Emperor's Mercy
Amidst the flames of Angel Forge, the traitor forces of the Dark Mechanicum dug in for a last stand.
Grav-sleds streaked towards the data core, flinging hunter killer-killer missiles into the traitor lines. With mechanical precision, they unleashed righteous fury on their fallen brethren, fighting with both gun and blade in equal measure. The loyalist forces of Logis Corsis rose up across the forge, massacring Magos Dolthem's skitarii and driving them back to their last bastions.
Alongside the Mechanicus, Imperial Guard forces descended into the manufactorum en masse, by airdrop and by great service lifts. Service platforms laden with troops and armour lowered into the depths, ancient counterweights groaning after centuries of idleness. All across the forge, the production lines were aflame. The great Mechanicus Myrmidons, siege masters, supported the Guard by coordinating devastating artillery fire from batteries back on the surface.
It was no longer a battle, it was a calculated slaughter.
226 Commando was at the fore, striking for the command center alongside Corsis's tech-priests. The unrelenting pulse of lasfire drowned out the screams of the dying as the Vendolanders pushed onwards. Sweeping into the fortified barbican the Scions had passed, the guardsmen flushed the remaining tech-guard into the open, executing them without mercy. They were so close now. They could actually see the stormtrooper strike force ahead of them, fearlessly wading into the enemy lines. They could still win.
The Vendolanders took up position in the guardhouse, covering the stormtroopers advance as Kex landed more loyalist mechanicum troops. Competitors or not, they were all on the same side, and even together, they were only a handful against an army. The main Imperial force was making for their position at all speed, but only the aerial forces were close enough to support the commandos' advance. Overhead, a wing of vulture gunships launched a strafing run overhead, shredding the heretek ranks.
It was almost enough to even the odds.
Almost.
Merrick winced as the red gloom was broken by a harsh light from the forge's heart. A great hatch retracted at the base of the globe, and out marched legions of skitarii foot soldiers and hulking praetorians, forming up with the forces still surrounding the command sanctum. Merrick dialed up the power charge on his hellgun, feeling the weapon vibrate with barely contained energy.
"Don't let up," he barked, moving between the guardsmen. "Kippler, keep on the commanders, Lannik, pour it on them!" The guardsmen fired on full auto, hellgun power packs whining under the stress.
The guardhouse was thoroughly ravaged by return fire from the skitarii. Two men were cut down in a hail of bullets. Goldemar was caught trying to take a snapshot around the entrance and promptly had his right arm blown off below the shoulder. He dropped with a slight yelp, his hellgun clattering beside him. Witnessing this, Alek dragged him out of harm's way and immediately set to the ugly work of stemming the bleeding. He jabbed the open wound with a syringe of coagulating formula. Goldemar's small yelps became agonized cries, staring incredulously at his shattered stump.
The screams were cut short by a high pitched frequency. Merrick suddenly felt as though he had been hit by the backwash of a valkyrie turbine. He was blown off his feet and landed hard on his side. The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth. It trickled from his nose as well. The whole world was spinning.
He felt like he was going to vomit. He could feel his veins swelling on his forehead.
The air was charged with static, and the sweltering heat of the forge became as dry as a desert wind. Something was happening. Something very, very bad. Other guardsmen looked similarly repulsed. Kippler's unshakable aim was trembling. Even the scions outside, the bloody glory hounds, were unsteady. Sparks zapped off of the tech-guard, enemy and loyalist alike. Everything was scrambled. Merrick coughed up bloody phlegm, struggling to get to his feet.
The high frequency buzz reached its zenith, before vanishing with a single, loud stomp.
From the light of the gateways, the first daemon engines appeared.
Hunched over, with oversized forelimbs ending in savage claws, the machines looked like a mockery of the great Astartes dreadnoughts, yet dwarfing even them. A horned head of blood red steel leered out from under a mountain of shoulder plating, its twisted mouth contorted into a demonic howl. Burning coals glowed within the machine's sunken eye sockets. With each step, a shower of rust fell from the machine, eating away at the ground. Hereteks prostrated themselves in worship of the metal horrors, oblivious to the carnage raging around them.
