Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 19
Sedaxus lay in yellow dust and peered over the top of a ridgeline, trying to go unnoticed. Overhead a bruised sky sank into blackness, the fearfully bright sun sinking out of sight. He welcomed it; darkness was when he did his best work. As the light faded the sulphurous air grew tepid, fading from oven-hot to merely prickly warm, a familiar sensation, it had been decades since he walked this hellscape but it was all coming back to him.
They had left the Shadowhawks behind, marvellous machines able to traverse the inferno of re-entry without giving themselves away, and closed on an Ork encampment on foot. Long-range servitor probes had scoured the building Ork mass and identified a key industrial hub on the tenth planet, a prime target to begin their destabilisation raids. Done right this would shake the ramshackle Ork hierarchies, tipping power structures against each other and forcing their chief to intercede personally. Once exposed they could pick him off and leave the Orks to fall apart. A sound strategy, if only they could get on with it.
Along the ridgeline lay two squads of Tactical Marines, their forms blurring into the dust. They'd brought a dozen scout-novices too, their rebreathers hissing as exposed skin sweated in the heat. Sedaxus itched to be moving but endured the familiar irritation of waiting, the XIXth did love to take their time. Below their position an Ork patrol roamed, trudging through a narrow valley with bored stomps. Orks were not typically known for regularity or attention to surroundings, it had been sheer bad luck they'd run into this gang, worse since they had to pass by to reach their objective. The other teams wouldn't begin their attack until Nolaro signalled he was ready.
Sedaxus realised one of the Tacticals was glaring at him from under a snouted helm. Something about the markings tickled him then it hit and he voxed, "Brother Meske, nice to see you again. How're those scars healing?"
Meske growled, "You won't always have Nolaro's protection. One day you'll slip and reveal your treacherous nature, then I'll gut you like the vermin you are."
"Hold onto that dream," Sedaxus taunted, "Everyone needs a goal in life."
"Frak," Nolaro suddenly spat, "They've stopped."
"Have they seen us?" Damolos hissed from behind the visor strip of his Mark II helm.
"No," Engar replied, peering through his sniper rifle's scope, "Looks like an argument."
Sedaxus lifted his head a fraction and his autosenses picked out five Orks bickering, shoving and gesturing crudely as they barked insults back and forth. They weren't even looking in this direction and yet seemed unlikely to move on anytime soon. That was a problem, their team was already behind and time was slipping away.
"I'll deal with them," Sedaxus said as he pushed himself up, "Engar, give me three minutes then provide a distraction."
Damolos shifted slightly saying, "I'll come too."
"No, I want to do this myself. I need to stretch my limbs, alone. Besides there's only five of them, barely a workout."
Damolos snorted, "This is because I called you soft, isn't it?"
Sedaxus ignored the jest as he slipped over the top and inched his way down the slope. He was no son of Corax but he'd operated for years as a Moritat and knew how to pass unseen. Plus, he'd upgraded his armour with some XIXth Legion toys, baffled heat-recyclers, sound suppressing servo-motors, more than enough to sneak past dull Ork senses. He made his way to the valley floor and hid in a dip, counting seconds pass as he scooped up a handful of gravel and drew his plasma pistol.
The Orks didn't notice a thing, blithely unaware they were being watched, until a small dart flew over their heads. A round fired precisely to land on the other side of the gang, it hit the dirt to cause a dust fountain and then began to shriek with a high-pitch note. One of Engar's special rounds, a decoy lure small enough to fit inside a bullet and with his frighteningly exact aim he could put it anywhere. The Orks spun towards the noise, raising crude choppas and blunt pistols in readiness to fight. They should have been more cautious, for Sedaxus rose from cover and charged, levelling his pistol as he did so. A double-squeeze of the trigger saw two brilliant bolts shoot forth, taking an Ork in the back and atomising everything above the thighs. The others reacted with typical aggression, turning towards the source of the attack, mouths opening wide to roar a challenge, but Sedaxus was upon them.
