Space Marine Legends: Azrael, Page 2

  ‘Of course, sergeant,’ Azrael replied. ‘Who is on first strike?’

  ‘I will lead Squad Belial and Squad Therizon will simultaneously teleport. Remaining squads to deploy in pairs as detailed in your standing assault doctrine, Grand Master.’

  ‘Then I will join Squad Therizon.’

  Belial opened his mouth to say something but then stopped himself.

  ‘What is it, sergeant? Give voice to your opinion.’

  ‘As Grand Master of the Deathwing it is your duty, your right, to lead the assault. As Supreme Grand Master you have wider concerns to occupy your attention. But it is not my place to make assumptions.’

  ‘It is a good observation, Belial, but mistaken in one respect. If I cannot command the Chapter with a blade in my hand, I am not fit for the position.’

  Belial smiled, a rare occurrence.

  ‘Of course, Grand Master. A truth I overlooked. You shall bring credit to the First Company and I am sure the Chapter Council will endorse your elevation permanently.’

  ‘Any thoughts of the future are just a distraction from the mission at hand, sergeant. The Chapter Council, and my role within it, can wait until victory is secured.’

  Belial accepted this with a salute and started towards the door. Before he had left the bridge, Azrael’s train of thought had sped on and he signalled for Delefont to attend him.

  ‘Convey my regards to Master Sheol and have him prepare the Fourth Company for a supporting assault. The Deathwing shall break the rebel gates, and Sheol shall have the honour of meeting us.’

  Date Ident: 887939.M41#1351

  Anti-aircraft turrets pulsed salvoes of blue laser fire into a sky cast mauve by the dull light of Rhamiel’s ancient star. Gunships circled at a distance, kept at bay by the weight of fire from the fortress’ cannons, while Land Speeders in the distinctive jet black of the Ravenwing screamed back and forth, daring the guns in order to strafe along the walls with heavy bolters and assault cannons.

  The Iron Stalagmite the natives of Rhamiel called the defence keep, once the abode of the Imperial commander now ousted by the insurrection from the upper ranks of his military. It could be mistaken for a small mountain, a kilometre high and four kilometres broad at its flared base. A ring of outkeeps and trenches once protected the approaches, but all that was left of them was plasma-blasted slag and cinders. The steep slopes of the three spiralling roads up to the main fortress were littered with the smoking shells of tanks, walkers and self-propelled guns. A few forest-green armoured vehicles of the Dark Angels continued to prowl the ramps to ensure no traitor survived the onslaught.

  The summit was a flattened mesa crowned by thick walls and a high central keep. The gates had been closed and the breach in the north wall from the Space Marines’ first attack had been rapidly blocked and sealed with vehicle wreckage and debris.

  It was here that Naberius fell, lured into a direct aerial assault by the seeming fragility of the walls and lack of firepower – a deliberate ruse ruthlessly enacted with the deaths of thousands of rebels.

  Half way up the mount, four companies of Dark Angels encircled the enemy stronghold. Tanks and transports ranging from Rhino personnel carriers to immense Land Raiders were dug in behind berms of broken rock sealed with dark grey spraycrete. Squads of power-armoured Space Marines waited beside their armoured vehicles, using the lee of the berms to shelter from the sporadic bursts of artillery and rockets that still occasionally spat from the inner grounds of the stronghold.

  Part of the line started to move. Responding to their orders, the Dark Angels of the Fourth Company raced into their Rhinos while the engines of Predators and Land Raiders roared into life. Two Thunderhawk gunships descended on plasma jets, their ramps opening as they touched down. A pair of Assault squads mounted the first while Brother Daviel, a four-century veteran interred in the sarcophagus of a massive Dreadnought war machine, boarded the other. From the cupola of his command Land Raider, Master Sheol led his warriors out of their defensive positions, the thunder of whirlwind rocket launchers heralding their attack.

  On the flattened summit of the mountain, within the curtain wall, a pulse of lightning and a blast wave of super-compressed air announced the arrival of the first two Terminator squads. The Grand Master and ten of the finest Dark Angels warriors arrived within the rebel stronghold, dispersed over fifty metres of hard ferrocrete. Azrael and Squad Therizon were closest to the citadel, seventy metres from its imposing gatehouse and weapon-topped towers.

