Fallen Angels

SIX Angels of Death

'This is Epsilon Three-Niner Heavy, lifting from zone four! I'm taking fire!'

The panicked vox-transmission cut through the hectic buzz of conversation in the fortress strategium, tearing Zahariel's attention from the glowing panes of after-action reports projected above his desk. Gritting his teeth, he blanked his hololith display and stepped swiftly from his office into the bustling chamber beyond.

It was mid-afternoon of the fourteenth day since the insurgents' global campaign began and so far the violence showed no signs of abating. The strategium had been in constant operation ever since, staffed by a mix of Legion officers and aides and senior commanders of the Jaeger regiments in action across Caliban. The men and women of the Jaegers struggled to cope with the constantly shifting nature of the enemy attacks, and the pressure of maintaining civil order while simultaneously trying to come to grips with insurgent cells that avoided direct combat as much as possible. They consumed pots of bitter tea and stim capsules and tried to match the stoic calm of the Astartes that loomed in their midst, but he could feel their frustration as the cargo hauler's distress call broadcast from the vox-unit across the room. Zahariel caught sight of Luther standing near the vox-unit, listening intently. So far as he knew, the Master of Caliban hadn't left the strategium for days on end.

A new voice crackled over the vox as Zahariel worked his way across the chamber. He heard a Legion air defence controller say, 'Epsilon Three-Niner Heavy, be advised, combat air patrol has been alerted and is vectoring on your position. Time to rendezvous is thirty seconds. What are you seeing?'

Epsilon's civilian pilot came back over the vox at once. 'My co-pilot says he's seeing red flashes to the north, out beyond the perimeter. My starboard engine's been hit. Temperature is spiking! I need to divert and make an emergency landing!'

'Negative, Three-Niner Heavy,' the controller shot back. 'Increase speed and altitude. Do not, I repeat, do not attempt to land.'

Zahariel shook his head in irritation. The civilian pilots always tried to set their transports back down at the first sign of trouble, not realising that turning around and slowing down for landing only made them more vulnerable to ground fire. Thunder reverberated through the room as the combat air patrol roared past Aldurukh's spires, heading north at full speed.

'What are the rebels going after this time?' Zahariel asked as he reached Luther's side.

'A Type II cargo hauler loaded with ten thousand tonnes of promethium,' Luther replied grimly, his eyes fixed on the vox-unit's grille. 'They couldn't have picked a better target.'

Zahariel's eyes widened. Epsilon Three-Niner was, for all intents and purposes, a flying bomb. A direct hit on one of the pressurised promethium tanks in its cargo holds would turn the ship into a massive fireball, scattering wreckage and blazing fuel all over the northern landing zones. He thought of all the fuel substations and warehouses in that sector and tried to calculate the devastation such an explosion would cause.

The vox-unit crackled once more. This time, the deep voice of an Astartes sounded from the grille. 'This is Lion Four; I've got a visual on Epsilon Three-Niner at this time. Stand by.' Moments later, the pilot spoke again. 'Contact! I've spotted a group of rebels operating a lascannon from the back of a civilian truck two kilometres outside the perimeter. Engaging now.'

'Hurry up, Lion Four!' shouted Epsilon 'Three-Niner. We just got hit again!'

Lion Four didn't respond. Seconds ticked by, and Zahariel realised the strategium had fallen silent. Then, moments later, the vox crackled once again.

'This is Lion Four. Target destroyed. Repeat, target destroyed. Epsilon Three-Niner is clear.'

A relieved cheer went up from the Jaeger officers and Legion aides; any victory, however small, was worth celebrating under the circumstances. The Astartes in the chamber received the news impassively and continued with their work. Zahariel took a long breath and glanced at Luther. 'The rebels are getting bolder,' he observed. 'That's the third attempt in the last twelve hours.'

The Master of Caliban frowned thoughtfully. 'We need to push the perimeter out another five kilometres or so, and increase our mobile patrols. Sooner or later they'll realise that vehicle-mounted lascannons are too easy to spot and switch to shoulder-fired missile launchers, which will make our job that much harder.'

