[Horus Heresy Novella] The Seventh Serpent by Graham McNeill

Author:Graham McNeill
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Science Fiction, Warhammer 40K
Publisher: Black Library
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

DESCENDING THROUGH THE planet's upper atmospheric layer was easy until the Storm Eagle hit the tropopause. This was one of the roughest descents Tyro had ever known, and he had made more combat drops than most.

Heat blooms from the platform below were mixing with the colder air above in roiling storms. Squalling temperature differentials slammed the gunship in all directions. For once, the grav-harnesses securing the legionaries were entirely necessary.

'No use in chastising the pilot, I suppose,' grunted Vermana Cybus as his head slammed into the crossbar of his restraints.

'Sabik Wayland has picked up some bad habits from Sharrowkyn, but he's still the best pilot we have,' said Tyro.

Cybus leaned forwards as much as he was able, hands clasped before him as though in prayer.

Tyro knew what was coming next.

'You should be leading us,' said Cybus.

'We went over this, Vermana,' replied Tyro. 'I can't wear the armour convincingly, not with my cybernetic bodyplan. You need to lead. I will go in with the second wave alongside Meduson and his warriors'

Cybus glanced down the length of the gunship with distaste. 'This isn't the kind of war I was built to fight.'

'Nor was I, but it is the kind of war we face. We either fight it or get out.'

Cybus recoiled as though Tyro had struck him.

'The Iron Tenth end wars, we don't leave them unfinished.'

Tyro nodded and held out his fist. 'Upon the anvil.'

'And by the Iron,' finished Cybus, looking down the fuselage and at his own armour. 'But I still don't like… this'.

Tyro let his eyes roam across Cybus's armour and was forced to agree. Fourteen other warriors of the Iron Hands sat locked into drop-hamesses, but instead of black they wore the salvaged indigo and silver of the XX Legion.

'Using the armour of the enemy,' said Cybus, staring at his armour in disgust and spitting on the deck as though to cleanse his mouth of the idea.

'Unpalatable, I agree,' said Frater Thamatica, making his way down the swaying crew compartment and using the arms of his servo-harness to stay balanced, 'but total surprise is our best chance of capturing the platform intact.'

'But to have our warriors bear the colours of another Legion sits ill with me,' said Tyro.

Thamatica said, 'As it should, but the rigours of war make such demands on those that fight on its ragged edge. At least the extent of your augmentations spares you that burden.'

The Ironwrought moved on with a rolling gait that matched the lurching motion of the gunship. He reached the rear assault ramp, where Nykona Sharrowkyn crouched like the shadow of a gargoyle. The Raven Guard warrior needed no restraints and no harness, keeping his balance with the poise of a warrior in perfect harmony with his body.

Thamatica's servo-hamess unfolded and slotted home into the mechanism at the side of the ramp. No sooner had it done so than a trio of bulbs on the panel changed from red to amber.

Sabik Wayland's voice came over the helm-vox.

'Landing zone approaching. Claws down in ninety seconds.

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