Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 134
The distant thunder of Titan's echoed across the Alpanian foothills, causing the world to pause. Volcano cannons split the air like ripping buzzsaws while Apocalypse missiles rumbled like the falling avalanches that swept away cities. Sharp cracks were the sound of Turbolasers being unleashed and the hammering of Gatling canons were swarms of bees on the wing, throbbing and ceaseless. In the foothills it caused small animals to burrow deep, birds to scatter and woodland creatures to bound away, terrified of what was to come. Even bestial minds knew the sound was the ending of worlds, and the footfalls of closing predators. Damchak however ignored it all.
In a sharp dell the Smoke Jaguars waited, lurking deep in their Shadow-path. Flat on his belly the First lay, becoming nothing more than a suggestion of brambles. The rest of Umbral Flame was equally invisible, concealed amongst thin trees and scattered boulders. They were not alone, across the small valley waited They Who Thunder Prowl, and further up hid Deathmaker Prowl. Since the coming of Imperium the Testimony had been augmented by new tactics and technology. They Who Thunder had always specialised in devastation, so had adopted the Codex Heavy Support role, bringing four lascannons to battle. The Deathmakers had embraced the role of assault, emboldened by Jump Packs, a technology the Chapter had once lost and eagerly sought once they saw what it could do. Umbral Flame remained Tactical, as the Codex would have it, a role that suited them well. Thirty Smoke Jaguars, almost overkill for what was to come.
Damchak eyed the narrow road below, waiting for the first hint of their quarry. A minor track between Novan bastions, barely worthy of marking upon a map. Such a road was not the quickest nor most easily accessible passage, which is why Damchak was sure the Novans would think it safer than more obvious routes. The plan was simple, as the Titan duel moved nearer the lower bastions would be deemed worthless. Designed to hold footsoldiers and tanks, the bunkers and artillery dugouts wouldn't even annoy a Titan. The only sane recourse was for the Novans to pull back to better defences in the mountains, which could survive more than a single hit from a Warlord God-Engine. So the Smoke Jaguars had set up a series of ambushes through the hills, to catch the convoys at their most vulnerable point.
"Glory slips away as raindrops between fingers!" Tikal grumbled over a low-frequency vox the Chapter deemed undetectable.
"Glory comes to he who waits," Damchak remonstrated without moving so much as a single pine leaf.
"The clash of legends shakes the world, while the whirlwind passes the sleeping man in repose," Tikal muttered.
"It is the way of the sons of Dorn to push a boulder uphill," Damchak rebuked, "The children of Corax see sharper. The fulcrum of destiny turns at the weight of a feather."
Nizca cut in, "He who walks among Titans shall be stepped upon!"
Wicked chuckles arose among the closed vox-net at Tikal's humiliation. The young oft wished to win renown in the field, forging legends in blood and mayhem. Such was not the way of the wise, cunning, surprise and agility served them better. Let the Black Templars pound their chests and bellow challenges, the Ravenlord's blood knew the true victory lay with he who landed the final blow, not the first.
As if summoned a grumble of engines rang along the valley. Damchak peered through a thin screen of trees, waiting for the first Novan to appear. Sure enough they approached, a Salamander scout vehicle in the lead, pacing for the rest. They were deep in their own territory, sure that they had outwitted any ambushers by taking the back-road. They would pay for such overconfidence. Behind rolled a Basilisk, its enormous barrel sticking out well in advance of the prow. A Cargo-8 came after, filled with Novan Wardsmen. These were followed by more trucks and artillery, scores of them navigating the narrow road below. The noise of their passing shivered the stone under Damchak's belly, causing him to sink deeper into the Shadow-path. They must not be detected, not until the heart-foe had stepped fully into the snare.
Unfortunately at that exact moment the horizon lit up with a searing blast of light, followed by a rolling wave of thunder. Far away yet loud enough to rattle the teeth in his jaw. Damchak knew that sign, Titan-death, a distant God-Engine had suffered a reactor breach. Martian or Schismatic, there was no way to know but it startled the Novan convoy and caused them to screech to a halt as men spilled from the trucks. A thousand curses on the fickle fates, Damchak's trap had been thwarted.
The First had no choice but to send a vox-trigger to the Transonic mines buried in the slopes. Down from his position they awoke, shaking the molecules of the rockface. Solid stone disintegrated, sending tons of loose scree tumbling away. The Novans yelled and threw themselves behind their vehicles, but the instant avalanche rolled over them, burying machines in grit and pulverising bodies under the weight of a mountain in motion. Damchak saw trees ripped free and carried away, pebbles cascading away like a waterfall and the valley was filled with the song of destruction.
Instantly the First was on his feet, charging down the slope. Other Smoke Jaguars arose from cover, pounding towards the beleaguered convoy. The leading third of the Novan force had been swept away, but too many remained standing. Umbral Flame would have to get close and finish this by hand. Tikal would be pleased, his dream was about to be realised.
