Part 4 (1/2)
As the 88th hunted within, Enginseer Osiron remained outside the monastery with the thirty Chimeras.
He was not alone, of course. The drivers, armed and ready, stood by their vehicles. A handful busied themselves with minor maintenance on engines or armour plating. Between the orderly rows of Chimeras, lobotomised tech-servitors moved here and there, using their augmetic hands and machine tool limbs to aid in the repairs. One of the servitors a- formerly a deserter, now a half-machine slave without a mind a- had its forearms replaced with industrial scrubbers. It crouched by the command Chimera, its whirring hands scrubbing and flus.h.i.+ng out gore from the tanka's treads. Another servitor with a hammer for a left hand panel-beat another tanka's distorted front armour back into Standard Construct regulation shape.
Dead Mana's Hand stalked around the parked troop transports, their steps making a rhythmic drumbeat of blessed iron on stone. Perimeter defence duty.
Wreathed in a cloak of blood red, the hood pulled over his head and hiding his features, Enginseer Osiron nodded silently to one of the patrolling Sentinels as it pa.s.sed. Vertain replied to the tech-priesta's nod with an acknowledgement blip over the vox.
None of the 88th knew Osirona's age. He could have been thirty or two hundred and thirty. His face was forever concealed by the low-hanging crimson hood and a surgically attached rebreather mask covering his nose, mouth and chin. The only visible human features beyond the pale skin of his cheeks were his eyes of Cadian violet, glinting in the depths of the hooda's shadow.
His body a- what there was to see of it beneath the traditional robe of the Machine Cult of Mars a- was an armoured form of tarnished plating, whirring gears and hissing pistons. Ostensibly he was human, at least at the most basic level: two arms, two legs, and so on.
But everything visible was replaced or augmented with the holy alterations of his cult. His internal organs ticked and clicked loud enough to hear. His joints hummed as gears simulated bones moving in harmony. His voice was a toneless murmur emitted from the vox-speakers on the front of his rebreather. This last aspect betrayed his curious inhumanity most of all, turning every breath into an audible rise and fall of static. Krsssh, in. Krsssh, out.
Osiron leaned on the haft of his ma.s.sive two-handed axe. The weapon was too heavy for an unaugmented man to lift, and sported the split-skull image of the Adeptus Mechanicus on its black iron blade. From a bulky backpack that thrummed with power, a multi-jointed mechanical arm rose and extended out, its clawed hand opening and closing as if stretching. A cutting torch on the arma's wrist flared briefly as the power claw whirred closed. Drill bits and other tools folded back into the arma's body. It coiled behind the tech-priesta's shoulder, reposed.
a”Count the Seven,a” Osirona's internal vox said directly into his left ear. It had been doing that for an hour now and, unlike the squads engaged in the retaking of the monastery, Osiron had disobeyed orders, remaining tapped into the compromised frequency. It fascinated him.
a”Curious,a” he said in a murmur of vox-speakers. The servitor next to him turned slowly, unsure if it had misheard an order. Osiron tapped a b.u.t.ton on the signum attached to his belt, hanging down his thigh like a metal pouch decorated with a hundred keys to press. The servitor cancelled its attention cycle, going back to staring mutely ahead, as dead in its own way as the poor wretches still staggering across this planet.
a”Osiron to Vertain.a”
a”Honoured enginseer?a”
a”Monitor auspex for signs of jamming.a”
a”Yes, sir.a”
Sir. The t.i.tle always made Osiron smile. He held some minor authority in the 88th by dint of expertise, his ruthlessly logical mind and his close friends.h.i.+p with the captain a- not from any formal rank.
a”Ia'm not seeing evidence of jamming,a” Vertain voxed back. a”Confirmed by the rest of my team. Dead Mana's Hand reports no instrument glitches.a”
a”That, scout-lieutenant, is exactly my point. When have our scanners been so clear?a”
a”Maybe wea're just lucky.a” Osiron was no expert at interpreting human emotion through tone of voice, but Vertaina's doubts were obvious as he spoke. He didna't believe what hea'd suggested. Neither did Osiron.
a”Unlikely. Auspex has been clear for over an hour. I detect none of the interference we have come to a.s.sociate as standard for Kathur Reclamation operations.a”
a”Acknowledged, honoured enginseer. Ia've already logged the clarity of auspex readings with High Command. Can you reach the captain?a”
a”A moment, please. Suspicions must be confirmed before the captain is alerted. Osiron to inbound Valkyrie His Holy Blade.a”
The reply took several seconds. When it came, it hit in a mangled wave of savaged vox. Just noise.