Zahariel nodded in agreement. So far they had been fortunate; two shuttles had been shot down over the past two weeks, but none of the larger transports had suffered more than minor damage. Clearly the rebels hoped to interdict all orbital traffic from Aldurukh to the waiting supply ships above Caliban, but Luther was determined to continue operations despite increasingly loud protests from the civilian pilots who were hauling the cargo. Of greater concern to Zahariel was the fact that no new supplies were coming in to replace those being launched into orbit.

'We have four Jaeger regiments in training that are advanced enough to perform basic combat patrols,' the Librarian suggested. 'We could put them on perimeter patrol immediately.'

'What about line regiments?' Luther asked.

Zahariel shook his head. 'All of our combat-capable units have been deployed. Right now the Jaegers are stretched thin.' He paused. 'We have almost an entire Scout chapter ready for action, brother. We could send them out in pairs to patrol the countryside around Aldurukh and hunt down rebel weapon teams instead of calling up the trainees.'

Luther seemed to consider this for a moment. 'If the tempo of rebel attacks increase, I'll consider it,' he said at length. 'In the meantime, set up a patrol rotation for the training regiments.'

'Very well,' Zahariel replied. He tried to keep any trace of exasperation from his voice. Violence had raged across Caliban for two weeks, and the Dark Angels had yet to stir from Aldurukh. He couldn't fathom Luther's reluctance to commit the Legion. Zahariel chose to believe that the Master of Caliban was holding them in reserve for a swift, decisive blow against the insurgents.

The only other possibility was that Luther wasn't certain of his own allegiances, which was simply too terrible to contemplate.

'The situation is absolutely intolerable.' Magos Administratum Talia Bosk's metal-capped fingers sliced through the air in a gesture of Imperial pique. She sat perched on the edge of the tall, throne-like chair in the Grand Master's chambers, her slight figure nearly swallowed by the bulk of her layered robes. 'Our production quotas have slipped by sixty-three per cent at this point. Something must be done about these attacks at once, or we won't be able to meet our commitments to the Emperor's Crusade.' From the dread in Bosk's voice she might have been describing the end of life as she knew it - which, from her perspective, was probably close to the truth.

Bosk and most of her staff were from Terra, having been assigned to Caliban by the Administratum to oversee the planet's growing bureaucracy and its breakneck industrialization programme. Gleaming, metal-sheathed cables ran from recessed data ports at the base of her skull and wound about her bird-like neck before disappearing beneath the wide collar of her robes. Her shaven head was adorned with tattoos etched in holographic ink, drawing on her own bioelectric field to project shimmering images of the Imperial Aquila a few millimetres above her skin. The haptic interfaces covering the tips of her fingers were ornamented with tiny jewels and delicate whorls, like fingerprints, etched into their platinum surface. Her augmetic eyes gleamed with a cold, blue light as she regarded Luther across the massive oaken desk.

It was late afternoon, and the slanting light was creeping across the chamber floor from the tall windows on the west side of the room. The chamber, which normally seemed spacious to Zahariel, was crowded with regimental officers, staff aides and Bosk's fretful retinue of bureaucrats. He stood patiently by the window, his broad shoulders outlined by the setting sun, a data-slate gripped loosely in his hand. The meeting, intended to provide Luther with a status report from the planet's senior Imperial officials, wasn't going well.

Luther sat back in the Grand Master's enormous chair. Built for Lion El'Jonson's massive physique, it made the great knight seem almost childlike in comparison. He rested his elbows on the chair's broad arms and regarded Bosk coolly.

'Rest assured, Magos Bosk, there's no one on this planet more conscious of our obligations to the Legion than I,' Luther replied. Only someone who knew him well could detect the undercurrent of tension in his voice. 'General Morten, perhaps you could enlighten us on the current security situation.'

