Space Marine Battles - the Novels Volume 1

by Warhammer 40K

  Back at his vigil point, Tigurius had blood in his mouth and a tremor in his limbs.

  Maintain focus…

  Below, grey mountains and cities became monuments of emerald and obelisks of necron devotion and servitude.

  Death…

  The wind promised a certain end should he let the green light touch him.

  Only light can outrun light and in so doing bend the laws of time. That revelation prompted a response. Tigurius fashioned his arrowing form into a beam, pure and focused and so thin it left the baleful sun in its wake. The crouching form of his physical body loomed before him, solace for his mind at last.

  Tigurius came to swathed in a feverish sweat. It took a moment to regulate his breathing, another to ensure he had awakened in the physical world and this reality he inhabited was not merely verisimilitude.

  The vision was beyond his grasp. It lay behind the emerald sun and the Herald was preventing him from seeing it. With that obstacle alone, Tigurius might have triumphed but, combined with the darkness shroud, it was near impossible. He did witness something, however. The snuffed-out light – it was a glimpse of the future. Prescience was guiding him to something, some event yet to transpire. It must be close; otherwise he would not have seen it. Somehow, the keening he had heard was a component of that possible future.

  Like the vision, he knew deep down that it was important. That he must act. Though his limbs protested, Tigurius got to his feet and let his instincts pull him. The mountains beckoned. Drifts that had yet to fall upon the lower regions swathed the peaks in a storm. He headed upwards, leaving his battle-brothers behind. They were deep in the valley, monitoring the Thanatos Hills. Urgency governed the Librarian’s step – there was no time to summon the other Ultramarines, no time at all.

  Praxor advanced through the ruins slowly and carefully. He crushed something underfoot and looked down.

  It was a bent piece of flat metal, frozen solid and cracked down the middle. Frost-edged letters were described on it in Gothic script.

  ‘Arcona City,’ said Etrius. His voice was low and sombre as if he were touring a mausoleum.

  In many respects, he was.

  Praxor assembled the fractured letters into a more meaningful arrangement and nodded. Kellenport really was the last human bastion on Damnos.

  The Ultramarines line was well dispersed. Each of the cobalt giants kept a wary eye on the way ahead, watching the ruins for hidden threats. According to reports, too many had already fallen to necron ambush. Sicarius led from the front, as he always did, his Lions of Macragge alongside him. The stretched battle line was a deliberate strategy from the captain. Not only did it make it easier for the Ultramarines to pick their way through the rough ground, they’d also present a harder target for the mass fire of the necrons. Once the storm hit, it would present the illusion that a larger force was arrayed against them too. Engagement would happen soon, but they kept the pace even so Atavian and Tirian could keep up.

  The Devastator squads occupied one end of the line. Heavy bolters and plasma cannons were low-slung on their cumbersome rigs. Too weighty for a human to bear alone, the Space Marines hefted them with relative ease. The missile launchers and lascannons, being shoulder-mounted, were pointed down and steadied by the gunner’s other hand. Ponderous but implacable, the Dreadnoughts marched with the Devastators. Their cannons were simply a part of their bodies, whirring and auto-targeting as they scanned the immediate area. As soon as battle was joined, these heavy guns would close ranks and present a concentrated volley of fire to hold the necrons’ attention.

  Just as Sicarius had predicted, the storm was rolling in. It began a half-kilometre back, the incessant ice flurries getting thicker and faster by the minute. There came a sweeping veil of finer snow in their wake, fogging the air and veneering the forlorn ruins still further.

  Praxor moved on. ‘Tactica briefings suggest there was a garrison here at the start of the war,’ he said to Aristaeus down the comm-feed.

  ‘There was… before the city was left to rot in the wake of necron victory. Look at the earth banks around the ruins, brother-sergeant.’

  Praxor did. What he had initially mistaken for emplacements and earthworks, he now saw for what they truly were. Fused by ice to the very bulwarks they were sworn to protect were hundreds upon hundreds of Guardsmen, frozen forever in the moments of their deaths.

