Battle for The Abyss (36 page)

‘I take it your presence means that my former assault-captain has been recovered?’ Zadkiel snapped, annoyed at Gureod’s unwillingness to bask in his self-perceived reflected glory.

‘He dreams fitfully, my lord. When the sus-an membrane failed and he roused, somewhat unexpectedly, I was forced to take more drastic methods to secure him,’ said the magos.

‘See that he does not waken again until the transition is complete. Once Formaska is destroyed, we shall be joining Kor Phaeron’s forces on the ground. Baelanos is to be part of that invasion force.’

‘Yes, my lord.’ Gureod said, showing no fear.

Zadkiel turned his attention back to the viewport.

All was in place now. He would lead the assault that would be remembered forever in history.

A few moments passed. Then the bridge vox-units crackled.

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‘Awaiting your mark, admiral,’ said Kor Phaeron’s voice, transmitted across the system from Calth. Even at these relatively short distances, only the most advanced system could allow communication between the two ships without the need for an astropath.

‘It shall be forthcoming,’ said Zadkiel, turning his attention to another viewscreen. ‘Master Malforian,’ he intoned, awaiting the grizzled countenance of his weapon master.

The nightmarish visage of the badly injured Word Bearer was forthcoming.

‘At your command, my lord,’ Malforian responded.

‘Open the frontal torpedo apertures and load the first wave of cyclonics,’ Zadkiel commanded with relish. ‘It begins at Formaska. Let us unleash devastation and bring about a new era of man.’

Sarkorov snapped orders at the bridge crew, and despatched runners as the
Furious Abyss
prepared for battle stations. The navigation crew began orienting the ship towards Formaska, its prow arc aimed like a sniper’s sight on his kill.

The moon was on the screen. Deep lava-filled gulleys wormed their way across its continents, broken by boiling seas.

‘The primitives of ancient Macragge thought Formaska was the eye of a god, and that it was bloodshot with anger,’ Zadkiel said, to himself more than the unappreciative Magos. ‘Sometimes, when the lava fields grew, they thought the eye had opened and looked down on them as prey. They prophesied the day when the god would finally decide to reach down and consume them all. That day has arrived,’ he concluded.

‘Admiral,’ the sibilant voice of Chaplain Ikthalon came through on the bridge vox.

‘What is it, chaplain?’ Zadkiel snapped.

‘The supplicants are stirring,’ Ikthalon told him. ‘There is movement in the warp. It seems that our pursuers have yet to give up the fight.’

‘See that they do not interfere,’ snarled Kor Phaeron from the long wave vox, before Zadkiel could reply. ‘I’m bringing the fleet
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into an assault pattern. Guilliman knows we are here by now.

Fulfil your mission, Zadkiel.’

‘So it is written,’ replied Zadkiel, ‘so it shall be.’ He returned to Malforian. ‘Your status, weapon master?’

‘A few more minutes, my liege,’ Malforian replied. ‘We are encountering some problems with the torpedo apertures.’

‘Inform me as soon as we’re ready to fire the cyclonics,’ ordered Zadkiel, his tone betraying his impatience at the unforeseen delay.

‘My lord,’ Helmsmaster Sarkorov interrupted, ‘the
Wrathful
is coming abeam. They are priming weapons.’

Zadkiel exhaled his annoyance. He should have excised this thorn from his side long ago.

‘Malforian,’ he barked into the vox, ‘send all targeting solutions to the bridge once the Imperial lap dogs are in our sights. The
Wrathful
does not deserve the honour of dying as a part of this history, but we shall grant them that honour nonetheless.’

The
Wrathful
appeared on the left viewscreen. She had lost half her guns down one side and was followed by a tail of wreckage tumbling out of her ravaged engine and cargo areas. Her hull was weathered and pitted by the lashes of the warp, covered in the tooth marks of empyrean predators.

Zadkiel smiled maliciously when he saw the wrecked ship. He would derive great pleasure from this.

‘Let us finish her.’

THE
WRATHFUL
LIMPED from the warp and went immediately to battle stations. Aft thrusters burning as hot as they were able, the once formidable Imperial vessel drove head on towards the waiting form of the
Furious Abyss
. Diverting power to its port side, the great ship turned grindingly slowly on its aft axis until its still-functioning broadsides were presented to the foe.

