God-Machines, page 98
Four Knights accompanied Danial, a full lance of House Draconis steeds. The High King advanced at the far right of their staggered line. Markos’ Knight Warden, Honourblaze, marched to his left, flanked by Sire Nauman in his Gallant, Crimson Blade, Lady Melessa in her Knight Errant, Dracon’s Ire, and finally Sire Roget in his Knight Crusader, Fires of Valour.
Cherub-like servitors skimmed overhead, grav impellers humming and eye-lenses scanning the smoke as they fed information to the Knights below. The macabre creatures were a maniple of House Draconis’ Heavenly Host, controlled remotely from the Sacristan Crawler that lumbered along half a mile behind the Knights’ advance.
Ahead of them, an ork Rok squatted like a shattered mountain amidst the smog and the grey dawn light.
‘Keep your eyes on your auspexes and your fingers on your triggers,’ said Markos. ‘The greenskins can’t be far.’
‘There’s no movement yet,’ replied Sire Nauman. ‘Perhaps this one’s abandoned.’
Danial heard the hope in his comrade’s voice, and sympathised.
‘We’ve been fighting for days now, I know,’ he said. ‘We are all tired. We are all shaken by the mindless ferocity of this foe. But don’t allow false hope to disarm you. The enemy are here, and they will make themselves known soon enough. Be ready, my Knights, and we will slaughter them as we have done a dozen times already.’
‘Yes, sire,’ came their replies.
‘Distance to Rok now three miles,’ said Lady Melessa. ‘Energy signatures on the auspex, confused returns.’
‘I see them,’ said Danial. With his mind connected directly to the sensorium of his steed, his perception of the world was vastly augmented. He saw everything that its auspex, vid-feeds and data siphons did, a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree panorama overlaid with information feeds, thermal filters and noospheric calculations. The avalanche of input would have driven an unaugmented mind mad.
For Danial, conditioned since birth and fitted with the finest augmetics his house could provide, it was akin to omnipotence.
‘Picking up movement on the strategic overlay,’ reported Sire Roget. ‘They’re out there all right, sire.’
His words were chased by a series of muted flashes amidst the smoke, far away near the foot of the Rok.
‘Shields,’ ordered Danial.
His Knights angled their ion shields to the fore. Artillery shells whipped out of the smog to detonate against them, raising sparking blue flares.
‘Cogitating trajectory,’ said Markos.
Targeting data filtered into Danial’s peripheral vision, and crimson lines traced back through the smoke.
‘All Knights, halt,’ said Danial, reining Oath of Flame in as his comrades did the same. ‘Markos, Roget, reciprocate.’
‘With pleasure, sire,’ said Roget. A swarm of stormspear missiles leapt from the launcher atop his carapace, and his long guns roared. Markos’ avenger gatling cannon howled up to speed, a stream of high calibre rounds whipping away through the smoke. Danial smiled grimly as he saw distant explosions.
The response was instantaneous. Distant klaxons rose in crescendo. Danial’s audio-receptors picked up the roar of bestial voices and the throaty revving of crude engines.
‘That roused them,’ said Markos. ‘Hundreds of separate power signatures are registering.’
‘Three war effigies,’ said Danial, studying his auspex returns. ‘Moving slowly in this direction, tightly grouped. They’re smaller than Stompas.’
‘I’m reading energy spirit agitation from the Rok,’ said Lady Melessa. ‘Beware its artillery.’
As though summoned by her words, a rippling string of muzzle flares lit the Rok’s flank. Shells and energy blasts rained around them, blowing apart burned trees and hurling rock and soil into the air. The shockwaves tore the smoke to tatters.
‘Their accuracy is as terrible as ever,’ commented Danial.
‘True enough, but their guns are just as potent,’ said Markos. ‘Complacency and death are passionate bedfellows, so mind your shield discipline.’
Danial watched his data-manifold closely, picking out multitudinous ork signatures drawing closer. The data-tapestry had no secrets from him. ‘From energy signature dispersal and seismic reverberation, I estimate… over five hundred, less than seven. Low armour density, but confirming that trio of heavy walkers. Coming straight for us, no attempt at manoeuvre.’
‘What’s our plan, sire?’ asked Markos.
