Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 94

"Warp translation complete," Shipmaster Devo reported.

"Empyreal breaches?" Captain Nemkir demanded.

"Negative."

"Are there any hostile ships within Auspex range?"

"Only our Rogue Trader friend," came the reply.

"Chronometric displacement?"

"Within projected margins."

"Spatial discombobulation?"

"Astrogation confirms stellar fixes are in alignment, we have crossed the Torwald Gate."

"Pass my congratulations to the Navigator on a successful Warp voyage. Begin ritual sanctifications of the crew spaces and plot a course to Tellaris."

Nemkir settled back on the Command Dias as Alacritous Intervention began to assess crew losses and systems failures. Even the best warp voyages suffered a notable rate of breakdowns, suicides and macabre horrors, things no voidfarer would ever speak of in Material space, but by all reckonings the Battlebarge had completed an uneventful passage. An Imperial bridge was never quiet, but the bustle was organised and productive as the crew began to steer the vast ship towards their destination.

Nemkir looked up as the Occulus slid open, revealing realspace beyond. He could see Tellaris with his naked eyes, so close as to be more than a dot in space. Most warp passages ended with a week or two sojourn through the outer system to reach the habitable zone, but not Tellaris. The Torwald Gate was an anomaly that allowed safe transit remarkably close to the star, trailing in a Lagrange point beyond Tellaris and its three moons. Such gates were supremely rare in the galaxy, the Sol system was extraordinary for possessing two such gates in orbit of Pluto and Uranus. The presence of a warp gate so close to a habitable world was a marvel and one of the reasons Tellaris was strategically vital.

"Doesn't look like much," Oroton muttered.

"Looks can be deceiving," Nemkir refuted.

"Three and a half billion guardsmen killed, for that ugly slagheap," Oroton scorned.

"That world produces artillery and Superheavies in enormous quantities. The Imperium needs those munitions, now more than ever. A thousand warzones falter for lack of shells, the Ghoul Stars fall from our hands one by one for lack of Baneblades. Tellaris must be retaken at all costs; the Emperor can accept no other outcome."

Oroton wrinkled his nose, "If it's so important then why are we the first Space Marines to intervene?"

"We're not," Nemkir muttered darkly, "But that is the tale for another day. Shipmaster, contact the Most Profitable Venture and request a face-to-face with the Smoke Jaguar leader. Also call Chaplain Bulvok and request his presence at his convenience."

The crew did as bid, as Nemkir looked into the Hololith. Tellaris was two hours away at optimal speed, but the clouds of ships surrounding it complicated matters. Terran warships clung to tight vectors, avoiding the surface lance batteries that dominated the planet. Only a small subcontinent lay in Terra's grip, the rest was in open rebellion, as attested by the numerous wrecks tumbling dead in space. Other ships were present, Novan trade carracks. They flaunted their presence by coasting where Terra's ships could not, feeding the rebellion and filling their holds with the output of its manufactorums. Without those ships the Rebels would have starved a decade ago, but the terms of the peace treaty between High Lords and Ur-Council did not permit an embargo on basic necessities. Both sides were fighting multitudes of other threats and dared not risk open war, at least until someone had a clear advantage.

Minutes crawled past and then the heavy clomp of Ceramite heralded Chaplain Bulvok approaching. Nemkir greeted him, "Chaplain, join me. How went the shrivening?"

Bulvok mounted the Dais, his skin red raw where the gorget exposed his neck, "My spirit has been chastened and my intent fortified robustly."

"And did you find the Heresy we suspect?"

"Alas no," Bulvok sighed, "A deviant creed, straying far from orthodoxy, but nothing that merits condemnation."

"So the Smoke Jaguar's Testimony isn't some Chaotic trap, filled with perverse snares for the unwary?"

"It seems not."

Throughout the voyage Bulvok had been reading the Smoke Jaguar's gift, studying their philosophy and tactics. As a Chaplain he was best suited to uncover the wiles of Chaos, many souls had been corrupted by a single page of blasphemous text and they had needed to be careful. Bulvok had been whipped by Serfs hourly, his flesh subjected to branding irons and holy oils as he turned the pages, edifying his spirit against temptation. As their Chaplain it was his burden to bear, but Nemkir also trusted him to be impartial and judicious. Bulvok was forthright and blunt, but also eminently fair, he acted without favour to any, equally coarse to all.

Oroton asked, "So what did we learn of our cousins?"

Bulvok mused, "The Smoke Jaguars wrote their own philosophy, then pasted in the bits of the Codex Astartes they agreed with. Their founders must have had access to a very early edition. The Smoke Jaguars place extreme emphasis on psychological warfare, primarily concerned with disrupting morale and spreading panic, as opposed to destroying physical infrastructure. They have a precise order of priority targets, dismantling command and control systems until hostile leadership can be eliminated."

Nemkir pursed his lips, "Sounds ideal for fighting Orks."

"That was my conclusion," Bulvok agreed, "But it makes them overspecialised. I cannot see such tactics being effective against an army with a robust chain of command, or a system for replacing commanders. Against a disciplined foe, who will not panic, the Smoke Jaguars are ill-equipped."

"Then Tellaris is the perfect crucible to test their mettle," Nemkir stated, "Put him on."

A hololithic pedestal flared and Damchak appeared. His image was washed out, blending the subtle hues of his armour into a grey sheen, but otherwise he was as Nemkir remembered him. The Smoke Jaguar officer stood proud, an expression of open interest on his face. The warp voyage seemed not to have troubled him greatly and his welcome smile unsettled the stoic Raven Guard Captain.

"Light of the Dawn be upon you, Jade Foot," Damchak greeted.

"Your voyage was uneventful?" Nemkir enquired.

"Interesting were my days, so deep into the warp we have rarely travelled. These Navigators we must have."

