Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 122
"We've lost all contact with the vehicle bay!" Hadrist cried.
"Weapon blisters have fallen," Vanderspeak growled.
"Behemoth cannon has gone silent," Haldrist recited, "Defence teams reports boarders pouring through the rear hatch, the Terrans have us surrounded!"
"That's it then," Vanderspeak intoned with grim finality.
The bridge crew went silent at his utterance of doom, disbelief writ all over their faces. An hour ago Invicta Nova had been the all-mighty arbiter of war, now it was a deathtrap. The toppled Capitol Imperialis was beset on all sides, with Guardsmen flooding the lower levels and more entering every minute. Perhaps the rebels could have sealed the upper decks and held out long enough for rescue to reach them, but the Space Marines had put paid to that. Roaming freely throughout the interior they had shattered any prospect of a cohesive defence, leaving the Tellarites helpless. All his hopes and dreams had been crushed, Vanderspeak knew it, the rebellion had failed. Vanderspeak had failed so utterly it was hard to comprehend; surely the God-Emperor had abandoned him, but perhaps he could save a handful of lives.
He straightened his jacket and ordered, "We must evacuate. Summon Ornithopters to make an emergency extraction from our position. Then take up arms, all officers are to withdraw to the roof."
His words sent flurries of activity through the bridge crew but Haldrist grimaced, "We've got boarders on every level."
"We'll fight our way through them," Vanderspeak stated with false confidence, "Reach the landing pads and get out of here."
"And then what?"
Vanderspeak didn't answer, looking to the Disquisitor. Von Tor was fidgeting with his rings, uncharacteristically worried. Whatever grand plans he had for Invicta Nova were broken into a billion pieces. The Novan's scheme to draw Tellaris into their fold had been thwarted, surely he must be imagining the punishments his masters would subject him to. Vanderspeak had his own problems though, for the Terran retribution would be dire. If the General did not wish to end his days as a Servitor then he needed to get off-planet. Von Tor would have a way out, surely, Vanderspeak decided then he would be on the Disquisitor's shuttle when it took off.
"This way!" Haldrist called as he drew a laspistol. The Gun-Captain trudged up the sloping deck, leading the charge for the reinforced hatch. Vanderspeak was near the middle of the pack, already feeling his thighs ache at the unnatural angle. He drew his Inferno Pistol and paused to check the melta-flasks, and that action saved his life.
Haldrist was halfway down the corridor, with a dozen men behind, when the far end lit up. Red flashes of light seared along the length of the passage, punching into soft flesh with vicious torrents of las. Haldrist took a hit to the shoulder and went down, and the officers behind were riddled with shots. Too rapid and accurate for mere lasrifles, this was Hellgun fire, wielded by the elite of the Terran army. Vanderspeak had a moment to see a knot of Stormtroopers kneeling at the far end, among them a taller man with fine Carapace armour and many augmetics.
Vanderspeak slammed his shoulder against the wall as a torrent of Hellgun fire poured through the hatch, "Warp Hells, it's Marcher!"
Von Tor was covering behind the heavy hatch, "Marcher, the Terran commander?"
"I recognise him from the propaganda broadcasts, he's here."
"Come to snatch the glory of killing us," Von Tor hissed.
The incoming fire slacked off and a booming voice cried out, "Surrender Heretics!"
"Are you offering us mercy?!" Vanderspeak yelled back.
"There is no forgiveness for your crimes, but I shall order a swift and painless execution. It's better than what the Inquisition will do to you!"
"Don't believe him, he just wants our heads on spikes, so he can parade them for his precious High Lords," Von Tor growled.
Vanderspeak already knew that, no death at Terran hands would be painless. The rot in their hearts was too great to trust a word they said. Desperately he cast his eyes about but saw no other exit, the bridge was sealed to protect against boarders, with only one way in or out. Frantically he tried to remember the exact layout of a Capitol Imperialis, looking for another option. There was one, but it would be chancy.
"Seal that door!" Vanderspeak barked. A half-dozen officers leapt to obey, setting their shoulders against the heavy door. It swung closed slowly, as a fresh wave of Hellgun fire poured through but it slammed home and the lock slid shut with heavy thuds. The door wouldn't hold Marcher back for long but Vanderspeak was already moving. He took three measured steps, then faced a blank slab of a wall. Curious eyes followed him as he levelled his Inferno pistol and let loose a beam of fusion fire. Metal dissolved under the searing kiss, the blowback of heat seared his eyebrows but Vanderspeak panned his hand around, carving out a wide aperture in the wall. It fell away with a bang revealing an emergency stair beyond, ringed by a red-hot glow of molten metal.
