by Danie Ware
‘Or they’re a warning, testing our mettle.’ The canoness’ tone was wry. ‘Either way, the enemy knows that we’re on the move, and it knows where we are – we must maintain full alertness. Is the roadway compromised, Sister?’
‘No, milady,’ Mikaela said. ‘The damage is surface only and both kastelans are down. They’re fully submerged.’
‘You’re strong, Mikaela. He walks at your side.’ The edge in Ianthe’s voice was keen. ‘Sisters, we must still expect to encounter the foe. Keep all scanners open. And may our hymns bring fear to the heart of the heretek.’
The vox crackled again, and went silent.
In the semi-darkness of the back of the Repressor, Augusta commented to her squad, ‘Maintain your vigilance, my Sisters. The canoness is right – this is only the beginning.’
Standing in the back of the canoness’ Immolator, Sister Caia had heard every word.
She stood at Ianthe’s shoulder, the glittering organ pipes and the Order’s blood-red banner rising behind her. The heavy reinforced fabric occasionally buffeted her shoulders, as if to remind her of this new duty, of its weight and seriousness. The wind was dirty and full of grit, and everything stank of cordite and promethium.
Watching the rumble and muzzle-flash of the advancing tanks, Sister Caia gripped the edge of the cupola with one scarlet gauntlet, held her auspex in the other. She should be down there, alongside her Sisters. She should be waiting to disembark, to rage and fight and fire…
But no. She had to stand here, above it, like she was forbidden to take part. And something about this new role was giving her a terrible and growing apprehension…
Surely, not now, not after this long… They couldn’t… Could they?
Even as far back as the schola, Caia had never spoken of her childhood, her family. She’d only ever wanted to be a warrior.
I want to fight, to use my bolter for His glory, not…
Ianthe, however, had offered her only a basic briefing: Caia had previous experience of the Lycheate forces, and she was here to observe.
And that was all.
Dominica’s eyes! Caia thought to herself. If my calling has changed, would it be blasphemy to refuse?
Before the Immolator’s rumbling tracks the roadway was black and pitted, and stretched onwards as far as she could see. The kastelans had been stood like some sort of ancient guardians, one to either side of the road, and up to their knees in the water. The first one had been stubborn, refusing to fall despite significant damage – but its incendiary weapon had not penetrated the lead tank’s armour and it had proved no match for the Immolators’ heavy bolters. Both machines had been shot down and had splashed backwards, there to rot away.
The Order’s first skirmish had been flawlessly executed, and it had brought courage to Caia’s heart.
The canoness, however, was more thoughtful.
Ianthe said, ‘Sister Caia. What is your assessment of the confrontation?’
Without hesitation, Caia answered, ‘Its execution was precise, milady.’
‘And the enemy?’ Ianthe said.
‘Perimeter lookout. By their corrosion marks, they’ve been stood there for many years.’
‘Good.’ She said nothing else, just turned back to the road.
In the belly of the vehicle, Rhene, the old Hospitaller, cackled aloud. Her voice floated up to them, ‘You keep your eyes open, Sister Caia de Musa!’
Carefully, Caia answered her, ‘I will do my best, Sister.’
‘You’d better!’ The old Hospitaller cackled again. ‘You never know what He might have in store for you!’ She tapped the side of her nose, and then, snorting with humour, dissolved into random mutterings.
Caia’s tension twisted harder, becoming dark with fear.
No, they can’t do this to me… Not now… Not after this long…
The tanks rolled on.
Caia stayed silent, watching her auspex.
She must follow His calling, wherever it may lead.
Yet, deny it though she might, the thin smoke of her tension remained.
Lycheate’s metallic weather was capricious, and the wind had dropped as if torn from the sky. Around them, the water lay like dirty brass, still and flat. It stretched in all directions, oil-slicks gleaming like rainbows upon its surface; in places, the dead supports of fallen roadways emerged to spike at the sky. On the far horizon, the rusting metal silhouettes of the main factoria could just be seen, flashing in the light of the still-rising sun.
