Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 174
The Governor's Palace was a gaudy affair, shimmering in the noonday sun. Dating back to the glory days of the Great Crusade its interior was a euphoric vision of gilded columns and soaring arches. Frescos of Imperial triumphs lined the walls and marble statues of notable figures rested in alcoves. A few of those plinths stood empty, the Age of Apostasy had left lingering scars and certain individuals were being quietly excised from history. Still the Governor of Praedium lived amid splendour, as one would expect from one who must host dignitaries accustomed to the very finest.
Ajax found himself staring at a statue of Roboute Guilliman, sire of his bloodline and author of the Codex Astartes. It wasn't a very good rendition, the face was unlike any depiction he'd seen, but the flowing robes, laurels on the brow and thick book in hand made it plain who this was supposed to be. Ajax felt a rare moment of awe as he contemplated his Primarch, musing on how the Imperium had changed over five thousand years, and not for the better.
"He'd hate this," Ajax muttered.
"You speak of our Primarch?" Chapter Master Lujan asked wearily.
"Nobody else, he laid down the Codex Astartes, reorganised the Imperium, broke the Legions, but for all that his vision failed. The Imperium's ignorance grows daily and we sink into idolatry."
Charael's Skull-helm turned, "You know the Adeptus Ministorum is a vital part of the Imperial body politic!"
"For mortals maybe, but to think Astartes heed their nonsense…"
Lujan spat, "Do not answer that Charael! I am not having this argument again, not today. I require your support for this meeting, put on your fiercest faces and look scary. That is an order."
Ajax relented as the trio stepped forth into the Governor's throne room, though that description barely encompassed its majesty. A soaring archway gave way to a vast chamber, lined with tiers of galleries and armourglass windows that radiated glorious light. The vaulted roof was so high that microclouds formed under its expanse and stone gargoyles were mere dots among the rafters. The floor was a cultivated garden, with stretches of wildflowers growing in square plots, braced by mosaic-laden pathways. Decorative streams winded through the bowers and at the heart sat a Nalwood throne, built into a rising platform. Atop that platform was a golden reliquary, within which a black relic rested.
"Impossible to defend," Ajax criticized as the Space Marines marched along a path.
"The Palace is sound and its guns many," Lujan refuted.
"Not nearly enough," Ajax snorted.
"If the Orks get this far into the palace, it would be too late anyway," Charael claimed.
"Then I should be busy making sure that doesn't happen," Ajax argued.
Lujan however stated, "2nd Captain Symon inspects the city walls, and he has a far better eye for Macrocannon placements than you. Now be quiet."
The Storm Heralds had reached the epicentre of the garden and here they found Imperial military officers waiting with the Governor. They arrived last, an old ploy of Lujan's to make lesser parties wait and know he held all the power. Ajax cast his eye over the dozens of officers and adepts present and discounted them as unimportant. Only the Generals and Secutors were of relevance, and the Governor of course.
From his wooden throne Governor Rodziel waved a bejewelled hand. A man long past his first Rejuvant treatment, with rich robes and surprisingly tanned skin. He must spend a lot of time out enjoying his estates, but his piety was plain by the Aquila tattooed on his forehead. Ajax judged him more a jovial host than a commander of men, schooled in decorum and the finer arts, all the better to entertain Terran guests that graced his world with their presence.
"Be welcome!" Rodziel called, "Chapter Master, saviour of Korolis, vanquisher of the Hosts of Infamy! We are delighted to host so lauded a Champion as thou!"
Lujan accepted the flattery with grace, "Lord Governor, noble Generals and Secutors, and Baron Questoris, I thank you for attending me."
"I understand you wish to explain how you will deal with these Greenskin pests that defile our beautiful world?"
"Pest?!" Ajax spat in disgust, "You call them pests?!"
Rodziel's friendly face darkened, "And you are?"
"Ajax, that's all the title I need, and I say any man who considers Orks pests has sawdust between the ears!"
That sent a stir through the crowd and a General with a waved moustache and golden las-pistol at his hip spluttered, "Speak with more dignity before your betters!"
Charael cut in, "We are the Adeptus Astartes, the blood of Primarchs runs through our veins, who are you to question us?"
"I am General Torbald Vregust, Lord General of the Astra Militarum!"
"Astra Militarum?!" Ajax sneered, "Don't bandy airs and graces with me. You're in the Frakking Imperial Guard!"