Beams of azure light lit up all the way down the
Wrathful
’s flank, and in seconds the blazing fury of her lances was unleashed. Explosions rippled down the armoured hull of the
Furious Abyss
, together with the immense blast flares of shield im-260

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pacts. These wounds were a mere sting to a beast such as this and the Word Bearer vessel responded with a devastating salvo.

As the crimson light rays of the
Furious
’s broadside cannons spat out, the Wrathful was already moving, trying to bring the enemy vessel’s prow abeam of their lances. The shields of the Imperial ship disintegrated against the assault and the aft decks were raked by deadly fire, explosive impacts sending out chunks of debris and spilling swathes of crew. Still, the
Wrathful
endured, its last ditch manoeuvre bringing it away from the deadly barrage. Torpedoes soared from the vessel’s prow, followed by a second volley from the lances. Again, the
Furious
was stung and dorsal cannons swung in their mounts to bring their munitions to bear. Incendiaries crumpled against the
Wrathful
’s swerving prow, fully extended broadsides punching ragged holes through its hull armour.

Annoyed at the tenacity of this little wasp, the mighty
Furious
Abyss
turned to present its full armament against their aggressor.

The damage sustained by the
Wrathful
had slowed it, but even still it could have fled if it had wanted to. Instead, the Imperial vessel stood its ground, making a defiant last stand. Lances flashing, the
Wrathful
poured everything it had left at the Word Bearers. It wasn’t enough. The
Furious Abyss
had turned, and, now, it unleashed devastation.

ZADKIEL OBSERVED THE short-lived battle from the bridge. The
Wrathful
was in their sights. The might of his ship was at his disposal. ‘Crush them,’ he snarled.

Malforian replied his affirmation. Light and fire filled the viewscreen a moment later as the
Furious
’s guns wrecked the Imperial vessel. Its engines died, and great fissures were rent in its hull as it slowly drifted, pulled by the gravity well of Formaska. As the
Wrathful
fell away, sparks flashed sporadically, rendering it in a grim cast, as vented coolant pipes billowed in hazy plumes.

‘I had expected more from a son of Guilliman,’ Zadkiel admitted. ‘How could such a desperate plan ever succeed? The Ultramarines are deserving of their death warrant.’

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‘Lord Zadkiel.’ It was Sarkorov again. Zadkiel turned to face him. ‘What is it, helmsmaster?’ he snapped. ‘Shuttles, my liege,’

he explained, ‘heading for the port side.’

Zadkiel was nonplussed. ‘How many?’

‘Fifteen, my lord,’ Sarkorov replied. ‘Too close for lances.’

Zadkiel paused for a moment, still confused as to this latest Imperial gambit. The answer came swiftly.

‘They seek to gain entry through the torpedo apertures,’ he said.

‘Should I give the order to close them, Lord Zadkiel?’

‘Do it,’ Zadkiel snapped, ‘and engage dorsal cannons. Bring them down!’

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EIGHTEEN

Gauntlet

Infiltration

Dark dreams

BRYNNGAR SMILED AS the shuttle shuddered, spirals of flak and countermeasures hammering against its hull.

Rujveld and the Blood Claws sat in the tight crew compartment with him. They were strapped down in their shuttle couches, braced across the shoulders, chest and waist. The engines were screaming, and intermittent flashes from the explosions outside threw sharp light into the compartment. The small vessel was armoured, but it wasn’t designed to take this punishment. Every bolt and stanchion was straining with the speed.

‘Do you hear it, lads?’ he roared above the din, utterly at ease.

His Blood Claws, even Rujveld, looked back perplexed.

‘It is the call to combat,’ he told them proudly. ‘Those are the arms of Mother Fenris! That’s the embrace of war!’

The Wolf Guard howled and the Blood Claws howled with him.

Beyond the vision slits, it and several other shuttles soared through the void towards the
Furious Abyss
. Deployed before the suicide attack, the
Wrathful
’s feint had given them the time they needed to close the gap. It had provided a chance to reach the gaping apertures of the vessel’s torpedo tubes before being scattered into debris by its guns.

DORSAL GUNS PULSED and rocked in their turrets as the
Furious
Abyss
sought to obliterate the attacker’s force. In the third shuttle,
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Cestus saw three of his sister vessels explode under a hail of flak.

