Chapter 35
Thunderclaps crashed above the mountains and lighting cracked across the sky. The ridges that led between the peaks were only visible in those brief flashes. It was a sharp, thin trail, with steep precipices on either side. Below were nothing but crevasses filled with croppings of jagged rocks.
Maerys clawed her way along the ridge. It felt as though she were balanced upon the edge of a razor-sharp knife. The wind buffeted her and the rain pelted down. She had to draw her hood tightly over her helmet just to keep the spray from washing over the visor. Her breath came raggedly as she clutched each stone and grass chute. Every few moments, she had to pause, gather her wits, wait for the lighting, and then heave herself onward.
Again, thunder cannonballed; it was so cacophonous it sounded as though it were directly over her head. Each blast was nearly deafening and momentarily drowned out the sound of the driving rain. It rolled again, coming as a series of explosions. The sky seemed to split and there were dozens of lightning bolts. Some seared across the sky while others struck the world around them. Boulders broke apart and distant clifftops crumbled. Rockslides smashed their way down jagged hills and mountain sides in plumes of black and gray dust. With them came collections of trees, tumbling one by one, pointing out of the sea of stone.
In that incandescent bombardment, Maerys dared to look over her shoulder. Behind her, the Band of Kurnous struggled up the ridge. They shuffled, staggered, and crawled by arm lengths. Their coats and cloaks flailed in the wind, exposing their mesh armor. So heavy was the rain the camouflage pain ran off the plating. Yet, all these vivid colors were lost in the morass. It mattered little, for clots of muck, handfuls of grass, and loose branches flew in the wind, dirtying their armor and striking their visors. Some were hit so hard by debris they nearly lost their footing. More than a few rangers briefly hung over the edge, only to be saved by one of their comrades.
There was another eruption and that shook the world violently. Maerys was reminded of a volcano on an empty Maiden World she once visited. Such tremors seemed to shake the world apart. Lightning came down by the dozens, setting trees alight and shearing off rocks again. One could have mistaken it for an orbital bombardment. One of the largest blasts seemed to flow directly towards the top of the mountain to the left of the ridge. It struck with fury and detonated the peak. Huge chunks of rock flew through the air and rained upon the hills and ridges below it.
"Take cover!" cried Maerys over the unit's link. She drew her dagger, drove it into the soil of the ridge, and heaved herself over the right side. Making herself as small as she could, she watched the stones strike all around them. Many slammed into the other side of the ridge or skipped along its peak. Some arced over their heads and crashed into the mountain behind them. A huge avalanche of dust and stone flowed down the stricken mountain. It looked as though the entire mass were collapsing in on itself.
Many were struck by smaller rocks and were knocked back and forth by the impacts. Some cried as a sharp stone pierced their mesh armor. But the rangers planted their boots into the ground, tightened their grips, and all kept their balance.
Maerys pulled herself back onto the ridge and looked over her shoulder. The Band of Kurnous recovered but she felt their will. It was difficult, their spirits were nearly lost, like voices crying out in a gale. They were exhausted, shaken, and although many tried to hide it, afraid. Combat brought its own terrors and demands on an aeldari's nerves, but they had their war masks to protect them and enemies to occupy them. Peeling them off afterwards was a harsh but brief pain. But if the very mountains could not withstand such elements, how could any of them hope to survive?
It was almost enough to make her order them to climb downward to safer ground. For one whole night and day, they trekked their way up the mountain range. For two more, they had made camp in the cavern that had formed at the bottom of the ridge. There they sat and listened to the caterwauling wind and thunder. Several times, they evacuated for fear the cave would collapse or be blocked off by a mudslide. Little rest was gained there, but for the dangers they now faced, it seemed more inviting to take that gamble.
The Pathfinder breathed deeply and bit her tongue. They had come too far to quit now and there could be no delay. Maerys dug her feet into the soil of the ridge, rose to her full height, and brought her first against her chestplate. "Stay with me!" she yelled over the link. "We will not give up this ranging! We will not be defeated by a storm! Stay with me, Band of Kurnous!"
Maerys turned and crawled forward again. She drove her dagger into the ground and used it to pull herself forward. Again and again, she clawed and crept and creeped. All the while, she glanced skyward. Dochariel was up there. The rest of his Swooping Hawks had fallen in with the Band of Kurnous, for it was too dangerous to fly. But the Exarch had flown ahead anyway to find the safest path that led to the canyon below.
She tried to stop him. No matter how she implored, he merely set off with a nod and a cheerful remark. He lacked all fear and seemed assured that no harm would befall him. It was not with confidence he spoke nor arrogance, just an upbeat belief. Damn him, she thought, why does he have to be so sanguine?