  Belial and his warriors materialised about a hundred metres to their right, appearing by chance directly within a squad of renegades moving towards the outer wall. The shock wave of the Terminators’ arrival threw the enemy soldiers to the ground, several of them twisted and broken by the explosion of forces that delivered the Deathwing to the surface.

  The rebels were dressed in dark blue greatcoats and black bascinets with aventails of reflective mesh – they were members of Rhamiel’s planetary defence force now turned against the Imperium they were meant to serve. Azrael noticed the badges of allegiance on their helms – winged skulls in the form of the Legion symbol of the Night Lords.

  The survivors of the teleport arrival had no time to pick themselves up before Belial and his squad opened fire. The din of storm bolters rang around the courtyard. The fusillade scattered tatters of bloodied fabric and bodies ripped open by bolt detonations.

  Azrael’s squad moved into formation and his sensorium feed drew on the inputs from the other Terminators to coalesce into a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree representation of the battle zone. The outer wall was twenty metres high, reached by steps and ramps every thirty metres. Pillbox bunkers broke the line of the wall’s top every ten metres, filled with enemy soldiers. More rebels manned bipod- and tripod-mounted heavy weapons at semicircular revetments between the bunkers.

  The broken remains of Naberius’ Thunderhawk had been dragged inside the walls and dumped unceremoniously on the ferrocrete. The rebels had taken time to paint crude winged skulls across the Dark Angels insignia and the aquila of the Emperor. The sight of such defacing caused Azrael a twist of anguish in his gut, a reminder of what could be happening at that moment to the body of the Supreme Grand Master and the honoured standard of the Chapter. He fixed his attention on their objective, his resolve hardened to the task ahead.

  The main citadel was a solid hexagonal building nearly two hundred metres to each wall, soaring a hundred metres above the courtyard. The walls bulged with angular defensive positions, and each corner was reinforced with round towers broken with narrow windows for small-arms fire.

  Halftrack vehicles were drawn up in lines beneath armoured canopies some distance to the left. Quadruped battle walkers stood guard by the main gates of the curtain wall – three of them, each with twin turrets mounting heavy cannons. These rose up and turned towards the Terminators that had appeared in their midst, while las-fire and bullets started to rain down from the inner fortress.

  ‘Gate breach!’ called Azrael as he moved towards the citadel. Behind, his squad fell in line and as one they raised their storm bolters and poured fire at the closest defenders, their hail of bolts forcing the enemy back from their firing slits above the citadel gates. Through the sensorium Azrael could see Belial’s squad had moved to intercept a platoon of rebels pouring from a guard house behind the outer wall. In the corner of his eye he could see the countdown until the teleporters aboard the Penitent Warrior had cycled through the recharge phase. Forty-six seconds until the next squads arrived.

  The Deathwing moved as a single entity to form a protective ring around Brother Garvel as he strode towards the citadel gates with his thunder hammer. Enemy fire flashed from his raised storm shield and sparked from the armour of the others. Azrael stood next to Therizon and the two of them turned their weapons on the halftracks, scything through the renegades trying to board the vehicles, sparks racing along the armoured hulls of the bulky transports.

  Bracing himself, Garvel swun
g his thunder hammer at the massive metal gates. The impact was like the crack of a storm, a flare of light and a rolling crash that reverberated across the courtyard. Azrael kept his attention focused on the halftracks, where rebel soldiers now skulked behind the vehicles, sniping at Therizon’s men with their lasguns.

  The walkers opened fire, cannons belching smoke and flame. The shells exploded against the Tactical Dreadnought armour of the Deathwing, rocking Brother Sammeus and engulfing Brother Daellin with broken ferrocrete and shrapnel. As the bitter wind cleared the smoke, the two Terminators emerged from the fume, the assault cannon of the first chewing fist-sized hunks of steel from the armour of the closest walker, the storm bolter of the second rippling fire across the armoured hydraulics powering the walker’s legs.

  Garvel smashed his hammer against the gates a second time with another explosion of power. The banded metal of the gate flexed; stress fractures ran up its length from the point of impact.

