Dark Hunters: Umbra Sumus

FIVE

Animo Moderari

‘Cease fire!’

The tearing crack of gunfire stopped at once. In the smoke, dark shapes shifted, darting in low and then leaping high.

Fornix blinked on his infra-red and the images steadied and clarified in his helm display. He switched to squad-vox.

‘Orsus, can you see the enemy?’

‘Affirmative, brother. They’re wheeling left.’

‘Very well. Primus, hold and cover. Secundus, go forward, at discretion. Tertius, go right, fast move. Squads move in three.’

A few moments, and then the gunfire started up again, the bolters bucking in the hands of the Space Marines. Ten stood firing steadily in short two and three round bursts. As their heads turned, so the bolter muzzles moved with them, as though the two were connected by unseen strings.

The brass alloy of cartridge casings clicked and shone as they tumbled out of the bolters’ chambers, a rain of gold. One battle-brother swept the massive shape of a heavy bolter back and forth as though he were hosing down the enemy with explosive fire, the belt clattering out of the tall pack grafted onto his generator.

Ten more Space Marines rushed forward. Despite their bulk they moved more swiftly than any human athlete. Five dropped to a crouch and added their fire to the cacophony, while five advanced, then went firm and took up firing as their squad members joined them.

Out on the right, over a hundred metres away, a further squad was sprinting through the smoke on the flank. They became looming shadows in the murk, and disappeared for only an instant; then the harsh crack and boom of grenades went off in a sequence of flashes which staggered the smoke.

‘Ambush,’ Fornix said calmly. ‘Tertius, report.’

‘Tripwires, first sergeant,’ a disgusted voice came back on the vox. ‘I have three down. More movement in front.’

‘Engage and grip them, Orsus. Primus and Secundus, alphas hold down base of fire, betas forward and make contact. Close fast, brothers.’

The first two squads split, half of each opening up again, the other half charging forward. Fornix heard someone shout ‘Umbra Sumus!’ over the vox and at once he snarled back, ‘Shut your mouth. Do your job without that caterwauling.’

The line of Space Marines closed with the darting shadows in the smoke. There was a final clatter of fire, and then the noise began to sink.

Fornix looked down at the counter he held in one gauntleted fist. The digits had been counting down all through the engagement, and now it was blinking zero.

‘Report.’

‘Primus in place, position secure. No casualties.’

‘Secundus in place, position secure. One casualty.’

‘Tertius in place, position secure. Three casualties.’

‘Hold fast. All battle-brothers, listen to me.’ He paused. ‘Unload!’

There was a metallic chorus as up and down the Space Marines clicked the magazines out of their bolters and then cocked the weapons so that the chambered rounds were spat out.

‘Pick up those rounds, brothers. Every one of them will count one day. All right, squads, on me. And lift your feet, Hunters – I’m getting old standing here.’

The deck of the training area trembled as thirty battle-brothers jogged back to surround the first sergeant. He turned to the maintenance servitor which had been standing silent beside him all this time. ‘End smoke. Retrieve all target servitors. Initiate repairs.’

‘Acknowledged,’ the creature said, and lurched away, chittering in tech-speak as it went.

High above, huge fans began to turn, stirring the acrid atmosphere. The air in the massive hangar began to clear almost at once. As it did, it revealed tumbled piles of debris and rubbish scattered in mounds and ridges all over the deck.

Dozens of servitors were now busy among these, lifting up battered target servitors, some of which were still thrashing feebly. Others were touring the walls of the hangar and beginning repairs on the armoured padding which lined the bulkheads.

Fornix clicked off his helm, and stood impassively as thirty Space Marines of Mortai’s tactical squads gathered around him.

‘Take a knee,’ he growled, and at once the massive armoured warriors knelt before him in a rough semi-circle.

‘Unhelm.’

He stared at them, eye to eye. ‘Brother Orsus, who tripped the grenades?’

A broad-faced warrior, big even for his kind, rubbed his hand over his scalp. ‘That would be Brother Infinius.’

Fornix’s gaze ranged over the squad. A slim, dark warrior with black hair and downcast eyes.

‘Tripwires, Infinius? Brother, I set those there merely to combat boredom, and because of you they incapacitated three of your squad. Tripwires – really?’

‘My apologies, first sergeant.’ Infinius rubbed at a blackened dent in his armour, which was otherwise so new from the arsenal that it still had a lacquered shine to it.

‘How long have you been in Mortai now?’

‘Seven weeks, first sergeant.’

‘And already you have been killed by a trap which a drunk cultist could set.’ Fornix bared his teeth in exasperation. ‘Extra duty, Orsus. For all of Tertius. And an inspection for all squads at fifteenth hour shiptime.’

Orsus nodded, scowling.

‘And who was it who uttered our battle-cry on the vox?’ Fornix demanded. His bionic eye glowed hellish red, as though infected by his anger.