She waited for the lighting frenzies to glimpse him. But the sky was strewn only with dust and stone. Maerys managed to crawl further and a little more before she paused again. Another shower of rocks struck her. They riddled her mesh armor and scratched her faceplate, but none penetrated. It reminded her of being under fire and she instinctively pressed herself to the soil.
When she looked back up, there was another flare of lightning. Outlined against were a pair of wings. Dochariel was battered, hurdled, and spiraled by every gust. Gone was his elegance, he fought back with nothing but pure strength. He fought to stay in line with the ridge; if the wind caught him during his descent, he would plummet into the abyss on either side of it.
He was close enough that she could see his lenses. Maerys held out her hand and stretched as far as she could. Just as their fingers touched and he deactivated his jump pack, a powerful gust struck them. Dochariel smacked into the ridge, was rolled over, and then thrown over the side! Maerys shoved her dagger into the ground, lunged, and caught his wrist. But he had built too much momentum and there was nothing for him to hold onto. He slid down the slope and Maerys daggered was pulled out.
Maerys saw nothing but darkness. It was as if it widened, like the mouth of a great beast ready to swallow her. She heard screaming and realized it was her own voice. Suddenly, she and Dochariel stopped. They clung to one another as they were suspended in midair. Slowly, they rose back up from the crevice. Had Dochariel reactivated his wings? No, the engine emitted no light. They looked down and saw Celasho staring at them. His arm was outstretched towards the pair and a small orb of swirling purple energy glowed in his palm. The warlock guided them back to the ridge and placed them back at the front.
Catching her breath, Maerys looked back. The psyker simply waved her own. She nodded, then grabbed Dochariel. Panting, he gestured weakly up the ridge.
"If we stay on this path, we'll reach some bluffs on the other side of this mountain. It's much flatter than this. We'll be able to look into the canyon from there." He collected himself and balanced himself on the trail. "Would you believe dawn will be upon us soon?" he asked, his voice ever so humorous.
Maerys did not respond. She could not. The sensation of falling was still within her. Despite her shaking legs and quivering breath, she led the way once more. Up, up, up the ridge they climbed. It grew steeper and rockier. Her fingers dug into the crevices between rocks and into the earth itself. Grunting, groaning, gritting her teeth, she ascended the terrible mountain. Minutes turned into hours, and the pitch darkness that should have been twilight transitioned slowly into a mass of gray. The wind still swept, thunder roared, and lightning cracked the rock, but they struggled onward.
There was a scream behind them. Maerys looked back just as Lotien slipped from the ridge. Fyrdra wailed and reached for him, but was caught by Long Livae. The bonesinger drove his shaper into the side of the ridge and he caught himself. But he hung dangerously over the abyss, too far for any hand to reach him. Celasho, too far ahead, struggled to get by the others and catch him with his power. Tirol was faster; the Pathfinder leaped over the side and drove his dagger into the earth. He slid down slowly and caught Lotien's back. The stronger ranger held him up like a wet gyrinx kitten. Tirol forced him up the ridge into the hands of other rangers. Then, using his knife and Lotien's shaper, spiked his way back up to the ridge.
Maerys waited for their signals, then waved them on. Higher they crawled, coming parallel with the mountains on either side. The top of the ridge was no longer her focus. Instead, she stared at the weak, thin, gray light in the clouds Even as the rain blinded her and she was assailed by wind and rock, she never took her eyes away from it. There was no more strength in her limbs, no more air in her lungs. Her grip felt weak, her muscles felt as though they had snapped. She used both hands to pull herself forward and upward. If she let go, she would slip down. Forward, upward, forward, upward.
She reached and felt a slick, stone edge. Maerys looked down slightly. There was no more ridge before her. Gasping, she clambered onto the bluffs, rolled several times, attempted to stand, and collapsed. Her breath came as if she had run a sprint. There was a sudden warmth within her core; a small but growing flame. These were the same ones she saw in the crucibles of Yme-Loc. One by one, the forges lit and craftsmen and bonesingers crafted Vaul's engines together.
It was from this warmth she drew her last strength. Maerys went back to the edge and reached down. Dochariel took her hand and she pulled him up. He joined her and together, they dragged their comrades onto the bluffs. One by one, the party grew. Rangers fell onto their backs and sides. Others knelt and pressed their heads to the ground. Many uttered prayers, some wept, and a few grew sick. Fyrdra took off her helmet, then tore Lotien's and embraced him. She held him so tightly they fell over together. Meslith and Alimia sat side by side and held one another's hands.
Maerys didn't rest until the last member of her band and their allies were on the bluffs. They huddled together then and pressed themselves to the ground to escape the chilling wind. An hour, perhaps two, passed and it was only then the wind finally abated. The thunder moved on, rumbling into the distance, and the lightning strikes grew infrequent. A light, steadier rain was all that was left.
