Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 103
Severcole Vanderspeak stood upon Adamantine Spear's turret and surveyed the ruins with a heavy heart. In all directions lay burning wreckage, charred corpses and shattered masonry. Snarls of metal stood up at random, twisted beyond recognition and white marble lay in chunks, left where it fell. The morning sun could barely be seen, the billowing smoke of burning fires choking the air with ash. He could get no closer, the heat and the smoke would be murderous, even the crews fighting to put out the blaze wore protective garments of reflective silver.
Vanderspeak looked across no-man's land and beheld the remains of the attackers. Wrecked bombers formed a corridor between the two lines, evidence of the furious defence raised against them. The cost was immense but the Terrans had sent an overwhelming wave of aircraft, smashing aside the defenders with sheer numbers. An old logistical trick, he counted the wrecks in a small grid-box then multiplied it by the number of times his box could fit into the area. By his admittedly rough count the Terrans had thrown fifteen-thousand valuable pilot lives away, but they had achieved their goal, the Shrine was destroyed and the results spoke for themselves.
At his side Gun-captain Haldrist knelt, a small Aquila dangling from his clasped hands, "God-Emperor forgive us. Look upon us with pity and withdraw not your grace. We beseech thee."
"He's not listening," Vanderspeak muttered.
"Heresy!" Haldrist wept, "He loves Tellaris."
"If He did, then this would not have happened."
"Then we have forfeited His Grace for our sins!"
It was a sentiment widely shared. The tank column had ground to a halt at a far remove and the crews had disembarked. They knelt on the ground, weeping and beating the mud with their fists. Tears rolled down their eyes and many clawed at their cheeks with ragged fingernails. Some had broken out personal penitent flails and removed their jackets, so they would flagellate themselves for their failure. The Land Leviathans had been despatched at the first hint of alarm, but had arrived too late, the Shrine had been reduced to rubble before they got within five kilometres.
Vanderspeak understood well the implications. He was a pious man; he had believed wholeheartedly that the God-Emperor had turned from the corrupt High Lords on Terra and given His favour to the Tellarites. The sudden departure of the Space Marines seventeen years ago had been all the proof anyone could ever need. Now that faith was shattered. The Space Marines were back, shocking in and of itself, but the destruction of the Shrine was too great a disaster to bear. Severcole's heart was ash, his faith ripped from him. They were no longer favoured, perhaps had never been, if true then they were the Heretics all along. The mere thought threatened to unman him.
"Wretched, whoreson idiots!" a hoarse voice cried out. Severcole heard the defamation ringing over the field, made tinny by distance and only audible thanks to his augmetic ears. Towards the ruins came the High Plutocrat, his personal ornithopter powering down where it had landed. With him were the perennial gaggle of hangers-on, guards and medicaes, along with Von Tor, the Disquisitor. They had come to inspect the ruins of the Shrine, the closest the old man had got to the frontline in a decade.
Severcole's boots hit the dirt and his knees flexed. He hadn't planned to do that, there wasn't a thought in his head. His body was moving on automatic, unconcerned with his mind's distress. It was like watching a pict-vid of himself, events playing out with him as a passive observer. He was powerless to change the script.
"Useless, crap-eating grox-fondlers!" Horace bellowed, "How could you let this happen?!" A line of shame-faced officers stood before the High Plutocrat, the survivors of the defence units. They gazed at their boots, unable to muster a protest. They were dead men and they knew it. There was no excusing the scope of their failure. They had allowed the most holy site on Tellaris to be destroyed, what more could be said?
Horace gestured and his guards snatched up their lasguns and fired single shots. A dozen men and women keeled over, smoke rising from their heads, a swift and brutal summary execution. Nobody flinched at the sight, too soul-weary to care. That troubled Severcole, the execution should have drilled home the lesson to all watching, but they didn't react, as if death was all they could expect. Despite his own troubles the General sensed a foul mood in the air, the stench of defeat hung over every man. No matter that the guns still boomed and the missile flew across the line, the Tellarites were defeated in their hearts, as a General he understood what that meant.
"Frakking mother-loving dung-droppings!" Horace spat over the corpses, "They deserved no better!"
"It was certainly merited, but hardly practical," Von Tor commented.
The High Plutocrat turned on the envoy, "You would show them mercy?!"
The Disquisitor merely sniffed, "I would have interrogated them about the Astartes' odd behaviour, before shooting them."
"They came and they blew us away, what else matters?!" Horace barked.
Von Tor tapped his chin with a bejewelled finger, "The Codex Astartes has guided the Space Marines for four thousand years, and this attack does not conform to their tactical doctrine. Send in the Astartes to take out the shield generator, then follow up with an air strike... yes, very sound doctrine, but the strategic objective is atypical. They usually target logistical elements, command and control, munitions and high-priority strategic targets. Not a shrine."
Severcole stepped up and hissed, "The Shrine of the God-Emperor Delivering Salvation was our most important Templum!"
Von Tor nodded, "Very symbolic, very showy, but not an actual part of the defence. It gains them nothing, tactically speaking. Not like the Raven Guard at all. Something is off, we must discern what."
"I've had enough of your blathering!" Horace spat, "Ur-Council or not I will not be lectured to!"
"Know your enemy..." Von Tor began.
"Frak that, I don't care what the Space Marines have done, these pathetic wretches failed me! I will have them all driven across No-man's-land naked!"