"In and up!" Vanderspeak barked. Enginseers went first, their metallic legs untroubled by the raw heat. Officers followed gingerly, careful not to touch the dripping metal. Vanderspeak waited until they were gone, then looked about. This bridge had been his last hope, the final hope of Tellaris, but now it was gone. The God-Emperor did not favour the Tellarites, they were a rebel people and had no claim to divine blessings. Vanderspeak was a Heretic, he always had been, Terra had been right all along. He was sorely tempted to stay and let Marcher gun him down, just payment for his failure, but not yet, he wasn't done yet.
Vanderspeak ducked through the hole as the door began to glow red from Meltabombs. The stairwell was pitch black, his footing uneven on the tilted angle, but he fumbled along, climbing to the roof. Light from above revealed an exit and he climbed through a hatch, to taste smoky air. The roof of Invicta Nova rose at a sharp angle, ringed by dead shield generators and comm-towers. The rearmost end was a circular Ornithopter pad, awaiting rescuers. Far below a fierce battle raged, men and machines blasting away at each other. Hundreds died around the skirts of Invicta Nova, thousands, two clashing armies locked in a titanic battle to the death. It would end in Tellarite defeat, Vanderspeak could no longer change that.
"Seal this hatch!" he barked at two pale officers.
Von Tor was scrying the horizon, "No sign of that Ornithopter."
"It will come," Vanderspeak promised without confidence.
"At least the Phosgene has cleared."
"Thank you for reminding me of that, after we breathed open air," Vanderspeak spat bitterly.
The Disquisitor murmured in a low voice, "Severcole, there's too many people here for one Ornithopter to carry."
"You better not be suggesting we leave them!"
"They are not important, we are. We should…"
Whatever plan the Disquisitor was about to propose was cut short as a red flash took an officer in the back. He fell to the deck, smoking wounds rising from his back. Vanderspeak spun about and saw Stormtroopers pouring out of another hatch, they'd found a secondary route and surprised the Tellarites. Return fire pinged off Carapace armour but the elite Terran guard were hardened veterans and their guns made a mockery of the cloth uniforms of the bridge crew. Enginseers made a more spirited defence, but they were quickly targeted and hammered with torrents of fire.
Vanderspeak dove behind a shield generator, looking for an angle to return fire. Von Tor was there, fiddling with his rings. Vanderspeak barked, "You better have some nasty surprises in those!"
"Only one," Von Tor grimaced.
"Use it then!"
"I will, I'm sorry it had to be this way. I did think you had promise."
"Sorry for what?!"
"That the Translocation aperture is only fit for one."
Vanderspeak's head snapped about as a brilliant flare of light exploded before his eyes. Teleportation, the Disquisitor had concealed a homing beacon in his rings and called for extraction. One of the Novan ships in orbit must be more than a mere trader, fitted with the arcane mechanisms for transloactional movement. Von Tor had abandoned the field, abandoned Vanderspeak. He'd saved his own life and left the rebels to rot, but Vanderspeak had more immediate problems.
The brilliant light of the Teleport was blinding and he staggered back, eyes watering. His boots stumbled on the sloping floor and he fell out of cover, it did not take long for a keen-eyed Stormtrooper to mark him. One, two three impacts in the stomach, each a hammer-blow to his guts. Hellgun shots, the high-intensity las searing through him and destroying all it touched. Vanderspeak's legs gave out as he collapsed, dropping his Inferno Pistol, helpless to move or lift his gun.
Vanderspeak lay where he fell, feeling a cold numbness seeping in. His body was crippled and his soul was a lump of lead. The Novan envoy had abandoned him, that hurt worse than the gunshots. Vanderspeak's recrimination was harsh, he'd known Von Tor was untrustworthy, he'd known the Ur-council was as rotten and black-hearted as the High Lords they denounced. Vanderspeak couldn't believe he'd trusted that snake, he should never have gone along with Von Tor's schemes. He'd been played as a dupe from the start.
