Battle for The Abyss (14 page)

Cestus’s fellow Ultramarine saw the vehemence in his eyes, remembering his conviction that he knew some terrible peril was creeping towards Macragge and the Legion. His brother-captain had been right thus far, and suddenly Antiges felt shamed that his dogged pragmatism had so blinded him to that truth.

‘Courage and honour,’ he replied and clapped his hand upon Cestus’s shoulder in an apologetic gesture.

‘So, we follow them into the warp,’ Kaminska interrupted, assuming that the matter was settled. ‘We feign flight and get on the ship’s tail as soon as it readies to go into the Tertiary Core Transit,’ she added.

Cestus was about to give his assent when Helms-mate Kant delivered a report from the sensorium.

‘Impacts on the
Boundless
.’

THE
BOUNDLESS
TOOK longer to die than the
Waning Moon
.

Another volley of torpedoes sailed out from the
Furious Abyss
, this time in a tight corkscrew like a pack of predators arrowing in on the prey instead of spread out in a fan.

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High explosives tipped the torpedo formation. They penetrated shields and used up the first volleys of turret fire from the
Boundless
.

The main body of the torpedoes were the same kind of bore-header cluster munitions that had ripped into the
Waning Moon
.

A few magnetic pulse torpedoes were part of the volley, too.

They ripped through the sensors of the
Boundless
and blinded it.

There was no longer any need to conceal the full arsenal of the
Furious Abyss
.

Cluster explosions, like flowers of fire, blossomed down one flank of the
Boundless
. Shock waves rippled through the fighter bays, throwing attack craft aside like boats on a wave. Refuelling tanks exploded, their blooms lost in the torrents of flame that followed the first impacts. Fighter crews that had survived the madness of the attack runs were rewarded by being shredded by shrapnel or drowned in fire. The flank of the
Boundless
was chewed away as if it were ageing and decaying at an impossible rate, holes opening up and metal blackening and twisting to finally flake away like desiccated flesh.

The final torpedo wave had single warheads that forced enormous bullets of exotic metals at impossible speeds. They shot like lances from their housings, shrieking right through the
Boundless
and emerging from the other side, sowing secondary explosions of ignited fuel and vented oxygen, transfixing the carrier like spears of light.

Finally, the
Furious Abyss
took up position at medium range from the Imperial ship. It paused, as if observing the wracked vessel, sizing up the quarry one last time before the kill.

The plasma lance emerged, the energy building up and the barrel glowing. The surviving crew of the
Boundless
knew what was coming, but all their control systems were shot through. A few thrusters sputtered into life as the
Boundless
tried desperately to limp away from its would-be executioner, but the carrier was too big and badly wounded.

The plasma lance fired. It hit the
Boundless
amidships, at enough of an angle to rip through to the plasma reactors. The en-96

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tire vessel glowed, the heat of the fusing plasma conducted through its structure and hull.

Then the plasma overspilled and, spitted like prey on the solid beam of the plasma lance’s light, the
Boundless
exploded.

FROM HIS IMPERIOUS position on the bridge of the
Furious Abyss
, Zadkiel watched the burning wreck of the enemy cruiser flicker into lifeless darkness.

‘Glory to Lorgar,’ said Reskiel, who was standing behind him.

‘So it is written,’ Zadkiel replied.

‘Two vessels remain, my lord,’ added his second, obsequiously.

Zadkiel observed the tactical display. The remaining cruiser was intact, and the final escort being pursued by the
Furious Abyss
’s fighter wings would probably also escape.

‘By the time they get to Terra, it will be too late for any warning,’ Zadkiel said confidently. ‘The warp is with us. We risk far more tarrying here to hunt them down.’

‘I will instruct Navigator Esthemya that we are to enter the warp.’

‘Do so immediately,’ confirmed Zadkiel, his mind on the transpiring events and their impending foray into the empyrean.

Reskiel nodded and activated the ship’s vox-casters, transmitting Zadkiel’s relayed orders into the engine rooms and ordnance decks. ‘All crew, make ready for warp entry.’

‘Reskiel, have Master Malforian load the psionic charges,’ Zadkiel said as an afterthought. ‘Once we are in the warp, you will have the bridge. I will be inspecting the supplicants in the lower decks. Ensure Novice Ultis attends.’

