Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 97
To use a Power Fist against mortal flesh was grotesque overkill, but that didn't stop Nemkir. His roundhouse blow eviscerated the man trying to stab him, reducing a hearty warrior to a cloud of misted blood. The thunderclap detonation rang in his Autosenses, adding to the frenzy of war but to the Tellarites it was devastating. The crowd huddled back, wiping their comrades' blood from their eyes as they shrank before him. Nemkir didn't give them a chance to recover, laying into the mob and leaving broken corpses in his wake.
Into the gap surged the rest of his speartip, Sergeant Oroton leading the way. They fell upon dazed rebels with fists and knives and bolter stocks, conserving ammunition for more worthy targets. The Sternguard was the cutting edge of the attack but the Smoke Jaguars provided the weight of the blow. Twenty-six Space Marines, force enough to take a city, backed by a Dreadnought. The rebel's paltry might was no match for them and they made a red ruin of the foe.
Nemkir strode on, already reorientating his attack plans. The field of battle was dense and confused, contested sorely, and yet he retained complete awareness of events via the vox, his Transhuman mind creating a real-time map more accurate than a Cogitator-feed. The Tellarite advance had stalled, their ranks thrown into confusion by the appearance of the Space Marines in their midst. They retain overwhelming numbers but speed and proximity were surer defences than paltry bulwarks, as always the ideal place for a Space Marine was chest to chest with his foe, where genic superiority lent them all the advantage.
Nemkir voxed, "Chaplain Bulvok, advance to grid 83 by 12, engage and destroy all opposition."
"My force moves through the Heretic scum with ease, it shall be done," Bulvok replied.
"Are our allies performing to our standard?"
"They waste time with frivolous displays of might, but they kill well enough."
"Maintain momentum, they can be an asset but do not allow them to showboat."
Nemkir was still fighting even as he directed their efforts. The Tellarites were everywhere, trying to swamp the Astartes but were met and broken by the Emperor's Finest. Nemkir trusted his Raven Guard to continue pressing forward but kept a close eye on the Smoke Jaguars. They laid in with those strange knives, cutting and hacking, but there was something off about their style. They favoured debilitating strikes, slashing and cleaving, taking arms and feet and eyes then allowing foes to bleed out on the mud. He could see how a lifetime of fighting Orks might produce such a technique, the Greenskin did not die easy and had to be dismantled piece by piece, but it also struck him as boastful. The Smoke Jaguars enjoyed demonstrating their superiority in battle, making the foe see how much better they were, compared to the Raven Guard's blunt style it seemed wasteful and slow, but it did have a certain flair.
"Fine killing you bring to us!" Damchak hollered as his claw removed an enemy's face, "Our blood sings!"
"Sing if you must but kill faster!" Nemkir spat as he obliterated a skull.
"Your tread shakes the world at your passing!" Damchak laughed.
Oroton cut in, "Incoming transport!"
"You, Dreadnought, dispose of it!" Nemkir barked.
"They shall fear me yet!" Aapo rumbled.
Through the flaming ruins of a mess tent rode a Crassus, tracks chewing fabric to shreds. Heavy bolters were thundering at its corners and it rode low on the suspension. A full load of Rebels it carried, not enough to stop the Space Marines but it would slow them down, precious time Nemkir could not afford to waste. Aapo however was already there. Metal feet pounding the Dreadnought slammed bodily into the closing transport, folding the prow inwards with the impact. The Crassus screeched to a halt, then the front end began to rise. Aapo's claws were wedged under the front axle and he lifted it bodily off the ground. Nemkir lost a step as he watched the Dreadnought hoist the Crassus upright, the crew yelling in panic as their world tilted off-kilter. Higher, till it stood near vertical, Aapo lifted with pistons straining, then a shove sent it toppling over like a felled tree. It slammed into the dirt with a crash, flat on its back, and Sergeant Oroton dashed past, chucking a frag grenade into the interior.
"That kill belongs to the Eldest!" Aapo growled as the flat nag ran out.
"We can quibble over glory later," Nemkir spat as he advanced.
"For what it's worth, I thought you were impressive," Oroton rejoined as they fell in.
