by Gav Thorpe
‘This will be a great victory for the Dark Angels,’ the company commander said. ‘Intelligence suggests that our foe is the warlord Ghazghkull, the infamous Beast of Armageddon. Many will be the honours from the Chapter for destroying this monster.’
‘Indeed, brother-captain,’ said Boreas. ‘I have drawn up a list of battle-brothers suitable for extraordinary mention to Grand Master Azrael when we join up with the Chapter, both living and posthumous.’
‘I expect there will be more names to add to the roll before we are done here,’ replied Belial. ‘The orks’ landing site is somewhere to the east. Our forces occupy Koth Ridge to prevent any further reinforcements reaching the city, but that is just a precaution. I cannot imagine that the remaining ork strength outside Kadillus Harbour is any threat.’
‘Will we be attacking the landing site, brother-captain?’
Belial directed a long look at Boreas and there was a hint of humour in his tone when he spoke.
‘You wish to be involved in the assault? While the will might remain as strong as ever, I fear your armour and body must first be healed, as must mine. I will think on it. As yet, the landing site has not been located. We will see what sort of enemy awaits us. It may be that our foes are few enough in number to finish with orbital bombardment. Before that, we must drive the orks out of the defence-laser silo they have occupied in the docks. Though it is unlikely the orks understand how to operate the weapon, I am not willing to risk the Unrelenting Fury in low orbit while it is still in enemy hands.’
‘Do you think it was the defence laser Ghazghkull wanted when he took the city, brother-captain?’
‘It is a distinct possibility. Possession of the defence laser negates the orbital supremacy handed to us when the orks landed their ship. I am certain the ork ship is still on the surface: no launch has been detected. When we retake the defence laser, the Unrelenting Fury will add orbital firepower to the arsenal at my command.’
‘When do you expect to signal the Chapter with news of our victory here?’
Belial turned to the window and gazed east out of the armoured glass.
‘Very soon. With the combined might of the Third Company and the Piscina Free Militia, the ork resistance in the city will be crushed. I have Scouts and Ravenwing squadrons searching for the remnants of the orks outside the city. Xenos temperitus acta mortis. It will not take long to eradicate the last of this filth.’
THE TALE OF NAAMAN
Cut and Run
‘Understood, brother-captain,’ said Sergeant Aquila. ‘We will continue to sweep for enemy activity.’
Scout-Sergeant Naaman waited expectantly as the Ravenwing sergeant switched off the comm-unit mounted on his heavily armoured motorbike. The black-armoured Aquila walked slowly across the road to where the Scout-sergeant was waiting with his squad.
‘We have new orders?’ asked Naaman.
‘Negative,’ replied Aquila. ‘We are to continue patrolling the Koth–Indola highway. Master Belial believes there may be some dawdling ork forces still moving towards Kadillus Harbour from the landing site.’
‘Which landing site would that be, Brother Aquila?’ asked Naaman. He spoke quietly and moved away from the Scout squad lying in the grass along the side of the road, their attention fixed to the east; there was no need for them to overhear two sergeants arguing.
‘I do not understand your question, Brother Naaman. The ork landing site, of course.’
‘The landing site that we have not yet located?’
‘Yes,’ replied Aquila. Evidently he did not understand the implications of Naaman’s question or was choosing to ignore them. The Scout-sergeant suppressed his irritation and kept his voice even.
‘That would be the same site where the orks landed without being detected, would it?’
‘No sensor is one hundred per cent reliable, Sergeant Naaman. You know as well as I do that even the most dense security screen might fail to detect a single ship entering orbit.’
‘I agree, Brother Aquila. It does surprise me that the ship that happens to have eluded detection on this occasion is large enough to disgorge many thousands of orks directly to the surface of the planet. If one ship has been capable of this, it stands to reason that there may be others, or that the ship still contains forces that present a viable threat to our position.’
‘Master Belial’s orders are quite specific, Naaman.’ The omission of the sergeant’s honorific was an indication that Aquila was losing patience with the conversation. ‘If such forces do exist, the squads spread across the eastern approaches to Koth Ridge will detect them. That is precisely why we are here and why we will be following Master Belial’s command.’
