Cains last stand, p.10
Cain's Last Stand, page 10
Orelius shrugged. ‘About a week, I think, at least so far as the main fleet goes.’ He pulled a data-slate from the pocket of his tunic, and handed it to me. ‘This contains the best estimate I can give you of their strength and numbers, but I should warn you, it’s highly conjectural.’
‘It’s better than nothing,’ I replied grimly, stowing it in the pocket of my greatcoat. I’d show it to Rorkins and the others, and with any luck we’d be able to devise a strategy or two we could take to the PDF. Potentially compromised or not, they were the only thing standing between Perlia and annihilation now, and the sooner this information got to them, the better our chances of holding the planet.
There was also the distinctly tempting possibility that, since Orelius was here to retrieve the Shadowlight, I could come up with a plausible-sounding reason in the next day or two for leaving along with it. As far as I knew, Jurgen was still the only man capable of handling the thing without extensive precautions, and our previous experience was bound to prove valuable in keeping it safe.
‘I hope it helps.’ Orelius might have said more, but before he got the chance, the picture in the hololith flickered and changed. The slash across the galaxy, like a bloody claw mark, vanished, to be replaced by a view of the Perlia system. I quickly identified the runes marking our own position in orbit, and, with a vertiginous lurch to my stomach, a scatter of icons marking an enemy contact.
‘I’m sorry to interrupt your supper, my lord,’ the voice of the vessel’s captain said, issuing from some artfully concealed vox unit, ‘but we have warp portals forming throughout the system. The enemy seem to have been less tardy than we hoped.’
EDITORIAL NOTE:
Cain’s account of what happened next is, quite understandably, somewhat incomplete. Accordingly, another brief extract from a more dispassionate and authoritative source seems appropriate at this juncture.
From In Blackest Night: The Millennial Wars Appraised, by Ayjaepi Clothier, 127. M42.
By the merest good fortune, the first incursion by the heretical fleet met much stiffer resistance than it expected. The trading vessel Lucre Foedus had put into Perlia shortly before their arrival, and was riding at anchor in the skies above Havendown as the scouting flotilla emerged from the warp. How they reacted to this unwelcome surprise, we can only conjecture, for the ships of our Rogue Traders are formidable indeed, designed as they are for venturing beyond the bounds of the Imperium, and the Emperor’s unfailing protection.
No doubt those in command of the raiding force felt that a handful of destroyers would be sufficient to sweep the remaining system defence boats from the skies, and had that been all that stood between them and the helpless world below, they might even have been right. But the Lucre Foedus was made of sterner stuff, destroying or crippling most of the incoming fleet, before sustaining so much damage herself that she was forced to withdraw.
A persistent local legend, that Ciaphas Cain himself was aboard the ship during the engagement, can safely be discounted, although he was certainly prominent in the ground action which followed, as the surviving forces of Chaos arrived on the surface of Perlia, to face whatever defences could be mobilised against them.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘I’m afraid we’re going to have to cut our meal a little short,’ Orelius said, standing as he spoke, and leading the way out of the parlour. Not for the first time I found myself marvelling at his self-possession. I’ve no doubt most men in his position would have been gibbering with panic at this point, or running round in little circles waving their arms in the air. I probably would have been myself, if I hadn’t had so much practice at appearing calm in a crisis, which pretty much goes with the job, of course.
‘Rather a shame,’ I responded instead, determined to seem no less phlegmatic than my host. ‘Your chef seems as skilful as ever.’ I tapped the comm-bead in my ear. ‘Sprie, we’re leaving early. The enemy has been rather inconsiderate in the timing of their arrival.’
‘We’ll be sure to convey your displeasure,’ Orelius assured me, as we regained the corridor leading back towards the hangar, and, in the other direction, the bridge. ‘Our gun crews can generally be relied on to get the message across.’
‘I’ll leave you to it, then,’ I said, as we halted in preparation for going our separate ways. I’ve been involved in space battles before, of course, one particularly memorable example preceding my first arrival on Perlia, but I’ve always felt they’re no place for a soldier. I’d far rather face the enemy with solid ground under my feet, and preferably a lot of solid cover to hide behind as well.