There was no shelter from it, but such rainfall did not compare to the storm. Unwilling to rely on the filter any longer, Maerys took off her helmet. She gulped moist air and found it delicious. Many did the same. Their eyes were wide and their panting was still heavy. They wore the same frenzied expressions that one saw after a battle.
Forcing herself to her feet, Maerys drifted along the bluffs. She gave no command for anyone to follow, but they did all the same. Staggering across the flatter surfaces, coated with patches of grass and moss, they approached the cliffs overlooking the canyon. An enormous and brilliant orange light shone from the depth beyond. It sliced through the mist created by the rain, as if fighting back against the cold.
She stopped, the tips of her boots on the edge of the cliff. Maerys' hand immediately went to her spirit stone. Behind the fortress walls were nothing but fortifications. Trench networks, artillery batteries, bunkers, mortar pits, gun towers, and reinforced huts. Not one structure without a manned turret. Rows upon rows of heavy tanks, wartrucks, killa-kan walkers armed with buzzsaws, heavy machine guns, rocket launchers filled the level ground between defense works. There were hundreds more gun-wagons and warbikes, some of them even rolling right out of the factories.
Thousands of orks milled around, occupied their works, or toiled on their vehicles. Many thousands more were in the canyon itself. Hundreds of huts connected by networks of bridges and walkways lined the stone walls. Others lived below them or occupied themselves in countless workshops. Lines of them stood outside arsenals where they were given firearms and armor. Nobs guided their bands along or addressed them. Many journeyed in and out of caverns and tunnels carved into the canyon walls. Huts were even built on the cliff at the other end of the long passage.
"There must be ten-thousand of them," murmured Meslith.
"Perhaps fifteen-thousand," said Tirol. "By Asuryan, they teem like ants."
"Our army is still larger," said Arganel. "All we have to do is get them out of there and attack with our full might."
"Those bastardized god-machines make up the deficit," stated Maerys. For in the canyon were three bulbous metal monstrosities: gargants. Each one was shaped like a massive ork with green heads and long, armored skirts going all the way down over their treads. Many of the great metal plates that made up their skin were made from Imperial armor—the scrap that was harvested from the sinkhole arsenal!
The first in line was a stomper, one of the smaller titans. Its right arm was a giant chainsword that could cleave through a city. Its left arms were made up of cannons, including a super-gatler. The massive automatic weapon was the one that had struck down the Phoenixes! Behind it was a super-stomper, painted an angry red just like the first. But it was larger and equipped with a hammer and an Imperial macro-cannon. The third was the largest of all, a true smasher gargant. A great flamer, a splasher-gun, as well as a trio of cannons on its right arm and a chainsaw armguard the size of an airship. From its gut protruded a long, grisly mega-cannon.
Cranes lifted palettes of ammunition crates and tool chests to scaffolding erected the sides of the titans. Many hundreds of mekboys and their gretchin work teams hastily bolted extra plates to the armor and added ammunition to the guns. Below them, thousands of orks gathered around the machines and chanted. 'Gork n' Mork! Gork n' Mork! Gork n' Mork!'
"Do you think our army is sufficient now?" said Celasho the Singer to Arganel. "The orks do not merely wish to draw us in for a battle of attrition. They want us to bring out our titans so they may be destroyed. It is go-Klamma's great challenge."
"Surely, Those Who Defend the Imperiled Pass can—"
"A few hits from those cannons will rip through them," said Celasho. "Let us bring our ships and destroy it with orbital fire."
"Hold," said Maerys, looking through her scope. The reticle passed over the gargants again. Both stompers had cages embedded into their plating and within them were humans and exodite slaves. More were forced into cages that were hoisted by cranes and then fused into the armor. Nod-Slash was with them, bellowing orders to the slaves and striking them with his whip. Those who were not forced into the traps were made to assist the gretchin.
Maerys lowered her rifle and shook her head. "Go-Klamma knows now we will prioritize slaves whenever we can. He has made them a shield so we will not fire upon his god-machines. If we did, or attacked with our voidships, we would massacre hundreds of innocents. That bastard will use our own goals against us."
"Do we go now?" asked Kalvynn.
"Patience, brother," said Amonthanil. "We are spent and without support."
"But we must save them!"
"Rescue them we will," said Maerys, bitterly. "But not this day. Remember all you see before us, remember these abominations and atrocities, and remember we shall return to destroy them all."
Chunks of marble flew as the breaching charge exploded. Seaver lobbed a fragmentation grenade through the door and after it detonated, Foley led 3rd Squad through the door. So much dust was kicked up by the impact they had to crouch as they flowed inside. Hellguns thundered and more grenades went off, blasting out the mansion's large, palladium windows. Gunfire chattered and lasbolts zipped and burned. The second and thirty story windows suddenly broke and screaming orks fired down at the street.