‘As you wish, my lord,’ said Reskiel, bowing deeply. ‘And if the Ultramarines try to follow?’

‘Commend their souls to the warp,’ Zadkiel replied coldly.

THE
WRATHFUL
WENT dark, to simulate the diversion of its power to the engines for escape. The entire bridge was drenched in shadow. The crew was stunned into sudden silence and, for a
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fraction of a second, stillness, as they struggled to comprehend what they had witnessed.

Kaminska was as quiet as the ship. She gripped the arms of her command throne tightly. Vorlov had been her friend.

‘A saviour pod jettisoned from the
Waning Moon
before its destruction, admiral,’ announced Helms-mate Venkmyer at the sensorium helm, breaking the silence.

‘Can you tell who is on board?’ asked Cestus, alongside the admiral, watching impotently as the Word Bearer vessel grew farther and farther away as the
Wrathful
made its mock retreat.

‘Lord Mhotep, sire,’ Venkmyer replied. ‘He’s on his way to us.

I’ve instructed crews to be ready to retrieve him when he docks.’

‘Antiges, have Laeradis join the dock crews. Mhotep might be injured and in need of an apothecary.’

‘At once, brother-captain.’

Antiges turned and was about to head off again when Cestus added, ‘Disband the boarding parties and return to the bridge.

Instruct Brynngar to do the same on my authority. Bring Saphrax and the Legion captains with you.’

The other Ultramarine nodded and went to his duties.

SAPHRAX ARRIVED ON the bridge with Antiges as ordered.

Brynngar and Skraal joined them, feral belligerence and unfettered wrath increasing the already knife-edge tension.

With this many Astartes present, the bridge of the
Wrathful
felt very small. Saphrax wore his ceremonial honour guard armour, the gold of his armour plates glinting dully. Skraal, on the other hand, made do with little in the way of decoration. Cestus could not help noticing the kill-tallies on his chainaxe, bolt pistol and armour plates: a testament to violence. Killing was a matter of pride for the World Eaters and Skraal had several names etched on his shoulder pad, around the stylised devoured planet symbol of his Legion.

‘Battle-brothers, fellow captains,’ Cestus began as the Astartes present took position around the dead tactical display table. We are to enter the empyrean and give chase to the Word Bearers.

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Our Navigators have discerned that they are on course for a stable warp route. Following them won’t be a problem.’

‘Though, facing them will,’ said Saphrax, ever the voice of reason. ‘That ship destroyed two cruisers and the same in frigates.

What is your plan for overcoming such odds?’ It wasn’t an objection. Saphrax was not given to questioning the decisions of his superiors. In his mind, the hierarchy of command was absolute, and much like the Ultramarine’s posture, it would brook no bending.

‘If we go back to Terra,’ said Cestus, ‘we could try to raise the alarm. If the warp quietened then we could get a message to Macragge and forewarn the Legion.’ Cestus knew there was no conviction in his words as he spoke them.

‘You have already decided against that course, haven’t you, lad,’ said venerable Brynngar.

‘I have.’

The old wolf smiled, revealing his razor-sharp incisors. There was something stoic and powerful in the steel grey of his mane-like hair and beard, implacability in the creamy orb of his ruined eye and the ragged scars of previous battles. But for all the war-like trappings, the obvious martial prowess and savagery, there was wisdom, too.

‘When the sons of Russ march to war, they do not cease until battle is done,’ he said with the utmost conviction. ‘We will chase those curs into the eye of the warp if necessary and feast upon their traitorous hearts.’

‘The World Eaters do not flee when an enemy turns on them,’

offered Skraal with blood lust in his eyes. ‘We hunt them down and kill them. It’s the way of the Legion.’

Cestus nodded, appraising the brave warriors before him with great respect.

‘Make no mistake about this: we are at war,’ the Ultramarine warned them, finally. ‘We are at war with our brothers, and we must prosecute this fight with all the strength and conviction that we would bring against any foe of mankind. We do this in the name of the Emperor.’

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‘In the name of the Emperor,’ growled Skraal. ‘Aye, for the Throne,’ Brynngar agreed. Cestus bowed deeply.

