by Gav Thorpe
‘No unexpected second ork wave?’ asked Aquila. The corner of his lips lifted in a slight smile. ‘No green-skinned ambushers waiting for us?’
Naaman sat down opposite Aquila and smiled back.
‘Not today, at least,’ said the Scout-sergeant. ‘There is always tomorrow, of course.’
‘Of course,’ echoed Aquila. ‘Perhaps your missing orks were delayed by an important engagement. A society event, maybe?’
Naaman laughed at the image conjured in his mind. He had no idea about Aquila’s background before becoming a Dark Angel – the Scout-sergeant could little remember his own childhood – but he guessed from the sardonic wit that it had been very different from Naaman’s upbringing in the deserts of Kalabria. There had been no ‘society events’ that Naaman could recall, only a daily grind for survival.
‘Perhaps they protect their landing zone, expecting their army to return in victory,’ suggested Naaman.
‘Unlikely,’ replied Aquila. ‘Orks don’t strike me as the type to give up the chance to loot a city so that they can stand around guarding a ship.’
‘You’re right,’ sighed Naaman, conceding that his suspicions were entirely unfounded. ‘It seems that Master Belial will soon be able to send word to the Chapter of a notable victory over the orks.’
‘Ghazghkull, no less,’ added Brother Demael from Naaman’s right. The Scout-sergeant’s eyes widened with surprise. ‘We received word today that the ork forces are led by the Beast of Armageddon.’
‘That would be a prize for the Third Company, a grand prize indeed,’ said Naaman. He glanced at his companions before adding, ‘And the Ravenwing, of course.’
‘The Tenth shall share in the glory also,’ Aquila said generously, raising a fist in salute to Naaman. ‘The Beast of Armageddon, who escaped the Blood Angels, Salamanders and Ultramarines, now to be crushed by the might of the Dark Angels!’
‘All the more reason to ensure Ghazghkull has no means of escape,’ said Naaman. ‘He has proved elusive and cunning for an ork warlord. Let us not repeat the mistakes of other Chapters…’
‘The Beast is trapped in Kadillus Harbour, with the Third Company and almost the entirety of the defence force to keep him caged,’ said Brother Analeus, the Ravenwing squadron’s plasma gunner. ‘Ghazghkull’s an ork, not some wretched eldar! He won’t be getting off Piscina.’
‘I agree with you, brother, I really do,’ said Naaman, turning to face the Ravenwing Space Marine. ‘But to ensure that absolutely, would it not be better to secure the means by which he reached the planet in the first place?’
‘If he were to try to escape by ship, it would have to land at Northport on the outskirts of Kadillus Harbour,’ said Aquila. ‘That would be impossible.’
‘I am sure Commander Dante and the other noble leaders on Armageddon believed escape was impossible,’ said Naaman. ‘It is highly improbable; taking that ship would make it impossible.’
‘Why are you so determined to head east, Naaman?’ asked Analeus. ‘This could be interpreted as an unhealthy obsession.’
Naaman laughed again.
‘You are probably correct, brother,’ he said. The Scout-sergeant grew serious and glanced to his squad who were sat beside the rusting hulk of an old ore hauler. ‘Being in the Tenth Company engenders a certain obsession with obtaining all of the facts, no matter how inconsequential they turn out to be. We find it ensures the continued survival of our future battle-brothers.’
‘It is time to perform our evening dedications,’ announced Aquila, standing up. He looked at Naaman. ‘You and your squad are welcome to join us.’
‘That would be good, brother,’ said Naaman, also standing. He called to his squad to join them. ‘It would be wise not to leave ourselves without sentry, though. I will stand guard while you perform your dedications.’
‘You do not wish to join us, Naaman?’ The feeling of offence was clear in Aquila’s tone.
‘I will make my own dedications while I keep my watch,’ Naaman replied. ‘Tomorrow, one of your brothers can take the duty and I will make my dedications with you.’
Aquila seemed mollified by this reply and nodded. The two Space Marines walking sentry came into the hangar and Naaman left them kneeling in a circle as Aquila began to chant.