‘Jaws of the Dracon,’ said Danial. ‘Sire Nauman, Lady Melessa, you are the lure. Hold position and engage as they come to you. Markos and I flank right, Roget left.’
‘Understood, sire,’ said Roget. He turned his steed and strode away.
‘Sacristan Banaxos,’ voxed Danial.
‘Yes, sire,’ came Banaxos’ voice.
‘We are engaging,’ said Danial. ‘There are a lot of them, Sacristan. Be prepared for overspill.’
‘Our guns are unshrouded and their spirits bellicose,’ said Banaxos.
‘Good hunting, all of you,’ said Danial. ‘In Excelsium Furore!’
‘Wield the fires within!’ they shouted.
‘And may the Emperor watch over us all,’ said Danial, feeding power to his motive impellers and steering his steed out towards the right flank.
The orks loped through the skeletal woods, firing their guns into the air as they came. Each alien was a muscled killer, clad in scavenged armour and leathery green hides daubed with blue-and-white warpaint. Danial reflected that, for all the tales he had heard of them before this invasion, none had truly done justice to the orks’ mindless ferocity.
Lumbering battle-tanks dotted the ork lines. At their backs towered the three huge walkers, fat-bellied mounds of armour, guns and claws that were classified as Gorkanauts and Morkanauts.
The horde was preceded by a swarm of light vehicles, ramshackle bikes and buggies that hurtled over the rough terrain. The orks sped into battle with no thought for their own safety, and as they came, their oversized guns hammered.
Nauman and Melessa’s shields flared blue as the fusillade hit them. Melessa seared craters in the greenskin charge with her fusion blaster while Nauman raked them with his heavy stubbers, waiting for the foe to close so that he could employ his thunderstrike gauntlet and reaper chainsword.
‘They’ve taken the bait,’ said Markos as he and Danial strode out around the flank, toppling burned tree trunks with every step.
‘Not all of them,’ said Danial, blink-highlighting several mobs of greenskins on the auspex. Having spotted the Knights attempting to outflank them, the orks had turned and were heading their way. In their midst came self-propelled artillery pieces. Smaller orkoid creatures, the scrawny slave-caste known as gretchin, could be seen hefting shells into the guns’ breeches.
‘Those are Imperial Basilisks, under all that scrap metal,’ said Markos.
‘I see them,’ said Danial in disgust.
Two purloined tanks opened fire, hurling shells through the air which burst against the Knights’ shields. Oath of Flame staggered at the impact. Danial rode the sway. The third Basilisk suffered a catastrophic failure. Its rusted barrel burst as the shell detonated within. Flames blasted through the tank’s crew compartment, roasting gretchin.
‘Rubbish,’ snorted Markos. ‘Such tech-heresy invites weakness.’
Pivoting his steed at the waist, he raked the tanks with fire. Thousands of foot-long shells peppered the vehicles’ hulls, cratering the metal and causing them to shudder and skid. One tank rolled to a halt, smoke billowing from it. The other kept going, its crew frantically loading another shell.
‘Turn and address,’ said Danial. ‘Their infantry is getting closer.’
Don’t let them mount your steed’s legs, came a whisper from his throne. Several more voices murmured in agreement. I was slain by just such a thing, came one voice, and he is right, they will tear your Knight from beneath you, came another.
‘I understand,’ muttered Danial, bracing Oath of Flame’s legs and letting fly with his guns.
His first shot hit the middle of a greenskin mob. Those xenos caught in the blast were vaporised, while those further out were set aflame. Danial’s eyes widened as the burning orks kept running, sheer ferocity carrying them onwards even as they burned.
With a thought, Danial set his heavy stubbers to thin out the crowd. Spurts of blood flew through the air. Greenskins were punched off their feet. Still their comrades came on, brandishing hatchets and crude chainswords.
Markos was firing too, Honourblaze annihilating the orks around him. In return, crude rockets corkscrewed through the air, fired from the greenskins’ portable launchers. Several flew wide, while more exploded against the Knights’ shields. Danial gritted his teeth as one rocket found its way through, blasting a sparking hole in his steed’s chest-plate.
Oath of Flame rumbled angrily.