Merrick pulled himself to his feet, recoiling at the sight of the machines. He couldn't shake the sense of wrongness around them. Mathis was bent over, heaving coughing up blood. Outside, Kex's men were frozen. What parts of Kex's face that were still human were a mixture of utter dread and fury. His bolter armature shook in its mounting brackets. Merrick grabbed Kex and pulled him inside the guardhouse.
"Hey, cogboy, hey!" Merrick shook Kex, trying to get his attention. "Come on, work your bloody computer brain, look at me!"
Navitan Kex's normally monotone voice was uneven, uncertain. "They... they have poisoned the forge's heart. These abominations, the forge, the forge itself..."
Sarthis stumbled over to Merrick's side, bracing himself against the wall. "How do we kill them, Kex?"
Kex's servomotors whirred, and he found his voice, "Any way we can, Lieutenant Sarthis." The bolter armature's autoloader chambered a fresh round. "Precision firepower to vulnerable areas will suffice."
In spite of the throbbing pain in Merrick's body, he forced a smile. "And here I thought cogboys didn't have a sense of humour."
Kex glared at him. "It is righteous fury sergeant major. Show no mercy to these monstrosities."
Varga's scions were only briefly struck by the unholy air as the daemon engines appeared. His schola training had extensive coverage of the various war machines employed by the Archenemy. The daemon engines matched the profile of machines designated as Decimators, configured for close combat. The bound daemons within would fight until their vessels were rendered inoperable.
The hereteks' sudden worship of their monstrous creations gave the strike force a tiny window of opportunity. Rallying his remaining stormtroopers, the tempestor prime resumed his advance on the data core. The decimators turned to face them, lumbering towards the scions with their claws raised. Varga readied a melta bomb, tossing it at the feet of the lead machine. Ignoring the explosive, the decimator's lumbering march built up speed, becoming a charge. A ferocious screech echoed from the grotesque faceplate.
The melta exploded beneath the decimator, mangling its legs and causing it to collapse. The four remaining machines ignored their fallen brethren, which continued to pull itself forward by jabbing its claws into the ground. The hereteks themselves resumed their fight as loyalist forces to the rear of the scions broke the lull with a renewed volley of gunfire.
Varga opened his vox channel. "Scions, formation twin-delta, break." The scions complied instantly, splitting into two groups moving in opposite directions. Just as anticipated, the decimators peeled off to pursue both groups. Varga then switched to the open imperial channels. "Nearby imperial forces, this is Tempestor Prime Varga. Do you have any anti-armour ordnance."
There was a quick reply. "Lieutenant Sarthis here. We have a few krak grenades and a pair missile launchers. There's also a melta gun but we're out of range for it. We have eyes on you, stormtrooper."
"Target the decimators following my men, and watch your aim!"
"Copy that, Tempestor. The Vendolanders are here to assist."
Vendolanders? Varga thought. The unit initially meant to be deployed for the scion's assassination mission. Their presence suddenly made more sense. They were there for the same reason.
"Missiles away," voxed Sarthis.
Two missiles struck one of the decimator's shoulder plating. The machine was barely fazed. Bounding after the scions, it took a swipe with its claws, ripping a trio of men covering Varga's command squad to bloody ribbons. Varga voxed back, "Again, lieutenant! Aim low, their lower armour is weak around the leg joints."
Varga's second, Jovan, was leading the second group. They were already down five scions, splitting into smaller and smaller units to disperse and avoid the machines' deadly arms. More missiles streaked towards the daemon engines. Varga's own missile troopers were quickly prepping their own launchers for point blank shots.
Only one man managed to pull the trigger before he and the others evaporated under the machine's claws. The decimator's mask buckled under the explosion, eliciting a metallic screech that tore at Varga's skull as it died. Even as it fell, the decimator Varga had struck with a melta bomb managed to right itself, continuing its pursuit with a limping gait.