  The necrons had turned this once proud Imperial city into a bombed-out mess. It was a grim place now, inhabited by ghosts and their terrified memories. Had he been anything other than Adeptus Astartes, Praxor might have quailed at this realisation.

  ‘Apparently, Arcona was once a key city on Damnos,’ added Aristaeus.

  Praxor’s mood was as cold as the weather. ‘Looks like every other ruin on this hollow world.’

  They were making steady progress across a roadway that had suffered least in the bombardment. Only part of its surface was cratered and it was still navigable. The quiet gave Praxor too much time with his thoughts. Even the thickening snowfall failed to smother them and he railed against the doubts plaguing him.

  I am Adeptus Astartes. I am without fear, unaffected by doubt!

  His misgivings weren’t so easily silenced, though. Captain Sicarius was an incredible warrior, the greatest Praxor had known. In his presence, a warrior of Ultramar felt invincible, became capable of feats even a Space Marine would think impossible. He had… an aura about him that was undeniable. Yet he was relentless, even reckless. Heedless of casualties or cost, he would pursue his plans and vendettas until they were achieved or he was dead. In a perverse way, it was this obsessive, mercurial nature that made him the hero he was. It was also why he garnered voices of dissent within the Chapter.

  Praxor was torn. He had not believed he’d ever think this way, but here on Damnos… this was beyond what the Second had ever faced before. He was not superstitious but Praxor couldn’t deny the sense of foreboding that was building steadily within him. He didn’t like the sensation; it felt almost treasonous.

  Less able to pick their way through the denser rubble, the Dreadnoughts had shifted position in the battle line to walk along the roadway. It brought Agrippen close to Praxor and he nodded to the ancient warrior when he joined them.

  Ahead, the Lions grew distant as they forged off with their captain. Sicarius was ever eager to be the first to battle and kept a close counsel with his command squad. Save for Argonan, who had died in the landings, he had yet to lose a single one of his chosen Ultramarines.

  ‘They are a breed apart from the rest of us.’ It came out more ruefully than Praxor had intended.

  ‘And yet you aspire to join their ranks.’

  Praxor glanced at Agrippen but the hulking Dreadnought was unreadable. The words simply emerged from his vox-speakers as fact. ‘No. I am proud to serve as the sergeant of the Shieldbearers. It is my honour and oath to the Chapter.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it, brother. But I know your service record. You and the Shieldbearers are almost always leading the line, the first into any engagement, always at the forefront of our assaults. Some of a more cynical nature might suggest you were trying to prove something.’

  Insulted, Praxor’s voice took on a hard edge that he was careful to monitor in the face of the venerable Agrippen. ‘Only my unswerving loyalty and dedication to the Ultramarines.’

  ‘Do you think that is in question, brother?’

  ‘Is this really the time for such a conversation, on the cusp of battle as we are?’

  ‘Tell me of a better time to discuss honour and courage than before going into war against our enemies,’ said Agrippen. ‘But you are avoiding my question.’

  Praxor left a long pause. He did not find the answer easy. ‘Perhaps. There are times when I have questioned.’

  ‘At Ghospora, a campaign over a century old.’ It was a statement, not a suggestion.

  ‘You of all of us, venerable one, should know that time is immaterial when concerning matters of honour.
’

  ‘Aye, I do. It displeased you that your captain left you behind?’

  ‘It stunned and humbled me,’ Praxor admitted. ‘It felt as if I were being punished, though I did not know why.’

  ‘Humility is as important a lesson as learning how to wield a gladius properly or fight in a squad with your brothers.’

  Praxor nodded and saw the wisdom in the Dreadnought’s words.

  The roadway was coming to an end. They were deep into Arcona City now and the drifts were coming down in swathes. Even through the blizzard, Praxor could see the necron phalanxes manoeuvring to intercept them. It wouldn’t be long.

  ‘Before we go to battle, I must ask you something, Agrippen,’ Praxor said, voicing his mind as he had wanted to since they’d made planetfall.

  ‘Speak. I shall answer if I can, brother.’

  ‘Are you here to watch for Agemman’s interests? Is what they say in the senate true?’

