Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 82
The Attack bike jostled wildly as its fat tires bounced over the packed dirt. The jarring motion shook his genhanced bones but he compensated with Transhuman skill, holding the heavy bolter steady despite the buffeting. The throaty roar of the Promtheium engine was inches from his ear, but the Lyman's implant compensated effortlessly. Countless hours of training, gene-forging and years of practice meant Brother Glord was not troubled by a rough ride.
To his left Brother Larus steered with consummate skill, keeping up with the lighter bikes of Secundus Cohort without a qualm. The pair of them had fought side by side for years and they knew each other well. Larus was a grim sort, without any imagination or sense of humour but Glord had more than enough for the both of them. Around them the rest of their squad raced, their own Bikes roaring along at top speed. There was Joffel, the glory-hungry hothead of the squad. Beyond was Tebes, a morose and fatalistic warrior but unrelenting in his zeal. To the other side Kazao rode with his helmet tightly fixed, an aberrant Astartes cursed by mutated gene-seed but determined to fight as well as any of them. Finally at the fore rode Sergeant Reddam, their veteran leader with his power spear slung over his back as he rode for the horizon.
Glord grinned in anticipation and shouted, "A good day for a fight!"
Over the roar of the engines Larus snapped, "Concentrate on your shooting."
Glord scoffed, "Come on, crack a smile. This is the most glorious fight of our lives, revel in it!"
It seemed Sergeant Reddam was listening for he yelled, "Emperor Wept, focus, I won't be shamed before the whole of Secundus and our allies!"
That made Glord's eyes slide to examine the rest of their force. Alongside Reddam's squad rode a score of other squads. Amber Vipers riding bikes and attack bikes in their light scout-armour. Space Marines gripped handlebars fiercely and gunned their engines, racing along, eager for the fray. Over their heads trailed Vulture Gunships, idling behind so they would hit the Orks in one massive wave. This was the entirety of Secundus Cohort, the fast-attack division of the Chapter and never before had they fought as a cohesive unit. Secundus typically fought in long-ranging lone squads, sowing bedlam and dismay, but today they fought as single Lance. It was unprecedented but long hoped for, the dream of the Amber Vipers to fight as true Astartes finally made real. Today they were counted as real warriors of the Emperor, by themselves and their allies.
Glord's head turned fractionally to behold the mighty Knight Engines of House Mortan. They were at the centre of the line, some dozen steeds charging at top speed. With great bounds of their mechanical legs they raced forward, each footstep ringing through the air like a clocktower bell. Metal faceplates cast fierce visages across the line as the gloom of the Grim Pall nebula overhead made their carapaces appear as the night sky, complete with twinkling stars as diffracted light penetrated their ion shields. From their arms hung doughty reaper blades and crackling Thunderstrike gauntlets, twitching as they anticipated the battle to come. Glord had never beheld such power before, Duke Vertus of Kimdaria himself, alongside the noblest warriors of his court. They loomed over the Astartes and his heart swelled with pride to be fighting among them.
Glord let loose a laugh as he cried, "Who shall claim the greatest tally of kills: Us or the Knights?"
"It doesn't matter," Larus growled, "So long as the Orks are dead."
Glord grinned as he quipped, "Care to place a wager?"
Their exchange was interrupted as Reddam barked, "Make ready, the enemy is in sight. The word is given, attack!"
Glord gripped his Heavy Bolter tighter as they surged forward, heading into the fray. Ahead a sea of greenskins awaited, the bestial Ork menace in all its vile savagery. Glord could see the endless numbers pouring out of the arboreal forests, running on foot or carried on the backs of Trukks and battlewagons. At the flanks raced warbikes and buggies, pressing on with eager cries of feral joy. The cause of their delight was obvious, the stand of Primus Cohort and the bulk of Mortan's surviving Knights. They had presented a battle too fierce for the Ork to pass up, their races' instinctive lust for violence and destruction drawing them like moths to a flame. They had come in their multitudes to join the fight and so too Warboss Wurd'eye had come in person. The vile leader of this Waaagh that threatened to lay waste Kimdaria exposing himself. One swift charge could kill him and break the Orks, leaving them easy prey to be mopped up, the Imperials just had to fight through ten thousand Orks first.
Reddam yelled, "Prepare to engage. Remember Duke Vertus has claimed the right to kill Wurd'eye, we are to defend his rear. Draw the Orks away from the Knights, no matter the cost!"
