Part 17 (1/2)

The Ferrous Malice let the remains of the Siege of Malebruk drift away. One side of the strike cruiser was gone completely, the rest hollowed out like a carca.s.s abandoned by scavengers. The Chaos s.h.i.+p had a bloated appearance, an insect gorged on blood, squatting in a haze of debris. Only a few silvery specks remained of the Siege's crew. The Ferrous Malice, sated for now, ignored the fleeing escape craft, and the escapees clung to life for a few hours more as their craft headed for the relative safety of the Endeavour of Will. Among them were the five members of the Imperial Fists First Company, seething with eagerness to get to grips with the enemy who had just handed them such a total defeat.

PART TWO.

Shon'tu stepped through the door of the Dreadclaw, and breathed in the ancient, stale air of a dying empire.

Behind him, a squad of Iron Warriors followed him out of the Dreadclaw's jaws and into the interior of the Endeavour of Will. The Dreadclaw was a make of hull-boring a.s.sault capsule that the Imperium had long since forgotten how to make, but which still hung in their dozens over the a.s.sault decks of the Ferrous Malice. Its bronze-cased beak had torn through the star fort's outer layers and come to rest in a maze of maintenance pa.s.sages and superstructure supports, into which the Iron Warriors emerged already prepared for a fight.

Shon'tu went helmetless, for even a sudden vacuum could do little harm to his artificial skin and bionic lungs. *Dust and desolation,' he said. *Like the inside of a tomb. Such a lifeless place.'

*And we shall make it literally so,' said Brother Ku'Van, one of the veterans accompanying Shon'tu.

*As we have done so many times before, my brethren,' replied the warsmith. *We shall leave this voidbound coffin as empty as the souls of those we kill. For they have no iron within!'

*Iron within!' shouted the squad in response. *Iron without!'

*Warsmith!' came a vox from somewhere nearby, among the webs of dark iron and cramped maintenance s.p.a.ces that soared in every direction. The rune on Shon'tu's retina told him it was Steelwatcher Mhul speaking. *My coven has made safe breach.'

*As has the Choir,' came another vox from Forge-Chaplain Koultus. Koultus's voice was unmistakable, a brash growl of amplified ba.s.s and churning sub-tones. It had to be, or the Choir couldn't have heard the prayers with which he drove them forwards.

*Then converge on me, brothers,' replied Shon'tu. *To you has been given the honour of accompanying me in this boarding action. Prove to me that you deserve my favour. Drive on, strike hard and without pause, and we will drive a spear of iron into the heart of this place!'

*Well met, captain,' said Brother-Sergeant Laocos, clapping a hand to the enormous ceramite barrel of his chest.

*Well met, my brother,' replied Lysander.

The star fort's archive, a high-ceilinged room lined with cases of books and scroll tubes, was one of the few places Lysander and the Imperial Fists of his command squad could gather without being cramped. Like Lysander, the five-strong squad wore Terminator armour, a mark of the esteem in which the Chapter held the First Company, and the rarest and most advanced piece of wargear in the Chapter's armouries. Each man was closer to a walking tank than a single soldier, close to three metres tall and not much less across. Most other suitable places on the Endeavour of Will were too small to accommodate them all comfortably. It was the first time Lysander had seen the men of his command squad since he had left the Siege of Malebruk to see to the star fort's situation in person.

*I so nearly lost you' continued Lysander. *The Emperor's s.h.i.+eld was on you.'

*Perhaps' said Laocos. *But the Siege did not have such good fortune.'

*I saw only via the tactical sensors here,' said Lysander. *It looked bad enough from there.'