‘It is my belief that we should scout further eastwards, beyond Indola and into the East Barrens. If there are further forces, it would be wise to detect them as early as possible in order that Master Belial can consider the most appropriate response.’
Aquila shook his head and strode back to his bike. Naaman followed a step behind, unwilling to let his battle-brother simply end the conversation by walking away. Aquila swung his leg over the seat of the bike and looked at Naaman.
‘Why do you persist with this fear that the orks continue to pose a credible threat?’
Naaman shrugged. He enjoyed the gesture, only possible because his armour was much lighter than that of the regular battle-brothers. For him the greater ease of movement allowed by his wargear was symbolic of his role as a sergeant in the 10th Company. Like his armour, that role also had a significant downside: it offered less protection.
‘It is not a fear, it is a concern. I am cautious by inclination, and I would rather not have the future battle-brothers of the Dark Angels under my command encounter an enemy that they cannot overcome. It is our purpose to ascertain this sort of information for the company master and the reason why my squad and others were attached to Belial’s command. It is a waste of our abilities to restrain us to this sort of front-line patrolling.’
‘Do you not think it is good experience for your charges? When they become full battle-brothers they must have the discipline to carry out these tedious but necessary duties. Perhaps you would have preferred secondment to some other, more glorious command?’
Naaman laughed.
‘It is Master Belial’s right to choose how and when he deploys his Scouts. That he chose to keep us from the fighting in Kadillus, as he put it “for our own protection”, is entirely within his right. I am suggesting that we interpret his orders in such a way that we gather as much intelligence as possible regarding the situation to the east.’
Aquila thumbed the bike into life and his next words were barked over the throbbing engine.
‘Orders are not interpreted, Naaman; they are followed. Remember that.’
The Ravenwing sergeant gunned the bike and set off in a slew of grit and dust. As he leaned the bike over onto the highway, the other four members of his squad roared into formation behind him. Soon they were lost behind the brow of a hill, heading in the direction of the Indola Mines.
Naaman returned to his Scouts, who were still patiently laying up along the roadside.
‘On your feet,’ he told them. ‘Form up for a march.’
‘Yes, brother-sergeant,’ the Scouts chorused as they straightened in the long grass.
Kudin, the eldest of the squad and unofficial corporal, saluted Naaman with a fist to his eagle-blazoned chestplate. He was the most advanced of all the Scouts under Naaman’s command, fully a head taller than his brethren – almost as tall as Naaman. It was likely that Naaman would recommend him as suitable for graduation from the 10th Company when this business on Piscina was settled. Then he would undergo the last transformative operations that would turn him into a full Space Marine. It was also then that he would be fully inculcated into the Chapter’s creed and given his new name. Scout Kudin would cease to exist, all trace of his past life forgotten, and a battle-brother of the Dark Angels would be born. Kudin’s presence was a
source of pride to the others in the squad, none of whom had been in the 10th Company for more than two years.
Naaman saw the unspoken question written in Kudin’s features.
‘You have something you wish to ask, Scout Kudin?’
The Scout wiped a gloved hand through his close-cropped black hair, and glanced at the others before he spoke.
‘We have noticed that there is an unusual tension between you and Sergeant Aquila, sergeant.’
‘Have you?’ Naaman’s glare passed over the line of Scouts. Each of them bowed his head in submission rather than meet his gaze, even Kudin. ‘As you know, when two battle-brothers of equal rank fight together, the seniority of command is determined by length of service. I have been a Dark Angel for several years longer than Sergeant Aquila. However, Scout assignments are secondary to seniority, for we are not part of the Third Company’s standard command. In those circumstances, preference of ranks goes to those brothers and officers of the company. What does that mean, Scout Teldis?’
Teldis looked up, surprised by the question.
‘That both you and Sergeant Aquila have equal authority?’
‘No, Scout Teldis,’ Naaman replied with a shake of his head. He looked at Keliphon.
‘Sergeant Aquila has seniority?’ suggested the Scout.
Naaman sighed with disappointment. He threw a hopeful look at Kudin, who rounded angrily on the other Scouts.