‘First sergeant, it was me.’

Fornix sighed. Another recruit.

‘Brother Gad, is it not?’

The Space Marine nodded.

Fornix strode forward, and leaned down until his scalp-lock was tickling the other warrior’s face.

‘The battle-cry of the Dark Hunters is not to be uttered except in battle, Brother Gad – do you understand me?’

The Space Marine nodded dumbly.

‘You do not scream it out in the middle of a tactical exercise in the practice hangar. Am I perfectly clear, brother?’

‘Yes, first sergeant.’

Fornix looked at the thirty kneeling warriors. He saw that Nureddin of Secundus was trying not to smile – he was one of Fornix’s oldest friends, so he chose to ignore it. Finn March of Primus was frowning. Always so serious, old Finn.

New faces in the company. Enough to make a difference to the heft of it perhaps. They were all trained battle-brothers with years of combat under their belts, but they could not compare to Mortai’s veterans – not yet.

Fornix tapped the device he held in one hand. ‘One hundred and thirty-eight targets accounted for, at a cost of four of you. Brothers, it will not be good enough. Nureddin, you were with me the last time we fought the Punishers – do you remember the odds we faced back then?’

Brother Nureddin’s grin died on his face. ‘I remember, Fornix.’

‘There were close to eight hundred battle-brothers in the Chapter at that time. We lost half of Haroun Company on the first day: forty battle-brothers. But they bought time for the rest of the Chapter to organise a defence. That one company slew well over eight thousand of the Great Enemy before they were overwhelmed.

‘They were not fighting target drones, brothers. The cultists went down in waves, it is true, but behind them were warbands of the Chaos brethren, who had once been of our own adept. They wore power armour, wielded bolters and flamers and lascannons even as we do.

‘They had begun as Space Marines, my brothers, and whatever it was they had become, they had not forgotten how to fight. And they came in their thousands.

‘So make no mistake – it is not enough to kill five, or ten, or twenty of the enemy and think you have done enough. It is not enough to die gloriously with the vile corpses of the foe piled high all around you. To be victorious, brothers, we must do two things. We must destroy the foe utterly...’

He paused. ‘And we must also survive.’

Fornix’s head sank down until his chin was inside the collar of his breastplate. For a moment he seemed very far away.

‘Inspection at fifteen. In the morning we will begin again. And I will discipline personally anyone who falls to the marker of a single drone tomorrow. Dismissed.’

‘Your first sergeant’s anecdotes leave me somewhat disquieted,’ Brother Malchai said, frowning.

‘He trains the company according to the Codex,’ Kerne rejoined. ‘You cannot fault him for that.’

The Chaplain and the captain were standing high up in the observation gallery, wreathed in ribands and knots of dissipating smoke. They cradled their helms at their sides, but were otherwise fully armoured.

‘The training is adequate, and Codex-compliant. It is his words which give me concern. Brother Kass, perhaps you could enlighten us with your opinion.’

Elijah Kass stood behind the two senior officers of his Chapter.

‘My lord, I do not feel qualified to comment.’

‘You are a psyker, are you not, Kass? Perhaps you could do us the service of sounding out the state of mind of–’

‘Enough,’ Kerne snarled. ‘My first sergeant is not a case-study. He has been training our brethren for long enough not to be second-guessed in his methods by anyone. Is that clear, Brother Malchai?’

‘As I said, his methods are Codex-compliant – it is his attitude which concerns me, and as acting company Chaplain I am fully within the orbit of my duties to question it, captain.’

For once there was no animosity in the Reclusiarch’s white face. He meant what he said.

‘Brother Kass, leave us,’ Jonah said.

‘I would prefer it if the Librarian stayed.’

‘Prefer all you like. Elijah, the Chaplain and I would speak privately, if you will.’

‘Captain,’ Elijah said.

‘Go now, Brother Kass. I will not ask you again.’

Elijah Kass stepped away. There was a hiss, and the elevator at their backs took him down into darkness.

The two Space Marines remaining looked at one another. The line of command between a veteran Space Marine captain and the senior Reclusiarch of the Chapter was ill-defined, and depended much on the personalities involved.

In theory, everyone in the Dark Hunters, even the Chapter Master himself, had to defer to Malchai when the issue at stake was the spiritual well-being and orthodoxy of the Chapter. But when it came to military matters, the force commander on the ground was entitled to his own decisions.

‘We are of an age, you and I,’ Jonah said to Malchai. ‘We were witness to the near-destruction of the Dark Hunters, even as Fornix was. That time has seared itself into the soul of every battle-brother who survived it – and there are not many of us left who remember, now. Surely you can understand why Fornix thinks the way he does. There is no unorthodoxy in seeking to make sure his brethren survive?’

Malchai was implacable. ‘Sentiment. Always, it has been your weakness, Jonah. In past times it was your temper, but it seems you have learned to control that. Now you must expunge the last remnants of another weakness from your soul. Only then would you be even remotely worthy to fill the office you seek.’

