was no mistaking its nature.

  More battlewagons, much larger than the ones Brenken was fighting. Waves of them, stretching out of sight in either direction, an engulfing sea of metal great enough to encircle the hive. Marching with the vehicles were footsoldiers of a very different order. I saw the bulk of heavy weapons and the silhouettes of monsters, their outlines made even more massive and angular by plated armour. Warbosses at last. The infantry had its leaders.

  And further back came other shapes, wider than the battle­wagons, towering over the battlefield, rocking back and forth with the slow steps of giants. A hell of myth and iron was shambling towards Volcanus.

  We had not caught Ghazghkull in a pincer attack. He had caught us.

  1. Yarrick

  I heard Ghazghkull’s laughter as we ran. It did not resound from any one throat. It was forged from every voice of the hundreds of thousands of orks heading our way, and from the rumbles of every engine of the uncountable vehicles, and from the vibrations of the earth beneath our feet as it trembled under the tread of the invader. It was the sound of an army, but it was still the laughter of a single being. Ghazghkull was laughing at his great joke. He had fooled the weak humans. He had done more than turn the tables on us. He had given us hope. Deliberately. So he could have the pleasure of snatching it away. The move had cost him troops, and the sacrifice meant as little to him as Tempestora was traumatic for us. This was the message: our great sacrifice had meant nothing, while his minor one would tear us apart.

  I knew these things with absolute certainty. I knew this was more than just a devastating counter-move, one too far-sighted for any ork. As terrible as that fact was, there was also the laughter. Ghazghkull was playing with us.

  How did I know this? It was more than an instinct, more than a hunch. I had studied orks for much of my life. I understood their ways, and the way they thought. Ghazghkull broke from any pattern I had ever encountered. But in breaking from the pattern so radically, he taught me something. I was doing more than realising the danger he presented. I was getting to know the mind of the enemy.

  There was value in that. Though I was barely conscious of it as we fled from the advance, and the information would have value only if I survived to put it to use. There was no dignifying what we were forced to do with the word retreat. It was flight, pure and simple. There was no dishonour in it because there was no choice. But there was still humiliation. We ran as if from a mountain collapsing into a valley. To pause before the avalanche would mean being crushed beneath millions of tonnes of rubble. To hesitate before the orks would mean the same obliteration.

  We pulled away from the retreating ork cohort. We ran in a rough parallel to the advance, rushing for the trenches around Volcanus. The Chimeras did not react at once. They continued to fire on their original targets. Their drivers and gunners did not know what was closing in from the rear.

  I found the vox operator. Lorenz was running a dozen metres behind the rest of Stahl’s command squad. ‘Warn the Chimeras,’ I told her. She nodded and voxed the alert without breaking stride.

  The effect was immediate. Multi-lasers still blasting the enemy, the vehicles began to move our way. Their rear hatches opened, ready to retrieve us while still in motion. Stahl saw what was happening and waved the companies to the Chimeras.

  The air screamed. The green blasts of the ork artillery hit the armoured carriers. The barrage fell on a large area to our left. We were blinded by an emerald storm, deafened by explosions and the crackle of energy. Shock waves knocked soldiers off their feet. I blinked away the dazzle. When my vision cleared, the Chimeras were melted slag.

  The companies had escaped the worst of the destruction. We had lost a few more troopers, the ones nearest the blast zone. The others were staggering, stunned by impact and loss. We were losing precious moments. An immense xenos force was coming closer, and we were inviting obliteration from another artillery salvo. ‘Come with me,’ I told Lorenz. I raised my blade high and strode through the soldiers towards the front. ‘I am not done with the greenskins!’ I shouted. ‘I will fight them yet, and I will find the means to do so! They lie ahead of us, in the trenches and beyond the city gates.’

  Only the troopers nearest could hear me, but I was visible to the others. I gave them the image of a warrior advancing, not retreating. A lie covering a truth. We were in flight, but we had to survive if we wanted to strike back.

  The lying truth worked. The Steel Legionnaires rallied. They followed me. I picked up the pace. Once again we were gaining distance on the withdrawing orks. I kept my sword high. Lorenz kept pace. I looked at Stahl. He was as focused on the run as any of his troops. He was leading only in the sense that he was in front.

  ‘Captain!’ I called.

  He glanced my way quickly, a minimal acknowledgement.

  ‘The colonel must know,’ I said, giving him the chance.

  He took several more steps before reacting. Slow. And I shouldn’t have had to prompt him. But he did what was necessary. ‘Vox the colonel,’ he told Lorenz. ‘Let her know we’re coming. We need a way in to the defences.’

  ‘Sir,’ Lorenz responded, and did as ordered.

  I had some doubts about Stahl’s leadership. Nothing critical yet, and the other captains weren’t shining any more brightly. The situation didn’t permit much. But more was always expected of officers. I had never seen Brenken falter in this way.

