03 - Savage Scars (39 page)

It seemed to Lucian now that the tau were suddenly the lesser of two enemies,
and that it might be Inquisitor Grand that defeated the entire undertaking.

The last hour had seen the tempo of Operation Hydra attain a new urgency,
which Lucian impressed upon his subordinates as the other regimental commanders
did on their own. Unlike the vast multitudes of the rank and file, the
commanders knew the reason for the sudden haste. An operation that had
previously been allowed an extremely tight twenty-four-hour window to achieve
its objective now found even that deadline brought forward. The problem was, not
even General Gauge knew exactly when that deadline would expire.

Lucian seethed inwardly as he moved along the street. The elite patrols
platoon of the Rakarshan Rifles were ranging ahead of him, while two rifle
platoons was close behind. What the hell was Grand playing at? The inquisitor’s
initial threat to enact Exterminatus within twenty-four hours had been extreme
enough, but the remnants of the crusader council had thought themselves able to
call Grand’s bluff and make the devastation of the entire world unnecessary.
Lucian was coming to suspect that Inquisitor Grand had intended to bring the
Exterminatus forward all along, and Lucian and his allies had played right into
his hands in pushing towards the star port, well beyond their capability to
return to Sector Zero and evacuate.

“Warp take him…” Lucian cursed, for the tenth time in as many minutes. The
madman was prepared to slaughter thousands upon thousands of Imperial Guard and
several hundred Space Marines just to prove a point…

“Excuse me, sir?” Lucian’s signalman said from close behind as a barrage
fired by a troop of Manticore missile tanks streaked through the night sky
overhead.

“Nothing, son,” Lucian growled, bitterness rising inside as he recalled his
actual son, and the risks he had taken to discover and communicate the fact that
Grand had brought forward the Exterminatus order. The Manticore barrage walloped
into a tau position a kilometre distant, setting off a staccato burst of
secondary explosions that lit the edge of the star port with a hellish orange
glow.

Lucian was torn, his duty to the crusade conflicting violently with his duty
to his dynasty. He could leave within the hour, he knew, by calling a lander
from the
Oceanid
to return him to the fleet. He could confront Grand and
ensure his son’s safety, though he suspected doing so might cost him his life.
But to abandon his duty now, as his battle group closed on the objective it had
fought and bled so hard to capture, would be the act of a self-serving coward.

No, Lucian knew that the only course of action open to him was to lead
Battlegroup Arcadius forward in glory, and take that cursed star port as soon as
possible. Korvane would have to do what he could, as would General Gauge and his
staff, though that was precious little. As dire as his own predicament seemed,
Lucian did not envy Gauge. The general was faced with an apparently insane
inquisitor, an individual who wielded authority to all intents and purposes
equal to that of the High Lords of Terra themselves, as well as the pressing
need to win a major victory and evacuate tens of thousands of troops.

“Sir?” the signalman said again.

“Nothing,” Lucian repeated, distracted by his train of thought and not really
paying attention to his surroundings.

“Sir!” the man said, the urgency of his tone snapping Lucian back to the here
and now. The signalman was pointing up ahead, and Lucian slowed as he followed
the gesture. Patrols platoon had disappeared, and the street was empty.

No, it was far from empty. The elite scouts and trackers of patrols platoon
had simply melted into the shadows on either side of the wide street, and that
could only mean trouble.

“Tell the column to stand by,” Lucian said, and the signalman passed the
order along.

Cautiously, Lucian advanced along the street, lowering his prey-sense goggles
to pierce the smoke and darkness beyond patrols platoon. Whatever the scouts had
spotted, he could not yet see it, but his goggles would detect what even the
elite trackers could not see.

Lowering the brass headset over his eyes, Lucian tuned the viewfinder. The
smoke appeared to lift like a morning mist dispelled by the rising sun,
revealing a group of boxy vehicles at the far end of the street. After a moment,
Lucian realised that the vehicles were Space Marine Whirlwind missile tanks, and
that his battlegroup had almost caught up with Sarik’s spearhead. Lucian knew
that the Rakarshans would have to slow their advance so that the two groups did
not become mixed up, frustrating given the haste to reach the star port, but
that could not have been why patrols platoon had gone firm.

