03 - Savage Scars (28 page)

The lead Predator, a venerable Ultramarines vehicle with the title
Son of
Chrysus
, edged towards the ramp of the bridge, its autocannon tracking left
and right threateningly. Sarik’s vox-bead clicked, and the tank’s commander came
onto the channel.

“Phase line reached, veteran sergeant,” the commander reported. “Your
orders?”

From his position further back in the column, Sarik had only a limited view
of the bridge. He needed to know more before he committed his force.

“Choristeaus,” Sarik addressed the commander of the
Son of Chrysus
.
“Can you see any evidence of demolitions being set?”

There was a pause as the vehicle commander scanned the base of the bridge and
the supports that were visible from his vehicle. “Negative, sergeant,” the
commander reported. “No evidence at all. Request permission to proceed.”

Sarik had no time to consider the implications of the commander’s request,
for the crusade army was following hot on the heels of the Space Marine column.
To delay the crossing of the bridge and the securing of the far shore would
impose an intolerable bottleneck on the army, and the momentum of the entire
advance would be lost. The consequences should that occur were too dire to
ponder.

“Proceed, sergeant,” Sarik answered. “But with caution. All other units,
follow on when
Son of Chrysus
is halfway across.”

Dozens of acknowledgements came back over the vox-net as the Ultramarines
tank powered up the bridge’s ramp. The next two Predators edged forwards, their
weapons tracking protectively back and forth, covering any scrap of cover that a
tau spotter could be using to train a laser designator on the
Son of Chrysus
.

His Rhino halted by the side of the road, Sarik raised his magnoculars again,
and trained them on the far side of the river. More ruined domes lined the
shore, palls of smoke drifting lazily upwards. Dotted all around the ruins were
stands of fruit trees, reduced to little more than splintered skeletons by the
relentless bombardments. Sarik increased the magnification, his view almost
entirely obscured by banks of smoke and darting cinders. He tracked left,
towards the great loop in River 992 that led south around Gel’bryn. Seeing
nothing but wreckage, he tracked the magnoculars right, his view temporarily
obscured by the blurred mass of the
Son of Chrysus
as the Predator ground
inexorably forwards. The shore five hundred metres to the right of the opposite
end of the bridge was even more obscured, a pure white bank of smoke sizzling
with inner turmoil making it impossible to see anything more.

Something about the white cloud made Sarik pause. He reduced the
magnification so that the entire right side of the bridge was visible. With the
view widened, Sarik could see what had raised his suspicions. The area of white
was an anomaly, for the smoke rising from the rest of the ruins was grey or
black. Where the banks were lit by orange fires deep in their innards, the white
area seemed to shiver and pulse, as if charged by some unknown energetic
reaction.

Then the wind changed, and the sharp taint of bleach filled Sarik’s nostrils.
Ozone.

“Choristeaus!” Sarik called into the vox-net. “Ambush right, six-fifty, the
white patch of smoke!”

Sarik did not need the magnoculars to see what happened next. The Predator’s
turret tracked right as sergeant Choristeaus located the area Sarik had
indicated. “My thanks, sergeant,” the tank commander replied. “Standby.”

Then the white smoke was parted by the passage of an invisible,
hyper-velocity projectile. It left no trail or wake, and struck the Predator’s
glacis plate at an oblique angle. The entire front left section of the tank was
vaporised, tearing a ragged wound in the prow, peeling back layer upon layer of
armour and exposing the Predator’s mangled innards. The driver was killed
instantly, his body directly in the path of the projectile. No trace of it was
ever found.

“Power loss,” the tank’s commander reported, his voice calm and steady even
as death closed in on him. The white smoke that had parted when the projectile
had been fired now drifted clear, revealing that it had been generated by some
hybrid gas/distortion charge device mounted on a grav-tank. The tank prowled
forwards threateningly, lining up a second shot with its massive, turret mounted
gun.

“Choristeaus!” Sarik bellowed over the vox-net, though loud enough that the
tank commander probably heard him with his own ears. “Bail out, brother, now!”

“Negative,” the sergeant replied calmly. “Engaging capacitor surge.”

