Chapter Twenty-three
Julius Kaeseron smiled coldly. Almost deserted. Excellent. At least something was going right. He felt the familiar sadistic lust for battle and watched the tactical displays coming in from his scattered squad commanders as they moved to reform into a more coherent and organised advance. Nothing. No crew, hardly even a servitor. He knew that the 79th Century had automated their ship shortly after the Rebellion, using ancient technology found in a space hulk, but had never realised just how few could control it. Just as well, he thought bitterly, mindful of the loss of his few daemon-possessed marines in those accursed Geller fields. His smile widened in anticipation. Soon, Eyes of the Phoenix would be his, a new flagship for his battle fleet.
"Lord Captain. Hethlin here. We have contact. Three Deathwatch marines."
"'Ware Sedreth. He will be somewhere close, Hethlin. I am sending Squad Asied to assist."
"Affirmative, Lord Captain. Hethlin out."
Julius nodded to himself. Hethlin, leading the point squad, was a good warrior. Not one of the original Legion from the Rebellion, he had been recruited only seven millennia ago, and could easily have led a warband of his own by now. But he preferred small unit tactics, for which he had a fair talent, so had remained a squad commander – a respected squad commander, as not all were. He had a habit of keeping his warriors alive.
It was a habit that, as his commander, Julius Kaeseron appreciated. It took a long time to bring even the most devoted initiate up to the standards he demanded, and warriors could not improve if their commanders got them killed all the time. Hethlin had a fine grasp of odds and a decent judgement of risk. He watched the icons move on his helmet display as he headed with his command squad towards the combat, loosening his blade in its scabbard as he jogged easily along the empty corridors.
Another icon appeared on his helmet display; Hethlin had engaged another warrior, non-astartes. "A sister of battle, it looks like, Lord Captain. But she's in our old colours, right down to the taloned wing. Bitch got Devton."
Julius smiled thoughtfully. A skilful ambush which had cost Hethlin one of his men. Three of them were down now. One of the enemy icons suddenly moved, very fast, closing to hand-to-hand under cover of the woman's flamer. Hethlin cursed over the vox as another icon winked out, then a fifth.
"Lord Captain, one of these fuckers is a Raven Guard with lightning claws. I am engaging."
The sergeant's icon moved close to the Raven Guard. Julius started to run, hurrying his command squad. Hethlin was a more than decent warrior, but the Raven Guard were justly famed as experts in close combat, and chainsword against lightning claws was not good odds.
"Squad Asied, Lord Captain. We have contact. Emperor's Children codex Terminator. Three dead already. It's definitely Sedreth. We are engaging."
A Terminator. Damn. He had none with him here; the few he'd brought on this mission had been on Tenryu when it blew. Even an ordinary Terminator was worth a squad of marines in this sort of combat, and Sedreth had been – still was – a noted veteran within the Legion; a lot better than the usual Imperial filth. This would cost him more valuable warriors. Ah well, it was not as if he'd not fought Terminators before, and it meant that at the very least the fight would be memorable. He might even be able to take the man down in person.
"Squads Metier and Vorth, move to Asied's position. Alert, all squads. Sedreth is in Terminator armour."
The acknowledgements came back instantly. Another icon winked out on his helmet display and he broke into a sprint. Hethlin's voice roared in pain and rage, then cut off abruptly. Julius rounded the corner in time to see the sergeant slump to the ground before a black-armoured warrior in Corvus-pattern plate, arcs of power still crackling from the lightning claw driven through what remained of his sergeant's pelvic armour. A smaller, clearly feminine, armoured figure in purple and gold was engaged with the last of Hethlin's squad, her blade arcing blue as she swung and parried with speed and considerable skill. Bolter rounds raced down the corridor from two black-armoured marines and slammed into his own warriors as they joined his charge, dropping sergeant Raseith with a soft grunt.
"For the Emperor!" he screamed, his great sword trailing a visible darkness as he leapt to engage the Raven Guard. Glittering lightning claws flashed blue arcs of power as the marine met him without hesitation.
Ignatius swore as the new opponents appeared and charged into battle. Even Meleriex couldn't hold for long at those odds. Sedreth was fully engaged against more than a dozen opponents; there was no help coming from that quarter. He glanced at Jeremiah, whose armour showed the impacts of multiple bolts already. The Iron Snake was firing deliberately into the combat, protecting Meleriex's flanks with bursts of adamantium-cored bolts as best he could.
"Shere," he voxed. "If you can 'port Sigurd close to our position, now would be a good time."
"We'll try, brother-captain. But he's fully engaged right now. And there's another squad of traitors at one of our auxiliary control rooms, trying to break into the ship's command circuits. We won't have precise control of the teleport for much longer."
"Then 'port him regardless. We can blow the traitor ship later, but not if we lose this one. I need that heavy bolter of his and I need it now."
