Festum Gladius Chapter 18
Novak peered across the landing grounds and saw lines of waiting aircraft. In orderly rows the aerial vessels of the Champions waited on their launch ramps, noses pointed to the dark sky. Around their bases teams of serfs laboured, fuelling, testing, checking and applying ritual unguents as required. The noise was remarkable, sounds of stirring engines and grumbling fuel pumps making the shouting of mortals seem the merest quiver in the air. Stenches of high-concentrate Promethium hung heavily in the nose, filling the sinuses with acrid tang and the growling of waiting turbines throbbed in the skull like a headache.
Novak looked upon the preparations and knew soon he would be climbing into his aircraft and launching into the sky. This trial was different in that the Champions knew what was coming. A long-range air race, across ocean and island, a test of piloting skills. For this trial preparations had been necessary, planning routes, calculating fuel tolerances and judging favourable weather patterns. The Victrix Guard oft had to fly escort duties, or pilot an evacuation transport, so their skills in the cockpit must be sharp.
The news of the dead Champions had put a pall over the Feast of Blades but none suspected the darker implications. As far as everyone else knew the deaths had been tragic mishaps, a feud gone too far. The other Champions were saddened but not dismayed, they intended to continue regardless. The real issue had been the escorting squads of Smoke Jaguars and Fire Lords, both accusing the others of treachery and deceit. The Imperial Fists for their part were outraged and had demanded honour duels with both Chapters. Phalros had put a stop to that, proclaiming no blood would be shed while the Feast endured and he'd backed that up with armed guards on each barracks. Novak was sure once they got back to the crusade the matter would explode into violence, but that wasn't his problem.
Novak's eye travelled over the field and he saw various craft waiting for their turn to launch. Several had already departed but over a dozen yet remained. The vast majority of them were Stormhawk interceptors. Small one-man craft, sleek, agile and fast, the favoured air superiority fighter of the Astartes. By contrast the Scythes of the Emperor and the Red Hunters had elected to bring Thunderhawks, larger gunships, slower and less manoeuvrable but robust and able to soak up trouble. They may not be fast but they would get to their destination. There was an even older design present, a single Stormbird in the colours of the Charnel Guard, the ancient craft a relic of the Great Crusade and it dominated the landing field with its bulk. Among that plethora of designs squatted a single Overlord, in the heraldry of the Ultramarines and at its base Cato Sicarius and Iventus stood discussing the trial to come.
Novak's eyes narrowed as he eyed the pair. Ever since his return he had been keeping a close eye upon those two, sure they were conspiring in some fashion. That the commander of the Victrix Guard favoured his champion was no secret. Cato Sicarius expected greatness from his protégé and demanded perfection in all things. Yet for all Novak's spying he had yet to see any sign of illicit behaviour, if they were plotting murder then they were doing a damned good job hiding it. Perhaps Iventus didn't know, Novak considered, perhaps the Ultramarine was a witless dupe in this affair. He may well be unaware of the forces conspiring to ease his passage, thinking that he was ascending through pure skill. It would certainly fit the arrogant superiority of Macragge, the innate assumption that they were the greatest Chapter of all.
Novak would have dearly loved to steal closer and spy on their conversation but right then the air shook as a Stormhawk shot off its launch rails into the sky. Iron and black, the heraldry of the Steel Confessors. Janus was starting his run and Novak was scheduled to go next. Reluctantly he turned away and walked to his aircraft, passing several other champions as he did so.
There was a short cry to his right and Chogai called out, "Prepare to witness true speed when I overtake you!"
Novak grinned as he quipped, "You may be fast on a steed but in the air you White Scars are nothing special."
Chogai laughed, "On the ground or in the air, it matters not. I shall be so swift I shall lap you!"
Novak shook his head in mirth as he strode on, to find Tenth-Captain Nimodes waiting with a stern frown. He waited for the champion to close then hissed, "Don't be so friendly and trusting."
Novak stopped in surprise as he exclaimed, "It's only Chogai."
Nimodes scowled, "Don't be so naive, he's as dangerous as anyone. Remember what Librarian Wela said: trust no one and suspect all."
Novak sighed, "I can hardly do much in the air, you'll have to keep an eye on things while I'm gone."
"Oh be sure I will," Nimodes hissed, "Now get ready, you launch in ten minutes."
Novak did as he was bid and turned to his waiting craft. Sitting on a forty-five degree ramp was a small interceptor craft. It was vaguely triangular, with forward-swept wings and a long nose. A cockpit sat in the middle of its length, between two void/air engines. Its flanks were braced by a pair of twin-linked lascannons and under its body was a rotary missile launcher. It was unique in the field, an ancient relic not manufactured in thousands of years, prized beyond measure and entrusted to the Storm Herald's champion as his steed. A Xiphon Interceptor.
Novak stepped closer and brushed his gauntlet over a wing affectionately. Only once before had he flown this craft, in a time of desperate need and he was honoured to be greeting so noble a vehicle once more. 'Hawkwing' it had been named in ages past and its spirit was as eager as the day it had first flown. Attentively Novak began his preflight checks. Serfs had done this already, the Techmarines inexplicably absent for some reason, but no pilot would ever step into a cockpit without checking the plane with his own two eyes. Flaps and ailerons were aligned, fuel levels optimal and oil gauges perfect. Air intakes proved clear and the exhausts pristine. Lascannons, missiles and chaff launchers were charged and ready and Novak triple-checked these, just in case.
