False Gods whh-2

by Graham McNeill

  Thus assembled, the Astartes took stock of their situation. All four phalanxes had rendezvoused around the crash site as the attacks from the diseased and dead things ceased for the time being. The speartip was blunted, but it was still an awesome fighting force and easily capable of destroying what remained of Temba's paltry detachment.

  Sedirae volunteered his men to secure the perimeters, and Loken simply waved his assent, knowing that Luc was hungry for more battle and for a chance to shine in front of the Warmaster. Vipus re-formed the scouting parties and Verulam Moy set up fire positions for his Devastators.

  Loken was relieved beyond words to see that all four members of the Mournival had survived the fighting, though Torgaddon and Abaddon had both lost their helmets in the furious melees. Aximand's armour had been torn open across his side and a splash of red, shockingly bright against the green of his armour, stained his thigh.

  'Are you all right?' Torgaddon asked him, his armour stained and blistered, as though someone had poured acid over its plates.

  'Just about,' nodded Loken. 'You?'

  'Yes, though it was a close run thing,' conceded Torgaddon. 'Bastard got me underwater and was choking the life out of me. Tore my helmet right off and I think I must have drunk about a bucket of that swamp water. Had to gut him with my combat knife. Messy.'

  Torgaddon's genhanced body would be unharmed by swallowing the water, no matter what toxins it carried, but it was a stark reminder of the power of these creatures that a warrior as fearsome as him could almost be overcome. Abaddon and Aximand had similar tales of close run things, and Loken desperately wanted the fight to be over. The longer the mission went on, the more it reminded him of Eidolon's abortive first strike on Murder.

  Restored communications revealed that the Byzant Janizars had suffered terribly under the assault from the swamp and had hunkered down in defensive positions. Not even the electro-scythes of their discipline masters were able to coerce them forward. The horrific enemy had melted back into the fog, but no one could say with any certainty where the creatures had gone.

  The Titans of the Legio Mortis towered over the Astartes, the Dies Irae reassuring the assembled warriors by the simple virtue of is immensity.

  It was left to Erebus to point the way onwards, he and his depleted warriors staggering into the circle of light surrounding Petronella Vivar's crashed skiff. The first chaplain's armour was stained and battered, its many seals and scripture papers torn from it.

  'Warmaster, I believe we have found the source of the transmissions,' reported Erebus. 'There is a… structure up ahead.'

  'Where is it and how close?' demanded the Warmaster.

  'Perhaps another kilometre to the west.'

  Horus raised his sword and shouted, 'Sons of Horus, we have been grossly wronged here and some of our brothers are dead. It is time we avenge them.'

  His voice easily carried over the dead waters of the swamps, his warriors roaring their assent and following the Warmaster, as Erebus and the Word Bearers set of into the mists.

  Fired with furious energy, the Astartes ploughed through the sodden ground, ready to enact the Warmaster's wrath upon the vile foe that had unleashed such horrors upon them. Maggard and Petronella went with them, none of the Astartes willing to retreat and escort them back to the Army positions. Legion apothecaries tended their wounds and helped them through the worst of the terrain.

  Eventually, the mists began to thin and Loken could make out the more distant figures of Astartes warriors through the smudges of fog. The further they marched, the more solid the ground underfoot became, and as Erebus led them onwards, the mist became thinner still.

  Then, as quickly as a man might step from one room to another, they were out of it.

  Behind them, the banks of fog gathered and coiled, like a theatre curtain in a playhouse waiting to unveil some wondrous marvel.

  Before them was the source of the vox transmission, rearing up from the muddy plain like a colossal iron mountain.

  Eugan Temba's flagship, the Glory of Terra.

  SEVEN

  Watch our backs

  Collapse

  The betrayer

  Rusted and dead nearly six decades, the vessel lay smashed and ruined on the cratered mudflats, its once mighty hull torn open and buckled almost beyond recognition. Its towering gothic spires, like the precincts of a mighty city, lay fallen and twisted, its buttresses and archways hung with decaying fronds of huge web-like vines. Its keel was broken, as though it had struck the moon's surface, belly first, and many of the upper surfaces had caved in, the decks below open to the elements.