"Yes, brother-captain."
Sara blinked sweat from her eyes as she parried another massive blow. Damn, this bastard was good. Her adrenal and reflex boosts were both at max and she could barely hold her own. She ducked another blow and flung herself forward, her shoulder-plate driving into the warrior's gut. The unexpected move put him off balance for a vital half a second and she drove her blade through his knee, wrenching it clear and taking half his leg with it. The marine lashed out even as he fell, his chainsword cleaving a long gash in her own leg armour, nearly ripping the thigh-plate loose. She ignored the sudden pain and forced the sword through his chest, then leapt clear of the dying marine to engage another warrior, trusting in her armour's spinal injector to prevent shock and bleed-out.
Sigurd grinned viciously behind his helmet as another traitor fell, torn apart by the devastating stream of fire from his massive weapon. A small uniformed figure lay on her stomach beside him, firing steadily down the corridor with a captured bolter. Verstark, that was her name. A brave young woman. He would tell the Chapter of her courage when – if – he got back to his brothers.
"Sigurd, prepare for teleport."
Shere. "There's still nearly a minute before the self-destruct can't be stopped, brother."
"Captain Ignatius doesn't have a minute. They're engaged at four to one against and Meleriex is already down. We're 'porting you into action directly, brother."
"Very well. Three to 'port, brother. Make sure you get Lord Gustavus' body and my companion. She's worth the saving." He threw his remaining grenades; maybe they would slow the traitors down long enough.
There was a flare of light and the familiar sensation took him again.
Shere looked at the girl. "Can you 'port internally?"
She nodded in understanding. "Good luck." She reached for the controls and he was engulfed in light.
Traitors or not, Ignatius had to respect the speed with which the Emperor's Children reacted. Sigurd's unexpected arrival cost them two warriors, but the remainder spun fast, pouring fire at the Space Wolf, and sending him staggering backwards under the impacts with bright bloody splotches on his already battered armour. Somehow the powerful marine stayed upright for several seconds, his finger still locked on the trigger of his heavy bolter. Another of the traitors went down, chest ripped apart, before their devastator fell and lay still.
Ignatius took advantage to close, his powersword a blur as he took bloody vengeance for his brother. Then Shere was there in a flare of teleport energy, his bolter shuddering defiance at point blank range; two more traitors went down before the enemy captain's cruel black blade sent the Tigers Argent veteran into a wall with an arm severed and a terrible cold-cauterised wound where his chest-plate had been. Ignatius blocked the man's follow-up and the awful voice echoed through the corridor.
"My kill, brothers. You deal with the woman."
Sara Tarken's voice was cold through her external speakers. "If you think you can, pussies. Come on." Her powersword was held low and ready as she faced off two astartes. Some liability. Ignatius grinned to himself as he faced off against the enemy commander.
Jeremiah's voice came clear and defiant from behind him, the last of his kill-team engaging three warriors simultaneously. "In His Glorious Name. Death to all traitors."
Ignatius snarled. "Come on, then, traitor. Let me teach you how the Blood Ravens fight."
The other laughed, a chilling sound, and answered with a sudden swing of the smoking black blade he bore. Ignatius parried and responded with a powerful blow of his own.
Janey analysed the tactical display as she'd done so many times. Meleriex, Sigurd and Shere were all down. Mr Morgan was fighting alone against eight, no, seven warriors; mummy was fighting two, brother Jeremiah now had two as well and captain Ignatius was alone against the enemy commander. And there was still another squad, down on deck six, to deal with even if they won. She bit her lip, wondering what to do even as she spoke quietly into the comms unit. The Golden Dawn had blown up just a few seconds before, but there were reports of enemy marines on the station. Some must have teleported off in time. She unclipped the bolter from its place and cocked it. The solid feel of the weapon was a minor comfort as she helplessly watched the fight.
Julius glanced at his tactical display as he and the Blood Ravens captain circled each other. The man was good, he had to admit. Not good enough, of course, but very skilled for an Imperial. He spoke into the command channel to Isthus and his recruit squad, few of them more than a couple of centuries old, down on deck six at the auxiliary control room.
"Sergeant Isthus. How long before you can access the ship's command circuits?"
"We've been locked out, sir. The enemy tech-priests, or whoever they have, are doing a competent job of resistance."
"Send two of your warriors to the bridge. That should solve the problem."
"As you command, Lord Captain."
Julius didn't bother to answer. He had already lost seventeen marines in this fight, more than his company had lost in a century. Not to mention the sixty or so lost when their ships were destroyed and the several more he would yet lose taking that damned Sedreth down. The sooner they won, the better. Then he would have a serious, and for the other a fatal, conversation with that prick Eidolon about adequacy of forces; he knew he should have arrived by strike cruiser. He parried another quick thrust and returned a blow that cracked the other man's armour.
