Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 204
Eye lenses darkened as the Volcano lance scorched the air over Vitcos' head, followed a heartbeat later by the hissing thunder of vaporised water molecules. In the distance a looted tank exploded, spraying flaming debris over the surrounding Boyz. Barely had the explosion rung when the plasma decimator fired, blowing a Trukk to atoms. The Knight Castellan shifted a step backwards as its Knight Warden comrade stepped up, firing its Gatling cannon across the frontage of the Orruk horde. Green bodies fell sawn in half, pushing them back a hair from the end of the bridge. It would not stop them for long, but the Smoke Jaguars were fighting for seconds.
"The last beam of sunlight sets!" Sechura hissed.
"Harken only to the evensong, think not of the midnight silence to come," Tachna admonished.
"Silence overtakes us regardless," Ilquitio bemoaned.
"Not yet, not this hour!" Vitcos cried.
"We must seek the safety of our dens!"
But Aapo barked, "Have I taught you nothing?! Our lives are forfeit in the face of need, bend your efforts to your tasking, lest you be found craven in my sight!"
Vitcos nodded in agreement, "They will come, Arjax-lel will not fail, he knows not how!"
The Gilded Bridge was beset, Orruk surging to rush the length of it. They were held back by lashings of firepower, but their numbers would not be denied long. By all rights the Smoke Jaguars should have withdrawn and blown the bridge already, but there had been a last-minute complication. A Company's worth of Storm Heralds had been caught on the wrong side of the river, fighting tooth and nail to buy time for more Guardsmen to evacuate. A Company of Space Marines was no trivial asset to be dismissed, their might would be desperately needed in the days to come. They had to be preserved, losing them was not an option. Sadly the Stompas would settle the matter either way.
Vitcos counted the seconds till those heavy Gunz were in range and despaired, and yet even as he wondered if this was rash a flash of blue armour broke into sight from burning buildings. Ragged and limping, torn and bloodied, raced a wave of Storm Heralds, charging for the end of Gilded Bridge. No order had to be given, the defenders redoubled their firepower, hammering at Orruks blocking their path. Smoke Jaguars, the few remaining tanks, the pair of Knights, all unleashing hell at the distant foe. Vitcos was lacking, armed only with a bolt pistol, still he made his presence known with single shots, testing the upper limits of range as he added his meagre contribution.
A plasma blast from the Castellan took out a mob of Orruk just as the Storm Heralds closed, leaving the blue Astartes barrelling through clouds of burning ashes. They mounted the end of Gilded Bridge and ran headlong towards the waiting line, chased all the way by vengeful Orruk. Vitcos' eyes flickered upwards, the Stompas were so close, surely within weapon range. Why did they not fire, it must be that they sought to claim the bridge intact, they would not risk destroying it. That fact alone gave the Imperials a chance to withdraw in good order.
Leading the Storm Heralds came Arjax-lel, dragging a crippled Brother along by one remaining arm as he bellowed, "Why the Frak are you lot still here?!"
"We awaited your coming!" Vitcos called.
"You damned idiots, this bridge should be rubble already!"
"Your death wish is not ours to fulfil," Vitcos snorted.
"It will be if you don't get a move on, we're disengaging, get going or die!"
From afar Huacho commanded, "The gloaming quickens, to the west we sojourn!"
"Codex pattern theta-nine withdrawal, lay down suppressive fire!" Arjax-lel roared.
The injured Storm Heralds limped through the line, heading along the bridge's length, but those still able to fight turned and added their bolters to the defender's shooting. The Orruk were already surging headlong into the teeth of the fire, roaring in fury at the human's retreat. Vitcos smoothly swapped out his magazine and began picking off closing foes, even as he walked backwards. A yelling brute in a leather jerkin he shot down with a heart-strike, a brute with gnashing fangs he put a round into the eye of, a scrawny beast with a necklace of human hands he blew the knee off. Some hundred Space Marines, a few tanks and a pair of Knights, holding the bridge against impossible odds, but they could not stand for long.
"My bolter coughs empty!" Ilquitio cried.
"Mine too," Sechura hissed.
Vitcos emptied his last clip and called, "Hound Sinister, our guns run dry!"
"Staggered vanishings," Huacho cried, "Make your feet fleet as the wind!"
