Space Marine Battles - the Novels Volume 1

by Warhammer 40K

  As he entered the quiet, sanctified space of the Cassar’s Reclusiam, he thought of the final trials ahead, and knew there were many prayers he must offer today.

  Epistolary Deguerro’s personal serf, Ufrien Kofax, waited anxiously outside the Reclusiam for the Chapter Master to emerge. Every second seemed like an hour, but Kofax would wait as long as he had to. He could not enter, of course. That would mean death. Instead, he turned his eyes to the portal’s etched surfaces and saw images of Chapter heroes overcoming all manner of foes. Disgusting alien and daemonic forms lay in heaps at the feet of armoured giants. The giants stood with weapons aloft, holy light blazing in stylised sunbursts from the halos encircling their helmeted heads.

  Heavy footsteps announced the approach of one such giant now. The Chapter Master’s prayers had ended.

  Kofax straightened his robes and prepared to give his message.

  Minutes later, Pedro Kantor found himself seated on a great stone chair in the speaking chamber of the Librarium, listening to Deguerro and his brothers as they updated him with everything they had gleaned from the warp so far. The words were so unexpected, so uplifting, that the Chapter Master’s body actually went numb.

  Hope, he thought. Slim, granted, but hope nonetheless. Praise Dorn that we stood against them this long.

  ‘A great many, my lord,’ said Deguerro, a rare grin brightening his typically dour features. ‘We detected the psychic bow waves of over two thousand ships.’

  ‘Two thousand?’ echoed Kantor. ‘And you are certain these are Imperial ships?’

  ‘We were not certain at first,’ said a Librarius Codicier. It was Ruthio Terraro. ‘At first we thought it might be another ork wave, and a big one at that, though an increasing number of their smaller long-range ships have been detected leaving the system in the last few months.’

  Why this might be the case hardly needed voicing aloud. The orks believed they had won here. Snagrod would be sending advance scouts out into the warp to search for other challenges now. That he was so assured of his victory here was further insult to the Chapter and all it stood for.

  ‘But they are not orks,’ said Kantor. Despite the burgeoning hope in his chest, he knew he had to be absolutely sure. ‘You are sure you are not mistaken? Could they be other xenos? The eldar perhaps? Those capricious cowards have been known to observe the battles of other races from the edge of the combat zone.’

  ‘It is not the eldar, lord,’ said Deguerro. ‘The ships are indeed human and, in the minutes before you arrived, we received confirmation that they are loyalists. The Crusader is among them. Dorn and the Emperor have answered our prayers. The Imperium has come at last.’

  ‘How did you detect them?’ Kantor asked, craning forward. ‘I was under the impression that the ork psykers were so numerous that their presence somehow smothered your… gifts.’

  ‘True, my lord,’ said Deguerro. ‘They are perhaps even more numerous now than before. But there are powerful psykers aboard these Imperial ships, several dozen of them registered as alpha-class, and they are doing all they can to hold the psychic channels open. There are Space Marine Librarians with them, too, from half a dozen Chapters. They have come with their battle-brothers, all swearing oaths of succour in our time of need. Even the psychic noise of the orks cannot entirely drown out our communication with them. We have been able to engage in limited two-way communication.’

  ‘And what have they told you?’ Kantor asked.

  Deguerro nodded to a Codicier named Thracio, whose fingers activated a series of runes set in the armrest of his own stone chair. In the air above them, a shimmering, ghostly solar system appeared. Its two suns, one large and yellow, one tiny and white, spun slowly in the centre. Kantor recognised Rynn’s World and her two moons, Dantienne and Eloix. She was the third planet out, situated perfectly in the middle of her star’s life zone, much like Holy Terra herself.

  Hololithic green triangles appeared above her cloud-masked surface. These were the orks’ ships at anchor in high orbit. There were still thousands of them.

  Deguerro directed Kantor’s attention to the orbital plane of the Rynnstar system’s outermost planet, Phraecos, a barren, moonless world with a surface of frozen methane. Just within the hololithic ring of the planet’s orbital path, a formation of glowing blue triangles flickered into existence, attendant streams of digital data spooling through the air beside them.

