Warhammer - Ultramarines 02 - Warriors Of Ultramar (McNeill, Graham)

  A WARHAMMER 40,000 NOVEL

  An Ultramarines Novel

  WARRIORS OF ULTRAMAR

  Graham McNeill

  To Stephen, Susan and Arran for your continued friendship.

  IT IS THE 41st millennium. For more than a hundred centuries the Emperor has sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Earth. He is the master of mankind by the will of the gods, and master of a million worlds by the might of his inexhaustible armies. He is a rotting carcass writhing invisibly with power from the Dark Age

  of Technology. He is the Carrion Lord of the Imperium for

  whom a thousand souls are sacrificed every day, so that he may

  never truly die.

  YET EVEN IN his deathless state, the Emperor continues his eternal vigilance. Mighty battlcflcets cross the daemon-infested miasma of the warp, the only route between distant stars, their way lit by the Astronomican, the psychic manifestation of the Emperors will. Vast

  armies give battle in his name on uncounted worlds. Greatest

  amongst his soldiers are the Adcptus Astartes. the Space Marines.

  bio-engineered super-warriors. Their coMisterades in arms are legion:

  the Imperial Guard and countless planetary defence forces, the

  ever-vigilant Inquisition and the tech-priests of the Adcptus

  Mechanicus to name only a few. But for all their multitudes.

  they are barely enough to hold off the ever-present threat from

  aliens, heretics, mutants - and worse.

  To BE A man in such times is to be one amongst untold billions.

  It is to live in the cruellest and most bloody regime imaginable.

  These are the tales of those times. Forget the power of technology

  and science, for so much has been forgotten, never to be

  -learncd. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in

  the grim dark future there is only war. There is no peace amongst

  the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter,

  and the laughter of thirsting gods.

  PHASE I - DETECTION

  PROLOGUE

  Low clouds scudded across the dear blue sky of Tarsis Ultra, drifting in the light breeze that bent the fat stalks of corn stretching in all directions as far as the eye could see. The air was warm, scented with the pungent aroma of crops ready for harvest.

  A tall, high-sided vehicle lumbered through the gently waving fields on a road of hard-packed earth, flashing blades on extended tilt arms efficiently scything the crops on either side into a huge hopper on its back. The sun had yet to reach its zenith, but the hopper was almost full, the harvester having set off from the farming collective of Prandium before dawn's first light had broken.

  Smoke from the harvester's engine vented through a series of filters and was released in a toxin-free cloud above the small cab mounted on its frontal section.

  The harvester lurched as it veered to one side before one of the cab's two occupants pulled the control levers away from its more reckless driver.

  'Corin, I swear you drive this thing like a blind man.' snapped Joachim.

  'Well I'm never going to get any better if you keep taking the controls from me.' said Corin, throwing his hands up in disgust. He ran a gloved hand through his unruly mop of hair and stared in annoyance at his companion.

  Joachim felt his friend's glare and said, 'You almost had us in the irrigation ditch.'

  'Maybe.' admitted Corin. 'But I didn't, did I?'

  'Only because I took over.'

  Corin shrugged, unwilling to concede the point, and allowed Joachim to continue driving the harvester in relative peace. He removed his thin gloves and flexed his fingers, attempting to work out the stiffness in his joints. Holding onto the juddering control columns of a harvester and trying to guide it around the huge fields was punishing work.

  These gloves are useless.' he complained. 'They don't help at all.'

  Joachim grinned and said, 'So you haven't padded them out yet?'

  'No.' replied Corin. 'I was hoping your Elleiza would do it for me.'

  'I wouldn't hold your breath, she already runs after you like she was your wife.'

  'Aye!' chucked Corin, 'She's a good lass. She looks after me well, so she does.'

  'Too well.' pointed out Joachim. 'It's time you got your own woman to look after you. What about Bronagh, the medicae in Espandor? I heard that she was sweet on you.'

  'Bronagh. Ah, yes, she's a girl of rare taste.' laughed Corin.

