Warhammer - Ultramarines 02 - Warriors Of Ultramar (McNeill, Graham) Page 11

  The battered Mortis Probati limped towards the listing hive ship and, in respect to her crew's reckless heroism, every other ship in the fleet hung back, allowing Captain Gaiseric to take the killing shot.

  Fluid and fleshy entrails drifted from the mortally wounded beast, its alien lifeblood pumping into space from ruptured arteries and ruined organs. Those tentacles that had not been blasted off twitched spasmodically, and through a great rent. In its upper carapace a vast, pulsing organ could be seen, labouring to keep the beast alive.

  A single shell from the strike cruiser's bombardment cannon punched through the tough, fleshy outer layer of the hive ship's heart and detonated within its massive ventricle chambers. The explosion blasted the organ to shredded tissue and with a final, juddering spasm, the hive ship died.

  Admiral de Corte breathed a sigh of relief and his bridge crew cheered as they watched the death of the hive ship, its massive heart utterly destroyed by the Mortifactors. De Corte knew he should be furious with Captain Gaiseric for breaking the battle line, but could not deny the fact that his actions had been key to the tyranids' defeat. They went against everything taught at the naval academies, but de Corte knew that the truly great captains were the ones who could sometimes break all the teachings and still emerge victorious.

  He didn't yet know if Captain Gaiseric fell into that category, or whether he had just been hugely lucky. Publicly, he would espouse the former, but privately, he suspected the latter. Had it not been for the valiant, but ultimately wasteful sacrifice of Captain Payne's ship, then the corpses of the Mortifactors would even now be joining the listing body of the hive ship. Watching the massive vessel haemorrhaging into the darkness, he mouthed a short prayer to the battle spirits that invested his ship, thanking them for their faithful service in this fight.

  'Make a note, Mister Viert.' said de Corte. 'Commission a new victory seal to be added to our glorious ship's honour banner.'

  'Aye sir, and perhaps a service of thanks?'

  'Yes, a service of thanks to be held in the ship's chapels at vespers for all crew. Thank you, Mister Viert.'

  The admiral linked his hands behind his back and returned to his command lectern as Inquisitor Kryptman shuffled along the nave to join him.

  'A great victory.' said the admiral, loud enough to be heard by his entire bridge crew.

  Kryptman nodded. 'A victory, yes. It remains to be seen whether it is a great one.'

  The admiral leaned in close to Kryptman and whispered, 'You and I both know that this engagement has cost us dearly, but it will avail us nothing if we allow our crews to know how costly. I would appreciate your support in this matter.'

  Kryptman looked ready to snap back at de Corte, but nodded curtly. 'You are correct, Admiral de Corte. Morale is crucial at this point.'

  De Corte accepted Kryptman's acquiescence gracefully and began issuing the orders that would see his fleet disengage from Barbarus Prime and fall back to the orbital docks of Chordelis.

  For the viewing bay was filled with a multitude of tyranid creatures rising from their feeding: a collection of hive ships and drones that dwarfed the group they had just destroyed. The Battle of Barbaras had been won, but in the face of such a vast fleet, it would be folly to fight again without first regrouping and rearming.

  This had been a great victory, but it was just the tip of the iceberg. The real battles were yet to come.

  SIX

  Learchus gazed up at the sloping wall that stretched to either side of him for nearly five kilometres towards the valley's flanks. Despite his disappointment in the manner in which this world upheld the ideals of Ultramar, he was pleased at the strength of its construction. Worthy of Macragge itself, he thought. Ten metres high and sheathed in smooth stone, the wall glittered like white marble in the low sun. A small revetment protected its golden gate and an icy moat drained below the level of the road into a sluggish river that wound its way to the plain below.

  A foaming waterfall, pouring from the centre of the wall, roared down a copper channel embedded in its centre, fed the moat and filled the surrounding air with a chill mist of icy water. The morning was bitingly cold and his breath feathered before him, though his power armour isolated him from the worst of the frosty air.

