Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 33
Space stretched out into infinity, extending in every direction imaginable. The spackled backdrop of stars was cold and constant, unfiltered by the light of an atmosphere so they did not glitter or wane. There was no sunlight in this place, no burning star to warm a planet. In fact there were no planets or moons, no asteroids or comets on their eternal wanderings. There was only coldness, emptiness, vacuum and also the drift.
Sitting alone in the infinite black dwelt a ramshackle space station, formed out bits of broken starships and twisted wreckage. It was an ugly thing, with various ships jammed into its frame at random angles. Engines and prows stuck out like pins in a cushion, no two alike in form or origin. There were the straight lines of Imperial construction, the jumbled mess of Ork workmanship, the angular touch of Fra'al hands, Kroot curves and Borlac bluntness, all layered over each other. In some ways it resembled a Space Hulk, but it was far too small and frail for such a title. It was a drift, born out of dumped wreckage, it seemed laughable that this place existed, let alone support life but it certainly did so.
Nestled in the broken spars of alien ships a community existed, thousands of lifeforms all working together. They were human in form, though they owed no allegiance to the Golden Throne of Terra. They cared nothing for history or the deeds of their ancestors or the wider universe. Only three things did they know for sure, first that their home existed in a nexus of bail-shafts, those strange funnels that spat unwary travellers out of the Empyrean. Second that they preyed upon these broken wrecks for subsistence, fresh parts for their drift and slaves. Third and most importantly, that they lived under the cruel lash of Deorra, the Buccaneer Queen. None could remember where she had come from or how she had risen to power, the throats of all those who would dare speak of such things being cut on her order. Deorra saw further than her compatriots, she had vision and ambitions beyond this feeble drift. She gazed upon the stars with greedy eyes and craved lordship over them. By her will a small fleet of frigates was refurbished and the pirates began to strike out from their base, crossing the warp to take passing shipping in nearby Imperial systems and drag them back to their den.
Today one such prize was being brought into dock, a small transport ship edging into the welcoming arms of the drift. Two massive piers bracketed it on either side and from them extended docking capillaries, airtight metal tubes closing upon the waiting airlocks and cargo bays. The captured vessel had been eagerly anticipated and in the docking capillaries were hundreds of pirates. The filthy mass of men and women were dressed in work clothes and stolen uniforms, without concern for rank or insignia. Authority among them was denoted not by gold braiding or rank pins but by thick clubs and shock-mauls, command falling to the ones with the strength and will to enforce their rule. Deorra kept her pirates in line by fear of her violent wrath and the promise that they could keep whatever they could loot. To the crew of the captured ship no consideration was given, save that the drift's stockpile of slaves was about to increase.
The docking capillaries made contact with the cargo ship and all eyes looked forward in anticipation as the broad hatch began to rise, revealing the dark interior of the ship. The pirates expected their compatriots to greet them, those who had captured the ship, they expected booty and spoils aplenty and an easy mark. What they did not expect was to be greeted by a deep and angry growl, followed by a hail of bolt-rounds.
Horizontal tracers scythed out of the opening doors, cutting down the pirates in droves. Bodies fell in showers of viscera as mass-reactive rounds detonated within them, the micro-rockets tearing human beings to shreds. The pirates screamed in panic at seeing their fellows drop in bloody heaps of gore. They had all killed before, often up close and bloodily with knives and clubs, but this was different, a merciless swathe of firepower that decimated them utterly. The pirate's discipline fell apart, they turned and they ran from the carnage, but they did not get for, for fifteen bikes emerged from the dark hold of the ship, racing into the docking capillary with bolters roaring. At their head rode a Transhuman Space Marine in amber scout-armour, a grizzled veteran of countless wars. His face was a testament to endless battle and upon his back was a shining power spear, held ready for when the fighting got close and bloody. He was Sergeant Reddam of the Amber Vipers and he was shouting, "Sergeant Fardaw, take your squad up the left flank, Sergeant Beirut, take the right. My squad shall follow me up the centre. Move fast, we must cross the span before they seal the far end!"
The other squads peeled off, following the orders of their senior leader. Reddam however had no time to observe their progress, for the swift passage of his bike had taken him into the crowd of panicking pirates. He gripped his handlebars tighter and revved the throttle open as he dove amongst them, smashing bodily into them. A massive impact slammed through the bike's frame, nearly throwing him from his saddle but his strength was beyond human and his machine's Spirit was as fearsome as he. Filthy men and women died under his wide tracks with snapped limbs and crushed chests. Blood sprayed up his legs as he ploughed through them, accompanied by the familiar tang of salt-iron in the air as rich lifeblood gushed out of broken bodies. Wails of distress and cries of pain rang in his ears but he ignored them, these were nought but Heretics, renegade scum who defied the righteous sovereignty of the Golden Throne. They deserved nothing but his contempt and he showed them only his wrath.
Behind him his squad followed in his wake, their bikes carving paths through the crowd. Eager Joffel roared, "These wretches are frail foes, they cannot match us!"
Dour Tebes called from his own bike, "Doom is upon them for we are death."
Reddam snarled as his bike crashed into a knot of fleeing men, feeling a body crash into his left shoulder and rock him to the side. He only kept his balance through centuries of experience and he roared, "Glord, clear our path!"
Slightly off to one side was an attack bike with a sidecar, whose occupant was letting off bursts from his heavy bolter as he cried, "What do you think I'm doing?!"
Larus, his driver snapped, "Do it faster!"
