Hellforged, p.3
Hellforged, page 3
The tech-priest bowed and turned away.
‘One moment,’ said Voar. The tech-priest halted. ‘Summon an astropath.’
The tech-priest hurried down to the pyramid to attend to his orders.
The news he had brought was unexpected, and Voar allowed himself the luxury of a few moments’ thought. The Adeptus Mechanicus had a long memory; a grudge lasted a lot longer in a bank of data-medium than it did in a human mind. That memory was not easily erased. The Mechanicus knew the name of the Soul Drinkers and of the rebel who led them, Commander Sarpedon. Sarpedon had killed Mechanicus tech-priests in taking possession of the Soulspear, and had resisted the best efforts of the Inquisition to bring him and his Chapter to justice. The Adeptus Mechanicus, in defiance of the deletion order, had collected all the information they could find on the Soul Drinkers. One such piece of information suggested that the Soul Drinkers were making use of a space hulk named the Brokenback, the description of which had set off an alert in the archive of the Antithesis.
‘This is Voar,’ he voxed to the magi commanding his fleet. ‘Target identified. No prisoners.’
The guns of the Brokenback roared, and the seeker shells, relics of an earlier age of technology, erupted from the enormous broadside guns, spiralling on columns of fire through the void. Armed with their own cogitators they sought out targets of opportunity, and drove into the cloud of smaller ships in the vanguard of the Mechanicus fleet. Blossoms of atomic fire erupted and imploded darkly in the vacuum, leaving silvery sprays of wreckage.
On the gun deck of the Intolerant, Sarpedon watched them on a grainy pict screen hooked up to the gun’s own simple sensors. At this distance, the enemy cruisers were visible as silver darts illuminated by light reflected off the surrounding nebulae, and the smaller craft as sprinkled points of light. Many of them were gone in those first few moments, homed in on by the seeker shells, and blasted into burning dust.
From Sarpedon’s position, perched up on the housing of the gun, he could see right down the gun deck. Twenty guns, most of them automated and the rest operated by the Soul Drinkers, roared in unison. Loading cranes swung into action, and the Soul Drinkers began to reload their guns, their forms in purple power armour scrambling over the gun housings to haul the breech doors open and drag more shells into position. Sarpedon made ready to drop to the deck and lend his enormous strength to the task, when he caught movement on the pict screen: a glittering spray of ships approaching fast, wheeling in formation to approach.
‘It’s a bombing run!’ shouted Sarpedon. ‘Get to cover!’
Guided missiles sliced down from the weapon mounts of the approaching bombers. Automated turrets, studding the Brokenback’s hull, opened up as they approached, snaring them in a lattice of laser fire. Many were destroyed, sliced in two by the lines of white-hot light, but not before they had released their payloads. Most Imperial Navy craft would have needed to get much closer to strike, but the targeting systems of the Adeptus Mechanicus were superior, and their ordnance streaked into the gun deck of the Intolerant.
Sarpedon leapt off the gun mounting. He braced his legs and hit the far wall, his talons finding purchase on the metal. He clung to the wall as the first missile hit home, erupting in white flame at the far end of the gun deck, and shattering the massive structure of a broadside gun. The shock wave hit him, and he clung on as Soul Drinkers were thrown off their feet below him.
The wave of flame was sucked away as the atmosphere shrieked out through the hull breach. Sarpedon’s power armour was airtight and could use its own air supply in a vacuum. He still had to hold on, though, as the air ripped past him. Some of the Soul Drinkers below were dragged along by the force of it, grabbing on to loading machinery or grilles in the floor to keep from being pulled through the breach. Silence hammered down as the air was depleted, replaced with the vibrations of the guns, and the space hulk’s engines through the metal wall transmitted up Sarpedon’s talons.
Sarpedon dropped to the floor and ran for the relative safety of the Intolerant’s internal decks. Another missile hit closer, blowing another gun off its mountings and sending the steel tower of the gun barrel somersaulting through the wall. The sounds of destruction boomed through the floor, surreally distant in the vacuum.