"Not good enough, captain Ignatius. It is time to end this." He stepped into his favourite attack pattern, blade blurring as he drove the loyalist back step by step.
Jeremiah staggered as the chainsword tore into his side. His combat blade was lost, stuck in the dead throat of one of his opponents and this last warrior might be one too many. He groped for his bolt pistol as he desperately dived aside from another slashing blow.
Sara snarled as the tentacled warrior – the marine's left arm was a tentacle, not an arm – swung a vicious-looking powerhammer at her skull. One of her opponents was down, but just injured, not dead and she was doing her best to keep the other between herself and the downed marine's bolter. It was not easy. She let herself chuckle. "Not exactly Lucius, are you?"
The response was a slightly too strong blow that, had it landed, would have split her into pieces. But it unbalanced the marine and her own sword struck true, severing tentacle and armour alike and biting deep into the body. Blood ran down the blade, smoking in the heat of the power field and the marine screamed in agonised ecstasy, slamming his hammer onto her shoulder with a joyful laugh. She felt the impact crack her collar-bone, and lost the grip on her blade. Reflex pulled her bolt pistol from its holster before she had even thought and she fired point-blank into the pink and black helmet, shattering mouth grill and head together. A roar of gunfire picked her up and she slammed into the corridor wall.
"Mummy!" Janey's voice came over the vox and Sedreth cursed. He decapitated yet another opponent and used the massive weight of his Terminator armour to drive a second into the wall. Fury gave him new strength and he punched the man's helmet down into his chest. Scooping up his fallen stormbolter he turned and sprinted for the other combat, ignoring the patter of bolts against his back as he reloaded on the run. The armour could take it. It had to.
Ignatius staggered, parried, and a skilled twist cost him his grip on his blade. So this is how it ends, he thought, even as he flung himself desperately forward in an attempt to grapple. The hilt of the enemy captain's sword punched him in the face, shattering his helmet and breaking his nose and cheekbones. He fell, spitting blood, his vision blurred.
"A good fight, Blood Raven. You will make a worthy addition to my trophy room," came the laughing voice from above him and he raised his head to meet the deathblow with a last defiance.
A thunderous roar of heavy gunfire erupted along the corridor and the blow never fell.
"Sedreth!" Through streaming eyes he saw the armoured boots move away and he struggled to focus.
"Brother-captain Kaeseron. Long time, no see. I hope you've been practising with that thing." A casually conversational tone, almost contemptuously casual.
A cruel laugh. "Come and see. Brother."
"We haven't been brothers for a long long time, Julius." A crash of blades. "Predictable as ever, captain. You need to spar with someone better."
He blinked away blood and tears to watch the two duellists. A black-and-pink-armoured figure stepped towards him, whirling chainsword in hand. His limbs would not obey him properly as he struggled to his knees.
"Do not kill him yet, brother. Not until he has seen his last hope defeated," said Kaeseron in his awful voice. The figure stepped back a pace. The two duellists swung and thrust and parried in a display of awesome skill.
"That armour slows you down, Sedreth," said the traitor as a blow went home, the impact cracking even the massive Terminator chest-plate.
"Maybe I'm getting old, Julius," replied the Terminator, neatly catching the follow-up on his quillons and flicking a riposte that cut a scar through a vile chaos rune.
"Lucius would disagree." The black blade blurred in a dazzling parry-riposte that almost gutted Sedreth, who spun past it and caught the other a massive blow on the shoulder with his free hand. The powerfist knocked Kaeseron back a pace and Sedreth followed up with a blistering attack pattern of his own.
"Lucius is a prick. He could – and should – have died with honour beside Saul Tarvitz and Solomon Demeter. Time to die, Julius." He launched a series of strokes which Ignatius didn't recognise. The black sword moved incredibly fast in response and the enemy warrior laughed.
"You think to catch me with that one?"
"No," said Sedreth, lashing out with his powerfist again even as he reversed his sword-stroke. This time the blow staggered the other marine and the long powersword ripped up from the groin to open the man's ancient armour from gut to gorget. The black sword bounced tinnily on the metal decking as Kaeseron collapsed.
"How did you do that?" The terrible voice was weak and hoarse.
"The Primarch taught me it, a long time ago. Goodbye, Julius." The blade came down, severing head from neck. There was a stunned silence.
A burst of bolter fire erupted from a few metres away as one of the remaining Emperor's Children opened up to avenge his commander. Sedreth's blade flew true, impaling the man through the chest and pinning him to the wall. The others rushed the Terminator with furious battle cries. The big man swatted a warrior into the wall with his powerfist, dived aside and came to his feet with stormbolter in hand. The thunder was massive, echoing in the confined corridor.
