Cains last stand, p.23
Cain's Last Stand, page 23
‘Don’t like the look of that, sir,’ Jurgen commented sourly, as we skirted the blazing wreck of a Leman Russ. The eight-pointed sigil of Chaos had been crudely daubed on the turret, still visible as the paint beneath it began to blister, and my aide spat in its general direction, almost managing to get the gobbet of phlegm over the lip of the armour plate protecting his driving compartment. ‘It was bad enough when the turncoats just had lasguns.’
‘It was only to be expected,’ I said, trying to sound more casual than I felt. ‘The Madasans must have had an armoured regiment or two on the books. Most PDFs do.’ Nevertheless, I’d been hoping that they’d been left behind to defend their homeworld against the inevitable Imperial counterattack, or lost in the general rush to abandon the stricken carriers[71].
‘We’ll see them off anyway,’ Nelys assured me, his zeal once again appearing to override his common sense.
Kayla muttered something that sounded like ‘frakhead’ in my earpiece, but before I could say anything to forestall an incipient argument, a new voice cut in on the command frequency.
‘Commissar, can you hear me?’ Rorkins asked.
‘Yes, commander,’ I responded, observing the protocols for the benefit of the listening cadets. Donal had become visible in the Salamander behind us shortly after we entered the city limits, manning the heavy flamer; now he was glancing warily around as we proceeded up the street, away from the remnants of the engagement. For a moment I found myself thinking it was lucky I’d chosen him to join the party instead of Stebbins. The thought of the havoc that young man might wreak with an incendiary weapon was a sobering one indeed. ‘What’s happening?’ Something serious clearly, or he’d never have bothered contacting me directly.
‘The enemy’s here,’ Rorkins said, his voice tense. ‘The second wave is moving into orbit.’
‘Any further casualties?’ I asked hopefully, not that I expected any, but after the damage he’d done to the first wave, I was prepared to credit Visiter with the ability to work miracles.
‘No, they all made it,’ Rorkins said, his voice unusually clear for a comm-bead signal from so distant a source. It was being relayed through the vox set in the Salamander, of course, but that alone wouldn’t account for such exceptionally good reception. Then I realised it must have been relayed through the command bunker at Rytepat as well, a mere handful of kilometres away.
Before I could reply, though, the sky turned white, all colour leached from it by a flare of harsh, actinic energy of almost inconceivable magnitude. Fortunately the buildings of the city blocked any direct line of sight we might have had, or we would all have been struck blind in an instant. A moment later the ground trembled, windows shattered, and a rain of debris pattered down around us, dislodged from the structures we drove between. Jurgen jammed on his brakes, but decades of familiarity with his driving had left me prepared for this, and I kept my feet with relative ease.
‘What the hell was that?’ Kayla asked, slewing the second Salamander sideways, and crushing a parked groundcar under its tracks before coming to a halt with its nose embedded in the plinth of a remarkably ugly statue of a remarkably ugly man, which disfigured the middle of the square we’d been passing through.
‘Orbital strike,’ I said, having seen something similar on a few occasions before. ‘Probably the lance batteries of a warship.’ An uncomfortable itching sensation began to grow between my shoulder blades as we waited for the next one. In my experience, once Chaos commanders started popping off heavy ordnance from space, they wouldn’t be happy until they’d levelled anything in the vicinity taller than an anthill. I began to think about the fastest way out of the city, concentrating so hard on the map-slate that it took a moment for me to register that the bombardment hadn’t been repeated, and that Rorkins’s voice in my comm-bead was far more attenuated than before.
‘Rytepat’s been obliterated,’ he told me soberly. ‘Better get out of the city while you can.’ The familiar hissing of static in my ear was supplemented for a moment by a quartet of indrawn breaths from the stunned cadets.