‘Today we served again under the watchful eye of the Emperor and the Lion. Today we lived again under the protection of the Emperor and the Lion. Today we fought again…’
Naaman allowed the words to drift from his attention as he stepped out into the night. He made his way to the rusting tower of the mine-workings and climbed a ladder to the first platform. From here he could see the whole of the Indola Mines. Unslinging his bolter, he began to pace around the platform, eyes scanning the darkness for any movement, ears tuning out the rasp of the wind and the creaking of the ramshackle buildings.
In his thoughts he gave praise to the Lion for the teachings he had passed on to the Dark Angels, the same teachings Naaman now passed on to future generations of Space Marines. One in particular kept coming back to him: ‘Knowledge is power, guard it well.’ Knowledge. It was knowledge Naaman sought. Knowledge of how the orks had come to Piscina undetected; knowledge of how many of them were left outside the city; knowledge of what threat still remained. He paused in his slow circling and stared to the east.
Hundreds of square kilometres of wilderness stretched out in that direction; enough space to hide an army, certainly enough to hide a starship large enough to carry an army. The news that the foe they faced was Ghazghkull perturbed him. Ghazghkull was no ordinary warlord. News regarding his invasion of the world of Armageddon had been spread by the Ultramarines, Blood Angels and Salamanders, sent to every Chapter that would listen. That an ork warlord could cause so much havoc, inflict so much destruction and escape retribution was remarkable enough.
That he had continued to elude the Imperial forces sent in pursuit was almost unheard of. Such warmongering fiends only rarely disappeared, and always made some fatal mistake, either of overconfidence or out of sheer brutality. Ghazghkull had not only escaped the carnage of Armageddon, he had been able to rebuild his strength and stay ahead of the forces sent to destroy him. To appear here, hundreds of light years from where he was last seen, did not bode well.
Ghazghkull’s presence explained many things that had seemed incredible earlier, most particularly the single-minded nature of the orks’ attack on the city and their drive for control of the harbour. Master Belial believed he had Ghazghkull trapped, encircled by forces around the Kadillus Harbour power plant. Belial was not so sure Ghazghkull wasn’t exactly where he wanted to be. And if that was the case, it begged an answerable question: what did Ghazghkull want with a power plant?
Naaman took up his circuit again, troubled by his thoughts. Knowledge. Knowledge would see the Beast truly trapped, and that did not lie in Kadillus Harbour, but in the East Barrens, where the orks had come from.
The Scout-sergeant reached a decision. Come first light, no matter the arguments of Sergeant Aquila, Naaman and his Scouts would not be heading back to Koth Ridge. They would continue eastwards to find out what was there.
‘Enemy detected.’
At those two words buzzing in his ear from the comm-bead, Naaman was instantly awake. He scrambled to his feet, bolter in hand. A look around brought the pleasing sight of his squad alert and armed as well.
‘Movement to the north-east, three hundred metres.’
‘Will investigate,’ replied Naaman. ‘Stand by for report and orders.’
The sergeant nodded to his Scouts and the squad set off at a jog, out the doors of the hangar to cut through the buildings to the north. With a glance over his shoulder Naaman saw Brother Barakiel climbing down from his vantage point atop the maintenance shed. Picking up speed he led the Scouts to a long, low outbuilding close to the north-eastern part of the broken fence.
‘Confirm enemy and report,’ he said to Kudin.
Gethan slung his bolter and cupped
his hands, acting as a step for Kudin as he pulled himself onto the flat roof of the shed. The senior Scout crossed with quiet footsteps and hunkered down, bringing the scope of his sniper rifle up to his eye. Naaman took position at the corner of the building and looked eastwards through the ragged links of the fence. The first fringes of dawn were touching the horizon and he could see the faint darker shapes in the gloom that had alerted Brother Barakiel.
‘Ten orks, advancing directly towards us,’ hissed Kudin. ‘Two hundred and fifty metres beyond the perimeter. No discernible formation or precaution. No other forces within sight.’
Naaman nodded to himself with satisfaction. By Kudin’s assessment, the orks were unaware of the Space Marines and were probably heading to the mine for some other reason. He activated the comm-bead.
‘Sergeant Naaman to Sergeant Aquila,’ he said.