Jovan's squad was in shambles, and Varga's was badly undermanned. In an instant, the machines had turned the tables on the strike force. And the hereteks were coming to the aid of their murderous idols. Unwilling to go down without a fight, Varga injected another dose of satrophine into his veins, flushing him with adrenaline and hyper-focusing his reaction times. He dialed up his volley gun to its maximum settings, and turned to face down the horrors pursuing him with a defiant prayer on his lips.
Kex was changed, Sarthis noted. The skitarius commander rallied his remaining men and renewed his assault on the traitor lines with an almost human level of anger. The skitarii were fighting less like precision instruments and more like men, with emotion. They were making mistakes, but their zeal and resolve were unshakeable. The sight of those... things, must have been too much for even their cold mechanicum souls to bear.
The loyalists plunged into a chaotic melee with their heretek brethren while Sarthis's men continued to direct fire against the decimators, currently living up to their name. Varga's stormtroopers had lost all cohesion and were reduced to small pockets of resistance dotted across the decline. The Vendolanders missile launchers were too far out to effectively counter the daemon engines and their erratic movements. They needed to get closer.
"Merrick!" he roared, "Get your men up front and close in on the glory hounds. We'll be right behind you!"
Merrick nodded, "Aye, lieutenant. Daredevils, close formation!"
The Daredevils rushed ahead, hellguns leveled against the traitors. The stormtroopers were nearly a half kilometer from them. As the rest of 226 commando fell in with Sarthis, he voxed the tempestor prime again, "Varga, hold tight, we're moving on your position. Emperor protect you until we get there."
Over an open space, without cover, 226's advance was tantamount to suicide. It was only by the sacrifice of Kex's enraged skitarii that the guardsmen were saved from the worst of the return fire. With their flesh and steel, the tech-guard paid for the commandos' passage, holding the enemy in place. Even then, several Vendolanders were cut down by stray shots. There was no time to stop for them. Head down, gun raised, Sarthis pushed himself forward.
They were on top of the stormtroopers. Ahead, Merrick called out "Grenades!", and the Daredevils lobbed a flurry of krak grenades at the nearest Daemon engine. Before they struck, the sergeant major split his men into their fireteams, dividing the monster's attention. Varga's ten remaining stormtroopers regrouped and brought their own guns to bear on the decimator. The grenades staggered the machine backwards, giving the men time to pull back to a safe distance.
The brief moment gave Sarthis's missile troopers the clear shot they needed. The decimator's chest cavity was blown open and the machine collapsed into wreckage with another shriek. The guardsmen backed away from the wreck, still writhing as it went down. With a look of disgust on his face, Remer stepped forward and put a few more shots from his grenade launcher into the scrap pile.
"Thank you for the assist, lieutenant," Varga said. Stormtroopers and Vendolanders took up firing positions behind the burning decimator, putting fire on the limping daemon engine pulling itself towards them. Even in defeat, the machine's tangible uneasiness pounded on the men's skulls.
"Getting people out of jams is our specialty," Sarthis said, letting his satisfaction slip through just a little.
The tempestor prime tilted his head slightly. "Jovan, status report." There was a pause. Varga shook his head. "Nothing. Men, we're on our own. Lieutenant Sarthis, you will cover our approach. Our target still lives."
"Like hell we are," Sarthis said, jabbing his finger into Varga's chest plate. "This was our job before you lot came along. We'll finish this with or without you. Besides, look at your men. You'll need our guns."
"There is no target too difficult for the Scions, lieutenant," Varga snarled. Sarthis could see the veins on the stormtrooper's head pulsing from the combat stims.
"Damn your pride, tin-man," shouted Sarthis, "We've had so little choice in what we do for so long, just this once, we're not giving you a choice. We're going with you, willing or not, and that bastard Magos is going down. We are here now, and we are offering our help. Take it or leave it, Varga."
Varga's eyes darted between the corpses of his men and those still alive, and back to Sarthis and the remains of 226 Commando. They settled on the fallen decimator.
It was still moving, pulling itself back together. That sealed his decision.
"Wherever we go, it is better than here," Varga said, resigned. "I hope your men are up to the task, lieutenant."
"He says to the men who just saved him," said Sarthis mockingly, "what do you think? Men of Vendoland, loose formation. Prepare to move out."