The Imperial ship’s alarm systems, rigged back to working order by Lygris, were blaring. Sarpedon was in the maintenance decks for the ammunition systems, narrow walkways and corridors slung across steel chasms between the shell hoppers. The loading systems’ massive conveyor belts and cranes were clanking along overhead and below, feeding ammunition to the guns that still worked.
‘Salk!’ shouted Sarpedon into the vox. ‘Report! Any casualties?’
‘Brother Thoss is down,’ replied Sergeant Salk. ‘Looks like one of Iktinos’s men is dead too.’ Over Salk’s vox Sarpedon could hear the booming reports of more impacts, scattered with the vibrations from the Brokenback’s guns.
‘Where are you?’
‘Still on the deck. We’re regrouping and sounding off.’
‘Get out of there.’
‘Already on it. We’re heading for the cargo decks. We’ll put a few hull layers between us and the breach. Salk out.’
Sarpedon switched to Lygris’s vox-channel.
‘The Intolerant’s been hit,’ he said.
‘I’m tracking the incoming bombers now,’ said Lygris. Sarpedon could hear the whirr of cogitators behind his voice. ‘They’re all over us.’
‘Can we take them?’
‘Of course. But they’re not the danger. They’re just spoiling our aim so the cruisers can hit us.’
‘How much damage can they do?’
‘Ordinarily, a cruiser wouldn’t put much of a dent in a hulk this size. But the Mechanicus has plenty of tricks that could hurt.’
Sarpedon knew there were two choices: stand and fight, or flee. The Mechanicus clearly thought they had enough firepower to hurt the Brokenback. And the Soul Drinkers would gain nothing from fighting a battle here.
‘How long until the warp drives are ready?’ asked Sarpedon.
‘Another ten minutes.’
‘Then get us out of here as soon as you can. The Intolerant is being abandoned.’
‘Yes, commander. I suggest you and Salk’s men go on to damage control. The Mechanicus will get a few free swings at us before we’re gone.’
‘On my way.’
The Intolerant shook as more ordnance hit home. Smaller impacts, like sparks crackling against the hull, were the remains of fighters and bombers scattering against the Brokenback after the turrets had done their work.
The Constant drifted up out of formation into a high firing angle. The space hulk’s guns, formidable as they were, had been too busy fending off the wasp-like attacks of the Fleet Minor to pay the cruiser any mind until it was too late.
Magos Hepsebah aimed the nova cannon. She had designed it and overseen its fitting to the chassis of the Constant, turning it from a vessel of the line into a ship-killer. The barrel was so large it gave the cruiser a lopsided look as if it should topple off balance and tumble through space helplessly, but the cruiser’s thrusters kept its enormous mass still as Hepsebah lined up her shot.
No single kill shot could be taken against a space hulk. It was a welded mass of dozens of ships, and any one of them might house the bridge, or the ordnance hangars, or the reactors. Hepsebah’s duty was simply to do as much damage as possible.
A burning mass on the side of the space hulk that had once been an Imperial ship was ruined and ablaze. There was little point hitting it again. The swollen rearward quarters of the ship were composed of enormous container ships and beetle-like carapaces of massive alien hulks, which looked like they contained little more than empty space and debris. Hepsebah aimed towards the front of the ship, some way down below the reinforced armour of an ancient warship and a forbidding tangle of silvery alien craft. The ships there were many and densely packed, with more chance of important systems surviving.
Hepsebah ordered the firing chamber menials to drag the two enormous hemispheres of radioactive metal together. Hundreds of men hauled on chains, their muscles burning under their skin in the heat of the firing chamber, their taskmaster barking rhythmic orders to keep the hemispheres swinging. The hemispheres clashed, rang like a great deep bell, and released a massive wave of power funnelled by electromagnetic fields into the accelerator formed by the cannon’s barrel. The force of it hit the enormous nova projectile, accelerating it down the barrel at impossible speeds.
The nova cannon fired, and, for a fraction of a second, the Constant and the hulk were connected by a bridge of burning light.