They broke and split apart, their desperate speed abruptly arrested as if they were a sail boat breaking up on the rocks of some ragged cliff line. The bodies of naval armsmen spilled from the crew compartments, frozen in spasms of pain as they were exposed to the void.

Three of his battle-brothers were alongside the Ultramarine captain: Lexinal, Pytaron and Excelinor helping to fill up the compartment with their armoured bulk. They stared impassively into space as the flash of explosions was thrown through the viewports, and the armoured hull shook. Their lips moved as they swore silent Oaths of Moment.

Cestus did the same, watching three more shuttles shredded apart by heavy turret fire.

‘Come on,’ he urged through gritted teeth, the gaping maw of the torpedo aperture getting ever closer. ‘Come on.’

‘IMPACT IN ONE minute!’ said the vox from the shuttle’s pilot.

‘One minute from mother’s love!’ shouted Brynngar, taking a firm grip on Felltooth. Embarkation would need to be swift; there could be enemy forces already in position to repel any boarders. For a moment, he wondered whether or not Cestus had made it through the fusillade. Putting the thought out of his mind, he took up the battle cry once more. They were almost in.

‘She’s waiting for us there! Mother Fenris, mother of war!’

‘Mother of war!’ yelled the Blood Claws. ‘Mother of war! Mother of hate!’

A few feet from the aperture, a stray round struck the left aero-foil of the shuttle and it spiralled wildly out of control. Exploding shrapnel shattered the front viewing arc; the sound of breaking armourglas could even be heard in the troop compartment. The pilot died with a shard of hot metal in his neck, before the icy cool of space froze him and his desperate co-pilot to their flight couches. Brynngar’s shuttle dipped sharply away from the aperture and downward into another void entirely.

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A SHUTTLE EXPLODED, its nose sheared off by a shell casing thrown out of the
Furious Abyss
’s gun decks. The remaining craft looped up beneath the battleship’s ventral surface, the valleys and peaks of the city-sized ship streaking past.

Cestus saw another vessel explode, the bursting shrapnel shredding much of its frontal arc. It dipped, engines blazing ineffectually, and fell downward until it was lost from view behind a slab of crimson hull.

Ahead, the torpedo apertures were closing.

‘More speed!’ Cestus roared into his helmet vox.

The blazing shuttle engines screeched even louder.

A snatched glimpse through the viewport showed a third shuttle, banking sharply in an attempt to avoid the flak fire and arrow back towards the battleship. Its retro engines flared as it braked. It didn’t slow fast enough and slammed into the hull beside the torpedo aperture. The fat metal body crumpled under the impact and split. Broken bodies were cast into the void. They were wearing the blue armour of the Ultramarines.

Saphrax and Amryx are dead, thought Cestus bitterly.

Twisting sharply, the shuttle found a way through the rapidly diminishing aperture. As the
Furious Abyss
swallowed them, Cestus thought he heard the explosions of the shuttles following them as they crashed against the sealed hull.

‘Brace!’ yelled the pilot.

Tortured metal boomed. Cestus was thrown against the restraints of his grav-couch and felt them stretch and pull against his cuirass.

A terrible twisting, howling sound, like a metal earthquake, filled the Ultramarine’s ears.

‘Umbilicals away!’ said the pilot’s voice.

The hatch in the roof of the passenger compartment slid open.

White vapour filled the shuttle. ‘Pressurising!’ shouted the pilot.

Cestus knew what was next and hammered the icon on his chest that would disengage the harness. It came apart quickly and he was on his feet, his battle-brothers beside him. Excelinor, Pytaron and Lexinal, two with bolters low slung and another car-265

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rying a plasma gun: they would have to be enough. Cestus checked the load in his bolt pistol and unsheathed his sword, thumbing the activation stud that sent frantic lines of power coursing through the blade.

‘Courage and honour!’ he yelled, and his battle-brothers returned the battle cry.

Explosive bolts detonated like gunshots. The second hatch was flung open, and the long dark throat of the torpedo tube opened up above them.

Cestus stormed through the short umbilicus, through the hatch and into the tube. It sloped upwards and was wide enough for an Astartes to walk with his head bowed. Its ribbed metal interior was caked in ice. The shuttle had pumped air into it, and the vapour in that air had frozen instantly.