  Joachim arched an eyebrow and was on the point of replying when the world exploded around them. A thunderous impact struck the side of the harvester and both men were hurled against the cab's interior as the giant vehicle lurched sideways. Joachim felt blood on his scalp and reached for the controls as the harvester began to tip.

  He pulled back on the column, but it was too late, the left track slid from the road into the ditch and the entire vehicle rolled over.

  'Hold on!' yelled Joachim as the harvester toppled onto its side with a crash of twisted metal. Broken glass showered them and Joachim felt a jagged edge slice open his temple. The harvester slammed down into the field, hurling giant clouds of corn and dust into the air as it toppled onto the dry earth. Its enormous tracks ground onwards, churning air as the engine continued to turn over.

  Almost a minute passed before the side door of the cab swung open and a pair of booted feet emerged. Gingerly, Joachim lowered himself out of the cab and splashed down into the knee-high water of the irrigation ditch that ran between the road and the field. He landed awkwardly and cursed, clutching his braised and gashed head. Corin groggily followed him into the ditch, cradling his arm close to his chest.

  Wordlessly, the two men surveyed the damage done to the harvester.

  The hopper was a twisted mass of buckled metal, smoking fragments and the stinking residue of burned corn all that remained of its centre section, where it appeared that something immensely powerful had struck.

  'Guilliman's oath, what happened?' asked Corin, breathlessly. 'Did someone shoot at us?'

  'I don't think so.' replied Joachim, pointing to a pillar of white smoke billowing skyward some hundred metres further into the field. 'But whatever it was, I bet it's got something to do with that.'

  Corin followed Joachim's pointing hand and said, 'What the hell is it?'

  'I don't know, but if it's a fire, we've got to get it out before the whole crop goes up.'

  Corin nodded and clambered painfully back into the harvester's cab, unclipping a pair of fire extinguishers from its rear wall and dropping them down to Joachim. With some difficulty they climbed the sloping rockcrete wall of the ditch, Joachim turning to pull Corin up as he reached the top.

  Hurriedly, they made their way through the field, their passage made easier by virtue of the long, dark scar gouged in the earth that led towards the column of smoke.

  'By Maccrage, I've never seen anything like this.' wheezed Corin. 'Is it a meteor?'

  Joachim nodded, then wished he hadn't as hot stabs of pain thundered in his head. 'I think so.'

  They reached the lip of the crater and pulled up in astonishment at what lay within.

  If it was a meteor, then it didn't look anything like either man imagined it might. Roughly spherical and composed of a leprous brown material, it resembled a giant gemstone rippling in a heat haze. Its surface was smooth and glassy looking, presumably from its journey through the atmosphere. Now that they could see it clearly, the two men saw that it wasn't smoke that billowed from the object in stinking waves, but steam. Gey
sers of the foul smelling vapour vented from cracks in its surface like leaks in a compressor pipe. Even from the edge of the crater they could feel the intense heat radiating from the object.

  'Well it's not on fire, but it's still damned hot.' said Joachim. 'We need to cool it down or it could still set light to the crop.'

  Corin shook his head and made the sign of the aquila over his heart. 'No way. I ain't going down there.'

  'What? Why not?'

  'I don't like the look of that thing, Joachim. It's bad news, I can feel it.'

  'Don't be simple all your life, Corin. It's just a big rock, now come on.'

  Corin shook his head vehemently and thrust the fire extinguisher he carried towards Joachim. 'Here. You want to go down there, then go, but I'm going back to the harvester. I'm going to vox Prandium and get someone to come out and pick us up.'

  Joachim could see there was no arguing with Corin, and nodded.

  'I'm going to take a closer look.' said Joachim. 'I'll be right back.'

  Slinging an extinguisher over each shoulder, he picked his way carefully down into the crater.

  Corin watched him until he reached its base and turned back the way they had come. He touched his wounded arm, wincing as pain flared just above his elbow: it felt broken. He glanced over his shoulder, hearing a loud hissing, like water being poured on a hot skillet, but continued walking.

  The hissing continued, followed by an almighty crack.

  Then the screaming started.