  ‘As all should do, I serve the Chapter alone and my Lord Calgar.’ Agrippen was stern but there was no hint of reproach in his modulated diction. ‘I possess the wisdom of centuries and all I see are two great heroes, dissimilar in method but equal in courage and honour.’

  ‘In the senate, I have heard talk from Agemman’s ambassadors of Sicarius overreaching himself.’

  ‘He is daring and innovative,’ Agrippen conceded.

  ‘But there is concern that this will go too far and of the consequences when it does.’

  ‘And how does our Lord Calgar respond to such concerns?’

  ‘He is not present. His voice is absent from proceedings.’

  ‘And what does that tell you, brother?’

  Humbled again in the time it takes to field-strip a bolter, Praxor decided he would speak less to Dreadnoughts in future. Their logic was as redoubtable as their armoured bodies. ‘That I should not listen to Chapter politics.’

  ‘And what do you think, Praxor Manorian? Do you think Cato Sicarius, your captain, overreaches himself?’

  Praxor’s gaze went to the Lions out of reflex. Sicarius was as fine a warrior and a captain as there was in the Chapter. Perhaps he was even the best they had.

  ‘Until now, no.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘He does things, formulates tactics and executes plans that I could never even conceive of.’

  ‘That is why he is captain of the Second. It’s why his legend will endure long after he is dust. But you haven’t answered my question again.’

  Praxor bowed his head. His answer was forestalled by Sicarius’s voice blasting over the comm-feed.

  ‘Ultramarines! We are engaging!’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sporadic gauss-fire erupted across the ruins, forcing the Space Marines to hunch over. It kicked up snow and fragmented rubble but missed the Ultramarines who advanced steadily, returning fire. Bolter flashes lit up the icy gloom in retaliatory bursts and spread the necrons’ aim across the line so that no one part of it was ever under heavy barrage.

  A blanket of snow and ice rolled over the battlefield, carried by a biting wind. Neither necron nor Ultramarine felt it, their metal bodies and their armour protecting them, but it made targeting more difficult.

  ‘Holding positions!’ shouted Praxor, prompted by a rune-signal on his retinal display. The Shieldbearers adopted firing postures. Farther up the roadway, the Lions had slowed to allow the rest of the company to catch up.

  Sustained bolter fire came from the more advanced tactical squads, punctuated by plasma bursts and missile expulsions. At the end of the line, the Devastators unleashed their guns. A heavy bolter salvo filled the air with the dense chug-chank of high-velocity shells. Missiles boomed from their tubes. Plasma and lascannons spat incandescent death in a series of bright lances. The storm made it difficult to tell easily, but the necron frontliners were being torn apart by the fusillade.

  ‘Keep it up,’ ordered Daceus, shouting between bolter bursts. ‘Make them pay for every damned step.’

  It was as intense as any battlefield Praxor had fought on. His warrior-spirit soared. The line was dug in well, spread thin and hurting the necron phalanxes. But they were not like most enemies and could absorb a lot of punishment. Even obscured by the fog, their numbers were staggering too.

  ‘Seems we have poked the nest,’ offered Krixous.

  ‘And they respond to the threat,’ Praxor replied, pointing. He opened the comm-feed. ‘Captain, monolith rerouting on our position.’

  He saw Sicarius turn towards the floating pyramid of living metal moving slowly into a flanking position.

  ‘Maintain fire,’ he said. ‘We need to draw them on.’

  But the necrons had stopped advancing and occupied static positions. A small cohort of elites had joined the raider constructs, their heavier fire swelling the barrage.

  Praxor registered a couple of hits on his tactical display but so far no red icons. Several Space Marines were at amber status – injured but still effective.

  Elianu Trajan added his voice to the battle, ‘Repel them, brothers. Bring down the soulless xenos, hated in all its forms. Do not relent. There is no forgiveness, no quarter. Guilliman is watching!’

  He couldn’t see the Chaplain – the fog was too thick now – but Praxor noted his position on the tactical map, accompanying Atavian’s Devastators. He was advancing swiftly: soon he’d be with the tactical squads. Praxor could almost feel his wrath already.

  ‘Pour it on!’ yelled Daceus. All the while the shadow of the monolith was getting closer. Still the necrons took the hammering, refusing to move, refusing to commit their command nodes to the fight.

