by Lee Lightner
ENGAGE THE ENEMY
LEE LIGHTNER
Thokar, wolf priest of Fenris, transmitted his acceptance of the wolf lord’s command, although he didn’t expect his master to give it more than a glance. The wolf lord demanded quick obedience and such formalities were not to his taste. Thokar surveyed the Space Marines around him. Grey power armour glinted under the bright lights of the battle-barge. Contrasting their boltguns and grenades, pelts and skulls of Fenrisian wolves hung from their chest plates, shoulder pads and anywhere else the Space Wolves could fit them. Beneath his helm, Thokar smiled.
‘For Fenris! For Russ! For the Emperor!’ shouted the Space Wolves, raising their fists. The wolf priest lowered his black gauntleted hand as the others moved to the Thunderhawk. For other Chapters, war cries might be ceremony, but those words echoed like thunder in the hearts of his Wolves.
Thokar watched each of his battle-brothers, seeing not the armoured and invincible warriors of the Imperium, but the individual warriors that he had chosen. So many times he’d searched for the bravest warriors of Fenris. He remembered the reverence in the eyes of mortals as they looked upon the Space Wolves as armoured gods. Each of these Grey Hunters had once been a Fenrisian warrior, struggling to survive in a land of eternal danger. The skills, the loyalty and the heart of these few had proven them worthy of travel to the Fang, the fortress of the Space Wolves. Thokar had guided each one through the terrifying initiation process, implanting them with the gene-seed of the Chapter. Many warriors had not survived, but others accepted the gene-seed transformation into the Emperor’s finest. Inside each one of them, the predator – the wolf within – stirred, awaiting the fight.
Thokar strode aboard the Thunderhawk, anticipating the descent to the war torn world below. Even the wolf priest in his long centuries had never seen a war like this one. The battles of Armageddon under the command of the Great Wolf, Logan Grimnar, paled in comparison to the massive conflict caused by the Black Crusade. Abbadon the Despoiler, most terrible living lord of Chaos, had led his Traitor Legions out of the Eye of Terror in such numbers that they threatened to consume the Imperium. Not since the Horus Heresy had mankind seen such conflict.
The machine spirits within the Thunderhawk roared as the landing craft descended to the dark jungles. To the east, the wolf priest saw explosions as battle continued in a burning city. The jolts of the descent mimicked the excitement in his blood. He was ready for combat, and he could sense that his packs were ready as well. The Thunderhawk came down with a hard landing, bursts of promethium flame clearing the jungle around the vessel.
Thokar nodded to his Grey Hunters and loyal Wolf Guard. They knew their roles: one team of Grey Hunters would scout ahead. Wulfric, a member of the Wolf Guard and an old friend, loved the hunt. He led Pack Morkai, while Pack Ranulf kept close to Thokar. The wolf priest stepped onto the planet’s surface. Behind him, the ramp to the Thunderhawk closed.
The Space Wolves moved with a singular purpose. Within seconds, the first squad of Grey Hunters had vanished. Pack Morkai had to move quickly, time was precious. Although the wolf priest had every bit of faith in the crew of the Thunderhawk, he knew that this enemy might detect the landing of even a single flier. Thokar only hoped that the Iron Warriors hadn’t already entrenched and trapped the jungle floor. Long minutes passed as the Space Marines moved through the jungle. The wolf priest waited for the first call from Wulfric and his lead pack.
‘My lord, we have discovered the aftermath of a battle. Someone has claimed a few of our kills,’ said Wulfric, with a hint of a grin in his voice.
The wolf priest nodded to the Grey Hunters around him. ‘The first of our enemies have fallen.’
‘Hold your position.’ The wolf priest gestured to Pack Ranulf. No words were spoken; none were needed. In the matter of Chaos, they could not take chances. Bolters at the ready, the wolf priest led Pack Ranulf cautiously through the jungle to Wulfric’s position.
The wolf priest’s senses sharpened, focussing on this new world. Of the hundreds of smells in the jungle air, Thokar picked out several that did not belong in this environment. The oily and metallic odours of machinery were mixed with familiar scents, reminding him somehow of his own Wolves.