Marsh Silas and other members of Bloody Platoon took cover behind their Taurox Primes. Turrets and pintle-mounted weapons swiveled and raked the windows with heavy stubbers and storm bolters. As the orks were suppressed, the Kasrkin slipped around their vehicles and took cover in shell craters or behind low walls which outlined the mansion's yard. Orks disappeared from the windows and the gunfire within faded.
"Red Six, Red Three," came Foley's gritty voice. "Greenskins have barricaded themselves in on the third floor. We're prepping another charge, over."
It was then Tolly, crouching nearby with a finger on her micro-bead, waved her hand hastily. She then pointed with the flat of her hand at the side of the mansion; a long gutter downspout ran up the wall between two of the windows.
"Hold fast, Red Three," said Marsh Silas. He then nodded at the Ratling and pointed at the pipe. Tolly picked Errol the Genius and then scampered across the road. Both slung their long-lasrifles over their shoulders and clambered up. When they reached the third story, Tolly wrapped her legs around the pipe and drew her pistol. She shot out the glass then caught a grenade prepared by Errol. By the time she threw it in, he already had another ready. Both grenades went off and Tolly jumped through the window, shooting as she did. Sidearm drawn, Errol followed with a war cry. Gunfire barked inside and muzzle flashes highlighted hulking forms through the windows.
Eventually, the firing stopped. Marsh Silas held his breath. Tolly appeared in a window and she waved her pistol triumphantly. A moment later, Marsh's micro-bead crackled with Foley's amused voice.
"All clear, Red Six. Those Ratlings got the jump on'em somethin' fierce."
Marsh Silas grinned and stood up with the rest of the command squad. He stopped halfway, ushering the Kasrin up the path. As he did, he watched artillery shells fall further up the boulevard. Fortified ork positions disappeared in columns of marble, rockcrete, and soil. Triage's tanks rolled slowly along the street with Bloody Platoon's 2nd and 4th squads as well as Dragović's platoon. While the Kasrkin crept forward, using the vehicles for cover, the proud Vitrian Dragoons marched upright. It was marvelous, but reckless; orks fired from alleys, windows, doorways, and craters. Many of the Vitrians were struck; the dead were left in the rubble while the wounded were collected. Other squads assaulted the various mansions that lined the avenue. On the opposite street, Yates' Chimerax platoon supported Gabler's Kasrkin as they cleared the houses there.
Since Lady Ovidio had assigned Marsh and Hyram to clear out the noble quarter, they had spent nearly ten days going house to house. Each one was a separate battle; some buildings were utterly demolished, others were stormed and seized from the orks. Casualties mounted, but Ruo, Holzmann, and the other medics ensured none of Bloody Platoon perished. The orks fought bitterly—they were cut off from Grog-Rod's main force located in the northeastern sector of Ebba. Unable to flee the city, they were determined to make the Astra Militarum pay for every street corner, yard, and manse.
Marsh watched as rockets soared from a manse on the left side of the street. Several struck one of Triage's tanks, immobilizing it. Triage maneuvered his Leman Russ Conqueror around the tank and shielded it from incoming rounds. Then, Foxley's Valkyrie swept in from above, drew level with the occupied mansion, and then unleashed a hail from the chin-mounted autocannon. Shells ripped through the windows. Foxley followed up with one of the wingtip, hellstrike missiles. It blew a gaping hole into the front of the manse. Chunks of marble and flesh fell from the second story.
He followed the platoon command squad into the manse and they circled up in the foyer. Foley led his kasrkin while he pointed to the adjacent room. "Lightfoote's found the safe," he said.
"Good. Leave things with Olhouser and then get the squad leaders here," ordered Marsh as he crouched. "And Mirko, too."
"Fire in the hole!" hollered Tolly. There was a loud bang from the next room over and a great deal of dust was kicked up. Most of the kasrkin's olive drab armor and green fatigues were caked in white. Marsh watched as Tolly and Errol skidded out of the next room with four full satchels. She slid beside the platoon leader and lifted the lid to the bag. Within were hundreds of golden coins stamped with aquilas. Among them glittered many gems and pieces of jewelry. "Lookit that, sir!" she chimed. "Tis' ought to buy tah' folks back at tah pavilion plenty o' supplies!"
"It surely will. Get it back to the trucks and keep it hidden. Remember, doll it out in small increments. If we spread such wealth too quickly, the nobles will grow suspect." Tolly winked and stood up. But Marsh noticed a rather elegant golden chain accompanying her steel identification tags. He caught her arm, pulled her back, and unbuttoned the top of her flakweave jerkin. Tolly bounced a teasing eyebrow as his finger dipped within. He pulled out an aquila-shaped diamond with golden edging.