With a loud boom, the last looted tank fired again. Aimed low, its shell skimmed the bottom of Sire Markos’ shield and slammed into his steed’s right leg. Fire blossomed and Markos swore vehemently.
‘Damage?’ asked Danial, clenching his haptic gauntlet and firing again.
‘Enough,’ said Markos. ‘I can move, but I’m limping. Damnation!’
‘Keep firing, slow advance’ said Danial. ‘We need to break them before they do us any more damage, or the jaws of the Dracon won’t close.’
He fed power into his motive impellers, pressing runes and blink-clicking icons to alter his targeting vectors. Danial revved Oath of Flame’s chainsword, and swung his thermal cannon to bear against the ramshackle Basilisk.
The tank’s crew were dancing about, shaking their fists in the air, celebrating their lucky shot. Their cackles turned to shrieks as they saw Danial’s gun swing towards them, and they scrambled to load another shell.
‘Too late, filth,’ said Danial. He fired.
Caught amidst the immolating blast, the Basilisk’s hull flashed from red to white in an instant, its crew vanishing in clouds of ash before it detonated. The tank’s ammunition cooked off, adding to the detonation.
Still the surviving orks came on, several dozen greenskins sprinting towards the Knights with bellowed war cries.
They flooded around Oath’s legs. Alert runes flashed in Danial’s cockpit as dozens of blades and bludgeons battered at his steed’s feet. Crude grenades spun through the air to detonate against his armour, while the most audacious greenskins began clambering up Oath’s shins.
‘Caution, my liege,’ urged Markos.
Danial had seen what happened to Knights who panicked or slowed when an ork assault hit home. He had no intention of being pulled down to such an ignominious fate. Feeding more power to his steed’s legs, he kept striding, kicking and trampling the orks as he went. Broken bodies flew through the air. Muscled monsters were crushed beneath his footfalls.
At the same time, Danial pivoted his steed’s torso forward, bringing his chainsword into play. He swept the reaper left and right, skimming it through the orks at head height.
Each of the weapon’s cutting teeth was two feet across and three high, travelling at a speed of over three hundred feet per second. It was a weapon capable of ripping through a castle wall, or piercing the armoured hides of super-heavy war engines. The orks were torn apart at the slightest contact. Mangled showers of meat and gore sprayed with each swing of Danial’s blade, and the orks broke before him.
They turned and fled, howling in terror, and he slaughtered them without mercy. Markos joined him, his gatling cannon screaming as it scythed down the fleeing xenos.
Not a single ork survived.
‘Nicely done, sire,’ said Markos as his steed limped up to join Oath of Flame.
‘Thank you, Markos,’ said Danial, checking his strategic overlay and vid-feeds. He and Markos had flanked out for almost half a mile, circumventing the main greenskin horde. The mass of xenos was now swirling around the feet of Melessa and Nauman’s steeds, which stomped back and forth with their weapons blazing. ‘We need to move quickly. Melessa and Nauman are beset,’ he said.
‘Orks,’ spat Markos. ‘Can’t turn down a fight, no matter what it costs them.’
‘Duty demands that we make it cost them dear,’ said Danial. ‘Sire Roget, are you positioned?’
‘I am, liege,’ replied Roget. ‘Requesting leave to fire.’
‘Fire at will,’ said Danial. ‘Close on their flank and give them the Dracon’s wrath.’
Feeding power to his steed, Danial advanced.
‘Catch up as soon as you can,’ he voxed to Markos. ‘The delay has left Nauman and Melessa exposed. I need to pull some of the enemy off them before they’re overrun.’
‘Of course, sire,’ said Markos, his steed limping gamely in Oath’s wake. ‘Don’t do anything reckless.’
‘Lady Melessa,’ said Danial. ‘Sire Nauman. The Dracon’s jaws are closing.’
‘Glad to hear it, sire,’ said Melessa, her voice tight, then broke off as one of the ork walkers swung its hydraulic claw at her. Dracon’s Ire parried with its chainsword, and sparks rained down on the orks below. Melessa stepped back. She redressed and fired her thermal cannon. Her attacker detonated in a fireball.
‘But we’re hard pressed,’ she finished. ‘Intercession requested.’
