The Purging of Kadillus

by Gav Thorpe

  ‘Master Belial to Brother Hephaestus. Elimination of air defences proceeding quickly. Take position to begin your attack run. Confirm.’

  While the Techmarine’s confirmation sounded from the comm, Belial adjusted the display settings and zoomed out for a wider view. Collating sensor sweeps from the Ravenwing to the north and south, the tactical metriculators presented the commander with a view of the battlefield only a few seconds old. If he was attacking over a narrower front, Belial would have witnessed the action by eye, and been able to respond even more quickly, but the undulating ground and mile-wide attack made that impossible. Instead he saw his forces from the signatures of their identity transponders and looked at enemies that were nothing more than augur returns and thermal responses.

  The main comm feed was a chatter of information as vehicle commanders and squad sergeants exchanged information and coordinated their attacks. The constant battle commentary was like a background hum, attracting his attention only when something out of the ordinary was reported. He would then spend a few seconds dealing with the issue before leaving his leaders at the front to carry out their orders as they saw fit.

  It was not Belial’s place to interfere with the close-range squad actions, but to provide an omniscient guiding hand: steering the entire assault in the desired direction, keeping an eye on the wide picture for emerging threats and opportunities.

  One such threat was growing in the outbuildings between the power station and the left flank of the attack. A battery of ork howitzers and mortars were tossing their shells up the ridge. The bombs were not strong enough to pose any genuine threat to the armoured hulls of the Rhinos, but as the transport rocked from another close blast, Belial did not want to take any chances. A lucky hit on a hatch or the breaking of a tread link would be enough to remove a whole squad from the fight.

  ‘Razorbacks, close and engage enemy artillery in grid omega-five. Keep them pinned down. Combat Squad Bellaphon, follow in and take up a position at grid omega-six. Confirm.’

  Belial waited for the responses before turning his attention to the other flank, where the Hammer of Judgement was fast approaching the teleporter opening. Since the Space Marines had arrived, a steady stream of orks had continued to arrive through the portal and were massing in a copse of trees to the south.

  The Predator’s rune flashed red in warning a moment before the commander, Brother Meledon, cut through the other comm traffic.

  ‘Engaged with anti-tank rockets from the south-east. Right sponson damaged, gunner unharmed. Request orders, brother-captain. Shall I push on to the last anti-air missile or pull back?’

  Belial made the decision in a moment; the advantage of clearing the airspace over the plant for the Thunderhawk outweighed the possible loss of a Predator.

  ‘Advance and engage your target, Meledon. Caliban’s Wrath, divert to provide flank support.’

  ‘Confirm, brother-captain. Hammer of Judgement moving in on last air-defence missiles.’

  ‘Confirm, brother-captain. Caliban’s Wrath engaging enemy in the woods with all weapons. Hammer of Judgement clear to advance.’

  Panning the display back to the left, Belial saw that the Razorbacks and combat squad he had sent forwards were doing a good job of suppressing the enemy artillery. It had been several seconds since the last shell had exploded around the Rhinos.

  ‘Hephaestus to Master Belial. On-station for attack run. Weapons armed. Targeting systems linked to Ravenwing spotters. Awaiting attack order.’

  ‘Confirm, Hephaestus. Validus, can you get a clear target signal on those transports to the north-east?’

  While he waited for the reply, the commander touched the screen and focussed on the two Predators. The Hammer of Judgement was rounding a ruined building and would have a clear view of the last anti-aircraft missile in a few seconds. The other tank was engaged in a furious firefight with the orks hiding amongst the short trees; Belial could picture the screaming heavy bolter rounds shredding orks and foliage, lascannon blasts splitting twisted trunks while wild rockets flew out of the depths.

  Belial reached a decision.

  ‘Master Belial to Hephaestus. Begin attack run. Primary targets designated by Ravenwing squadrons. Validus, can you confirm you have the ork transports in view?’

  ‘Apologies, brother-captain. There are two columns of ork vehicles to the north-east. Closest is less than one kilometre away, light vehicles only. Second is three kilometres away, two heavier transports and a battlewagon. Which do you wish to engage?’