Sedreth knelt by Sara Tarken, lifting her helmet clear. Her eyes fluttered open. "Still here, Morgan. Make sure Janey's safe." Her eyes closed again as she fought against both auto-sedation and the pain of her injuries.
He stood, glancing down and lifting Ignatius easily to his feet. "You alright?"
It hurt to talk. Actually, it hurt to breathe. "I've been better, Sedreth. You are a fine swordsman."
"After a hundred centuries, I should be. Stay here and see to the others. I shall secure the bridge and return shortly." He turned and set off at a thunderous run, the weight of his armour shaking the deck-plates.
Janey knelt beside her chair, bolter braced against the armrest, as the hammering on the bridge doors grew. She could see the metal starting to buckle under the assault, and took careful aim. There were two of them outside, she knew. Maybe she could get one. Funnily enough she wasn't scared. Mummy was dead and she was going to make the traitors pay in blood before she too went to join the Emperor.
The door cracked and a black-armoured arm pushed through, firing blindly across the bridge. The armoured glass on the main viewport cracked and she was glad she'd had the foresight to close the blast shields. A figure shoved its way through and she squeezed the trigger gently, ripping a line of holes in head and shoulder. A bellow of fury was her reward, but the chaos marine was still alive. Two pairs of hands grabbed the edges of the tear and pulled it wider.
A pair of black blurs burst through the opening and she emptied the magazine in time to catch the second marine neatly in the chest and head. The warrior collapsed like a sack of wheat, his armour shattered by the point-blank impacts. Above her the heavy chair disintegrated under the other one's fire, then a huge foot booted it clear, knocking her across the control room and costing her her bolter. She rolled to her feet, and came up determinedly with Mr Morgan's birthday gift in her hand.
"A child?" The traitor sounded confused.
She grinned at him. "Your friend wasn't the first traitor marine I've killed." She rolled the gleaming blade expertly across her fingers. "And he won't be the last."
The warrior laughed. "Brave little thing, aren't you? I shall enjoy your pain, girl." He clipped his bolter to his thigh and drew a long combat blade, then a second. She nodded slowly and drew her own second blade.
"Let's dance, traitor," she said, and lunged fast in a classic astartes move. He parried and whipped a blade past her by a few centimetres, hampered slightly by the necessity of reaching down for her, but not noticeably slowed by the bolter wounds in his arm and shoulder. A booted foot struck out and she slid aside, driving her off-hand blade into the knee joint. The marine leapt back with a curse, taking her fractal-edged birthday gift with him. She changed to her favourite single blade stance, blade low and free hand held high.
The man chuckled. "Very good, child. But it takes more than that to seriously injure one of the Children." He jerked the blade clear and flung it at her head, forcing her to dive sideways. She slammed a hand on the comms console and rolled across the floor as the screens came to life.
"What the..?"
"Remember your Emperor? And your Primarch?"
The man laughed. "The corpse-emperor doesn't look much like that any more. Nor does the Primarch." He missed her by a fraction as she ducked behind the command throne. Despite his earlier comment he was slower on his feet than he'd been. Dark red blood stained his armour's knee joint, running over the horrid pink runes painted on his shin-piece.
"You can't dodge forever, child."
"I don't have to. Your captain is dead already. None of you traitors will survive the day. But tell me something." She dived aside, stabbing at his hand but only scratching the heavy gauntlet. "Why did you do it?"
"The Heresy, you mean?" He slashed again, severing a lock of her hair. "I wasn't there. I joined the Legion later."
She kicked out, connecting with his injured knee and spinning away with a line of fire in her leg. Blood ran down her thigh and she bit her lip to keep from crying out.
"You're good, girl. It's a shame to kill you. You'd make a fine servant."
She shook her head solemnly. "You'll have to kill me."
"Very well." The blades reached for her and she gasped in pain as one caught her forearm, drawing a second line of bloody fire and opening it almost to the bone. Her own knife plunged deep into the man's armpit and he cursed. On a normal man such a strike would been fatal, but the traitor marine was able to leap back again instead, pulling the knife from her hand. She saw the opportunity and ran through the door, diving through the narrow gap, cradling her injured arm and leaving a trail of blood.
He snarled behind her. "I'm coming for you, child. You cannot outrun me." That was true, she thought, running as hard as she could with her left leg barely responding. Heavy footsteps pounded behind her and she dived through the door to the bridge armoury. And stopped. There were no weapons there. She turned in time to see the traitor standing in the doorway. He was holding a pair of bolters, casually, one-handed.
"Looking for these?"
She nodded. "You're not going to give me one, are you?" Somehow her voice didn't tremble.
"No. I'm going to stick a knife in your gut and kill you as slowly and painfully as possible."
She looked at him with desperate hate; there was nothing to say. She took up an unarmed combat stance, knowing it was hopeless but unwilling to give the traitor the satisfaction of surrender.