Marsh examined it briefly. "Keeping something for yourself, eh?" he asked. Tolly blushed and clasped her hands together. She swung back and forth on her feet, her eyes now on the ceiling.
"Well, ya see sir, I tot' tat' because of all tah' hard work we's been doin'..."
"Just take it," said Marsh, smiling. "Be careful when you wear it, though."
"Wear what?" she asked, tucking it into her vest. "Tah orks have really cleaned tis' place out!" She turned to leave but he caught her collar, then gave Errol the bags she carried.
"You're needed." Tolly knelt while Errol hurried off, laughing all the way to the road. Marsh Silas found himself smiling as he activated his slate-monitron. Walmsley Major, smoking a lho-cig, laughed aloud while Hyram shook his head and suppressed a smirk. Lada, however, glared back at the officer. Marsh Silas met her eyes and shrugged.
"You should not encourage such behavior, sir," lectured the Sister. "This thievery is not tolerated by the Lex Imperialis."
"Aye, and a lot of good people would have starved had we not disobeyed," he said, curtly. "We are buying these people time until we can raid Xavia. This wealth is for the poor and for my men, and that includes you. I'd gladly spend my family's fortune, but I was not able to cram it all into my pockets, was I?" Lada frowned, then looked at Fremantle. The Commissar looked at her blankly for a moment, then lifted a curious eyebrow.
"Do not look upon me," he said. "The fat lords of this city have plenty to share."
"Sister, the Emperor knows just about every Guardsman has pilfered something in his time," grunted Walmsley. "If you think a soldier hasn't, you've been reading too many propaganda posts."
"What about unit integrity? Is that not why Marsh Silas expressly forbid it before?"
"I had to make a handful of cornmeal, a quart of water, and a half-power lasrifle charge-mag last three days at Kasr Sonnen," muttered Rowley. "That's disciplined enough. I'd prefer not to fight on an empty belly."
"I am glad I was unfamiliar with you lot, then," said Romilly, tiredly. The intelligence officer, clad in blue and white armor, had joined Bloody Platoon since the council at the capitol. He had fought valiantly, but there were dark bags under his eyes and he seemed somewhat absent. "Throne, I wish I were anywhere else. Why did I have to come? I could have communicated over the vox."
"We figured if we let you loose you'd get your arse captured again," grunted Babcock. He balanced the sacred standard against his shoulder and pressed a lho-cig to his lips. He took a drag and then pointed it at the officer. "
It was then Arnold Yoxall, Monty Peck, Foley, Metcalfe, Drummer Boy, Walmsley Minor, Wulff, Commissar Seegar, and Wit ran in. Color Sergeant Babcock followed, carrying their sacred standard over his shoulder. Little Mac, Ruo, Merriweather, Aralyn, and Cornelius came with him. Each bore the dust and soot of the battle, but remained energetic and unfettered.
Breathless, Yoxall sank to a knee beside Marsh Silas. He took off his helmet and wiped his face with a rag. His eyes went from face to face before he glanced at the platoon leader.
"Took your bloody time getting here," said Marsh.
"It's heavy out there. There's much to do."
"And there's a hell of a lot more to get done in the coming days, now listen up." He motioned to Romilly who unrolled a map. The area of operations was laid out before them, with circles around Ebba, Xavia, Fort Serdan, Domitala, and Fort Teale. The latter was the furthest away from Ebba, passing Fort Serdan and the near-adjacent Domitala by hundreds of kilometers. In between these points were numerous skulls shaped like ork heads.
Marsh Silas tapped Teale with a field-quill. "When Ebba is clear, Ovidio wants to send every available unit here. Romilly produced another scroll and held it over the first. The hexagonal Fort Teale was portrayed with its high walls, bastion towers, bunkers, and barracks. He circled a battery of cannons on a sub-castle in the northeastern part of the citadel. "There's some kind of artillery installation there that could wreak havoc on approach. Do we know more?"
"Most of the Vellanian Guard officers are out fighting or dead, and I've been barred from accessing any databases," said Romilly, frustrated. "The most I've gleaned is that these are ancient, powerful guns."
"She wants us to cross ork-land under heavy artillery fire and meeting the greenskins on their terms. All without rest, food, ammunition, fuel, and just about everything else we need to prosecute this war. To further dishonor ourselves, she would have us abandon the Astartes, civilians, and PDF troops at Domitala and Serdan." He rolled up the scroll and tossed it back to Romilly. "It will be the death of this army, or its very near destruction. So we must act quickly."
"So we move on Xavia, steal every head of cattle they have there, and drive into the city," said Walmsley Major. "Simple enough."