Severcole eyed the crowds of soldiers lingering within earshot and hissed, "Father, you don't mean that."
Horace however waved his cane, "Yes I do! Malingering runts, faithless cowards the lot of them!"
"My lord, the men can hear you. Think of their morale."
Horace was going red in the face, "Frak morale, I don't care if they're crapping their pants only that they do as I tell them! I want every man who allowed this debacle to happen punished! I want... I want them hung, drawn and... hung and... quartered... I hak, hak... hakhakhak..."
The High Plutocrat wilted as a coughing fit overcame him. Medicaes rushed forward, fretting over the stooping old man. He tried to wave them off but his strength was failing and he sagged into their arms. Small tanks of oxygen were clamped over his face and they practically carried him back to his Ornithopter, taking with them the falterers and hangers-on, save Von Tor. Severcole Vanderspeak however was eyeing the soldiers, they'd just seen their supposedly mighty lord collapse like a doddering invalid, carried to his bed, unable to stand. They'd lost their holy relic, their God-Emperor had abandoned them, and now the leader of their rebellion was shown to be weak, their morale could get no worse.
Von Tor looked after the departing High Plutocrat, "Well that was certainly..."
"Shut up!" Vanderspeak snapped.
"Excuse me?!"
"I said be silent, not another word," Severcole hissed, "You there, what did you say?!"
A startled looking driver blinked in surprise, "I didn't say anything."
"Yes you did," Vanderspeak lied, "You said it's all over!"
"I never..."
Vanderspeak brushed off the protest, "That's what you're all thinking, isn't it?! The fight is over and we lost. Don't pretend otherwise, I see it in your eyes. You all think we're defeated!"
Shamed faces hung low, betraying the truth. They all thought it, even if they wouldn't say it out loud. Their faith was ashes and their spirits broken. Word would spread like wildfire, all across the line. The Tellarite's vaunted defiance would flounder and all hope would die. Desertion, betrayal and despondency would take the heart of the rebels, and the war would end in defeat. But Severcole would not have it, he didn't know how he'd turn them around, but words came to his lips unbidden.
He jumped onto a track unit, standing over the crowd and waved at the ruins, "They are the lucky ones, that's what you think. They died quickly, still believing we had the God-Emperor's favour. Better to die for His glory than live in shame, so we are taught, but I say unto you the day is not over!"
"The Shrine is lost!" Haldrist called from his feet followed by other voices, "We are punished for our sins! The God-Emperor turns from us! His angels come to visit ruin on us for wickedness! Terra was right! We have lost the God-Emperor's favour!"
Vanderspeak shouted back, "We have lost nothing! Look at these ruins, what do you see: bricks, mortar and metal. There was no divine presence to be found in these walls, there never was!"
Shocked silence rang at his outrageous Heresy but Vanderspeak pressed on, "Musty relics, soaring Templums, rich robes, these are the tools of the fat Terran priests! They live in palaces of fabulous splendour while the faithful eke out lives of penury in the shadows of the steeples. The Ecclesiarchs seek to cover their lack of faith with golden filigree. All of Terra is a rotten cesspit of corruption and debauchery; we all know it to be true. By building a Shrine we shared their sin! Terra has forfeited His grace; they are not the true inheritors of His will. We are, and we shall prove unto Him our devotion!"
"How?!" voices cried in desperate hope, "How?! Tell us how!"
Vanderspeak shouted back, "By fighting! That is the God-Emperor's demand; that we fight! Not build Shrines and monuments to vainglory, but by taking His will and stamping it upon the galaxy. That is where the faith of Tellaris burns, it is found in our hearts and in our hands, not the monuments we throw up! The destruction of the Shrine was a sign that He spits upon the debauched and the wickedness of idols, only the true solider earns His favour! So we shall fight the Terran scum in the trenches, we shall fight them in the mud and in the air. We shall show the God-Emperor the depths of our devotion in battle, and He shall smile upon us once again. The end of the war is in sight: Tellaris Triumphant!"
His words rang loud and faces everywhere steeled against despair. Despite all the calamities that had befallen them they stood proud in this moment, ready to do what was required of them. Vanderspeak wished he could do the same for all Tellaris, but his words only reached these few, and their hope would not flower for long. A vast wash of despair would sweep the planet, and his paltry efforts could not prevent that. A candle in the dark was no match for an oncoming hurricane, but perhaps he could buy a few moments of respite before the storm rolled over them.
"Go and spread the word!" Vanderspeak commanded, "Tell all you encounter that we are still His favoured and the final days of the war are upon us!"
The crowd split up as bid while he jumped down, Haldrist greeted him with a cautious smile, "Good speech sir."
"A very good speech," Von Tor agreed.
"It's only a drop in the bucket," Severcole grimaced.
"It bucked up the men," Haldrist argued.
"Faith manifested as deeds, not monuments," Von Tor mused, "The Ur-council would approve. I must get the propagandists repeating this message immediately."
"Do what you must," Vandespeak grunted, "I will walk up and down the line repeating the speech, and maybe, just maybe we can keep the soldier's heads up long enough to hold the Terran's back."
Vanderspeak turned and marched off, determined to get his message out. However Von Tor remained still, a thoughtful look upon his face. The Disquisitor watched the General hurry off and mused, "So dynamic and passionate, so very inspiring. Perhaps this destruction is a sign after all, a sign of things to come."