A heavy footstep turned the corridor outside. A familiar, thunderous, run of a heavy footstep.
"Mr Morgan? In here."
The traitor turned fast, a bolter suddenly in each hand, and opened fire. Whether he hit or not, it made no difference. A cacophonous burst of stormbolter fire ripped him almost in two and he collapsed in a bloody heap. Her knees felt weak. She managed a tremulous smile as the big marine loomed in the doorway.
"There's a dead one on the bridge."
He nodded. "There is still one squad to deal with?"
She nodded. "Is mummy...?" She couldn't say it.
He smiled slightly. "She is alright. Several injuries, but none are fatal. She will recover."
She felt like she was going to faint. "The others?"
"Brother-captain Ignatius is somehow alive, although his armour will not fight again. I fear the others of his team are dead, but I did not wait to check."
"I'm sorry."
"Do not be. If they had been allowed to choose the manner of their deaths, they would have considered it a privilege to die in combat against the Emperor's enemies. Especially these enemies."
"I know. But.."
"I know. They were very brave. They knew how slim were their chances."
She nodded. "You better get back and deal with the rest."
"I shall accompany you to the bridge first. I do not doubt your skills, but marines can recover from even the most grievous injuries. Moreover, you need medical attention, Janey."
They walked together to the shattered doors. Mr Morgan looked at the bloody corpse on the floor.
"Well done."
There was a noise behind them and he turned, weapon rising. She sensed rather than saw his relief as mummy and captain Ignatius limped into view, leaning on each other for support. The Deathwatch captain's armour was only held together by the sensor fibres; bits of ceramite left a trail where he walked. Mummy's armour was better, but not by much; her left thigh-plate was gone completely, exposing a bloody tear in her leggings, and huge gouges scarred the rich purple battle-plate. Her helmet too was so badly damaged that it hung from her utility belt, unwearable.
"You cannot fight like that," said Mr Morgan in a flat voice.
Mummy nodded. "We left Sigurd and Jeremiah in the infirmary, although neither of them have much chance of surviving even with treatment, and put bolts into the heads of the enemy wounded. There was nothing we could do for Meleriex or Shere. How many of them are left?"
"A squad, maybe two. Less the two marines they sent up here. Perhaps a dozen."
"You can't take those odds again. Even that armour has its limits." Captain Ignatius indicated Mr Morgan's left arm, which was fixed at an angle.
Mr Morgan nodded. "The servo-unit is damaged. A lucky shot, though easily and quickly repairable. But the chest-plate is broken; Kaeseron nearly had me. You are correct, captain, it offers little protection in this condition. But we still have a fight to finish. It would be helpful to have assistance."
Captain Ignatius looked down at the ruin of what had once been his chest-plate then raised an eyebrow. "You have a suggestion?"
"Use the spares. We're not exactly short of battle-plate. Sara, you can use Agnetha's."
Mummy nodded painfully, her face determined. "My thoughts precisely. Have you ever worn Maximus armour, captain?"
He shook his head slowly. Mr Morgan smiled slowly. "You should. Especially the sets we have. The Legion's tech-marines were very good."
"You want me to wear the armour of the Emperor's Children?" It was amazing how much disbelief could be put into one question. Despite the pain, Janey suddenly found herself grinning.
Isthus cursed quietly. The Lord Captain was dead, and so were five full squads of marines on this accursed vessel. That had definitely not been part of the plan. He looked at the former tech-priest Lobus with undisguised distaste.
"How much longer?"
The black-cowled creature – no longer anything resembling a man, really – bubbled at him. "A few minutes only. I have broken the cypher on the lock-out. We shall have control of the vessel once I have accessed its machine spirit."
"Get on with it, then. The Legion has lost more than a hundred warriors this day. If we don't return with this ship, we had better not return at all." And, you, you filthy little worm, will die either way, he thought to himself.
"Sergeant. There's a vid signal coming through, general channels."
He looked up. A familiar handsome man in purple and gold Maximus armour smiled out of the screen. "Hello, brothers. I hope you remember me. Because I'm going to be the last thing any of you ever see." The vid cut out.
"Sedreth." He knew his voice was flat with hate. He wondered what had happened to the man's Terminator armour, that Lord Kaeseron had warned them of. Still, that made it an easier kill. Much easier. He tongued the vox.
"Alright. You all saw him. It looks like the Lord Captain critically damaged that accursed Terminator armour before he was killed. So he's not as dangerous as he was before. But don't underestimate him. He's been around since before the Rebellion, and that takes more than luck. He has to come to us, or we can take the ship from here. Defence pattern theta-twelve. Stay alert and make sure of your targets. For once we have an opponent worthy of us."
"Sergeant, Lord Eidolon wanted him alive." Lychas. Typically enough. Arse-crawling vermin.