The ruin of this place was huge, and hollow, and it stank.
They rolled on. Slowly, the roadway broadened and became pocked with craters. More and more great scalloped bites had been taken from its edges, places where the ferrocrete had crumbled from the forces ranged about it. At one point, one of the supports had sagged completely and the road dipped almost to the waterline, though it remained intact.
Here, the canoness gave orders to slow and progress with caution. As the vehicles dared the dip she prayed ceaselessly, her words strong and urgent – almost as if the vehicles’ grumbling spirits could hear her, and take courage. Her eyes were constantly narrowed; she watched the company’s formation intently, alert for the ambush.
But there was nothing.
Rayos, Caia knew, had complete confidence in her own calculations. However the Sisters advanced, the heretek would surely have factored it into her data. So, when the ambush came, it would be in the most effective place.
The company traversed the dip successfully, and moved on.
As Prime rose to Terce, however, and to midmorning prayers, they closed on the first factorum.
Over the vox, Ianthe gave orders: ‘Distance: one mile. Slow to one-quarter speed, all scanners.’ As the vehicles slowed, she said, ‘Sister Caia?’
‘Milady?’
The clouds were clearing now, but the air was still bitterly cold. Before them, the roadway had become significantly wider, flattening onto an island and encircled by jagged, volcanic spikes. Here, there was a junction – one side of the road turned right, and stopped at a clearly defined building, with distinct, square corners of glittering basalt. The other side, the main route, curved left and continued onwards over the water.
The lines of the servohauler tracks likewise branched to follow both roads, and here, they gleamed with the oil of recent repair.
Clearly, this was where the enemy’s territory began.
The canoness said, ‘Your assessment please.’
Caia immediately responded: ‘They have cover, and the possibility of a flanking manoeuvre if we move forwards too far. If we are to be assaulted, then this is where that assault will take place.’
‘My thoughts also,’ Ianthe said. ‘Captain?’
‘Regrettably, canoness, the debris field is interfering with the Kyrus’ scans. I can see nothing in motion, but I fear I cannot give you more assurance.’
Ianthe nodded grimly, then said, over the vox, ‘Sister Mikaela. Situation?’
‘My auspex shows nothing. Roadway and waters all reading as empty.’
‘There may be a stationary force,’ Caia said. ‘The larger machines may be concealed by the water. Or perhaps something smaller and lighter, that the Kyrus would miss.’
‘I agree,’ Ianthe said. Then, over the vox, she said, ‘Company, weapons ready, all scanners. Sister Nikaya, hold your position, be ready to jump on my command.’
‘Milady,’ the Seraphim Superior answered.
The company slowed further, crawling along the road.
Below where Caia stood, Rhene began to sing the Litany, her old voice thin and querulous.
Unease prickled through Caia’s shoulders. The water glittered; the rocks were black as Ruin.
In her ten years with her squad, Caia had developed an almost instinctive knowledge of these situations, a real awarene
ss as to where the ambushes would occur…
Her heart pounded. The banner flapped at her, nudging her shoulders as if taunting her with her new role.
Rhene continued to sing.
And then…
There!
‘Contact! Multiple signals!’ shouted Mikaela.
Caia’s estimation had been correct.
Rayos, it seemed, had marshalled her first ambush.
Chapter Four
Sister Caia didn’t know what the machines were, but they were bipedal, long-legged and fast.
The tanks were crawling slowly around the long curve in the road, and the Immolators had almost reached the junction. The servohauler tracks gleamed with intent, and upthrust jags of black rock were scattered to each side of the roadway, like a hill-range of spikes that protected the road from the water.
Watching for the attack, the Sisters’ voices carried on the brown air – a bugle of challenge.
And with them, a powerful counterpoint to their rising harmony, the canoness prayed, her voice a strong contralto, broadcasting the Litany out through the vox-coder.
‘From the lightning and the tempest!’