  Swathes of mossy greenery covered the hull and her command spire speared into the sky, warp vanes and tall vox masts bending in the moaning wind.

  Loken thought the scene unbearably sad. That this should be the final resting place of such a magnificent vessel seemed utterly wrong to him.

  Pieces of debris spotted the landscape, twisted hunks of rusted metal and incongruous personal items that must have belonged to the ship's crew and had been ejected during the massive impact with the ground.

  'Throne…' breathed Abaddon.

  'How?' was all Aximand could manage.

  'It's the Glory of Terra alright,' said Erebus. 'I recognise the warp array configuration of the command deck. It's Temba's flagship.'

  'Then Temba's already dead,' said Abaddon in frustration. 'Nothing could have survived that crash.'

  'Then who's broadcasting that signal?' asked Horus.

  'It could have been automated,' suggested Torgaddon. 'Maybe it's been going for years.'

  Loken shook his head. 'No, the signal only started once we breached the atmosphere. Someone here activated it when they knew we were coming.'

  The Warmaster stared at the massive shape of the wrecked spaceship, as if by staring hard enough he could penetrate its hull and discern what lay within.

  'Then we should go in,' urged Erebus. 'Find whoever is inside and kill them.'

  Loken rounded on the first chaplain. 'Go inside? Are you mad? We don't have any idea what might be waiting for us. There could be thousands more of those… things inside, or something even worse.'

  'What is the matter, Loken?' snarled Erebus. 'Are the Sons of Horus now afraid of the dark?'

  Loken took a step towards Erebus and said, 'You dare insult us, Word Bearer?'

  Erebus stepped to meet Loken's challenge, but the Mournival took up position behind their newest member and their presence gave the first chaplain pause. Instead of pursuing the matter, Erebus bowed his head and said, 'I apologise if I spoke out of turn, Captain Loken. I sought only to erase the gross stain on the Legion's honour.'

  'The Legion's honour is our own to uphold, Erebus,' said Loken. 'It is not for you to tell us how we must act.'

  Horus decided the matter before further harsh words could be exchanged. 'We're going in,' he said.

  The rippling fog bank followed the Astartes as they advanced towards the crashed ship and the Titans of the Legio Mortis followed behind, their legs still wreathed in the mists. Loken kept his bolter at the ready, conscious of the sounds of splashing water behind them, though he told himself that they were just the normal sounds of this world - whatever that meant.

  As they closed the gap, he drew level with the War-master and said, 'Sir, I know what you will say, but I would be remiss if I didn't speak up.'

  'Speak up about what, Garviel?' asked Horus.

  'About this. About you leading us into the unknown.'

  'Haven't I been doing that for the last two centuries?' asked Horus. 'All the time we've been pushing out into space, hasn't it been to push back the unknown? That's what we're here for, Garviel, to render that which is unknown, known.'

  Loken sensed the commander's superlative skills of misdirection at work and kept himself focused on the point. The Warmaster had an easy way of steering conversations away from issues he didn't want to talk about.

  'Sir, do you value the Mournival as counsel?' ask
ed Loken, taking a different tack.

  Horus paused in his advance and turned to face Loken, his face serious. 'You heard what I told that remembrancer in the embarkation deck didn't you? I value your counsel above all things, Garviel. Why would you even ask such a question?'

  'Because so often you simply use us as your war dogs, always baying for blood. Having us play a role, instead of allowing us to keep you true to your course.'

  'Then say what you have to say, Garviel, and I swear I will listen,' promised Horus.

  'With respect, sir, you should not be here leading this speartip and we should not be going into that vessel without proper reconnaissance. We have three of the Mechanicum's greatest war machines behind us. Can we not at least let them soften up the target first with their cannons?'

  Horus chuckled. 'You have a thinker's head on you, my son, but wars are not won by thinkers, they are won by men of action. It has been too long since I wielded a blade and fought in such a battle - against abominations that seeknothing more than our utter destruction. I told you on Murder that had I felt I could not take to the field of battle again, I would have refused the position of Warmaster.'