The decimators unleashed from the forge wreaked havoc on the encroaching Imperial Guard units. No matter how grievous their wounds, the bound daemons continually rebuilt themselves, attacking troops from the rear after the forward elements moved past. Guardsmen, Myrmidons and loyalist Skitarii alike were rebuffed by the onslaught. But it was merely a delay. A few thousand lives were nothing compared to losing the Forge.
Despite the rampaging daemon engines, the hereteks were in a full rout. Their numbers, though vast, paled in comparison to the sheer weight of firepower that the Imperial Guard brought to bear. Whole tank companies from the widespread Maveron regiments fanned out across the assembly lines, dozer blades plowing through an iron forest of broken manufacturing stations.
Major Armand Lester couldn't help but think that the whole endeavour was a waste. The 85th Vendoland joined the countless other Guard infantry regiments following up behind the armour, scouring the warrens to traitor holdouts, and 'securing' the ruined production lines. Lester had always known this was how it would end, with the Imperium as winners atop a pile of cinders. There was little comfort in his vindication.
Ahead of them, a section of the forge's crust had flattened the assembly line where it landed. Lester turned his mind to the commando team. There had been no contact since the 85th had joined in the final push into the Forge. He checked his analogue watch, trying to figure how long it had been since their last contact.
The damned thing had broke.
Lester couldn't help but laugh, garnering odd looks from his command squad.
Kex's fury had paid off. Their redoubled ferocity in the face of the traitors had put a hole in the enemy lines, giving 226 Commando and Varga's scions a clear shot for the entrance to the data core. The collapsing traitor forces were held back just long enough to get the guardsmen and stormtroopers into the loading bay. Kex himself and the last few loyalist skitarii followed them in while the men laid down covering fire.
"The door, lieutenant!" shouted Kex, not letting up with his bolter for a moment, "Close the door!"
Sarthis hurried over to the entrance controls and flipped the console toggle. The doorway screeched and started to shut. Remer and the other Daredevils dropped any hereteks that tried to claw their way back in after them. Before the door slid shut, Remer caught sight of the decimators turning back towards them. Before the guardsmen could catch their breath, the hatch started to shudder under a series of pounding thuds.
"No time to waste, lieutenant," Kex said. "That hatch will not keep them long. I know the way, we must hurry."
"We will hold them here, Alpha," said one skitarius, her shaved head adorned with locks of power cables plugged into her backpack power supply. It was the first verbal communication between skitarii troopers the guardsmen had heard.
"Your sacrifice will be relayed to the Omnissiah," Kex said softly.
"I welcome him," she replied. "Save our Forge-father, Alpha."
Logis Corsis's last surviving skitarii took up their positions at the doorway. In unison, they signed the aquila before the strike team advanced up the bay and deeper into the core. Looking back, Remer knew it would be the last time he would see them. He wasn't keen on the tech-guard, but seeing their humanity shine through their augmentations, even if it was only anger, made him feel a little guilty for leaving them behind.
"Suicidal buggers, aren't they?" said one stormtrooper aloud. Remer glanced over at the man. It was Twerp, the jackass from the Mechanicus starship. He groaned on the inside.
"Everyone who's died today, and you're still around," Remer muttered.
"And I'll be around long after you take one to the head," Twerp sneered.
Remer gave a harsh laugh, "I doubt that. I've still got a few years left in me, right Alek?"
Behind them, Alek reflexively spread his augmetic fingers. It was a long running joke that every injury Alek survived extended the rest of the Daredevils' lifespan. At their last check, they were up to around ten years, provided they all didn't die horribly in the next few minutes.
"Remer, you can feed him to a grox later," Merrick snapped, "Now shut it and keep moving!"
"Right, boss."
There was constant resistance around each corner, albeit far less than the firestorm the commandos had weathered on the way in. In twos or threes, enemy skitarii would engage them in the corridors, only to take the full brunt of Kex's bolter. The alpha led them further and further through the winding hallways, always moving upward, to the center of the core.
"Dolthem will have his command sanctum within the Forgefather's chamber," Kex explained. "The Forgefather, Erhert Bernard is the true Heart of the Forge, and always has been. Dolthem is a pretender to the Forgefather's title, claimed through blackmail and manipulation. His death will end years of deception."