When Thokar reached the site, the jungle had already reclaimed most of the battlefield. Creeper vines, blood ferns and assorted insectoids covered the metallic and gold plated armour of the Traitor Marines. The smell of death permeated everything. Wulfric glanced at Thokar, then stepped back to allow the wolf priest’s examination. The events of the battle unfolded in Thokar’s mind as he pieced together the remains.
‘We have the position covered. The plans for ambush are proceeding apace.’ Champion Dalloc flexed his power claw, admiring the way the energy crackled and sizzled from his fingertips.
‘Sir, we have motion in the undergrowth.’ The squad raised their bolters.
‘Assume fire pattern omega,’ stated Dalloc calmly. ‘Expect indigenous predators.’ He never glanced at his men; thousands of years of training made their drill flawless.
‘Sir, nothing in the north quadr–’
Something moved toward Dalloc, a blur of speed, fast enough that even his enhanced vision couldn’t lock on it.
‘Fire at will!’ commanded Dalloc. In an instant, the jungle exploded with bolter fire. As the sound of the guns died, inhumanly strong claws tore apart the champion’s helmet and fangs ripped off the front of his face.
The jungle cried out with growls and the sound of splintering metal. Dalloc’s power claw lay on the ground, quiet and lifeless.
The wolf priest carefully picked up the power claw. Claw marks completely covered the armour, which lay nearby. His sharp eyes spotted a strand of fur across the metal. He carefully picked it up, twisting it in his fingers. Thokar knew the scent. The hair was that of a Fenrisian wolf and, yet, something wasn’t right. There was a vaguely human scent mixed in as well. Strange, it reminded him of…
The wolf priest quickly activated his comm. ‘Defender of Russ, a Space Wolf has succumbed to the curse of our gene-seed. All of my Wolves are present. Are any men missing, especially from the ranks of the Blood Claws or Wolf Guard?’
‘Wolf Priest Thokar, we have no reports of anyone succumbing to the gene-seed. There are no Wulfen in your area. Are you certain of your findings?’
‘Not entirely. I will report back when I know more.’
Thokar signalled his men to move forward. They spread out, vanishing from sight. Only the wolf priest’s acute senses told him that the Grey Hunters maintained their formation.
As Thokar pushed his way through the jungle, the hairs on his neck rose. The smell of rot assailed him, overcoming the other smells of the planet.
‘We’ve found the remains of a vehicle,’ came a call over the vox.
A fallen Chaos Dreadnought lay in a charred section of jungle, surrounded by dozens of small fires, as if part of a foul ritual. The sarcophagus was missing, the metal edges around it thin and flaking. Thokar knew a melta weapon at close range had vaporized the metal.
The wolf priest knelt down beside the remnants of the infernal machine. The hairs on the back of his neck remained standing as he examined the blasphemous runes etched across the Dreadnought’s metal surface. Small gargoyles, spikes and plated skulls hung from the fallen giant. He muttered a quick prayer to Russ. A single hit had destroyed the Dreadnought. Only the Emperor’s finest, the Space Marines, were so accurate. There were no Space Marines, assigned here… and a lone Wulfen couldn’t have done this. This attack was recent, happening within moments of the first attack they had discovered.
‘A highly coordinated assault… even through this jungle. So fast that eve
n these Chaos Marines were caught unprepared,’ observed the wolf priest. The colours of the enemy were unmistakable. Though little could be certain about Chaos, the wolf priest knew his ancient lore. Before their fall, the Iron Warriors had been master tacticians. Of all Space Marine Chapters from ancient times, the Iron Warriors had been unsurpassed in siege warfare. Now, ten thousand years later, after giving themselves to the powers of Chaos, no one knew the limits of their abilities. Yet, Thokar noted, someone had caught the enemy off guard.
Drawing on his decades of experience, Thokar paced over to the spot from which the melta shot should have come. The boot prints he found were unmistakable… power armour, a few different types, from different eras. They could be Traitor Marines. Yet their scents reminded him of Fenris. However they had arrived, the Iron Warriors’ attackers had left no trail. They had used teleporters. Space Wolves did not teleport, they had a healthy mistrust of such technology. Still, the scents of Fenris were unmistakable to Thokar. Space Wolves had been here.