The Immolators’ weapon-muzzles tracked back and forth, waiting.
Then Caia said, like a breath of realisation, ‘Got them!’
Her auspex had blipped contact – four, no five, moving dots, all hidden among the rocks. Simultaneously, the Immolators caught the motion. As the machines came at them, the tanks’ weapons were already aiming.
Caia had never seen their attackers before, but the canoness knew what they were.
‘Ironstriders.’ She said the word aloud, like a curse, then snapped into the vox, ‘Mikaela! Heavy bolters. Wide, continuous suppression, take as many of them down as you can. Repressors, halt and prepare to disembark!’ Reaching for her helmet, indicating for Caia to do likewise, she called down into the transport, ‘Rhene!’
The old Hospitaller creaked and grumbled. ‘Aye. I’ve seen autocannons before.’ Her tone sounded like resignation – as if she knew full well the damage these guns could do.
And, as Caia closed the seal on her helm, she saw them open fire.
She closed her teeth on a curse.
Fast repeated muzzle flashes, oddly pale in the burnished ochre of the Lycheate morning. The weapons were heavy and long, their muzzles tracking from raised shields. An energy crackled about them, a mist of data that must surely be coming from Rayos herself; they shot at the Sisters while the machines were still running. It made their aim erratic, but–
Throne!
Heavy explosive rounds chewed up the roadway directly in front of the canoness’ Immolator. Ianthe snarled the Litany in return, raging at them, almost as if she could deflect the ammunition by her faith alone. The other machines were aiming at the front rank, rounds hitting and detonating on thick ceramite armour. One hit a heavy bolter with perfect accuracy, and the weapon blossomed in flame.
Metal graunched, plates buckled, tracks split and broke.
On the right flank, Eleni’s Repressor took a clean hit. Even as its emergency ramp crashed to the floor, one of its twin thermic reactors ignited and blew. The force of the explosion rocked Caia where she stood; she made an effort not to duck. Shrapnel whistled past her; black smoke rose and billowed, obscuring her view.
‘Squad! Roll call!’ Eleni said over the vox.
The canoness barked, ‘Watch your auspex, Sister Caia! There may be more.’
‘Aye.’ Prayer and adrenaline thundered through Caia’s blood. She was trying to see Eleni through the smoke, but it was heavy and thick, and it hung like a shroud over the dead vehicle.
She saw only isolated flashes of scarlet.
In the fog, though, her auspex continued to track. Five blips were rapidly closing their distance on the assembled Sisters, and the Immolators had a swiftly shortening field of fire.
Rayos, Caia realised, had calculated her ambush perfectly.
‘Mikaela!’ The canoness called the order. ‘Fire!’
A booming rattle as the tanks’ heavy bolters opened up. The smoke was billowing across the roadway now, limiting visibility, but Caia could see that the weapons were turning in an arc, hitting the enemy in the legs. Machine-armour sparked, rounds missed and exploded on the rocks. A rush of stone rumbled to the ground; the noise and dust were tremendous. As the smoke closed over the scene completely, she caught one machine toppling sideways, kicking and twitching.
But the other four were still running, straight at the assembled Order.
They had pilots, she thought, and she wondered briefly where the servitors had come from…
But there was no time. Another order boomed through the vox: ‘Repressors, disembark!’
Behind them, the vehicles’ ramps crashed to the ground. Voices shouted, boots clanged on metal, and two armed squads of Sisters deployed in perfect formation, heavy bolter first, covering the others as they took position.
Seeing them move, Eleni’s squad formed with them – a single line, five paces apart, heavy bolter at one end, flamer at the other.
Spreading the machines’ targets, and making the autocannons’ success that much harder.
In just a moment, the enemy would be past the front rank of vehicles, and closing on the Sisters.
Caia found herself holding her breath. She felt very exposed, standing up there in the open, but the canoness showed no inclination to move. Ianthe stood like an icon, fire-red and furious, her plasma pistol ready in her hand as if she would wield pure destruction.