Half the Prowls broke off, turning to race back along the length of the bridge. Every step of the way Vitcos felt Orruk eyes on his back, expecting any second for them to rush the line. To his amazement they did not, held by the last desperate fire of those who stood. Halfway along the span an ammo cache had been set up, protected by nervous Doans. The Smoke Jaguars dove upon it, grabbing fresh bolter clips and reloading. A single magazine each, there was not enough time to restock fully. In moments they had rearmed and turned to face the way they had come, laying down firepower to cover their brethren as they turned to run.
Vitcos picked off targets as they came, urging Kinsmen to run faster. Deathmaker Prowl lost one of their number, struck in the back of the head by a lucky shot, leaving him to collapse in a heap. A Leman Russ went awry, the driver unable to see backwards and veering off course to crash into the side of the bridge. Orruk swarmed it, ripping open hatches to get inside and tear the crew limb from limb. There was nothing to be done, save keep firing and withdraw. Step by step the Imperials retreated, crossing the immense length of the bridge one step at a time. Vitcos fired till he was dry, then ran to the next cache and the next, leapfrogging towards the western bank. The Storm Heralds were with them, sharing reloads, as were the Knights, stepping back ponderously as they laid down fire on the endless column of Orruk. At two-thirds of the way enfilading fire came from the western bank, Heavy Weapons positioned to either side placing shots into the Orruk's flanks.
"My eyes behold a marvel!" Sechura cried as the end of the bridge came close.
"Salvation comes in the darkest hour!" Ilquitio gasped.
"Not yet it doesn't," Arjax-lel hissed, "Those Stompas will stroll through anything we can throw at them. We must blow the bridge now!"
"Hasten your step!" Vitcos cried, "Let not the heart-foe find you lagging!"
Hastily the Imperials made for the western end of the bridge, staggering onto the riverbank with welcome gasps of relief. The Orruk chased them every step of the way, but scything crossfires smote them utterly, mowing them down from both sides. The Storm Heralds staggered into the embrace of waiting Brothers, rushed by Apothecaries to tend to their wounds. Vitcos however was fixated upon a mortal man waiting by a large plunger, ready to set off the charges that would blow the bridge. The last tank rolled off the end of the roadway and the order was given. The man gripped the rod with both hands and shoved the rod down into the box, only nothing happened.
"Where is the boom?" Sechura gulped.
"Try again!" Arjax-lel barked.
"I… I am!" the man gulped as he yanked the detonator up and down frantically.
"The Sun-Emperor curses us!" Ilquitio gasped.
"No," Aapo rumbled, "Fickle mischance does, behold!"
The Living-dead shifted his Chord Claw and Vitcos spied what he meant. Far away, discernible only by Transhuman eyes, a trailing cord lay in pieces. A detonator wire, sundered by some random shot. It was unbelievable, the odds of it incalculable, but it was so. No sane man would consider such a thing and yet cruel reality cared nothing for the prepositions of men. One random wire severed, laying truncated on the road, just enough to block the detonation sequence. The bridge could not be destroyed without it.
"The back-up!" Arjax-lel shouted, "Where's the backup vox-detonator?!"
The mortal engineer wailed, "It's with the Regimental Quartermaster, regs say I need an officer to sign off retrieving it!"
"Frakking Administratum quill-pushers!" Arjax-lel cursed, "Run you dolt, run!"
"It's too late," Ilquitio groaned, "We cannot hold this place long."
"I'll get Lujan to bring up artillery!"
"No," Aapo refuted, "This doom is mine!"
"Eldest?" Vitcos blinked in confusion.
"Remain here, that is my will. I shall be justice's mailed fist. Heed my command: remember my teachings, be true to your blood and give honour to the Sun-Emperor always."
"You mean to…"
Arjax-lel intruded, "Don't be a fool, I have artillery incoming."
But Aapo spake, "I need not an artillery strike, I am one!"
The ancient sprung into life, metal feet slamming onto the ground as he charged back onto the bridge. Vitcos stood slack-jawed as the bulky shape pounded along the roadway, heading straight for the oncoming tide of Xenos. Covering fire lashed the Orruk on both flanks but still they came, charging headlong, uncaring for losses. Hundreds of Xenos packed the bridge, tightly crushed and with bloodlust in their eyes. Aapo met them in kind, throwing his bulk into their midst like a cargo-8 running over vermin.