‘Well, we expected them to try and neutralise it,’ I said, trying to sound as calm as I could, despite the shock which still had me trembling. That was true enough, but the number of troops they’d committed to besieging the place had led us to expect a conventional assault. The only positive side to this surprising development was that they’d undoubtedly polished off a company or two of their own people along with our own. ‘Varan must be in a hurry.’ Which was a disquieting thought in its own right, of course, although I couldn’t explain why to Rorkins, especially over a comnet that might be monitored. The only reason I could see for the warmaster to casually overkill a strategic installation he could probably have taken intact in a few more days, and made good use of during the subsequent occupation, was because he was impatient to pacify the planet and start looking for the Shadowlight as quickly as possible.
‘Well, it confirms his insanity,’ Rorkins said bluntly. ‘I suggest you pull out the way you went in; they’ll probably start hitting the city close to Rytepat, and work their way across.’
‘I don’t think they’re going to,’ I said, having managed to orientate myself at last. ‘If they were going to fire again, they would have done so by now.’ We’d had plenty of time to confirm the make-up of the enemy fleet as they coasted in, and Visiter had sent us what pict and auspex records he’d been able to grab on his attack runs to supplement our existing intelligence, so I was certain that they could have unleashed at least half a dozen lance blasts by now, not to mention the widespread devastation which would have been inflicted by the less accurate primary batteries of the warships in orbit. ‘If Varan wanted to level the city, he’d already have done it.’
‘Then why’s he holding off?’ Donal asked, reasonably enough under the circumstances.
‘Because he’s planning an assault,’ I said, ‘and he wanted our defences weakened as much as possible. He obviously doesn’t know we shifted our command centre after the first attack.’ I glanced at the map-slate again, confirming my impression of our whereabouts. ‘We’re heading on to the Governor’s palace.’ If nothing else, the wide gardens would offer our best chance of evading another orbital strike if I turned out to be wrong, as they were a long way from any tempting targets.
‘Makes sense,’ Rorkins said. ‘Extract his excellency and drag him back here, before Varan gets his hands on him. If you can locate the heir as well, even better; we’ll need symbols of resistance once Havendown falls.’
‘If Havendown falls,’ I corrected him, more to play the part of the dutiful commissar than because I thought there was the remotest chance of him being wrong.
‘If. Of course,’ Rorkins said, with heavy irony, and cut the link.
‘The palace, then,’ I said, while Jurgen gunned our engine, and Kayla reversed gingerly out from under the tottering statue.
If I’d had any lingering doubts about the right direction they were soon dispelled, as the familiar sounds of combat soon became apparent, even over the roaring of our engines. The enemy were still surrounding the palace, at least according to the latest tactical information I had available, but I thought I’d identified a weak spot in their lines near one of the side gates. The main concentration of heretics was busy trying to force an entrance at the front, where the buildings of the city came closest to the wall, affording the best cover, while only a relatively small detachment had been left to guard a remote postern, generally used only by gardeners maintaining the grounds. A squad or two of the PDF had been dug in on the other side, to discourage any attempt at breeching it, and the two factions were amusing themselves by taking largely ineffectual pot-shots at one another over the wall.
It was hard to tell which of them was the most surprised by our sudden appearance, heretics or loyalists, although on balance it was probably the enemy. We roared into the street behind them, bearing down on their position from behind, opening fire as we came. Jurgen triggered our hull-mounted bolter, chewing the barricade they’d erected across the end of the street facing the gateway to pieces, along with a sandbagged autocannon and its crew, while I swung the pintel mount, gouging a line of holes along the row of windows overlooking the thoroughfare, certain that I must have bagged a sharpshooter or two hoping to get a line of sight on the defenders from an elevated position. The spark of a las-bolt impacting on the armour close to my head informed me that, though the idea was sound, I might have picked the wrong side of the street to put it into practice, but before I could swing the heavy weapon round to retaliate a blast of heat and the stink of burning promethium forestalled me. Donal had triggered the heavy flamer on the second Salamander, hosing down the hostelry from which the shot had come, and leaving it blazing merrily.
‘Thank you,’ I voxed, and he waved cheerfully.