  ‘Send the bike squadron to target the heavier vehicles for the gunship. Engage lighter vehicles with your land speeders. Confirm.’

  ‘Confirm, brother-captain. Bike squad despatched to target for gunship. Forming land speeder strike on approaching ork light vehicles.’

  With a detonation that Belial could hear through the thick hull of the Rhino, the ork missile carrier was destroyed. The elimination of the orks’ last air defence was confirmed over the comm channel by the Predator’s commander.

  ‘Withdrawing to primary fire position with Caliban’s Wrath to provide long-range support. Confirm, brother-captain.’

  Belial checked the display once more. The orks in the woods would have to wait to receive retribution until the Tactical squads could move in to clear them out: there was no point risking the Predators in the narrow confine of hills and buildings any longer.

  ‘Confirm, Caliban’s Wrath and Hammer of Judgement. Withdraw to provide fire support.’

  The momentum of the attack was building as Belial had foreseen. With all of his force now capable of playing its part, the time was swiftly arriving to push home the attack. The commander gave the display one last scan to ensure there was nothing amiss, and signalled the Thunderhawk.

  ‘Master Belial to Hephaestus. What is your time on target?’

  ‘Hephaestus to Belial. One hundred and five seconds until optimal firing range. Still awaiting target confirmation.’

  ‘Belial to Validus. Report status of bike squadron.’

  There was a pause while the Ravenwing leader consulted with the squad sergeant.

  ‘Validus to Brother Belial. Target acquisition in thirty seconds. Enemy vehicles now two-point-five kilometres away.’

  ‘Confirm, Brother Validus.’ As with the destruction of the air defences, it was time to pre-empt the probable result of the Thunderhawk attack. To delay further would risk losing the shock and impetus of the first assault. ‘Master Belial to all units. Commence phase three, general assault. Proceed to your designated attack points with all speed.’

  He stood up and slapped his driver on the shoulder.

  ‘Let’s get going, brother. It is time to push forwards.’

  ‘Confirm, brother-captain.’

  Belial pulled himself up to the cupola and threw open the hatch. His autosenses darkened as the commander emerged into the bright afternoon light from the artificial twilight of the Rhino’s interior. Taking a hold of the storm bolter’s grip, he checked the magazine and sighted on a cluster of rocks a few hundred metres away.

  With a lurch, the Rhino set off, rumbling down the ridgeside, tracks grating through the thin soil, engine throbbing. The transport hurtled over a rise of rock and crashed down on the far side, but Belial’s armour and innate balance allowed him to ride the violent movement without problem. Across narrow gorges and around boulders, the Rhino sped towards the orks, other transports flanking it two hundred metres away to the left and right.

  Belial looked up as Hephaestus’s Thunderhawk roared overhead, swooping onto the enemy reinforcements north-east of the attack. Fire rippled along the gunship’s wings a moment before four missiles streaked away to the north, leaving dark contrails cutting across the sky. The distant crack of the detonations echoed along the ridge a few seconds later.

  Fire from the right attracted Belial’s attention. The outermost Rhino had run into a mob of orks trying to sneak up a gulley to retake their earlier position. Storm bolter rounds sp
lit the air as the gunner unleashed a series of short salvoes. The Rhino slewed to a stop, access ramp slamming down even before it had finished moving. The squad within burst down the ramp, Brother Cademon at the front, flamer in hand. Fire licked through the scrub while the bark of bolters added to the crackle of flames and the pained bellows of the orks.

  ‘Keep moving forwards,’ Belial warned his warriors. ‘I want every squad in position within two minutes.’

  Just as the commander finished speaking he caught sight of a dark blur in the air. An instant later, something slammed into the front of the Rhino, showering Belial with paint and splinters of ceramite. The transport shuddered under the impact and bounced wildly over a rock as Brother Lephrael lost control for a moment. The vehicle skidded sideways down the slope, tracks churning up grass and mud.

