Apothecary Kristov was tiring.
Ever since the vox came alive with the blasphemous battle cries of the traitor marines, he had worked relentlessly. He administered coagulants and stimulant cocktails to downed battle-brothers. He granted the Emperor's mercy where the life could not be saved. His backpack now contained more progenoid glands than he cared to count.
And now, the precious cargo was on its way to being lost, as the traitor swung his power sword.
Brother-Captain Lexandro had issued the order to retreat just as the final hail of krak missiles had hit their decimated lines. Disoriented for a moment by the blasts, Kristov had sought to locate his battle-brothers - and found himself face to face with a Chaos Lord instead.
Apothecary Kristov was an expert in space marine physiology. But he was also an accomplished warrior. Berating himself for the moment of laxity, he jumped back, evading the crackling blade by an inch, and swung back with his Reductor. A stream of curses errupted from the traitor's vox grill as he jumped back with preternatural speed.
The duel raged on for what seemed like hours, and Kristov was tiring. He had to give it to the renegade - he was good with that blade. Judging by his antiquated armor, he must have had a couple millenia of combat experience over the weary apothecary. The warp-infused sword also gave him the advantage of reach. Every clash, block and parry gave him an inch more of ground, and an opportunity to slash and stab. In the back of his mind, Kristov did a clinical analysis of his wounds. He would not be back at peak capacity for days. That is, if he survived.
They swung their weapons and jumped back at the same time, evading blows and gaining distance. In a moment of clarity, they surveyed each other and the field -
A series of close-range explosions rocked them. The traitor jumped and rolled, evoking a stream of curses again, this time at whichever of his subordinates did the shooting. Kristov risked a moment of rest, covering his dented helm with an arm for some feable protection. He allowed his mind to wander, comtemplating the nature of his enemy. Was this an attempt to eliminate a superior, or a rival? It very well could be. Once a space marine had betrayed the Emperor and the Imperium - everything he was created to stand for - betrayal became second nature. It was also something to be exploited, if possible. Anything, to save the gene-seed. Kristov flexed, and prepared to run.
From the dust cloud of the explosions emerged a heavy bike rolling at full speed. Kristov raised his Reductor-
Captain Lexandro screeched to a halt right beside the Apothecary. He reached out his hand- then whipped his head around, and raised his shield arm instead. The crackle of a lascannon shot was followed by the distinct fizzle of a storm shield. Kristov was glad for the Captain's quick reaction. The Apothecary had administered him with stimulants earlier in the battle, but even he wasn't sure to recover from a direct hit like that.
Kristov was not a man to be asked twice. He swung behind Lexandro, and they sped away, the bike groaning under the weight of two power armored bodies. Behind them, the Chaos Lord screamed his rage at their escape.
'Apothecary... have you seen Brother Mason?'
'No, Captain.'
A nearby plate of fallen rockcrete shifted in their way. Lexandro gunned the engine and reached for his combi-plasma. A mechanical arm punched through the rockcrete, and then another. Lexandro grinned, and halted. They hurried to grab the two servo-arms, pulling the techmarine out of the rubble.
'I am here... Captain.'
Mason's voice was but a whisper, distorted by his damaged vox grill. His entire helmet was ruined.
'Holding a fortified position, eh, Mason?'
The techmarine ignored the jest.
'Left servo arm damaged. Right arm crushed. Secondary heart punctured. Efficiency at 47%.'
Kristov was already kneeling beside the techmarine, but Lexandro bade him wait.
'Codicier... lock on my coordinates, and fast. I have both of them.'
***
The Rhino ground to a halt next to a burnt out hab-block. Squad Aaron filed out in silent order, still in awe of their Brother-Sergeant. "Quiet" Aaron directed them with nods and quick hand gestures. Some battle-brothers questioned his permanent silence before... but they could not deny his heroism now. He cut down the Dark Apostle right in front of their eyes. The traitor's stream of unholy litanies was drowned out by Aaron's chainsword - and he was still silent, even then. The marines followed his example now, quietly contemplating the events of the past hour. They took up defensive positions around the Rhino, covering the crew of the Predator stopped behind them. The tank received multiple glancing blows from krak missiles, and the crew was conducting frantic field repairs to get it back on its tracks.
'Squad Aaron, reporting in. Grid point Theta-Septimus. Pattern Epsilon.'
The clipped voice of the sergeant on the long range vox network made the squad jump. It always did, such a rare occurence as it was. The vox immediately crackled with a response.
'This is Lexandro. Hold your position. I am on my way. All surviving squads, check in.'
The silence seemed to stretch on indefinitely. And then...
'Squad Bronn, reporting. Grid point Kappa-Nonus. Pattern Delta.'
'Squad Crowley, reporting. I have all surviving Scouts with me. Grid point Lambda-Decimus. We command the high ground. No enemies in sight.'
'This is the Last Light. Our actuators are damaged but we are on the move.'
***
As the survivors reported in one by one, Lexandro's spirits lifted. There were more than he estimated. More than he hoped for. They were scattered, but close.
'Battle-brothers, converge on grid point Theta-Septimus. Squad Aaron, fan out. Coverage pattern Omikron.'
***
'Brother-Captain. I have a bad feeling about this.'
'Codicier, you never have a good feeling about anything.'
'I do not appreciate the jest, Lexandro. The psychic blanket covering this region is intensifying. We must be nearing its source.'
'Very well. Let us forge on.'
***
The small armored column ground to a halt in what was once a public square. At one side, a cathedral of the Imperial Cult lay in ruins. The aquila above the entrance had been broken off, then shattered into small pieces. The pieces now seemed to form an eight-fold star.
In the distance, an unnatural structure rose above the horizon. At first, it only seemed a tower as any other. However, at this distance, the space marines' optical enhancers revealed that its surface was covered in human bodies. Some of them still twitched from time to time.
'Brother-Captain. That is the source of the psychic blanket.'
'I inferred as much, Codicier.'
'Brother-Captain. That is also the source of the augury interference, and the vox jammer blocking communications with the Sacrum Pugnus.'
'Some sort of techno-sorcery, then. Very well. We shall advance and-'
A horn blared - it was close, and it sounded from back where they came from. Its tortured sounds echoed among the empty hab-blocks. It blared again - and this time, it was answered by a chorus of distant cries and shouts.
'The traitors are closing in. A lot faster than I anticipated. Very well. This changes nothing. Codicier Mourdom, take a couple of squads and investigate that structure. Destroy it if you can. Disable it, if not. We shall make our stand here and hold them off for you.'
'Brother-Captain-'
'No arguments, Mourdom. We must contact the strike cruiser. Otherwise, we shall perish and all this sacrifice has been for naught. Brother Mason!'
'Brother-Captain, I can fortify-'
'No, Brother. Your expertise is needed with the Codicier. Hurry.'
The horn blared again; this time, even closer.
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