‘You’re welcome, sir.’ He glanced down. ‘Come on, Nel, find a traitor to shoot. You’re missing all the fun.’
Nelys was manning the forward-facing bolter, but just about all he’d see through the sights from that angle was the back of our Salamander, so I hoped he’d be able to resist the temptation to open up at random. No sooner had I completed the thought than he triggered the heavy weapon, and I flinched, anticipating a rain of armour-piercing projectiles against our rear plating, but he’d judged it to a nicety, taking out another sandbagged weapon emplacement just barely visible at the corner of the street. He whooped as the gunner’s torso erupted in a crimson mist. ‘Yes!’
‘Boys,’ Kayla muttered, a trifle enviously I thought, and tucked in behind us as Jurgen bounced our tracks over the remains of the barricade he’d shredded. A few desultory las-bolts were still spanging off the hull armour, so I sprayed a few suppressive rounds to keep the survivors’ heads down, and Donal swept the nearest storefronts with another burst from the flamer for good measure.
Luckily the defenders were alert; a few heads appeared at the top of the wall, popping up like startled snowhens, and began to lay down some more suppressive fire, while someone began to pull the gates open. I flinched, anticipating a collision, but Jurgen cut our speed just enough for them to finish the job, and we shot through the widening gap with centimetres to spare. Kayla followed, a little more sedately, and leaving a layer of paint on the thick stone gatepost, then the slab of timber slammed back into place behind us.
‘Sir.’ The sergeant in charge of the PDF detachment snapped a salute, trying not to gawp at me, while the men under his command didn’t even bother making the attempt.
I returned the salute crisply. ‘Good morning, sergeant. Sorry to barge in unannounced, but we’re in a bit of a hurry. Could you present Commissar Cain’s compliments to the Governor, and inform him I’d like a word at his earliest convenience?’ I could have done it myself, of course, over the comm-bead, but I had no desire to work my way through innumerable flunkeys demanding proof of my identity.
‘Of course, sir.’ The sergeant beckoned his vox operator over, and began to speak urgently in an undertone, with several covert glances in our direction.
‘Very good,’ I said, and leaned over to talk to Jurgen. ‘The palace, Jurgen, quick as you can.’
‘Right you are, sir,’ my aide replied cheerfully, revving the engine to a pitch which would have had a tech-priest howling almost as much in protest had there been one in the vicinity, and slipping in the clutch. True to form he took my words literally, accelerating across a wide formal lawn and crashing through a hedge, leaving twin furrows of gouged earth in our wake. By the time we’d arrived at our destination, a handful of minutes later, he’d also accounted for several flower beds, a scattering of shrubs, and a small statue of a young woman wearing rather too little for the time of year. Kayla followed, compounding the damage, but not by much[72].
‘Commissar.’ Trevellyan himself was waiting at the bottom of the steps leading up to a wide formal terrace, and greeted us affably as we drew up beneath the balustrade, our engines idling. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘You can come with us, sir,’ I told him, dismounting in order to shake hands. It might seem an odd time to be observing the proprieties quite so punctiliously, but if I read the man right, on our brief earlier acquaintance, he’d find at least the appearance of adhering to protocol reassuring. ‘Your safety is vital to the security of Perlia.’ Which might have been overstating the case a little, but I’ve yet to meet an aristo without an inflated sense of their own importance, and playing up to it can often persuade them to co-operate.
Trevellyan looked confused. ‘I can’t just leave,’ he said. ‘This building is the centre of Imperial power. What sort of message does it send to the populace if I just cut and run?’
‘That you’re still alive?’ I suggested, trying to keep an edge of irritation from my voice. ‘The enemy has already destroyed the PDF command centre by orbital bombardment, and they could just as easily obliterate the palace.’
‘Then why haven’t they?’ Trevellyan asked, reasonably enough, and I tried to keep my own voice conversational as I replied.
‘I have no idea,’ I admitted. ‘But we’re dealing with Chaos worshipping loonies, don’t forget. Their strategies don’t always make sense to anyone else, at least to begin with.’
