by Thorpe, Gav
Despite all that was thrown against them, the battle group prevailed. Plasma blasts and searing lasbeams eradicated tank squadrons and reduced super-heavy Titan-hunters to steaming slag piles. A hail of shells and rockets slammed into the walls of Az Khalak, cracking buttressed ferrocrete, tumbling support towers, buckling turrets. Since Steel Wolf’s demise, another Reaver – the Labour of Battle – and a Warlord called the Phlegmatix had been lost to the full brunt of the enemy’s power, but the Titans of the Legio Metalica pressed on without relent. The command that Az Khalak had to fall was not just a military necessity – it was seared into the souls of the god-machines, and through them the princeps and their crews.
By Exasas’ estimates, the enemy dead from this engagement alone numbered more than ten thousand, and four or five times that number would be lost by the time the citadel was breached. It was not an inconsiderable amount of casualties, but while the exchange of five Titans – two of which were recoverable – seemed quite a high price to pay, with a kill-efficiency in the region of 89 per cent, the battle could be deemed a success.
In fact, the magos’ estimates had expected the battle group’s kill-efficiency to be around the 75 per cent mark, far lower than they had achieved. With the terrain, the prepared defences and the commitment of anti-Titan war engines, as well as the orbital strikes that had rained down until the battle group had moved into range of the citadel, the fighting should have been harder. While it was possible that more casualties would be suffered by the Legio Metalica in the final conquest of Az Khalak, it seemed unlikely – the enemy had failed to concentrate their fire effectively against the Titans, and hence had been unable to inflict substantial damage on those that were still mobile.
Exasas [direct trans/Monderas]:
Monderas [direct trans/Exasas]:
Exasas [direct trans/Monderas/emphasis modulation]:
Monderas [direct trans/Exasas]:
The abruptness with which Monderas severed the link sent a flash of corrosive feedback along Exasas’ noospheric processors. He had hoped that his fellow tech-priest would have been more open to discussion than the moderati, but it was impossible to ignore the conclusion that Exasas had also vexed the logistarius.
It was a sobering thought, and Exasas felt it necessary to give due credence to Monderas’ assertion. Was it possible that he was over-analysing the data? Could such a thing actually be possible? Data-paranoia was far more prevalent among battle-priests, that was true, but more as a mark of continual combat fatigue on circuitry and cogitation routines. Exasas had been in the privileged position of command within the Imperator for several decades, and hence at a slight remove from persistent battle. Only rarely did he need to venture from the confines of the command module, even when committing his troops into direct conflict.
Haili [alert]:
Rasdia [imperative]:
Exasas’ interest spiked, and in response alerts threaded from his cerebellum-implants to the squad commanders of his skitarii, increasing their readiness. If the Baneblade was able to drive within the scope of the void shields, it could cause considerable damage directly against the Casus Belli, perhaps even breaking the armour around the reactor or damaging one of the primary weapons. With a thought-broadcast he tasked several heavy weapons squads to prepare to dismount.
Monderas [alert]:
The Casus Belli slowed. Before it was fully halted, the Imperator started to turn backwards while Rasdia tried to bring the hellstorm cannon to bear on the approaching Baneblade. Several squads of renegades in camouflaged armour advanced around the behemoth, perhaps thinking to storm one of the leg bastions. They flowed through the ruins like insects from a broken nest, but their potential bite was enough to cause the magos dominus to dedicate a sliver of cogitation to their defeat.
Exasas increased the intensity of his alert status to ‘imminent action’. His sensory connectors vibrated with feedback from the limbic systems of his skitarii warriors, allowing her to sense their agitation though he did not biologically share it.
Gevren:
Bolters erupted into life from across the Imperator’s bastion-legs and lower body, the equivalent of several squads of troops opening fire. The volleys scythed hundreds of mass reactive rounds into the armoured traitors. Detonations cracked open protective plates and ripped the flesh within, gouging ragged lines through the packed squads.
Monderas [alert]:
The tremor of its passage and proximity warnings shuddered through Exasas’ motor systems, as though the invasion were into his own body. Corresponding ripples of negatives clattered through the ongoing algorithms of his cogitating engine.
Exasas [imperative]:
Iealona [negative]:
Casus Belli’s weight shifted dramatically as the princeps senioris lifted the left leg. Several unattached servitors toppled against their stations, and Exasas’ grip-claws scraped over the decking until they found purchase. The Imperator pivoted at the hip joint and the building-sized leg swung forward. With equally sudden movement, the foot descended, slamming directly on top of the Baneblade.