  A couple of rebels had managed to crawl up into the cupolas of the halftracks and now swung their heavy machine guns around. A stream of bullets scoured across the ground in front of Azrael, ripping towards the Grand Master in a zig-zag. With bullets shrieking over his breastplate, Azrael levelled his storm bolter at the gunner on the right, the targeting crosshair dancing over the pale face of a woman behind the gunshield. He opened fire and the rebel disappeared from view in a mist of crimson. The machine gun swung upwards, caught in her death grip, emptying its fury into the sky.

  Another sharp crack of air brought forth squads Daeron and Balthasar; the former appeared behind the halftracks, the latter a few metres from Squad Belial. Azrael could see movement on the outer wall – traitor officers assessing the threat in the heart of their stronghold, caught between the Deathwing and the approach of Sheol’s incoming attack.

  The third blow from Garvel’s thunder hammer split the gate.

  Needing no prompting from their sergeant or Grand Master, Garvel and Luciel swapped places, thunder hammer replaced with field-sheathed chainfist. The teeth of Luciel’s weapon growled into a blur and sparks flew as he directed slashing blows at the rent created by Garvel’s hammer.

  ‘All squads converge on the gate,’ Azrael told his warriors. ‘Cover fire against those walkers.’

  A burst of missiles from the cyclone launcher in Squad Balthasar flared over the heads of Belial’s warriors as they retreated from the continuing barrage of the walking tanks. The warheads detonated against the slanted armour plates of the rebel engines, scattering white-hot shards of shrapnel and broken ceramite.

  ‘Gate breached!’ announced Luciel. He tore the last remnant of the broken gate away with the gauntlet of the chainfist and tossed it aside. Dim yellow light seeped from within, fluctuating with the shadows of movement inside.

  Azrael stepped closer. An incandescent blast from beyond the shattered portal engulfed Luciel. It was impossible to see exactly what happened in the midst of the blinding light but broken pieces of Tactical Dreadnought armour and burning flesh sprayed across the other members of the squad. As one they poured fire into the breach, firing blind in retaliation.

  ‘Lion’s shade, what was that?’ exclaimed Brother Galad, his armour pitted with smouldering pieces of adamantium and plasteel.

  ‘Keep firing!’ ordered Belial.

  Azrael readied the grenade launcher fitted to the back of his power fist. Clenching his fingers, he fired a spread of frag charges through the opening. A second later the blossom of their detonation lit the interior of the gatehouse.

  In the split-second of illumination the Grand Master saw a tableau of figures in stark contrast to the shadows of the gatehouse hall, which was a vaulted structure about twenty metres high, the walls unbroken but for an inner portal.

  Dark robes obscured overlapping plates of segmented power armour, the defenders’ faces hidden behind masks shaped like snarling wolves, eye-lenses like smooth rubies. Arcane machinery sprouted from packs upon their backs, coiled about with thick cables that ran to the guns in their hands. The cerulean pulse of plasma chambers glowed dully through the folds of their robes.

  Thanks to the integrated surveyor systems of the sensorium web, the others saw exactly what Azrael witnessed. Alert to the danger, the Terminators withdrew from the breach still firing, while Brother Horst unleashed the fury of his heavy flamer. The burning promethium lapped at the ragged edges of the gate remains and poured into the interior.

  ‘Daeron!’

  The sergeant and his squad were moving even as the command left Azrael’s lips. Breaking into a lumbering charge the Terminator assault squad pushed into the still-burning breach, thunder hammers and lightning claws crackling with power.

  Azrael and Therizon’s warriors followed close behind, in time to see Daeron’s squad fall on the mechanically augmented defenders. In the glow of guttering flames, their claws sheared and hammers crushed plates of armour, rending and pulping the bodies within. Fractured plasma cells sprayed sparks of cerulean energy that left melt-lines streaked across the outer skin of the Terminators’ armoured suits.

  ‘Dark technomancy,’ muttered Sergeant Daeron as he crushed the helmeted head of a dead foe beneath his massive boot. ‘The foes arrayed against us have made unholy alliances here.’

  ‘There is certainly a darker purpose,’ said Azrael. He surveyed the inner doors, the heavy metal flawlessly sealed, the locking mechanism hidden on the other side.