"You think too far ahead," said Hyram. He circled Domitala again. "Serdan is holding for now, but we've no word from Domitala and aerial reconnaissance reports further deterioration of its defenses. The ork siege lines grow only stronger. We need to know their condition, find out what they need, what kind of force will be required to relieve them, and above all, we must provide air support. They will not get any with Ovidio dismissing their threat. It is vital we drop someone in who can reestablish communications."
"That's me," said Rowley. "Give me two vox-sets and I'll patch them into the net."
"As well as I," said Lada."I am versed in the repair and maintenance of vox-units also."
"It involves more than a few spliced wires," grunted Little Mac. "Each small Machine Spirits require much soothing."
"I thought you cared not for small souls after you bashed that door panel on Hydraphur," seethed Lada. "And I am versed in the cant of numerous Astartes Chapters. If there be a gap in our Gothic tongues, I may bridge it."
"Ease, ease. It may not be that simple," said Marsh. "I spoke to Major Bristol and Prince Constantine; both have fought the orks many times and know they are not as simple as they appear. They could be jamming the airwaves with some kind of junk to block any signals coming through." He pointed his field-quill at Merriweather and Aralyn. "One of you must go. If anything can overcome their technology, it is your power."
The two psykers gazed at one another. Although their white eyes expressed nothing, their brows fell and lips pursed. Kneeling side by side, they reached for one another's hands. Marsh Silas lowered the quill and glanced at Jacinto, who merely shrugged.
"Ours are the voices that drift among worlds, stars, and the dust in between them all," said Merriweather. "Much can be lost in such translations, but we are a duet. When our voices become one, nothing is lost."
"We can't send you both in," said Marsh Silas. "We need one of you to remain with us to hear the report."
"Nor can we risk losing both astropaths," grunted Fremantle. This made the sisters flinch and their clasped each other's hands even tighter. Marsh glared at the Commissar, who maintained a stoic disposition. He did not regret his words and the steel in his deep, violet eyes suggested confusion as to why Marsh did not approve.
"It is a dangerous mission, I know it. But all missions are. You have faced many dangerous and protected us numerous times during this campaign. I do not order, I merely ask." Marsh hoped his gentle tone would convince them. Aralyn and Merriweather remained uneasy and seemed to shrink under the myriad gazes bearing into them. Jacinto joined the pair and knelt before them, smiling.
"Your f-fear is understandable. Fremantle w-was once hurt t-terribly and I thought I-I-I would lose him. But he is s-strong and survived h-his wounds. The Emperor protects; w-whichever you t-two goes, you will b-be guided by His h-hand." Merriweather and Aralyn both reached for the pyromancer and took his hands in their own.
"Give us time to consider, sir," said Aralyn eventually, and Marsh Silas nodded.
"I would still like to go, sir," said Rowley. "I can only help."
"And you too, Sister?" asked Marsh. Lada gazed warily at the psyker, and then her eyes fell.
"You have fought beside them for months now and now you balk?" snapped Rowley. Then she jolted and hastily adjusted the headset over her field cap. Marsh Silas, annoyed at the hold up, gestured to her. "It's Ovidio, she's flooding the net." The vox-operator reached back and activated the clarion vox-array's speaker system.
"This is Governor Ovidio: the orks are retreating in full! All available units, attack and cut them off at the northeastern gate! They are at their weakest at this very moment! Expel these xenos from my city at all costs!"
"Turn that shit off," said Marsh as he looked back down at the map. "Emperor knows I'm not sending anybody there. The orks will fight madly for that gate. If they appear weak, it is a trap. Now, we must prepare to move immediately to Domitala after we deal with Xavia." He tapped the town with the quill. "Romilly's aerial observation assets indicate orks gutted the place and turned into a giant cattle-pen. All that remains are a few urban blocks and the walls; the rest is made up of greenskin fortification."
"There is a breach in the southeastern wall," added Romilly. "It is between a bastion tower and the defense wall's southern gate house. The orks have made a large fortified gate here and the yarnau cattle are right on the other side. These gates must be opened and the cattle driven through."
"Most workers on Vellania use horses to herd the cattle," said Mirko. "I've put together some volunteers who will come with us to handle those beasts. But we've no horses; we ate ours."
"The 50th Asgardian Rangers have plenty of horses in reserve," said Yoxall. "We've fought alongside Blix, perhaps he can let the riders borrow some."
"That is our best chance," said Marsh Silas. "The garrison there is small and the defenses are light. But we must not forget these greenskins are tough customers. Nor can we rely on heavy support, as the orks will hear our armor in the night. Romilly will provide you with more detailed picts of the target. We must seize both gates and the tower quietly, so squad leaders, study these in your spare moments, pick your men, devise a plan of attack." Marsh wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and glanced at Mirko. "You haven't found any evidence in these manses?"
"None. But if we go to the ordinate's office at Xavia, we are bound to find something there."