The turret crumpled under the initial impact and a shell within the breach of its battlecannon exploded, engulfing the foot of the Imperator with dark flame. Dozens more detonations followed from its ammunition store as Iealona pushed the Titan forward, transferring more and more weight onto the super-heavy tank. Severed tracks flailed out, their snaking ends lashing through the infantry who had survived the blasts. Exasas registered the resistance of the Baneblade’s carcass as it ground into the hard earth, though his experience was nothing like that of the princeps senioris sharing the Casus Belli’s spirit through the MIU.
Scattered remnants of enemy squads fled the carnage, many of them cut down by fresh fusillades from the bolters. A near-physical ache worried at Exasas from his desire to deploy his troops, but the threat had been neutralised. In their stations aboard the bastions, the skitarii squads stood down, returning to their carriage positions with a mixture of relief and dissatisfaction.
Aggressor calculations stopped mid-process, cycling down into dormancy like a numerical sigh of disappointment.
Ghelsa disembarked into a buzz of electrical discharge and a chorus of shouting, the air alive with static that danced off her skin. The ruddy light was cut through with occasional bright flashes, and in these moments
of violent illumination she saw dozens of tributai thronging the deck. Four huge void shield generators dominated the space, the groan of warp cores adding to the background noise. Flares of power leapt from venting coils to earth through spinning conductor globes.
The tech-priest stepped out of the cage and gestured to the right, signalling for them to join a work team gathered around one of the generators. Sparks flew from a broken cable in a hissing blue cascade. Ghelsa moved to the front of the cage but Harkas intercepted her.
‘Wait,’ he said, barely audible above the din. ‘We can use the elevator to reach the akropoliz.’
‘That’s an overloaded void shield generator,’ she replied, gesturing with the multi-tool. She pointed into the space between decks to more energy-wreathed chambers below. A swarm of figures laboured to keep the enormous machines operating. ‘And there are eight more down there. Only three are left. When they are all down, the trouble really begins.’
‘I had not realised the fighting had started,’ said Harkas. He moved out onto the walkway, making space for Ghelsa.
‘That’s the point of void shields, isn’t it? What did you think the war siren was for?’
Not waiting for an answer, she jogged along the metal walkway to the struggling generator crew, Harkas keeping close behind. A tech-priest had an extended mechanical tentacle attached to an input socket, its attention intent upon its work. A half-dozen tributai were trying to lift a heavy cable into place to divert more power from the plasma reactor while three more struggled with a chain pulley to reposition a buckled piece of magnetic shielding.
A sudden flash erupted from the spinning discs at the heart of the machine, throwing out coruscating red waves. A piercing inhuman shriek erupted from the tech-priest. The neokora stumbled back, articulated mechadendrites thrashing while arcs of errant power danced across metal augmentations.
Whining loudly, the tech-priest collapsed, oily smoke leaking from beneath its hood. With panicked cries, two of the tributai let go of the cable and jumped away.
Ghelsa leapt forward, stooping under the cable before it could crush the remaining labourers, taking the weight across her shoulders. Teeth gritted, she glared at Harkas.
‘Grab hold,’ she snarled. Her stare fell upon the timid duluz. ‘You as well!’
Together they manhandled the cable end into position beside the secondary socket, stepping over the tech-priest’s twitching corpse.
‘Hold it there,’ she said, stepping back to ready the multi-tool. Its jaw whirred open and she set it upon the fitting, her legs braced. At her nod, the work team thrust the cable into position and she tightened the link with three quick turns.
Almost immediately the generator’s wild growling became a more sedate buzz and the arcs of power flickered away. Ghelsa gave the connector one more turn for good measure and then touched the tip of her multi-tool to her brow badge.
‘Our thanks to the all-powerful Machine-God for providing these engines to guard us from harm.’ Without thought, she reached into a pouch at her belt, her fingers dipping into the small jar within. Her hand glistening with blessed oil, she raised it to the cable and drew the liquid across it. ‘Praise the Omnissiah.’
‘Praise the Omnissiah,’ echoed the tributai.
‘You.’ Ghelsa thrust a finger at one of the others. ‘Fetch a tech-priest. The connection needs proper consecration or it will fail again.’
The duluz scurried away, calling for one of the priesthood. Ghelsa saw Harkas heading back towards the open door of the conveyor and caught up with long strides.
‘You’ll not make it on your own, you said it yourself,’ she said.
‘I don’t have time for this,’ Harkas replied, shaking his head.
Fresh shouts and a flurry of strobing blue light announced another near-failure across the deck.
