‘March nearly thirty kilometres overnight to attack a city-fortress?’ Valerius had a sinking feeling about this whole endeavour and felt it was his place to be honest. ‘That is a strategy doomed to failure.’
‘Exactly,’ said Corax. The primarch’s smile was unsettling. ‘I don’t expect you to take the Perfect Fortress by yourselves. That’s why we’re here.’
THE HOLOLITHIC DISPLAY showed just how hopeless the situation was for the fools. Captain Hasten Luthris Armanitan of the Emperor’s Children prowled the command chamber of his tower, watching every data report and scan relay like a hawk. The natural topography to the north-east would funnel the attackers towards the Eighth Avenue gate, beyond which lay a broad thoroughfare dominated by three cannon batteries located at one-hundred-metre intervals along the road’s length. To either side, the city became a maze of interlocking corridors of fire overlooked by bunker positions and sally ports.
‘Their foolishness shall be the cause of their defeat,’ he said, speaking more to himself than the Legion serfs at the consoles. ‘So typically weak, to assault without prior bombardment. What do they hope to achieve?’
‘Cordon Two has been overrun, captain,’ reported one of the serfs. ‘Last report was of a massed infantry assault. Enemy casualties heavy.’
‘I suppose there is a little wisdom in leaving behind their armour,’ said Luthris. ‘All of those anti-tank rocket batteries are going to waste. Have their crews stand down at Cordon One and get them to man the line.’
‘Affirmative, captain,’ said the attendant.
Luthris checked the time display. There was a little over three hours, Terran-standard, until dawn. The first wave of attackers would have barely reached the wall before his troops had full visibility. Then the carnage would really begin.
THE OUTSKIRTS OF the Perfect Fortress had an appearance utterly at odds with their purpose. Elaborate hanging gardens sprawled from the roofs and walls of the white buildings, the scent of their flowers filling the air. Colonnaded frontages and overhanging galleries provided cover for the Therions as they advanced towards the gate tower looming over the buildings ahead. The Emperor’s Children had sacrificed nothing of their aesthetic sense in the city’s design, so that colonnaded, alabaster buildings might equally serve as administration offices or tank depots, it was impossible to tell from the outside.
Valerius marched with his men, determined that they would push home the attack with every last iota of strength, even if they were doomed to failure. He had been forced to swallow the ignominy of sacrificing his last command at Isstvan for a diversion, and was determined that his next would not end so ingloriously. The Therions would give a good account of themselves, whatever Corax expected.
A few Sentinel walkers had survived the hours of missile and shell bombardment on the approach to the city. They were several hundred metres ahead, scouting for the three-hundred-strong advance guard. Valerius only knew of this from the constant commentary being fed to him by Tribune Calorium, who followed the sub-Caesari a few steps behind.
‘Sir, lead squadron encountering another defence line,’ Calorium reported, the cup-like vox-receiver clamped to one ear. ‘Taking fire from overhead balconies.’
Valerius glanced up at this news, seeing anew the lines of galleries over overhangs above him. It had been the same ever since entering the city: seemingly innocuous architectural features revealing their true purpose as killing sites, weapons platforms and minefields.
Sensing their commander’s nervousness, Valerius’s bodyguard closed ranks around him, their golden carapace armour and white fatigues stained and muddied by the advance from the landing zone.
‘Perhaps we should move into cover, sub-Caesari,’ suggested vice-Tribune Callista.
‘And where is that, exactly?’ Valerius snapped in return. He had already lost four men from his command section when they sheltered in a flower bed that turned out to have been laced with trip-mines.
Callista looked around uncertainly.
‘Never mind,’ said Valerius, continuing to stride along the middle of the road. It had been frustrating, fighting against unseen enemies, coming face-to-face with his foes only when he saw them retreating to the next defence line.
Not that he was in a mood for such a confrontation. The purple-and-gold-armoured warriors would no doubt take an even heavier toll once they decided to stand and fight. There was small comfort in reaching the city proper; the shelling from towers deep in the fortress’s heart had stopped, no doubt to avoid fire falling on their own warriors.
‘Advance teams are suffering badly,’ announced Calorium. ‘Requesting reinforcement.’
Glancing at the tribune, Valerius’s heart sank.
‘Have Third and Fourth Companies move up in support. See if they can outflank the enemy position. Order Fifth and Sixth to move up from the rearguard. How is Praefector Magellius proceeding?’
The tribune spoke for a short while and then sorrowfully shook his head.
‘Second Phalanx is being pushed back, they’ve lost a third of their men,’ said Calorium. ‘Sir, Third Phalanx is also reporting a stalled advance. They are being cut down by the gate defences.’
An explosion less than two hundred metres ahead sent a plume of ash and smoke into the sky. A few seconds later, debris showered down on Valerius and his men.
‘What was that?’ he demanded, though Calorium was already talking quickly on the vox.
‘Macro-cannon, sir,’ the tribune said. ‘Sited at the junction ahead, concealed on the third floor of a tenement.’
There was shakiness to the tribune’s voice, and looking at the other soldiers around him Valerius could sense their fear. If he continued to push them forwards, they would break and rout. That would not be at all to his liking.
‘All right, send to all command sections,’ he snarled. ‘Company-by-company withdrawal. Establish a perimeter at the edge of the city. This is to be an orderly retreat. We will have no running away and no panic.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Calorium’s manner and tone betrayed his gratitude for the sub-Caesari’s decision.
Valerius stopped where he was and stood with hands on hips, glaring at the distant towers. He had reached the city, an achievement it itself, but even his reconnaissance forces were more than two kilometres from the inner defence line.
It did not matter what Corax intended, it still tasted bitterly of defeat.
‘THE ENEMY ARE withdrawing en masse, captain.’
‘Ridiculous,’ Luthris replied. ‘They have not even begun to test our defences.’
‘Visual confirmation of scanner data, captain. The enemy are pulling back into the outer reaches.’
The Emperor’s Children officer made a slow lap of the command centre, examining every data stream and display. The evidence was incontrovertible: the attackers were giving up ground on all fronts. It seemed a disappointing end to a lacklustre attack.
‘Any sign of low orbit vessels?’ he asked, settling in his chair.
‘None, captain,’ came the reply. ‘All enemy ships are keeping out of ground defence range. No sign of drop-craft.’
It made little sense to Luthris as he returned to his command throne, but it was foolish to consider the motivations of lesser warriors. No doubt they had been ordered to attack and had complied without knowing the full extent of the opponent they faced. He was not about to be forgiving of the error.
‘Assemble counter-attack companies at gates three and four,’ he ordered, his finger on the comm-switch set into the arm of his chair. ‘Prepare the armourium for mobile columns to make a swift encircling move via the undercity ramps. These fools do not attack our city without retort. Mission objective is the total destruction of all enemy forces. Counter-attack to commence in fifteen minutes.’
He released the comm-switch and leaned back, the chair adjusting to the movement. He looked over his shoulder to Sergeant Turan, who stood by the doorway, plumed helm under one arm.