The barrels of the Thunderfire Cannon were close to glowing white hot. Mason kept an eye on the heat gauge, but never relented his fusillade. They had to push through at some point.
Casualties were light on both sides. The Fists had hunkered down in ruined hab-blocks, and kept up a continuous barrage of bolt shells on their enemies. The Plague Marines had proved extremely resilient, however. Bolts that did not bounce off their armor were swallowed by putrid flesh with a wet sound. They advanced inexorably, keeping up their own volley of bolts and plasma fire. Worse, their daemon engines supported their flanks, hovering with an incessant buzz. Mason had never seen them deployed in such numbers. Where did the traitors get their hands on so many? Admonishing himself - that train of thought surely led to heresy - Mason selected a new target for his cannon.
---
Captain Lexandro was also bothered by the concentration of Bloat Drones. No matter how much fire he directed into them, the blasted things just kept on coming. The enemies were closing in on his lines, and he couldn't see any way to stop them. He would have to do this the old fashion way. He warmed up his trusted combi-plasma.
---
In just a few minutes, the floating engines reached the ruin. Epistolary Jeraiah trudged forward and engaged one - it carried a horrifying variant of a rotating gardening tool - with his force staff. There was just no end to these abominations.
Lexandro sent a bolt of super-heated plasma into the nearest Drone. He checked his combi weapon for malfunction - why only one bolt? - just as it discharged a near-fatal amount of excess heat through its vents. The explosion threw the captain off his bike.
The Fists noted the downing of their captain with dour countenances. The traitors were near enough for melee range. Jeraiah raised his force staff, and prepared to order the charge.
The towering Redemptor Dreadnought holding their left flank collapsed to its knees. A daemon engine lowered itself onto the dreadnought's back. The vox carried a strangled cry.
'Brothers! For Dorn!'
The reactor powering the ancient warmachine went critical.
---
Jeraiah shook his head to clear his vision. Not even the powerful optics of his ancient armor could filter the dizzying light completely. He narrowed his eyes - and fell silent, stupefied. The field was littered with wreckage and bodies. What the barrage of bolts failed to accomplish, the massive explosion did. Mutated corpses lay in pools of disgusting fluids and rusted armor. A Helbrute, both its legs blown off, crawled towards the imperial lines, a gurgling sound emitting from its voxcaster. And with the tide of battle turned, the Plague Marines began their retreat. As inexorable as their advance, their retreat was again covered by the buzzing Drones.
Jeraiah looked around. Just a few battle-brothers were incapacitated, but Captain Lexandro was among them. The Redemptor was a smoking ruin, but it still might be salvaged. He hesitated for just a moment.
'Brothers, consolidate positions. Apothecary, assist the Captain, then check the status of our brother Redemptor. We hold back the pursuit, for now.'
---
Having quickly regained consciousness, Lexandro surveyed the field. It made no sense for the Plague Marines to retreat - unless they had something else in mind, other than their destruction. Maybe they were guarding something? His vision drifted across the horizon, then focused on something in the distance.
'Epistolary Jeraiah. Brother Mason. What can you tell me about those?'
Far ahead, six green beams of light streamed from the city unto the skies.
---
The strike force advanced cautiously, evading further patrols. The beams of light - an ever stronger sickly green - were close now.
The elderly Epistolary could not contain his anxiousness anymore.
'Brother-Captain. I am absolutely certain that the beams are signs of warp-related activity.'
'I surmised as much, Jeraiah. Anything else?'
'No, Captain. Except...'
'What is it?'
'The clouds reflecting the beams... look at them.'
Lexandro looked up unto the outline of a giant green fly on the evening sky.
---
'Brother-Captain.'
The Techmarine also sounded anxious. Lexandro knew himself to be an inspiring leader and a fine tactician, but not for the first time, he wished they had a chaplain with them. This campaign was eroding their resolve.
'Go ahead, Brother Mason.'
'Captain... I wish to be part of the main assault. These beams are concentrated towards the center of the hive. We have a reasonable chance to encounter uncorrupted command-and-control nodes there. We could find out what has happened on this Emperor-forsaken planet.'
'What is the risk, Brother Mason?'
'There is the risk of a corrupted machine spirit evading my auguries. Should I engage in communion with such a machine spirit, I then risk being corrupted myself by the scrap-code within.'
'What does that mean, Brother Mason?'
'It means, Brother-Captain, that you will grant me the Emperor's mercy.'
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