"The esteem of one's cousin is a worthy prize," Aapo accepted.
Bulvok vox cut in, "Captain, tactical shift!"
"The enemy advances?!" Nemkir hissed.
"Far from it, they fall back, they refuse to meet us in battle!"
Damchak laughed, "Terror has them in its fanged maw, they run in dread of our shadows!"
Nemkir however was not pleased, "I don't want them running, I want them dead!"
He matched deeds to words, running flat out into the fray. Past smashed ruins, past broken bodies, past even a cowardly Guardsman, huddling in a dissected latrine, weeping in pathetic fear. Nemkir was close to his objective, but the Tellarites were in full retreat, thousands of them streaming back the way they had come. Nemkir was furious, his plan had been to reach the tunnel and cut off the reinforcements, trapping the Heretic's spearhead far behind the lines where they could be crushed utterly. If they turned and ran now thousands of them would live to fight another day.
Even as they ran rebel scum were fleeing for their lives, abandoning their vehicles as they raced away. Far and wide, from all quarters, the Tellarites were retreating, far more of them than Nemkir would have believed possible. They must have been screaming on their vox-channels of the Space Marines' arrival, terrified beyond words. Reports suggested the Tellarites believed they were the favoured of the Emperor, to see His supposed angels appear and start slaughtering their ranks must have shattered their resolve. It was the only answer Nemkir could conceive to explain this debacle.
A column of black smoke ahead pinpointed the location of the breach, and the crowds of running rebels confirmed it. Nemkir gritted his teeth as he redoubled his speed, but then an astonishing torrent of mass-reactives flew out of nowhere. The Heretics in his path burst into a red fog as detonations tore them apart. The Astartes had a bare second to dive aside but Nemkir was furthest ahead, and he was struck by the torrent.
Nemkir was enveloped in a shell of purest light as his Iron Halo flared into being, the conversion field averting death by the tiniest of margins. The Archeotech relic bought him a moment, but already it was turning red and alarums wailed in his ears. Blind to the outside world Nemkir took a step, seeking to evade the torrent of bolts. Another step, the sheltering force-field near breaking point. A third and he was still being struck, his protection sure to fail any instant. Nemkir had no clue how much further he would have to run, he could not count on his Iron Halo holding long enough, so he threw himself low, hitting the mud and rolling to safety. His forcefield failed a second later but when sight returned he was laying in the mud and the storm had moved on.
"The First of Ravens is so sure of his victory he finds time to take his leisure," Damchak's voice scoffed as he appeared in the corner of his vision.
"I am not amused," Nemkir hissed as he rolled to his feet, wiping mud from his plate, "What hit us?"
"A Stormlord," Oroton reported as he sighted down his combi-weapon's length.
"Blood of Corax," Nemkir cursed.
Damchak ventured, "This being a great machine with many, many spinning bolters?"
"That's the one," Oroton confirmed.
Nemkir spun on his heel and snapped, "Break up and encircle, codex pattern-theta-three. Hit and fade, keep moving and someone will live long enough to mount that beast!" At his command the Space Marine divided, breaking apart to spread their approach. Nemkir's autosenses detected the superheavy ahead, squatting right in their path, steam ejecting from its Vulcan Megabolter as it sought fresh targets. The massive machine was guarding a smoking tunnel entrance, into which hundreds of Heretics were fleeing, a few machines with them, driven by crews who retained their wits. The Stormlord was a rearguard, left to delay the Space Marines, a task it was supremely suited for.
Nemkir wove right, trusting the Heretics wouldn't risk swinging so far aside. In this he was correct, the machine ground the other way, but the sponson guns opened up, sending heavy bolter shells in his direction. Speed became his surest defence, he pounded forward, racing to keep ahead. A stumbling rebel barged into his path, Nemkir didn't deviate, crashing bodily into the man. Bone shattered as a Transhuman moving at full pelt ploughed over the Heretic, his boots snapping a grown man like a handful of kindling.
"Ha! Jade Foot indeed!" Damchak hollered a pace behind.
"Run now, laugh later!" Nemkir snapped irately.