‘Then it seems to me that I’m as safe here as anywhere else,’ the Governor said.
‘With respect, sir,’ I began, ‘that is no longer your decision to make.’ I became aware that my voice was rising, and made an effort to sound calmer; only then did I realise that I’d been speaking more loudly because the ambient noise had risen about us.
‘Incoming!’ Briel shouted, glancing up from the miniature auspex in the back of the second Salamander[73], and gesturing towards the east. I raised my hand, shielding my eyes against the glare, and was just able to make out a trio of fast-moving dots, closing on our position.
‘Assault shuttles,’ Nelys reported, a pair of amplivisors to his eyes. ‘Three of them, descending fast.’
‘Inside!’ I snapped. ‘We’re sitting waterfowl out here!’ I half expected Trevellyan to argue, but he simply nodded, bolting up the steps to the terrace and disappearing through the wide glass doors leading into the conservatory beyond. I began to follow, then glanced back. ‘That means everyone!’
The cadets piled out of the Salamander, and pelted after us. A moment later Jurgen’s distinctive odour joined me, followed almost at once by the man himself, his precious melta cradled in his arms.
‘Looks like they’re coming down in the grounds,’ he said, and I held out my hand for the amplivisor Nelys was still carrying.
‘They are,’ I confirmed, focussing the device, as the quartet of cadets scurried past me into the building, drawing their weapons as they ran. Confident that the enemy wouldn’t be down and deployed for several minutes yet I lingered a little longer, partly to play up to my undeserved reputation for coolness under fire, but mainly because the more you know about the enemy, the better prepared you are to deal with them.
Unlike the commandeered civilian vessels, which had delivered most of the first wave and the preliminary raiders, the three shuttles were military drop-ships, heavily armoured, and carrying enough weaponry for close air support. The PDF guarding the palace opened up with commendable promptness as soon as they came into range, but the barrage of autocannon rounds and sporadic rockets from hand-held launchers barely scratched the paintwork as the menacing formation continued to descend. All the defenders really succeeded in doing was pinpointing their positions, the ones bracketing the shuttles’ flight path falling silent almost at once as the drop-ships’ nose-mounted lascannons retaliated to deadly effect. I half expected the pilots to break off and go looking for fresh targets once those were eliminated, but, once again, they seemed remarkably focussed for minions of Chaos, continuing their descent as smoothly and efficiently as Imperial Navy veterans would have done.
‘That’s it, we’re leaving,’ I said, as the first landing skids sank into the lawn, which browned and then blackened under the fierce heat of the landing thrusters. Nevertheless, despite the urgent demands of my sense of self-preservation, something held me there a moment longer. I’ve never liked facing an unknown enemy, and preferred not to take to my heels without finding out what was most likely to be following.
They’d chosen their landing site well, I was forced to concede; with the nearest defenders swept away by the strafing run I’d witnessed, the fall of the ground would enable them to disembark without facing much in the way of incoming fire. Of course that would also give us time to redeploy our own people to meet them, which wouldn’t do them a lot of good in the long run, I hoped. I focussed the amplivisor again, grateful for the augmetic fingers on my right hand, which let me hold the device perfectly steady, despite the distance; the only faint trembling of the image I could see was due to my heartbeat, which was a little faster than usual, but no more than you’d expect under the circumstances.
As I watched, the boarding ramps descended, and figures began to move inside the shadowed bellies of the shuttles. It was hard to make anything out yet, but the bulk of them was unmistakable: power armour. A thrill of sheer terror shot through me at the thought of facing what looked suspiciously like at least three full squads of Traitor Marines, and I swung the amplivisor back and forth, hoping to find some clue as to who they were. Then someone else stepped out onto the ramp, and, if anything, my apprehension increased. Dwarfed by the hulking figures that flanked him, the unmistakable figure of Varan himself strolled down the metal incline, and finally set foot on Perlia.
