One Thunderhawk was kept separate from the others, stripped of all weaponry and most of its armour, made as light and agile as the servitors could devise. This craft was kept waiting on the launch-pad, ready for immediate take-off.
It was Brother Simarron’s mission, and he would crew the Hawk alone.
‘Make it quick, and make it quiet,’ Kerne told the pilot. ‘As soon as you appear on their augur, your life begins ticking down in seconds. Get yourself a good look at them, brother, send word back to us, and then–’ He could not find the words.
Simarron smiled. ‘And then die.’
Kerne looked him eye to eye. He and Simarron had known each other a long time. ‘You are the best pilot we have – that is why I ask this of you.’
‘I regret only that my gene-seed will be lost to the Chapter, brother-captain.’
‘Your name will endure, Simarron. I will see to that.’
The pilot extended his hand, and Kerne took it in the warrior grip.
‘In the end, brother, we all go into the dark together.’
‘Hunter One is leaving atmosphere now,’ the servitor intoned, skating its many-fingered hands across the control console.
‘Vox is good,’ Simarron’s voice echoed through the room. ‘The power-boost we jacked into comms is working well for now.’ Static, a rumbling sound.
‘Am now free of planetary gravity. Isolating forward turbofans. All systems green. Punching it.’
Another long-throated roar.
‘Coming up to twenty thousand kilometres off-world. Increasing power. Debris field–’
There was a crash on the vox.
‘Heavy debris field in low orbit, extending out some fifteen thousand kilometres.’
Jonah Kerne clenched his fists, listening in. Beside him, Malchai and Kass were standing, equally rapt.
‘Now, Brother Kass,’ Kerne whispered.
The Librarian’s psychic hood began to glow. He bowed his head, and closed his eyes. Behind the lids, the cerulean brightness of his eyes flared out through the skin, lighting up minor blood-vessels in scarlet lines.
‘I feel you, brother. I feel you in my mind,’ Simarron exclaimed.
‘Stay on target,’ Jord Malchai warned.
‘Onboard augur engaged, and recording. I hope you are getting this, brothers. I see one big capital ship thirty thousand kilometres to starboard, and am turning in a wide sweep to try and come around behind its stern. Emperor’s blood, but it is big, Jonah.’
‘Class?’
‘Oberon class, at a guess. It’s a traitor ship, no doubt of it. But the Ogadai did not go down without a fight – I see major damage in the bows and down the starboard side.’
‘Any other ships, brother?’ Jord Malchai asked.
‘Extending augur now. Interference is nominal. Yes, Reclusiarch. I am reading a major formation some eighty thousand kilometres out, coming this way. Brothers, there are a lot of ships out there. I see signatures equivalent to heavy cruisers and battlecruisers, plus what looks like a whole fleet of transports.’
They heard a warning klaxon sound over the vox.
‘They’ve spotted me. I’m reading major energy charges along the flanks of the Oberon. I’m going in closer. I see no fighters as yet, but he’s launching torpedoes, and his lasburner batteries have begun to fire.’
Jonah Kerne walked away from the vox console, hunching his shoulders as though he were expecting to be struck.
‘Simarron, this is Kerne. You’ve done enough – see if you can get away.’
A gap, during which the vox was still open. They could hear Brother Simarron breathing, and beyond his helm there were alarm-systems sounding monotonously in the Thunderhawk’s cockpit.
‘Negative, brother-captain.’ A pause. Simarron grunted. ‘I have eleven torpedoes locked onto me. I am going to try and lead them back on the traitors who fired them. If I can–’ A thump of breath escaping Simarron, as though he had just suffered a blow.
‘I’m taking the Hawk into the enemy ship. With luck, at least one or two of the torpedoes will follow me in. May the Emperor’s light be with you always, my brothers. Umbra Su–’
There was a high whine over the vox, a sudden snort of brutal static, and then silence.
‘Umbra Sumus,’ Jord Malchai said. And he bowed his head.
Kerne turned back to the others, his face set like flint.
‘Brother-Librarian Kass, what did you learn?’
Elijah Kass opened his eyes. His corneas were half-flooded with scarlet.
‘I saw it, captain. I saw the ship Brother Simarron spoke of. More than twice the size of the Ogadai, a battleship of ancient lineage. It is true that it is damaged, but not enough to cripple it. And the guiding intelligence of this enemy host is upon it, looking down on us even now.’
‘So the Oberon is the flagship,’ Kerne said. ‘What else?’
‘A mighty fleet is approaching us, brothers, only hours away. On board its ships are tens of thousands of the Great Enemy, and these are not mere cultist rabble. I sensed the minds of ruined Traitor Marines, twisted beyond sanity, and creatures worse than those.
‘What came before was a mere foray, a reconnaissance in force. This is the main body. It means to conquer – it is here to stay.’
‘Brother Kass, I want you to keep trying,’ Jonah Kerne said. ‘You must get a message through to Phobian.’
‘I have been trying, brother-captain. And I will continue to do so until I succeed.’
Kerne nodded.
‘Brothers, we have only a few hours remaining before the attack begins. It will be made in overwhelming force. I have often heard it said that the Dark Hunters have through their history proved themselves to be the most vicious in defence of all the Adeptus Astartes. We must hold true to that reputation in the days to come.’
‘The Kharne will take to the warp with everything he has, once he learns of this,’ Fornix said doggedly. ‘He’ll not forsake us, no matter the cost.’
Jord Malchai tabbed the butt of his crozius against the floor, so that it rang on the stone. ‘This is a task beyond the Dark Hunters alone, and the Chapter Master will realise that. The Kharne will try to reassemble our old allies in the other six Chapters who swore the oath with us. That will take time. In the meantime, we must hold on here, maintain a foothold. We must–’
‘Survive?’ Fornix interrupted him, smiling crookedly.
Malchai stared at him coldly. ‘That is our mission, brother-sergeant.’
‘At least now, Brother-Reclusiarch, I know that you can no longer send reports back on my misdeeds,’ Fornix sneered.
‘Enough,’ Kerne barked. ‘Malchai, what was the last report you sent back to the Kharne? What does Phobian know?’
‘My reports are confidential,’ the Reclusiarch said.
‘I am force commander of a company about to face overwhelming odds, upon the last surviving outpost of the Imperium within an entire system. You will tell me, Brother-Reclusiarch.’ Kerne’s black eyes were fixed on Malchai, unblinking. Even among Space Marines, there were few who could meet that gaze for long.
‘Very well. My last despatch was sent through normal channels by vox-burst, and it informed Mors Angnar that the planet had been retaken and that the Chaos taint, while not wholly expunged from the system, was now weak and would soon be eradicated.’
Kerne sighed. ‘That’s what I was afraid of. They have no inkling.’
He took his helm from the table and stared a moment at the ugly, corvid beak of it.
‘Brothers, to your stations. Fornix, the Armaments District. Brother Malchai, the spaceport trenches. Brother Kass, you will remain with me in the citadel. I wish to liaise with General Dietrich.’
The other Space Marines gathered their wargear without a word. They began to leave, and then Kerne remembered.
‘Reclusiarch–’
Malchai turned, his skull-helm on his head, as unreadable as stripped bone.
‘I still have Biron Amadai’s pistol, Malchai. You may have it back now, and I thank you for the privilege.’ He held out the ancient, beautifully worked weapon to the Reclusiarch.