Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 116

"How long until they hit us again?" Captain Nemkir asked bluntly.

"A day or two at most," Lord Marcher replied grimly.

"Then we must counter-attack immediately," Nemkir declared.

"Impossible, my regiments are scattered and disorganised. Drawing up an offensive action will take weeks."

"Surrendering the initiative is a mistake," Nemkir rebuked.

"If the vaunted Astartes wish to hare off and charge into the Carnodon's maw, you are welcome to do so. Only you are down to less than a hundred Marines, I judge you won't last two hours."

Nemkir estimated four, but didn't tell the Lord Militant that. Everyone knew how dire the situation was, and how little time remained. Over the last three days the Raven Guard and Smoke Jaguars had tried to be everywhere, fighting tooth and nail to delay roving Heretic units, fighting rearguard actions and launching counter-sorties. With grim tenacity they had bought precious time for the Terran army to reach the third defensive line, tens of thousands of Guardsmen saved from death. The effort had been taxing, with their own base destroyed supplies had been impossible to scrounge. Bolters rattled empty, meltas coughed fumes and missile launchers were spent. Forced to disengage Nemkir had returned to the Terran line, to restock from lighters dropping from orbit.

The time for strategic withdrawals was over, and the moment to plan the next phase had overtaken them. Nemkir, Bulvok and Damchak had come together to meet Marcher in his command centre and plan their strategy. A different strategic hub from before, but thanks to STC lore it was identical, right down to the oppressive heat and chatter of vox-operators in the background. Under the thick Ferrocrete roof they met, allies in war but certainly not friends.

"This is a waste of time, I have a thousand more pressing concerns to deal with!" Marcher spat.

"Your underlings can handle the details, we must consider the wider picture," Nemkir retorted.

"You have some gall!"

"We saved a significant percentage of your army, thousands of tanks and men who would have been gunned down. If deeds do not impress you then remember you address a First Founding Chapter, my rights were granted by the Emperor himself and you will show me the respect I am due."

Marcher glared out of his one organic eye. The Lord Militant seemed harried, his augmetics dulled for lack of polishing and his jackets dishevelled. He'd been labouring night and day to pull his army back together, snatching fitful moments of sleep where he could and dealing with a million crises in-between. Nemkir held a low opinion of the man personally, but could not fault his commitment nor his strategic grasp. He'd commanded this theatre for seventeen years and knew every contingency plan inside and out.

Nemkir lowered his head to examine the Hololith. The Isthmus was on the brink of falling, the vast majority in Tellarite hands. Only a thin line of tattered defences held the near end against the rebels, and if it fell nothing could stop the Heretics reclaiming the only subcontinent that Terra had conquered. A few Hives, spaceports and orbital defence lasers. A thin line of brave men, all that stood against disaster and defeat.

Damchak spoke up, "How fares your limping scow?"

Marcher grimaced, "Righteous Fist of the Emperor suffered crippling damage and had to withdraw behind one of the moons. She's no good for another pass, but can provide escort for troop ships should evacuation become necessary."

"You hide when battle sounds, the path of the coward is yours to walk."

"You dare?!" Marcher spat.

Nemkir cut in, "He merely means that those lances would be of more use targeting the Capitol Imperialis."

Marcher's lip curled, "I am not a child, I understand that but she can barely manoeuvre. I cannot wave my hand and make good such vicious wounds. What of your Battlebarge?"

Nemkir sighed, "The orbital vectors will allow Alacritous Intervention to lay down supporting fire for the third line, but Magma bombs are not precise enough to target a Capitol Imperialis from orbit. They are designed to obliterate cities, not moving targets."

That brought the meeting to a grinding halt. Everyone gazed at the Hololith examining the disposition of their forces. The Terran army was readying itself to repel another assault, even while scrambled units fought to reassemble at pre-designated coordinates. Trenches were being filled by desperate Guardsmen while thousands of Leman Russ tanks refuelled and rearmed. Earthshakers were being set up while air bases further back frantically prepped interceptors and bombers. Nemkir judged with a day or two left they should be able to present a credible defence, were it not for the Tellarite's greatest weapon.

Invicta Nova, captured vox-transmissions had designated it. An irresistible weapon and unbreakable fortress all in one. Its shields were a moving bastion to protect its lesser kin and the Behemoth cannon could blow away any static defence. In its wake rolled tens of thousands of rebels, rushing towards the final push. Only the curiously zigzagging advance of their army had delayed the onslaught, but it hardly mattered. Nemkir's transhuman brain could calculate the outcome when they hit the line. No matter where it struck Invicta Nova would shatter a hole in the Terran defence, and then the Heretics would pour through the breach and roll up the line with ease.

Bulvok leaned his fists on the table, "How did they build it?"

Marcher sighed, "The Tellarites must have spent decades assembling it, perhaps they started the minute the war bogged down."

"Or they had help," Bulvok suggested.

"The Novans?" Nemkir asked.

"That is a major treaty violation!" Marcher spat, "It would mean galactic war!"