"A matter for later, give me your impression of Tellaris."

Damchak glanced out of frame, "A swarm of honey bees, defending their nest from a hungry Vespar. The honey is sweet, but at a cost in blood."

"If you mean a grinding stalemate, then you are correct," Nemkir affirmed.

"The numbers surely lie?" Damchak pressed, "So many dead, for a kilometre of mud?"

"It is true, three and a half billion Guardsmen dead, and that is only Terra's account. The Tellarites must surely have lost more men."

"They throw lives away for no purpose!" Damchak snapped, "This cannot stand!"

Bulvok butted in, "We do not fight Orks here! The Tellarites are human, and they think and act differently. Your war doctrines will not suit this conflict, you are here to observe our tactics and learn the proper way to conduct a war!"

Nemkir added, "While the loss of life is lamentable, they died in service to the Emperor, there is no greater calling. If that does not suffice remember that we are here to tip the scales in Terra's favour. Our intervention shall end this bloody conflict."

Damchak didn't sound impressed as he gestured, "What breed of vessel is this ship?"

Nemkir glanced at where he was pointing and the Hololith zoomed in. A large battleship dominated the Terran vectors, her hull unlovely and lumpish. To say someone had taken two battleship wrecks and bodged them together was a gross understatement. It looked like an Emperor-class hull had been grafted to the prow of a Desolator and then had its spine rebuilt with the turrets of an Apocalypse. The engine section was baffled like an Oberon and yet it had the deep keel of a Despoiler. An ugly scow of a warship, slow, overburdened with armour and agonisingly clumsy to handle, yet able to launch waves of attack craft even as it laid down torrents of firepower.

"A Legatus-class system control ship, of Battlefleet Solar, by her markings," Nemkir sniffed, "Logic Engines identify her as the Righteous Fist of the Emperor."

"Did a feathered-constrictor mate with a Crotalid and hide its egg under a plump fowl?" Damchak sniffed.

"Basically yes," Oroton chuckled, "The Tech-priests bodge them together out of old wrecks and set them to guard systems considered important. Legatus-class vessels rarely move between systems, if ever, spending centuries guarding one planet. The Imperium uses them more as mobile bases than actual ships. We call them poor man's Ramilies, for those who want a Starfort but can't get their hands on one."

"And it seems they want a word," Nemkir commented as a priority communique pinged the comms.

Nemkir gestured to the serfs and a channel was opened. A second Hololithic pedestal awakened, projecting a stern man in a starched uniform. His boots were gleaming and his trousers crisp while the jacket was heavy with medals and gold braiding, and a short cape hung from his shoulders. His left arm was Augmetic, as was half his face but the organic side sported a wiry moustache that was waxed and oiled.

"Your presence here is not authorised, leave immediately!" the man spat.

Bulvok bristled but Nemkir replied sharply, "I am Captain Nemkir, of the Raven Guard. Identify yourself!"

The man glowered, "You address the Lord Militant, Sire Antonio Circell Hogmancy Marcher! Warmaster by Carta, of the Tellarite Prosecution and Lord Commander of all Terran forces in this sub-sector!"

Nemkir was talking to the High Lord's chosen leader of this war, the Emperor's appointed commander, but was not impressed. This man had overseen seventeen years of grinding stalemate, without any hint of progress. Three and a half billion Guardsmen killed, who could have been better used elsewhere. That he hadn't been stripped of command, or shot by the Commissariat, meant he had serious political pull among the High Lords. Family connections, staggering bribes, knives in the dark, all would be required to keep him in his position after such a poor showing. Nemkir had seen his type before and instantly judged this man as incompetent, unintelligent, smug and self-absorbed.

Nemkir faced him directly, "Lord Commander Marcher, you address a First Founding Chapter, and our allies. You have no right to command us to depart."

"This is my warzone, I won't have your accursed lot messing it up!" Marcher spat.

"I fail to see how we could make it any worse," Nemkir retorted.

"I sent despatches demanding Titan Legios!" Marcher spat, "An Ordinatus Majoris, even a Knight House. I do not want, nor do I require, Astartes. Go back to Terra and tell them to send me some real weapons if they want this rebellion put down!"

Nemkir snarled back, "We are not behold to you! The Adeptus Astartes carries the mandate of the Emperor himself, to go where we will and fight as we see fit. No man may deny us the right to execute our duty. We do not answer to you, but to the Golden Throne. You address a Chapter of the First Founding, show some damned respect!"

Marcher was distracted as a furious whispering echoed from out of frame, he scowled in annoyance, "What?! The rebels did what… now?! I don't… Nemkir, a crisis has arisen and I must deal with it. You may have license to blunder wherever you will, but this is my warzone and you do not have authority to revoke my Carta. I will conduct my forces as I see fit, if you think you can me then help do so, but don't try to give orders to my men!"

The Hololith snapped off leaving Nemkir non-plussed. He scowled at the empty plinth in annoyance, vexed beyond words. Damchak broke his silence, "Trust this man to stand vigil over a fruit-stall, I would not."

"Cretinous, inbred fop," Oroton muttered, "Typical of the Astra Militarum."

"Even you think he echoes like a hollow jug, is this how the Emperor's Serviles vote for their Prowlmasters?"

Nemkir shook his head, "Imperial politics is complicated, but he is right to say his Carta cannot be overturned by us. We must act as we see fit, but expect no help from Marcher."

Bulvok frowned, "He did say something about a crisis erupting."

"Sounds a good place to start," Oroton suggested.

Nemkir agreed, "Start collating surface data and ready the squads for rapid deployment. Damchak, we may have to fight sooner than expected."

Damchak grinned wickedly, "Jade Foot strikes fast as the Cider-Asp. My Kinsmen will enjoy seeing how the Raven Guard wage war."