Serrati Steallas Chapter 6
Through the jagged and mismatched corridors IXth squad ran, sectioning and clearing each corner and junction with practiced ease, advancing in waves to cover each other. They raced to get away from the roaring inferno behind them, the ruptured power conduit spewing green lightning that burned all it touched. They could feel the ship quivering with the first caresses of atmosphere and knew time was against them. At the rear of the squad Novak supported Ophelian under one arm, helping him to limp along as he clutched one hand to the mass of Larraman cells scabbing over his abdomen. A mortal man would have been doubled over screaming in agony but Ophelian was an Astartes and his armour dispensed pain balms whilst he muttered mantras from his hypno-indoctrination all the while.
Ophelian's gen-enhanced physiology was trying to piece him back together but he had a dozen barbed lumps of lead in his guts, tearing him apart as fast as his artificial organs could repair him. The squad had no apothecary to tend to his wounds and they could not afford the time to stop and dig the bullets out, so he had no choice but to endure the torment and keep marching. Toran led them on but inside he was berating himself, it had been his orders that had caused Ophelain to be wounded, it was his responsibility to fulfil the mission and keep his Marines alive and he was failing.
Toran cleared what looked like a bunkroom and waved Rickard forwards to the next, all the while recalling their extraction route in his eidetic memory and comparing it to a timed countdown in his visor: the remaining time until the Winged Fury would disengage. The time was uncomfortably close but his transhuman mind calculated they would just make it, as long as there were no delays. They came up to a hatch but stopped sharply for Rickard was peering through it and was holding up a clenched fist, using hand signals he gestured, 'Enemy ahead, 20+'. Toran swore under his breath, there were too many to take in hand to hand combat, especially with a Brother down and they had no time for a protracted firefight. The squad stepped back into the room and over closed vox assessed the situation. Novak was the first to ask, "Do we have enough time to go around?"
"Not at the speed we are moving" replied Rickard, saying what they all knew to be true.
"Yes… yes you do" spoke up Ophelian through gritted teeth, "You can still make it if someone stays here to distract the Orks."
"Ophelian you can't…" said Toran in denial, unwilling to leave his Brother.
"Go you idiots," Ophelian snarled brushing off the sentiment, "A good death is its own reward."
Toran wanted to tell his Brother that they would never abandon him… but he couldn't. He had seen battles where good Marines had been sacrificed to give their kin a chance at life but he himself had never given such an order and despite all his hypno-conditioning it tore at his heart. Yet as the sergeant he knew his duty was to the whole squad, he could not risk everybody's lives for the sake of one man. Ultimately they were all Astartes and everyone one of them knew death in battle was their destiny, glorious or miserable, each one was ready to give his life for his Emperor and his brothers.
Toran opened his mouth to spout some vague platitudes about dying with honour but didn't get the chance for suddenly through the hatch ran three Orks. The Orks seemed stunned to see them and wasted a second gaping in disbelief; but the Marines were not so handicapped. Reacting on muscle memory Toran revved his chainsword and lunged forwards, plunging the blade into a greenskin's chest. Gore exploded out of its back while the rest of the squad leapt forwards and finished off the other two. Regrettably it was too late, the sound of combat had attracted the rest of the Orks and they charged forward, waving choppas in the air and shouting "Waaagh!"
IXth squad was beset as the Xenos poured through the hatch. Toran shot the first through hatch with his bolt pistol but then was overwhelmed by hacking and stabbing lunatics. He fended off a crude cleava and ripped his chainsword through the guts of the Ork holding it, but it did not seem to notice that its entrails were pouring onto the ground and tried to grab him around the throat. Countless hours of training compelled Toran to instinctively step forward rather than back, breaking its grip and he smashed his helmet into its face with force enough to shatter teeth. The Ork staggered and in the moment of respite he brought his chainsword up to hack its arms off, then he took its head with a buzzing strike. Before he could turn another Ork grappled him in a bear hug, trapping his chainsword arm to his side and lifting him off the floor. Toran wasted no time kicking or squirming but brought his free hand up over his shoulder, placing his bolt pistol right against the brute's forehead. A twitch of his finger and the Orks' head exploded, spraying gore over everywhere.
Toran landed on his feet and saw the squad was surrounded and outnumbered four to one. Furion stabbed one Ork in the neck, even as he was fending off five more Orks that battered and scored his thick armour. He was killing as fast as he could but the tide would soon overwhelm him. Meanwhile Rickard was being clubbed to the ground, a heaving mob piling upon him and Ophelian was prone on the floor, trying to hold back an Ork that was wrestling to shove a serrated knife into his eye.
Before Toran could act six more Orks charged at him, they were clumsy crude brutes that constantly got in each other's' way but still there were too many for him to take alone. Toran's heart burned with loathing for the filthy brutes, these creatures insulted the purity of the human form and his soul cried out to exterminate them. Yet Toran also realised the odds were too great, he could not take on six at once and the fight was turning against the squad: they could not win,
But he knew that they could still die well, in the Emperor name.