She thundered, out over the vox-coder, ‘We beseech Thee, destroy them!’
A single shot from her pistol and an Ironstrider was toppling over itself, its entire head removed.
Molten metal spread out across the roadway.
Above it, the air was filling with trumpets and dirt and noise – the ongoing clatter of the tanks’ bolters, the heavy blasts of the explosive ammunition. The canoness was broadcasting the full Litany, now, hard and strong, defiant. Her rage was palpable, and Caia breathed a prayer, feeling her own blood surge and roar.
She wanted to be down there, bolter in hand. She looked for her squad; saw them at the outer left flank, their line made distinctive by the las-streaks of the two young soldiers. Mors and Rufus had their rifles tucked into their shoulders and aimed clean at the incoming enemy.
Two figures of green in the centre of all that blood-red ceramite – but neither of them so much as twitched.
Caia had only a split second to take all of this in, and then the command rang out, ‘Immolators, cease! Infantry, target the servitors. And fire!’
One solid volley: three squads, in unison, shot upwards at the running machines. In the onslaught of noise, Caia could pick out the deep, thunderous battering that was Viola’s thrice-blessed heavy bolter, the weapon raging as the Litany came from the Sisters themselves. The canoness was pistol-in-hand, her voice lifted, and Caia found her hackles rising with the force of the moment.
Another machine staggered under the incoming fire. It lurched, sparks racing across its surface, but it didn’t fall. Amid the confusion, Caia saw the twin streaks of red light that came from Mors and Rufus both; saw one of them hit a servitor, clean to the head.
The figure rocked in its gunnery seat, toppled, and fell. Blood and oil splashed outwards as it struck the roadway. More smoke billowed in Caia’s face, and she lost her vision. As it cleared again, she saw that the machine had run two more paces and then had lost its heading, barging into its fellows and knocking them aside.
Mors, Caia realised, blinking, was an extremely good shot.
Watching, her breath held, she prayed that the staggering machine would falter, take its comrades with it when it fell, but it rapidly regained its trajectory and continued to run, straight at the Sisters.
Its autocannon, however, ha
d slumped forwards and ceased to fire.
All three of the surviving machines were now closing on the standing lines of infantry.
Before them, a red line across the black road, Sisters stood fearless and fast, still shooting, still singing, their close harmonics edged with focused rage.
‘That Thou wouldst bring them only death!’
Caia found herself echoing their words, repeating them over and over again – only death, only death – like a mantra. She had never seen a battle from a tank’s vantage, and she found her heart thumping hard in her chest. She wanted to be shooting, wanted to be on the ground. She wanted to be out there, amid the smoke and the noise and the slaughter; she wanted to stain her armour with the blood of her foe…
She wanted to rage denial against this feared, final fate that was finally closing down upon her, the thing she’d dreaded since she’d been a wet-eared novitiate…
I was called to be a warrior, and a warrior I will stay!
As two of the three incoming machines opened fire, she saw one red-armoured figure fall, then another – but not her own squad, they were still on their feet. The smallest figure, Akemi, had stopped to change her magazine, the movement smooth as reflex. A second later, she was firing again, her bolter held hard in both hands, her aim true.
Caia’s hands tightened on her auspex and bolter both…
‘That Thou shouldst pardon none!’
In front of her, the canoness shot again; she broadcast anger and defiance with her every sung note. In the belly of the tank, however, Rhene had stopped singing. She was muttering aloud, almost to herself, ‘Ironstriders. They’re sharpshooters, seen ’em before. On Melecantha. They ambushed us. So why are they running?’
Without thinking, Caia replied, ‘They’re trying to get behind us. There must be another wave!’
Ianthe barked, ‘Exorcists, on my command. Caia, watch that auspex!’
‘Aye.’ Caia’s acknowledgement was echoed over the vox, and she lifted the auspex, watching. And it seemed her hunch had been right – the attacking machines weren’t slowing down. Two autocannons tracked round as they ran, and again, opened fire.
