Finis Fide Chapter 9
The Capital city was burning, filled with the roars of explosions and the screams of men locked in ferocious combat. Hollowed out shops were filled with flames and the cavernous husks of factories rang with shooting. Homes were turned into pillboxes and street corners into battlefields. Derelict ground-cabs were used as cover and fallen billboards as barricades. One old chapel was consumed by violence, its crumbling stonework collapsing with the shock of nearby explosions. Its spire teetered over like a felled tree and its great brass bell rung one last time as it smashed to the ground, a single peal of mourning for a dead city.
Teams of native warriors plunged through the dilapidated streets in staggered pairs, covering each other with their las-locks. They were met by hordes of hissing mindless slaves, running straight at them. The fighting was intense but with disciplined fire and the confidence of victory the natives pushed towards their objectives, blowing up bridges and key buildings with crude explosives. Here there gaseous mists announced the presence of Psybrids, the foul Xenos hunting for prey in the ruins and debris. The natives fell back before these, their Las-locks had always been ineffective against the aliens but now the status quo had changed.
Brother Furion had applied his talent's for demolition to the native's armoury and come up with solutions so simple the men were embarrassed they had not thought of it themselves. Aged blasting caps for mining had been wrapped up in rags packed with nails, glass and metal shavings. A simple twist of the timer and good arm were all it took to land the improvised grenades in the Xeno's midst. Other men carried humble clay bottles, filled with triple-distilled alcohol that spilled burning fuel everywhere, not needing to be aimed they reaped a terrible toll on the Xenos. Torn by shrapnel and their macabre mists burning in the cleansing purity of fire the Psybrids were helpless and for the first time in decades they were the ones dying.
The militiamen cheered at their great victories, flushed with triumph but little did they realise that their war was nothing but a side-show. Far beneath their feet waited thousands more Psybrids, overwhelmingly greater in number than the paltry dozens they had slain. The Xeno horde waited silently in the sewer network, their lamprey mouths and lashing tendrils eager for the flesh of Space Marines. They lurked with inhuman patience, awaiting the first glimpse of their prey.
They should have been looking higher instead.
Many levels above their heads something strange was occurring. Deep within the Governor's Palace, that towering bastion that loomed over the city, something odd happened. In an otherwise plain and functional corridor a single section of wall was sliding back to create a six foot door in the featureless ferrocrete. Beyond that door was only darkness leading into the distance but from that blackness a massive shape was emerging. Marching into the light Sergeant Toran emerged with his bolt pistol and Chainsword raised. He looked up and down the corridor checking for threats but found none. He stepped aside and another armoured form stepped out then another and another until all of IXth squad had emerged.
Following them came the native warriors. Amongst their number were Kalos and Zander, both looking nervous and behind them came Inquisitor Canesh. She marched a little too fast in her power armour and blinded by the light ran straight into Kalos, nearly knocking him over with her bulk. Of Phelps there was no sign. When Halis had told Toran of the treachery of Phelps the Sergeant's first instinct had been to rip off the betrayer's head. Yet Halis had talked sense into Toran and told him that by allowing the Psybrids to think they knew the attack plan it in fact created weaknesses elsewhere. An opening they could exploit.
Getting Canesh to confess to knowing another route in had been problematic, but in the end she had disclosed that there was in fact a secret escape tunnel running straight into the heart of the Palace. She had been reluctant to part with the information but Toran for once had been stubborn and refused to press the attack until she revealed the data. Toran was not in the least bit surprised that the Inquisition had detailed schematics of the late Governor's personal, private escape route. He had already determined that upon their return to their Fortress-Monastery he would beseech his Captain and the Masters of the Chapter to completely replace all their security protocols. If the Inquisition could get in here then they could get in anywhere.
When everybody had emerged Toran addressed the assembled warriors saying, "Form up and move out, swift and deadly, let nothing stand between you and your targets." The men formed ranks behind the Space Marines and marched through the deserted corridors not meeting a soul. Soon they found their first objective, a servant's stairwell that ran through the heart of the Palace.
Toran said "Furion, Jediah, Ophelian, Novak head downwards take out the first Logic Engine, Daite, Halis and Persion with me: we are going up". He gave Canesh an encouraging nod but she only returned a stern frown, then she and the natives headed in another direction entirely, steering for a concourse that would take them straight to the governor's old residences.
