Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 233
"Faster!" Ruuka spat as the rig heaved him out of the pit. Coarse wires were attached to his vac-armour, attached to a pulley above. He knew it would be moments until he was out of the hole, but it felt like an eternity. The alien horde was closing and he didn't know if they could hold the Xenos back. If they didn't the mission would fail and Ruuka would know his gene-father's disappointment was merited. He wouldn't let that happen, better to die in disgrace than go back to the old fool and admit he had failed.
Finally the crest of the pit came up and Ruuka grabbed proffered hands to pull over. His boots crunched on the glass-snow, and he swayed as the wind tried to push him over, but held firm as the hooks were unstrapped from his frame, fuming at the delay. Behind him Jordig followed suit, waiting far more patiently. The Primaris Techmarine had kept up with his mad dash from the depths of the Farum, probably the Marine could have outpaced him, but respected the Executor's need to get there first. Brontes, Wulfe and Kerubim were still below, slower than Ruuka's enhanced frame and the boy staying with his charge. Getting to the pit and being hauled up would take precious minutes, time Ruuka couldn't spare.
The second the last clip was undone Ruuka broke away, bounding down the hill towards the Secutor's position. Dannye had spread his Skitarii out in layered rings, creating a series of armed foxholes that should cost attackers dearly. Ruuka hoped it would be enough, they hadn't had time to dig deeper trenches or set up anything heavier than man-portable weapons. Of the landing shuttles he could only trust they were safe, left on the ocean side of the hill, where an attack would not get to them. Those craft were his forces' only way off this frozen ball of toxin, a thought that made his heart go cold.
He saw Dannye and slid into the foxhole, hunkering behind a heap mound of glass-snow for cover. The Secutor's head twitched in a constant manner, indicating he was effortlessly processing vox-reports from his Skitarii but he retained enough multi-tasking to say, "Your timing is impeccable."
"What have we got?" Ruuka spat.
"Scouting parties report massive numbers of Xenos closing, on a direct line for our position. I despatched Ironstriders to survey their capabilities and they report signatures of high-yield weaponry and tactical assault patterns. Conclusion: the Xenos do not come to parley."
"You don't have to tell us that part," Jordig snapped.
"Can we hold them?" Ruuka hissed.
Dannye replied, "Their numbers exceed ours by hundreds to one. Probability of surviving the first hour is forty point three percent, the second twelve point one, the third…"
"We get it," Ruuka snapped, "We will have to hold them until the starcharts are retrieved, then make a fighting withdrawal to the shuttles. Getting everyone out will be bloody."
Dannye however stated, "Probability of survival increases significantly if we only retrieve key personnel and data."
"Leave the adepts below?!" Ruuka spat, "Leave your Skitarii?!"
However Jordig added, "The data is vital, these personnel are not."
"We'll solder that circuit when we come to it," Ruuka hissed as he gazed over the mound. Before him the slopes fell away, not nearly as high and steep as he would like, but better than nothing. In precisely calculated clumps the Skitarii waited, clutching weapons tight yet his eyes were drawn to the distance. Augmetic implants magnified the distance and he spied a wave of blue sweeping across the landscape, a flood covering the land in roiling motion. Xenos in numbers beyond counting, all headed this way. At this distance he could not make out their forms but they travelled in some form of Grav-skimmers, varying from small three-man wedges to bulky barges carrying scores. The Jathyr were advanced and they were closing fast.
Ruuka spied black dots racing before the horde, twin-legged machines bounding back to the hill. Skitarii Ironstriders, retreating to safety, but not fast enough. Flashes of light erupted along the front of the horde and Ironstriders fell, gunned down from behind. Not one scout made it back and Ruuka's will was set. He reset his eyes to targeting mode, then marked the distance with a blink, he swept his eyes about again and marked another spot, internal calculations running in his brain's augmetics. He opened his vox and called, "Ruuka to Tezla, ident cypher Pi-172-542-Zephyr. Target grid-coordinates 347-222 to 310-222, orbital fire support requested."
"Confirmed," droned a monotone wheeze from on high, "Omnissiah's wrath incoming."
"Brace for impact!" Ruuka called as he hunkered down.
