The Beast Arises

The last few pallets were being removed hurriedly from the hangar, the rest having been dragged out under fire. Ork bodies lay about the hall, intermixed with luckless serfs and servitors caught in the crossfire. Otherwise, casualties were light. Kalkator had lured the orks into the hangar, where they were pinned between carefully planned fields of fire and gunned down without mercy.

The orks were odd specimens. They had the look of infiltration specialists to them, executed in that clumsy, slightly comical way the orks had with everything they did. Their weapons were oversized, the camo patterns they wore jarring, but their faces were blackened, their weapons burned dark, and their equipment — nightsight goggles, grenades, charges and the like — seemed serviceable enough. As his scorn rose, he reminded himself they had successfully infiltrated the complex.

Kalkator had his squads report in. No more contacts with the enemy were reported.

The orks were dead. After several dispiriting days, Kalkator’s spirits were uplifted.

‘Bordan, raise the Palimodes!’ he ordered. ‘All squads prepare for immediate extraction.’ He strode out of the hangar back into the pale day of Dzelenic IV. The last of the supplies were being loaded into the Thunderhawks, the undersides of the ships glowing orange with repeated, rapid ascensions and re-entries.

‘I cannot raise the Palimodes

, my lord,’ said Bordan.

Kalkator tapped his gun impatiently against his leg. ‘Then try again.’ The space beyond the clouds was lit occasionally by the false-lightning of low-orbital battle. ‘Surely they have not been overwhelmed?’

‘No, my lord, there is a blanket denial broadcast preventing communication.’

‘From the orks?’ said Kalkator.

‘I cannot discern the location of the broadcast, my lord. It could be the orks.’

‘Or…’ said Kalkator. He fell silent a moment. ‘Magneric,’ he whispered. ‘We will ascend and deal with the problem at source. Board the transports!’

Kalkator marched up the gangway of the Meratara

, his serfs, weaklings before his armoured form, scurrying out of his way. His warriors fell back out of the emptied complex, covering their fellows squad by squad. For a moment Kalkator was transported by the efficiency of his Great Company, back to a time when they fought for a master other than themselves.

He slapped his palm against the ship, quashing his nostalgia. Iron Warriors ran up the ramp as it closed. The engines whined loudly. Turning from the dead world, Kalkator went to the flight deck.

‘Lerontus.’

‘My lord,’ acknowledged the pilot.

‘Remove us from this place.’

The ground dropped away, rapidly becoming a hazy caramel nothingness, a void that could contain anything. Kalkator stared at it, remembering the world it had been.

A sudden jolt brought him back to the present.

‘Incoming fire!’ shouted Lerontus.

‘Origin point?’

‘Orbit, Lord Kalkator! Lance strike!’ Lerontus grunted and heaved hard on his flight stick. A beam of coruscating energy stabbed down, glassing the ground one hundred metres ahead of them. The Meratara bucked as it rode out the shock wave. The Adamantine was not so blessed. Its starboard wing trailed streamers of fire, loosened panels shaking in the airstream, and it began a rapid emergency descent. Lerontus dodged the damaged craft, sending the Meratara leapfrogging over it and accelerating ahead, leaving the Adamantine

to disappear into the haze-cloaked dunes. Another blast seared through the sky, carving a pillar of clear air through the smog. Thunderous shock waves boomed out after each strike.

‘Standard suppression pattern,’ grunted Lerontus, piloting the Thunderhawk through the agitated air. ‘The orks are copying Imperial fire protocols.’

Kalkator’s boots locked to the floor, and he bent forward to peer out of the top of the Thunderhawk’s canopy.

‘They are not orks. That was a precursor barrage to a drop assault,’ said Kalkator. He pointed upward to where the clouds swirled around the track of the orbital strikes, discharge-lightning crawling along their undersides. The beam strikes cut out, and the sky lit up with multiple flashes. ‘Magneric must be hot with fury at my continued liberty, if he tries to hit gunships in atmosphere with lance fire,’ he said. ‘If he tracked the others to the Ostrom System, he will have gone to Klostra, and from there, he will have come here.’

‘Sounds like Magneric,’ said Caesax. ‘He is tenacious.’

‘It is Magneric, almost certainly,’ said Kalkator. ‘He has dogged my footsteps since the end of Horus’ war. I hear he continues his crusade from beyond the grave. So you can imagine, Caesax, it will take more than an ork Waaagh! to dissuade him.’

‘I do not need to imagine it, my lord. They are coming.’