His left hand flashed and a cloud of rubble hit the nearest Ork in the face, filling its mouth with gravel and its eyes with blinding grit. It dropped both weapons and slapped its face, trying to see what was going on, but Sedaxus had already turned to the next. An Ork swung a choppa overhead in a sweeping blow that would have split his skull but Sedaxus pivoted left and the blow went past without touching. His left fist clenched and twin claws extended from his wrist, sweeping upwards to neatly slice the hand from the arm. The Ork staggered with a dumb look on its face and a boot to the rear sent it sprawling.
Two more came at him from both sides, but Sedaxus ducked low, letting their swings sweep overhead. They tried to grapple him but he twisted like a snake, slipping out of their grasps with a confusing series of evasions. He moved faster than they could follow, pushing the limits of what an Astartes could do. The raw intensity of combat elevated him from merely Transhuman to something far more dangerous. He was living on his wits, kept from death only by his fighting skills, without aid or backup. He felt deadlier than he had in years, edges made blunt by fighting alongside others honed to a killing sharpness. He was fighting at his peak, he had to, to fail was to die.
The Orks grappled him in a wrestler's scrum but his claws flashed twice and one of them collapsed to the ground, missing both legs. A crushing stomp collapsed its windpipe and left it to die in the dust. The other drew back a fist to smash his faceplate in but Sedaxus' claws caught it in the sternum and ripped downwards, opening the belly to spill stinking guts everywhere. The Ork still launched one last punch in death, but Sedaxus swayed back and then the fact it was dead caught up with it.
Sedaxus had no time to celebrate for a solid slug pinged off his pauldron. The Ork missing a hand was running at him, roaring as it fired its pistol over and over. Sedaxus felt impacts across his breastplate and threw himself to the ground, landing in a rolling motion that saw him come up with a choppa in hand. He twisted the blade and threw it, spinning over and over to slam into the Ork's shoulder. The Xeno didn't slow down in the slightest, but the force of the impact threw it off balance and it lurched to one side, aim spoiled. It came back around swiftly, just in time to run into Sedaxus' claws, punching through its neck and out the other side. The Ork ground to a halt and Sedaxus saw the light go out of its eyes, but before he could pull back something hit him in the side.
"Wooph!" he exhaled as he was bodily thrown aside. It was the first Ork, the blinded one, it had cleared its eyes and returned to the fray. Sedaxus tried to claw it but the angle was wrong, the Ork had its arms wrapped around his right hip as it slammed him into a boulder. Impact rang his bones like rattles and Sedaxus' head swam for an instant, teeth aching from the blow. The Ork however held on tight as it pulled back and then rammed forward, slamming him once more into the stone. Again it smashed him and its piggy eyes filled with hate as it roared, "Waaaaaagh!"
Sedaxus was being shaken apart, Ceramite fracturing under the blows and his bones screaming in pain. He couldn't twist to bring his left arm about, he couldn't break away, but he did still have his right arm free and the pistol was in his grip. The plasma coils were still recharging, too soon to fire, but its venting vanes were boiling hot and he could use that. Sedaxus whipped his arm up and shoved the pistol laterally into his foe's face, searing hot metal pressed hard into leathery skin. The Ork tried to ignore the pain but its cheek turned cherry red and then began to bubble, red blisters popping as charred flakes of dead tissue began to crumble off. Amazingly the Ork held on to him, despite the agony, but then the side of its face seared off, revealing teeth and bone in a mess of bubbling flesh. Even an Ork couldn't ignore that and its grip slackened, just enough for Sedaxus to twist and bring his claws about, taking its head clean off.
The Ork collapsed and Sedaxus staggered back. His head swam and breath heaved in his chest but the rush of being alive swept through him. He was alive and someone who tried to kill him was dead, a sensation that never grew old. He lifted his eyes and breathed out in relief, enjoying the moment of victory.
Sadly his triumph was spoilt as a score of Raven Guard bounded down the hill calling, "Come on, we're behind schedule!"
"Let me enjoy my moment," Sedaxus snapped.
"No time for gloating," Nolaro retorted as he ran past, "Engar got into position while you danced, we have to catch up."
"Of course he did," Sedaxus groaned as he fell in line.
But Damolos chuckled, "Don't fret, you can regale me with the tale later. And I'll tell you of the time I slew forty Eldar armed with only a shovel!"
"Last time you told that story it was twenty Eldar," Sedaxus muttered but he kept up as the line of black raced up the far side of the valley.