Jordig uttered a solemn prayer, "Look upon your servants with favour, oh God of the Machine. Let slip your righteous ire and cleanse the stars of the Xenos filth, but spare your devoted from harm. May your retribution be swift, your ire mighty and your aim sure."
In this atmosphere thin atmosphere it took a mere minute for macroshells to travel from orbit, but Ruuka had judged the timing perfectly. The blue heavens knew golden yellow for the first time and then split part as screaming shells plunged through. Ruuka pressed his head down as brilliant yellow light bathed the hill and the ground vibrated violently. A moment later a howling wind washed up the slopes, tearing over the lip of the foxhole in a gale. The air became a blizzard of glassic shards and he felt them pepper his vac-armour with razor sharp filaments, had he been barefaced he would have died. As it was his legs juddered as the ground danced and his head clanged painfully against the inside of his helmet as he was thrown to the ground.
The wind died and he bounded up, brushing glass motes from his faceplate with a gauntlet. What he beheld was a river of red, molten glass oozing in a long line at the base of the hill as dark vapours occluded the air above. The atmosphere did not support the right elements for fire, but the devastation was immense, hundreds of blue bodies strewn around the hill, broken and still. The Jathyr had been wounded badly, but not enough to stop them. Motion swirled in the smog and then small darts shot through. From the ashes of death drove Grav-skimmers, the smaller three-man chariots racing up the hill to engage.
"Open fire!" Ruuka barked and the Skitarii responded. Heavy Bolters thundered, rocket bolts as capable in this air as they were in vacuum or underwater. Multi-lasers spat energy and Galvanic rifles made streaks of smoke appear as Tech-guard met Xenos with a hail of death. A dozen grav-skimmers were hit and broke apart, spraying spinning shards across the dug-in defenders, along with crystal limbs. The rest however carried on, jinking wildly to avoid being hit as they hurtled across the line of defenders. Flashes of light blazed from the riders and now it was Skitarii who died, limbs torn off as torsos were ripped open. Ruuka saw a tech-guard take a hit to his breathing gear and collapse clawing at his throat, a mere glancing hit but one that left the warrior breathing toxic air, choking on oily blood as his lungs dissolved.
A sudden burst of glass-snow made Ruuka duck and he shouted, "What the glitch are they hitting us with?!
"Interference guns," Dannye replied calmly as he let rip with a Volkite Serpentia, "Molecular bonds are excited enough to break, causing explosive results on the target."
"All the punch of a bolter, none of the pesky ammunition," Jordig snapped.
"Filthy Xenos, let's see how you handle this!" Ruuka spat as he grabbed his gun and brought his aim up. A Grav-skimmer flashed by his sight, Interference guns blazing. He lined up a shot and pulled the trigger, sending a fat bolt soaring by. His aim was off, going over the crew's heads, but it didn't matter. His gun carried servitor-guided bolts, each one fitted with a microscopic speck of neural tissue. The Machine Spirit within tasked with seeking foes and it caused the bolt to twist in mid-flight, striking the leading Xenos in the back with a mass-reactive. The grav-skimmer lost control and tumbled from the air, spilling bodies as it slammed into the ground and broke up.
Ruuka snarled in triumph but the kill drew attention and a trio of Grav-skimmers veered towards them, Interference guns blazing. Their foxhole came apart in a shower of glass and Ruuka instinctively threw himself out. A Grav-skimmer slewed in the air to give chase but his hand slapped a rune on his chest and bands of light enveloped him, blurring his outline and making his position a haze of distortion. A shimmer-field, rare technology reversed engineered from the corpse of an Eldar Harlequin, Heretek art but useful when one wished not to die.
Ruuka sprinted for the nearest cover, feeling targeting sights crawling over his back. His breath thundered in the confines of the helmet and his legs felt entangled by the bulky material of his suit but he pressed on, desperate to reach safety before he was gunned down. But the Jathyr had other plans.
The trio of skimmers shot overhead and from them jumped three pairs of Xenos, landing right in his path. For the first time Ruuka had a good look at the Xenos and their bizarre form. Jathyr's bodies were crystal in nature with chests made from angled formations approximating muscles. Limbs were long and spindly with three-pronged hands that bore jagged clusters of crystal shaped like a gun. Faces were blank domes without features or eyes, but eerily prescient. Strange tubes grew from the back of their limb and shoulders, and two twisted antlers arose from their skulls, sensory apparatus or dominance displays Ruuka knew not.