  'The Mournival would have done this thing for you, sir,' said Loken. 'We carry your honour now.'

  'You think my shoulders so narrow that I cannot bear it alone?' asked Horus, and Loken was shocked to see genuine anger in his stare.

  'No, sir, all I mean is that you don't need to bear it alone.'

  Horus laughed and broke the tension. His anger quite forgotten, he said, 'You're right of course, my son, but my glory days are not over, for I have many laurels yet to earn.'

  The Warmaster set off once more. 'Mark my words, Garviel Loken, everything achieved thus far in this Crusade will pale into insignificance compared to what I am yet to do.'

  Despite the Warmaster's insistence on leading the Astartes into the wreck, he consented to Loken's plan of allowing the Titans of the Legio Mortis to engage the target first. All three mighty war engines braced themselves and, at a command from the Warmaster, unleashed a rippling salvo of missiles and cannon fire into the massive ship. Flaring blooms of light and smoke rippled across the ship's immensity and it shuddered with each concussive impact. Fires caught throughout its hull, and thick plumes of acrid black smoke twisted skyward like signal beacons, as though the ship were trying to send a message to its former masters.

  Once again, the Warmaster led from the front, the mist following mem in like a smoggy cape of yellow. Loken could still hear noises from behind them, but with the thunderous footfalls of the Titans, the crackling of the burning ship and their own splashing steps, it was impossible to be sure what he was hearing.

  'Feels like a damned noose,' said Torgaddon, looking over his shoulder and mirroring Loken's thoughts perfectly.

  'I know what you mean.'

  'I don't like the mought of going in there, I can tell you that.'

  'You're not afraid are you?' asked Loken, only half joking.

  'Don't be flippant, Garvi,' said Torgaddon. 'For once I think you're right. There's something not right about this.'

  Loken saw genuine concern in his friend's face, unsettled at seeing the joker Torgaddon suddenly serious. For all his bluster and informality, Tarik had good instincts and they had saved Loken's life on more than one occasion.

  'What's on your mind?' he asked.

  'I think this is a trap,' said Torgaddon. 'We're being funnelled here and it feels like it's to get us inside that ship.'

  'I said as much to the Warmaster.'

  'And what did he say?'

  'What do you think?'

  'Ah,' nodded Torgaddon. 'Well, you didn't seriously expect to change the commander's mind did you?'

  'I thought I might have given him pause, but it's as if he's not listening to us any more. Erebus has made the commander so angry at Temba, he won't even consider any other option than going in and killing him with his bare hands.'

  'So what do we do?' asked Torgaddon, and once again, Loken was surprised.

  'We watch our backs, my friend. We watch our backs.'

  'Good plan,' said Torgaddon. 'I hadn't thought of that. And here I was all set to walk into a potential trap with my guard down.'

  That was the Torgaddon that Loken knew and loved.

  The rear quarter of the crashed Glory of Terra reared up before them, its command decks pitched upwards at an angle, blotting out the diseased sky. It enveloped them in its dark, cold shadow, and Loken saw that getting into the ship would not be difficult. The gunfire from the Titans had blasted huge tears in its hull, and piles of debris had spilled from inside, forming great ramps of buckled steel like the rocky slopes before the walls of a breached fortress.

  The Warmaster called a halt and began issuing his orders.

  'Captain Sedirae, you and your assaulters will form the vanguard.'

  Loken could practically feel Luc's pride at such an honour.

  'Captain Moy, you will accompany me. Your flame and melta units will be invaluable in case we need to quickly cleanse an area or breach bulkheads.'

  Verulam Moy nodded, his quiet reserve more dignified than Luc's eagerness to impress the Warmaster with his ardour.

  'What are your orders, Warmaster?' asked Erebus, his grey armoured Word Bearers at attention behind their first chaplain. 'We stand ready to serve.'

  'Erebus, take your warriors over to the other side of the ship. Find a way in and then rendezvous with me in the middle. If that bastard Temba tries to run, I want him crushed between us.'