Leaving them behind Toran and his combat squad ascended the stairs, coming out ten levels above into another deserted servants' corridor. Toran was relieved to encounter no obstacles and waved them onwards and they raced through the passages. The sounds of distant battle penetrated the thick walls, the explosions and screams easily discerned even after carrying through the high towers and narrow gunports of the Palace. Toran wished he was out there fighting, but this was the real objective, the Storm Heralds were exactly where they needed to be. They were making good progress and had yet to be opposed but Halis could not resist saying, "This is too easy." A moment later they rounded a corridor and found themselves at one end of a long bare corridor leading to a junction. Facing away from them at the junction was a pair of bulky machines, standing on bipedal legs, Psybrid Mechs standing right in their way. Persion groaned and said, "You should have kept your mouth shut."
The corridor ahead was bare and featureless and there was no way to divert around and Toran realised there were clever tactics or strategies to change the odds here, no way to outwit this foe. The Codex Astartes was cold and brutal in its assessment of this situation, there was but one way past and that was straight through. Toran raised his chainsword and shouted, "Charge Brothers! For Terra and for the memory of Roboute Guilliman!"
The combat squad leapt into motion and ran straight at the Mechs, they made it half dozen paces before the Xeno pilots saw them coming and began dragging their weapons around to bear. Toran gritted his teeth and pushed himself to the limit, skill and cunning were meaningless, speed and strength were their only chance. With the strange time dilation experienced only in the rush of combat Toran could see the machines clearly; they looked like Imperial Sentinel walkers, defiled with foul Xeno technology. Their cockpits had been expanded to fit an armourglass bubble, within which macabre mists swirled around Psybrid pilots. One Mech had been fitted with a pair of Heavy bolters under the cockpit but the other held a Lascannon, a far more dangerous prospect.
Toran sprinted for all he was worth, but could see the Mechs inexorably turning to meet them. The one with Heavy Bolters was tracking round fast, pointing the looming barrels directly at him. Toran twisted his shoulder around, bringing his thick pauldron up and tucking his helm into his gorget. Then the heavy bolters opened up with paired tongues of fire, hurling shells at the Space Marines at a furious rate. Toran was stopped in his tracks by the force of the impacts, large craters being blown into his pauldron but he held firm in the torrent, trusting his in ancient armour's spirit to guard his life. He gritted his teeth, forcing one boot forwards against the power of the impacts then another and another has he inched closer.
From the corner of his eye he saw the other Mech coming about to bring its Lascannon to bear and he knew a single hit from the tank-busting weapon would end his life. Still under sustained fire from the Heavy Bolters he could not evade and knew death had come for him at last, yet he knew no fear for this was a good death in the Emperor's service. An instant before the Lascanon could fire Daite reached down to his belt and grabbed a Frag grenade, hurling it underhanded to impact against the Mech's cockpit. The anti-personnel device could not penetrate its armourglass canopy but the shrapnel and smoke obscured its vision at the critical moment and threw off its aim.
The energy blast sailed over Toran's head and carved a pencil thin hole into the ferrocrete wall behind him, a hole that went fifty metres deep. With a cry of vengeance the Space Marines charged forth, at last coming underneath the arcs of the Heavy Weapons. The Mechs reared back trying to kick them away but now the Astartes held all the advantages. Persion drove his blade into the knee joint of the Lascannon bearing mech while Halis brought up his combi-melta. A searing blast of fusion energy bored into the metal, plasteel running like ice under a blowtorch, until the stream penetrated the cockpit and cooked the Psybrid alive. Pilotless the Mech crashed over like a toppled tree and at last lay still.
Meanwhile Toran swung his chainsword and slammed it into the other Mech's leg. Metal shrieked and razor sharp splinters flew to embed themselves in the Space Marines' ceramite plates. Toran screamed in rage and channelled his righteous hatred into the blow as the roaring Chainsword chewed through plasteel supports and metal joints. Then with a cry of triumph he tore his weapon straight through the limb and out the other side. The Mech lurched comically, looking pathetic as it tried to balance on one leg, then it inevitably toppled to the side and hit the floor hard, cracking the ferrocrete. Without hesitation Daite leapt forward pulling a Krak grenade from his belt, the Psybrid inside the machine thrashed and screamed inhumanly but was helpless to stop him as he shoved the explosive into the mechanisms.
The squad jumped away as a ferocious blossom of fire rose out of the machine, showering them with debris and an inhuman shriek tore out of the Psybrid as it went to whatever hell awaits such filth. Toran hastily took stock reviewing their situation, they were battered and scored but alive. His armour was the worst hit with deep craters blasted into the ceramite, but it had held true once more and he recited the Litany of Gratitude for its honourable service. With time set against them the squad formed up and pressed onwards, the way to the Logic Engine was finally clear and they had mere minutes to reach their goal.