"Well I never!" Vregust spluttered.
But then Lujan cut in, "My comrades are blunt, but do cut to the heart of the matter. War is upon us and the time for action is at hand. Words will not stop the Orks, only deeds. As appointed Warmaster of this theatre it falls to me to devise a strategy. Bring forth a map and let us examine this city's defences."
Adepts carried in a hololithic projector as Ajax eyed the indignant general. He looked well fed, as most flag officers did, but the golden las-pistol was a sign of trouble. The Frater Templars were disbanded in the reforms of Sebastian Thor, the golden lasguns of yesteryear replaced by ugly factory-stamped weapons with blunt gunmetal colouring. Frater Templars were once more Imperial Guard, no matter what fancy High Gothic titles they claimed. Vregust was too young to have served under Goge Vandire, so him boldly carrying such a weapon must be a political statement. To what end Ajax cared not, but this one bore keeping an eye upon.
Lujan faced the Hololith as a glowing rendition of the city sprang up, "Our best defence is the outer walls, but we cannot be confident they will hold. Once the Orks get inside the fighting will be house to house."
"You shall concede the walls?!" Vregust spat in outrage.
"We will hold them most ardently, but the Codex Astartes is clear that no wall is impenetrable. We must have contingency plans in place to defend the city, once they fall."
All eyes turned to the Hololith. Coronam was a broad city, some fifty kilometres end to end. Embraced by high walls and defended by Macrocannons and Apocalypse Missile launchers, but not nearly so many as Ajax would wish. The city was split in half by the Silver River, it entered at the River Gate and meandered north-westerly till it hit the docks of the Shimmering Sea. Its western bank was lined with warehouses and workshops, soon giving way to many fine theatres and museums and dining halls, to amuse the idle rich, but none of these compared to the rising pinnacle of the Sanctum Imperialis. The eastern side of the city was more plebeian. Seven bridges spanned the wide river and clustered along its banks were jam-packed shanty towns and factories and shipping yards. A tangled warren of human misery designated the Rathaus. Every kilometre one went further from the river the more stately the housing became, the rich moving further away from the smell of the unwashed masses as their fortunes allowed, till the true mansions of the Purple District arose. Then, about a two-third between the river and the western wall, there was a solid kilometre of green shrubbery and ponds called the Pleasaunce Park, amid which the Governor's Palace was cited.
Ajax's tactical indoctrination highlighted a broad boulevard stretching due south from the Palace, Triumphal Way, running all the way to the Victory Gate. Ten kilometres of open ground, broad enough for a Titan Maniple to stride side-by-side, without shelter from guns. Two notable roads split off from it, Hanged Man Lane and Bridgeway, running west till they hit the river. For a Space Marine it was the most obvious tactical weakness of the city and his brain was already spinning scenarios of how the Orks would spread once they breached the gates.
"This is our primary concern," Lujan declared as he pointed at the Triumphal Way, "If the Orks breach Victory Gate they have a road into the heart of our defences."
"You call that a weakness?!" Vregust scoffed, "Open ground with no cover from artillery?!"
"Exactly," Lujan confirmed.
"If they brave that road we'll hammer them into dust!"
Ajax interrupted, "You do not know Orks. They will come at us in numbers beyond counting, their ferocity driven by bloodshed. The more of them you kill, the more eager the rest will become. They will shrug off injuries that would kill a man thrice over, their machines will stomp over any defence. They will not stop until you or they are dead!"
Vregust didn't seem abashed, "Victory Gate is the best-defended locale in the city, they wouldn't dare. The River Gate or Starward Gate are more likely to face the real attack."
Charael refuted that, "The Ork way is to pit strength against strength. They will come at our greatest bastion with all their might exactly because it is the strongest defence. Expect probing raids on other gates, but they will be distractions, feints to draw us away. The true attack will fall upon Victory Gate."
Lujan lifted his head to declare, "The wall will be held at all points, but the true clash will be Victory Gate. The Codex Astartes predicts it will hold between three and fourteen days, depending on variables of numbers and firepower. Once it falls we will commence a staged fallback along Triumphal Way. Imperial Guard artillery and Superheavies must cover Hanged Man Lane and Bridgeway. Knights of House Orhlacc will deploy to counter Stompas as they present themselves. We will bleed the Orks as they overrun this Palace, then drain their strength in urban combat throughout the Purple District and Rathaus. I predict they will reach the river within five weeks, at which time we will withdraw and blow the bridges. At this point the Orks will be diminished so heavily that they will not be able to muster the numbers to breach the defences of the western bank."