Oath of Flame advanced at a pounding run, the ground shaking and tree trunks toppling before it. The nearest orks turned, roaring feral challenges. Danial didn’t slow, hitting their lines like an avalanche.
Cogitating on the move, he fired his thermal cannon and annihilated a heavy transport packed with armoured greenskins. Fire raked him from all sides, and he swung his shield one way then the other, concentrating on the weapons that could harm him.
Oath of Flame’s foot descended on a greenskin truck. The ork vehicle’s fuel tanks exploded, causing Danial’s steed to lurch. He wrestled his controls, fighting Oath of Flame back from the tipping point. Alarms quieted as his steed stabilised, but the momentary distraction had forced him to slow.
Danial cursed as a mob of greenskins leapt up from amidst the horde on trails of flame. Strapped to rocket packs, they sailed gracelessly through the air, diving down on his steed like living ordnance. Several struck his shield, and their rocket packs exploded with enough force to dent Danial’s cockpit. One ork managed to land on his steed’s carapace, while another brute, with a mechanical claw for a hand, came down atop his thermal cannon.
‘Get off, vermin,’ snarled Danial, throwing Oath of Flame into a wheeling backwards stride. He saw the big brute with the claw stumble, grabbing his cannon’s shield and digging the metal prongs in deep. The Knight stomped backwards, but his assailants clung on.
From above, Danial heard a ringing clang, then another. He spared a glance at his cockpit hatch, and swore as he saw it shudder under a third blow.
Beware! moaned his throne’s ghosts. They are fearsome, strong. These beasts can tear through even a Knight’s adamant hide given time.
As one greenskin battered the hatch, the other had regained its feet and was gleefully firing its huge pistol into Oath of Flame’s right arm joint. Worse, the beasts swirling around his feet were getting bolder, shooting his Knight and trying again to scale its legs.
Don’t get overwhelmed, came the voice of his throne again.
‘It’s hardly my intent,’ spat Danial, raking the orks with stubber rounds.
Fire erupted around him as missiles tore into the horde. Shells followed, their detonations making his warning augurs shrill. As the smoke cleared, Danial saw dozens of orks sprawled dead on the ground.
‘You looked irked, sire,’ came Roget’s voice over the vox.
‘My thanks, sire Roget,’ said Danial through gritted teeth. ‘Your assistance is timely, and the foe are damnably anarchic.’
Another clang sounded from above, and sparks drizzled down from his steed’s hatch. Any moment, the ork would batter its way through, and there was no way he could fight such a beast strapped into his throne.
‘All right, you wish to enter,’ he said, grabbing his bolt pistol from its cockpit rack. ‘I’ll open it.’
Raising his weapon, Danial slammed his free hand against the cockpit release. Above, the hatch popped up and slid backwards with a hiss of released atmosphere. The din of battle roared in, and the ork gawped down at him in surprise, axe raised for another blow.
Danial shot the greenskin in the face. His bolt shell blew out the back of its head, and he heard the thud and scuff as the xenos’ body bounced away and fell from his carapace.
‘That’s one,’ he muttered. ‘Now, where’s the other…’
A glance through his vid-feed showed the other greenskin had seen its comrade’s plunge. Its bestial features crumpled in a frown of puzzlement, then he saw its eyes widen with realisation. The ork triggered its rocket pack, a short burst that hurled it up onto Oath’s broad shoulders.
‘Come on…’ said Danial again, riding the sway as his steed continued to pace backwards through the fight. The percussion of his heavy stubbers was constant.
Suddenly the ork appeared, framed in the hatch, jaws wide in a roar, a rusty stick grenade fizzing in its fist.
Danial fired, hitting his hatch rune a split second later. The bolt took the ork in the neck. Its eyes bulged and the hatch slammed shut. There came a muffled boom as the xenos’ grenade detonated, and Danial watched in satisfaction as blood ran down over his vid-feeds.
Free of his assailants, Danial saw that his Knights had wrought butchery upon the orks. Roget’s steed was pacing along one flank while Markos limped in from the other, both strafing the horde and thinning its numbers. Meanwhile, his own headlong charge had drawn enough of the foe away from Melessa and Nauman that they had been able to rally and take the fight to the foe.