With its power systems crippled, the Predator was unable to traverse its
turret to fire on the enemy vehicle. But the tank was not dead yet, as
Choristeaus knew. By activating the capacitor surge device, every ounce of power
remaining in the Predator’s machine systems would be flooded to the turret
actuators. Enough power would be provided to turn the turret and line up a
single shot, even as every fuse in the entire vehicle blew out. It was a last
resort, and Choristeaus grasped it.

A dozen angry sparks went up from various points on the wounded Predator’s
hull as the capacitors were squeezed dry and the vehicle’s fuses blown. Then the
turret tracked right, and the autocannon lowered. The
Son of Chrysus
opened fire even as the tau grav-tank found its mark. The Predator’s first shot
struck the enemy’s left thruster pod, the cannon shell slamming right through
the slatted armour protecting the intake and exploding within.

Sarik fought the unseemly urge to punch the air in celebration. Before the
second autocannon round could cycle into its chamber, the tau grav-tank fired.
The alien gunner’s aim must have been spoiled when his vehicle’s thrusters had
been struck, for the shot clipped the rear of the Predator, tearing through the
armour protecting its rear section. The hyper-velocity slug was transformed into
plasma as it impacted against the solid mass of the Predator’s armour, which in
turn burned its way through one of the tank’s ammunition hoppers. A hundred
shells detonated as one, and blow-out panels intended to protect the crew
against such catastrophic damage were automatically jettisoned from the rear, a
great gout of fire and burning debris erupting forth.

Less than a second passed between the projectile striking the Predator and
the second autocannon shell cycling into its chamber. Even as the ammunition
hoppers detonated, sergeant Choristeaus fired the last shell, which boomed from
the cannon mouth and struck the tau grav-tank a metre to the left of the first
shot. The joint between the grav-tank’s thruster unit and its main hull was
shattered, and the entire pod split off to slam to the ground.

The enemy tank slid sideways through the smoke, its pilot struggling in vain
to control his vehicle now it was bereft of the thruster. He failed
spectacularly, the solid bulk crashing into a nearby dome, slewing sideways and
then flipping over entirely. At the last, the upturned tank ploughed into the
ground, kicking up a spray of dirt as flames spouted from its wounds.

But that was not the last of the engagement. The rear of the Predator blew
outwards as more of its ammunition detonated, its failsafe systems unable to
contain the extent of the damage the hyper-velocity weapon had inflicted.
Sergeant Choristeaus braced his arms against the rim of his cupola and pulled
himself upwards, even as gouts of flames erupted around his waist. Then the rear
of the Predator blew apart, the over-pressure escaping via the open wound at the
tank’s prow and the open hatch through which the tank commander was attempting
to escape. The blast propelled the sergeant from the hatch and he was hurled
through the air. He slammed to the ground hard ten metres behind his now
furiously burning tank, and miraculously, rose to his feet.

Sarik had seen enough. He opened the vox-channel and bellowed, “All commands,
I want that bridge taken, now!”

Tank engines gunned to life and the Space Marine column ground forwards
towards the bridge, dozens of weapons trained on the far bank lest any more
ambushers show themselves. The two Predators that had followed the
Son of
Chrysus
forwards powered up the bridge’s ramp and sped towards the wreckage
of their fellow. Then the three Rhinos that Sarik had ordered to support the
Predators powered forwards, the first one slowing and dropping its rear ramp so
that Sergeant Choristeaus could board.

As the first of the Predators approached the wreckage in the centre of the
bridge, Sarik’s Rhino started moving. The sergeant stood tall in his cupola, his
magnoculars trained on the banks of drifting smoke on the far shore. He zoomed
in on the scene of the destroyed tau grav-tank, the view jumping wildly as his
Rhino pressed on. Flames were guttering from the tank’s flank where its thruster
unit had been blown away, and they were spreading, greasy black smoke spouting
from several vents across the vehicle’s hull.

Then the grav-tank’s commander clambered out from the vehicle’s rear hatch.
He was obviously wounded, his entire left side blackened and his chest armour
shattered. As the commander staggered from the wreck, several figures appeared
behind the tank. Within moments, a squad of fire warriors was surrounding the
wreck while two of their number dragged the wounded commander to safety.