Sarpedon arrived at the reactor array of the Blessed Obedience, the enormous industrial ship containing many of the plasma reactors that Lygris had got back on-line to make the space hulk warp-capable. The reactor chamber was enormous, close to a kilometre long, criss-crossed with catwalks that gave access to the titanic cylindrical forms of the reactors. The Blessed Obedience had carried a dozen such reactors in some previous life as a space-faring refinery, each one powerful enough to fuel a spaceship for decades. Every one of the cylinders contained a vessel full of superheated plasma, locked in a constant reaction that pumped power into the hulk’s warp arrays. They were crowned with spider-like arrays of steel struts, supporting the cables and pipes that provided the reactors with fuel and coolant, and drew off their massive outputs of power.
Sarpedon hurried along a gantry between reactors one and two. Chaplain Iktinos was on a command platform just ahead, along with several of his flock.
‘Commander Sarpedon,’ voxed Iktinos as he saw Sarpedon approaching. ‘I hear on the vox-net that our brothers have fallen.’
‘Thoss of Squad Salk, and Renigel of your flock,’ said Sarpedon. ‘He died when the Intolerant was hit. The enemy is going to throw everything he has at us. I am afraid that prayers will have to wait.’
‘So it shall be,’ said Iktinos.
Sarpedon switched his vox-net to the bridge channel. ‘Lygris, I’m at the reactors. It looks like they’re holding up well.’
‘Stay there,’ replied Lygris from the bridge. ‘If we lose the Obedience then we’re done–’
A sound like the death of a world hammered across the reactor chamber. One wall blew in, hurling a hurricane of shredded metal. The nova projectile detonated, and a great gale of fire and shrapnel ripped across the Obedience, sending white-hot shards of shrapnel arrowing everywhere.
The shock wave threw Sarpedon off the gantry, slamming him into the wall. His head swam with the force of it. If he hadn’t been wearing his helmet he would have been knocked out. Enough of him remained unshaken to remind him that if he fell, he would probably die. Talons lashed out in a reflex, and dug into the wall of the reactor chamber, halting him as he fell.
The reverberations of the explosion bellowed around the chamber. One wall had been completely demolished, beyond it only a glowing labyrinth of torn bulkheads and decking. A gale of fire howled into the maw of the wound as the air was sucked out through the hull breach.
The explosion had sent shards of shrapnel spearing through the vessels of reactors eleven and nine. Reactor eleven collapsed, its upper half too heavy for the shredded foundations. Deep splits opened up as the reactor’s crown fell back into the lake of plasma inside, and raw, white burning plasma looped out in great arcs like solar flares, the massive release of pressure sending it lashing in destructive tongues through the roof of the reactor chamber. Gobbets of it bored through walkways and command platforms. A great torrent burst from the lower half of the reactor and flowed in a glowing flood through the tangle of conduits and cabling that obscured the chamber floor.
Sarpedon was aware of another shape falling towards him: a Space Marine. He stuck out an arm and grabbed the falling Soul Drinker by his shoulder pad. The weight almost pulled Sarpedon off the wall, but he held on. He had caught one of Iktinos’s flock, the purple paint on his armour bubbling with the heat.
Sarpedon climbed until he was level with the stub of a walkway. Most of it had been ripped away and thrown into the chamber’s depths, but enough of it remained to hold the weight of a Space Marine. It joined the wall at a maintenance entrance. Sarpedon hauled the Soul Drinker onto the walkway, and was relieved to see that he was still alive.
Sarpedon looked across the chamber, trying to see more survivors. He spotted a couple of Iktinos’s flock clinging to a precarious length of walkway, making their way towards a command post that had survived mostly intact. From there, they could make it up a ladder into the access tunnels above the chamber. Iktinos himself had been thrown onto the top of reactor three, and was making his way towards the crown of pipes and cables connecting it to the ceiling.
‘Lygris!’ yelled Sarpedon into the vox. The last of the chamber’s air was shrieking and superheated, a terrible sound like a gale of fire. ‘Lygris, what in the hells was that?’
Lygris’s voice barely swam through the static. ‘Direct hit! Commander, give me a damage report!’
‘Reactors eleven and nine are breached,’ replied Sarpedon. ‘Eleven’s venting plasma. Nine’s about to go.’
‘Evacuate the area,’ replied Lygris.