  Corin jumped, spinning around as he heard Joachim shriek in agony. His friend's scream was abruptly silenced, and a keening screech cut the air, utterly alien and utterly terrifying.

  Corin turned and sprinted back towards the harvester, fear lending his limbs extra speed.

  There was an autogun in the cab, and he desperately wished he'd brought it with him.

  He stumbled along the gouge torn in the earth, tripping on a buried root and falling to his knees. The thump of heavy footfalls sounded behind him. Something large and inhumanly quick was speeding through the corn. He could hear snapping stalks as it came nearer and nearer: Corin was in no doubt that it was hunting him.

  He moaned in fear, stumbling to his feet and running onwards. He risked a glance over his shoulder, seeing a blurred form ghost from sight into the swaying corn.

  The tread of something large seemed to come from all around him.

  'What are you?' he screamed as he ran.

  He ran blindly, bursting from the corn and yelling as he fell headlong into the irrigation ditch. He landed hard, cracking his elbow against the rockcrete, swallowing a mouthful of brackish water as he screamed in pain. He scrambled backwards, spitting water and shaking his head clear.

  He looked up as a dark shape blotted out the sky above him.

  Corin blinked away the water in his eyes and saw his pursuer clearly.

  He drew breath to scream.

  But it was on him in a flurry of scything blows that tore him apart before he could give voice to it.

  A lake of blood spread from the dismembered corpse. Corin's killer paused for the briefest second, as though scenting the air.

  It scrambled easily up the slope of the ditch and set off in the direction of Prandium.

  PHASE II - APPROACH

  ONE

  The Basilica Mortis was home to the Mortifactors.

  The ancestral home of the Mortifactors Chapter of Space Marines rotated slowly in the wan light of Posul and her faraway sun, its surfaces craggy and mountainous.

  For nearly ten thousand years, since the Chapter's founder, Sasebo Tezuka, had been led here by the Emperor's tarot, the Mortifactors had stood sentinel over the night world of Posul, and since that time, these holy knights of the Imperium had trained members of their warrior order within the walls of their orbiting fortress monastery.

  In appearance, it resembled some vast mountain range cast adrift in the void of space. The Imperium's finest tech-priests and adepts had come together to create this orbiting fortress: the Basilica was a marvel of arcane technical engineering that had long since been forgotten.

  For millennia, the Mortifactors had sent warriors from the Basilica Mortis to fight alongside the armies of the Imperium in the service of the divine Emperor of Man. Companies, squads, crusaders and - three times - the entire Chapter had been called to war, most recently to fight the orks on the blasted wastes of Armageddon. The honours the Chapter had won rivalled even those of such legendary Chapters as the Space Wolves, Imperial Fists or Blood Angels.

  At full occupation, the monastery was home to the thousand battle-brothers of the Chapter and their officers, with a supporting staff of servitors, scribes, technomats and functionaries that numbered seven and a half thousand souls.

  Vast docks jutted from the prow of the adamantium mountain, spearing into space with slender silver docking rings rising from the jib. Two heavily armed Space Marine strike cruisers were berthed in the docks, with smaller, Gladius frigates and Hunter destroyers either returning or departing on patrol throughout the Mortifactors' domain. Battle barges, devastating warships of phenomenal power, were housed in armoured bays deep in the bowels of the monastery, terrible weapons of planetary destruction held in their silent hulls.

  A beacon, flaring in the darkness upon the furthest jib of the docks, reflected the light from the hull of an approaching strike cruiser. The ship slipped gracefully towards the darkened fortress monastery, escorted by six rapid strike vessels of the Mortifactors. Ancient codes and tortuous greetings in High Gothic had been exchanged between the ship's captain and the monastery's Master of the Marches, but still the Mortifactors were taking no chances with security. The ship, the Vae Victus, drifted slowly, powered only by attitude thrasters that controlled her approach to the docks.

  The Vae Victus was a strike cruiser of the Ultramarines, the pride and joy of the Chapter's Commander of the Fleet, and normally travelled with a full panoply of escort craft in her wake. But the ships of the Arx Praetora squadron lay at anchor near the system's jump point, forbidden to approach the ancient sepulchre of the Mortifactors.

