For Collustrax, the Long War was over.
Sergeant Ostrakam saluted Kalkator. ‘My lord Kalkator, Brother Collustrax is slain by orks. The complex is compromised.’
Kalkator regarded the emptying hangar. They had recovered perhaps half of the supplies, armour spares, bolt-rounds, weapons. Most of it was sealed in oil-filled containers, and perfectly serviceable. Kalkator tallied what they had recovered mentally, deciding if they could afford to leave the remaining supplies.
‘Any word from the Palimodes?’ he called to his master vox-operator. ‘What news from orbit?’
‘I cannot raise the ship, my lord.’
Why would this be easy? One cruiser lost, two outposts, half his Great Company. Kalkator’s week had been disastrous.
‘Caesax! Take half the company, secure the hangar rear. Derruo, take four squads outside. Shift the landing site ten kilometres out, somewhere clear where we can’t be ambushed. Meratara will ferry the supplies, let the others take them to orbit. Unloading and reloading will take extra time, but we cannot risk the gunships, and a few more crates of supplies is better than no more. As soon as you raise him, have Attonax send down more servitors and brothers to speed the extraction, both here and at site beta. Ostrakam, what indication of numbers?’
‘None, my lord. None of the other scouts report anything. It will not be alone.’
‘They never are,’ said Kalkator. ‘We have no indication of an infestation of the planet. It may be a scouting group. Send my order to Attonax. Intensify scans of the surrounding void. If there’s a ship out there, we must find it. In the meantime, redouble our efforts. I want every scrap of usable materiel stripped from this depot and aboard the Palimodes before they find us.’
‘Too late, my lord! I have Attonax.’
‘Patch his vox-feed through to me.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
Attonax’s voice came through crisply, boosted by the nuncio-vox of Kalkator’s master operator over the angry grumble of the planet’s tortured magnetosphere. ‘Fifteen contacts emerging from the shadow of the third moon, my lord. They have seen us.’
‘No more?’
‘No, warsmith. It appears to be a scouting group, ork pirate scum looking for easy kills or planets to plunder. They are weak, and will not be on our position for two hours, give or take.’
Gunfire sounded from deep in the complex. Reports of ork engagements on three fronts came in on a sudden wave of vox-noise.
‘We will not abandon the supplies! Attonax, keep the planet between you and the orks. Begin evacuation immediately. Everyone else to the rear of the hall.’
Kalkator unclipped his pistol and unsheathed his sword. His servo-arm unfurled as he strode past the serfs sweating in their rebreathers as they dragged out supply pallets on pneumatic jacks. ‘I tire of running from these creatures.’
Thirteen
Iron and faith
Like a shark following the scent of blood in the water, the Obsidian Sky came hard out of interplanetary night, streaking towards the fourth planet of the Dzelenic System, the battle there lighting up its auspexes and augurs.
‘Well?’ said Magneric.
‘We have them in our sights, Marshal,’ reported Ericus eagerly. ‘There are orks here, but a paltry number.’
The oculus was closed for battle, and so Ericus ordered the hololith lit. The display burst into life, bathing the faces of all aboard the command deck in dancing light. Auspex data crowded a true pict of the planet. A strike cruiser stood embattled in the sky over the dead world. Explosions in miniature flared in the space of the bridge as ork attack craft detonated messily.
‘Behold, the Palimodes,’ said Ericus.
‘I recognise it of old,’ growled Magneric. ‘At last, Kalkator shall face justice!’
‘Your orders, my lord?’ asked Ericus.
‘We should stand back and watch the orks destroy them,’ advised Ralstan, ‘then slay the surviving orks. That would be the most tactically astute action. We might then locate the Iron Warriors on the surface, and deal with them at our leisure. If we attack now, we shall find ourselves with not one foe, but two.’
‘And afford Kalkator the luxury of escape?’ bellowed Magneric. ‘No! The craven traitors will surely flee as soon as they catch sight of us. We will attack both ground forces and the Palimodes simultaneously. Prepare all drop-craft. We assault the surface immediately. Sword Brother Rolans?’
Sword Brother Rolans stepped forward, the black of his armour thick with the red crosses of the Black Templars veterans. ‘My lord Dreadnought-Marshal,’ responded Rolans.
‘Take one-third of the crusade. Choose your own men. Equip them for ship-to-ship combat. I bestow upon you the honour of assaulting and taking the Palimodes.’
‘It will be done gratefully, my lord,’ said Rolans.
‘Master Ericus, you will drive through the orks attacking the Palimodes, and bring the ship within boarding range. We shall take back their ship, purify it, and re-induct it into the rightful service of our Lord the Emperor.’
‘Praise be!’ shouted the Black Templars and their bondsmen.
The shout of praise was silent on Ralstan’s lips. Misgivings plagued him.
‘My lord,’ he said tentatively. ‘I beg of you not to attack two enemies at once. Let them expend their strength upon one another. See here, Magneric. The orks are deploying aircraft and personnel to the surface.’
Ralstan had the hololithic display zoom in to a fat ork carrier craft. Its sides were riddled with hangars and launch tubes. From these a steady stream of smaller ships issued, turning downwards into the planetary gravity well. ‘If there are no orks on the ground yet, soon there will be thousands.’
‘The orks are of no concern!’ roared Magneric. He turned his massive suit of armour on his lieutenant. Magneric raised his vox-amplifiers to maximum. ‘All battle-brothers proceed to drop-craft. Heed my commands, gunnery control. Upon flyover of the Iron Warriors’ planetside positions, find and target the transports of the traitors. Destroy the ships. Strand the Iron Warriors, so that we might face them blade to blade. They will taste our anger — no swift demise in fire for them! I will see them beg for forgiveness. Kalkator will not escape me this time. Shipmaster Ericus, move to engage the Palimodes directly.’
‘As you command, my lord,’ said Ericus.
‘My lord Magneric…’ said Ralstan.
‘Castellan Ralstan!’ said Magneric, his metallic voice enthused by the prospect of battle. ‘The way prescribed by our founder is always forward! We shall not hang back like jackals while the lions fight! You have your orders. With me unto battle, bold soldiers of the Emperor! We shall destroy these paltry orks, and take the Palimodes, and return to our Chapter with it as a trophy of war! I go now to ready myself for drop in the basilicus.’ He leaned over Ralstan, and lowered his voice. ‘I will brook no more dissent, castellan, be warned.’
Magneric thundered out of the command deck.
‘By the will of Magneric, make so his orders!’ commanded Ralstan. Forcing down his own disquiet, he began to make preparations for planetstrike.
A squawking of surprised messages burst from the vox-station as the Obsidian Sky slid down towards the Palimodes.
‘Master Divulgatus, silence that noise.’
‘Aye, shipmaster, initiating wide-band vox-jamming now.’
Ericus leaned forward, the weight of the cables plugged into his neck shifting on his shoulder. ‘We will pay no heed to the words of the traitors. Open fire on the orks and prepare to clear the way. Prow lance batteries to mark these targets and fire upon my command.’ He indicated his priorities on the hololith. ‘Primary gun batteries sweep the flanks. Spinal turrets fire at will. Scour the void. We shall shield Lord Magneric’s landing and then proceed to take the Palimodes.’