"We must, if we are to keep our skins and have cause to arrest Xavia for violating her tithes. If we can find those warehouses and distribute those supplies, there could be enough for the whole army and—"
"Sir, we've got a distress call," said Rowley. "It's from Lieutenant Tarlis." She hurried around to his side of the circle and gave him the handset.
"Red Six, here."
"Cross, my convoy is under attack!" Tarlis' cool, sharp tone was frantic and ragged. Gunshots rang out in the background. "One of the governor's lackeys forced us to go on the attack and we've been ambushed! They're still here in force!"
"Give me your location, we're on the way!" Marsh hurriedly waved at the door. The plans were collected and every single soldier sprinted out. Squad leaders shouted for their Kasrkin to rally up and board the vehicles. The platoon leader walked with Rowley and jumped onto the footplate of the command Taurox.
"Merchant's Avenue, east, intersection four! Hurry, they're upon us, they're—Cartan get down! Dawes, get the gun up! Get it up! They're—" Tarlis screamed and the handset cut out. Marsh Silas roared and thumped his fist against the cab of the APC.
"Put a brick on the pedal and fucking drive!" he shouted to Namgun. "Rowley, get Gabler and Yates on the horn, tell them to move!"
Their convoy breezed past Triage's tanks and took the lead. They moved at a breakneck speed, reducing Ebba's streets, buildings, and ruins to a white blur. Orks were naught but green smears that eked out of the crevices. Turret-mounted weaponry cut through them and Kasrkin fired from the footplates. Grenades detonated all around them and rockets whizzed by their vehicles. On the parallel road, Gabler's Taurox Primes and Yates' Chimeraxes became a rolling wind of fire. Quad-autocannons blasted at the environment, turning orks into slags of flesh. Foxley's formation of Valkyries returned as well. Flying low over the two convoys, they decimated any enemy vehicles that dared to block them.
Marsh held on as Namgung drove through a pair of enemy gun wagons, smashing them to the sides. A war buggy attempted to stop them but the commander simply flattened it underneath his Taurox's treads. More orks appeared and they rolled out wheeled artillery pieces. Shells arced by the APCs or crashed into the road. Kasrkin suppressed them as they drove by and gatling guns tore through the cannons' shields.
Black, oily smoke rose from an intersection ahead. Promethium fuel burned. It was Tarlis' supply troop. As they drew nearer, he saw orks maneuvering around a pair of destroyed Cargo-8 trucks while the rest carried supply crates from the other vehicles. Marsh did not have to give the order to open fire; the Tauroxes broke into the intersection. They collided with buggies and enemy trucks and fired their weapons at point-blank range. Shells, lasbolts, and bullets smashed the light-skinned ork machines to pieces.
Kasrkin jumped off, formed a perimeter, and gunned down the surprised orks. But they were soon forced into cover as more greenskins outside the intersection intensified their fire. With bullets crashing around his feet, Marsh ran to the lead Cargo-8. An ork by the cab turned and fired his pistol, but Marsh was faster and the heavy lasbolts burst the xenos' chest. Another emerged around the side but a blast from a shotgun knocked him down. Tanzer and her Breachers appeared from Gabler's convoy, now coming up the opposite road.
Tanzer reached into the cab and grabbed Tarlis' cap. She looked around swiftly—there were no bodies. Marsh looked as well, then saw Cobb with Freya on her leash. He grabbed the hat from Tanzer and threw it to Cobb. The handler held it to Freya's nose and the working dog's fur bristled.
"Find her!" shouted Cobb as he took her off the leash. Freya immediately bounded to the opposite side of the road. Overlooking the convoy was a long but squat warehouse, its roof torn by artillery shells. Freya went up to the large entrance and, whining, scratched against the heavy metal door. Marsh Silas, Hyram, Cobb, and Yoxall's 1st Squad joined Tanzer's team and stacked up beside the door. Cobb threw open the door and they rushed in.
The interior was dark and filled with dust. Activating their lamp-packs, they quickly pushed their way through the hundreds of empty, wooden crates. Some were splintered, others had fallen in great heaps. Picking his way along, Marsh checked around each stack, expecting to find an ork lying in wait. The further they went without incident, the faster his heart beat.
"Blood trail," whispered Hyram. He shone his helmet-light on it. A few dark streaks led to another door leading to the other half of the warehouse. A gunshot rang out, followed by another, and then a third. "Stack up."
Marsh took the left corner with his Kasrkin while Tanzer and the Breachers lined up on the right. MacNile came forward and attached a breaching charge to the door. Another shot rang out, then there was a shrill cry and the roar of an ork. The breacher stepped back and hit the detonator, blowing the door inward.