  The ship's structure was long, scarred by thousands of years of war against the foes of humanity. A cathedral-like spire, braced by ornamented flying buttresses, towered over her rear quarter and, in deference to the Mortifactors, her guns and launch bays were shuttered behind their protective blast shields. The portside of the vessel's prow gleamed where the shipwrights of Calth had repaired the horrendous damage done to her by an eldar ship, and the insignia of the Ultramarines shone with renewed pride from her frontal armour.

  As the Vae Victus drew near the Basilica, her prow swung slowly around until her starboard was broadside to the mountainous fortress monastery. Here, she hung silently in space until a flurry of small pilot ships emerged from the Basilica Mortis and swiftly took up position on her far side.

  Other ships, bearing vast mooring cables, each thicker than an orbital torpedo, flew out to meet the Vae Victus and attached them to secure anchor points as the pilot ships gently approached the portside hull of the Ultramarines vessel. Little more man powerful engines with a tiny servitor compartment bolted to its topside, the pilot ships were used to manoeuvre larger vessels into a position where they could dock. A dozen of them gently nuzzled the Vae Victus, like tiny, parasitic fish feeding on a vast sea creature, and flared their engines in controlled bursts. At last, their combined force overcame the inertia of the larger ship and, slowly, the Vae Victus eased towards the Basilica Mortis, the thick cables reeling her in and guiding her towards the enormous, claw-like docking clamps that would moor her safely to the fortress monastery.

  Deep within the starship, armoured footsteps and the distant sound of the pilot ships on the hull were the only things to break the calm, meditative silence of her corridors. Well lit by numerous electro-candles, the marble-white walls seemed to swallow sounds before they had a chance to echo.

  The gently arched walls were smooth and spartanly ornamented. Her
e and there along their length, tiny niches, lit by a delicate, diffuse light, held stasis-sealed vessels containing some of the Chapter's holy relics: the thigh bone of Ancient Galatan, an alien skull taken on the fields of Ichar IV, a fragment of stained glass from a long ago destroyed shrine or an alabaster statue of the Emperor himself.

  Four Space Marines marched towards the starboard docking bays where they would at last be able to set foot on the Basilica Mortis. Leading the delegation was a bald giant, his skin dark and tough as leather, with a network of scars criss crossing the left side of his face. His features were drawn in a scowl of displeasure, his eyes darting to the corridor's roof at every groan of metal that came from the hull, imagining the damage the pilot ships were inflicting upon his vessel.

  Lord Admiral Lazlo Tiberius wore his ceremonial cloak of office. The stiff foxbat fur raff surrounding his shoulders

  chafed his neck and the silver cluster securing it to his blue armour scratched his throat. He wore a wreath of laurels around his forehead and the many battle honours he had won glittered on his breast, the golden sunburst of a Hero of Macragge shining like a miniature sun.

  'Damned pilot ships.' muttered Tiberius. 'She's only just out of the yards at Calth and now they'll be buckling Emperor knows how many panels and arches.'

  'I'm sure it won't be as bad as you think, lord admiral. And she will see worse before we are done with Tarsis Ultra.' said the warrior immediately behind Tiberius, the captain of the Fourth company, Uriel Ventris, his emerald-green dress cloak billowing behind him.

  Tiberius grunted. As soon as we get back to Tarsis Ultra I want to put into dock at Chordelis and check. I'll not take her into battle without making sure she is at her best.'

  As captain of the Fourth company, one of Uriel's titles was Master of the Fleet, but in recognition of Tiberius's greater knowledge of space combat, he had deferred the position to the lord admiral, who had taken on the role with gusto. There was no dishonour in this, as the warriors of the Ultramarines followed the teachings of their primarch's holy tome, the Codex Astartes, which stressed the importance of every position being held by those most suited to it, regardless of station. Tiberius and the Vae Victus had fought together for nearly three centuries and Uriel knew that the venerable lord admiral would make a better Master of the Fleet than he.