The Living-dead's mass slammed into the closing horde and barrelled them over, his glacis plate a wrecking ball. Crushed heads and broken necks echoed over the sound of gunfire, as his metal feet crushed the injured into paste. Orruk swarmed him, scratching at his hide with cleavers and fingernails. Aapo swung his Chord Claw through the packed ranks, decimating anything he touched. They fought him, they closed tight and sought to drown him in flesh, but he ploughed on, never ceasing to kill.
"He cannot make it," Sechura gulped.
"He can, he must," Vitcos whispered.
"We must aid him," Ilquitio urged.
"Step onto that bridge and you'll die too," Huacho rebuked.
"But the Eldest…"
"Has made his will known," Tachna uttered solemnly.
Aapo was drowning in foes, his bulk barely visible under the mass of Green flesh. Guns fired into vulnerable joints, pistons cracked and fluid links gushed amniotic fluid. The Living-dead staggered but did not falter, pressing on, seeking the elusive target. He did not pause in killing, not even when a stick-bomb went off and ripped the harpoon from his chassis. He left it behind as he forged on, he no longer needed it.
At the far end of the bridge the first of the Stompas was about to set foot on the span. The battle was lost if it made the crossing, but Aapo had not yet fallen. The Living-dead made one step, then another and another. His sarcophagus was cracked, the Chord Claw torn from his frame and still he waded on. Vitcos watched in awe and disbelief as the Eldest Smoke Jaguar marched willingly to his doom. The First longed to charge out there and lend his aid to Aapo, but the ancient had spoken and none would gainsay him. The Vox crackled one last time, "Behold Kinsmen, this is how a Smoke Jaguar dies, behold the passing of Aapo: Illchosen no more!"
Somewhere in that tangled mass of heaving foes a metal foot stomped down on the sundered ends of the detonator wire. Metal points made contact and motive force flowed. Flashes of light rippled along the underside of the bridge, and along the supporting cables dangling from above. With a series of cracking snaps the central part of the span dropped bodily, falling away from the towering pillars that stood on either bank. The Ferrocrete road began to disintegrate as it fell, breaking apart and squashing the hundreds of Orruk tumbling along with it. Before it had even finished breaking up the span hit the river, sending fountains of water spraying high into the air and churning the river into a deadly rapid. Rushing water swept away the last Orruks, kicking and screaming as they drowned, while tangled rubble and trailing cables sank into the mud, soon covered and lost to sight. Gilded Bridge was destroyed, the last crossing was denied to the invaders. Of Aapo's remains nothing could be seen, the Living-dead's chassis lost with the hundreds of Xenos he had taken into eternity with him. The Fountainhead of Umbral Flame was extinguished, his wisdom lost for all eternity.
"Triumph belongs to Aapo," Vitcos breathed, "But the cost is beyond bearing."
"May Aapo's name live forevermore," Sechura intoned.
"The halls of Copan will ring with tears over this hateful day," Ilquitio lamented.
"He died well, may we all pass so gloriously," Tachna admonished.
Huacho came near as he said, "Aapo's sacrifice thwarts the will of Orkamemnon, but the heart-foe is cunning and relentless. The city is not secure, not yet."
Vitcos snapped back, "The passing of legends deserves more than a moment's lamentation!"
Yet the Hound Sinister snapped, "We have no moments to spare, the time for grief comes later, the hour of action is upon us!"
Arjax-lel broke in to agree, "Your Dreadnought did you proud but they're right. Lujan calls for a regroup immediately. That river is a formidable barrier, but the Greenskins won't stop trying. We have to turn the western bank into a fortress, now!"
Vitcos knew they were right, but still he looked across the river. Beyond Aapo's grave the Orruk army stood, glaring back with hatred. Numbers beyond counting yet remained and they wouldn't stop trying to breach the final defence. The nearest Stompa stood with one foot on the truncated bridge, as if making up its mind about something. Then it took a step backwards and turned to head downriver. They hadn't seen the last of it, of this Vitcos was sure. The First looked one last time upon the grave of Aapo, wondering how they would manage without the guidance of the Eldest, but he shed no tears. There was yet a battle to be won, and he would accomplish nothing standing here. So he looked upon the enemy and hissed, "Your war with Aapo may be over, but your war with Vitcos is just beginning."