Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 8

From the sky fell a cross-shaped shadow, its angular silhouette crossing the ground with alacrity. It was a heavy craft, covered with guns and armour thick enough to survive the inferno of re-entry. It had was a distinct lack of beauty and grace, such trivialities irrelevant when set against the concerns of war. This was not a machine built to draw admiring glances but to rend and tear anything that dared stand against its makers: the Thunderhawk gunship Viper's Bite.

Viper's Bite flew over the bleak moors, closing rapidly upon a great conurbation. This city was nestled into a crook of the surrounding mountains, set at the head of a valley that stretched beyond sight, even from this altitude. Mile upon mile of homes were mixed with industrial zones, mercantile area and spaceport facilities. It was small, by Imperial standards, but it was the largest metropolis on Maraha, ruling capital and seat of the Governor: Kalcha city, the last bastion of Imperial resistance.

Viper's Bite approached the city, refuting all challenges from defensive positions with vox-calls carrying the highest authorities. Nothing waylaid her but at the last moment she veered away from the city centre, headed towards a small base set on the outskirts of the city. Viper's Bite wasted no time to land, setting down upon the Ferrocrete with bursts of braking thrust. For a long moment the gunship sat there, engines shimmering with heat, then the ramp lowered down and disgorged the passengers. First out was Chapter Master Coluber, his head held high and Venom sheathed at his waist, followed by two squads of Brothers. Last out was Apothecary Shrios, his servitors bearing away the body of Brother Selat, to have his armour reclaimed. Coluber's helm was absent, revealing his stern features as he surveyed the base. Everywhere he looked the mortal-chattels of the Chapter laboured, working wearily to ready the Amber Viper's gear for whatever may be required. The facilities the Chapter had to spare were basic workshops, hangers, barracks and medicae buildings, but they served.

Beyond this picture of brisk efficiency was a stunning vista of the surrounding mountains, the snow-capped heights looming over the city. The mountains narrowed to a point which was bridged by a massive dam, filling a quarter of the horizon. Fifteen million cubic yards of Ferrocrete had been poured into that vast edifice and the reservoir behind was used to power cities across half a continent. In Coluber's reckoning it was a triumph of Imperial engineering, a shame it was wasted on such a miserable backwater world as Maraha.

Coluber's attention was drawn away as the Chapter's other Thunderhawk, Poisoned Fang, set down. It landed smoothly and hastily disgorged its own passengers, three more squads led by Battle-Captain Ferrac. Ferrac sent the squads on their way then hailed the Chapter Master and swiftly strode over. Coluber dismissed Sergeant Torvus to tend to his squad then turned to meet Ferrac as he closed.

The Battle-Captain was a brutal figure, scarred like an old mastiff who had seen too many fights, but his eyes were eager and he had a proud bearing that suited him. Coluber had clashed with Ferrac more times than he could count, their differing duties and personalities meaning they agreed on little. Yet there were none more loyal and committed to the cause than Ferrac and Coluber counted the officer as his closest friend. Coluber knew some were disgruntled with his stern rule but Ferrac would never countenance dissension in the ranks, a fact that he had often used his fists to demonstrate.

Ferrac hailed Coluber and called out, "All present and accounted for my Lord."

Coluber nodded as he remarked, "Good, I was concerned for a moment. That last fight in Dunham city was too close."

Ferrac grimaced and spat, "Running from Rebel scum sits ill, especially when we could have fought on."

"We knew going in that Dunham city was a lost cause," Coluber remarked, "But we delayed the rebels long enough to buy us time to prepare for the next phase of the war."

Ferrac muttered, "I could have taken them, one hard thrust into the heart of their lines and I would deliver you a swift victory."

Suddenly the voice of Shrios' arose declaiming, "You mean like you did at Gujarat Drift? Another victory like that, Ferrac, and there won't be a Chapter left!"

Coluber hated to admit it but the Apothecary was right, the victory over the Orks in the deep-space shoals of Gujarat had come at too high a price. The nascent Amber Vipers had lost irreplaceable Brothers, armour and gene-seed in the claustrophobic nightmare of the boarding actions. That alone had convinced Coluber that the Amber Vipers were not ready for traditional warfare, that they had to be cunning and choose their battles prudently. Henceforth every engagement had to be precisely judged, the blood spent measured against the potential gains. One misstep would snuff out the Amber Vipers forevermore.

Ferrac grimaced and snapped, "Was there something you wanted or did you come to make snide comments?"

Shrios took it in stride and stated, "Actually, I was going to ask why the shuttles aren't flying."

Coluber's head snapped up for the base should be a hive of activity, loading supplies to be taken up into orbit, but it was eerily quiet. Coluber's eyes narrowed and he hissed, "Find Nathanal, now." The trio set out, striding across the Ferrocrete looking for the man they sought. A few questions to passing chattels and they found him standing in a stiflingly hot hanger, arguing with a gathering of men.

Nathanal was a short mortal, in grubby overalls, with the brand of a spiral in a starburst upon his shoulder. Like everything they owned he had come to the Chapter from elsewhere, born into the service of others and acquired in dubious circumstances, but he served faithfully. Nathanal was the chief serf-artisan, the man responsible for maintaining their gear and vehicles. Three first-generation warriors were training under him to learn the eldritch mysteries of logic and science, but they were a long way from being Techmarines. So, for now, Nathanal was the final word on matters technical.

The group he was arguing with were a gaggle of heavy-set men in rich robes. Their fingers glittered with precious rings and their jowls hung under their portly chins. They were sweating in the close heat of the hanger, their hair slick with expensive oils as servants waved large feathery fans over them. At the forefront was a man with an obese belly, whose watery eyes looked unaccustomed to strong daylight. This was Governor Nugga, lord of Maraha.