Glord held onto his Heavy Bolter and his usual good humour faded as he intoned, "Emperor of Mankind, guide my aim so I may bring low your enemies. Bless my bolt-rounds so they may bring ruin unto the foes of Man and if I fall then know that I died in glorious service unto you."
Suddenly the Vultures accelerated, burning hard as they raced free of the line. Waves of underslung rocket pods let rip, flinging contrails into the horde as chin turrets blazed. The barrage smote the edge of the horde with fiery destruction, blowing Orks apart and flipping Trukks over. Body parts flew high and blood mixed with oil and soot, creating a shower of disgusting filth that pattered down on the heads of the Greenskins. The Orks finally deigned to notice the second force racing for their flank and hundreds of them peeled off to engage, waving choppas in the air. Yet now the cannons of the Knights spoke. Shells flew deep into the horde, making fiery explosions erupt in the masses of foes. Thermal lances cooked battlewagons to slag and a single Knight Preceptor let off a volley of las-fire, spears of brilliant energy lighting up the grim darkness with deadly force. Orks fell in droves before the onslaught but their numbers were endless and their courage was fired by the destruction, not diminished.
Glord counted down the distance as the Greenskins turned to engage then he opened fire. The Heavy Bolter roared as it spat thick shells into the mass of foes, screaming rounds inundating the Greenskins with mass-reactive shells. A moment later the bolters of the bikes opened fire, blazing fiercely in a thunderous retort. A horizontal rain smote the horde, scything them down by the hundred as Secundus Cohort carved a grievous wound into their side. Glord fired ceaselessly, sweeping his weapon back and forth, culling vile aliens with relentless fury. Closer and closer they came, until it seemed they would run headlong into the packed ranks and still they fired, every second ending a score more Orks. Glord fired into the heaving mass, offended by their vile faces and lumpish silhouettes, a hideous mockery of the perfect human form. Then just as it seemed they would dive into the sea of green Reddam yelled, "Break formation!"
Instantly Secundus Cohort peeled off, parting like a school of fish before an ocean predator. They turned to run alongside the flank of the horde and from their centre burst free the Knights. The mighty war machines dove into the fray with Reaper blades roaring, dicing Orks with effortless ease. Stubbers blazed, metal feet stomped mobs into paste while Trukks were torn asunder by metal fists. With vox-horns blaring like silver clarions Duke Vertus led his Knights into the heart of the enemy, scything deeply into the horde in his effort to reach Wurd'eye.
Glord lost sight of the Knights as Secundus harried the Ork's flanks, drawing as many away as they could. He swung his weapon right and held it steady as the barrel spewed rounds in a torrent. Everywhere bikes raced to and fro, hitting hard and evading counter strikes while Vultures raced overhead, raining down fire. The charge had cut a deadly wound into the horde but the Orks knew only savage glee at battle having found them so soon and they turned to engage with roars of joy.
A pack of warbikes raced up from the rear, meaty paws gripping handlebars as shootas blazed. Bizarre mixes of spiked wheels, grinding treads and broad-rollers drove them forward, chewing the ground to shreds. One bike was nothing but a huge wheel, a unicycle four metres tall with the driver sitting high atop a smoking engine. The Orks laughed as they raced to the fray, showering bullets upon the Astartes. Glord heard bullets pinging off his attack bike and saw a few bikers fall to the onslaught but he had no time to check on their fates for the Orks were upon them.
A warbike roared at them, driver clenching a smoking cherut cigar inbetween its fangs as it fired its shootas. Glord could see the savage glee of the enemy in its beady eyes and he instantly swung the heavy bolter about, putting a half-dozen rounds into its front. The warbike took a hit to its front tire and flipped over, sending the rider headfirst into the ground. The Ork may have survived the initial impact but it certainly did not survive having its own bike smash down upon it an instant later, sending a spray of blood into the air.
Around them the squad fought on, meeting speeding Orks with equal velocity. Reddam was charging headlong at an Ork, his spear clenched under his arm like a prehistoric horseman jousting for the amusement of his king. The Ork bellowed in anticipation as it waved a choppa overhead, only to be cruelly disappointed as the power spear plunged into its chest, ripping it off its bike with a length of metal sticking out its back. Elsewhere Joffel raced behind another bike, this one with a rear-gunner standing on a platform suspended between caterpillar tracks, swinging a Big Shoota to and fro. In his hands was a chitin bonesword and he swung it low as he raced past, striking the links of the caterpillar tracks. Bolts flew free and suddenly the bike was running on one track. The driver tried to wrench his steering wheel about but could not stop his ride flipping over, sending both Orks into a death-roll of flesh and metal.