  Belial looked back along the estimated trajectory of the shell. He saw what at first might be mistaken for a rubbish heap: piles of rags, discarded metal, bones and broken bits of machinery. From under one pile protruded the long barrel of a gun, smoke drifting from the muzzle.

  ‘Belial to company. Anti-tank weapon three hundred metres to the east. Suppressive fire.’

  The commander opened fire with the mounted storm bolter, loosing off single rounds in the direction of the anti-tank gun. Other bolts whirred against the field piece from the left and right.

  ‘Keep going,’ Belial told Lephrael. ‘Close the range.’

  A puff of smoke, a sharp crack and the scream of the shell speeding overhead were the only results of the orks’ next shot. Belial slapped his palm against the fire selector of the storm bolter, shifting the weapon into rapid-fire mode. In three-second bursts, he walked the salvo of bolts across the opening into the pit dug beneath the rubbish piles. He could see nothing of the results, save for the flashes of the bolt detonations.

  A distinctive thud broke the air from above: the battle cannon of the Thunderhawk circling high above. Belial detected the screech of the descending round just before the whole rubbish tip disappeared in a flash of fire and smoke.

  ‘Target destroyed,’ Hephaestus announced over the comm. ‘Hephaestus to company. Commencing first attack run on landing site. Do not proceed ahead of ascribed positions. Repeat, commencing aerial fire support on the landing site.’

  The Rhino sped forwards again under Lephrael’s guidance, cutting between two massive boulders. The ground was rapidly levelling. The first buildings of the geothermal complex were only two hundred metres away.

  The comm buzzed with squads reporting that they were in position. Firefights erupted to Belial’s left amongst a row of empty fuel tanks. From even further north, the distinctive blaze of plasma and the white trails of missiles cut the air: the Devastators were in position overlooking the power plant itself and providing cover fire.

  A hundred metres from his objective, Belial dropped back inside the Rhino. He glanced at the tac-display to confirm what he had seen from the cupola: phase three of the attack was well under way and progressing well. He turned to Charon and the other Space Marines in the main compartment.

  ‘Disembarking in thirty seconds. Ready weapons.’

  The Rhino rang with the sound of magazines being slapped into place and chainswords whirring as the bodyguard tested their weapons. Amongst the noises from within, Belial heard something rattling against the hull from without.

  ‘Small-arms fire, brother-captain,’ Lephrael assured him. ‘Stupid orks don’t know that bullets won’t do a thing to us.’

  ‘Where from?’ asked Belial. In a crouch, he moved up beside the driver and peered through the vision slit.

  ‘Two-storey building thirty degrees to the left, brother-captain.’

  There were at least a dozen orks at the windows of the building, muzzle flares flashing from their long tusks and red eyes. Belial turned back to the others.

  ‘Prepare for building breach. Ready grenades.’

  The commander had taken a step back towards the main compartment when Lephrael gave a shout. A red light winked on the console in front of the driver.

  ‘Projectile detected!’

  Something heavy slammed into the right flank of the Rhino, the explosion tilting the transport off one track for a moment. Lephrael wrestled at the controls, hissing curses.

  ‘By the Lion, what was that?’ Belial demanded, hunching over the tactical display.

  All he could see was a thermal register seventy metres away, between two low buildings. He hauled himself back up to the command cupola and looked for himself. In the shadow of the alleyway was an ork Dreadnought-class walker, a rack of missiles mounted on one shoulder, a power claw hanging from the other. It advanced into the light as another rocket slid down a feed rail into the launcher.

  Boots clanging loudly, Belial dropped into the Rhino. He punched the activation rune of the transport’s hunter-killer missile system. Above him, next to the cupola, the firing case of the launcher extended itself from the hull. Belial flipped the switch that opened the launcher, while his other hand turned on the artificial eye mounted into the missile.

  The feed fuzzed into life on a small screen above the controls just in time to show the smoke trail of another rocket passing a few metres in front of the Rhino, which was still speeding towards the ork-held building.