Bolter shells illustrated where the Iron Warriors had returned fire against their attackers. Crushed plants indicated that some of their number fell during the initial attack, only to have bodies removed later. The wolf priest found an unusual shell, larger than the others. It was an autocannon round fired from another direction.
‘Thokar, come see this,’ Wulfric gestured. As Thokar strode through the undergrowth, he noted with approval that the Grey Hunters stayed watchful, instinctively creating a perimeter.
The remains of a massive Chaos war engine lay burned and crumpled in the creeper vines. At first, Thokar mistook the machine for another Dreadnought. Although it was obviously a walker, the infernal device had six legs and a turret mounted atop them, more akin to a tank. The scent of sulphur, and a sickly smell of decay mixed with the acrid aromas of spent shells and oil, hung around it.
‘What in the frozen hells is it?’ asked Wulfric.
The wolf priest raised a hand. An autocannon hung off the shattered turret. Even more impressively, the main gun appeared to be a battlecannon. Thokar had heard reports of such creations. This was a construct of daemons. The rear armour of the turret showed signs of plasma blasts. Exact hits, obviously from close range. Yet these blasts weren’t enough to destroy the war engine. A single strike, possibly from a power fist, had shattered the heart of the machine. The faintest scent of blood and… wolves came from the power claws found at the end of each of the Chaos machine’s legs. Thokar noted the faintest flakes of grey ceramite on two of the claws, a slightly darker shade than his Wolves wore. The paint could have come from any of a number of Space Marine Chapters, but this colour meant something to Thokar.
‘Space Wolves used to wear this colour,’ whispered the wolf priest. ‘Ten thousand years ago.’
Thokar felt his heart rate increase as the words left his mouth. He strode around the war machine, and then he found bootprints. No prints came or went, although autocannon shells and bolter rounds lay all around. He saw the impression of a power armour-clad body in the soft earth, but there was no body. There had been two. One had fallen, but it was as if both had vanished.
The thought that two men would have attempted to take on a tank-sized monstrosity like this one spoke of men pushing the limits of courage. What was more, the blast strikes suggested that they knew where to shoot the strange vehicle. They must have fought such things before.
Thokar felt a sense of religious awe flow through him. By Russ! How could he have ever guessed? If what he was seeing were true, there was only one explanation. The lost 13th Company had survived over ten thousand years in the Eye of Terror. What could sustain even the Emperor’s finest for ten thousand years in pure Chaos, surrounded by enemies?
Thokar looked around at the Grey Hunters he could see, and scented the ones he could not. He felt the determination and the focus in each one. The wolf priest also felt the Wulfen growl deep within his own soul. It would not let him die or fail. What if the entire Chapter had given themselves to the Wulfen?
Icy sweat broke out on Thokar’s brow. What sort of foe had the Iron Warriors faced?
Thokar nodded to his Wolf Guard. It was time to find the objective. Wilderness Outpost Delta was their mission, although it paled in comparison to what the wolf priest had discovered. If it were true… Thokar shuddered inwardly, unsure whether to feel elation or fear. He had personally killed recruits on Fenris, lost to the Wulfen. Only the strongest Space Wolves, Wolf Guard or older, could survive attaining the Mark of the Wulfen.
‘More bodies, sir. We’re very close,’ came Wulfric’s voice.
Thokar saw the blood drenched, torn remains. These were the ones he had seen evidence of earlier, the ones who had been near the Dreadnought. He recognised the scents. They had fallen back into an ambush.
‘Let me see…’ Thokar knelt over the remains.
The attack had been different this time. Although the carnage was substantial, the claw and teeth marks were absent. This time, more conventional weapons had been brought to bear: power weapons, a power fist and something else. He carefully examined the cuts in the power armour. He could have identified an axe slash even before he had donned the mantle of Blood Claw, and the weapon had cleanly cut the armour, leaving the edges ice-cold. Only a Frostaxe, a sacred weapon of the Space Wolves, left these marks. The weapon had struck with wild abandon in a frenzy, a definite sign of the Wulfen.
‘Sir,’ said the Wolf Guard. ‘There is no sign of the body of a champion. We are almost at the objective.’
‘Indeed. Move on,’ ordered Thokar, already piecing together what had happened. He had a vision in his mind of what must have occurred shortly before their arrival.