"Only if we can prove it," Nemkir sighed, "I suspect we could take that thing apart, down to the nuts and bolts, and would find only evidence of Tellarite construction. Besides with the horror of the Ghoul Stars pressing ever deeper into our space the High Lords will not wish to press the matter."

"What weapons do we have that can hurt it?" Bulvok asked.

"None," Marcher hissed, "We tried putting mines in its path but their auspex picked them up and it changed course."

"Your eye is useless without your brain," Damchak refuted.

"Is that an insult?!" Marcher hissed.

"You esteem yourself too highly, thinking the Great Byson cares for your efforts."

"Space Marine or not I will have you thrown from this bunker!"

Nemkir however held up a hand, "Smoke Jaguar, I have monitored the battle most closely, but you claim our assessment is flawed."

Damchak's pale face seemed amused, "You see only what you wish to see: the turning of the sun, mighty armies clashing and weight of firepower. You behold a machine of war and think it must behave as you would. Open your eyes and see the Truth! The Great Byson is a mighty beast, its hooves shake the world and its roar is as thunder on the wind, but its hungry maw strips the land bare and its thirst is unquenchable. It did not turn from its path for fear of your traps but because its throat was dry. See how it roams from watering hole to watering hole."

"This man is mad," Marcher sniffed.

"No, he's right," Bulvok hissed, "Look at the logistic overlay."

"I don't follow."

"Fuel," Nemkir breathed as he caught on, "Invicta Nova has been advancing in a leapfrogging attack pattern. We assumed it was consolidating ground, but truly it's been capturing fuel depots along the way."

"A Capitol Imperialis does not need fuel, it has a plasma reactor," Marcher argued.

Nemkir countered, "But the rest of the Tellarite army does not. They need Promethium, desperately. The rebel's supply situation must be far more dire than we suspected. They steal our supplies to sustain their offensive."

Marcher eyed the Hololoth, "It has turned for grid-sector 13. There's a supply depot just behind the line. If we pull that back they will be left stranded."

But Nemkir disputed, "They can just turn aside for somewhere else, but if we leave the Depot where it is then we know three things for sure: where our enemy will be, when they will attack and that they will not risk using the Behemoth Cannon near the depot. We have a chance to take it out."

Marcher chewed his lip, "Could you ship down some Land Raiders from your Battlebarge?"

"A frontal assault is doomed," Nemkir sighed.

"An aerial insertion?" Bulvok mused.

"It will not get past those shields," Nemkir scowled, "We must use stealth and surprise to our advantage."

"Hard to see how one sneaks up on a Capitol Imperialis," Marcher scoffed.

Damchak however argued, "On the plains of Tetzocco the kings of the Boscage gather to hunt the Great Byson on their seasonal migrations. Counted a fool is he who runs after the heard waving a rifle for the skilled lure a stray Byson into a canyon then closes the way with rocks thrown from on high. The beast may rage and stomp its feet but the kings stand above and make the hunt-kill from safe ground."

Marcher frowned, "I don't… wait… I think I see what you mean. If we're sure it will come to a specific point, then maybe… just maybe… I need to talk to the Tech-priests. This might just be doable."

"Talk to your metal-men," Damchak prompted, "And watch from a place of comfort as we claim the glory."

Marcher was half turned away but paused, "Oh no, you're not taking this victory away from me. I'll be right there to take the credit."

Nemkir blinked, "Lord Militant, a breaching assault is not for mortals. The Adeptus Astartes should lead the charge."

"I'll walk naked into the Eye of Terror before I allow your kind to steal the laurels. I will be there with my finest men and will show you that we mortals are every bit as good as Space Marines!"

Marcher stormed off, leaving the trio bemused. Damchak however looked smug, as if scoring a point in some elaborate game. Nemkir remembered their previous encounter and hissed, "You goaded him."

Damchak smirked, "Am I no great storyteller, to whip the heart into a frenzy."

"Don't give me that," Nemkir growled, "I haven't forgotten your brother's death, and I know you haven't. If you think to lure Marcher into a battle and then shoot him in the back, I will make good my threat to burn Copan."

Damchak lifted his left hand in a pausing gesture, "Marcher shall not die by the hand of a Smoke Jaguar, this is my sacred troth."

Bulvok snorted, "But if a lucky Heretic does the job for you then you will shed no tears."

Damchak however countered, "I would find no satisfaction in such a rude death. There is no justice unless the guilty know why they are condemned. Such is the truth of the Testimony."

Nemkir shook his head, "I wish I believed you, but words are not the same as deeds. Prove yourself to me by setting aside your petty desires and committing to the battle at hand. Play me false and I will count you a Traitor most foul. This is the anvil upon which you must be hammered, and your actions will determine the fate of the Smoke Jaguars."

Damchak lifted his head to bare his jugular, "On the field you will find me, side by side with Jade foot."

Nemkir acceded, "In the throes of war we shall winnow truth from lies. If you indeed are a Marine of your word then shed your blood with me and you will be counted as my Battle-brother eternal."