Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 32

From the outer dark came a sorry flight of Shadowhawks, limping through the crimson-tainted depths of space on broken wings. They had lost much of their proud aspect, with scorched hulls and charred engine intakes. Fires of unreality had bathed them in impossible flames, breaking heat-sinks and shearing away auspex baffles. Their tattered wings shook with unnatural vibration as their plasma drives strained to propel them in a straight line. They were wounded birds, aching for home, weary and bleeding as they drifted through the corrupted heavens.

Space shimmered before their prows and then Implacable Judgement appeared, dropping her Reflex Shields to guide the battered craft inside. The gunships extended landing claws and gently coasted into the starboard hanger, not pushing their drives too hard for fear of breaking apart. Barely had they set down when ground crews were sprinting to tend to their ailing spirits, while Servitors dragged carts of tools and medicae stretchers behind. Engines whined down as the mortals set to, shouting over each other as wounds were counted and sparking power lines secured.

Assault ramps slammed down and from the dark holds came bedraggled figures of Space Marines. They were far less proud than when they set out, as battered and bloodied as their gunships. Armour had been sundered in many places, leaving deep and abiding injuries. Many of them were burnt badly, or had been lacerated by stabbing wounds, some so badly they leant on their comrades for support. They limped down the ramps and fell to the deck as white-clad apothecaries moved among them, tending to those assigned to other gunships. Narthecium's whirred and reductors clunked home, performing the healer's solemn duty with grim faces. They worked hard to save as many as they could but none could pretend for a moment that the Raven Guard had not lost many good Brothers this day.

Sedaxus emerged from a Shadowhawk's hold with a grim weight upon his hearts. He saw the shimmering distortion of Reflex Shields reengaging beyond the hanger, making them invisible once more, for all the good it would do. Inside the ship tired Space Marines milled listlessly, sitting with their heads in their hands or staring at blank walls. Physically their bodies would be rebuilding but the wounds to their spirits would not be so quick to heal. Defeat hung upon them, ever a bitter pill to swallow, but worse they had lost their commander. Nolaro was dead and without him his troops had lost direction.

Sedaxus however grabbed a red-clad Marine by the arm and hoisted him aloft, a Techmarine named Itrax, one of a few assigned to the nascent Chapter. Sedaxus pulled him to his feet and snapped, "Tell me which Shadowhawk is in best repair."

"What?" Itrax started.

"The gunships, which one can still fly?"

"Victory's Crucible," Itrax stammered, "But I don't understand..."

Sedaxus cut him off, "Go and get her plasma drives recharged, and triple-check the stealth baffles."

"Why?"

"Don't ask stupid questions, just get it done," Sedaxus snapped with a shove.

Itrax staggered away as Sedaxus turned to see the rest emerging into the light. Engar came first, limping under the weight of Regua, the last survivor of the squad which had accompanied them. The Brother was badly wounded and clutched his abdomen, the mass of scab tissue hiding deeper injuries within. Last came Damolos, fists clenched in anger. Engar helped Regua to a medicae stretcher, borne by a pair of Servitors who carried him to the frantic sawbones. Damolos however ripped his helm free with both hands then hurled it away. The empty helmet struck a servitor pulling a cart of tools and bowled it over, the metal head dented inwards by the force of the blow.

"Did that make you feel any better?" Sedaxus snorted but Damolos wasn't done. He grabbed the cart and upended it, spilling tools everywhere with a loud clatter that made heads turn. In his broad hands he lifted the trolley high and gripped hard, pulling for all he was worth as a snarl of rage escaped his lips. The trolley bent under the force of his grip, distorting out of true before breaking apart, becoming shattered pieces of metal that rained down at his feet. Finally Damolos hurled the tattered remains away with a cry of "Raaaagh!"

Hundreds of eyes were staring at his display and Engar spat, "Are you done clowning about?"

"This is no time for jests!" Damolos snarled in fury, "I am angry!"

"We noticed," Sedaxus retorted snidely, "But childish displays are not going to get us anywhere."

Damolos howled, "A hundred Brothers lie dead or dying! Nolaro he... Nolaro... He's dead, dammit. You should be raging too, or do you not weep for any but your own blood?!"

"Don't mistake my focus for indifference," Sedaxus snapped, "I am angry too, but I won't waste my fury on futile tantrums."

"Gah!" Damolos cried as he threw his hands up in disgust.

Engar however removed his helm with one hand and remarked, "What were those Ork things?"

"Some sorcerous by-blows," Sedaxus muttered.

"Your friends Xavaar failed to mention them," Engar needled.