"Eidolon can kiss my arse. That bastard killed more than three entire squads on his own, and the Lord Captain into the bargain. Just kill him. Put him on the ground, and once he's down, make sure he stays down. That's an order. Anyone who leaves that fucker alive will answer to me personally. We're taking no chances; enough's gone wrong on this fuck-up of a mission. Do I hear a 'yes, sergeant'?"
"Yes, sergeant," came the ragged replies through his vox. Fucking recruits. They should never have allowed half of these arseholes into the company; they weren't fit for the gene seed of the wanking Death Guard. He hoped no-one would be stupid enough to try and take Sedreth alive. He walked out into the corridor and watched his warriors take positions. Competent. Barely. Isthus racked his bolter. Something told him he was going to need it.
Thiel watched carefully down the corridor, his hearts pumping fast. There! Movement.
"Sergeant, I have movement at eleven from my position. Unidentifiable, but definite movement."
The sergeant's controlled snarl came back. "Cilian, you should be able to confirm."
Cilian, half a dozen metres away, was silent. "Cilian, answer damn you."
"Uhm, negative, sergeant. I have nothing on my autosenses."
"Thiel? Report."
"Nothing, sergeant. It was a flicker of something, but I couldn't be certain."
"Keep alert."
Something else moved, about chest high. He blinked trying to be sure. A soft rush. Shit. He dived backwards as white-hot promethium seared the corridor.
"Sergeant, contact. Flame unit." He squeezed the trigger on his bolter, sending a stream of death along the corridor. Something fell with a clatter. The fire stopped. He cautiously looked ahead. An armoured form, purple and gold. Got him!
He grinned and moved swiftly along the passageway. Cilian too moved forward; they covered each other in the classic pair advance. His autosenses indicated a dead body in the armour ahead.
"Sergeant, Thiel here. One corpse. Cilian and me are moving to check it."
Sergeant Isthus' voice was hard and flat. "No! Stay in position!"
They hesitated, confused. A white-armoured figure stepped out and the last thing either saw was the white-hot rush of burning promethium.
Isthus cursed, ignoring the screams of his dying men. Idiots. There was a gap in the perimeter now. He looked at the adept with distaste.
"You, get this bloody ship under control. Mthelin, with me." He moved forward beside the noise marine, thankful that he at least was a veteran too.
A series of clunks on the metal decking had them both ducking back, but the explosion didn't come. Instead, thick choking smoke filled the corridors, smoke designed to confuse autosenses. He smiled to himself. So. He gestured to his companion and a blast of violent sound erupted down the passageway, dispersing much of the vapour and partially revealing Maximus armour in the Legion's old codex colours. He sent a burst of bolter fire into it and it dodged back. Bolter rounds came back through the remnants of the gas and Mthelin sent a series of sonic blasts down the passage as they advanced together.
Ignatius sent a burst of fire down the corridor and moved back. He watched the advance coolly. Unlike the previous pair, these two knew what they were doing. He sent a second burst towards them and voxed Tarken to fall back; her icon indicated obedience.
Sedreth's voice came over his audio channel. "Brother-captain, they are using a variation on the theta-series defence pattern." His helmet display suddenly came alive, showing positions he knew were being relayed to the other two.
The girl's calm light voice came over the vox. "Tactical display back online. Mummy, contact on your left, two o'clock, range twenty metres. Captain, one is moving into position to flank you from corridor zeta-three. Mr Morgan, there are two heading down corridor delta-four, paralleling your movement."
He listened to the acknowledgements come back. Then Tarken's voice. "Target sighted. I am engaging." There was the familiar rushing sound of burning promethium, two brief bursts of fire, the second much longer than the first, then a single shot.
"Target eliminated."
Ignatius nodded quietly; efficient. The two traitors moving towards him suddenly broke into a run; he'd been spotted. A blast of energy blasted a hole in the wall beside him, and he reeled from the impact, thankful for his fresh armour. He emptied the magazine almost blindly and whipped out his sword, stepping in to engage them as two whirring chainswords swung almost together.
Sedreth opened fire on the black-and-pink-armoured marines at close range. They reacted fast, returning fire that was accurate and caused red lights on his armour displays. He dodged back round the corner, rolling a krak grenade down the passage behind him. Two blurs dived round the corner, shooting as they came. Stupid; they should have sent the grenade back. His blade took the first one, severing an arm and driving deep into the armoured torso. Bolts bounced off his shoulder-plate as the second dodged his companion's falling corpse. He smashed the bolter aside and cut at the head, gouging a long scar in the garish helmet. The warrior grappled, wrestling him into the wall. He dropped his blade where the man would see it and took advantage of the instinctive reach to throw his opponent. Even as the other came to his feet, his bolt pistol spoke, opening a hole in the breather grill and exploding helmet and head together in a shower of blood and gore.
