Seated on his massive command chair of the Pride of the Lion, the Ship's Master watched as the Admiral's plump face fuzzed out of view. Elijah's bionic fingers gently strummed the arm of his command chair. Interrogator-Chaplain Sariel strode out of the darkness behind him. The ancient marine was cloaked in a coarse linen robe. Pulling the hood from over his head, the weathered marine's voice broke the silence. "Well played Brother-Captain. He Who Rules on Terra's hand blesses us. The fools have given us what we wanted." "It amazes me. Their pride has allowed them to think that they have command over us, Interrogator-Chaplain,' replied Elijah. "They are only concerned with their own personally glory and advancement. That self-serving waste Romanoff has given us the diversion we need. It troubles me that the mighty All-Father is plagued by such servants in his great cause. His glory is lessened by having such so-called men in his service." "Still our redemption in the Emperor's eyes is paramount to any petty plans from these men, Brother-Captain," replied Sariel. "Come we must prepare our brethren for the task at hand. The Lion will guide us and protect us in this most holy of missions." The robed marine departed the bridge and left Elijah to his thoughts. Elijah's gaze returned to the tactical holo-sphere. Oh mighty Emperor, I thank you for the opportunity to seek your forgiveness. May our actions be worthy of the Lion, he prayed silently. Blinking red inside the tactical holo-sphere was the target designated by Inquisitor Zeitzler's Tech-Adepts. The icon represented an ancient Desolator Class Battleship in the midst of Nagah's fleet. Now called the Peccavi, it waited unknowingly for Elijah and his marines. Deep within the corpulent predator was Fallen 254. PART TWO: Three boarding torpedoes were fired in sequence from the Pride of the Lion. Each was a multi-story juggernaut carrying a deadly cargo. Contained within each was a squad of legendary Terminators from the First Company of the First Legion. Simultaneously, the rest of Romanoff's Grand Fleet fired a swarm of decoy and plasma torpedoes into the heart of Nagah's armada. Laser batteries lanced out and stuck at targets deep within the enemy fleet. Several lesser chaos vessels burned, but the wide-speed attack did little actual damage to the Arch-Heretic's immense fleet. Nagah's warships responded in kind with as massive torpedoes barrage of their own. As the marine speeded towards their destination, the enemy vessels' defensive batteries vaporized many of the Imperial torpedoes before they impacted. All three of the marine-laden torpedoes, traveling slower than the rest of the torpedoes, were untouched by the counter barrage. They continued to travel unerringly toward their target. The explosions and impacts of the massive battle masked the approach of the powered-down boarding craft. On board one of the craft, Brother Sergeant Michael double-checked his combi-melta. Surrounding him in their protective harnesses was his crack-squad of Deathwing Terminators. Each marine was a proven veteran of many battles and Michael had complete trust in each of their abilities. Brother-Sergeant Michael gave silent thanks to the Emperor for his continuing protection as the Terminators' torpedo sped toward the Peccavi. To the veteran marine sergeant, it was still an uncomfortable feeling of helplessness to be strapped inside the hurtling missile. Michael grinned as he realized the standard Teleport Assault had spoiled him. He assigned himself a day of fasting for penance and resolved himself to just being cargo. For the Lion, we will seek our penance. May he bless our efforts, Michael mused. Two marines down from Michael was Brother Hezekiah, strapped inside his protective harness. Hezekiah prayed silently to be worthy of his noble progenitor. He thought back to the mission briefing given to the boarding party. The fully-armored marines had filed into the strike cruiser' chapel. Sariel had blessed them all and recited the Litanies of Hate and Redemption. After they had been purified and focused by the service, Brother-Captain Elijah had briefed them. Elijah, the hero who had fought back the foul Unclean One deep in the desecrated temple on O'mane. He had been to lone survivor of Master Delainel's command section. Wandering deeper into the ruins of the hive-world he had come upon over 400 cultists writhing before a desecrated Imperial Shrine. Advancing