Swiftly they crested the ridge and threw themselves down beside the sniper, who must have been wanting to be found. Sedaxus peered over the top and found himself staring down into a sprawling mess of industrial anarchy. Inside a guarded perimeter wall pumping derricks rose and fell, while ramshackle huts spewed choking smog into the sky. Fires burned randomly, burping from leaking pipes and standing barrels. Everything was a mad knot of pipe, building and gantry but its purpose was clear. Looming over the grinding machinery were tall effigies of Ork gods, statues set against the skyline as statements of power. Yet no idle idols were these, they were heavy with guns and massive pincer claws, while broad feet held them upright, ready to bring destruction to the universe. Stompas, a dozen Ork Stompas and by the looks of them they were nearly ready to march.
"Frak," Damolos whispered, "I don't think we brought enough melta-bombs."
"Tough," Nolaro muttered, "If we don't take this place down before they march, we'll never stop them."
"Better signal the other teams to attack," Sedaxus suggested.
"Actually," Engar interjected, "You may want to hold off on that."
"Why in the name of sanity would I do that?" Nolaro hissed.
"Because someone else is already moving in," Engar whispered as he gazed through his scope.
Everybody started in shock and Sedaxus tracked the line of the sniper rifle to peer into the camp. It was hard to make out in the dark but around the perimeter of the Ork camp indistinct figures were creeping closer, blurry but big, Transhuman big. His autosenses strained at maximum range and he saw they moved with eerie grace, slipping by standing watchtowers to reach the rough wall and kneeling to place charges to blow it apart. Sedaxus thought for an instant they were another team out of position but then revised that, they were good but they weren't XIXth Legion good, were they Raven Guard he'd never have seen them.
"Blood in the spit," he growled, "Nobody said another Space Marine force was in theatre."
"Maybe they're lost or cut off from Terra," Damolos mused, "Maybe they didn't know we were coming."
"Anything's possible," Nolaro agreed.
It was then Engar dropped his bombshell, "They have wings on their helms, bat wings, and lightning bolts on their plate."
"Traitors!" Nolaro snarled with outrage, "Night Lords, in my warzone!"
Sedaxus shared his shock and hissed, "They can't be."
"They are," Engar affirmed, "Trust me."
Meske growled accusingly, "You said the Night Lords deserted their posts in this system."
"We did," Sedaxus protested, "I swear we did, this sector was abandoned, there shouldn't be anyone here... unless they... came back after I defected..."
"How convenient," Meske hissed.
Damolos interrupted, "Never mind how they got here, what are we going to do?"
"We kill them," Nolaro growled as he lifted his bolter a hair.
"Hold on," Sedaxus countered, "Don't be hasty."
"You'd allow them to pass unchallenged?!" Nolaro spat with vehemence.
"No, I'd use them," Sedaxus retorted, "Look at them, they're moving to attack the Orks. They're about to do our jobs for us. I say we let them go ahead, spill their blood to take down the Xenos, blunt their blades on the Greenskin's hordes and then, when they're at their weakest, we strike and kill the lot of them."
"You mean give them a chance to slip away," Meske snarled, "You want to give your blood-kin a way out."
Nolaro uttered, "Meske has the way of it, we can't let Traitors pass. Forget the Orks, I want those scums heads! We attack as soon as they engage and crush them between us and the Greenskins."
Sedaxus protested, "This is a mistake, we can't take on Night Lords and Orks at the same time. We'll be swamped and overrun. Damolos, tell them this is a stupid plan."
But Damolos merely lifted his weapon and growled, "I didn't bring my axe this far to pass up a chance for Traitor blood."
"Better make a choice," Engar interrupted, "They're about to blow the wall."
Nolaro braced to charge and signalled a coded message over the vox, "Midnight wings against the moon, dawnlight fire, hammer and anvil, a culling."
Sedaxus sighed as the order was given and readied himself for the fight to come. Unlooked for and unwanted, but he was about to face his own kin once more and had no choice but to engage. Resignedly he braced himself to charge, knowing there was no point arguing. The call of vengeance was in the hearts of his friends and nothing he could say would sway them. Only blood would sate their thirst for justice, he could only trust they weren't about to drown in a sea of it.