Silver Skulls: Portents (Warhammer 40,000) by Sarah Cawkwell

Author:Sarah Cawkwell [Cawkwell, Sarah]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Black Library
Published: 2014-09-15T00:00:00+00:00

Twelve

The Emperor’s Grace

In his many years of service, Siege Captain Rasheke Daviks had seen many unusual things. The collapse of stars, the destruction of planets, alien species previously unknown. He had witnessed the horrors of the warp and he had lived through the deaths of countless battle-brothers. He had never once seen a Space Marine, traitor or not, so desperate to escape a battle.

He remained expressionless as he watched the wounded sorcerer struggle back towards the walls, armoured fingers scrabbling in the rain-slick rubble as he dragged himself agonisingly slowly. Heavy fire had cut the warrior into two ragged pieces held together by a thin strip of flesh. He left a dark trail of tainted gore in his wake. Every centimetre brought a fresh scream, but Daviks suspected that this had less to do with his fatal injury and more to do with Isara Gall, who was keeping pace beside him, negating his psychic ability.

The vox-bead in his ear chirped and Jalonis’s voice sounded across the network.

‘Melta charge primed and ready, Captain Daviks. The gate will be yours to claim in minutes.’ Daviks nodded and his moment of reflection was replaced by his unerring sense of duty.

‘Received and understood.’ The captain turned his attention to positioning his squads effectively and laying the charges for the demolition of the outer gates. He placed squads on overwatch, protecting the flanks of the main battle force. Orders went out to Vindicators to sweep east in preparation for the upcoming breach whilst the Whirlwind battery were primed to unleash barrage fire on the manufactory district.

He watched as a trio of blocky tanks rumbled away through the ruins, their armoured prows smashing aside the remains of the habs or grinding them beneath their treads. A Techmarine with a pair of Thunderfire cannons in tow moved them into place and signalled to the siege captain that they were ready to fire.

There was a shriek of atomised air as Curt finally grew tired of the screaming and turned his melta on the wounded traitor. Little remained afterwards other than a pool of liquid plascrete and an expanding cloud of vapour. Isara gave a short, barking laugh. It was not the laugh of a focused mind and alarm bells began to sound.

‘Do you find something amusing about this, lady?’ Daviks turned to the woman, studying her face. Her eyes were wide, staring and anxious, betraying her worry and disgust at what she had seen – and she had seen much today.

‘No. I am simply relieved,’ she said. ‘They were overconfident. You and your men will soon cleanse them. I anticipate that we will celebrate a great victory, captain.’ Her voice trembled and some of the terror began to seep from her face.

‘I trust you are right in that assumption,’ murmured the siege captain. He was not so sure. He had an extraordinarily bad feeling about the entire situation.

‘Charge is counting.’ Reuben’s voice came across the airways. ‘Detonation in fifteen seconds. Assault squad breaking clear of the gatehouse. Rendezvous inside.

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