  Behind us, the rumble of the ork army pursued us. The land groaned beneath their treads and boots. The wall of sound came closer, but need gave us speed. After that first salvo, the ork artillery launched its blasts further ahead, targeting Brenken’s guns.

  At last we saw a flare, before us and to the right. There was a pause, and then two more. Brenken’s signal to us. It pulled us forward, gave us energy and the closest thing to hope still possible on this battlefield. Another few hundred metres, and we were at the beginning of the defence network. The flares had come from a camouflaged redoubt. It appeared to be a low earthen barrier, running east and west, for at least a kilometre in either direction. A door had opened in its face. Through it was a short ramp down to a tunnel. A sergeant was waiting at the door, directing us east. I waited with the sergeant while the rest of the companies rushed in. Setheno was among the last to arrive. When she was through, two troopers used plasma cutters to fuse the door shut.

  ‘Colonel Brenken is moving operations back towards the wall,’ the sergeant said.

  ‘A fighting retreat?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, commissar, for as long as possible, the c
olonel says.’

  That won’t be long, I thought. What I said was, ‘Good.’

  As we hurried along the tunnel, Setheno said to me, ‘You know what is coming.’

  ‘I will not accept it.’

  ‘You will not be given a choice.’

  ‘We sacrificed Tempestora to preserve Volcanus.’

  ‘That was always a faint hope. With no reinforcements, it is impossible.’

  ‘You think Brenken’s requests have fallen on deaf ears.’

  ‘Don’t you?’

  I did. ‘The Hive Militia is here,’ I said. ‘And an armed population.’

  ‘Will that suffice against what approaches?’

  ‘It will have to.’

  ‘Your determination is admirable, commissar. It is also misplaced.’

  ‘Is it?’ I asked her. ‘If Volcanus falls, then the loss of Tempestora has no meaning. What purpose did our actions there have? And if we cut our losses here, what then? Shall we do the same with Death Mire? And then Infernus? Hades? Acheron? Where do we make a stand?’

  ‘Von Strab has prevented us from doing so here.’

  I snorted. ‘His strategy will prevent us from doing so anywhere. I will not surrender this time.’

  ‘The hive is already lost.’

  ‘I will not surrender.’

  ‘So you do not disagree.’

  I couldn’t. That changed nothing. I had my fill of defeat. ‘I must fight,’ I told her.

  ‘As will I. But when the end comes, how will we use it to save Armageddon?’

  I didn’t answer. If I did, I would already have given up on Volcanus. I had not. I would make the orks bleed for every stone they claimed of the city.

  2. Von Strab

  He could speak more freely with Seroff than with any other soul on Armageddon. More freely. That was not the same as being free. He was still careful. He didn’t trust the lord commissar. He would never tell Seroff anything that might appear as a weakness. But von Strab found a kinship in the other man, even if Seroff would deny its existence. Von Strab recognised obsession and ruthlessness. They were good qualities. Worthy of respect. He and Seroff could discourse, if not as friends, as two men who understood each other.

  They did so now, walking the hall towards the throne room. ‘Can they hold?’ von Strab asked.

  ‘No,’ said Seroff.

  ‘You’re certain.’

  ‘You’ve seen the same reports I have. Armageddon Prime will fall.’

  ‘I thought preserving morale was one of the duties of the commissariat,’ von Strab joked.

  Seroff ignored him. ‘The greenskin threat is severe,’ he said. ‘Greater than any of us suspected.’

  ‘Even Yarrick?’ The old commissar had been tiresome in his predictions of doom.

  ‘I believe so.’

  ‘Then it’s a good thing we held back the greatest part of the Steel Legion’s strength.’

  ‘The orks will cross the jungle.’

  Von Strab sighed. ‘None of you will be satisfied unless that actually happens, will you?’

  They had almost reached the doors to the throne room. Two guards stood ready to open them. Von Strab paused. He smiled. Never show weakness or uncertainty. Even in situations where only the mad remain confident. The appearance of insanity was another weapon. It created uncertainty in others. Threw them off balance. Do you know the secret to my long reign? von Strab was tempted to ask Seroff. It’s very simple: all you have to do is be the only certain human being on the planet. But the secret was too precious to share. As precious as the other secret he had begun to think about. A much more concrete secret. So he said, ‘Lord Commissar Seroff, I do know what I am about. Trust me when I tell you that the only mistake made has been by the orks in invading Armageddon.’

  ‘You know something I don’t.’

  ‘I do.’ He turned from Seroff and walked the rest of the way to the door. Seroff took the hint and headed off. The guards opened both doors at once, then closed them behind von Strab.

  Today, as he had commanded, none of his retinue was in the throne room. It was empty except for the lone tech-priest. Enginseer Alayra Syranax stood motionless, facing the throne, as if waiting for von Strab to materialise in his seat. Her servo-arms were folded against her back, iron insect limbs at rest. Von Strab walked past her and mounted the throne.

  ‘Well?’ he said.