on them alone, he had selflessly tired to disrupt the summon ritual. The daemon had come forth anyway. Hezekiah had been a newly elevated sergeant at the time. His squad had been one of several to see the aftermath of the confrontation. Of the spawn of Nurgle there was no sign. Charred remains of the cultists were all that was left in the temple. The holy place had been cleaned by Elijah's heavy flamer. Wounded but still alive, the now living legend had fought back several counter-attacks until reinforcements arrived. Brother-Captain Elijah had told them of Fallen 254 presence aboard the target. Now bundled aboard the rocking torpedoes, the individual terminators were fully aware of their tactical assignments and the roles of the other squads. Once aboard the Chaos vessel, each squad would neutralize their initial objectives to render the warship impotent. After the ship was disabled, the Deathwing's cover mission would have been completed. Once Fleet Admiral Romanoff and his staff's objectives had been satisfied, the Dark Angels would link up. They would proceed together to capture or eliminate their own primary objective. Once this was completed, they would withdrawal from the enemy battleship. The Terminators would either use the Chaos ship's own teleport beacons to return to the Pride of the Lion. If unable to do so, they would return to their torpedoes. Once aboard, they would detach and await retrieval. Either way, once they were safely away form the ship, Romanoff's Fleet would concentrate its fire on the craft and punch a hole thought the Chaos Line. Fallen 254 would be safely in their grasp or no longer a shame to their honor. Blessed be the name of the Lion, Hezekiah said to himself. The marine once again began to cycle though his Litanies of Preparation to focus his mind. PART THREE Deep within the rear conning tower of the mighty battleship, Antiochus's bulk lounged on a jewel-encrusted command chair. The command throne was on a raised dais in the midst of the cathedral-like bridge of the Peccavi. The fallen and his command crew were well protected deep inside the warship by the layers of ablative shielding surrounding the command level. Antiochus' black Terminator Armor had been lovingly adorned over untold centuries. The massive armor had long since become a part of him, an extension of his body. Images of forgotten constellations had been engraved and innumerable jewels had been set in the ceramite canvas. In stark contrast to the rest of his armor, his right re-active shoulder pad was corroded and pitted gunmetal grey with only the partially discernable remains of a red winged sword. Antiochus's left shoulder was adorned with a gold inlaid eight-pointed star of Chaos. Where his left arm once had been, now a massive bionic tentacle writhed and flexed. The tip of the mechandenrite limb was clamped into an ancient Adeptus Mechanicus receptacle next to his throne, linking him to his beloved ship. The Desolator Class Battleship dated back to the very founding of the Imperium. Filled with special systems long-since lost to the Imperium, the Peccavi was far more powerful than the majority of the ships in Nagah's fleet. Antiochus had wisely chosen to withhold that information from the Arch-Heretic. The daemon that possessed the mighty craft's machine spirit flitted amongst it various systems. Psedu-synapitc relays and aetheric feed coils had made a most suitable host. The twisted creature constantly sped back and forth across battleship's systems, doing the bidding of its master. There had been a time, long ago when the creature had rebelled under Antiochus' authority, but the former Space Marine had bent it to his will. Now, daemon, man and machine were linked together in an un-holy trinity that none could explain. It was this combination that made the Peccavi so powerful. Antiochus could feel every impact against the Peccavi's shield and hull. He could taste everything its auguries could detect and suffered every blow struck against it. Antiochus was a demi-god as he swatted the incoming torpedoes with ease. He laughed as he fired the crafts mighty batteries deep into the massed Imperial Fleet. He could taste the sweet death-screams of the doomed crews as their ships exploded in the depths. The daemon had whispered to him that his gifts were unique, but Antiochus doubted much of what the foul entity said. |
THE PECCAVI By Trent Hoffman ( OCAC ) |
FABLES OF THE UNFORGIVEN |