‘Sergeant Aquila is from the Ravenwing! He is also on secondment to the Third Company and that means neither he nor Sergeant Naaman have explicit authority. Pay attention and learn to fill in the gaps of the information you have to hand.’
‘Does that not mean that your seniority becomes relevant, sergeant?’ asked Keliphon. ‘Don’t you have authority?’
‘Yes it does,’ said Naaman quietly. ‘However, Sergeant Aquila has related orders from the company commander, so it doesn’t matter which of us has the final say. Master Belial instructs us to patrol to the east, and that is what we are going to do. Contrary to any suspicions I may have, Master Belial has laid out the course of action we will follow.’
The Scouts acknowledged this information with nods. In silence they fell into line behind Naaman as he headed down the road with bolter in hand. He was content to leave the more rigid Chapter teachings to the Chaplains; he considered it his duty to introduce an element of flexible thinking to the recruits under his command. Intransigence and unthinking dogma did not encourage suitably fluid tactical thinking. Doctrine was the beginning of tactical awareness, not the end. For all that, he would be the last brother to suggest to the Scouts that the chain of command could be ignored – quite literally if the Chaplains ever heard that he had done such a thing.
They had covered about a mile when the sergeant spoke again.
‘Of course, when we reach Indola, I will have the conversation with Sergeant Aquila again.’
‘Do you think he will change his mind?’ asked Kudin.
‘Probably not. But remember the teachings of the Chaplains: stubbornness is a virtue. I may yet wear him down…’
Koth Ridge dropped down to the East Barrens, the rocky highland giving way to a gentler slope at the base of the main dormant volcano that formed the island of Kadillus. The Scouts continued along the highway as it stretched towards the horizon, cutting directly east through the fields of long grass. Low cloud smeared across the mountainside, blanketing everything with the hue of slate. Naaman heard the chatter of birds and the rustling of foraging animals. Insects buzzed across the tips of the grass stalks. The ever-present westerly wind rustled through patches of short, thorny bushes that sprouted haphazardly in the lee of rocks. Now and then he caught the scent of something decaying out of sight: the mouldering remains of those that had lost the tooth-and-claw fight for survival.
The edges of the road were littered with detritus from the main ork advance: piles of dung; discarded bones and food scraps; expended ammunition cases; oil cans; broken gears; bent nails; pieces of tattered clothing; sheared bolts; and various other pieces of rubbish whose origins and purpose could not be identified.
The road itself bore scars of the orkish progress. Weathered and cracked with age, the rockcrete was mark by skid marks of tyre rubber and the welts of heavy tracks. Potholes marked its surface where the tramp of ork feet and the ploughing of ork vehicles had caused parts of the road to subside.
And all about was the ever-present odour of the greenskins: a mustiness in the air that lingered in the nostrils and clung to clothes.
He ignored these background distractions, senses tuned for the abnormal, the irregular: signs of danger. The growl of the Ravenwing bikes had receded from hearing more than an hour ago, but the oil of their exhausts still hung in the air. He caught the distant stench of something fouler and waved the Scouts to leave the road and head northwards, following the source of the smell. A few hundred metres from the wide stripe of rockcrete, Keliphon signalled that he had found something. While Ras and Teldis stood watch with their sniper rifles, Naaman and the others investigated a swathe of flattened grass.
It had been trampled by many booted feet – undoubtedly a gang of orks had passed from the road on some unknown purpose. After following its course for a few minutes, Naaman came across an ork corpse. It was lying face down in the flattened grass, flies buzzing around it. The body had been stripped except for a few scraps of clothing. The exposed skin showed dozens of bloody wounds in the arms and back, as if the ork had been set upon by a number of foes. With his boot, Naaman turned the alien to its back. Gasses wheezed from the slashes to its chest and gut, causing the Scouts to turn away in disgust.
‘Look at it!’ snapped Naaman. The Scouts reluctantly obeyed, covering their mouths and noses with their hands. ‘What do you see?’
The Scouts crowded hesitantly around the body.
‘It’s dead,’ ventured Kudin.
‘Are you sure?’ asked Naaman.