“Signals,” Lucian hissed, waving the adjutant to his side while keeping his
gaze fixed upon the vehicles up ahead. He heard the signalman speaking low into
his vox-horn, and the hushed, distorted chatter of return traffic. Then he saw…

“Carnivores, sir,” the signalman reported, passing on the report from the
Rakarshan captain leading patrols platoon. “They’re just about to—”

“I see them,” Lucian hissed, not taking his eye off the dark shadow moving
towards the rearmost of the Space Marine vehicles.

Then the boxy twin-launchers atop that vehicle angled upwards on whining
servos, and a flaring jet of flame belched from the rear vents. A missile spat
outwards from one of the launchers, and the scene at the end of the street was
fully illuminated in the sudden flare.

Something big was moving towards the Whirlwind, something so large the
carnivores around it seemed little more than scuttling vermin. It was some type
of beast, its long body supported on massive hind legs. Its front legs were
little more than vestigial claws, while its head was dominated by a jagged-edged
beak and quills sprouting from the crown. As the light cast by the missile
guttered away, Lucian saw that the beast carried some form of oversized howdah
or saddle, and that two or three more carnivores were mounted on its back,
manning some kind of primitive, crossbow-like heavy weapon.

“Get some tubes forward,” Lucian ordered, then activated his own vox-link,
cycling through the channels until he found the one reserved for the Space
Marine commanders. Ordinarily, the channel would be locked out to anyone other
than the Adeptus Astartes, but Lucian had friends in high places. The channel
burst to life, curt orders cutting back and forth as squad sergeants called
targets and coordinated fire and movement between their units. He waited for an
opportunity to cut in, but the beast was closing on the Whirlwind too fast to
stand on ceremony.

“Rearmost Astartes Whirlwind,” Lucian said. “This is an urgent transmission,
over.”

The voices went silent, the tinny sound of gunfire bleeding in. “Last sender,
identify yourself,” a gruff voice said.

“Stand down, Sergeant Rheq,” the familiar voice of Sergeant Sarik came over
the channel. “Make it quick, Lucian.”

“Carnivores closing on your rearmost launcher. And they have something big,”
he said. “I’m moving up anti-tank, so I suggest you get your vehicles clear.”

“Understood, Lucian,” Sarik replied. “My thanks. Out.”

As Lucian closed the link, three two-man missile launcher teams came level
with him, one man in each carrying the shoulder-fired tube while the other bore
a case of three reloads. Sergeant-Major Havil followed in their wake, his
long-hafted power axe slung over his shoulder. Havil immediately set about
bullying the missile launcher teams into setting up their tubes in double time,
and soon they were ready to fire.

Meanwhile, the Whirlwinds’ engines were gunning to life, thick smoke belching
from their side-mounted exhausts. Lucian saw the carnivores react, halting as
they crept forwards, their primitive, spiked rifles raised. The beast was reined
in, its vile face glowering at the source of the sound.

Yet, while Lucian could see the scene clearly thanks to the arcane systems of
his prey-sense goggles, the smoke was obscuring it entirely from the missile
launcher teams.

The carnivores were gesturing towards the nearest Whirlwind as it juddered
forwards. The heavy weapon on the back of the huge beast was turning around to
engage the missile tank from almost point-blank range. Even such a primitive
weapon could cause damage at close enough range, especially against the tank’s
rear armour.

Realising the beast-mounted weapon was about to open fire, Lucian made up his
mind. He rushed towards the nearest of Sergeant-Major Havil’s missile-launcher
teams, and grabbed the tube from the grip of the stunned Rakarshan. The man was
about to voice a protest, when Havil thumped the non-lethal end of his power axe
into the back of his head. The Rakarshan hefted the weapon from his shoulder and
passed it to Lucian.

Raising the tube to his shoulder, Lucian realised that he would not be able
to sight using the weapon’s onboard system, for it could not penetrate the
smoke. Steadying the tube with his right hand, he used his left to pull a cord
from his goggles, which he jacked into a port on the side of the launcher’s
sighting unit. Lucian prayed that the war spirits within the two devices would
achieve communion, and not reject one another as often happened. A moment later
the vision through his goggles was overlaid with the launcher’s targeting
reticule, the two devices operating as one.