They saw a long, dimly lit hall filled with crates and dust. Several orks staggered back, stunned by the blast. Tanzer tore through the entrance, her shotgun leveled. She expended all eight rounds in quick succession, cutting down three greenskins. Laying on top of an ork body was Tarlis, soaked in blood, a bayonet in her hand. Dropping her shotgun, Tanzer tackled her to the ground and covered her with her body. As the final ork lowered his pistol, Freya snarled and bit his wrist, throwing him off balance. Marsh snapped his hellgun up and fired a lasbolt clearly through his skull.
He looked to his right. Six Guardsmen lay crumpled against the wall. Dawes' head lay next to his body, his face frozen in pain. Only Cartan, balled up beside Tarlis, remained. Tanzer pushed herself off and held the dazed officer by her shoulders.
"She's in shock, captain," she said. "Lieutenant Tarlis? Namoi? This belongs to you." Tanzer gently placed Tarlis' low-peaked cap back into her hands. Dazed, the supply officer gingerly took it, before slumping into Tanzer's arms. As the first sobs escaped her lips, Lynwood and Holzmann carried the shaking Cartan away.
Marsh Silas shook his head and angrily kicked an ork body. Suddenly, it leaped up and shoved him and the others back. In the same instant, it swung a blood-covered ax and struck one of the naval breachers in the chest, cutting him in too. The beast roared, covering its metallic red maw in saliva, then ran across the warehouse. Lying on his back, he raised his hellgun to fire but the ork had already escaped through the opposite door.
"Nalk!" screamed Hyram, firing Carstensen's Justice at the exit. "I'm coming for you!"
Marsh scrambled to his feet and ran after his friend. They burst through the door and ran down the alley to their left. Nalk was at the other end, firing his pistol wildly back. They ran across an open street, down another alley, and then onto an auxiliary road. Ork and Imperial artillery shells fell all around them. Gunships saturated buildings and rubble piles with rockets. Imperial tanks, having broken through the orks' perimeter, rolled towards the last gate.
A column from a long-destroyed building collapsed right before them. Marsh and Hyram both jumped over it, scrambled through another alley, and then found themselves on a main boulevard. To their left were oncoming ork vehicles, their cannons firing. To their right, the open gate! Before the pair was a simple, open-topped gun-wagon and occupied by only a single, surprised ork.
Nalk the Ironhead jumped into it, cleaved the head from the driver's shoulders, and attempted to remove the body from the controls. Activating the Fist of Lilias, Hyram jumped onto the vehicle and reared his arm back. At the same time, Nalk turned and chopped at him with his ax. Still on the road, Marsh aimed quickly and fired a burst into the Nob's shoulder. Nalk cried out as his shoulder partially slid from his torso. The tendons that clung to it popped one by one.
Hyram smashed the power fist into the red maw, crumpling it. He then repeatedly punched at Nalk's face, but the Ironhead grabbed him with his other arm. His disgustingly large green fingers grasped Hyram's helmet and started to squeeze. Marsh finally climbed on, leaped at the ork, and cut at his forearm with his knife. He hacked and swiped until the flesh opened.
He was sent reeling as the ork headbutted his chest with his big skull. Marsh was breathlessly knocked away, but it was the ork's last act. Hyram regained his advantage and caved in Nalk's face with one, two, three great blows. Blue energy surged from the power fist and created an explosive effect that disintegrated the Ironhead's skull. Hyram and Marsh were both spattered with blood, but they both cheered over the corpse. "That's for my fucking face you son of a bitch!" shouted Hyram.
"I'd say you could cut this fucker's head off for a trophy but there's not much of it left," sneered Marsh. Hyram turned to issue another joke, but his mouth hung open and his eyes widened. It was only then Marsh became aware of a deafening engine and grinding tracks. He looked around and saw Grog-Rod himself, standing upon the top of the captured Hellhammer.
Both Kasrkin jumped from the gun-wagon as the super-heavy tank crushed it beneath its treads. They took cover as the main gun fired backwards, hitting a Leman Russ tank and setting it aflame. Lascannon strikes decimated others, leaving an entire squadron burning.
"Youz can have dis place!" cried God-Rod. "I's gotz all dat I need!"
"We're coming for you, xenos!" cried Marsh. He and Hyram got back on their feet and ran after Gladius Pacificus. But as it crashed through the city entrance, its main gun rose and fired a shell into the gatehouse. Rockcrete exploded and collapsed, crushing the doors and creating a heap of rubble on the road. Sprinting through a sea of dust, Marsh and Hyram climbed through the pile of wreckage and came to the top of the heap. Amid an armada of captured vehicles and ork war machine was Grog-Rod's Hellhammer. "Come find me at Fort Teale, ya gitz! I'll use ya to grease my tracks!" he hollered. His laughter ringing in their ears, Marsh and Hyram stared after him before they both threw their helmets to the ground.