Yet even as Toran prepared to go down fighting Novak suddenly leapt past him. The young Storm Herald was a whirlwind of death, lashing out with his rapier to hack and cut at green flesh. His flashing blade danced past the Orks' crude parries, chopping the green skins like meat on a butcher's block. Toran had seen the rookie duelling in the training cages and judged him a prodigy with a blade, but now he realised the youth had actually been holding back.
There were none of Novak's typical flourishes or showboating, his movements were exact and direct, stunningly efficient and utterly deadly. He loped off limbs, spilled guts and tore out throats with his every gesture. He was death incarnate, he was perfection with a blade and in a matter of seconds he had six Ork corpses steaming before him on the deck. The rest of the squad rallied at the sight, throwing themselves forwards to hack and stab with their blades. Toran joined them, lunging with his chainsword to tear through a green chest, then he pulled back and swung wide, decapitating another Ork who was trying to stab Furion in the neck. The last Ork hacked with a rusty cleava, trying to batter down Rickard who was unimaginatively parrying in prescribed Codex style. Toran however simply levelled his bolt pistol and put three rounds in its back, not very honourable, but then this was no duelling pit.
Silence fell and the squad looked about in shock at their unexpected victory, Toran glanced at the timer in his visor display and then swore under his breath, for the Thunderhawk would evacuate soon. In a second his mind recalculated the route, it was theoretically possible to make it to the gunship but it would be perilously close. He was determined to save Ophelian, but he refused to risk anyone else's life to do so.
He ran and grabbed Ophelian under one arm heaving him up and yelling to the rest of the squad, "Go ahead, we can't afford any more delays. Get to the Thunderhawk, if we do not make it in time do not wait for us. GO!"
The squad obeyed the order without question and ran ahead while Toran and Ophelian limped on step by step. Toran instantly knew they were moving too slowly but suddenly Ophelian's other arm was lifted up and he was practically picked off the floor. Toran looked over and saw Furion running alongside, effectively doubling their pace. Toran was glad of his presence but said, "I thought I ordered you to leave us."
Yet Furion merely tapped theatrically on the side of his helm and said, "Sorry Sergeant, autosenses took a knock in the fight. I can't hear a word you're saying."
Toran gritted his teeth but he knew he could not make it on his own so the two of them practically carried Ophelian down the corridor at a full run. They passed a variety of lone Ork corpses on the way, evidence that Rickard and Novak had already been through and cleared a route for them. Moving as fast as they could they charged down the corridors, racing against the clock, fully aware that the Kroozer was starting to vibrate in the unwelcome caress of friction. Toran watched the time racing down in his visor and knew they were at the edge of their hope. His hearts burned with exertion, for a Space Marine was no paltry weight but he forced his aching muscles into action, pressing ever harder for the last morsel of speed. Together he and Furion pushed themselves to the limit, forsaking all caution and knowing if they ran into another party of Orks it would the end, speed as their only hope now.
The clock marched inexorably downwards, then just when Toran was convinced they would not make it they finally burst out into the empty chamber they had first emerged into. The hole was right where they had left it and through the gap they could the welcome interior of the Winged Fury. They ran to the hole in the wall and practically threw Ophelian into it. Then they dived in head first themselves, feeling the curious twisting sensation of the Kroozers' gravity disappearing to leave them in zero-gee. They pulled themselves into the gunship and mag-locked their boots to the deck and Toran saw Chaplain Wrethan's team were already aboard, so slammed his fist on a panel and the boarding tunnel whirred shut.
Instantly the Thunderhawk broke free from the hull in a spray of ice crystals, burning hard to put as much distance as possible between itself and wrecked Kroozer. It soared through the fiery contrails of re-entry, clawing to escape as the Ork vessel plummeted into the atmosphere. Fragments broke off the Kroozer as flames seared across its hull, melting the gunz away like rotten teeth and a thick stream of smoke trailed behind it, turning it into an ugly shooting star as it fell helplessly towards the planetoid. The trail of smoke sank into the sooty atmosphere as the Thunderhawk soared free, climbing for the stars with every last bit of thrust.
Toran leaned back on a bulkhead and closed his eyes, feeling every moment of the last few hours wearing at him. He breathed deeply in relief but his moment of respite was short live for Novak suddenly called from the cockpit "Sergeant, we have a problem!" Toran was up instantly, clomping his mag-boots on the floor as he forced his way into the cockpit. He stuck his head inside but what he saw shocked him, while they had been infiltrating the Kroozer the Orks had repositioned their fleet. In all directions he could see vast metallic faces bristling with gunz, all pointed straight at them. The Thunderhawk was surrounded by six Ork escort Frigates, each one loaded and ready to fire.