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Rhadamanthys crept through the shattered tunnel as quietly as his
bulky power armour would allow. Glancing down at a subdued rune-icon
on his helmet display, a square with three wavy, vertical lines,
Rhadamanthys willed it to glowing green life with a brief mental
impulse. Immediately the almost inaudible whirring from the front
of his helmet ceased and he heard a faint grinding of gears as his
helmet's air purifier cut out, allowing the planet's own atmosphere
into the close confines of his helmet. Despite his enhancements
he shuddered as the cold air caressed his face, then grimaced as
the ages old stink of the sewer became apparent, resisting the urge
to switch back to his internal air supply Rhadamanthys pressed on,
senses stretched to the maximum, searching for the enemy.
Stepping over the long dead corpse of a huge sewer rat Rhadamanthys'
nose gave him the first indication of his enemy, that familiar sting
at the back of his throat where the Neuroglottis had been implanted
more than a century ago. The Brazen Claws prided themselves on the
purity and functionality of each of the 19 organs that made each
one of them truly a warrior of the Adeptus Astartes, including those
that enhanced a Marine's olfactory senses, and whilst not possessing
the acuity of a Space Wolf, they were still able to track by scent
or taste alone. Slowing his pace Rhadamanthys inhaled more deeply,
trying to distinguish the taint of Chaos from the stench of sewage,
a few more cautious paces and he was able to pick the tunnel branch
the taint was coming from. Rhadamanthys quickened his pace again
as he headed down the eastern branch of the sewer, determined to
come to grips with the enemy above.
A sudden increase in the formerly muted volume of lasfire indicated
to Rhadamanthys that he was nearing his quarry. Turning his gaze
to the ceiling he saw that the sewer grates were too small for him
to fit through even if he shed his armour, cursing he looked about
for another way to exit the sewers. As he twisted in the cramped
environs to look for another exit his elbow bumped a large canister
mag-clamped to his hip; with a grin Rhadamanthys remembered what
it was…
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Jarrett cursed the day he'd set foot on this damned planet. Blood
red diagnostic runes flashed in front of his eyes, a scrolling column
cataloguing his injuries. The fused rib-plate inside his chest was
fractured, and his secondary heart was thumping out an erratic beat
that echoed inside his skull like the tribal drums of his distant
homeworld. Blesséd numbness washed over him as his power
armour injected a cocktail of stimulants, painkillers and counterseptics
into his system.
With a sigh Jarrett noticed the planet's star creeping below the
horizon, the moon bathing in the city in sombre shades of blue and
grey. The howling nighttime winds of Alcmene rose suddenly, sweeping
down from the plains outside the city, piercing the ragged remains
of his armour, and chilling him to the bone
A bass rumbling echoed along Tranquillity Way, and Jarrett turned
to see two ramshackle half- tracks trundle slowly from a side street
onto the broad avenue. Cultists, wild-eyed, emaciated men who clutched
their las-rifles and autoguns in white knuckled hands, were clustered
about the decrepit vehicles. A Heavy Stubber, no doubt pilfered
from the PDF armoury many years ago was spot welded to the cab of
one, whilst the other bore a jury-rigged Flamethrower. The pilot
light of the Flamer sputtered and flared in the rising winds as
the half-tracks rolled into position.
As Jarrett slammed a fresh magazine into his weapon, a movement
in the corner of his eye caught his attention and he turned to see
huge figure crouched atop a ruined spire of the temple. A tattered,
fur-trimmed cloak that might once have been white fluttered around
dark, baroque armour, and a leering skull with eyes like garnets
stared straight at Jarrett. Jarrett glanced down as he racked his
bolter, and raised the gun to aim it at… nothing. The figure
was gone, the crumbling spire empty. Jarrett glanced at his brother
marines, but none of them seemed to have noticed the shadowy figure.
He shook his head and followed Aiakos, Mirandis and Lindsberg through
the decimated building that had housed the Word Bearer squad and
into a dank narrow alley, skidding on spilt entrails and bones.
Jarrett could hear the spluttering engine and the grinding of metal
cleats on rockcrete as the half-tracks advanced. With a gesture,
Sergeant Aiakos signalled Jarrett to take point. Glancing round
the corner of a building, Jarrett watched the half tracks race past,
the driver of the nearest momentarily losing control on the slick
rockcrete and clipping the building, rupturing a fuel drum strapped
to the side. The driver quickly recovered and the ‘track slewed
to a halt, the Stubber spitting a storm of heavy bullets at the
marines of the Legio, covering the advance of it's flamer-equipped
companion.
Jarrett frowned - he couldn't get a clean shot, the rear of the
‘track was obscured by fallen rubble. An evil grin spread across
his face as he saw one of the cultists sheltering behind the half-track
raise a plasglass bottle with a burning rag stuffed in the neck.
