‘WHAT’S THE DELAY?’ demanded Nexin Orlandriaz as he threw open the top hatch of his crawler. He swivelled in the cupola to glare back down the column of tanks and transports snaking back into the mist. His lungs stung in the acrid air, but the pollution was nothing his modified body could not process.
The skitarii corps consisted of two thousand cybernetically enhanced warriors travelling in eight slab-sided Dominator mobile fortresses, another five hundred marching alongside. Around the armoured behemoths were several more of the small recon crawlers, hidden behind a rag-tag assortment of tanks that had been gathered together to provide further protection: Imperial Army Leman Russ battle tanks and Falchions, Predators that had been destined for the Raven Guard and three Iron Angel-class heavy walkers that stomped along on four legs, their hulls bristling with anti-personnel weapons.
‘Some of the praetorians got bogged down,’ a ballistae sergeant shouted back from the back of his four-man self-propelled assault gun. He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder to where large figures were emerging from the fog.
Each was as large as a legionary or bigger, vat-grown for the purpose, and each of the dozen combat servitors was armed with an assortment of chainguns, rocket pods and multi-lasers. Some weapons were carried on armoured harnesses, others replaced limbs or were riveted and welded into the artificial flesh of the praetorians.
Alongside them strode the herakli, more vat-grown giants clad in thick robes and cowls covered in Mechanicum sigils, chests and shoulders protected by plates of ceramite. They hefted multi-barrelled cannons and heavy lasers as easily as a skitarii carried his lasgun. One of the herakli stopped beside Orlandriaz’s crawler, staring up at him with his face hidden by the shadow of his hood. This caused the others to pause and gaze at the magos.
‘Taskmaster! Keep them going forwards,’ Orlandriaz bellowed.
A functionary in heavy coveralls and visored helmet barked orders at the servitors and they lumbered on again.
They were only half a kilometre from Ravendelve; Orlandriaz had met them at the two-kilometre cordon to escort them in safely. Two Warhound Titans were blasting away at the curtain wall to the west, scourging the rockcrete with Vulcan bolters and turbo-lasers. The booming of artillery fire was near-constant, as was the ripple of detonations slowly cracking apart the thick outer shell of the main compound. Orlandriaz could see nothing of the new buildings, but the thick columns of smoke billowing up from where they had been erected did not bode well.
Sinking back into his command chair, Orlandriaz barked an order into the metal ear of the pilot servitor. The crawler lurched forwards and then settled, tracks churning through the slick dirt. The magos pulled back his hood and slipped on the communicator headset.
‘Colonel Kuerstandt, have half the Dominators redirect against the rebels,’ the magos said.
‘I’ll send the tanks too, they’ll be no use inside the wall,’ the skitarii commander replied. ‘What about the rest?’
‘We go in through the main gate and into the central courtyard. I am trying to raise a contact with a Raven Guard commander, but there is no response at the moment. However, our alliance broadcast is being received and secure approach signal has been sent back, so we are safe to enter.’
‘Affirmative, magos,’ said Kuerstandt. ‘I will personally command the counter-attack against these Omnissiah-damned traitors.’
‘Of course,’ said Orlandriaz. ‘With all speed, colonel. We must ensure the guilders do not breach Ravendelve.’
TWO OTHER DISGUISED Alpha Legionnaires guarded the door while Solaro, Nestil and Ort gathered up everything they could that was related to the gene-tech project. Ort and Solaro scoured the archive databases, copying thousands of files onto crystal chips while Ort used Sixx’s key to access the gene-template sanctum.
Nestil knew exactly what to do, and opened the stasis chamber. He still had the stasis container that had held the gene-virus, and into this he slipped the glassite tube containing the primarch material. It looked different now, darker and thicker.
‘Delete everything,’ said Solaro, slipping a data crystal from its slot in the main archive bank. ‘Let’s not leave anything to be found.’
Ort moved from console to console, activating the scour programme as Nestil started picking out test slides from a micro-analyser, gathering them into a belt pouch. Solaro powered up a vacant terminal and punched in the command access codes.
‘The Thunderhawks are still on the landing pad,’ he said. ‘That will be our extraction point. The others have formed a cordon to stop the skitarii reaching us. When we arrive, we’ll fall back by squads and then get out of here. I will signal Betato begin her run into orbit for the rendezvous.’
‘Just because you’re pretending to be a commander, doesn’t put you in charge,’ Nestil said with a laugh.
‘Have you got a better plan?’ snapped Solaro. ‘We don’t have time for games.’
‘Calm down,’ said Nestil. ‘The Raven Guard don’t have a clue we are here. Let’s just move to the main gate and not draw attention to ourselves.’
The bead in Nestil’s ear crackled into life.
‘Effrit-hydra-omega. All contacts, report progress.’ The primarch’s voice was distorted and muffled.
‘Contact Three reporting,’ said Ort. ‘All three contacts have met with assistance forces. Mission accomplished. Establishing our exit route.’
‘You are a credit to the Legion, all of you,’ said the primarch. ‘You are ahead of schedule, so I have one final task.’
‘Yes, we’re ready,’ said Ort.
‘The Raven Guard moved their gene-seed store to Ravendelve to aid in the implantation process,’ said Omegon. ‘It is located in a vault adjacent to the infirmary.’
‘That is correct,’ said Nestil. He twirled the chain with Sixx’s digi-key around his finger. ‘We have the key-codes. What do you want us to do?’
‘Destroy all of it. Deactivate the stasis field and destroy every last scrap of gene-seed. I want there to be no chance of the Raven Guard recovering from this attack.’
‘Understood,’ said Solaro.
‘Before you do this, secure the gene-tech data. Give it to one of the assistance force and have him place it in the weapons locker at the east end of the north corridor. I will despatch another operative to retrieve it.’
‘Another operative?’ said Ort. ‘All three of us are here.’
‘That is not your concern, legionnaire. Do as I command.’
‘As you will it, lord,’ said Solaro.
He took a storage box from a nearby work bench and upended it, spilling long syringes to the floor.
‘Put everything in here,’ he said. ‘You heard the primarch.’
DUST FELL FROM the cell’s ceiling as another blast rocked Ravendelve. Navar and the others sat or crouched in a circle in the middle of the chamber, glancing up with every shell impact. They were under orders to stay where they were, but it was unnerving to do nothing while they knew Ravendelve was under attack.
A thud against the door caught their attention. Navar got up and waved for the others to be ready.
‘Careful,’ Kharvo said, exposing pointed teeth.
Navar nodded and raised a clawed hand to strike. He fumbled at the handle with the other, his talons making it hard to grip. Pulling open the door, he was forced to step back as a bloodied body fell into the room.
‘It’s Vincente Sixx!’ said Navar, kneeling over the wounded Chief Apothecary. Blood pumped from a poorly cauterised gash in his chest, soaking his white robe. Sixx’s wild eyes roamed across the ceiling for a moment as the other Raptors gathered around.
‘Traitors,’ whispered Sixx. ‘Infirmary. Protect… Protect the gene-seed.’
With a blood-caked hand, he pulled open the front of his robe, revealing the black bodysuit beneath. There was a bolt pistol in a holster at his hip. Navar nodded in understanding and pulled the weapon free.