Crimson Fists: The Omnibus (Warhammer 40,000) by Steve Parker & Mike Lee

Author:Steve Parker & Mike Lee [Parker, Steve]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2021-12-17T16:00:00+00:00

SEVEN

POINT OF NO RETURN

ZONA 13 COMMERCIA, NEW RYNN CITY

DAY 97

Darkness had fallen, but ork artillery was still firing at the Cassar. From both sides of the river, batteries of massive cannons – most scavenged from the hulls of crashed ork gunships – fired ragged salvoes in flashes of orange and white, hurling their heavy shells at the Space Marine citadel. Tonnes of steel and explosives struck the void shields surrounding the island and vanished in eerie flickers of phosphorescent light. A few shells, owing to the strange geometries of the defensive fields, were deflected away from the island at random angles, falling into the river or among the ork camps on the far side. The rumble of the barrage rolled over the Residentia Ultris and crashed against the ruined face of the hab unit, more than three kilometres away.

The island’s Imperial defenders did not let the onslaught go ­unanswered. Earthshaker batteries pointed their tubes skyward from the Zona Regis’ tree-lined parks and fired a series of short salvoes at the ork guns. Directed by Space Marine spotters high atop the Cassar, the shells nearly always found their mark, wreaking havoc amongst the xenos artillery crews and setting off carelessly stored stacks of shells.

From his vantage point, Galleas saw half a dozen squat, tracked greenskin missile launchers edge into the beaten zone between the ork camps and the river’s edge. Lurching roughly over the cratered ground with eight ammo trucks in hot pursuit, the launchers were racing for a patch of relatively level ground at the edge of their effective range where they could launch their guided bombs. They reached their objective in seconds, steel treads scattering trails of sparks as the orks slewed their launchers to a stop. One rocket bomb roared off its launch rail, then another. As they rose on stuttering plumes of fire and smoke they were bracketed in streams of bolter fire from the flanks of the citadel. The bombs were halfway to their target when the Crimson Fists gunners found their mark, touching off the warheads in thunderclaps of red and orange flame. Moments later a volley of turbo-laser fire raked the launch site, chewing apart ork launchers and ammo trucks in an ear-splitting chain of explosions.

Galleas stared at the distant citadel, wreathed in flashes of weapons fire and the ghostly flickers of its void shields. He glanced at the vox readout on his helmet display and selected the icon for the Cassar. ‘This is Veteran Squad Galleas calling Epistolary Deguerro,’ he called. ‘Respond.’

Roaring static and wave-like howls of distortion filled his ears. The interference was actually worse than it had been underground. Not interference, he corrected himself, multi-spectrum jamming. Crude, but effective. ‘This is Veteran Sergeant Galleas,’ he persisted. ‘I am transmitting from Zona Thirteen Commercia. Can anyone read me?’ The Space Marine paused, listening intently, his hyper-keen senses sifting through the churning noise. Amidst the howling onslaught of the jamming signal and the crosscurrents of atmospheric distortion he thought he could hear a voice, but it was too faint and garbled to understand what was being said.

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