More were on the way; he could see the icons on his tacdisplay. He retrieved his bolter and blade and waited.
Noise marine! Sara cursed and sent a gout of promethium along the broad passage, sealing it off from support. Ignatius would have to cope. She fired again, threw the flame unit into the inferno, then drew her powersword and charged a second pair of armoured figures as they skidded to a halt and spun to face her. Bolts impacted her armour and red display lights indicated her chest-plate had been damaged. Then she was on them.
"Sergeant, Lychas. Me and Demit are engaging a Sister of Battle. Order of the Ebon Blade, I think."
"Good. Those flames of hers are keeping us from joining you. Kill the bitch. Mthelin and I have this fucker, whoever he is. General report. Any sight of Sedreth?"
"Travi here, sergeant. We're under fire from a marine in codex armour. It might be him, but we can't tell."
"Keep the bastard busy. There can't be many more of them. Lobus, have you got control of the bloody ship yet?"
"Interfacing with the machine spirit now, sergeant." There was a brief pause, then a long agonised scream.
"What in the Primarch's name just happened?"
"Lobus is dead. Some sort of energy surge. He's still smoking," came the impassive voice of Imanol, the most reliable of his recruit squad, who had been guarding the control room.
Isthus parried a vicious cut. "Imanol, join Travi and the rest. Take down that bastard traitor."
"Yes, sergeant, on my way."
Sedreth cut another warrior down. They weren't up to normal standards. Had to be recruits. Which meant a veteran sergeant, one of Kaeseron's best, and at least one other very skilled veteran. Sado-masochistic lunatic though the late and unlamented Julius Kaeseron had been, he had still been a talented and highly skilled commander who demanded the very best. He dodged another blow and severed the swordsman's arm. Where was the sergeant?
Ignatius swore. These two were damned good. If he'd been fresh and unhurt, it would have been an overwhelming match. As it was, despite the advantage of powersword over chainswords, only luck and adrenaline were keeping him alive. And one or other would run out sooner or later.
Sara drove her blade through a guard and let the flared shoulder-guards of Agnetha's armour take the return, kicking out and buckling a knee joint. These two were a lot less skilled than the earlier ones. No better than the scouts she'd trained against at Baal. She ducked a heavy blow and feinted high, drove low. The lunge slid her blade into the pelvis just above the utility belt, and caused a gout of blood to spurt over the decking. The marine dropped, pulling her blade with him and she kicked the dying warrior aside as something smashed into her upper back. Luckily the armour held, but as she rolled with the impact and came up to ready again she noticed the power readouts turn orange. Armour overheat in fifteen minutes unless she shut down the power plant. Blast.
"Captain, my armour power plant's damaged. I'll have to power it off in ten minutes."
Ignatius acknowledged. He was bleeding from a half-dozen minor wounds; if not for his astartes' blood clotting agents, he would have bled to death already. Both his opponents had taken injuries, but their fighting capacities appeared unimpaired. He measured them as he desperately parried and riposted and dodged. Maybe he could take the noise marine on the left without leaving himself open to a fatal blow from the other one. Maybe.
Sedreth leapt back as the new arrival opened fire. Bolts left a trail of impacts in the walls where he'd been fraction of a second before, then the fire ceased as his two hand-to-hand opponents closed the distance again. Stupid of them. One marine without cover could not take three in a firefight. Blade to blade, however, skill and experience counted for much more. He stepped in to meet the charge, knocking a flailing blade towards the deck and whipping his own sword upwards to eviscerate the wielder. Just two now. He slapped aside a chainaxe – what the hell was an Emperor's Children marine doing with such a clumsy weapon? It didn't matter; the clumsiness killed the marine swinging it as he smashed his own blade through the man's back and out the front of the breastplate. He heaved the corpse into the path of the third marine, the smart one with the bolter. Impacts shattered the corpse's armour and then he was too close. More bolts bounced briefly off his armour and he felt a tearing impact on his left abdomen before the sword cut the bolter in two. A combat blade slammed accurately into his off shoulder joint, but barely penetrated the superb Maximus plate. His own powersword was rather more effective and the man dropped, headless.
He glanced through the door long enough to note the smoking corpse, then turned and ran, wincing from the latest injury, for where Ignatius was being driven backwards.
Ignatius snarled wordlessly. They were too good for this to last much longer.
"Auxiliary control room cleared. On my way, brother-captain."
"Don't be long, Sedreth. These two are good." He somehow got his sword between his head and bloody adamantine teeth. Bloody with his blood. Damnation. Good wasn't the word. They were playing with him.
"Either have a name?"
He barely blocked another slash. "One has the name Isthus on his shoulder. Why?"