  Beside him stood a shivering officer of the Tarsis Ultra Citizens' Defence Legion, his blue, fur-collared coat and white peaked cap immaculately clean. In addition to his dress uniform, he wore a grey scarf around his lower jaw and thick

  mittens, thrust deep in his coat's baggy pockets. His name was Major Aries Satria and he commanded the armed forces of this city in the name of the Fabricator Marshal. His iron breastplate was polished to a silver sheen and the dress sword buckled to his gleaming leather belt shone like gold.

  'When winter comes, does this moat freeze?' asked Learchus.

  'This far out, yes.' nodded Major Satria, 'but as you get further into the city, the heat gets trapped by the valley sides and keeps them from turning to ice.'

  'How far in do they freeze?' pressed Learchus.

  'The moats at the first and second walls always freeze, and sometimes the third, but it really depends of the severity of the winter.'

  Learchus nodded, setting off for the gate in the wall. 'What is the forecast for this coming winter?'

  'The meteorologists say it will be a tough one.' said Satria, hurrying to keep up with Learchus, 'but then they always say that, don't they?'

  The winters on Macragge had taught Learchus how tough a winter could be on soldiers, and he knew that the war could not have come at a worse time for this world. The cold weather had caused them problems already, with men reporting frostbite and other cold-related injuries. Corps-men from the Logres regiment were instructing the men of the Krieg and local defence forces how to cope with such severe conditions, but it would take time for such practices to be adopted.

  The two men crossed the moat on a crowded steel bridge. Its arching spars were limned with hoar frost and drifting floes of ice were already forming in the water below. Learchus had ordered the bridge to be rigged with explosives so that it could be destroyed upon the first attacks, though he could see that it would not be long before the moat was a solid sheet of thick ice, as easily traversable as this bridge. Nevertheless, standard practice was to destroy all approaches that the enemy could make use of and thus he had ordered it prepared for destruction.

  But while the bridge still stood, many of the citizens of Erebus were making good use of it. Its metal deck vibrated with the passage of scores of vehicles, which rumbled past Learchus and Satria in the direction of the main spaceport below. All manner of vehicles, from gleaming limousines to battered agri-transports, streamed through the wall's main gate, each crammed with people carrying as many of their possessions as they could fit inside.

  They stepped from the bridge onto a rutted road caked in grit that led to one of the wall's few postern gates. Tightly packed trucks filled with frightened people passed them and the sudden roar of a nearby starship engine made conversation impossible for a few seconds. Both Learchus and Satria turned, watching a cargo vessel rise from the port facilities and climb into the pale sky on smoky trails. It was the eighth vessel to leave Tarsis Ultra this morning and, judging by the crowds pressing around the walls of the spaceport, would only be one of many.

  'It is unseemly that your people do not stay to fight.' said Learchus, turning back to watch the labouring men below. 'Where is their spirit? Their world is threatened and they flee before the enemy.' He shook his head in disappointment. 'No citizen of Ultramar would desert their homeworld. I believed the news of the great victory at Barbaras Prime would have put some steel in these people's spines, but it only seems to have weakened them.'

  'People are frightened.' shrugged Satria. 'And I can't say I blame them. If even half of what I've heard about these aliens is true, then I can understand their desire to get away.'

  'Given the chance, would you flee?' asked Learchus.

  'No.' admit
ted Satria with a smile, 'but I swore an oath to defend this world and I don't break my word.'

  'That is good to know, Major Satria. The warrior spirit of Ultramar is in you.'

  Satria beamed with pride at the compliment as they eased past a madly revving supply truck. Laden with two-dozen frightened citizens of Erebus, its back wheels had sunk into the churned soil of the road and, behind it, angry horns blared continuously, as though their owners believed sheer volume of noise alone could shift the immobilised truck. Fountains of mud and chunks of grit from its spinning back wheels sprayed the limousine behind the truck, cracking its windscreen and leaving streaks of bare metal where they ripped across its pristine bodywork.