Jarrett sighted quickly and snapped off a shot, watched the bottle
fall, the man's severed hand still wrapped round it. The bottle
shattered on the rockcrete with a sharp crack, followed by a sighing
whoomph as burning promethium sprayed through the air.
As the wind wafted the rancid smell of burning flesh toward Jarrett
he watched the trickle of fuel from the damaged barrel run agonisingly
slowly towards the burning promethium. One of the half-track crewmen
turned to pick up a fresh magazine for the Stubber and sheer horror
spread across his face as he saw the trail of fuel from the vehicle
stretching towards the flames. He leapt, screaming, from the vehicle
as the fuel ignited, the fire racing inhumanly fast towards the
half-track, and licked round the punctured fuel barrel. With a dull
roar the drum exploded and the ground shuddered as the half track's
own fuel supply exploded a second later...
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The dull crump of an explosion staggered Rhadamanthys, he stumbled
into the nearby wall as the shockwave hit him, covering him in a
shower of rockcrete dust and slime, the sound built to a crescendo
as a second, larger explosion followed the first, this time throwing
Rhadamanthys to the floor and immersing him in the scum infested
waters of the sewer tunnel. Standing up, dripping slime and sewage,
he waited a moment for his auto-senses to remove the cut-out that
had protected his hearing from the noise of the second explosion,
twisting, he grasped the mag-locked bundle at his hip and thumbed
the mag-lock off. Briefly, he checked the mechanism to ensure it's
brief dip in the sewage hadn't damaged it, then affixed it to the
tunnel roof, close to the source of the second explosion. Setting
the chrono to 15 seconds he muttered the Prayer for Ignition,
' Spirit of fire, Prime this weapon, And blast the foe, From the
Emperor's blessed sight.'
then stabbed the detonator button and quickly moved back down the
tunnel to safety. The melta bomb erupted with a deafening roar in
the close confines of the tunnel, for the second time in as many
minutes Rhadamanthys thanked his armour's spirit for saving his
hearing as the auto-senses kicked in to smother the sound. Looking
down the tunnel he was shocked to see a large vehicle sliding into
the hole his melta bomb had opened in the tunnel's roof, as it hit
the wall the pintle mounted flamer crumpled in on itself, erupting
in a huge gout of promethium fuelled flames as the jury rigged device's
pilot light was driven into ruptured fuel lines. Standing as tall
as he could in the tunnel Rhadamanthys sprinted for the flaming
vehicle, trusting in his armour to protect him from the inferno,
he hauled himself over the front of the flaming vehicle and into
the crew compartment, his bolt pistol kicked in his hand as he dispatched
the few cultists still alive in the vehicle.
Flames lapping at his heels Rhadamanthys vaulted over the rear
of the half-track, landing among the dazed and disoriented cultists
who had been following the armoured vehicles. Unclipping his double
edged chainsword he set to work, bolt pistol coughing in his right
hand, chainsword buzzing in his left, cutting a swathe through the
stunned chaos worshippers. Within moments his bolt pistol ran dry,
not bothering to reload he deftly holstered the weapon and grasped
his Procyon pattern chainsword in both hands, swinging the blade
easily, as though in a training room , severing limbs and ripping
the spinning teeth through torsos and stomachs with practiced ease.
Rhadamanthys stood his ground as the cultists shook off their stupor
and tried to overwhelm him with a deadly mix of numbers and savagery.
The distinctive bark of bolter fire grew louder as his brethren
took advantage of the destruction of the half-tracks to advance
on the hapless cultists, mowing them down with skillfully aimed
volleys. Like a rock amid a turbulent sea Rhadamanthys towered over
the frenzied cultists, his armour turning aside the weak blows of
their crude weapons as he returned each blow with interest, dealing
out death at each stroke. He smiled grimly as he saw his brother's
fire cutting into the cultists near him, the wretched traitors too
far gone in their battle lust to notice their impending doom. The
static that had plagued the vox systems disappeared and he heard
the voice of Sergeant Castor, his usually grim tone lightened as
he enjoyed the one sided battle,
'That's quite an entrance boy, even Golgotha would have been proud
of that one!'
Chuckles echoed over the vox as the Sergeant's men enjoyed his
joke before he spoke again, this time his tone serious,
'Now get back over here where you belong...'
Through the still open vents of his helmet Rhadamanthys breathed
in the cold night air, now heavy with the scent of blood and tinged
with the reek of burning promethium, taking a deep breath he let
out a wordless roar that was quickly snatched away by the howling
wind and abandoned his defensive posture, plunging back into the
raging sea of ragged bodies, now intent on battering his way through
to his brethren...
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