Turning, Thane saw his companies had fared little better than himself. Plate that had gleamed golden yellow moments before now sparked and was covered in dust. Imperial Fists extricated themselves from landing cradles with powered force, before checking their weapons for damage or obstructions. From the way they moved, he could tell some of the Sisters had suffered in the rough landing, but they attended to each other and their alien charges with the efficiency and determination he had come to expect. Taking their positions about the buckled cages, they stood sentinel over the ork psykers.
‘Captains, report in,’ the Chapter Master commanded, ‘and check for casualties.’
‘Berengard, First, reporting in.’
‘Karlito, Second, present and ready.’
‘Company Apothecaries, see to your injured,’ Thane said.
‘Oberon, Seventh, ready, Chapter Master.’
‘Captain Brondal, reporting in.’
‘Master Vorstecht,’ Thane voxed, ‘I want status on warsuits and armour, right away.’
‘Aye, my lord.’
‘Storn of the Ninth, standing by.’
The Chapter Master listened for his remaining captains. After Gortez, Uzziah and Valdanor, he expected to hear Saul Abramach, formerly of the Excoriators, but the call never came.
‘Captain Abramach, report in,’ Thane said.
‘Chapter Master, I regret to inform you that the captain is dead,’ a steely voice returned.
‘Chaplain Ishcarion?’
‘Yes, Chapter Master,’ the Chaplain said. ‘He was killed during the collapse. Two battle-brothers go with him.’
Thane nodded to himself. The insertion had been a high-risk strategy and he had known there were going to be battle-brothers amongst the ranks of the Imperial Fists that would pay for his decision. The Chapter Master could only hope that vastly more orks had lost their lives as a consequence of their apocalyptic landing.
‘Understood, Chaplain,’ Thane returned. ‘Take charge there amongst the ranks of the Eighth.’
‘Affirmative,’ Ishcarion returned.
‘Apothecaries, report numbers of casualties and identify your dead. The Chief Apothecary will ensure that their gene-seed is recovered and their spirit lives on in our ranks.’
They didn’t really have time for such luxuries, but Thane couldn’t treat the Chapter’s first battle dead with disrespect. They would all have to hurry, however: their entrance might have been cataclysmic but there was no way of telling how long it would take the orks to rally.
The criss-crossing beams of suit lamps suddenly picked out a hulking figure, dropping from the ceiling. Carrying itself with primordial, brutal grace, the monster landed with assurance. Its cage and chain anchor had broken free in the crash. The lamps of Thane’s honour guard flashed at the creature to reveal its green face and yellowing tusks. The ork bellowed its alien fury at the Imperial Fists, before smashing one of the honour guard aside with a back-breaking crunch. Its heavy chains whipped about around it.
‘Alive!’ Thane called as the boltguns of the honour guard came up. ‘I want it alive.’
Dathan Tychor was suddenly there, the golden fabric of the Chapter standard flapping between the honour guard and their enemy. Knocking the barrels of the boltguns aside with a thrust of the battle standard, Tychor brought it immediately around like a hammer, smashing the ork senseless with the impact of the crossbar’s sculpted fist. As the monster tried to reassert itself, Tychor drew back the standard and then jabbed it forward, shattering the snaggle-fanged maw of the roaring thing. Turning with power-armoured grace, the standard bearer sent the banner fluttering across the heads of the honour guard and their Chapter Master before landing another skull-hammering blow with the adamantium fist on the other end of the crossbar. This time the creature went down, knocked unconscious by Tychor’s relentless assault. As the Sisters of Silence swept in, dragging heavy chains and manacles to clasp on the alien brute, the standard bearer turned to Thane.
‘It’s still alive.’
Turning around, the Chapter Master marched back towards the Imperial Fists, who were out of their landing cradles and forming up. Above, he could hear the remaining ork psykers raging and howling in their cages. In the gloom of the cavern, three battle brothers approached him, each clad in plate of different colours.
‘Three casualties only, Chapter Master,’ Chief Apothecary Delgado informed him, ‘including Captain Abramach.’
‘He will be sorely missed in this venture,’ Thane said solemnly.
‘Their gene-seed has been recovered.’
‘Injured?’ Thane asked.
‘Twenty-two,’ Delgado told him, ‘spread across five companies. None incapacitated. All able to take part in the battle ahead.’
‘Good,’ Thane said. ‘Thank you, Chief Apothecary. Master Vorstecht, what of our combat capabilities?’
‘All Centurion warsuits ready for deployment, Chapter Master,’ the Master of the Forge said.
‘Good, for they shall be needed. I thank you for your efforts, Master Vorstecht. I fear that further damage waits for your venerable machines on the field of battle.’
‘It is our honour to serve, Chapter Master.’
‘Chapter Master,’ Epistolary Zoldt said, ‘Orbital contact established. Captain Decarion for you. Channel psi-sigma.’
Thane nodded and adjusted his vox-channel.
‘Captain, we’re blind down here,’ he told Decarion. ‘I need a status report.’
‘Praise the primarch,’ Decarion said, his words warping across the poor transmission, ‘for your safe delivery and that of the Chapter. It is havoc up here. Phalanx’s batteries and turrets are all firing at full capacity, and still there are attack ships everywhere. Crash-capsules, ramming ships and landers constantly try to board us. My company stands ready to repel the orks when that happens — and it will happen, Chapter Master. It will not take the enemy long to focus their teleporters on us.’
‘Understood, captain,’ Thane said gravely. He could hear the drum of the distant guns. ‘And what of our own forces?’
‘Stormtalon gunships, drop pods and Thunderhawk Transporters are on their way down to you carrying Land Raiders,’ Decarion said. ‘The Deathwatch is inbound. Drop-ships and conveyors are descending now. The Lord Admiral had to send the Titans down with the skitarii and regimentals. The ark freighters are too exposed. Our carriers are attempting to achieve low orbit to deliver their fighter and bomber wings, but ground based macrocannons — the biggest I’ve ever seen — are making that difficult. Napier’s battle cruisers are offering bombardments of their own but he has already lost the Agamemnos and Saint Solomon. Buenaventura, also, has been crippled. Dominus Zhokuv is being evacuated.’
Thane grunted. For the magnificent Ark Mechanicus to be crippled, monstrous vessel that it was, the void battle must be unimaginably intense. He knew that every moment counted. Every second on the planet’s surface cost the attack groups above lives and vessels.
‘Attack Groups Idas, Verita and Sisyphax all have troops and armour on the surface,’ Decarion reported. ‘Princeps Senioris Grimaldi is desperately trying to get his Titans unloaded, dispensing even with ritual observances and weapons testing. Our augurs, however, show the heat signatures of several Titan-class war machines firing up to move on their position. Lord Marshal Rothenberg and Magos Reductor Ohmnix both report colossal numbers of enemy troops. The ork artillery is relentless, powerful but inaccurate. Their vehicles are rolling scrap. Ground forces display little organisation beyond being hordes that rally about larger chieftains and champions. These hordes, however, stretch to the horizon and are devastating in number and at close quarters.’