a”Enginseer Bylam Osiron to inbound Valkyrie His Holy Blade.a” The tech-priest adjusted his internal vox by tweaking dials on his forearm.
a”His Holy Blade. Two minutes until arrival,a” the pilot said. a”Problems?a”
a”Count the Seven,a” Osirona's vox whispered again. a”Count the Seven.a”
The enginseer frowned. a”Pilot, report auspex performance as you enter standard close-range scanning distance relative to our position.a”
It was an unusual request. Osiron waited patiently for the pilot to check his instruments. a”Standard distortion at medium range, sir. Reaching close range in twenty seconds.a”
Osiron timed the estimate against the ticking of his own heart-engine. Twenty-three seconds pa.s.sed.
a”Auspex is clear. Minimal interference.a”
Osiron killed the link and switched channels. a”Scout-lieutenant.a”
a”Yes, honoured enginseer?a”
a”Deploy available resources in defensive spread.a”
a”What? Why?a”
a”Because you are the ranking officer here, and we have walked into a trap.a”
The double doors were steel-shod Kathurite oak and had stood for three thousand years; consistently blessed, reinforced, redecorated and restored over the centuries. They were built in the same style as most of Kathura's savagely overdone architecture, but practicality was in their construction, too. In the event of a fire, these doors would seal closed and allow those within the preparation chambers to survive up to nine hours protected from the flames.
The ornate doors exploded inwards under the force of the plasma blast. With twin crashes, they flew off their hinges and clattered to the red carpet blanketing the floor. Eleven men stood in the torn opening, rifles and pistols raised. It was the third set of such doors Zailen had opened with his plasma gun. White steam, hot enough to scald flesh, hissed from the weapona's focusing ring in an angry gush.
Another preparation chamber opened up before them. Another hall filled with the enraged dead. The corpses turned their attention to the living interlopers, their ruined faces peeling into expressions resembling something like joy, and something like pain. Several began to wail.
Thadea's sword cut the air and his squad opened fire.
After the mayhem, the squad reformed in the centre of the room. Blood marked them as surely as if theya'd been painted with it. Their bootsteps echoed throughout the chamber, bouncing off walls that sported stone angels leering down in cold dissatisfaction. The reliefs in this room depicted scenes of the Great Crusade. Winged Astartes warriors standing tall and proud a- a testament to the Raven Guard Legion that had forced this world into compliance so many thousands of years ago.
Another set of double doors barred their way into the next chamber. Thade shook his head.
a”Wea're being herded. Like cattle to the slaughter.a”
The Cadians nodded. Zailen said, a”Room after room of p.i.s.s-poor resistance. Theya're wearing us down piece by piece.a” Several of the soldiers checked their digital ammo readouts and muttered agreement.
a”Seth?a” Thade fixed him with his violet glare. a”Wea're running out of preparation chambers. This is the heart of the monastery. Whatever youa've sensed is nearby.a”
The psyker was trembling. Dark blood leaked in a viscous trail from his right eye. Thade considered shooting him on the spot. Setha's unreliability today was a little much even for the captaina's patience. He knew a commissar would almost certainly have executed the s.h.i.+vering man by now, for dereliction of duty as well as the risk of psychic contamination. But Thade needed every advantage he could grasp.
Everything about this mission was a mess, right back to the fools in the Ja.n.u.s 6th whoa'd tried to take the shrine in the first place. Could the monastery be held? Maybe. Could it be held without extreme losses? Not a chance. Could some amateur outfit like the Ja.n.u.s 6th a- just thrown out into s.p.a.ce by their founding world a- have any chance to cut it here? Never.
Thade had hoped to secure the key points with his divided teams and seal themselves in, awaiting reinforcement. A good plan, but getting more unrealistic by the second. Everything fairly reeked of deception and an enemya's pre-planning.
a”Seth. Ia'm going to count to three.a” Thade rested his bolt pistol against the sanctioned psykera's cheek. a”One.a”
a”So old,a” Seth whispered. a”So old. So diseased. How do they live?a”
a”Seth, focus. Two.a”
a”So old a”
Thade backhanded him with the weighty pistol, not hard enough to injure but not a light slap, either. a”Seth, focus! Cadian blood, ice in your veins. You have a job to do. Wea're counting on you. What. Is. Ahead?a”