‘Yes, prime of primes,’ Urquidex said.
He needed to speak to Yendl immediately.
Nine
The Last Wall attacks
The ork moon hung over the holy orb of Terra, a rock that threatened an imminent drop, shattering the bland grey surface of mankind’s home.
But it was no longer master of the void. Space Marine ships stood off outside the range of the moon’s gravity weapons, arrayed in attack formation. Seven mighty battle-barges, more than a dozen strike cruisers, scores of lesser attack ships. Behind them sheltered the huge Adeptus Mechanicus ark and factory ships, their metal bellies full of cybernetic armies ready to wreak cold vengeance upon the orks.
There was one other ship of significance in the heavens. The mighty Naval vessel Autocephalax Eternal stood at high anchor, treacherously doing nothing.
‘Signal the Autocephalax Eternal again!’ said Koorland. He stood upon the highest dais of the Abhorrence, staring at the coward Lansung’s flagship through the centre of the grand oculus.
‘She is still not responding, my lord Koorland,’ reported one of Bohemond’s bondsmen.
Koorland watched the other vessel as his own fleet flew past it.
‘Anchored there, doing nothing?’ said Bohemond. ‘The High Admiral will answer to me himself!’
‘Ignore it,’ said Issachar over the fleet vox. ‘There is more at play here than warfare. Some political move on the part of the High Admiral.’
‘Begin the attack,’ said Koorland.
In precise formation, the combined fleets of the Last Wall attacked the orks while Lansung’s battleship looked on. Coming in three echelons, they speared deep into the moon’s attendant flotilla, obliterating everything they came across. Ork cruisers and captured Imperial vessels burst into short-lived blossoms of fire as wide spreads of torpedoes and projectiles smashed into them. Space Marine interdiction fighters sped out from their battle-barges, driving off ork fighters that came out to meet the fleets. Adeptus Mechanicus war arks came behind, shielded by massed arrays of arcane energy projectors. On board waited the Taghmata of Mars. Cybernetic fighter drones, piloted by disembodied human brains, swarmed in close support, shooting down ork rockets and vessels that came too close.
The moon was vast, a planetoid hooked from its home and outfitted in an undeniably orkish manner. Craters had been bored out, turning them into caverns with deep black interiors studded with lights, the outer infrastructure of buried hangars poking out from them into the brilliant shine of Sol. Roughly built towers, docks and other carbuncular constructions scarred the surface. Its giant face leered at Terra, so the Space Marines saw it side on — beetling brows as large as continental shelves turned skyward, a false mountain range of a nose, a complicated mess of scaffolds and buildings a hundred kilometres long that made up the jutting lower lip. Things of greater scale existed in the galaxy, but none of them had been built by the orks.
Koorland stood at a command podium on the bridge of the Abhorrence. With the plan in motion, he deferred command to the individual Chapter Masters.
‘Drive towards them!’ ordered Bohemond. ‘Smash them aside! Burn them all!’
Koorland watched with a more sober eye, adjusting his plans and counter-plans as the battle unfolded. Part of him wished he were aboard Issachar’s vessel, but Bohemond had shown him great hospitality, and Koorland feared the headstrong Black Templars might stray too far forward in their desire to join with the enemy first if not supervised.
‘Stay back,’ said Koorland. ‘We are at the extremity of the ork gravity weapons’ effective range.’
Bohemond made a noise in his throat, but did not disagree openly.
‘Maintain distance. Stick to the plan. Destroy the fleet. Make them come to us,’ said Koorland.
The leading Space Marine ships came within lance range. Broad beams of energy striped the sky, impacting with the ork flotilla with devastating effect. Many ships detonated the moment they were hit. In response, a large part of the ork fleet surged forward.
‘An ork cannot resist provocation,’ said Castellan Clermont, Bohemond’s second. ‘All batteries prepare to open fire! Bona Fide and Ebon, maintain protective formation.’
The moon awoke to the attack, coming alive with a frenzied sparkling as a million guns opened fire.
‘This is no threat!’ said Bohemond savagely. ‘We alone might have bested the moon at Aspiria had dePrasse not withdrawn himself! Now the orks face the combined might of four Chapters. They shall not prevail! Attack, attack, abhor the alien!’
The leading munitions of the ork moon hurtled into the Space Marines’ echelons, void shields flaring with impact flux as they struck the staggered lines of ships. More powerful weapons slashed out from tottering citadels, wavering energy beams that cut into the smaller vessels. An escort dropped out of the Fists Exemplar line, venting atmosphere from its cracked hull in white clouds.
‘Stay on course! Bring the retribution of the Emperor to the fleet. Kill them all!’ Spittle flew from Bohemond’s ruined mouth as he spoke. Koorland could barely credit they were of the same gene line, so overpowering was the Black Templar’s fervour.
‘My lord,’ spoke the Black Templars Techmarine, Kant. His lips were stapled together — some show of contrition, Koorland had been told, although for what the Black Templars would not reveal. His voice was a miserable metallic drone, soullessly issuing from twin vox-speakers either side of his neck. ‘The ork moon exhibits a spiking of power.’
‘All hands, prepare for gravity attack!’ shouted Clermont.
An erratic flashing blinked in the moon’s hollow craters. From pylons set about the face, squirming ribbons of energy rose, binding themselves into a thick cord. A sufficient build-up of power achieved, it snapped out like a whip, shearing through the orks’ own vessels before flicking along the Excoriators arrowhead coming up below the Black Templars’ line of attack. One attack cruiser took a direct hit, void shields giving out simultaneously. It imploded, the prow and stern folding up around a middle compressed to vanishingly small size. For a moment it sailed on bent double, carried forward by momentum, before exploding, buffeting the ships coming behind it with the wash of its breached reactor.
‘This is a new weapon,’ voxed Thane. ‘I have not seen its like before.’
‘Some kind of gravity lash,’ said Quesadra.
‘Such power!’ hissed Bohemond.
‘They are gathering to fire again!’ warned Kant, the faintest hint of emotion creeping into his machine voice.
Once more the flickerings essayed from the towers on the surface, once more they gathered and shot out. Again the lash targeted the Excoriators fleet, grazing the fore section of the Remembered Sin, Issachar’s flagship, as it dissipated into a kaleidoscopic spray of particles. A portion of the Remembered Sin’s hammerhead prow collapsed into glittering clouds of smashed metal and air. The Remembered Sin was twisted into a spin, as if swatted by a god.
‘Issachar!’ demanded Koorland. ‘Status!’
‘We live,’ replied the Excoriator. Alarms whooped in the background. ‘But we will not survive another hit like that. We must get in closer, attack the moon directly. If we can strip away its weaponry, we shall stand a chance. Push through the fleet.’
‘I concur!’ shouted Bohemond. ‘All ships, onward! Arm cyclonic torpedoes. Target the moon.’
It irked Koorland that he did not confer with him first, but he held his silence.
‘Fire control, liaise with the others,’ said Koorland. ‘Find a mutually acceptable firing solution. Multiple hits will give us the best results.’