  Syranax raised her head. There was no flesh visible beneath the hood of her robes. The faceted lenses that had replaced her eyes clicked as they focused on him. The cluster of mechadendrites that coiled from the lower half of her skull flexed, stirred by mental impulses. Her voice was an electronic construct, toneless, grating, rusty from disuse. ‘The vaults have been opened,’ she said.

  ‘The measures will be ready?’

  ‘Ready,’ she repeated. ‘The term is imprecise. Will you define a time frame?’

  ‘No. How soon can they be deployed?’

  ‘Once proper testing, rituals and triage have been completed–’

  He raised a hand, cutting her off. ‘Your precautions could take years. That is not what I asked.’

  In the silence that followed, it seemed to von Strab that he could hear Syranax thinking. Her frame hummed as circuits opened and closed, and servo motors adjusted to minute shifts in her position. ‘Implementation is conceivable within one hour of your command,’ she said.

  Good. Von Strab settled back in the throne. You know something I don’t, Seroff had said. Von Strab chuckled. Very true, lord commissar, he thought. Among other things, I know that I can end this war in an hour.

  3. Yarrick

  Many of the trenches were blocked. They were filled with ork ­bodies and wrecked vehicles. Even so, we could still travel the defence network. The cumulative work of centuries and the hurried additions of the last few days had created a system both complex and flexible. Enemies trying to use the trenches would be lost in the maze of dead ends and branches. Tunnels ran within the earthworks and underneath the trenches. As the orks had moved deeper and deeper into the defences, Brenken had broken down the Steel Legion and Volcanus Hive Militia companies to the squad level, then unleashed them in the warren. The force was mobile, fluid. Wherever the orks tried to make headway, a counterattack hit them from out of nowhere.

  The strategy had eroded the first wave of orks. It would not be able to counter what was coming.

  Brenken was still in the forward command redoubt when Setheno and I reached it. From the bunker’s viewing slit, we could just make out the front of the coming wave. ‘Is it as bad as it looks?’ Brenken asked.

  ‘Worse,’ I said.

  ‘They will surround Volcanus,’ Setheno added.

  Brenken nodded. ‘I thought as much.’

  ‘How much are you pulling back?’ I asked.

  ‘I had hoped to slow them down,’ she said. ‘But if they can approach from all sides, there’s no chance of that. We need to concentrate our strength.’

  ‘Everyone, then,’ I said.

  ‘Everyone.’ She shook her head. ‘If we had reinforcements coming, we might try to slow them down.’

  ‘Then von Strab said no.’ I had expected this. I would have been shocked to hear otherwise. Even so, I felt a new flare of anger.

  ‘Our battles are being chosen for us,’ Setheno said.

  ‘This one is not done, canoness,’ Brenken told her.

  ‘If we engage in futility, we risk still greater losses.’

  ‘This is not Tempestora,’ Brenken insisted. ‘We have resources.’

  ‘The population of Volcanus will fight,’ I said. A way forward became clear. I knew where my immediate duty lay.

  ‘The longer we fight, the better we will be able to measure the strength of the enemy,’ Setheno conceded.

  ‘We will do more than that.�
�� I would not be satisfied with such a paltry victory. Setheno spoke from her position of terrible clarity, not pessimism. Even so, I was determined to challenge the doom she saw coming. ‘We have defeated the impossible before,’ I told her.

  ‘Yes. But not always.’ I saw the pain that flickered through her gaze. It was quick, a fracture that came and went in a blink. I doubt anyone else would have seen it. But I knew its source. I too remembered the Order of the Piercing Thorn. I remembered her battle sisters. I remembered what had happened.

  She was right. Sometimes the impossible was impossible.

  ‘Not always,’ I agreed. ‘But I will fight for it.’ I turned to Brenken. ‘We can’t slow the greenskins…’ I began.

  ‘But we can hurt them,’ she finished.

  A fighting retreat, then. It involved minimal delay. The orks were minutes away from the outer rings of the defences. It was a question of balance: holding back just enough troops to strike from the tunnels and trenches, and knowing when to pull back completely. We would stab at the belly of the enemy as he advanced. We would make him pay for every metre. Even though the ork force was too vast to slow, we could wound its core. Every blow we landed would count. Every dead ork, every ripple of confusion we could spread through the xenos ranks.

  I was thinking in terms of a war of attrition. I was right to do so. But the full truth of that form of struggle was yet to come. Ghazghkull was set on denying me that contest here.

  The front ranks of battlewagons hit the defences. Within seconds, they reduced our strategy to ash. Their massive siege blades and battering rams shattered the walls of the redoubts. They hit the earthen barriers with enough force to scrape the ground clear and hurl the debris into the trenches behind them. A huge dust cloud erupted at the edge of the network. The ork engines screamed, pouring more power into the hulking machines. The battlewagons bulldozed their way forward. Through the slit, I could just make out their shapes in the dust. The vox erupted with cries of alarm.

  Brenken seized the handset. ‘To the wall!’ she ordered. ‘And hurt them as you go!’