Something changed, a shift in the tones of battle. Vanderspeak's augmetic ears heard screaming and wild firing, heavier treads and harsh growls. He could barely see and blinked furiously to clear his eyes. The green splodges faded slowly, but he was amazed by what he saw. Space Marines, amongst the fighters, but not helping the Terrans, killing all without bothering to discriminate friend from foe. Vanderspeak could barely track their motions, but saw they eschewed bolter and knife, instead overpowering with raw strength and taking weapons from feeble hands. They delighted in using bayonet and las-shot, culling all with precise blows. Vanderspeak was confused beyond words, and could only watch impotently as the roof was cleared of the living, all save one.
A towering Space Marine held Lord Marcher by the neck, feet lifted off the floor as he growled, "I Damchak vowed vengeance upon thee, and it is so."
Marcher clutched at the Ceramite gauntlet as he spluttered, "You wouldn't dare!"
"I dare much," Damchak hissed.
"Kill me and my family shall see your world burn!"
Damchak however snorted, "Hollow words, hollow as a reed. Yet killing you is not within my gift. You shall not die by the hand of a Smoke Jaguar, thus we trothed. We have a far worse fate in mind for thee."
Vanderspeak's eyes widened as a mighty war machine stomped nearer, blocky and slung with canisters. It rotated its gimbal waist and a pair of Space Marines opened one, pulling out a man's body. Vanderspeak blinked as a second Lord Marcher was carried into the light, the same height, the same weight, the same hair colour, even the same Carapace armour. The recreation was perfect, even the augmetics were exacting to the minutest detail, the body identical in all ways. It was laid upon the roof, sprawled among the dead and dying. Marcher himself kicked and struggled but could not stop the Astartes from stuffing him into the canister. A breather mask was shoved over his face, gushing vapours that knocked the man out and left him insensate.
Damchak turned to the body and whispered, "I thank thee for the gift of your life, though you will never know that you served a higher cause. Long did our Techwright labour over these augmetics, perfect even unto the serial numbers. Your fingerprints and gene-codes have been masterfully disguised by our Genewright. They will convince all that Marcher died at heathen hands. May your shade rest easy for your great deeds."
"Are we done here?" the war machine rumbled.
"Almost one last detail," Damchak replied.
He stooped and picked up Vanderspeak's Inferno Pistol. The grip was small in Ceramite hands but he pointed it at the false Marcher and let loose a short blast of Melta. The head and neck disappeared, liquefied into a steaming puddle. Any hint that this was not the true Marcher was erased. Any whom stumbled on the body would think the Lord Militant had been killed fighting Tellarites, blissfully unaware that Space Marines had ever been here.
"The Ravens come!" the war machine rumbled, "We must be away!"
Damchak chucked the pistol down as he ordered, "Be as mist in the morning! Quickly depart, none can see, none can know!"
The Space Marines vanished, leaving a scene of slaughter behind. Vanderspeak was left for dead, laying helpless upon the sloping roof. His guts were ice and that his heart yet beat was a miracle, he was so close to death that he was not surprised the Space Marines failed to notice the rise and fall of his chest. He lay upon his side, knowing his fate was sealed. Death would come soon if he was lucky, or slowly if he was not. Gut wounds took an age to kill, he only prayed he died before the Terrans came and found a living rebel general.
Prayer, what a joke, the God-Emperor had never favoured him; Vanderspeak's cynical faith had been nothing but a thin tissue of lies. Tellaris deserved no favour, and neither did the Novans, as corrupt and treacherous as everything else in this benighted galaxy. Terra was no better, a cesspit of rival factions and murderers hiding behind fake smiles. He'd just seen it for himself, the supposedly righteous warriors of the Imperium were at each other's throats. The Space Marines were rotten too, their souls festering pits of stinking manure. The God-Emperor's Angels were nothing but another faction in the clash of rival powers.
Vanderspeak, confronted with his own defeat, could no longer hide from the truth. There was no righteousness in the galaxy, no soul was innocent. Tellarites, Novans, Terrans, even the Space Marines, none of them deserved the God-Emperor's favour. Seeing clear at last Vanderspeak basked in the revelation of futility, seeing at last that his whole life had been utterly meaningless. In the grim darkness of the galaxy there was no salvation, no redemption, there was and had ever been only war.