Coluber had met a variety of Planetary Governors and had found the stereotype of them being corrupt and incompetent to be greatly unfair. Ambitious, driven and ruthless yes, all Governors had to be that, but it usually demanded a ferocious level of competence too. Nugga however seemed to have waddled out of a poorly-written dramaturge's play, the inbred sop crowds would jeer and throw fruit at.

As they approached Nathanal was saying loudly, "These delays are unacceptable."

Nugga wrung his fat fingers and muttered, "Can't be avoided, unfortunate delays happen. We are at war after all."

"Don't talk to me about war," Nathanal declared, "I've seen more wars than you've had hot meals. I know when I'm being fobbed off with excuses."

Coluber strode up to the crowd and snarled, "What is this?!"

The crowd of fops and cronies shrank back before the eight-foot Transhumans but Nugga seemed oblivious to the danger as he uttered, "Your supplies are coming, but there is a delay."

Coluber loomed over the fat man and hissed, "Are you trying to renege on our pact?"

Nugga shook his head, making his jowls sway as he said, "Never, I will fulfil our bargain, I simply need more time."

Coluber's eyes glowered and he said, "Time is something you don't have."

From the crowd another voice issued, one of the hangers-on whining, "Your demands are outrageous, you seek to beggar us!"

Ferrac stepped in to growl angrily, "You had better explain that remark."

The man swallowed but dared to protest, "You want lakes of Promethium fuel, tons upon tons of ordnance, missiles, melta-flasks, bombs and las-canons packs, aircraft parts and tools, thousands of press-ganged peasants for your starships and enough rations to feed a city. The costs are extortionate, you're bleeding us dry!"

Ferrac fixed the man with an unblinking glare and whispered, "You… what is your name?"

"Kardas," the man uttered with a worried tone, "Magnate of the Umber Hills mining consortium."

"Kardas," Ferrac hissed low and threateningly, "Know that I will never forget your face."

Kardas went silent as his courage ran out, cowed by the unsubtle implication of violence. Then Coluber placed one massive gauntlet on Nugga's shoulder, making the man's knees sag as the Chapter Master growled, "Nugga, you and I forged a pact. I swore to guarantee your rule over this world in the Emperor's name, in return you vowed to supply my Chapter everything we require to fight this war, and the next. There is an agreement between us and I shall hold to my word but I would hate to think you are trying to backpedal."

Nugga sagged under the weight of the gauntlet upon his shoulder and spluttered, "No… no of course not."

Coluber kept the pressure upon the man's shoulder saying, "Then we have an accord?"

"Yes, "Nugga squeaked, "Yes… anything you need."

"Good," Coluber uttered lifting his hand, "Go see to it, immediately."

Desperately the gaggle of men waddled off, fanned by their servants as they tried not to piss themselves. Coluber watched them go and was satisfied the Governor would not dare to defy him again; the supplies would start flowing again soon. Shrios spoke up then to say, "If we were on one of the Chapter's ships I would throw that man out an airlock for wasting good oxygen."

Nathanal concurred, "The Imperial Guard should have shot him the moment they arrived. The rebels would have thrown a victory parade for them if they had."

Coluber shook his head saying, "Enough, he is the appointed Governor of this world and we have to deal with him. If his reign has failed that is a matter for the Inquisition to deal with."

"Not too soon," Shrios muttered, "The last thing we want is an Inquisitor poking into our affairs."

Coluber agreed wholeheartedly but noted that Ferrac was oddly silent. He looked at the Battle-Captain and inquired, "Something vexes thee?"

Ferrac sighed, "Does this not strike you as being beneath us? Selling our martial skills to the likes of fools like that, we are acting as mercenaries, not Astartes."

Coluber faced him directly and asked, "Do you doubt that it is our duty to defend the Emperor's sovereignty over this world?"

"No my lord," Ferrac replied.

Coluber asked, "And do you doubt that this world stands upon the brink?"

"No," Ferrac answered, "We are the last hope for this planet, without us an Imperial world will fall to Xenos domination."

"Then there is no cause for concern," Coluber explained, "We will fight and the Governor will deliver the supplies to help us grow. A mutually beneficial arrangement, that serves both the Emperor and the Chapter."

Ferrac nodded reluctantly but Coluber knew he was still not happy. He let the matter lie though and turned to ask, "Shrios, have your medicaes found any potential recruits?"

Shrios looked glum as he said, "Few and far between, the war orphans of this world are weak and timid. Blood of Dorn, they're the dregs of the galaxy, all the good ones went over to the rebels."

"Fang-rot," Ferrac interjected, "We say Fang-rot, not Blood of Dorn, it brings up too much of the past."

"As you will," Shrios stated rolling his eyes, "Still can't get used to that."

Coluber cut them off saying, "The Rebel scum will doubtless be advancing upon the capital even now, we need to be prepared. Ferrac, take Primus Cohort and engage in hit and run attacks on their army, slow their advance across the countryside. Secundus and Tertius Cohorts will keep doing what they do best. Shrios, keep looking for recruits while I organise the defensive emplacements around the city. I will take whatever's left of the Guard's reprisal force to present a strong front but their ranks have been decimated, we need a militia to bulk up their numbers. Nathanal, get those shuttles flying again; I want all our supplies in our ship's holds before the first Rebel lays eyes upon this city. Move it, time is not on our side."

With that everybody saluted and departed, leaving Coluber behind to ponder upon their next move and whether his strategy would ultimately lead to victory or defeat.