‘That would be best,’ Orelius agreed. ‘If we can’t get the Shadowlight to safety, you’re the only hope we have of keeping it out of Abaddon’s hands.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ I said, hoping the stark terror twisting my bowels wasn’t visible on my face, and taking automatic refuge in the kind of understated resolve he’d expect me to respond with. ‘But I’m sure you’ll see this rabble off without too much trouble.’
‘I hope so,’ he said, sounding far from certain. ‘We’ve as much firepower as a cruiser, and most of the contacts seemed small for warships. But if we take too much damage we’ll have to run for it.’
I nodded grimly, having come to the same conclusion myself. If Orelius couldn’t recover the Shadowlight, it was vital that he get the information he’d picked up from the Valley of Daemons to Amberley; that way, if the worst came to the worst, at least the Inquisition would have some idea of what it was facing. Of course in the meantime I’d be stuck in the firing line, trying to stop an army of Chaos fanatics from getting their hands on the blasted thing, but that was a problem for later; right now I just wanted to get back to Perlia before the shooting started. ‘Emperor be with you,’ I said simply, actually meaning it for once, and turned towards the hangar bay with a wave of farewell, trying not to wonder if I’d ever see him again.
Sprie, I was pleased to discover, was just as on top of things as Visiter had led me to expect, waiting in the cockpit with the boarding ramp down and the Aquila’s engines already fired up, ready to leave. Indeed, the ramp had begun to rise even before I’d reached the top of it, and the rugged little shuttle had risen from the deck before the atmosphere seals had finished hissing into place behind me.
‘Good work, Sprie,’ I encouraged him, as I entered the cockpit and dropped into the seat Visiter had occupied during the eventful training run to the asteroid station. If he was surprised to see me there, rather than riding in the back like passengers were supposed to, he was too polite or busy to mention the fact; but if we were about to be shot at, I wanted to be able to see what was trying to kill me. ‘A textbook dust-off.’
‘Except nobody’s shooting at us,’ Sprie replied, sounding a little disappointed about it. Well, there was plenty of time for that to change. He fed a little more power to the engines, and we began to glide smoothly towards the huge brazen portal ahead, through which a widening strip of eternal night, speckled with stars, was beginning to show. As we passed through it, and into open space, I noticed shadows on the hull plates, moving parallel to our own, and glanced up to see a squadron of the heavy shuttles I’d noticed before flitting around the enormous bulk of the trading vessel like flies around a grox, forming an unmistakable defensive screen. They’d be no match for real fighters, of course, but they’d be able to pick off incoming ordnance and boarding pods neat as you please, and I nodded thoughtfully, pleased to see that none of Orelius’s people seemed to have lost their edge.
‘Goodbye, and good luck,’ Orelius’s voice said in my comm-bead, echoing slightly, and the mighty vessel’s main engines ignited, powering her up and out of the gravity well of Perlia with the casual ease of a man shrugging off a soggy rain cape.
‘The Emperor protects,’ I responded automatically, hoping that in this instance it would turn out to be true.
‘They’re engaging,’ Sprie said, a moment or two later.
I glanced at the auspex screen, trying to make sense of the overall tactical picture. As always when fighting in space was concerned, I found myself momentarily disorientated, until my brain added the third dimension missing from battles on the surface of a planet. Three of the enemy vessels seemed to be closing on the Lucre Foedus, or perhaps it was the other way round, while two more bored in towards the planet below. At any event, Orelius must have fired first, as the leading Chaos vessel abruptly vanished from the screen.
‘First blood to us, then,’ I said. I was distracted from observing the rest of the fight by a rising babble of panicked voices on just about every frequency my earpiece was capable of picking up, as the shambolic remnants of the PDF finally noticed we were under attack[28].
‘Back to the schola, sir?’ Sprie asked, and I shook my head.
‘No,’ I instructed him. ‘Head for Havendown.’ If someone didn’t do something to get the rabble down there organised, the enemy would simply stroll in and take the place, which would make my life intensely difficult, not to say short, probably.