His thumb closing on the firing stud, Lucian took a moment to still himself,
breathing out as the reticule settled on the beast. He played the aim across its
body, rejecting the sure kill, but possible miss of a headshot for a sure hit,
but less likely kill, body shot.

“Clear!” Lucian called, issuing one last warning to anyone behind him that he
was about to fire.

“Clear!” he heard Sergeant-Major Havil confirm.

He pressed the firing stud, and the missile streaked from the tube. The
backblast blew hot, sharp-smelling gases into his face, before the main charge
ignited ten metres out and propelled the missile along the length of the street
and into the smoke.

The missile struck the huge beast square in the howdah, exploding the heavy
weapon which had been preparing to fire on the Whirlwind. The two carnivores
manning the weapon were enveloped in a white flash, leaving only their legs,
fused to the wreckage on the beast’s back.

“Missed,” Lucian spat. “Reload!” he said to the Rakarshan beside him.

“No need, my lord,” Sergeant-Major Havil said, a broad grin splitting his
black-bearded face.

Lucian lifted his goggles to see that the missile’s explosion had blown away
the smoke at the end of the street, exposing the carnivores to the Rakarshan’s
view. Though Lucian’s missile had not struck the huge beast square as he had
hoped, in winging it and killing its riders he had caused it to go berserk. The
beast was enraged, lashing out with its beaked head and stomping the ground hard
with its huge, taloned feet.

The beast spun around as the carnivores scattered. Several were too slow. One
was bitten in half at the waist by the beast’s snapping, razor-edged beak while
another was pounded flat by a crushing foot. Some of the carnivores dashed into
side streets, but the majority backed off along the main thoroughfare, towards
Lucian’s force.

Seeing his opportunity, Lucian stood, and bellowed, “Rakarshans, address!”

Then he realised the Rakarshans probably had no idea what “address” meant. He
turned to the sergeant-major, who was still grinning. The whip-crack ripple of
coordinated section fire sounded from patrols platoon’s position, and the street
lit up with white, strobing light.

Dozens of carnivores were cut down as the veteran riflemen of patrols platoon
rose up from their concealment, unleashing rapid-fire death on the foe. The
enemy were caught in the open and in the crossfire of the two halves of the
platoon, one on either side of the street. Gangly bodies danced and spun as
las-rounds lanced into them, and within seconds the ground was littered with
smoking, twitching, alien bodies. The Rakarshans had a debt of honour to settle,
and the carnivores had much more to pay.

The enraged beast roared, its savage face whipping left and right so fast its
head-quills rattled loudly. The Rakarshans held their fire, knowing that to
shoot the beast would probably draw a charge. Then it roared again, and stomped
off down a side street, the pounding of its heavy tread receding into the
distance.

“Get patrols platoon forward, sergeant-major,” Lucian ordered, passing the
missile launcher back to its original owner. “Secure the area, but let the
Adeptus Astartes press forwards.”

“Understood, my lord,” Havil replied, before striding off down the street to
pass Lucian’s orders to the captain in charge of patrols platoon.

Lucian looked up into the night sky as Rakarshans dashed past. The eastern
horizon was touched by the merest hint of green, the first visible sign of the
coming dawn. Hardly believing that the night had almost passed, Lucian checked
his chron, and cursed. Time was running out.

A fiery light streaked overhead, another missile barrage, Lucian assumed. He
glanced up, but saw that the light was travelling north-east to south-west, so
could not have been a missile fired from the Imperial Guard’s lines.

The light passed almost directly overhead, casting a flickering luminescence
over the scene, and Lucian saw that it was not a missile, but a small craft
making a controlled crashdown following planetfall. The air beneath the craft
seethed with burning atmosphere, the heat absorbed and simultaneously shed by an
energy shield projected below it.

No Imperial lander that Lucian knew to be in orbit employed such a device.

The object disappeared from view as it sped past one of the city’s
hundred-metre-tall structures. The sky flashed white behind the tower, and the
sound of the craft’s violent crashdown rolled down the street. Whatever it was,
the battle group would be passing it soon.