"Deathmakers, They Who Thunder, the gloaming quickens!" Damchak voxed.
"Death comes to all men," the First of Deathmaker replied.
"Let the voice of our ancestors be known!" They Who Thunder Prowl called.
The Novan defenders saw Umbral Flame pounding down the slope and raised their guns, but then a flash from behind cut into their mass. A lascannon shot from the far trees struck a Cargo-8 and detonated it, blowing the fuel tank to cinders and engulfing a dozen men in flaming Promethium. Another and another swept down from the wooded slope, picking off knots of resistance. Further back the roar of Jump packs announced Deathmaker Prowl was in the air, chainswords growling. They would make a great slaughter at the rear, of this Damchak was sure.
A Basilisk was trying to turn, its Earthshaker was useless but the Heavy Bolter attached to its front would be troublesome. Damchak didn't give it a chance, he redoubled his pace and drove into the milling Wardsmen around its tracks, smashing them aside with his bulk and mass. The Basilisk's driver tried to spin faster but it was too late, Damchak grabbed a protrusion on its side, and boosted himself over the spinning treads. He landed on the rear deck, meeting a gunner with a backhanded swipe that crushed a head inwards. He hastily drew a bolt pistol and put three rounds into the driver's compartment. It didn't matter if he hit the foe, the exploding rounds would go off like frag grenades, dicing anyone within.
The artillery piece ground to a halt and Damchak saw Umbral Flame engaged. Dark figures in dappled armour drove into helpless Novans, Obsidian Blades wetted with blood. Men fought, or collapsed in fear, or prayed according to their natures, but it made no difference. Sly though they were the Smoke Jaguars remained Space Marines, and in melee no man could match them. Zyenya and Caulli took a knot of defiant Wardsmen apart, bathing in blood. Nizca crippled another Basilisk with a pinpoint melta-shot to the tracks, then removed the Heavy Bolter with another. Tikal moved through the melee like a ghost, his outline blurring as he hacked and slashed. He was hard to follow but the trail of broken bodies he left in his wake testified to the swiftness of his blade. He was death incarnate, but he was headed for a heavily-laden Cargo-8.
"Harry not the Barking Toad!" Damchak snapped over the vox.
"The cast spear follows its own head!" Tikal protested as he closed.
"A thousand angels carry you to your rest, when the seeds of fire bloom!"
Tikal veered off, leaving the ammo-laden truck alone. If the young fool had fired a shot into that shell-packed vehicle then the resulting explosion would have taken out half of Umbral Flame. Instead he went for more Wardsmen, adding to his tally of kills with startling swiftness. Damchak reckoned the ambush was going well, despite the spoiled surprise, thirty Space Marines would take this convoy apart within a few minutes. And yet something was wrong, a dropped note in the melody of battle. The pounding of feet, the subliminal humming of Obsidian Blades, the gnashing of distant chainswords, all was as it should be, and yet there was no sharp retort of lascannons. They Who Thunder had stopped firing.
"Archers, whyfore do your bows not sing?" Damchak voxed.
"Silence in the high places," Nizca warned.
"Speak!" Damchak demanded.
A hissing noise on the vox where there should be proud voices, "…in the back, the revelry of… ware the…!"
Damchak heard notes of distress and was already moving, charging up the far slope as he called, "Umbral Flame heed the plight of Kinsmen undone! Deathmakers earn your names this day!" The Prowls split, the assault marines continuing the slaughter of Novans while Damchak led his Prowl back into the trees. Up the slope they pounded, darting between thin trees. The weak mountain sun became strobing flashes of black and white, casting the world into sharp contrast. Damchak heard the hammering of bolters, and the banging of mass-reactives detonating. They Who Thunder were fighting someone, but where was the other voice in this argument? All he could hear were bolters, though their echoes sounded strange, almost as if a deeper growl than those he knew.
The answer came to him as he darted into a copse of trees. Here lay one of They Who Thunder, headless and gushing blood from the stump of a neck. The killer stood over him, mutated wings spread side and chainglaive purring. The sight struck Damchak, provoking instant hatred. Midnight-clad, emblazed with lightning and the Winged Skull. Even in their long isolation the Smoke Jaguars had not forgotten the emblems of the Devil-sons, and Damchak knew the flavours of treachery well. Instantly knew he faced a Night Lord traitor, of the damned legions who trothed to Horus.
Damchak screeched to a halt and spat, "Murderer of Kinsmen!"
"The name is Vorshaan, and this one didn't put up much of a fight," the Dusk Prince sneered.
"An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth," Damchak hissed as he flexed his claw and drew his Obsidian Blade in the other hand, point down.
Vorshaan chuckled as he took up his chainglaive, "I was worried this would be too easy, let's see if you can provide some small challenge before you die."