Ruuka slammed his gun to his hip and drew a power sword in a futile display of defiance. To his surprise the Xenos lowered the strange guns and instead pulled long crystal filaments from their backs, that shone with a fractal-killing edge. The largest pointed at him and a strange trilling resonance shook his helm, a challenge to combat he could only assume and he grinned as he spat, "Single combat, a universal concept it seems."
With a trilling shriek the biggest threw itself at him, fractal blade a smear of light. It was fast, damned fast, and gave no indication of intent, no bunching muscle or shifting stance. Had he been a normal man he would have died but his enhanced frame brought boons of speed and he got his sword up in time to block in a spray of sparks as lightning-energy met fractal edge. The blow was swift but the impact oddly light, for all its skill these Xenos seemed weaker than a man, born of lesser gravity they lacked strength of arm.
The Xenos' cry rose in pitch as it stabbed and slashed, bringing a flurry of blows against him. Ruuka met each one with a parry, executing a flawless defence honed by hours of practice. The Xenos' blows became more frantic, a clumsy sweep of its sword betraying frustration. Ruuka let a blow sail past his helmet unopposed then thrust for the centre mass. Shining point met blue crystal and smashed through, tearing out whatever passed for guts as the tip speared out its back.
Ruuka saw the Xenos freeze in shock then go limp. He placed his hand on its shoulder then pushed it off, letting the body fall as he turned to the rest. The five Jathyr stared at him and he wondered if they had any sort of honour code that would let him pass unscathed, but it was a fool's dream. With trilling shrieks all five of them attacked, coming at him as one. Ruuka threw himself back to avoid being disembowelled, retreating for all he was worth.
Fractal-blades were everywhere, hacking and slashing, he met them as best he was able, parrying and denying but unable to think of counter-attacking. Up the slope the Jathyr chased him, trilling screams making his ears ring. He blocked a blow from the right, only for a lightning quick blow from the left to score over his helmet. He heard glassic crack and gasped as a micro-thin rupture was made, letting a wisp of atmosphere inside. Instantly his throat closed and his lungs cramped, causing him to cough violently. His guard dropped as he faltered and the Jathyr closed in for the kill. Ruuka backpedalled but constant coughing made his legs weak and he collapsed, exposed and defenceless. The Jathyr loomed, fractal blades pointed at his heart but then a glorious line of blue light crossed his gaze.
From nowhere a shining plasma-saber swept in, catching a Jathyr in the flank and tearing it in two. Jordig, coming to his aid with weapon in hand. The Jathyr spun about but the Techmarine laid into them, sweeping his sword across the neck of another. He moved with speed that surpassed theirs, his strength mighty and his arm relentless. Ruuka had never seen a Space Marine in battle before and he was amazed by the fury displayed. Jordig fought like a whirlwind of destruction, obliterating his foes with contemptuous blows, but never losing control. He was a lethal blend of ferocity and calculation, leaving steaming dead in his wake as he advanced. Four strokes, four kills, that was all he needed to end them.
The last Jathyr raised its arms in surrender but it knew nothing of Space Marines. Jordig drove his plasma-saber into its face, burning out what passed for its brain then letting it topple. He turned to Ruuka and said, "Seal your helm."
Ruuka was already fumbling with a canister on his belt and used it to spray a quick-setting sealant over the crack in his visor. It obscured his vision to the left but he could breathe again and rasped, "My thanks."
"No time for niceties," Jordig grunted, "They're massing for a charge."
Ruuka lurched to his feet and gazed down the hillside. As far as he could see Skitarii positions were in tatters, laid to waste by darting foes. Grav-skimmers were strewn everywhere and crystal bodies were laid out on the snow but they'd done their job. The fixed defences had been broken and the Skitarii were left to seek new positions, racing to prepare for the next wave, but they were out of time.
From the swirling mists came blunt-prowed skimmers, bearing scores of fresh Jathyr. They advanced relentlessly, aiming to overrun the broken defence before it could reform. They sought to avenge their fallen kin and drive the humans from their world once and for all. Ruuka knew the battle hung in the balance and the next few minutes would decide the day. All he could do was pick up his weapons and brace for the fight to come, determined to win through or die trying.