It was a solid plan, straight out of the Codex Astartes. It recognised the inevitability of defences being overrun and conceded that defiant last stands served no purpose. Roboute Guilliman had been pragmatic in his strategies and clinical when sacrificing assets. Not for him the bloody charge into the face of impossible odds or hollows bellows of not one foot backwards. If a position could not be held he commanded his Marines to fall back to better ones, if an offensive could not be withstood it must be redirected. Lujan's plan would steer the foe to places and times of his choosing, trading space for lives, bleeding the Orks at every step while preserving the defenders for the next fight and the next. Greenskins numbers would be drained by the viciousness of urban combat, leaving them frustrated upon the shores of the river. Bleed the Orks enough and they would be vulnerable when the Imperial Navy brought reinforcements from other systems.
It was a good plan and yet Governor Rodziel jolted upright, "You mean to abandon the Palace?!"
"This fortress will be defended," Lujan refuted, "But the Codex clearly states we lack the manpower to endure a siege. Once it falls an evacuation must be undertaken."
"We cannot abandon our sacred charge!" Rodziel protested.
"This Palace has a number of covert tunnels into the surrounding city, taking it will cost the Orks dearly, but I need these men to fight in the city after."
"But what of our sacred honour?!"
"Honour will be found in victory," Lujan argued.
Rodziel twisted in his chair and swept his hand upwards at the Reliquary above, "Behold the Crown of the God-Emperor! When He came to Praedium He was so moved by natural beauty that He declared its magnificence must be preserved. The Imperium did not defile this world with industry and recolonization but left it as it was. As a sacred trust the God-Emperor did take off His crown and place it on the ground, swearing to return when the galaxy was His! The Holy Crown must not be lost!"
Ajax squinted at the ugly mass of black spars in the case, roughly circular and far too big for any human head, even a Space Marine's. He sub-vocalised, "If the Emperor ever wore that Frakking eyesore then I'll eat my Eviscerator."
Surprisingly Charael agreed over a closed channel in the vox-bead, "Local superstition, of dubious validity. The people of this world may believe it, but I do not."
"So what do we do?"
Charael lifted his voice to declare, "Governor, is it not true that the Crown was to be relocated to a shrine in the Sanctum Imperialis?"
Rodziel paused, "Once it was finished… yes."
"Then I suggest you shorten your plans, rapidly."
Rodziel rubbed his chin, "I suppose it can be done, but the sacred rituals must be observed. The priests will need to be consulted, ceremonial appeasements performed…"
Lujan nodded, "Make your preparations, while I draw up our plans. The city must be made ready, the citizens formed into militias. Secutors must arrange to defend their forge-fanes. Ammunition depots established in strategic locales and the bridges fitted with sapping charges. Much work awaits us and we…"
He trailed off as a heavy tread echoed from behind. Ajax half-turned as a bulky shadow appeared as if from nowhere. His hand strayed to his Evicerator's handle but froze when the awesome bulk of Terminator Armour loomed. For an instant he thought it was one of his First Company brethren but then reality was made plain. Dark armour, dappled in hue, with fearsome auras of bloodshed and woe. Plates were adorned with spikes and blackened claws rested upon the vambraces, ready to spring into place to rip and tear. Ajax had been trained by Ultramarines, and seen Imperial Fists on Terra, but this was neither. A darker breed, more feral and cruel. Memories of battles with Chaos Marines sprang into his mind, along with that fateful day on Korolis, when veiled warriors of devilish aspect walked as Marines wreathed in flame. Ajax's instincts screamed he was faced with a Traitor and yet his hand was stayed by the feline skull icon on the shoulder, the mark of an ally they had been expecting.
Lujan stared in shock at the newcomer's apparel, "Who the hell are you?!"
The intruder did hiss, "I am Huacho, Hound Sinister, Shadow Chieftain and voted Prowlmaster of the Smoke Jaguars. By will of Teotihuacan I make oath-pact with the Serviles of Terra. Speak swiftly, Herald of Storms, and tell me how we will be enjoined in acts of blood and murder."