Reddam gritted his teeth as the squad forged a path of blood into the docking capillary, cutting down scores of pirates as they did so. He lamented every second devoted to breaking through the lines, even though these scum presented no threat they were slowing him down. Precious seconds were being wasted here, time that the pirates could use to respond to the unexpected attack. Reddam couldn't let that happen, they had to get into the drift before the other end of the docking capillary could be sealed. He was also determined to reach his objective before the other attack parties of Secundus Cohort could achieve theirs. Half a dozen docking capillaries were being penetrated right now and he had sworn to be the first into the enemy's home. His squad's pride was on the line and he was determined not to fail.
Suddenly the crowd parted before them, the pirate scum finally falling away and leaving the way open. Reddam grinned as he saw two miles of uninterrupted corridor opening up, over a hundred metres wide and nearly as high. The walls were thin, by void ship standards, little more than flexible plating but it was enough to stop a bolt round, they wouldn't have to worry about venting the corridor and so could fire freely. The two other squads were still wading through the scum so Reddam's squad were the first to break free. Opportunity beckoned Reddam on and he yelled, "Faster Amber Vipers, faster!"
The squad's bikes roared as they leapt clear of the carnage they had created and sped down the docking capillary, accelerating with tremendous velocity. The walls blurred past as Reddam put his head down and gunned his engine, praying for the Machine God to bless his mount with speed. His bike's spirit responded to his entries, reaching maximum velocity in a heartbeat and his eyes fixed upon the far end, which was growing ever bigger in his eyes. A large gate loomed before them, opening and inviting, but before that entry was gathering a knot of men and women. These were different to the scum they had left dying in their wake, wearing stolen carapace armour and carrying auto-rifles and shotguns. Some form of elite guard of the Buccaneer Queen, her most disciplined and brutal of underlings. They thought to block the Amber Viper's route, but Reddam was not daunted for the fools hadn't thought to close the gate. They thought they could hold against the might of the Space Marines, a notion he was about to dispel.
"Glord!" he shouted but the Brother was already firing, sweeping his Heavy Bolter back and forth. Pirates went down screaming as the hail cut them apart but not enough, not nearly enough. The pirate's elite guard held firm in the face of the oncoming storm and their rifles let fly. Reddam instinctively jinked as fat rounds passed near to him, hearing their whistling in his ears as they flew into the distance. One smashed into the faring of his bike and he grimaced as shrapnel flew forth, peppering his face with flecks of red-hot metal. Pain stabbed sharp claws into his head but Reddam wavered not, pain was nothing but an illusion and he saw clearly as the pirates raised shotguns, preparing to fire. The combined volley would surely end them, even they could not withstand such a volley, but Reddam ordered, "Kazao!"
One Brother responded, his mutated face hidden by a stormtrooper's helmet. His blank visor gave nothing away but his wrath was evident as the grenade launcher built into his bike's cowling popped, sending a Frag grenade sailing into the packed enemy. The round spun serenely for a moment then exploded, killing half a dozen pirates and spraying shrapnel everywhere. The pirates were not like Space Marines, they feared pain and death, and twenty more went down clutching at their arms and chests, where shrapnel had violated their bodies but not killed them. Yet a hole had been blown in their lines and the Amber Vipers dove in, disdaining their bolters as they closed into combat range.
Reddam's hand lifted from his handlebar and he drew his power spear one-handed over his shoulder, activating its blazing field a heartbeat before they crashed home. Reddam swung his spear point about and cleaved a man in half with his first strike. His bike shuddered at the impact and this time it cost him precious speed, but this foe was more stern than the earlier rabble, they piled in, swinging shotgun butts and hacking with bayonets. A press of bodies surrounded Reddam but he fought back with all his ferocity. His spear flashed and tore, sundering simple carapace plate like it was parchment. Pirates fell before him in swathes as he forced his bike into their midst, wading towards the gate even as he shouted, "Die Heretic filth!"
A man with a bayonet was decapitated by the spear before he could strike, another with a hooked-clawed pike fell with his guts spilling out. Another had his neck snapped by the haft of the spear and another was pierced through the heart by a certain thrust. Reddam was reaping a fearful tally, but he was not invincible, not without the blessing of power armour. A pirate came at him from the off-side, stabbing with a bayonet. Reddam snarled as the blade pierced his side, letting transhuman blood flow, but he reacted with blinding speed, swinging his spear across his body to club the man to the ground with its butt.
His Brothers fought with equal fury, Joffel joyfully swinging a bonesword carved out a Hormaguant's claw to cutthroats and lop off arms. Tebes laid about with a heavy mining pick, wielding it one-handed as effectively as a man using both. Larus had a poisoned knife in his hand and left a trail of convulsing pirates in his wake, dying as their lungs filled with bloody fluid. Glord was firing his heavy bolter at point-blank range, covering himself in blood, so that his heraldic colours couldn't be seen. Only Kazao was fighting bare-handed, his grenade launched unsuitable for melee, still his fists were deadly weapons in their own right and he snapped bones with every punch.
The pirate's numbers were thinning and Reddam felt the press around him falling away. The enemy had been decimated, proving no match for the Amber Vipers in close combat and in moments they were all dead or dying. Reddam grinned as the last of them were cut down, leaving the way open. The gate into the drift was at last undefended and the passage leading into the heart of the drift belonged to the Space Marines.
Reddam gunned his throttle and hurtled towards the gate as he bellowed, "Follow me, Brothers!"
"First into the base," Joffel called triumphantly, "First glory goes to the squad!"
"Focus," Reddam snarled, "We're not done yet. Strike hard and show no mercy. Cold hearts!"
"And fast blades!" the squad yelled in response as they drove into the pirate's den, a knife plunging into the heart of them.