  ‘Two thousand two hundred and sixteen warp-capable ships,’ said Deguerro, ‘and nothing smaller than a Dauntless-class light cruiser. There are several Space Marine battle-barges, but the main bulk of the fleet’s firepower is comprised of that aboard the Imperial Navy’s Emperor- and Retribution-class battleships. There are four each of these, a significant commitment from Segmentum Headquarters.’

  Kantor looked again at the swarm of triangles representing the orks’ fleet around Rynn’s World. He thought for a moment, then said, ‘This Imperial force is enough to break through and land troops, but it is not enough to eliminate the enemy fleet outright.’

  ‘True,’ said Deguerro. ‘But we have been assured that further support is on the way.’

  ‘To arrive when, exactly?’ Kantor asked.

  There was an uncomfortable pause before Codicier Thracio answered, ‘We cannot be sure. Best estimates say two days from now, but the warp…’

  Deguerro gestured again at the cluster of blue triangles above. ‘This fleet is under the command of Lord Admiral Prioce Galtaire the Fourth. His combat record is exemplary.’

  ‘I know of him,’ said Kantor, lifting a hand in interruption. ‘What I wish to know is whether he intends to keep his fleet at anchor outside ork striking range until the other elements arrive. Our need for support here on the ground is desperate.’

  ‘He knows this,’ said Deguerro. ‘The fleet is moving in-system as we speak. Naturally, we wished to consult with you before coordinating further action.’

  Kantor rose from his stone chair, and stood eyeing his psychic brothers.

  He thought of Eustace Mendoza, and of how much he missed him, of how comforting the presence of the Master of the Librarius would have been in recent days. Tomasi, too, should have been here.

  ‘I regret how short we must cut this,’ said Kantor, ‘but I must attend a session of the Upper Rynnhouse, and I am already late. The ministers will be overjoyed when I share your news. Spread word among our brothers. Let them know the pendulum of fate is, at last, on the verge of swinging our way once more.’

  The Librarians stood as one and saluted.

  ‘By your command, lord,’ said Deguerro.

  Kantor smiled briefly at him, then turned and left, his pace quick, his boots ringing on stone.

  Three

  The Upper Rynnhouse, Zona Regis, New Rynn City

  The chamber erupted into cheers and applause. One watching all the congratulatory backslapping, handshaking and even hugging could easily have imagined that the siege was over and the war was won.

  It was far from it.

  Kantor watched them behind the golden lectern. The ministers did not seem to register that the fleet would still have to fight its way through the greenskins’ orbital blockade. Neither did they seem to care that it was still many hours out from the planet. He let them revel in the moment, knowing reality would come down hard on them soon enough. He had seen them eroded over the last eighteen months, proud nobility turned to lifeless husks convinced of their impending deaths. It was he who had ordered them to release their servants so that they might be conscripted into the militia. It was he who had ordered the nobles’ personal stores and stockhouses raided, and the foodstuffs pooled with those of the rest of the city, to be rationed out in accordance with emergency Munitorum law.

  Fighters eat first.

  How they had railed against that! The commissars had been forced to make a few examples. Those who had most openly and vocally challenged martial law had been publicly flogged. It was the first time any noble had received capital punishme
nt in over six hundred years.

  Kantor had not attended the flogging, but he approved. These were times of war. Those who did not adapt were destined to die.

  He thought of his own efforts to adapt to all that had happened. From leading a force of over a thousand glorious warriors, he had been left with only three hundred and eighteen. Surviving the trek from the Hellblade Mountains all the way across the continent to the planetary capital, he had been reunited with much of his First and Second Companies, not to mention squads from the Ninth and Tenth Companies present in support. The whole Chapter had gone from being a lethal interstellar strike-force to a desperate remnant under constant siege. How had he adapted? Had he, in fact, changed at all?

  He was sure he had, but his line of thought was abruptly broken when a voice burst through on his comm-link’s emergency channel. It was Cortez.

