Salamander (warhammer 40000)

by Nick Kyme

  'Lord… Help me…' he gasped, his tone pleading, as he saw Iagon standing over him.

  'Rest easy, serf,' said the Salamander. With his Astartes strength, he could lift the rebar and drag Zo'kar out. He wedged his gauntleted hands beneath it, testing his grip. But before Iagon took a proper hold he lifted his head, and his face became an emotionless mask. The Astartes reversed his grip, instead placing his hands on top of the rebar, not under it. 'Your pain is at an end,' he concluded and pushed down violently.

  Zo'kar spasmed once as the rebar broke his ribs and pulped his chest and internal organs. A gush of blood erupted from his mouth, spattering his face and robe in dark droplets. Then he slumped down, his dead eyes staring glassily.

  Something had struck the ship and continued to assail it, that much Iagon knew as he leapt over the wreckage and fought his way into the outer corridor. Alert sirens were blaring and the vessel was plunged into emergency half-light. The upper deck was evidently badly damaged. The destruction had spilled over into its counterpart below, where Iagon was now standing, bringing down struts in sections of the ceiling. He heard N'keln's voice coming over the vox, broken by static interference. All Astartes were being ordered to decks thirteen through twenty-six, whichever was nearest. The ship was breached and needed to be locked down. N'keln was trying to save the crew.

  'Noble, but futile,' Iagon muttered, rounding a corner to find a group of human armsmen huddled around a spar of metal piercing the deck grille. As he got closer, Iagon saw a warrior in green battle-plate was pinned by it. He recognised the face of Naveem, one of Tsu'gan's main opposers. He'd torn off his helmet - it lay discarded nearby - likely to aid his breathing, judging by the sergeant's ragged gasps for air. The metal spar had impaled his chest. Going on the sheer size of it, Iagon reasoned that most of Naveem's internal organs were already ruined. The sergeant was hanging on by a sinewy thread.

  'Step aside,' Iagon ordered, stalking up to the arms-men. 'You can do nothing for him.'

  Buffeted by an unseen blow, the ship bucked again, throwing one of the armsmen to the ground and drawing an agonised moan from Naveem.

  Iagon steadied himself against the wall.

  'Go to your emergency stations,' he said. 'I will deal with this.'

  The armsmen saluted then sped off uncertainly down the corridor.

  Iagon loomed over the supine Naveem. The sergeant's mouth was caked with expectorated blood and dark fluid leaked from the copious cracks in his power armour.

  'Brother…' he rasped upon seeing Iagon, spitting out a film of bloody vapour.

  'Naveem,' Iagon replied. 'You chose the wrong side,' he added darkly.

  The sergeant's expression was nonplussed as Iagon leaned in, taking both edges of the metal spar in a firm grip…

  'Iagon!'

  Whatever Iagon was about to do was arrested by Fugis's voice.

  'Over here, Apothecary,' he bellowed with feigned concern, relaxing his grip. 'Brother Naveem is wounded.'

  Fugis reached them in moments, narthecium in hand. His attention was fixed on the stricken form of Brother Naveem - he barely acknowledged Iagon at all.

  Crouching over the bloodied sergeant, the Apothecary made a quick assessment. His thin face grew grave. Carefully disengaging Naveem's gorget, he took a stimm from his narthecium kit and injected a solution of pain-regressors into Naveem's carotid artery.

  'It will ease your suffering, brother,' he said quietly.

  Naveem tried to speak, but all that came from his mouth was near-black blood, a certain sign of internal bleeding. His breath became more ragged and his eyes widened.

  Fugis pulled his bolt pistol from its holster and pressed the barrel to Naveem's forehead. An execution shot to the frontal lobe, point blank, would kill him instantly but leave both progenoids intact. Since the sergeant's chest was all but destroyed, that only left the one in Naveem's neck.

  'Receive the Emperor's Peace…' he whispered. A deafening bang echoed off the corridor walls.

  'There was no other choice, brother.' Iagon's tone was consoling.

  'I know my duty,' Fugis snapped, going to the reductor mounted on his left gauntlet. The device consisted of a drill and miniature chainblade, designed to chew through flesh and bone to get to the progenoids buried in a Space Marine's body. A syringe, appended to a pre-sterilised capsule, would extract the necessary genetic material once the outer bone wall had been breached.