*It was a horror such as I have rarely witnessed,' replied Laocos. *All we knew of Shon'tu and the Ferrous Malice is but a fragment of the truth. We werea'

*We were caught out,' said Lysander grimly. *This is not an act of opportunism by the Iron Warriors. Scavengers they may be at heart, but Shon'tu knew the disposition of the star forts and the fact we could spare but few to defend them if their own weaponry failed. He had exactly the tools he needed to destroy them, and but for the valour of Techmarine Hestion he would have done just that. He made sure to bring a s.h.i.+p the equal of the best we could afford to spare from the front line. What we know a what I know a of Shon'tu is enough to tell me that he will have brought the means to destroy the Endeavour of Will now, even when his a.s.sault on the machine-spirit failed.'

*Then what will he do next?' said Brother-Scholar Demosthor. Demosthor, in training to attend the Reclusiam of the Chapter's Chaplains, had pa.s.sages of Dorn's philosophy pinned to his armour, and to the casing of the squad's a.s.sault cannon, which he carried.

*The Iron Warriors are creatures of directness,' said Lysander. *Not for Shon'tu another round of deceit and trickery. He will take the path that leads most clearly to victory, though it may be the hardest.' He looked from face to face, noting the features of men who had served their Chapter for the better part of centuries even before they had been a.s.signed to Lysander's own squad. *Shon'tu is going to board us. Against any other enemy, any other Chapter, he might pause. But not against us. He wants to fight us. He wants our blood on him, he wants to see us die.'

*If he wants battle,' said Laocos, *should we give it to him?'

His words were answered with an explosion from somewhere far off in the body of the star fort, and the equally distant blaring of alarms and klaxons. A cogitator console near the door of the archive lit up with warning icons.

*We will,' said Lysander. *To arms, Fists of Dorn.'

The star fort's six segments radiated around its core. The core, heavily armoured and covered by the defensive weapons the machine-spirit still controlled, housed the datamedia vault and other essential command systems, along with the power plant. The six segments housed all the other structures needed for a battle station a barracks, now almost completely empty, supplies and ammunition stores, fighter decks silent without crew to fly the fighters and bombers stored there, fuel tanks, sensorium stations and mountings for weapons now lost to the machine-spirit. Here could also be found the places of wors.h.i.+p used by the station's crew, chapels to many faces of the Emperor and shrines to Rogal Dorn for the use of the Imperial Fists.

One of these sacred places was consecrated to the hero of the Chapter who was entombed there. In death, he still watched out on the void for the enemies of mankind, for his sarcophagus had been installed on the Endeavour of Will some two and a half thousand years before.

It was at the Tomb of Ionis that the Imperial Fists drew the battle lines.

Scout Sergeant Menander peered across the expanse of the Tomb of Ionis, his magnoculars sweeping past the fluted columns and scrollwork. It was a forest of stonework, as dense as a death world jungle. With little need to conserve s.p.a.ce on the huge star fort, the tomb had grown with successive generations of masons and artisans, so the sarcophagus sat at the centre of a labyrinth of statuary and decoration. The sarcophagus itself rose like a granite mesa in the centre of the tomb, crowned with an outsized carving of Ionis himself lying in state.

Menander's squad crouched around him among the coils of stone. Their cameleoline cloaks had turned speckled grey to match their surroundings, and they were adept at clinging to the shadows and breaking up lines of sight. Menander's four Imperial Fists Scouts carried sniper rifles, draped in cameleoline strips to diffuse the outlines of the weapons.

*Brother Moltos,' said Menander softly. *Bless us.'

Brother Moltos made the sign of the aquila, and clapped a hand silently to his chest in the salute of Dorn. *Emperor most high, and Omnissiah who knows all, bless this battle-gear that will so sorely be tested. Keep our lenses bright and focused, and fill them with the sight of the enemy. Let our bullets fly true. Let the armour of the enemy crumble before them. Let them find nothing but the hearts of traitors.'

*Amen,' said Menander, echoed by the other three Scouts. *Spread out. Intel pattern. Do not engage.'

The Scouts split up and moved quietly through the tomb, heading on different winding paths towards the sarcophagus. Menander glanced behind him and could see the glint of golden ceramite between the columns lining the near edge of the tomb. Captain Lysander and Sergeant Rigalto's squads were mustering there, ready to act.