‘Aye aye, sir.’ The flame-haired cadet bent over his instrumentation for a moment, plotting the optimum flight path, then looked up, grinning. ‘This should be interesting, anyway.’
‘Interesting how?’ I asked.
A cluster of tiny dots was closing on the pair of enemy vessels, which had slipped past Orelius, and Sprie nodded at the auspex screen with an expression of tolerant amusement. ‘There go our fighters,’ he said. ‘Swallowing the bait, just like they were supposed to.’
‘What bait?’ I asked, feeling the hairs on the back of my neck begin to prickle. The hull of our shuttle shook, almost imperceptibly, as if sensing my unease, although the rational part of my mind recognised the sensation as simply the first kiss of the thickening atmosphere against the fuselage.
‘The system defence boats are all on the outer picket lines,’ Sprie reminded me, ‘in case the ’nids come back. These ships emerged well within the defensive perimeter.’ He shook his head. ‘Way too close to our gravity well for safety: they must be mad.’
‘Of course they are,’ I replied testily, ‘they’re Chaos-worshipping loonies. So far as they’re concerned, self-preservation’s something that only happens to other people. What did you mean about the fighters?’
‘They were the only defensive assets we had capable of engaging them,’ Sprie said. ‘So of course they went rushing off to do just that. Leaving nothing inside the atmosphere to intercept the landing craft.’
‘What landing craft?’ I asked, already beginning to make sense of the approaching vessels’ trajectory.
Sprie shrugged. ‘The ones they’ll be launching any moment now, just as soon as the flyboys start their attack runs against the carriers. They’ll break off when they realise they’ve been suckered, of course, but by that time the barges will be well into the atmosphere, and they’ll never catch up before they hit the deck. Pretty slick, when you come to think about it.’
I nodded. The lad may still only have been a cadet, but he clearly had a sound grasp of three-dimensional tactics, and I wasn’t too proud to defer to his greater expertise. Not with my neck on the line. ‘What about the ships?’ I asked. The thought of a pair of uncontested warships in orbit, able to take pot-shots at anything that took their fancy, was far from comforting.
‘They’re not going anywhere,’ Sprie said, sounding pleased at the thought. ‘This is a suicide run.’ Glancing at the auspex again, I could see he was right. They should have been braking by now, preparing to enter orbit, but they simply continued to descend, following us into the outer reaches of the atmosphere. ‘They were probably hoping to slingshot round the planet, but the fighters must have inflicted some damage to their engines. They’d be the obvious targets.’
I nodded again, having gathered as much from the chatter in my comm-bead. ‘They have,’ I confirmed, and Sprie grinned with vindictive satisfaction.
‘Then they’ll burn or they’ll bounce,’ he said. In the event, it seemed, they did both; hardly had a cluster of smaller dots broken from the nearer contact than both ships hit the denser air above us, dipping within it to blaze across the sky like twin meteors, trailing a shower of lesser sparks as hull plates and external mounts tore loose and vaporised. ‘Hang on, this is going to get rough.’
Forewarned, I gripped the crash webbing in the nick of time, an instant before the shockwave hit, crashing through the boiling air like a tsunami. Our gallant little shuttle bounced like a pea in a drum, and I found myself blessing Visiter for his foresight in assigning this particular pilot to me. Remaining methodical and calm, he worked the controls like a concert meister at a clavichord, gradually restoring our flight path to something reasonably straight and level. As he levelled off, I glanced out of the windshield ahead of us, and winced involuntarily; we were far closer to the ground than we had been, purple moorland and cultivated fields flicking past almost too fast to be seen as anything other than a parti-coloured blur, and the memory of my first arrival on this world rose up to haunt me.
‘Good piloting,’ I commended him, and Sprie shook his head grimly.
‘We’re not down yet, sir. Some of the flight systems took an awful battering.’ He started paging down a cogitator screen, muttering the litany of fault diagnosis, and I glanced at the auspex again. Both Chaos vessels had re-emerged from the atmosphere, and were now spinning away on an uncontrolled trajectory, no doubt melted to slag by their fiery passage through the superheated air[29]. More to distract myself from the implications of his ominous words than anything else, I tried to contact Orelius again, and much to my surprise I succeeded.