Satisfied all was ready he mounted the stepped ladder and jumped into the cockpit, strapping his armour in. He donned his helm and then pulled the canopy closed. With deft hands he powered up the Machine Spirit, flicking switches in sequence to awaken the auspex and vox, rouse the avionics and navigation systems. A blink-click tied his armour into the wider spirit of the aircraft and flight data was routed to his internal cogitators like the plane was an extension of his battle-plate. He ran his eyes over the consoles and declared, "Vox-check."
Nimodes' voice came back, "Reading you loud and clear, you have an open launch window. Take off in sixty seconds."
"Spirit of the machine be with me, fly true and swift. May your wings touch the sky and your weapons bring righteous justice to the foe," Novak intoned as he stirred the engines to life.
The aircraft rocked on its ramp and Novak felt the vibrations rattle his bones. He gripped the stick in one gauntlet and held his thumb over the launch rune as a countdown flashed in his helm. His hearts were steady and his breathing sure as the countdown reached zero and then he hit the rune. Instantly the foot of a god slammed into his rear, kicking him into the sky. On a trail of flame the Xiphon leapt off the launch rail, screaming into the dark sky at full throttle. Novak's eyes watered under his helm and his teeth pulled back as G-forces crushed him into his seat. His hand fell to the throttle and he steadily pushed it to the maximum, feeling the weight on his chest increase.
The Fortress-Monastery fell away and the night sky opened up before him. He climbed to cruising altitude then levelled off and turned east, following his flight plan. The Xiphon responded to his touch with crisp precision, rolling and banking with a lightness that belied its mass. Despite the seriousness of the trial and the urge of competition Novak grinned to himself. He had forgotten how it felt to handle so agile a craft, and the thrill of flying ran through him.
The urge to enjoy himself was intense but Novak focused on the next step. He was flying east, through the pitch dark of the sky but ahead the horizon was glowing purple, a mass of bruised clouds heading his way. It was the Emperor's Storm, and beyond waited the dawn. This was going to be a true test of his skills.
Novak settled his controls in his hands and soared towards the coming storm. It would have been so easy to climb into the upper atmosphere and fly over the hurricane but that would have consumed too much fuel and he needed to conserve his stock for the long journey ahead. The storm swelled swiftly as he was hurtling towards it at top speed. He felt a glut of trepidation rise in his throat but forced it down. He could do this, he would do this.
A tremor ran through the Xiphon as crosswinds picked up. He saw his speed dropping and cursed, fighting a headwind would cost him precious time. Instinctively Novak banked, letting the wind catch his stern and propel him forward. Hawkwing responded eagerly, dashing towards the oncoming storm as flashing sheets of lightning lit the sky from end to end. Novak barely had time to clench before the thunder shockwave rolled over him.
The Xiphon dropped sharply as the air pressure plummeted, losing lift in the turbulence. Novak was rattled from side to side and bounced hard against the cockpit. His jaw clenched as he fought to steady his flight and pushed the nose up, using thrust to compensate for lost altitude. His height stopped dropping but a sudden gust caught his left wing and threw the Xiphon over, causing it to tumble.
"Yargh!" Novak yelped as his world spun into a dizzying rollercoaster. He felt his guts slide inside his chest as his organs shifted. He bit down on the urge to vomit and wrenched his stick hard, banking to pull out of the roll. The wind fought him but he held firm, driving his airplane through the storm with relentless determination.
Howling winds smashed into the Xiphon, black clouds rolled over him and rain pelted the window. Time and time again the wind threw the Xiphon across the sky, tossing it about like a leaf. It was insane to be flying through such a hurricane but Novak was no stranger to storms. This was the ritual of the Chapter writ in the sky, the total dedication to the moment stripping all other concerns from his mind. Novak shed all his worries and ambitions, living only in the moment as he fought with the controls.
Stormcloud, lightning, hail, wind, cloud, hail, lightning above, sea below, more wind, that was Novak's world as he struggled to stay aloft. Only his instruments let him know he was still on course and he had no option other than to trust in his compass and drive through. Then suddenly he saw a flash of brilliant blue to his right. Instantly he banked over and turned for the brightness, desperate to break free.
"Come on, come on, come on," he snarled, then unexpectedly he burst from the storm into blazing dawn. Novak's eyes widened as he beheld a sharp sunrise, burning the horizon as far as the eye could see. The tiny glimmer of the sun was just starting to rise, a clear morning as fine as any could wish for. The sea swelled and churned below his wings, not far enough for comfort, he had flown far lower than he realised. Tiny islands dotted the sea, rocky bluffs inhabited only by seabirds but glowing warmly in the dawn light. He had done it, Novak had flown the Emperor's Storm.
Novak sagged back in his seat and breathed out in relief. The greatest danger had passed and all that remained was to finish his run. An eye over the console told him fuel was acceptable, all systems were hale and he was only twenty leagues off course, remarkable given what he had flown through. Elation filled him as he saw he was going to reach his goal and that was when a ground-to-air missile shot up from the nearest island.
Alarms wailed in his ear as Novak wrenched the stick hard right. The Xiphon tumbled wildly and lost height but the missile shot by his wing, flying off into the distance. Novak heaved his craft upright and saw the contrail shrinking into the distance but the danger was not past. Hard on its heels rose four Lightning fighters, black as midnight and climbing fast. Their weapons gleamed in the dawn light and the auspex wailed as they sought target locks.
Novak saw hostile bandits closing and knew he had flown into an ambush. He was outnumbered and outgunned but he did not turn to flee. He rolled the Xiphon straight at them and growled, "Four to one, you stupid bastards don't know who you're dealing with. Now face the retribution of the Astartes!"