‘Your fealty does me great honour. Prepare your battle-brothers for what is ahead. I will convene a council of war upon Captain Mhotep’s return to the
Wrathful
.’

Cestus noticed the snarl upon Brynngar’s face at the last remark, but it faded quickly as the Astartes took their leave and returned to their warriors.

‘Admiral Kaminska,’ said the Ultramarine, once the other Legionaries were gone.

Kaminska looked up at him. Dark rings had sunk around her eyes. ‘I shall have to prepare Navigator Orcadus. We can follow once the enemy is clear.’ She thumbed a vox-stud on the arm of her command throne. ‘Captain Ulargo, report.’

‘We’ve got mostly superficial damage; one serious deck leak,’

replied Ulargo on the
Fireblade
.

‘Make your ship ready. We’re following them,’ Kaminska told him. ‘Into the Abyss?’

‘Yes. Do you have any objections?’

‘Is this Captain Cestus’s order?’

‘It is,’ she said.

‘Then we’ll be in your wake,’ said Ulargo. ‘For the record, I do not believe a warp pursuit is the most suitable course of action in our current situation.’

‘Noted,’ said Kaminska. ‘Form up to follow us in.’

‘Yes, admiral,’ Ulargo replied.

As the vox went dead, Kaminska sagged in her command throne as if the battle and the comrades she had lost were weighing down on her.

‘Admiral,’ said Cestus, noting her discomfort, ‘are you still able to prosecute this mission?’

Kaminska whirled on the Ultramarine, her expression fierce and the rod at her back once more.

‘I may not have the legendary endurance of the Astartes, but I will see this through to the end, captain, for good or ill.’

‘You have my utmost faith, then,’ Cestus replied.

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The voice of Helms-mate Venkmyer at the sensorium helm helped to ease the tension.

‘Captain Mhotep’s saviour pod is locked on,’ she said, ‘and the
Fireblade
has picked up additional survivors from the
Waning
Moon
.’

‘What of the
Boundless
?’ asked Kaminska.

‘I’m sorry, admiral. There were none.’

Kaminska watched the tactical display on the screen above her as the
Furious Abyss
’s blip shivered and disappeared, leaving behind a trace of exotic particles.

‘Take us into that jump point and engage the warp engines,’ she ordered wearily, Venkmyer relaying them to the relevant parties aboard ship.

‘Captain Mhotep is secured, admiral,’ Venkmyer said after-wards.

‘Take us in.’

ABOARD THE
FURIOUS Abyss
, the supplicants’ quarters were dark and infernally hot. The air was so heavy with chemicals that anyone other than an Astartes would have needed a respirator to survive.

The supplicants, sixteen of them in all, knelt by the walls of the darkened rooms. Their heads were bowed over their chests, but the shadows and darkness could not hide their swollen craniums and the way their features had atrophied as their skulls deformed to contain their grotesque brains. Thick tubes snaked down their noses and throats, hooking them to life support units mounted on the walls above. Wires ran from probes in their skulls. They were dressed neatly in the livery of the Word Bearers, for even in their comatose states they were servants of the Word just like the rest of the crew.

Three of the supplicants were dead. Their efforts in psychically assaulting the Imperial fighter squadrons had taxed them to destruction. The skull of one had ruptured, spilling rust-grey cortex over his chest and stomach. Another had apparently caught fire,
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and his blackened flesh still smouldered. The last was slumped at the back of the quarters, lolling over to one side.

Zadkiel entered the chamber. The sound of his footsteps and those of one other broke the hum of the life support systems.

‘This is the first time you have seen the supplicants, isn’t it?’

said Zadkiel.

‘Yes, my lord,’ said Ultis, though his answer was not necessary.

Zadkiel turned to the novice. ‘Tell me, Ultis, what is your impression of them?’

‘I have none,’ the novice answered coldly. ‘They are loyal servants of Lorgar, as are we all. They sacrifice themselves in a holy cause to further his glory and the glory of the Word.’

Zadkiel smiled at the phlegmatic response. Such zeal, such unremitting fervour; this Ultis wore ambition like a medal of honour emblazoned upon his chest. It meant he was dangerous.