  Fugis moved in, his reductor drill whirring as it bit into Naveem's dead flesh. The Vulkan's Wrath was shuddering badly, jolting with severe force every few seconds or so. The Apothecary fought to keep himself steady, knowing that any small mistake would see the gland destroyed and Naveem's legacy ended, just like Kadai's. Kadai…

  The unwanted memory of his captain surfaced in Fugis's mind. Suddenly, the concern he felt at the bucking ship outweighed his caution and he began to rush, fearing a sudden tremor. In his haste, he slipped. The syringe missed the progenoid and the drill sheared the gland in half, spilling it into the dead Salamander's exposed throat.

  'No!' Fugis emitted a breathless cry of anguish, thumping the deck heavily with his fist. 'No, not again,' he rasped, and hung his head despairingly.

  Iagon leaned in.

  'It was an error, brother. No more than that.'

  'I don't make errors,' Fugis hissed, his fist clenched. 'My mind is too troubled. I am no longer fit for this,' he confessed.

  'You must do your duty,' Iagon urged him. 'You are needed by this company, Brother-Apothecary… as is Brother-Sergeant Tsu'gan,' he added.

  Fugis looked up after a few moments when he realised what Iagon was implying. If he would turn a blind eye to Tsu'gan's masochistic affliction, then Iagon would not speak of the Apothecary's apparent frailty. Fugis was caught in a moral web of his own devising, but laid by Iagon.

  Anger contorted his features. 'You bastard,' he spat.

  'I prefer pragmatist,' Iagon answered smoothly. 'We can ill-afford to lose two officers.'

  He offered his hand, but Fugis ignored it.

  'How many more will die if you are not there to minister to them, brother?' Iagon asked him. He looked down at his still proffered hand. 'This is what seals our pact.'

  'What pact?' Fugis snorted, back on his feet.

  'Don't be naive,' Iagon warned him. 'You know what I mean. Take it, and I will know I have your oath.'

  Fugis wavered. There was no time to consider. The ship was being ripped apart.

  'Your brothers depend upon you, Apothecary.' Iagon's tone was coaxing. 'Isn't the preservation of life your credo? Ask yourself, Fugis - can you really turn your back on it?'

  Fugis scowled.

  'Enough!'

  He knew he would regret this compact, yet what other choice did he have? Stay silent about Tsu'gan's indiscretion and compromise his ethics, his sense of moral tightness, or speak out and relinquish his position in the company? He could not allow his brothers to go into battle without an Apothecary. How many could die needlessly as a result? Hating himself, he took Iagon's hand.

  Why does it feel like I've just made a deal with Horus…?

  Dak'ir and Lok parted company at the first intersection after leaving the bridge. Both sergeants had contacted their squads via the comm-feeds in their battle-helms. Salamanders were rapidly dispersing across the stricken decks, rescuing those who were trapped, quelling panic or opening up escape routes. The Vulkan's Wrath was well outfitted with lifters and deck-to-deck conduits, and though the strike cruiser was vast, reaching the crisis areas had been swift.

  Reaching deck fifteen, Dak'ir was greeted with a scene of utter carnage. He ranged along darkened corridors lit by fire and filled by the screams of the injured and dying. Twisted metal and collapsed ceiling struts made progress slow and dangerous. Torn deck plates bled away into the darkness of the lower levels, pitch-black pitfalls that he discerned through his battle-helm's infrared spectra. Leaping across the miniature chasms, Dak'ir tried not to think how many bodies might be lyin
g beneath him in mangled heaps.

  Through the gaseous haze of a split coolant pipe, Dak'ir saw Brother Emek crouching by the slumped form of a wounded crewman. Liquid nitrogen was gushing everywhere, freezing whatever it touched. Crushing the pipe either side of the breach and cutting off its supply, Dak'ir effectively sealed the leak. When he reached Emek, his brother was already closing the slumped crewman's eyes for him.

  'Dead…' His voice held a trace of sorrow. 'But there are more who still live. In the corridor beyond,' he added. Another survivor was strapped up to his back. The man's legs were a red ruin, crushed to paste by falling wreckage. Clinging on to Emek desperately, he whimpered in pain like an infant.

  'Ba'ken is ahead,' he said, and got to his feet.

  Dak'ir nodded and moved on, as Emek went in the other direction. Sparking terminals lit the way. They showed hollow-eyed crewmen, those who were still able-bodied rushing from the damaged deck. Continual reports from the Enginarium and Brother Argos issued through Dak'ir's battle-helm. More and more areas of the ship were being sealed off as entire sections of deck fragmented under the solar storm's baleful glare.