And somewhere up ahead were the enemy.

*I have movement,' came a subvocalised vox message from Menander's right. Scout-Brother Tisiphon's rune winked. *Three hundred metres, approaching. Two of the clock.'

Menander looked in the direction Tisiphon had indicated. He thought he could see movement, black against black. He held up his magnoculars and could make out, clearly now, the dark shape advancing towards the Imperial Fists.

It moved without concern to stealth. Menander could even hear it now, crunching through granite carvings. It was taller than a s.p.a.ce Marine and far more broad, and the oily gunmetal of the Iron Warriors' armour was deformed by red, weeping bands of corded muscle.

*Captain,' voxed Menander. *I have sighted the enemy.'

*Is Shon'tu among them?' came Captain Lysander's reply.

*I cannot tell,' said Menander. *They have sent in the Obliterators.'

Shon'tu watched as the Obliterators forged ahead. The five sons of the Coven, marshalled by the relatively normal Steelwatcher Mhul. Each Obliterator had once been an Iron Warrior, just like Shon'tu or Mhul himself. But the fates had seen fit to infect them with a warp-born tech-virus that had melded their flesh and armour into one, and turned them into machines of Chaos.

The Obliterators were twice the size of a s.p.a.ce Marine, and crashed through the statuary towards the high ground of the sarcophagus. Their limbs, wrapped in clubbing ma.s.ses of muscle, opened up into dozens of orifices from which emerged gun barrels and chainblades. Each one was a walking a.r.s.enal, containing within him the firepower of a whole squad of s.p.a.ce Marines.

The rest of the strikeforce advanced in their wake. Shon'tu's own squad, alongside the Choir, swept the avenues of fire with bolter barrels, watching for the glint of Imperial Fists armour. Lysander's men had chosen to face them here, perhaps to force a decisive battle, perhaps because this was sacred ground.

*Brethren!' bellowed the amplified voice of Forge-Chaplain Koultus. Koultus's skull-shaped faceplate had a yawning mouth framing a speaker which boomed his voice in all directions. *Behold you all the enemy! They cower from us! They that pray death might come before their weak hearts compel them to flee! Grant their wishes, and by iron seal their fates!'

The Choir rushed forwards around him, leaping through the wreckage left by the Obliterators. Their gunmetal armour burned from the inside, blue and red flames flickering where the plasteel plates met. The fires were barely contained, for they formed the haloes of daemons caged within them, desperate to break free through the sacrament of combat.

The first of the Obliterators clambered into the lip of the sarcophagus. Its limbs reformed into twin a.s.sault cannons, bundles of revolving barrels which span as they hammered out a rain of fire towards the Imperial Fists at the other end of the tomb. A few return shots snapped up at it, but the Obliterator stood proud as its brothers of the Coven took up position beside it. Steelwatcher Mhul was directing their fire, crouched beside the huge sarcophagus, the enlarged lens of his bionic eye sending greenish light beams playing across the statuary ahead.

Shon'tu's own veteran squad were the backbone of this force, advancing patiently with bolters levelled. Soon their fire would chew through the few Imperial Fists that weathered the storm of the Obliterators. Shon'tu was a patient creature, but even his soul seemed to drag him forwards a pace, eager to kill.

Shon'tu backed against a half-collapsed statue that had once depicted one of the honour guard of the hero buried here. He peered through the dust kicked up by the gunfire and saw the shape of an Imperial Fist in Terminator armour, sheltering behind a pile of fallen rubble as he gave orders to the s.p.a.ce Marines around him. He was huge, shaven-headed, with a ma.s.sive storm s.h.i.+eld in one hand. In the other was a weapon that Shon'tu recognised a a thunder hammer with its end forged into the shape of a fist. The Fist of Dorn.

Captain Lysander.

Shon'tu's spirit won the battle, and Shon'tu rushed forwards for the kill.

*Hold them at the sarcophagus!' yelled Lysander over the gunfire. *Advance! Imperial Fists, advance!'