  Belial swivelled the launcher until he caught a glimpse of the ork walker stomping forwards. He thumbed the fire switch and the Rhino rattled as the hunter-killer missile streaked away. With deft movements, Belial guided the hunter-killer towards the Dreadnought, eyes fixed to the small circle of the pict-feed. The missile curved around and straightened under Belial’s command; with his final touch the view dipped towards the hip joint of the machine.

  Pipes, cables and pistons came closer and closer on the screen, and then the display went dark. The detonation of the missile sounded through the open hatch above. Belial pulled himself up to check the results of the hit. Bullets from the orks in the building pattered around him as he watched the Dreadnought topple to one side, leaking thick smoke and oil, one leg sheared away, the rocket launcher driving point-first into the dirt.

  Seizing hold of the storm bolter, Belial turned the weapon on the orks holding the upper storey of the building, sending steady bursts through the broken windows. The Rhino ground to a stop a few metres from the remnants of the main doors, one of the pair hanging haphazardly from a single hinge, the other nowhere to be seen, probably stolen.

  Charon and the command squad needed no order from Belial to deploy. The rear hatch slammed down and the Rhino rocked from side to side as the six Space Marines charged out. Belial fired off another burst and then pulled himself fully out of the cupola. Unholstering his plasma pistol and drawing his sword, he ran to the side of the Rhino and jumped down, landing in a puff of dry dirt, feet sinking into the ground.

  ‘Sons of Caliban, with me!’ he called to the others, plunging into the shadowy interior of the building.

  Tactical acumen swept aside by natural ferocity, the orks abandoned their superior position in the upper floor and raced down the stairs to confront the Space Marines. Belial fired a ball of plasma into the mass of green-skinned beasts pouring down the steps, while the commander’s honour guard fanned out around him, bolters and plasma gun thundering.

  There were more foes than Belial had realised as the green mass continued to crash down on him: at least two dozen orks, three of them huge specimens that towered over the others.

  Charon dashed past the Dark Angels master, force sword in both hands, his whole body swathed in a mist of blue and black. The orks’ bullets melted into mist as they touched the Librarian, leaving a trailing glitter of metal particles in his wake. He swept his sword effortlessly through the first alien, parting it from waist to shoulder in one blow. Charon caught a jagged axe-head on the guard and twisted his wrists, sending the point of the gleaming blade through the ork’s face.

  Not to be outdone, Belial sprinted into the mass of greenskins, pistol spitting another blue
blast. He opened the throat of an ork with a short cut, barged aside its falling body and rammed his sword through the chest of a second. He smashed the pommel into the face of a third, sending it reeling back into its companions.

  One of the ork leaders shouldered its way through the throng, a bloodstained cleaver-like blade in both hands. As it swung the cumbersome weapon back, Belial pounced, slashing his power sword into the beast’s ribs, the shining blade parting muscle and bone and internal organs in one cut. Though grievously wounded, the ork was not down. Its cleaver swung at Belial’s head with deadly momentum.

  An instant before the blow struck, the captain’s displacer field activated. Belial’s stomach lurched as he was shunted into warp space; for a fraction of a second he was surrounded by a cacophony of wailing, screaming and shouting while his limbs shuddered with unnatural energy and his eyes danced with swirling light of every colour.

  Reality reasserted itself with a popping of air pressure. Belial found himself a few metres back towards the doors. His senses took half a second to adjust, by which time he was already pounding across the bare stone floor, sword raised for the next attack.

  Charon was surrounded by a pile of gently smoking body parts. An ork ducked beneath the Librarian’s sword and lunged at his groin with a serrated dagger. The blade scraped harmlessly from Charon’s armour. He let go of his sword with one hand and grabbed the ork’s outstretched wrist in his fist. Psychic energy snarled across the ork, skin charring, fat bubbling as the psychic power fizzed along tendons and blood vessels. The greenskin collapsed, convulsing wildly, steam rising from melted eyes, frothing blood pouring from its nose and ears.

  Charon kicked the corpse aside and took up his sword in both hands, ready for the next foe.