  The first chaplain nodded his understanding and led his warriors off into the shadow of the mighty vessel. Then the Warmaster turned to the Mournival.

  'Ezekyle, use the signal locator on my armour to form overlapping echelons around my left. Little Horus, take my right. Torgaddon and Loken, form the rear. Secure this area and our line of withdrawal. Understood?'

  The Warmaster delivered the orders with his trademark efficiency, but Loken was aghast at being left to cover the rear of their advance. He could see that the others of the Mournival, especially Torgaddon, were similarly surprised. Was this the Warmaster's way of punishing him for daring to question his orders or for suggesting that he should not be leading the speartip? To be left behind?

  'Understood?' repeated Horus and all four members of the Mournival nodded their assent.

  'Then let's move out,' snarled the Warmaster. 'I have a traitor to kill.'

  Luc Sedirae led the assaulters, the bulky back burners of their jump packs easily carrying them up towards the black tears in the side of the ship. As Loken expected, Luc was first inside, vanishing into the darkness with barely a pause. His warriors followed him and were soon lost to sight, as Abaddon and Aximand found other ways inside, clambering up the debris to reach the still smoking holes that the Titans had torn. Aximand gave him a quick shrug as he led his own squads upwards, and Loken watched them go, unable to believe that he would not be fighting alongside his brothers as they went into battle.

  The Warmaster himself strode up the piled debris as easily as a man might ascend a gently sloping hill, Verulam Moy and his weapons specialists following in his wake.

  Within moments, they were alone on the desolate mudflats, and Loken could sense the confusion in his warriors. They stood awkwardly, awaiting orders to send them into the fight, but he had none to give them.

  Torgaddon saved him from his stupefaction, bellowing out commands and lighting a fire under the Astartes left behind. They spread out to form a cordon around their position, Nero Vipus's scouts taking up position at the edge of the mist, and Brakespur climbing up the slopes to guard the entrances to the Glory of Terra.

  'Just what exactly did you say to the commander?' asked Torgaddon, squelching back through the mud towards him.

  Loken cast his mind back to the words that had passed between himself and the Warmaster since they had set foot on Davin's moon, searching for some offence that he might have given. He could find nothing serious enoug
h to warrant his and Torgaddon's exclusion from the battle against Temba.

  'Nothing,' he said, 'just what I told you.'

  'This doesn't make any sense,' said Torgaddon, attempting to wipe some mud from his face, but only serving to spread it further across his features. 'I mean, why leave us out of all the fun. I mean, come on, Moy?'

  'Verulam's a competent officer,' said Loken.

  'Competent?' scoffed Torgaddon. 'Don't get me wrong, Garvi, I love Verulam like a brother, but he's a file officer. You know it and I know it and while there's nothing wrong with that and Emperor knows we need good file officers, he's not the sort the Warmaster should have at his side at a time like this.'

  Loken couldn't argue with Tarik's logic, having had the same reaction upon hearing the Warmaster's orders. 'I don't know what to tell you, Tarik. You're right, but the commander has given his orders and we are pledged to obey him.'

  'Even when we know those orders make no sense?'

  Loken had no answer to that.

  The Warmaster and Verulam Moy led the van of the speartip through the dark and oppressive interior of the Glory of Terra, its arched passageways canted at unnatural angles and its bulkheads warped and rusted with decay. Brackish water dripped through sections open to the elements, and a reeking wind gusted through the creaking hallways like a cadaver's breath. Diseased streamers of black fungus and dangling fronds of rotted matter brushed against their heads and helmets, leaving slimy trails of sticky residue behind.

  The perforated floors were treacherous and uneven, but the Astartes made good time, pushing ever upwards through the halls of putrefaction towards the command decks.

  Regular, static-laced communication with Sedirae's vanguard informed them of his progress ahead of them, the ship apparently lifeless and deserted. Even though the vanguard was relatively close, Sedirae's voice was chopped with interference, every third word or so unintelligible.

  The deeper into the ship they penettated, the worse it got.

  'Ezekyle?' said the Warmaster, opening the vox-mic on his gorget. 'Progress report.'