"And finally put this Forge back in proper hands," said Sarthis.
"We are not far now, lieutenant," said Kex. "Prepare yourselves."
Akyla-009 stood poised to defend the entrance, las-lock gripped in her metal appendages. The networking between her combat platform and the other skitarii was perfectly synchronised. She was absolute in the face of death, now moments away. She would uphold her promise to Kex, and hold them as long as she could.
The door buckled inwards with each strike from the heretek abominations. The network determined the door would collapse in three more strikes.
It lasted four.
The decimators ripped the door from its bearings and wrenched it in two with their heavy claws. The five machines, scarred but unbeaten, stepped in, along with hordes of traitor tech-guard.
Akyla-009 and her twelve networked cohorts opened fire, lasting exactly sixty-three seconds before being brought down by the enemy. Her internal counter marked fifty seven confirmed kills tallied before her processors failed, and all went dark.
From the moment the breaching charges hit knocked the hatch open, Merrick knew the fight was over. As 226 Commando drove into the sanctum, they gunned down ever servitor and techpriest in sight without resistance. They were still installed into the cogitators lining the walls, and died where they stood. All light in the room was provided by a great cogitator across the back wall. It was bracketed by coolant tubes running along its surface like veins, spiralling down until they converged at a single point at the center of the cogitator.
At its foot lay their target, Magos Dolthem, leader of the Dark Mechanicus and the heretek rebels. As much as a machine man could, he appeared resigned, his shoulders slouched and his hood drawn up.
Two beams sliced through his robes, decapitating him without a word of protest.
Merrick looked to Kippler, his long las raised, barrel hot from a discharge. Next to him, Varga's volley gun was similarly smouldering.
"Call that a tie?" Remer quipped.
"Call it whatever you like," grunted Varga, holstering his weapon. "Target neutralized."
Kex stared at the cogitator. He had the same look on his face as he had when the decimators had deployed. He walked across the plasteel floor, and fell on his knees before the point where the tubing and cables connected.
Navitan Kex, Skitarius Alpha, wept actual tears for the first time in his life.
The men of Commando 226 and Varga's scions stepped towards the light. The focal point for the cables took form. It was a man, more heavily augmented and mechanical than any Merrick had seen. The few spots of open flesh he could see were tattooed with the eight pointed star and inscribed with sigils that made Merrick nauseous to look at.
"Is that-"
"Our Forgefather," moaned Kex. He detached his bolter armature from its bearings and reached forward with the remnants of his human arm, running it along the body of Erhert Bernard.
"Is he alive?" Sarthis asked quietly.
"In no sense that you would comprehend, lieutenant," said Kex, "But yes, he is. The Forgefather is Angel Forge, the heart. He is everything, the skitarii, the servitors, they all connect to him in some way. Without him, its automated lines will fall silent. But... he is corrupted. Poisoned."
"What must we do?"
Kex was silent for a long time. "We must give him your Emperor's Mercy. So long as he is connected to the Forge, it will be a cursed place, a den of heresy."
"But you said doing that would silence the Forge," Merrick interjected.
"Merrick," Sarthis warned, "you know what he represents. No Forge is better than a corrupt one. It needs to be done."
"Yes, it must be done," Kex bowed his head, "I had hoped to find him, free him. But he is beyond saving. Angel Forge is beyond saving. I fear I lack the strength to do this. Lieutenant?"
Sarthis squirmed, "I understand, Kex. We will deal with this."
"I'll do it," said Remer. The soldiers parted, and let him step forward. Sarthis nodded to him, and put his laspistol in Remer's hand.
"Make it quick and painless, Remer," he said under his breath, "End his suffering with some dignity."
"I will."
The men of 226 Commando turned their backs and bowed their heads. Merrick took one look back to Remer before turning away.
The battle for Angel Forge ended with a las bolt to the head of a dead man.
Sarthis called Alek over and grabbed the grill from his vox pack, "Major Lester? Lieutenant Sarthis reporting in. Mission accomplished."