Meanwhile Tebes was picking off Orks one by one, eschewing fancy moves he merely pointed his bike at Greenskin foes and showered them with bursts from his bolters. Not flashy or impressive by any means, but his kill count was already twice anyone else's and rising. While he did this Kazao steered for the bouncing unicycle, coming at it from the side. His grenade launcher rose fractionally and a Krak round went sailing high, striking the Ork's ride in the engine and blowing it apart in a shower of spinning metal.
Suddenly Glord was nearly thrown from his seat as an impact crashed into the attack bike. He looked over Larus's shoulder and beheld a grinning Ork slamming into them, it's red warbike throwing its bulk against them. The Ork tried to ram them again but Larus gunned his engine, pulling ahead fractionally. However the Ork swiftly matched their velocity, keeping pace with ease as it cried, "Red uns' go fasta!"
Glord couldn't bring the Heavy Bolter to bear so he reached down to his hip and drew a bolt pistol. He instantly lifted it over Larus' back and fired a single round into the Greenskin's face. The mass-reactive smashed through the skull then exploded, spraying brains and blood over a wide area. The Ork was left a headless corpse upon its bike, hands still gripping the throttle, causing it to race off in a straight line as the Attack bike turned away.
Glord looked about for the next foe but was pulled up short when he saw what had happened while they skirmished. Deep in the horde the Knights of House Mortan were fighting furiously, wading through the massed Orks with tremendous footsteps. They were brave and bold but what they faced was beyond them.
On his macabre stage warboss Wurd'eye stood surrounded by crackling Waaagh energies, the foul misbegotten manifestation of the collective Ork psyche. A nimbus of green energies played around the war-stage, surrounding it like a void shield. Into that miasma the Knights had charged and yet as they did so green tendrils wrapped themselves around the limbs of their steeds, dragging on them like quicksand. The Knights pushed into the aura like men wading through mud, but every step saw the resistance increase and their pace slowed to a crawl. At their head Duke Vertus slogged on, spurring his Engine with all his will but he could not advance and the Knights were left vulnerable.
The brass orbs on the war-stage flared with chains of lighting, then a green discharge lashed out, connecting with a Knight on the left flank. Ion shields proved useless as metal parted like cloth before scissors and the Knight fell, cleaved in two at the waist. Glord gasped at the sight but Wurd'eye laughed scornfully as another discharge of psychic might was let loose, and another and another. Knights exploded, their steeds smote most cruelly as the power of the Waaagh laid the bravest of men low. Glord could scarcely believe his eyes, he would not have thought it was possible, but the Knight's charge had indeed failed and hundreds of Orks were closing in on their rear, eager to climb high and rip the survivors from their Throne Mechanicums. The conclusion was inescapable, the Knights couldn't beat Wurd'eye alone and if the Warboss did not fall then the battle was lost.
"Turn and engage!" Reddam yelled, "Free the surviving Knights!"
But Joffel countered, "No, look up!"
"What are you…" Reddam barked but then uttered, "Throne, no, not them."
Larus glanced up then said, "Glord, you have to see this."
Glord fired ceaselessly with his Heavy Bolter as he snarled, "I'm busy here!"
But Larus only replied, "You really have to see this."
Glord spared a half-second to look up, then his jaw fell in shock. High above a tiny silhouette was growing, swelling into a doughty orbital lifter, still streaming hot vapours from re-entry. It was wider and more cumbersome than a Thunderhawk but far more heavily armoured, covered in broad ablative plates that could shrug off almost anything. It shimmered with anti-grav fields and from its stubby wings hung racks of fat ordnance. It was pitch-black all over but Glord's genhanced eyesight could pick out the snake and goblet emblem etched in red on the flanks and the front ramp bore the mark of a bloody hand.
"Oh no," Glord breathed in dismay, "It can't be bad enough for them to get involved."
"It is," Larus breathed, "It truly is."
Glord could only watch in growing dread as on wings of doom the Order of the Cerberii descended to join the fray.