Champion Kurnos ordered the retreat. Adaric’s squad was not responding. These weren’t ordinary Space Wolves. There was only one explanation: the 13th Company, the Space Wolves who had followed them into the Eye of Terror itself.
Suddenly, the air shimmered around his squad. A rune priest appeared before them, accompanied by a squad clad in bits of power armour from a dozen Chaos Chapters. Before Kurnos could shout orders, his attackers launched a savage assault. The rune priest fought with unmatched fury. Kurnos felt strangely detached as claws severed his right arm. He closed his eyes and waited for death.
Death never came. Instead, strong hands wrestled his helm off and jerked back his head. A pair of bright, yellow eyes stared down. They were not the eyes of a man, but the eyes of a wolf.
‘Tell us, Iron Warrior, will your commanders come for you?’ growled the Space Marine. ‘Call them.’ Kurnos heard the hum of the power weapon as it sectioned off his knees. The attackers dragged him across the ground, writhing in agony.
‘Iron within, iron…’ Kurnos started the mantra of his Legion.
‘This is your emergency beacon. Live long enough to signal them, not to speak,’ growled his attacker. Razor claws sliced apart his tongue. Dimly aware of his shock, Kurnos realised that he lay on the floor in the outpost. The 13th Company had set an ambush. He was bait. As Kurnos heard his emergency beacon go off, the iron within him turned to rust.
Incomplete trenches, half-used razor wire, unassembled gun emplacements and bodies of Iron Warriors littered the area around Wilderness Outpost Delta. The wolf scent was strong here. This was the site of a Wulfen attack.
‘Seize the objective,’ ordered Thokar in a tone that brooked obedience.
‘There are slain Iron Warrior Terminators scattered inside,’ called Uller, one of Pack Morkai’s Grey Hunters. The wolf priest was prepared for the carnage.
The exterior of Wilderness Outpost Delta was standard rockcrete, covered in camouflage netting to hide the communications array. Thokar had seen the same building on half a hundred worlds. Inside lay the corpses of five Iron Warriors in Terminator armour, and a sixth in power armour. Wulfric led Pack Morkai back outside, while Pack Ranulf stayed with Thokar. Blood splatter decorated the interior of the room. Thokar knelt over one of the dead Terminators. The wiring attachin
g the corpse’s backup power supply sparked.
‘Something over here, sir,’ said Bran. ‘Looks like part of a skull.’
Thokar nodded to the Grey Hunter. This was the end of the story as he had seen it.
The air shimmered as five of the warsmith’s Chosen materialised from the warp inside Wilderness Outpost Delta. The Terminators dwarfed other Space Marines. Their armour was the most ancient and ensorcelled of their Chapter. They had no equals, and only bent their knees to the warsmith himself. They looked down on Kurnos’s twitching form. He saw daemonic faces leering at him from within the glossy dark metal of their armour.
Kurnos struggled to warn the Chosen, but it was too late. The Wolves were inside, power fists smashing against the Terminators. A chill ran through Kurnos as the Frostaxe stole the heat from the room, then sliced open the sacred Terminator armour, as easily as it cut the flesh within. The Chosen of Chaos, the warsmith’s Terminators, were no more.
‘A transport has landed,’ said one of the bestial Marines.
‘You’ve earned this,’ another of them growled to Kurnos.
Kurnos looked up and the claws took off the top of his head.
Wulfric and Pack Morkai reacted as one. Somewhere high above the range of human hearing, they each heard a familiar sound, a sound that they had heard a thousand times before, on a hundred different worlds. In every case, on every world, it came with the same deadly result.
‘Incoming ordnance!’ howled Wulfric over the comm.
The wolf priest and Pack Ranulf disappeared in smoke, fire and debris as the first of the artillery rounds impacted dead centre on the outpost. A geyser of dirt, rock, concrete and ceramite armour fragments erupted as the second round hit home. Ancient power armour failed to save two members of Pack Morkai as their remains rained down on their brothers. Shells struck all around them.
Wulfric triggered his comm. ‘Thokar… Thokar… Please respond…’
Static answered the Wolf Guard. Wulfric’s anger built in his heart. His wolf priest should not die on this backwater world. He howled in rage.