  A hiss attracted his attention and he looked up to see dark gas pouring from vents in the ceiling. His suit’s sensors picked up several toxic substances. None of them would be lethal to him even outside of his armour. The acidic compounds in the cloud hissed as they flowed over the Terminators, peeling away enamel and gilding but doing little damage to the ceramite beneath, though an unarmoured attacker may have been swiftly stripped down to muscle and bone. The noxious cloud billowed out through the breached gate.

  ‘Crude,’ said Belial, ‘and perhaps desperate. They were not expecting teleport attack. Their force is concentrated on the wall.’

  ‘Or they have sealed the citadel for another reason,’ said Therizon. ‘The Supreme Grand Master’s locator is still transmitting.’

  Azrael focused his suit’s systems, homing in on Naberius’ transponder. Through the sensorium he picked up the signal. Due to the interlinked nature of the sensor web, the others found it too. Galad stepped towards the door.

  ‘We must hasten, before something unspeakable happens to our lord’s remains.’

  ‘Into a waiting trap, brother?’ said Belial. ‘The advantage of our surprise arrival is swiftly diminishing.’

  ‘There is not a warrior in this stronghold that can hold against the Deathwing, brother-sergeant,’ Galad replied. He slammed his storm bolter against his eagle-embossed plastron. The crash of it rang loudly in the entrance chamber. ‘The finest plate of the Chapter, the most skilful warriors. Rhamiel has nothing to threaten us.’

  ‘So the greatest danger is arrogance,’ said Belial.

  ‘Wait.’ Azrael’s calm command cut through the discussion. ‘The traitors have to know we are coming for him. We must be wary not to fall to the same hazard as Naberius.’

  From the viewpoints of the Terminators still outside he could see that one of the walkers had been destroyed, the others beset by Squad Balthasar who were prying open armour and tearing at hydraulics with their power fists. There was no immediate danger from the courtyard; the troops on the wall were still occupied with the incoming Dark Angels company.

  ‘Balthasar, I want you to seize the outer gate,’ he voxed to the sergeant. ‘Master Sheol’s attack is underway – I’ll not have him humbled at the walls.’

  ‘By the Lion’s command, it shall be done, Grand Master,’ Balthasar assured him, his visual feed showing his sword plunged into the exposed engine grille of the armoured walker. ‘We’ll hold until Master Sheol arrives.’

  Satisfied that the initial assault was progressing as intended, Azrael tapped into the
sensorium feed from the others to triangulate the source of the Supreme Grand Master’s transponder code.

  ‘Above us, somewhere on the upper levels. Therizon, hold the gate.’ He checked the chronometer. ‘Reinforcement in twenty-three seconds. Sheol’s attack will reach the walls in another minute. When it arrives I want a collapsing cordon – all Deathwing will converge on my signal and reinforce the assault.’

  Their affirmatives crackled across the vox.

  ‘By the Lion’s shade, we shall restore our honour with the blood of our enemies,’ growled Belial.

  ‘Step aside, brother,’ Garvel told Galad. His thunder hammer flared into life, casting long, wavering shadows across the hall. ‘Let me use my key.’

  Date Ident: 887939.M41#1423

  Azrael had expected sudden confrontation, an attack the moment they had broken through the inner gate. No such ambuscade came and it was with concern that he led his warriors into the wide hall beyond – a vast space that took up almost the entirety of the lowest floor.

  ‘Their best fighters expend their energy at the walls,’ said Galad, ‘as I expected.’

  ‘Or they conserve their attack for the most opportune moment,’ countered Azrael. ‘Watch your sectors, stay alert.’

  The sensorium picture grew out of a fuzz of static as sophisticated cogitators assimilated the datafeeds of the Terminators to create a secondary reality of lines and runes over Azrael’s view. The citadel extended above and below, reached by elevators and stairwells through doorways at the far end of the hall. Dozens of tertiary readings – probably life signs – flashed along chambers and corridors to either side and above.

  ‘Where is the Supreme Grand Master?’ asked Belial. Fluctuating energy readings intermittently obscured the beacon signal from Naberius’ armour.

  ‘We secure the conveyors,’ said Azrael, pointing ahead. His arm swept round, to the right and then left. ‘This is the killzone. Nothing enters that is not destroyed.’