Noctem Oritur Chapter 39
Under the fourth Thunderhawk hanger Captain Toran was running with his command squad. Their armour was chipped and painted with blood but they were not yet broken. Their weapons were held ready and their hands ached to spill more traitor blood. For hours they had been racing from fight to fight, decimating cultists in ambushes and counter-acts then moving on to the next crisis. Conflicts with Traitor Marines had been rare, but each had been a harrowing experience, the filth just as good as they were. Only surprise and speed had let them pick off a few at a time, and avoid being overwhelmed. Toran was keenly aware that if the Traitors were able to bring their superior numbers to bear it was all over.
As they ran Persion was skimming vox-channels and reported, "Heavy fighting in the scout-barracks, cultist numbers increasing. They need Astartes support."
"No squads are free to assist," Toran growled, "Have the serfs fall back to their next defence positions. Abandon the scout-barracks and reform where they can present a solid defence. We have to focus on picking off Chaos Marines, query control for the nearest location of Traitor Marines to us."
Persion waited a moment, the replied, "No reports in this sector, or along the leading edge of battle. They seem to be drawing back."
Novak remarked, "That doesn't sound like Traitors."
Furion snarled, "They got stung by our defiance so they're forcing us to waste our traps on pathetic cultists. They plan to use their men to grind us down, before renewing their true assault. That sounds exactly like Chaos Marines to me."
Toran declared, "Then it's time to take the initiative. Signal Lorath, Mylos and Priyar to link up with us in sector 34-56g. The Heretics think we can only fight defensively, it's time to prove them wrong."
The squad ran through a heavy door and emerged into a storage room, packed high with crates of Thunderhawk parts. Towering stacks of boxes rose above their heads, making a maze of wooden crates, beyond which was their next engagement. All was as it should be and yet something made Toran pause. His step froze as an instinct he could not name screamed danger and his hand tightened on his sword. The squad fell in around him, forming a defensive circle as Toran tried to understand what had made him stop.
Then he saw it, his autosenses saw nothing but yet he saw the slightest shift of a shadow above, something that should not be there. Rational thought told him he was jumping at nothing but the keen warrior instinct that had seen him survive countless battlefields screamed there were enemies hiding atop the stacked boxes, laying in wait to spring a trap. He lifted his sword and cried, "To arms!" as a dozen Night Lords rose from cover and leapt upon them.
From all around midnight-clad bodies sprang, leaping from cover with bolters blazing and flensing knives held ready. A dozen Chaos Marines leaping into combat with the speed of the genhanced and the precision of veteran ambushers. Their trap was well enacted but they had expected the Storm Heralds to react with Transhuman speed regardless, what they had not expected was that the squad had taken advantage of their new status and re-equipped with better weapons. Instantly Furion snapped up his bolter and unleashed it on full-auto. His weapon had been refitted with special vengeance rounds and the arcane bolts hit a pair of Night Lords full on in the chest. Unstable flux-cores detonated and ripped their plate apart, blowing the Traitors into bloody chunks. First blood to the Storm Heralds, unfortunately there was no time to celebrate as another Heretic pounced upon Furion with a flensing knife drawn and the two fell to the ground in a frenzy of clubbing strikes and stabbing blades.
Meanwhile another Traitor ran at Bylan, who met the charge with the Banner of Third Company in his grasp, he wielded the pole two handed like a quarter staff, fighting defensively as he tried to hold back the Heretic. The Night Lord had speed and agility on his side but Bylan had reach and leverage so the two were stalemated, neither able to find the advantage. Frantically he fell back, trying to hold the Traitor off, but the Night Lord advanced, eager for the kill. He was to be bitterly disappointed when Toran dashed in from the right. The Traitor spun and tried to deflect the coming blow but the Sword of Thiel smashed through his knife with ease, and then tore out his hearts.
Elsewhere Novak was duelling three Traitors at once, his shining sword becoming a whirlwind of deadly parries and ripostes as he danced around their blows. So graceful was he that he made the Heretics look clumsy in comparison. He caught a hacking blow upon his combat shield and lunged underneath with his sword, angling upwards to stab deeply into the Night Lord's guts. The Traitor staggered as his entrails spilled out to puddle about his feet, then he collapsed into a dead stupor. The other two tried to seize the moment but Novak pirouetted away, taking barely more than a scratch and the duel continued.
Meanwhile Persion and Jediah were facing off against four Night Lords, who circled around them like a pack of wolves. The pair slammed back-to-back for cover and fought on. The Traitors had numbers but the Storm Heralds had far deadlier weapons, Persion wielding a red-hot Friction axe and Jediah a Fractal Edged short sword, that flashed out whenever a Traitor came too near. One Night Lord feinted, to draw their eye so another could dart in from the flank. Jediah however was not fooled, he twisted and grabbed the Heretic by the arm, yanking him off balance so Persion's axe could sweep about and take his head off in a single blow. They killed the cur swiftly then returned to guard stance before the others could react, one down, three to go.
Elsewhere Toran confronted a Heretic with grizzly human faces draped over his pauldrons and a spinning chainglaive in his grip, the signature weapon of the VIIIth Legion. Toran however had faced such weapons before and knew well how to counter it. He kept his blade low and waited for the Traitor to swing his Chainglaive about, to bring the roaring blades to bear. Toran however stepped within the reach of the weapon and rolled his wrists, in a move Novak had taught him, so that the blade soared over the Chainglaive's haft to spear the Heretic right through the throat. Toran barely had time to register his victory before his subconscious screamed that there was another enemy behind him. He pulled back and pivoted on one foot to find a Space Marine standing behind but not in Night Lords colours. This one wore chipped and battered Storm Herald blue and his bare head revealed a face Toran knew all too well. His hands were raised and he was calling, "Captain stop, it's me: Halis!"
Toran's mind had barely registered the words before his arm was in motion, lunging forwards to aim his sword for the Traitor's heart.