At a shouted order from the aliens’ leader, another warrior clambered under
the grav-tank’s upturned prow, risking the flames to reach the driver’s hatch.

“I have a clear shot. Engaging…” the voice of a Predator vehicle commander
came over the vox-net. It was Sergeant Larisneaus, the commander of the Predator
called
Wrath of Iax
. The Ultramarines battle tank was aiming its
autocannon directly at the fire warriors, its commander keen to avenge the
destruction of the
Son of Chrysus
.

“Negative, Larisneaus!” Sarik snapped. “They recover their fallen. Let them
do so.”

“Sarik,” the tank commander replied. “They killed my kin. It is my—”

“Negative!” Sarik shouted. “They honour their fallen, as we do our own. You
will obey my order, Sergeant Larisneaus.”

The other tank’s autocannon lingered on the scene of the fire warrior
dragging the unconscious or dead tau pilot from the burning grav-tank. The
Predator pressed forwards at combat speed, its turret tracking to the right as
its commander kept the object of his wrath in his sights.

The
Wrath of Iax
slowed as it passed the smoking wreck of the
Son
of Chrysus
, forced to manoeuvre through the gap between the bridge’s edge
and the ruined Predator. Sarik’s Rhino mounted the bridge and he was afforded a
clear view across the shimmering waters of River 992 to the devastation beyond.
He trained his magnoculars on the wrecked enemy tank, seeing that the pilot and
commander had been dragged clear. The alien squad leader was shouting orders,
gesturing for his fire warriors to re-deploy.

Then the scene in the viewfinder exploded in purple blood and orange flashes.
With the wounded tau clear, Sergeant Larisneaus had opened fire. The Predator’s
turret-mounted autocannon and its two sponson-mounted heavy bolters opened fire
as one, unleashing a terrible storm of explosive metal that caught the tau in
the open. Rounds tore through alien bodies, ripping them apart in a welter of
blood as limbs were sent cartwheeling through the air. The flank of the
grav-tank erupted in sparks as stray rounds hammered into its armour, gouging
huge ragged chunks out of the alien material. Within seconds, the fire warriors
were reduced to smoking meat scattered around the upturned grav-tank, their
blood splattered across its side.

“Honour is settled,” Sergeant Larisneaus said flatly over the vox-net. Sarik
could scarcely argue.

“Contact front!” another voice yelled over the vox-net. It was Sergeant Jhkal,
of the White Scars Predator
Stormson
. An instant later the sound of the
tank’s autocannon and heavy bolters opening fire rang out.

On the far side of Bridge 992, the tau were counter-attacking.

Battlegroup Arcadius, Lucian Gerrit and his officers at its head, charged
through the ruined settlement on the nearside bank of River 992. Explosions
erupted all around and deadly bolts of searing blue energy whipped through the
air. The Rakarshans were at the army’s extreme right flank, guarding against the
possibility of the enemy launching rapid strikes against the host’s otherwise
exposed edges. Five minutes earlier, such a strike had been launched.

Lucian threw himself against a mass of burned-out machinery as a volley of
energy bolts scythed through the air not a metre from him. The air sizzled as
the bolts zipped past and he felt his skin tingle at their passing. Looking back
along his path, Lucian saw that a platoon of Rakarshans were following close
behind, Sergeant-Major Havil at their head.

“Havil!” Lucian called out, but the warrior ignored him, running past his
position with his power axe raised two-handed and his beard trailing behind him.
More shots whined past and Lucian momentarily lost sight of Havil.

“Well enough,” Lucian growled. “We’ll do it the Rakarshan way.”

Lucian propelled himself to his feet, his plasma pistol instantly raised as
more of the riflemen ran forwards. He tracked the pistol left, then movement
from the right caught his eye and he brought his weapon to bear on it. A tau
warrior had risen from a previously concealed position, a short, stubby carbine
braced against his shoulder and pointed straight at the charging sergeant-major.

Lucian fired, and the roiling blast of raw plasma took the tau’s right arm
off at the shoulder, the backwash of lethal energies spraying across his blank
faceplate. The alien screamed horrifically as he fought with his one remaining
hand to tear the rapidly melting helmet away before the liquid energies melted
through.