‘Yes,’ the Scout replied. ‘Orks are rank when living, but this is decomposition. Experience says that ork wounds do not get infected. There is something in the blood which stops gangrene and other blood poisons. It is one of the things that makes them such dangerous foes.’
‘Good, Kudin.’ Naaman looked at the others. ‘Anything else?’
‘Its teeth are missing,’ said Gethan. The Scout bent closer to the creature’s face and pulled back its lips, exposing bare gums. ‘They even took its teeth.’
‘Who took its teeth?’ asked Naaman.
‘Whoever robbed it,’ replied Gethan. ‘The body’s been stripped of all armour and weapons, even the boots and teeth are gone. It looks like this one was set upon by others and killed, rather than falling dead and then being looted.’
‘There’s a strange substance in the wounds,’ said Keliphon. He pulled out his knife and scraped it over a gash in the ork’s chest. Strands of white fibrous mould clung to the blade.
‘Spores,’ said Naaman. ‘You’ll find them on all orkish dead. Ork bodies have to be burnt to ensure the spores do not spread. When this present threat is dealt with, the Free Militia will have to cleanse the whole area where the orks have been. I expect the docks in the city will have to be torched and rebuilt.’
‘What do the spores do?’ asked Ras.
Naaman looked at the crushed grass and saw its route bending back towards the road. It seemed likely that the ork, or a group of orks, had wandered away from the others and had been attacked. The robbery completed, the survivors had headed back to join the main body. There was nothing of significance here.
‘Form up to continue the patrol eastwards. We’ll stay off the road until nightfall.’
‘What do the spores do, sergeant?’ Ras asked again as the squad spread into an uneven line and set off through the waist-high grass.
‘I don’t know,’ Naaman replied. ‘Better to be sure with this sort of thing. All sorts of xenos breed in all sorts of ways. It is never a waste to eradicate all evidence of their presence after
victory: their bodies, their constructions, their weapons. Utter annihilation ensures no regrets.’
With a last distasteful look at the deceased ork, Naaman set off after the squad as the cloud-shrouded sun sank beneath the shoulder of Koth Ridge.
Darkness had enveloped the Scouts for more than two hours by the time they reached the tatty chainlink fence that marked the boundary of the disused Indola Mines. Poorly fastened, rusting sheet metal roofs rattled and creaked in the wind. The great lift tower over the mine shaft stood out against the semicircle of one of Piscina’s three moons, the girders and gears a skeletal remnant of the industry that had once taken place here before the mine had been exhausted.
A yellow glow dominated the open space between the worker shacks and the remains of the ore storage houses. From the open doorway of a large building that had once housed the ore transporters, the light of lamps shone. Large shadows moved across the yellow glare, tall and bulky: Aquila’s Ravenwing.
‘Sergeant Naaman and squad moving to your position from the west,’ Naaman broadcast over the comm. ‘No enemy detected.’
‘Outpost established in the vehicle maintenance hangar,’ came Aquila’s reply. ‘No enemy detected by our sweep, either. No further patrols necessary until dawn. Rest your squad with us, Naaman.’
‘Will join you shortly, Aquila,’ Naaman finished. He cut the link and ghosted through the darkness, the Scouts behind him.
The bikes of the Ravenwing squadron were formed into a small laager inside the cavernous maintenance garage, arranged so that their lights – and forward-mounted twin bolters – were pointing towards the entrances. Aquila and his Space Marines had made a rough camp from the remains of parts crates and ore containers. Three of them sat hunched on these improvised seats while two of them did the rounds of the perimeter. Brother Aramis raised a hand in greeting as the Scouts emerged from the shadows. Naaman answered with a nod of his head and directed his squad to rest up.
Aquila looked across the hangar as Naaman entered the circle of light. The Ravenwing sergeant had taken off his helmet, revealing a narrow-cheeked face and sunken eyes. His shoulder-length hair was swept back by a silver band, decorated with a single black pearl at his brow. His right cheek was tattooed with a red rendition of the Dark Angels’ winged blade insignia – the symbol of the Ravenwing. Anybody other than a Space Marine might have described him as darkly handsome. Such considerations never occurred to the Astartes.