  The trickle of fleeing crewmen became a surge. Lighting was more sporadic, until it failed completely and even the fires couldn't alleviate the darkness. Dak'ir ushered on the men as he went, telling them to cling to the edges of the corridors and watch their footing. He didn't know if they all heard him. Panic gripped them now. Something approaching that emotion spiked in Dak'ir's mind as he realised that fifteen minutes were up. Thunderous sirens shuddered noisily, communicating the fact that the deck was locking down.

  Descending into steadily worse carnage, he started to run. Through his advanced hearing, Dak'ir detected the distant sounds of bulkhead doors slamming shut and zoning off the compromised sections of the ship. He tried not to think about the men that might still be trapped inside them, hammering on the doors with no hope of escape.

  Rounding the next corner, barging his way through a flood of crewmen, Dak'ir saw the massive, armoured form of Ba'ken. He was wedged between a bulkhead door and the deck. It pushed down at him from the ceiling as it fought to seal off the section. Swarms of serfs rushed past him as Ba'ken urged them with curt commands. Strong as he was, the Salamander couldn't fight the power of a strike cruiser and hope to prevail. His legs were starting to buckle and his arms to tremble.

  Dak'ir went to him at once, getting under the slowly descending door and adding his strength to his brother's.

  Barely arching his head to see, Ba'ken caught Dak'ir in the corner of his eye and smiled through a grimace.

  'Come to join me, eh, sergeant?'

  Dak'ir shook his head. 'No,' he replied. 'I just come to see if this is enough weight for you, brother.'

  Ba'ken's booming laughter vied with the lockdown siren for supremacy.

  All the while, more and more crewman streamed - limping, running, even carried by their comrades - between the two Space Marines holding the way open for them a little longer.

  'There must be thousands on this deck,' Dak'ir growled, already feeling the strain of the pressing bulkhead door. 'We can't hold this open long enough to save them all, Ba'ken.'

  'If we only saved ten more, it would be worth it,' snarled the bulky Salamander, as he gritted his teeth.

  Dak'ir was about to agree when the comm-feed crackled in his ear and a familiar voice issued through.

  'Need assistance on deck seventeen…' Tsu'gan's tone was strained. 'Respond, brothers.'

  Static reigned. All the Salamanders dispersed across the decks must either be out of comm-range or they were already engaged in evacuation operations they couldn't leave.

  Dak'ir swore under his breath. Ba'ken was the stronger of them. Without him, Dak'ir could not hold the door himself. He would have to be the one to go to his brother's aid.

  'Go, sergeant,' Ba'ken spoke through gritted teeth.

  'You can't hold it alone,' Dak'ir protested, knowing the decision was already made Dak'ir sensed a presence behind him, the clanging retort of heavy footfalls echoing steadily louder as they closed on his position.

  'He won't need to,' said a gravel-thick voice.

  Dak'ir turned and saw Veteran Sergeant Praetor.

  Close up, the Firedrake was even more formidable. In his Terminator armour, Praetor towered over them both. His bulk filled up half the corridor. Dak'ir saw a fire burning in his eyes, unlike that of his brothers. It seemed deeper, somehow remote and unknowable. Three platinum studs ringed Praetor's left eyebrow, attesting to his veteran status, and the immensity of his presence was almost tangible.

  Dak'ir stepped aside, allowing the awesome warrior to assume his vacated position. Praetor lumbered beneath the bulkhead door and took the strain with arms bent like a champion weight lifter. The lines of exertion on Ba'ken's face eased at once.

  'On your way, sergeant,' grunted the Firedrake. 'Your brother awaits you.'

  Dak'ir saluted quickly and chased back the way he had come. Tsu'gan needed him, though he suspected that his fellow brother-sergeant would be less than pleased when he saw the identity of his saviour.

  The Ignean… The thought was a bitter one as Tsu'gan regarded Dak'ir across the gaping chasm of twisted steel and fire. It wasn't enough that he had to capitulate and admit he needed aid; his rescuer was the one Salamander he desired to see the least.