  The driver of the truck continued gunning the engine, oblivious to the damage he was causing, gasoline rainbows forming in the clouds of filthy blue oilsmoke jetting from the track's exhaust. The limousine's passenger, a tall man with a slicked widow's peak and a prominent hooked nose, climbed from the back of the vehicle and began screaming at the truck driver, delivering choice insults regarding his parents' promiscuity and bodily hygiene.

  Learchus stepped forward to berate the man for his uncivil behaviour and coarse language, but Major Satria quickly shook his head saying, 'Best let me handle this one, Sergeant Learchus, I know this fellow. A gentle touch required, I think.'

  'Very well.' said Learchus reluctantly.

  Major Satria banged on the cab of the truck and made a chopping motion across his throat to the driver. Immediately, its engine shut down and the noise of the protesting motor faded to a throaty rumble as Satria made his way towards the limousine.

  'Come now, Mister van Gelder.' said Satria, nimbly hopping across the mud of the road to address the limousine's passenger. There's no need for such language.'

  The tall man drew himself up to his full height and tucked his thumbs into the pockets of his long frock coat. A caustic sneer spread across his features as Satria approached.

  'Did you see what that imbecile has done?' he snapped.

  'I did indeed, Mister van Gelder, and if you'll just bear with us, we'll get you on your way as soon as we can find some planks to put under the back wheels of this track and get it out of the mud.'

  'I want that wretched driver's name so that I can be properly compensated upon my return to Tarsis Ultra.'

  'I assure you that I shall attend to the matter, sir.' soothed Satria. 'Now, if you'll just return to the lovely heated interior of your limousine, we'll soon have you out of the city.'

  Before van Gelder could reply, a groan of metal sounded from behind the major. Satria turned to see Sergeant Learchus effortlessly lifting the back end of the fully laden truck from the sucking mud and push it forwards to more solid ground. The sergeant dropped the truck to the road and almost immediately it sped off to the spaceport.

  Satria had heard of the great strength of Space Marines, but had thought that most were overblown exaggerations. Now he knew better.

  The sergeant's face was thunderous as he marched back along the road towards van Gelder.

  He pointed at the crowd that had gathered and the line of vehicles extending from the gate, shouting, 'Enough! This stops now. There will be no more departures from Tarsis Ultra. Get back in your vehicles, turn them around and get back within the city walls where you belong!'

  Satria grimaced at Learchus's lack of tact and even van Gelder was momentarily taken aback. But he was not a man to be cowed easily.

  'Do you know who I am?' he blustered.

  'No.' said Learchus, dismissively. 'Nor do I care. Now turn this vehicle around before I do it myself.'

  Having seen the Space Marine's strength demonstrated upon the track, van Gelder was under no illusions concerning Learchus's ability to do such a thing, and reluctantly climbed into the back of his limousine.

  'The Fabricator Marshal shall hear of this.' said van Gelder as a parting shot.

  'I will make it my business to see that he does.' promised Satria.

  Van Gelder's eyes narrowed, unsure if the major was mocking him, and slammed the door in his face. The limousine's gears ground as its driver attempted to turn it on the narrow road.

  'I think we might have upset him.' smiled Satria.

  'Good.' replied Learchus.

  Melted snow streaked across the fogged glass of the land train's window, running in long, wobbling lines. Lieutenant Quinn briefly wondered how fast they were actually travelling: it was hard to tell when everything he could see beyond the glass was a uniform white. He gripped the handrail as the land train swept around a bend in the track and leaned over to wipe a gloved hand across the glass, smiling at the young family seated across from him.

  'No need to worry.' he said. 'It won't be long before we're in Erebus. Just one more stop to pick up the people at Prandium.'

  The man nodded, his wife looking fearfully at the white-steel of the lasgun he held across his knees. It was a look he had seen many times on this journey, the terror that armed conflict had come to their once-peaceful world, but he couldn't bring himself to feel sorry for them. After all, was it not the duty of every Imperial citizen to stand against the enemies of Mankind?