‘How are you doing?’ I asked, as the second of the enemy ships he was engaging vanished from the auspex screen.
‘Holding our own, but that’s about all,’ Orelius said. ‘We’ve lost the starboard batteries and the main fire control systems. We’re down to sending the shuttles in, and they’re barely making a dent in the last one.’
‘Better get out while you can,’ I advised reluctantly. According to the chatter in my comm-bead, the system defence boats were inbound, and should be able to deal with the sole surviving intruder. They’d take some time to do it, though, and if the Lucre Foedus was destroyed in the interim, the intelligence she was carrying back to Amberley would be lost. On the other hand, if Orelius followed my suggestion, my last chance of getting off Perlia before the enemy arrived in force would go with him.
‘I intend to.’ The rogue trader’s tone was grim. ‘We’re preparing to make the transit right now. Take care of the Shadowlight, whatever happens.’
‘You can count on it,’ I assured him insincerely, wondering how in the Emperor’s name I was supposed to do that. Oh well, time enough to worry about it when the time came. A few moments later the blip marking the position of his ship wavered and vanished, leaving his sole surviving opponent in uncontested control of the battlefield. Shortly thereafter it too flickered out of existence, no doubt returning to wherever it had come from, to report that their first attempt to probe our defences hadn’t been an entirely unqualified success.
‘We’re approaching Havendown,’ Sprie informed me a moment or two later, the faint tremors I’d already noticed in the Aquila’s fuselage beginning to feel a little more pronounced. ‘Where do you want to put down?’ Despite the increasingly severe problems he was obviously having keeping us in the air at all, his tone was still casual, and I found his obvious confidence reasonably reassuring.
‘Head for the PDF headquarters,’ I told him. ‘We’re going to need to organise a reception committee for those shuttles coming in behind us, and we won’t have a lot of time to spare.’
‘Aye aye, sir,’ he said again, and busied himself at the controls. Reluctantly, the Aquila gained a little height, wallowing as it did so, and I got my first glimpse of the planetary capital in the distance, the marble domes of the cathedral tinted blood red by the rays of the setting sun. I hoped that wouldn’t turn out to be an omen.
‘This is Commissar Cain,’ I voxed, ‘inbound aboard the schola progenium shuttle Sanguis Iuvenis, estimated time of arrival at Rytepat…’[30] I paused momentarily, and glanced at Sprie.
‘About seven minutes,’ he assured me.
‘Four minutes,’ I said crisply. ‘Have a vehicle waiting on the pad, ready to take me to the operations room.’ I glanced at the pilot again, noting his faintly puzzled expression. ‘Never hurts to keep them on the hop. And this way there’s a remote possibility they might actually be able to get something organised before we arrive.’
He nodded, and returned his attention to the controls. ‘We could do with an enginseer to take a look at these systems,’ he said speculatively.
‘Good point.’ I activated the comm-bead again. ‘Get a cogboy out there too,’ I added. ‘We got a bit too close to those heretic barges for comfort.’ I didn’t elaborate, of course, but it certainly wouldn’t hurt to give the impression that we’d been in combat already.
‘Yes sir!’ the vox op replied, sounding faintly breathless, and the link went dead.
‘I can see the field,’ Sprie said calmly, heading straight for it across the middle of the city, showing a fine disregard for civilian air traffic restrictions in the process. By the time we were on the final approach we were actually skimming between the spires of the taller buildings, no doubt leaving a trail of shattered windows in our wake, and I could quite clearly see the pale blobs of upturned faces turning to stare at us as we descended[31]. ‘Crossing the threshold.’
I made sure my crash webbing was tight again, just to be on the safe side, anticipating the impact of our struggling Aquila against the apron at any moment, but to my relieved surprise it never came. Sprie kicked in the landing thrusters, bringing the nose up and round as he did so, and there ahead of us was a landing pad, its perimeter marked by winking lights which seemed all the brighter in the gathering gloom, a utility truck just drawing up next to it to disgorge a faintly panic-stricken honour guard.