"He's not my friend, and I think there's a lot he failed to mention. Like this storm, I have no idea what that heralds."

Damolos snorted, "I know what it means, it means exile. We're cut off, trapped in this system. Left to rot alone in the dark. I said we'd be abandoned and I was right, we're exiled and forgotten. There's no help coming, no Primarch sailing to our rescue. We are left forever and will die alone."

"Pull yourself together," Sedaxus hissed, "How about I replace your axe, that will cheer you up."

"I put up with a lot of your mockery, Night Lord," Damolos growled, "But I'm not in the mood today. I want blood."

Engar retorted, "The only blood well see will be ours if we don't regroup. We need to get the squads back into order, select a new commander and make a plan as to how we're going to survive this calamity."

Damolos snorted, "A new commander, You?"

"I'm no leader," Engar demurred, "I was thinking you could take over the role."

"Me?!" Damolos laughed, "You jest. I won't hang back and give orders, not when there's a foe to face with my own two hands."

"One of the Sergeants then," Engar sighed, "Someone has to lead."

Sedaxus paid them no mind as he saw Itrax waving him over. Victory's Crucible must have been in good repair, needing only a recharge, she was ready to fly again. He looked back at the arguing pair and said, "You stay here and argue, if that's all you want to do. I'm off."

"Huh?" Damolos started in shock, "Where could you possibly go?"

"The one place I should have gone the second we learned there were Night Lords in system: Oblivioni Cavum."

Both of them looked stunned as Engar exclaimed, "What could you possibly do once you get there?!"

Sedaxus growled, "I'm not sure, but I think I'll start by killing as many of the bastards as I can."

Damolos gasped, "On your own, against how many Night Lords... that's suicide!"

Sedaxus snorted, "I'm a Mortitat, suicide missions are the whole job."

Engar shook his head and sighed, "This is foolish bravado. I know you're angry but think it through."

Sedaxus replied, "I am, for the first time in years I'm thinking clearly. I spent so much time fighting with others I forgot what I am. I'm no Brother of yours, not a Raven Guard, no amount of wishing will change that. I went soft, got too used to playing nice with others and it cost Nolaro his life. I should have remembered that I am a lord of the night, maybe Nolaro would be alive if I had."

Damolos countered, "You can't know that, none of us expected Kharkul's strength. Nobody could have withstood that infernal might. Not even Engar's special rounds could stop him."

"Nothing we could survive anyway," Engar muttered, "He's right this is madness."

"Then consider me mad," Sedaxus growled, "I'm going."

With that Sedaxus turned and strode to the waiting gunship. He passed scores of prone Raven Guard, all staring at him as if he was mad. Some had begrudging respect in their eyes, others only scorn. He cared not, they weren't his kin, they'd never been, Sedaxus had wasted years pretending to be something he wasn't but finally he was through playing. He was a Moritat, it was time he started acting like it.

Damolos followed in his wake saying, "This is foolish, Nolaro would never have approved."

But Sedaxus retorted, "Nolaro's Dead, What he would have wanted is meaningless."

"Then let us come with you, a full strike team."

"Forget it," Sedaxus rebuked, "I'm going alone, end of discussion."

Engar muttered, "You won't make any difference by doing this."

Damolos agreed, "You might take down a few, maybe a whole squad's worth, but then they'll find you and kill you."

"Probably," Sedaxus agreed, "But I'll put the fear into them first, you can count on that."

He placed one foot on the ramp but Damolos grabbed his arm and said, "If you're intent on this mad course then you must make me promise!"

Sedaxus paused at the heartfelt plea and said, "What promise?"

"You must swear it to me," Damolos implored, "One thing, you must do it."

"What do you need of me?" Sedaxus replied.

"I said this was a suicide mission," Damolos urged, "I need you to prove me wrong."

Sedaxus had no reply to give. He merely shook his arm free and strode up the ramp. He sank into the darkness and hit the rune to seal the hatch. Swiftly he climbed the ladder to the troop bay, then the cockpit, sliding into the pilot's chair and running his hands over the controls. The engines spooled up and the boards showed green, Victory's Crucible was ready to fly. He looked out the windows and saw the Raven Guard backing up as downdraft pummelled their forms. The odds of ever seeing them again were scant and in all likelihood, this would be their last goodbye. For a moment he paused and drank in the sight, but then pushed the throttle open and lifted the gunship off the deck. A touch of the stick spun him about to face the open void, then he powered away, diving into the vacuum of space. One Marine, all alone in the night, racing to meet an unknown fate.