The comm buzzed for a second.
‘This is Aquila,’ replied the Ravenwing sergeant. ‘What do you see?’
‘Small ork unit, ten-strong,’ said Naaman. ‘Threat minimal. We will engage from here with standard weapons. Suggest you engage when we begin firing.’
‘Affirm, Naaman,’ said Aquila. ‘We will use your fire to mask our engines and loop around from the south.’
‘Confirmed, Aquila.’
As Naaman cut the link, he ejected the magazine from his bolter and swapped the gas-propellant silent rounds with a cartridge of standard ammunition from his belt. He gestured for Keliphon to join Kudin on the roof with his sniper rifle, and for the three remaining squad members to take up positions within the shed; the metal sheets of the walls provided enough gaps to use as impromptu loopholes. The sergeant stayed where he was, resting his bolter against the corner of the building to steady his first shots.
They waited while the shapes in the darkness resolved into something more discernible.
‘One hundred and fifty metres,’ reported Kudin.
In the pre-dawn still, Naaman could hear grunts and growls from the orks. He watched as they continued closer, utterly at ease, arms swinging, strutting through the grass on bowed legs.
‘One hundred metres,’ said Kudin.
‘Engage,’ Naaman calmly ordered his squad.
A chuff-chuff from the sniper rifles preceded the collapse of two of the greenskins; the orks thrashed in the grass as toxins coursed through their bloodstreams. Naaman pulled the trigger of his bolter, directing his fire at the closest ork, putting three rounds squarely into its chest. The flicker of other bolts broke the gloom. Some scored hits, others missed their mark and whined into the darkness.
The orks were thrown into disarray by the ambush. They brought up their crude automatic rifles and fired randomly, unsure of their attackers’ location. Another one fell to sniper fire, his gun blazing in his dying grasp, spitting bullets in all directions. Naaman fired again, the hail of explosive bolts ripping the legs out from an ork as it turned on him.
The orks turned and ran, still firing at unseen foes, the bolts of the Scouts rasping after them. Above the cough of bolters, Naaman could hear the bass timbre of the Ravenwing’s bikes. He saw them to his right, in a single line abreast, a moment before the riders switched on their lamps, bathing the orks with harsh white light. The orks continued to run, firing over their shoulders at the swiftly approaching bikers. Muzzle flare erupted from bike-mounted bolters, the hail scything through the few survivors of the Scouts’ ambuscade.
The orks collapsed into the grass out of view. Aquila and his Ravenwing pulled out their pistols and continued to fire into the downed greenskins as they sped past, ably steering their bikes one-handed as they bounced and rocked over the uneven ground. At their head, Aquila slewed his bike around, churning up a cloud of dirt from the back wheel of his bike. He fired twice more as the Ravenwing circled and reformed into an arrowhead behind him.
The firing stopped and the only sound to cut the stillness was the noise of the bikes’ engines. The Ravenwing followed their sergeant as his course curved towards the northern gate, his honour pennant streaming from a pole behind his saddle.
‘Enemy destroyed,’ Aquila reported.
‘Confirm report,’ Naaman said to Kudin. The Scout rose to one knee on the roof and swept to the north and east with his scope.
‘No enemy sighted. Confirm report,’ he said.
‘Stand down,’ Naaman told his squad, bringing his bolter up across his chest. ‘Return to camp.’
The hangar was hazy with the bikes’ exhaust fumes, the tick-tick-tick of their cooling engines amplified by the metal walls. Aquila was still astride his bike, a cable from the long-range comm plugged into an opened armour panel on his left forearm. The others had dismounted and were performing post-battle rites on their machines: checking ammunition feeds, cleaning the gun barrels and applying Techmarine-blessed lubricants to the engines. Seeing that the Ravenwing were occupied, Naaman posted Ras and Kudin to stand guard outside.
Naaman sat on one of the crates and stripped out his bolter while he waited for Aquila to finish his report. He cleaned and reassembled the gun without thought, keeping one eye on the Ravenwing sergeant: for such a small engagement Aquila was spending a long time on the comm. Aquila was nodding occasionally and Naaman could see that his bike display was set to the digimap of the Koth Ridge region. Naaman had finished cleaning his bolter and was clicking replacement bolts into the magazine he had used by the time the Ravenwing sergeant pulled out the comm-cable and swung off his machine.