"Isthus was part of Kaeseron's command squad during the Crusade. He's good all right. Fight defensively."
Ignatius managed a chuckle. "What do you think I'm doing?"
A massive blow got through and his shoulder stung from the impact. His riposte was fractionally slow and the noise marine's chainsword ripped upwards, leaving a massive gouge in his breastplate and red-lighting several minor systems. He barely got his head out of the way as the whirring adamantite teeth drove at his face. The creature made a sound that he supposed might once have been a laugh.
The one named Isthus took full advantage, and slammed a fist into his shoulder to spin past him; the horrific sound of chainsword on ceramite red-lighted yet more systems and now he was flanked. He leapt sideways, barely avoiding yet another slashing blow as he tried to keep them in front of him.
Isthus grinned, licking his fangs. "You cannot dodge forever, fool."
Mthelin's chainsword cut low, drawing blood from the marine's thigh before the man could respond. His return blow was good though, and cracked the noise marine's shoulder-plate, knocking a large chunk of ceramite loose to bounce on the deck.
"I don't need forever, traitor." The man's voice was defiant, but beneath it Isthus could hear the strain of fighting two opponents at once and he grinned wider, launching another attack. Once this bastard was dead they could deal with Sedreth. His blow smashed the marine captain sideways into the passage wall and it was more luck than judgement that deflected Mthelin's death-strike.
A sudden bellow came from behind him and he turned to see another marine in codex Maximus armour leap through the dying flames. His eyes widened briefly as he recognised the name on the shoulder-plate. He stepped to meet the new opponent.
"Finish it, Mthelin. I'll take this treacherous fuck. Come on, Sedreth." He slid into a duelling position and stepped in to meet the charge of the marine he wanted above all others to kill.
Sedreth slowed his charge as Isthus turned to face him. "It's been a long time, Isthus. New recruits were they? I expected better from a squad of yours."
"New policy of Eidolon's. A reward for a faithful cult service. After I've killed you, I'll go back and explain to him why it's stupid. It might be a fatal explanation. For him." Their blades met briefly, two experts feeling each other out. "What happened to your Terminator armour?"
"Power plant was damaged, and Kaeseron ruined the servos in the left arm. Didn't you used to use a daemonblade?" He flicked aside a clever strike. The whirring teeth scratched his vambrace; his own blade cut a light score in a shoulder rune.
"Stupid thing kept trying to take over in fights. I'm better than any daemon." Their blades flickered in attack and defence, blurs of precise motion, as they sought out weaknesses.
"True enough. Daemons are stupid. We were wrong, Isthus. The Primarch was possessed – still is. We should have stayed loyal. The lodges corrupted the Legion." He whipped his blade across, and Isthus ducked, taking the blow on the ferociously altered Legion winged talon decorating his left shoulder-plate. The return blow forced him backwards to avoid decapitation. "Nice move. Who did you learn that one from?"
"Eldar aspect warrior."
"Howling Banshee?" He drove in a series of strokes, the attack pattern forcing the chaos marine to give ground.
"Yes. One of their avatars. She nearly killed me." Isthus' response was perfect, expertly parrying in the prescribed manner, but also managing a retaliation that he'd not seen before and which scored a gouge in his left upper arm. Luckily the armour held and he gave ground in his turn as the chainsword followed up with a vicious series of cuts and slashes.
"You're getting slow, Sedreth."
"Funny, that's what Julius said." His blade tip cut through the other's utility belt, entangling his legs for a fraction of a second. It was enough. Powersword met chest-plate in a contest of armour versus weapon in which the weapon had all the advantages. Isthus staggered backwards.
"Good one, Sedreth," he wheezed. "But I have two hearts, and I only need one to kill you." The traitor launched a desperate all-out attack, clearly intending to take Sedreth with him.
Ignatius saw his opening as the noise marine was distracted by his companion's lethal injury and struck with all his remaining strength. The blow was true, sheering diagonally through shoulder and torso and dropping the creature in a bloody heap. He turned in time to see Sedreth draw a berserk assault which ended with his opponent headless at his feet. The sergeant slowly took off his helmet.
"He was a fine man, once. Sleep well, Isthus. I'll avenge the true Legion for you. For all of us."
Ignatius looked at the man, then shrugged mentally. If vengeance against the heretics was Sedreth's motivation, who was he to quarrel with it? It was reason enough. He looked along the corridor as Tarken, white armour blood-streaked and battle-scarred, limped up to them through the last guttering flames.
Her voice came through the vox. "Janey, did we get them all?"
"Yes, mummy. No other life signs or movement but you."
"What is the situation on the station?" asked Ignatius.
"Only a couple of them managed to 'port on to the station. The Guard unit there has taken heavy casualties, but reports they're all dead."
"Very well. Inform the station that the system is under Ordo Malleus control until I say otherwise."