  ‘Do they know our plan, captain?’ he asked over the clangour.

  Sicarius was adamant. ‘Impossible. They are not engaging because of the monolith.’ Daceus heard the snarl behind his captain’s battle-helm. So far, the captain’s objectives were eluding him. The storm was worsening, though. Visibility was weak to poor. If they were going to break off then now was the time.

  ‘We need to destroy that thing. Do you still have your melta bombs, sergeant?’

  Daceus let off a burst of bolter fire then nodded.

  Sicarius holstered his plasma pistol. ‘Give them up.’

  Handing them over, Daceus said, ‘What are you going to do?’

  Mag-locking the additional melta bombs to his armour, Sicarius replied, ‘Take out that monolith. Gaius, I’ll need your blade.’

  The company champion bowed his head. ‘I am yours to command, my lord.’

  ‘Captain–’ Daceus began.

  ‘It is my duty, sergeant,’ he said, and his posture took on a nurturing look. ‘I know you would throw yourself into the hells of the warp for me, Daceus. You are more than merely my sergeant – you are my ally, my friend.’

  Daceus saluted by slamming his fist against his chestplate. ‘Courage and honour, Cato.’

  ‘Courage and honour, Retius.’ It had been many years since the two had exchanged first-name greetings, and never before on the battlefield. There was something about it, and this war, that Daceus did not like. It felt significant in a way, an ending of sorts. It did not portend well.

  Sicarius showed none of his sergeant’s misgivings. ‘You have command. See the plan out.’

  Then, together with Gaius, he ran into the fog.

  Praxor saw two cobalt figures running from the Lions’ position. With the adverse weather, he couldn’t be sure who they were.

  ‘Brother-sergeant?’

  ‘I don’t know, Etrius. Maintain fire.’

  Sergeant Daceus’s voice crackled over the feed. ‘All flanking forces, converge on the Lions’ lead. We move now!’

  The rest of the command squad broke off from the battle line, headed in the opposite direction to the pair of Ultramarines.

  ‘Temple of Hera,’ breathed Praxor. ‘It was Captain Sicarius.’

  ‘Guilliman’s breath, what is he doing?’ asked Krixous.

  Though he was saying it, Praxor could
still not quite believe it. ‘He is living up to his legend, and going to destroy the monolith.’

  Etrius was incredulous. ‘Alone?’

  The reply sounded hollow even to Praxor. ‘Gaius Prabian is with him.’

  ‘Make their sacrifice a deed of honour!’ boomed Agrippen, plasma cannon pulsing. ‘He is Cato Sicarius, High Suzerain, Captain of the Second and Master of the Watch. On this field, he is Guilliman’s sword; we are all Guilliman’s sword.’ The Dreadnought had regrouped with the Devastators and was intensifying fire along with Ultracius.

  Praxor found his purpose refocused after the ancient warrior’s words. Sicarius’s reckless bravery would not be in vain. In his retinal display, he saw Indomitable was moving. Not to be outdone by Sergeant Solinus, Praxor led the Shieldbearers after them. As they joined up with the Lions, his gaze met Trajan’s.

  ‘He has the courage of Invictus and the guile of Galatan. Banish your doubts, brother-sergeant.’

  They were moving too swiftly for a long reply, so Praxor merely nodded. Still the necron phalanxes weren’t moving, content to hold and defend while their ponderous war engine got into position. If the monolith managed to open up its power matrix in a singular beam-pulse, the plan was finished. Broken off from its phalanx, the machine was fairly isolated but attacking such a thing beggared belief.

  ‘Stay on me! Move as one!’ Daceus was keeping the line intact, marshalling the tactical squads into position so they could prosecute Sicarius’s plan.

  They deviated far from the roadway, which was now wholly occupied by the Devastators and Dreadnoughts. The necrons’ reaction to the barrage was feeding more mechanoids into the grinder. Their supplies were endless, their sense of self-preservation obsolete, despite the strange cries that came from each mechanoid as it was struck down. Phase-outs were happening constantly but just as many of the creatures self-repaired and returned to the fight.