  Tsu'gan scowled through the swathes of smoke billowing up from below. He hoped Dak'ir got the message that he was disgruntled. The brother-sergeant was on one side of a huge pitfall some ten metres across. The deck plates had been ripped away as the ship was ravaged by the solar storm. A lifter, torn from its riggings and punched out of its holding shaft, had plummeted through the metal like a hammer dropped through parchment. It had come to rest several decks below, collapsed in a ruined heap, creating a new hollow that was fringed with razor-edged steel and sharpened struts that jutted like spikes.

  Fire emanated from where the lifter had crushed an activation console. Sparks flicked from the trashed unit had lit flammable liquids pooling from pipes shorn during the lifter's rapid descent. It was building to a conflagration, the flames so high they licked the edges of the ragged deck plates where Tsu'gan was standing. Smoke coiled upwards in black, ever-expanding blooms.

  'Here,' called Tsu'gan, when his fellow sergeant didn't see him straight away. He watched as Dak'ir made his way to the end of the corridor and the junction where Tsu'gan was crouched with fifty crewmen in torn, fire-blackened uniforms.

  Dak'ir gave a forced nod of acknowledgement as he reached the other Salamander.

  'What do you need, brother?' he asked in a matter-of-fact tone.

  'Down there.' Tsu'gan pointed into the fiery shaft. Dak'ir crouched down with him, peering through the dense smoke. 'You see it?' Tsu'gan asked, impatiently.

  'Yes.'

  There was a section of the original broken deck plate hanging into the chasm. It was long enough to span the ragged hole but would need to be hoisted up and held in place in order for anyone to cross.

  'The bulkheads have not been engaged in this part of the ship, yet,' said Tsu'gan, 'but it's only a matter of time. That way,' - he gestured past the chasm to the darkness on the other side; there was a faint pall of light from still active lume-lamps - 'leads to the lifter and salvation for these men.'

  'You want to bridge the gap for them to cross, so they can reach it,' Dak'ir concluded for him.

  Tsu'gan nodded. 'One of us has to leap across and take up the other end of the deck section. Then we both hold it in place,' he explained. 'Armsmaster Vaeder will guide his men across.'

  One of the deck crew, a man with a gash across his forehead and a makeshift sling supporting his right arm that had been fashioned from part of his uniform, stepped forward and saluted.

  Dak'ir acknowledged him with a nod, before turning his attention back to Tsu'gan.

  The other brother-sergeant was back on his feet. He held up his hand before Dak'ir could speak.

  'If
your question is who will make the leap?' he asked without making eye contact. 'I will do it.'

  Tsu'gan spread his arms.

  'Step back,' he ordered, meaning Salamander and crewman alike. Tsu'gan leant back a little by way of gathering some momentum and then launched himself over the chasm. Fire lapped at his boots and greaves as he flew across the metal-wreathed blackness, before he landed on the opposite side with a heavy thunk.

  'Now, Ignean,' he said, turning to face Dak'ir, 'take up the fallen deck section and lift it to me.'

  'Are your men ready, Armsmaster Vaeder?' Dak'ir asked with a side glance at the crewman.

  'Ready to leave this ship, my lord, aye.'

  Low rumblings from deep within the vessel gave Dak'ir pause as the corridor shook and creaked ominously.

  'We move now, Ignean!' snapped Tsu'gan, seeing no reason to delay. Don't coddle them, he thought. Survival first.

  Dak'ir crouched down, once he was certain of his footing, and grasped the hanging deck plate by pushing his fingers through its grilled surface. The metal would normally be latticed with several overlapping layers but those had since fallen away, so only the uppermost level remained, enabling the Space Marine to get his armoured digits through the gaps. Ensuring his grip was firm Dak'ir lifted the ten metres of plate, its twisted metal beams screaming in protest as he bent them back almost straight.

  Tsu'gan watched the deck plate rise, frustrated at Dak'ir's slowness. He reached down and took it as soon as he could, hoisting the metal up by the ragged edge that didn't quite meet the end of what he was crouching on.

  'Secure,' he growled.

  Armsmaster Vaeder had organised his men into ten groups of five. Each ''squad'' would take it in turns to cross the makeshift bridge so as not to put too much pressure on the metal or the Salamanders bearing it. Just before the first group was about to muster across, a huge plume of flame erupted from below as some incendiary in the depths ignited and exploded.

  Tsu'gan felt the heat of the fire against his exposed face as he was utterly engulfed by it. Smoke billowed up in swathes, obscuring Dak'ir and the crewman from view.