He was right and wrong at the same time. ‘I seek no other office than that which I currently hold,’ Kerne said carefully.

‘Others seek it for you. Even the Kharne himself has stumbled, blinded by his old friendship for you and his absurd attachment to the company he once commanded. It should have been the Chapter’s senior captain who commanded this expedition, not you.’

‘Ares Thuraman is your friend, is he not, Malchai?’

‘I have no friends. I have only comrades with whom I work for the good of the Chapter, in service to the Emperor. You might want to consider doing the same.’

A cold light came into Kerne’s black eyes. ‘Do you accuse me of neglecting my duty, Reclusiarch?’

‘You do it adequately, but you are hampered by your partiality towards certain of your brethren. You indulge Brother-Sergeant Fornix to a high degree, when he should have been disciplined long ago for insubordination, perhaps even broken in rank.’

‘He saved your life!’

‘That is irrelevant.’

Kerne’s voice rose. ‘But for Fornix you would have been slaughtered like a lamb as you wept over the body of Biron Amadai. Who was guilty of irrational sentiment then, brother?’

Malchai blinked, and something twisted for a moment in his face. ‘It is true, I failed in my duties on that day. I allowed myself to be crippled by emotion. You and Fornix should have let me die then – it was what I deserved. In that moment, I failed our brotherhood utterly.’

Kerne shook his head. ‘We saved a brother Space Marine that day, who has done great service to the Chapter ever since. No one thinks the less of you for that moment of weakness, Malchai–’

‘I do. I have spent all the years since atoning for it, striving to expunge the sin of it. It is why, Jonah, I have always refused the title of Master of Sanctity. I am wholly unworthy to hold the position once held by Amadai.’

‘A man should not spend his life on his knees because he stumbled once,’ Kerne retorted.

Malchai shrugged. ‘Sophistry. The fact is that I see in Brother Fornix the same weakness which once I felt myself. He cares more for the lives of his brethren than for the mission they have been entrusted with.

‘Space Marines do not consider the possibilities of their own death when they go into battle. They think only of the orders they have been given and the most efficient way of carrying them out. All else is extraneous.

‘More than that, to begin thinking in terms of individual survival verges on heresy.’

‘You will not utter that word to me, brother. My company has the best fighting record of any in the Chapter. We have never failed to complete a mission, no matter what the cost. And we pay the price it exacts without stint.’

Malchai nodded slightly. ‘That is true. But I came on this expedition because I wanted to make sure that record remains unblemished, captain. I am not here to undermine you, but to be a necessary adjunct to your authority.’

‘If that be so, then you will refrain from voicing any of your doubts and misgivings about my command except to me, in private. I will not have my orders, or those of my officers, questioned in open forum. And that is a direct order, Malchai.’

‘An order I will obey, of course. But I question its logic. The task of a Chaplain is to steer his charges on the one true road of loyalty and orthodoxy. I mean to hold the members of this expedition to the very letter of the Codex Astartes, captain.’

‘Sometimes the Codex is not enough, in war, Malchai. There must be room for flexibility on the battlefield.’

‘That way heresy lies.’

Jonah Kerne took a step towards the Reclusiarch, eyes blazing. But his voice was very quiet as he said; ‘I told you not to use that word in relation to my company.’

‘It is not your company, captain. Mortai belongs to the Chapter, and ultimately to the Imperium and the Emperor Himself. You are merely a custodian, an artisan who helps wield the tool, for a time.

‘When a Space Marine – especially a senior Space Marine – begins to think in terms of his own ego, the denizens of the warp sit up and take notice. Only ask Brother-Librarian Kass. We are travelling towards a confrontation with the Great Enemy – creatures who once were Adeptus Astartes like us. Our discipline and our faith must be unshakeable in the face of such abominations.’

Kerne’s gauntleted fists clenched and unclenched. Malchai noted this. ‘I congratulate you on your self-control, captain. I know how hard it can be for you to restrain that temper of yours.’

The Reclusiarch set his fearsome skull-helm on his head, and there was a snake-hiss of atmospherics as it conjoined with his power armour.

‘I will go now, and with your permission, visit the troop decks. I wish to preach a sermon to Mortai while the lessons of today are still fresh in their minds. Is that acceptable to you?’

Jonah nodded mutely, not quite trusting himself to speak.

‘I will refrain from taking Brother-Sergeant Fornix aside for counsel, in deference to your orders. I leave that task to you.’

Malchai thumbed the lifter button. As the platform sped up to the ledge out of the dark, he said:

‘And I will of course be making a full report on these matters, to be sent back to Phobian on the next vox-link.’

He stepped onto the lifter platform, and Jonah Kerne watched the twin red lights of his eyes recede as the Reclusiarch disappeared, descending into the shadow below.