  ‘Damn it, Pedro,’ he rasped. ‘Are you there? Can you hear me?’

  Kantor turned away from the jubilant politicians and pressed a finger to the vox-bead in his ear. He always wore the tiny mechanism while his helmet was removed.

  ‘I can hear you, brother,’ he said.

  ‘I heard word of the approaching fleet,’ said Cortez. His voice crackled with static, the transmission hampered by the thick walls of the chamber. ‘But the universe is cruel. Aid comes too late for us, old friend.’

  Kantor was about to demand an explanation when he felt a shudder travel up through the chamber floor. Then another. And another, slow and rhythmic like the groggy footsteps of a newly-awakened god.

  ‘No,’ he breathed.

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ said Cortez. ‘The Gargants walk!’

  ‘Meet me in the Strategium,’ Kantor snapped, then he cut the link and strode out from behind the podium, crossing the thick red carpet of the central aisle at speed. Some of the lords and ladies moved to intercept him, their faces still glowing with joy.

  Kantor scowled at them, the snarl on his features making them recoil.

  ‘Move!’ he barked. ‘Get out of my way.’

  He did not stop to explain himself. He left them to stare, stunned into silence, eyes following his armoured back as he passed beyond the wide gold and ebonwood doors.

  Only now did the members of the Upper Rynnhouse notice the shivering and shaking of the chandeliers above them. They felt growing vibrations travel up through the floor, up through their legs.

  They looked at each other, joy giving way to dark apprehension. No one remembered the Silver Citadel shaking like this. Not ever.

  They streamed through the doors in a brightly coloured tide, making for the closest antechambers which boasted balconies. Deep down, they already knew what they would see, or at least they suspected, though none wanted to believe it.

  Through the pall of smoke and airborne pollutants, vast figures moved in the distance, figures with great angular shoulders and arms of clustered weaponry, figures with horned heads and great skirts of impenetrable armour. Their huge round eyes glowed a baleful red, piercing the airborne murk that still veiled them. The air shook with the noise of their sputtering, fume-spewing engines.

  There were six of them in all, and the whole planet seemed to tremble with every crushing step they took.

  Ministers fainted, both men and women, falling to the balcony floor among the legs of their fellows. Others sank to their knees, crying out in despair. Others were too numb to react. They stood frozen, their unblinking eyes locked to the gargantuan waddling figures in the distance.

  Maia Cagliestra was one of these. She saw that the end had come. The Imperial Fleet would find only ruins, if they made it through the blockade at all. Not even her beloved Crimson Fists, in whom she had never lost faith, could do anything to change that now.

  She stood with the others looking out at their doom, weeping silently, nothing left to hold on to.

  Four

  The Cassar, Zona Regis, New Rynn City

  Kantor entered the Cassar only minutes after leaving the Upper Rynnhouse chambers, but he did not go straight to the Strategium. First, he made a detour to the Librarius and ordered them to put him in contact with Lord Admiral Galtaire’s fleet at once.

  Some minutes later, a fragile psychic link was established and updates were given in both directions. Kantor reported the movement of the Gargants, impressing the increased desperation of their situation on the lord admiral. If the fleet didn’t get here soon, there would be no one left alive to assist. Brother Deguerro, locked into a trance, features twisted painfully with the effort, transmitted the Chapter Master’s words while the other Librarians lent their own power to maintaining and securing the connection. There could be no doubt that the orks, too, had detected the Imperial fleet. The enemy ships were already moving to intercept. If the Imperial fleet could outflank them, could just get around them somehow, they might still be able to make a difference.

  Lord Admiral Galtaire, speaking through his most powerful astropath, expressed grave reservations, but he was not about to let a Chapter like the Crimson Fists become extinct while his pride and joy, the flagship Septimus Astra, was so close. He swore an oath, then and there, that he would succeed or die trying.

  It wouldn’t be as simple as slipping around the ork blockade, of course. Galtaire needed those already on the ground to do something for him, and Kantor’s blood ran cold as he heard what it was.