The last words had barely reached Sarpedon’s ears when reactor nine exploded, the pressure inside too much for its failing structure. A pure white starburst of plasma erupted, like a caged supernova, and the structures surrounding reactor nine were obliterated. Bolts of plasma streaked into the nearby reactors, shearing more maintenance walkways from their mountings. The sound, just a vibration transmitted through the wall to which Sarpedon clung, was like the roar of an escaping giant.
The glare died down. Iktinos was crouching from the shock wave of the explosion, still clinging to reactor three.
‘Chaplain,’ voxed Sarpedon, ‘are you hurt?’
‘I am not, commander,’ replied Iktinos. His voice was distorted almost beyond understanding. ‘But there is no way off this reactor.’
‘There is for me,’ said Sarpedon. ‘Hold position. I’m coming for you.’
Sarpedon ran up the wall towards the ceiling. The whole chamber shuddered as the remains of reactor eleven collapsed into the floor. Plasma flooded the lower levels, swallowing up enormous bundles of cables and drowning the lowest walkways. Reactor twelve was sitting in a lake of plasma, and was listing as its foundations were eroded. Below the chamber plasma would be flowing through the rest of the Obedience, looking for ways into the ships surrounding it. It would melt its way through a huge area of the Brokenback, like a cancer, if it wasn’t stopped.
Sarpedon was above reactor three. He could see that a spear of shrapnel had punctured the reactor’s side, and plasma was spurting from the wound. The crack was widening, and, every second, the sheet of vented energy grew wider.
Sarpedon ran down a coolant pipe to the top of the reactor. Iktinos was waiting for him.
Iktinos reached up. Sarpedon grabbed the Chaplain’s wrist and hauled him off his feet.
Reactor three shuddered and leaned suddenly to one side. Sarpedon glanced up; the conduits were coming away from the ceiling. There would be no way off the reactor in that direction. He spotted a length of walkway hanging from one wall, half-melted away by a bolt of plasma. Sarpedon shifted his grip so that he was dragging Iktinos behind him by the collar of his armour. He crouched down on his back legs and uncoiled, sprinting at full tilt towards the edge of the reactor.
Reactor three split down the middle. Sheets of plasma sprayed out, forming a wall of fire behind Sarpedon as he ran. Metal screamed and heat roared. The metal below Sarpedon’s talons became unbearably hot.
Sarpedon reached the edge and jumped with the power of every muscle packed into his arachnoid legs. He reached forwards and his hand closed on the handrail of the walkway. The whole structure bent with the weight of the two Space Marines. Iktinos clambered over Sarpedon, pulling himself onto the walkway, before hauling Sarpedon up after him.
‘My gratitude, commander,’ voxed Iktinos.
Reactor three split completely in two, a torrent of plasma flooding through the lower levels. Sarpedon got to his feet and followed Iktinos towards the doorway where the walkway joined the wall. Another reactor breached as they ran, sinking into the burning mire and splitting open. A wall of radiated heat buffeted them as Iktinos reached the door and hauled it open.
Beyond was a dark, cramped maintenance space, leading to the cargo ship adjoining the Blessed Obedience. Sarpedon followed Iktinos through the darkness as the booming vibrations of dying reactors got louder.
‘Lygris,’ voxed Sarpedon to the bridge, ‘we’re clear.’
‘I’m shutting down the Obedience,’ replied Lygris. Sarpedon could hear every alarm on the space hulk’s bridge blaring at once. ‘Make sure you’re well clear. That whole area will be lethal.’
‘Can you get us out of here?’
‘With the reactors down? I can make it into the warp, maybe.’
‘Then do it. Whatever hit us will want a kill-shot.’
‘Yes, commander,’ voxed Lygris. ‘I suggest you hold on.’
‘Got it,’ said Magos Hepsebah with relish. Seated in the targeting observatory of the Constant, surrounded by the holo-projections of surrounding stars and spacecraft, she watched another flare of plasma burst from the side of the space hulk. ‘Target report!’
Tech-priests’ voices from the ship’s sensorium filtered back to her through the vox-net.
‘Major secondary explosions…’
‘Confirm plasma vent. Target reactor breach.’