‘We’re taking a pounding,’ Ghelsa said. ‘You can’t feel it, but to lose that many generators so quickly… This is serious. I’ve not seen anything like it since Acheron Hive on Armageddon.’
‘Have you been told nothing of your mission?’
‘Enough. The battle group was deployed to destroy a traitor stronghold.’ Ghelsa shrugged. ‘No enemy war engines are expected – I’m surprised the fighting has lasted this long already, with the whole battle group deployed.’
The inquisitor rubbed at an earlobe, dried blood flaking from his fingers. ‘There was supposed to be minimal opposition. It seems the strategos were wrong.’
She looked again at the failing generators.
‘Your mission won’t count for much if the Casus Belli is destroyed.’
‘Better that than it being handed to the traitors.’
‘We’ll all die.’
Harkas shrugged, as emotionless as a half-machine servitor.
‘No, not while I can do something about it,’ Ghelsa declared.
‘Listen. To. Me.’ It seemed that Harkas barely raised his voice, but there was something in his tone that cut through the cacophony of the generators and their attendants. He fixed his disturbing stare on Ghelsa, keeping her in place more surely than if she had been welded to the decking. Though his eyes were only level with her chin, in that moment it felt as though he towered above her. ‘If I fail they will all die anyway. Or worse.’
Foreboding knotted her gut at those last two words. She knew she was not an imaginative person, but enough whispered tales abounded to paint a vivid picture of the practices of the Dark Mechanicus. She shivered at the thought of what sort of monstrosity the Casus Belli might become if taken from the light of the Machine-God.
With a last look at the tributai, she followed Harkas back into the conveyor cage. He slammed the door shut behind them and pushed the lever to the ascend position.
‘We can ride all the way to the first deck,’ he said.
Ghelsa grabbed the control lever and pulled it to the neutral position, causing the elevator to shudder to a halt among a squealing of brakes.
‘If it was that simple I would have done it already,’ she snapped, still angry that he had dismissed her objections so coldly. ‘I can’t get us past the pronaoz into the central czella. Unless you have a noospheric link, you can’t either. We will need to get off at the triaz and make our way to one of the crawlworks for the hellstorm autoloader. Once inside those, we can get to the external access hatches. There are inspection ladders from which we’ll make the jump over to the main articulation block and then up into the akropoliz.’
‘You suggest that we clamber along the ammunition feed of a cannon, so that we can climb outside onto the shoulder of the Titan, from which point we ascend to the carapace fortifications. That sounds very risky.’
‘As risky as being caught by hereteks who will shoot us on sight?’
Ghelsa thrust the ascender lever again and the motor jolted into action.
The converging fire from the traitors intensified the closer the battle group advanced towards the citadel, despite the growing casualties inflicted by the Omnissiah’s war engines. The Casus Belli took the lead, forming the tip of the ram that continued to hammer at Az Khalak, punishing salvos from its weapons like the edge of a blade slicing armour and flesh. Exasas’ calculations whirled to keep up with the flow of movement away from the path of the Imperator as companies of tanks were reduced to smouldering puddles, and platoons of traitorous skitarii were pulverised by shells from the main battery and hellstorm cannon.
The enemy did not confront the Casus Belli directly but tried to slip away, parting like water before the bow of a ship to attack the smaller Titans advancing in the Imperator’s wake. Chastened by his earlier failures and the remonstrations of the other command officers, Exasas did not voice the doubts that continued to nag at his calculations. Questions regarding why the enemy did not bring their full force to bear against the Emperor-class Titan went unspoken, as did speculation regarding potential reasoning behind the traitors’ earlier inexplicable manoeuvres. Exasas still could not adequately explain what had transpire
d since battle had been joined. The need to analyse was a tight fist around the remaining pulmonary vessels of his circulatory system.
In frustration, Exasas improvised an antithetical protocol system, divesting herself of an entire swathe of processing ability and dedicating it to full-scale antarithm functions. Their interlocked cogitational wavelengths flowed back and forth like a sea on a shore, the thoughts of the anti-Exasas pushing back against the calculations and assumptions of the dominant magos-program, advancing and then retreating as one or the other led the race to extrapolate meaning out of the continual data input.
Even so, Exasas could make no headway and decided that full interactive protocol was required to totally encapsulate the dichotomy. He calved off the slave-personality almost fully, granting it 95 per cent autonomous reaction.
Exasas-primary [interrogatory]:
Exasas-secondary:
Exasas-primary [interrogation]:
Exasas-secondary:
Exasas-primary [inquiry/tense]
Exasas-secondary:
