God-Machines, page 112
Danial hacked and hewed, aiming to reach the grapnels and cut them down. He took a blow to the ribs from a green fist, and another from a boot to the back. A point-blank shot to the face was stopped only by his refractor field, and he lopped off the shooter’s head before they could try again. Around him, his militiamen fought desperately, clubbing with gun butts and stabbing with blades. The orks were huge, tough and obscenely strong. They ripped men limb from limb. They picked them up and flung them off the battlements to plunge screaming into the horde far below.
Despite Danial’s best efforts, more and more xenos swarmed up the ropes and onto the battlements, as the ground shook with the approaching tread of the Gargant. A monstrous figure could be seen, stood on a gantry on the Gargant’s shoulder. The ork had to be fifteen feet tall, clad in piston-driven armour painted in blue-and-white checks. He crashed his power klaws together, causing sparks to rain down as he bellowed exhortations at his warriors, and the strange cannon mounted on his shoulder jerked left and right as it spat screaming blasts of energy into militia and orks alike.
‘This is the High King, west battlements sector ten, second fief,’ Danial shouted into the vox. ‘I need immediate reinforcements. Gorgrok has come.’
A dozen yards to his left, a mass of metal and whirling saw-teeth rammed into the battlements. Danial was hurled from his feet by the shockwave as the Gargant’s enormous chainfist chewed into the wall. Rockcrete flew. Sparks showered. The firestep shook as though in the grip of an earthquake. Militia soldiers and orks howled as they slid down the collapsing walkway and were mangled by the whirling blades.
Danial hung on, gripping the battlements with one hand and his draconblade with the other. He ran a greenskin through and kicked it into the monstrous saw-blades, then eviscerated another one as it tried to grab his legs.
The wall guns pummelled the Gargant, but Danial could see it wouldn’t be anything like enough. Spotting a lower gantry running around the war engine’s chest, and a rickety ladder connecting it to Gorgrok’s perch, he steadied himself and gauged the distance.
‘I can make that,’ he said, voice lost in the cacophony. ‘Emperor, lend me strength. I will slay the beast and end this.’
Danial pulled himself up onto the parapet for the leap, but the stonework convulsed under him. There came a juddering roar, an awful feeling of everything solid coming apart and collapsing around him. Suddenly Danial was falling. Orks and militia and stonework tumbled past him into the void below.
In the Grand Strategium, adepts and serviles worked frantically by the light of electrolumen and chem lanterns. They pored over charts and parchment maps of the Draconspire, marking them with auto-quills and shoving coloured rune-blocks about to show troops movements and crisis points.
Their efforts told a tale of rapidly escalating catastrophe.
Suset stood, arms folded tightly, glaring at the master-map spread out across the top of the holo-projector. Percivane was beside her, a mechanical brace enfolding much of his body, metal pins sunk into his limbs and torso.
‘They’re striking us from the north again,’ he said. ‘Another push from their profane battle-tanks.’
‘The third in that sector,’ said Suset. ‘Whoever claimed orks were wild animals, or that they couldn’t plan and strategise, was a damned fool.’
‘This must be it,’ said Percivane. ‘Their big push to carry the second wall and herd us back into the inner ’spire. Rumours of Gorgrok’s presence have been confirmed.’
‘It’s working,’ said Suset. ‘Look at this, they’re hitting the north, south, east and western walls all at once. Super-heavies spearheading every attack. Three confirmed forces of infiltrators located and destroyed so far, throne only knows how they’re getting in or how many more there are.’
A runner dashed up, bowing and handing Suset a scroll. She read it, face an impassive mask.
‘Damn,’ she said. ‘Master of maps, the thirty-forth and one-hundred-and-forty-second militia companies, both annihilated by heavy shelling in south sector twenty-two, third fief. Update, please.’
Another runner skidded to a stop and handed her scroll to Suset. Again the Gatekeeper’s scowl deepened.
‘Orks have broken through at east sector thirty-one,’ she said, hastily scrawling out orders. ‘Take this back to Captain Rance,’ she said, and the runner saluted and sped away. ‘I’ve told them to pull the medicae stations back and lock down all bulkheads through neighbouring sectors,’ she said. ‘There are no reserves left to send in.’
‘Lady Suset,’ said Percivane. ‘I fear that–’
‘Not yet,’ she said. ‘Not while there’s a chance we can hold them.’
‘There has been no further word from the High King,’ said Percivane, his face a mask of sympathy. ‘I understand, my lady, but the greenskins broke through in that sector more than an hour ago, led by Gorgrok himself. They have overrun two neighbouring sectors since, and our counter-attacking forces have yet to make it back to the safety of the inner walls. I pray to the Emperor that he is safe…’
‘But you suspect he is not,’ she said bitterly. ‘You may be right. I’ve been telling myself that I delay out of duty, but I can convince myself no longer. We’re overrun. Send runners to every sector and initiate a fighting retreat. Spike the guns, lock down the bulkheads, and pull all remaining forces back to the inner spire. All available air crews are to cover the retreat, then pull back to defend the spaceport. May the Emperor forgive me.’
‘The Emperor has only love for those who serve him well, especially when their duty is hard,’ said Percivane, placing a hand on her shoulder. ‘In this, you do his work, my lady.’
‘I hope so,’ she said. ‘Because there’s nowhere left to run, now, Percivane. With this order, I trap us all within the Draconspire, and place our fate in the hands of a son of Chimaeros.’
‘He will come, my lady,’ said Percivane. ‘And Danial may yet live.’
Suset’s jaw clenched tight, and she stared at the map as though she could burn away the proliferating ork rune-blocks with her fury alone.
ACT THREE
CHAPTER 14
The journey from the Pegassus’ Eyrie to the Iron Maze of House Minotos progressed far more swiftly than Luk Kar Chimaeros could ever have hoped. It was well that it did, for matters across Adrastapol had become desperate indeed.
Even as the warriors of House Draconis fought on at the Draconspire, they could not know that Mount Imperius had fallen. Though the Knights and militia fought bravely there against the encroaching greenskin hordes, they could not prevail.
Profane alien weapons brought sections of the mountain down with fearsome tectonic blasts. Others trapped the defending Knights within impenetrable force fields, their pilots able to do little but watch as militia and refugees alike were slaughtered around them.
At the last, a jeering cabal of the greenskins’ foul psyker caste fell upon the surviving Astropaths and wrought horrible violence upon them. Their death agonies would cause storms of nightmares to plague the surrounding regions for decades to come.
Elsewhere, the defenders of Adrastapol fought to hold back the tide. Forts Ironpeak, Shield and the Typor Battery held out against each fresh wave of enemies. The armoury at Lanceguard and the defenders of Imperatus Dam were both overrun, the orks demolishing the latter structure with close-ranged shelling that saw a catastrophic collapse occur, and both Imperial and greenskin forces annihilated in the ensuing flood.
Meanwhile, the lances of House Minotos were driven ever back. Lacking the orbital defence infrastructure of their neighbouring houses, the Minotane forces had little reply as the ork Roks rained down. Without aircraft to support their forces, they suffered against the marauding squadrons of ork aircraft that filled the skies. At the Battle of the Chasm, the Defence of Hallanspoint and the Ironfields charge, they had been soundly beaten by the xenos invaders.
Thus, even as the combined force of the Exiles and House Pegasson swept low over the Ironfields to come to their aid, House Minotos faced a battle for their very survival.
– Extracted from the writing of Sendraghorst,
Sage Strategic of Adrastapol, vol XXI ‘The 2nd Ork War’
Luk fed power to his motive impellers, striding Sword of Heroes down the ramp of the Pegasson dropship. Several dozen such craft had rumbled in over the Ironfields and put down atop Heroes’ Ridge. As his steed thumped out onto the rocky hilltop, squadrons of sleek Pegasson fighters screamed overhead. Their guns chattered as the fighters plunged into the ork aircraft and sent them spiralling down in flames.
‘Thank the Throne for air cover,’ said Ekhaterina as she walked Duty Unending out behind him. Crimson Death and Wrath Inescapable followed. Ranulf remained at the Pegassus’ Eyrie, judged too badly injured to be moved.
‘You can thank the Marchioness,’ said Luk.
‘Even with the air cover, and the strength of House Pegasson beside us,’ said Sire Hw’ss, ‘I believe this will be a challenging fight.’
They drew their Knights up in a line near the ruins of a Minotos listening post, Gesmund’s Tauroxes joining them. The ironlegs of the Sacristans came close behind. Meanwhile, the Knights of House Pegasson massed in their own lances, gathering their strength atop the rocky slope. At their heart stood Lauret Tan Pegasson’s steed, Oracle, armed with its masterwork battlecannon and gold-taloned fist.
Luk looked down upon the battle raging below, and couldn’t help but agree with Hw’ss.
The Iron Maze, fortress and seat of House Minotos, was a remarkable fastness. Built into the roots of the Kulrikh Peaks, it was defended to its rear by sheer cliffs of stone. It spread out along that towering natural wall for over thirty miles, an interconnected mass of bastions, castles and redoubts arrayed in complex, concentric rings.
As its name suggested, the Iron Maze was intended to confound and disorient attackers, who might break through a gate or wall only to find themselves flanked by two other bastions, or drive into an apparent weak spot only to find themselves wading through a murderous crossfire. The stronghold epitomised the stubbornness and resilience of those that had built it.
For all its defensive batteries, the solidity of its armoured walls and the ingenuity of its layout, the Iron Maze had failed.
‘There are thousands of greenskins down there,’ said Ekhaterina.
‘I could provide you with an approximation of their numbers,’ said J’madus. ‘You would not thank me.’
The main approach to the Iron Maze was across a rocky plain, bordered by hills and ridges, cut through by three ferrocrete highways that radiated away like the spokes of a wheel. When Luk had last visited this place, many years ago, the plain had once boasted Minosaal, a substantial city defended by towering walls and gun turrets.
Now, Minosaal was a ruined wasteland that seethed with orks. Its buildings burned. Its gates were thrown down, and its walls collapsed. Greenskins surged along its highways in vast mobs, bellowing warcries as they pressed towards the walls. Hundreds of ramshackle war machines had drawn up amidst the ruins and were hammering the Iron Maze relentlessly.
Worse, the Maze itself was burning. Huge breaches in its walls bespoke the terrible violence of the battles fought here. The rubble was strewn with drifts of ork corpses, and the stricken remains of fallen Knights.
Black smoke rose from burning towers and redoubts, forming a dark pall that hung over the seat of House Minotos like a death omen.
‘They still fight, at least,’ said Ekhaterina. ‘We’ve not come here for nothing.’
Though the innermost fortifications were in ruins, both wings of the Iron Maze still showed signs of fierce resistance. On his retinal display, Luk saw magnified snapshots of gun turrets blazing, Knightly weapons spitting fury from cannon slits and militia raining shots down on the orks.
He was forced to dismiss the strategic warning runes flashing on his overlay. There were too many crises occurring at once, too many fights that required their attention.
‘This isn’t a siege,’ he said. ‘It’s a last stand.’
‘Knights,’ Lauret’s voice came over the open channel, stern and proud. ‘Before us, we see a terrible foe. We see the destruction they have wrought upon our allies. We see the death of our world, if we let it be so.’
‘This is not the death of a world,’ said Maia. ‘Yet.’
‘But we will not allow it!’ said the Marchioness. ‘Looking upon this spectacle of devastation we will know not horror, not fear, but wrath! Witness this affront to the Emperor and let it fill you with a righteous anger. By their coming, these alien filth have profaned His world. By their deeds they have done Him grievous insult. With every Imperial life they take, the xenos worsen their crimes, but no more! We are their punishment. We are the Emperor’s judgement wrought in flesh and steel. We shall sweep down upon these ignorant beasts and crush them, and as they burn, and scream, and die, the Emperor shall look down upon our work and know only pride! For the Emperor,’ cried Lauret, raising her Knight’s fist and clashing its talons together. ‘Fall upon them and leave none alive!’
‘Follow your rune markers and try to keep up,’ voxed Lady Eleanat to Luk.
‘We’ll do our best,’ said Luk with a wry grin. ‘But lady, this looks to be a desperate fight. We can’t afford to lose too many Knights here or–’
‘You’ve been out on your own for too long, Knight of Ashes,’ said Eleanat as the Pegasson Knights began their advance. ‘Let Lauret worry about the grand strategy. You Exiles just do your part.’
Luk sent her a rune of assent, accelerating his steed as he absorbed the strategic information flooding through his manifold. He felt fierce excitement rise in his chest as he took in Lauret’s plan.
‘Audacious,’ he said.
‘Swift and direct,’ said Ekhaterina. ‘Better than anything you could conceive, O Knight of Ashes.’
‘Duty Unending,’ said Luk, ‘just unshroud your damn guns and follow my lead.’
‘Follow,’ snorted Ekhaterina. ‘Oh, Luk, you precious soul.’
The Knights accelerated down the rocky slope towards the devastated city below. Lauret and her Exalted Court marched at the centre of the line, lances of Pegasson Knights spread out to either side along a frontage of several miles. Luk’s Exiles were out near the left end of the line, following runic designators that flashed up on their strategic overlays.
‘Gesmund,’ voxed Luk. ‘Hang back. Protect the Sacristans, and watch our rear. This is a Knightly war – you’re best staying clear.’
‘Understood, sire,’ said Gesmund. ‘I get paid regardless of where I fight. Not a scratch on the ironlegs, you have my word.’
The advance accelerated into a loping run that shook the ground. Luk and the Exiles adjusted their heading, the line flowing into a single lance-point charge with Lauret’s Exalted Court at its tip.
The Knights drove in towards the sundered walls of Minosaal, aiming for the ruined gateway where the centremost highway broke through the walls.
‘A maximal percentage of the orks are fully engaged with the combatants to their fore,’ said Hw’ss. ‘They haven’t noticed us yet.’
‘They are about to,’ said Lady Maia.
The fighters screamed in first. Lightnings and Thunderbolts in the white and blue of House Pegasson streaked low over the burning streets. Their guns chattered, and rockets streaked away from their wings. The few aircraft that the orks possessed were swept away like leaves in a gale, and Luk watched runic designators vanish on his overlay as strafing runs ploughed furrows through the tight-packed orks on the highway.
Bombers roared in the fighters’ wake, explosives spilling from their bays. Detonations rippled through the greenskin hordes, shockwaves levelling the ruins to either side of the highway. Orks died in droves, blazing away with little luck at the machines that were killing them. Luk called up vid-feeds from the bombers’ gun boxes in his peripheral, and grinned as he watched scrap-metal tanks and howling aliens vanish in tides of fire.
‘Through the flames!’ cried Lauret. ‘Crush anything left standing. Follow your designators!’
Led by the Marchioness, the Knights stormed up the blazing highway. Fire danced around them, and Luk stilled his cockpit’s thermal warnings. Ahead, Pegasson Knights trampled over the scorched survivors of the air raid, kicking aside blazing tanks and gunning down those few enemies still standing.
‘At this rate, we won’t have to fire a shot,’ said Ekhaterina. ‘It’ll be easy, providing we don’t broil in our thrones.’
‘Beware complacency,’ said Maia. ‘The beast awakens.’
Sure enough, the swarms of green runes on Luk’s strategic manifold were moving, the mobs crowding the other highways turning and spilling through the ruins towards them.
‘Here they come,’ he said. ‘Exiles, ready to turn on your mark and fire at will.’
Affirmation runes flashed in his peripheral, followed by a silver command rune sent from Lauret’s own manifold.
‘Now,’ said Luk. With a twist of his controls, he turned Sword of Heroes aside and ploughed into the burning ruins. Rubble rained down as the Knight smashed through the devastated ruins and into a smaller street beyond. The Exiles followed, flanking him.
On Luk’s strategic overlay, Lauret and a third of her force charged on up the burning highway. Meanwhile, the trailing edges of her Lancepoint split off, flanking left and right.
‘Enemy incoming,’ voxed J’madus. ‘Numbers considerable.’
‘Let them come,’ said Ekhaterina with relish.
One moment, the street before them was a barren wasteland, empty but for wreckage and rubble. The next, it swarmed with orks. Their warriors spilled through every alleyway and door. They appeared at windows with heavy cannons and opened fire with clattering roars. Their light vehicles sped down the street, guns blazing, while heavier armour smashed recklessly through the ruins.