The Stormlord's megabolter opened up but not at them. Nemkir's bold went cold as he saw Oroton's Sternguards caught in the open, right in the centre of the firing angle, but they were not alone. From the sidestepped the Dreadnought Aapo, presenting his armoured front to the oncoming storm. A shrieking wail rasped the ear as the Megabolter opened fire, inundating the Dreadnought in rounds. Oroton could only shelter behind the squared bastion of the Dreadnought as the hail tore at his glacis. Heraldry was cratered, plates splintered and chips flew everywhere as Aapo withstood the torrent, hundreds of bolts chewing at his armour. The onslaught grew fiercer, cracking his joints and sending him to one knee, but Aapo did not falter, holding himself upright to shield the Raven Guard behind.
"The Eldest is in distress!" Damchak roared.
"Finally you grasp haste!" Nemkir snapped, "Ready your flamer!"
The pair had got in behind the Stormlord and found the rear ramp down. More than a gun platform the Stormlord was also a transport and had a flat rear section to carry troops. Nemkir's bolt pistol was in his hand as he ran up the ramp, blasting aside the gaggle of men guarding the rear. The deck rattled under his boots as he mounted, the roar of the main guns discharging shaking his teeth. Every second was an aeon as he ran to the reinforced door and slammed his power fist into it. It did not break, the metal deformed and the hinges creaked, but the hatch was unbroken. Again he slammed his fist into it, bending the metal further, but it did not yield so easily.
"Faster, the Eldest needs us!" Damchak cried.
"Swiftness, precision, tenacity," Nemkir growled, "These are the gifts of Corax."
He flattened his palm and directed all power to the fingertips. The Disruption field flared like heat shimmer as he drove his fingers into the joins, this time penetrating the hull. Nemkir gritted his teeth as his fingers closed and then he pulled for all he worth. The hatch groaned as power armour and Transhuman muscle strained, resulting in a fractional shift. Nemkir heaved harder, every fibre of his being bent to the task. His teeth cracked as his jaw ground together, something popped in his shoulder, muscles tore, ligaments frayed and yet he did not relent, straining every sinew to breaking point till suddenly the top of the hatch deformed.
Damchak was there in an instant, pouring black fire from his attachment into the narrow gap. Fire filled the interior of the Stormlord, bathing the crew in an inferno. Brief screams arose, desperate yelling as the conflagration spread, then the solid bursts of ammo cooking off and the Stormlord's guns fell silent. In moments all life had fled, only the crackling of fires consuming the interior. Nemkir sagged, his upper body aching from the effort.
"Eldest, you live?!" Damchak called.
"Takes.. More than this to kill... me..."
"Oroton?" Nemkir called.
"All present and accounted for, thanks to the Smoke Jaguars."
"The hunt-kill belongs to Nemkir," Damchak proclaimed, "Glory to Tuun-Ok!"
Nemkir was surprised when a Ceramite gauntlet caught his vambrace and hoisted his arm aloft, proclaiming him victorious. Various Smoke Jaguars punched the air to celebrate his win, but the Raven Guard looked bemused by the display. For himself Nemkir felt nothing but annoyance, seeing the rearguard had accomplished its mission. In the distance a Hellhammer tank was driving into the tunnel entrance, leading a hundred more rebels to safety. Terran reinforcements were surging forward but they could not enter the tunnel, it would be a deathtrap in the narrow confines and surely enginseers would be rigging it to collapse even now.
The vox reports said the Tellarite offensive was falling back across the entire front, aborting their advance and retreating to safety. Casualty reports streaming through his ear put the combined death toll upwards of two hundred thousand, more than half of them near the tunnel entrance, but that hardly made an impression on the losses suffered daily in this meatgrinder of a war. Nemkir had expected to trap and obliterate the Tellarite spearhead in a codex-perfect assault, instead they had been sent scurrying, surely to return another day.
The Smoke Jaguars seemed to be under the impression this was some great victory, but Nemkir was disappointed. By his measure it was an ineffectual rebuff, a misjudged blow failing to find a vital spot. As far as he was concerned this was a damned poor way to enter a war.