‘Bad news, brother-sergeant?’ asked Naaman as Aquila sat down next to him. The metal box sagged under the power-armoured Space Marine.
‘A mix, brother-sergeant,’ replied Aquila. He still wore his helm so Naaman could see nothing of his expression, but Aquila’s slow speech suggested he was picking his words with care. ‘Ours is the fifth report of such an encounter in the past three hours. There is a confirmed ork presence in the area east of Koth Ridge, but it is scattered and weak. No Dark Angels casualties suffered. It is Master Belial’s assessment that we are encountering stragglers behind the main ork advance. We are to continue to sweep the region for other such survivors and exterminate them immediately.’
‘I understand, brother-sergeant,’ said Naaman, digesting this news. ‘May I use your comm-unit, brother-sergeant?’
‘For what purpose?’
‘I wish to request a change to our orders so that we might continue further east in an attempt to locate the site of the ork landing zone. If we are able to do so, we can coordinate our coverage against further incursions more effectively.’
‘Of course, brother-sergeant,’ said Aquila, waving a hand towards his bike. ‘Be advised that the brother-captain is occupied with the reduction of the ork position in Kadillus Harbour. He may not think kindly of your wilder suspicions.’
‘Thank you for the advice,’ replied Naaman, crossing the hangar. ‘It is not the brother-captain’s kind thoughts I am after, merely his permission.’
Naaman hooked himself into the bike’s comm-link and punched in the command frequency codes. He listened to static for a few seconds before Master Belial’s curt tone cut through the interference.
‘Company captain, identify,’ said Belial.
‘Veteran Sergeant Naaman of the Tenth Company, brother-captain,’ said Naaman.
‘You have something to add to Sergeant Aquila’s report, brother-sergeant?’
‘No, brother-captain. I am requesting to expand our patrol grid fifty kilometres to the east. It is my belief that we should locate the ork landing site as a priority.’
‘I concur, Sergeant Naaman,’ said Belial, to Naaman’s slight surprise. ‘Ork forces encountered may be guarding the landing site. If that is true, it suggests to me that the enemy ship is closer to Koth Ridge than I currently believe. A fifty-kilometre extension stretches our cordon too thinly. You may extend your patrol by twenty kilometres. If you have not discovered the landing zone within that distance, it is far enough from Koth Ridge to pose no immediate threa
t and can be dealt with once we have destroyed the orks in Kadillus Harbour. Confirm orders.’
‘Extend patrol grid by twenty kilometres to the east, brother-captain,’ said Naaman.
‘Good. I want you to find out where these orks are coming from, Naaman. I will also extend patrol sweeps north of your position. Dedicate your duty to the Lion and the Emperor!’
‘For the Lion I live, for the Emperor I die!’ replied Naaman. The link buzzed in his ear. He cut the connection and unplugged his headset. Naaman directed a smile at Aquila. ‘Updated orders, brother-sergeant. We head east!’
Three hours after dawn, Naaman and his squad were occupying a hillock that rose over two hundred metres above the plains beyond Indola. From here he could see the East Barrens all the way to the horizon, the seemingly endless grassland devoid of road or settlement. It was broken by scattered upthrusts of rock like the one on which he stood: the remnants of millennia-dormant volcanic eruptions that had once wracked the whole of Kadillus in the pre-history of Piscina IV.
Bringing his monocular up to his eye, he swept to the left and right, seeking any sign of the ork ship. He found no landing site, but he did detect a haze of smoke a few kilometres to the south. He adjusted the monocular’s display and took a range reading: two-point-five kilometres. Too far to be Aquila’s squad. He activated his comm-set.
‘Sergeant Aquila, are you receiving my signal?’
The Ravenwing sergeant’s reply was faint, almost drowned out by the hiss of distance interference. He was obviously at the limit of Naaman’s comm range.
‘Please confirm your location, brother-sergeant.’
There was a pause while Aquila checked his position.