  He and his platoon had emptied six farming collectives of their populace and packed them on this long land train in order to bring them to the safety of Erebus. Dozens of other platoons were performing the same job all across the continent and with any luck they would be able to complete their mission without incident. Over sixty carriages snaked back from the labouring engine car and they were already nearing capacity, each carriage crammed with fearful people.

  Already Lieutenant Quinn could envision the scenes of outrage when he would have to order these people to discard their belongings to make room for the people of Prandium.

  Sergeant Klein, his adjutant, made his way along the carriage's central aisle with difficulty, pushing past protesting citizens, his thick jacket and combat webbing catching almost everyone he passed. Klein held his rifle raised, the sling wrapped around his arm and said, 'Sir, we're just about to pull into Prandium.'

  'Excellent. Nearly done, eh, sergeant?'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'Order the men to stand to. I'll take First squad, you take Second.'

  Klein nodded and made his way back through the carriage as Quinn felt the train's deceleration. He rose from his seat and eased his way through the crowds packing the train towards the main doors where a knot of his soldiers from the Logres regiment waited to disembark. He sketched a quick salute and wiped his hand across the glass of the doors, seeing the silver steel of the platform approaching. Something struck him as odd, but it took him a second or two to realise what it was.

  The platform was empty.

  Whereas some communities had been reluctant to abandon their homes, most had been only too eager to be escorted

  back to the safety of Erebus, their departure points thronged with anxious people, packed and ready to leave.

  But not here.

  Quinn sighed as he realised they were probably going to have to convince more stubborn farmers to abandon their lands and come with them. He should be used to it, he supposed. Each time the Tarellians attacked one of the sea farms on Oceanus, they would run into bull-headed krill farmers who'd be damned if they'd abandon the holdings their family had farmed for generations. In Quinn's experience, those types always ended up dead sooner rather than later.

  The train slid to a graceful halt and the doors smoothly opened. Freezing air sucked the warmth from the carriage, to the groans and complaints of its passengers. Quinn stepped onto the frosted platform, feeling ice crunch under his boot.

  That was unusual. He would have expected the station's servitors to have kept the platform free from ice. The windows of the station building were opaque with frost and long icicles drooped from the eaves of the main station house. The hanging sign that creaked in the low wind clearly declared that this was Prandium.

  He could see Sergeant Klein's squad further down the platform and w
aved his adjutant over.

  'This is peculiar.' he said.

  'I agree.' said Klein. 'No one's been here for a while.'

  'Another train hasn't passed this way before us, has it?'

  Klein pulled out the small orders pad he kept in his thick winter coat's breast pocket and shook his head. 'No, not according to my information, sir.'

  'I don't like it.' stated Quinn.

  'What do you want us to do?'

  'Move into the town.' ordered Quinn. 'And stay sharp. Something doesn't feel right here.'

  Klein saluted and made his way carefully along the platform to rejoin his squad.

  'Right.' said Quinn, 'let's move out.'

  Using small, careful steps, he crossed the slippery platform and flicked off the safety on his lasgun as he reached the top of the steps below a sign that indicated the exit. The stone steps were slick with ice and more icicles hung from the underside of the banister. Slowly, and with great care, Quinn and his squad made their way down the stairs, emerging into the farming collective of Prandium.

  Its snow-filled streets were eerily quiet, only the low moan of the wind and the crunching footsteps of his platoon disturbing the silence. Not even the lonely call of a bird sounded. The buildings were sturdy-looking, prefabricated structures, similar to those on a thousand other worlds, fashioned from local materials and built with the sweat and toil of their inhabitants. A generatorium building stood abandoned beside them and a trio of vast grain silos towered above the community at the far end of the street.

  There was a tension in the air: even Quinn could feel it. Prandium reeked of abandonment. There had been nobody here for a long time and the sense of neglect was painfully evident.

  'Let's go.' he said and led his squad into the settlement, crunching through the knee-deep snow. The streets felt narrow and threatening. Through a gap in the buildings, he could see Klein's squad advancing on a parallel course to their own.