  The Crimson Fists would need to retake New Rynn space port.

  Securing that facility was the only chance they had. It was large enough on which to land heavy craft, including carrier-shuttles belonging to the Legio Titanicus, close enough to facilitate the immediate launch of Marauder bombers which would fly to the aid of the Silver Citadel, and armed with a defence grid capable of protecting the reinforcements as they flew in… if the orks hadn’t dismantled it already.

  After almost eighteen months of protecting the city walls, of guarding the gates to an ever-dwindling stronghold, Kantor and his Crimson Fists would have to go out and face the horde after all. They would have to cross ork territory filled with impossible numbers of enemy troops and all the weaponry at their disposal.

  They would have to infiltrate and secure the spaceport.

  The odds of success were laughable, but, if they didn’t try, they were dead already.

  Of that, there was no doubt in Pedro Kantor’s mind.

  The atmosphere inside the Strategium was charged and tense. Cortez had done as ordered. He had gathered as many senior members of the Chapter as were left within the walls that protected them. Techmarines, Apothecaries, Librarians, Chaplains, Crusade Company veterans, all were represented. Kantor laid the situation out before them.

  Cortez felt his blood surge in his veins as he listened.

  At last, he thought. The moment has come. Blade against blade, fist against fist, armour splashed with the blood of our enemies – if we’re to die, by Dorn, let it be a worthy one. I’ve waited for this. I’ve wanted this since the day we got here. Static defence be damned. Finally, it is time to do what we do best.

  With supporting information and tactical hololiths provided by Brother Anais, the most senior Techmarine present, Kantor briefed them on exactly what was needed of them.

  ‘It must be done as quickly as we can manage it,’ he said. ‘The first objective, naturally, will be to cover the ground between here and the spaceport limits. It is well that the city underworks were never collapsed, because they are our only hope of getting to the spaceport alive. Our Terminator squads have held them for months, choking them with ork dead that sought to sneak under our guard. We will need flamer and melta units up front to clear the tunnels of the xenos dead. Almost sixty kilometres of tunnel between us and the spaceport... We may find ourselves engaged along the way. Again, it is our Terminator squads that are best suited to lead us through. Rogo Victurix will coordinate this phase of the operation.’

  Kantor nodded to the senior Techmarine, Brother Anais, and, a second later, the air over the table flickered to show an
angular network of long, glowing tubes. These were the underworks, and every Fist in the room committed them to memory while the Chapter Master looked over the ebonwood table at Rogo, whose eyes were bright with enthusiasm for the task. ‘Speed is key, my brother,’ said Kantor. ‘Push fast and push hard. The Gargants will take between four and six hours to reach the Silver Citadel, and the void shields will hold the people safe for some time after that, but we have no idea exactly how long. We have to retake the spaceport fast.’

  ‘Our Terminator squads know the underworks back to front, lord,’ said Victurix, his voice a gravelly rasp. ‘Trust in us.’

  Kantor did.

  Again he nodded to Anais, and the Techmarine’s fingers flickered over a hololith control panel. There was a burst of green static above the table, and schematics of the spaceport appeared.

  It was the largest single facility on the planet, capable of accommodating three massive trans-orbital cargo lifters at a time, one on each of its specially constructed grav-suspended landing plates. Sub-orbital craft, both military and civilian, were served by several dozen airfields within the spaceport’s outer walls.

  It was a curious structure unlike any other building in the capital. Shrunk down to tabletop hololith size, it resembled three upturned bowls clustered together around a triad of slim spikes. These spikes housed the spaceport control towers, including the control rooms for the communication and defence systems. It was these, more than any other part of the spaceport, that Kantor and his Fists needed to secure.

  ‘Every able-bodied battle-brother we have will be going in,’ said the Chapter Master, ‘with the exception of our Dreadnought brothers, who are simply too big to negotiate the tunnels. Instead, they will stay here to protect the Silver Citadel, fighting from the walls alongside the Rynnsguard and the militias. The people will draw great strength and comfort from their presence, I’m sure of it.’