Dan Abnett - Know no fear. The Battle of Calth

‘Come and meet the others,’ he says to the two troopers.

‘Others?’ asks Krank.

The enemy comes at Leptius Numinus. It’s hard to assess numbers because of the terrible visibility, but Ventanus estimates at least six thousand. The core of the force is made up of Army units auxiliary to the XVII, the so-called brotherhoods. They look more like ritual fanatics than soldiers to Ventanus, typical of that zealot XVII mindset. Ventanus is certain that the root of many of the day’s ills lies there: the fanaticism of the Word Bearers. They were always borderline and unstable, always of a religious inclination. They worshipped the Imperium as a creed and the Emperor as a god. That’s why they were rebuked in the first place. That’s why the Emperor used the XIII, surely his most rational warriors, to do the job.

It should have been enough. It should have ended the Word Bearers’ wayward thinking, and brought them and their spurned primarch back into the common fold.

Evidently, it did not.

The Word Bearers have been fomenting dissent since that day. Reaching some crisis of faith, some epistemological crossroads, they have turned. They have turned against the Emperor they once adored.

But for what, Ventanus wonders? What do you replace your notion of god with?

Ventanus fears that the Calth Conjunction was an opportunity seized by the XVII to demonstrate their new alignment. The choice of Calth cannot have been chance. This was an opportunity to hurt and shame the Legion that chastised them all those years ago. By being the instrument of the savage reprimand on Monarchia forty-four years earlier, the Ultramarines made themselves a target. They made all of Ultramar’s Five Hundred Worlds targets.

There are still too many questions for Ventanus’s comfort. What force or concept has usurped the Emperor as the Word Bearers’ all-consuming cause? What, apart from malicious vengeance, are they hoping to achieve in the Veridian system? If they crush the Ultramarines at Calth, what is their next step?

Just how many of them are there out there in the fog?

The enemy leaders press the cultists forward in serious numbers. The brotherhood warriors, swathed in black, are chanting, and Ventanus can hear drumming too. The Word Bearers are holding back, driving the cultists forward as shock troops into the earthwork ditch and against the gate.

Sparzi’s gun crews have been shelling into the enemy line for about twenty minutes. They’ve done some serious damage considering the comparatively light nature of the field pieces. The ground beyond the earthwork is peppered with craters and littered with dead. Shot callers on the palace walls are directing the gunners in on the moving mass. Shells fall into the ranged lines, lifting tattered bodies into the air with blasts of flaming debris.

Still they come, wave after wave.

‘Small-arms!’ Ventanus instructs the defenders at the gate and wall. His practical is to let the Army bear the brunt of this, because the legionaries need to spare their boltguns and heavier munitions for the Word Bearers.

The Army force seems content with this. Greavus and some of the other legionaries have co-opted spare lasrifles and other weapons, and are joining the line. Others stand, blades ready, to meet any strength that reaches the gate.

Only Sullus seems distracted. His boltgun is drawn and ready. He wants to act, to fight. He’s angry and frustrated, and it’s fuelling his impatience.

‘Steady yourself,’ Ventanus warns him. ‘I’ll need you when the XVII come at us.’

Sullus spits out a snarl of a reply.

‘Then they’d better come soon!’ he snaps.

Ventanus leaves him to stew. The cultists renew their attacks. The outer walls of the palace are scarred with thousands of shot marks. Parts of some parapets have collapsed. There’s an endless supply of the black-robed figures. They keep rushing the gate bridge. The bridge is littered with enemy dead, and black figures have tumbled into the ditch in significant numbers.

Rockets squeal and lash up at the walls. Sparzi’s artillery tries to bracket the rocket launchers.

Ventanus has a growing concern about munitions supplies.

Ventanus locates Arook on a wall section beside the gate that is defended by the skitarii.

‘Any signal from outside?’ he asks.

‘No,’ says Arook.

‘And the server? Anything from her?’

‘No,’ says Arook. He seems slightly embarrassed.

Mortars tunk and cough behind them. Ventanus hears more rockets wailing in at the wall.

‘Can your men pinpoint the rocket sources? Sparzi’s guns need to end that pain fast before they bring the walls down.’

Arook nods.

‘I wonder how they found us so quickly?’ Arook murmurs as soon as he’s issued command blurts to his warriors.

‘Listening in to our comms?’ Ventanus suggests.

‘No chance,’ says Arook. ‘The skitarii emergency link is secure.’

‘Then just bad luck,’ says Ventanus. ‘There’s more than enough of that to go around today.’

The warp opens broad, black wings. Kor Phaeron manifests.

‘Explain your delay,’ he hisses. Creatures of unlight and the outside fidget and gibber around him.

Morpal Cxir, force commander, bows his head to his manifested superior. Dirty light from the warp-flask swaddles them both.

‘Resistance here, lord,’ Cxir says. ‘Leptius Numinus.’

‘I know it,’ replies Kor Phaeron. ‘A summer palace. No strategic importance. No tactical viability. Burn it. Move on.’

‘There is resistance, lord.’

The Black Cardinal exhales.

‘Your host is expected at the Shield Wall in two hours, Cxir. Do not waste effort and lives on a non-essential target that can be razed by orbital weapons later.’

‘With respect, lord,’ says Cxir. ‘I believe there is more to it.’

He gestures to the warriors grouped around him. One of them is Ulmor Nul, his tracker beast growling and straining at its leash.

‘Nul was pursuing an Ultramarines captain who was discovered fleeing the starport. He obtained an indelible scent. The track led here, to the palace.’

‘Just a survivor, running to the nearest place of shelter,’ remarks Kor Phaeron.

‘It is a very direct and deliberate route to take, lord,’ says Nul. ‘I believe the target has Mechanicum forces with him, and other survivors assembled into a reasonable fighting force.’

‘The defence of the palace complex is resolute,’ adds Cxir. ‘It is organised and purposeful. I believe it has tactical credibility. The XIII is trying to achieve something here.’

Kor Phaeron pauses. The Primordial Truth whispers around him, a hiss like waves breaking on an endless shoreline.

‘You are redirected, Cxir,’ he says. ‘Pursue this prosecution. Exterminate them.’

The chanting and drumming get louder. The next wave of cultists throws itself at the palace.

‘They’re wired,’ warns Greavus sharply.

Ventanus amps up his visor view. There are brotherhood warriors in the front ranks wearing bomb vests or carrying flasks and tubs of explosives.

‘Take them down before they reach the bridge!’ Ventanus orders. Marksmen on the wall line, some of them skitarii using needle laser weapons, start to pick off the bombers. Some detonate as they are brought down. One is caught at the far end of the bridge, his vest exploding with a huge, sickle-shaped rip of fire. Ventanus feels the ground shake.

‘They are renewing their efforts,’ says Sullus.

‘They are,’ Ventanus agrees.

‘Prelude to an attack by their Legiones Astartes, I’ll wager,’ says Sullus.