General Morten, outfitted in the dark green uniform of the Caliban Jaegers, cleared his throat and rose slowly from his chair. Like Bosk, he was a Terran, a decorated soldier of many years' service who had been tasked with creating the planet's defence forces. He was a short, stout man, with sagging jowls and a nose that had been broken so many times it was little more than a misshapen bulb in the centre of his weathered face. His voice was a steely rasp, thanks to a year fighting amid the toxic ash plumes of Cambion Prime.

'Caliban's major arcologies remain under martial law, with mandatory curfews in effect,' the general began. 'The riots appear to have run their course, at least for the moment, but we're still seeing isolated rebel attacks on checkpoints, precinct houses and infrastructure targets like water pumps and power substations.' He sighed. 'A heavy troop presence in the arcologies has sharply reduced the number of attacks, but it can't eliminate them completely.'

Luther nodded. 'What about industrial sites?'

'We've had much better luck there,' Morten continued. 'The larger manufactories and mining outposts have been assigned a small garrison for security, with mobile reaction forces standing by to provide reinforcement in case of an attack. As a result, we've managed to defeat a number of major attacks over the course of the last few days.'

'Although it appears that the rebels feel confident enough to start sniping at transports and shuttles coming and going from Aldurukh itself,' Bosk complained. Not half an hour after Epsilon Three-Niner's narrow escape, Bosk's shuttle had been briefly targeted by a rebel autocannon on its approach to the fortress. 'Who are these criminals, and how have they managed to accomplish so much in so little time?'

Luther took a deep breath, clearly choosing his words carefully. 'There are indications that the rebels are made up mostly of disaffected nobles and former knights. We believe they've been laying the groundwork for this campaign for many years, stockpiling weapons and organising their forces.'

'Their discipline is impressive,' Morten said grudgingly. 'And their organisation is highly decentralised. I have no proof, but I strongly suspect that one or more of their senior leaders have received Imperial military training at some point. We haven't been able to gather any useful intelligence on their command and communications network, much less identify any of their leaders.'

Zahariel eyed Luther intently, wondering if he would identify Lord Thuriel and the other rebel leaders, but the knight said nothing.

'What do these criminals want?' Bosk demanded.

Luther regarded the magos inscrutably. 'They want to be relevant once more,' he said.

'Then they can go to work in a munitions plant,' Bosk snapped. 'This planet has obligations - strict obligations - to the Emperor's forces, and it's my responsibility to make sure those obligations are met. What's being done to round up these ringleaders and deal with them?'

Morten sighed. 'That's easier said than done, magos. My troops are already stretched to the limit maintaining order and protecting your industrial sites.'

'Which are sitting idle because there aren't any labourers to man the assembly lines,' Bosk retorted. 'They can't leave their hab units while martial law is in effect.' Layers of fabric rustled as the magos folded her thin arms and glared at Luther. 'Where is the Legion in all this, Master Luther? Why haven't they been unleashed against the rebels?'

Zahariel straightened. Bosk had cut to the heart of the matter. Now perhaps they would hear the truth.

Luther leaned forward, resting his forearms on the massive oak desk, and met the administrator's stare unflinchingly. 'Administrator, my battle brothers are capable of a great many things, but hunting criminals isn't one of them. When the time is right and the proper targets present themselves, the Dark Angels will act - but not before.'

Magos Bosk stiffened at Luther's reply. 'That won't do, Master Luther,' she said curtly. 'This unrest must stop immediately. Caliban's obligations must be fulfilled without delay. If you won't act, then I'll be forced to report the situation to Primarch Jonson and to the Adeptus Terra.'

The air in the chamber was suddenly charged with tension. Luther's gaze turned hard and cold. Zahariel started to step in and try to defuse the situation when the door to the chamber opened and one of Morten's aides hurried inside. With an apologetic bow to Luther, the aide turned to the General and whispered urgently into his ear. Morten frowned, then began asking the aide a number of increasingly urgent questions. Magos Bosk watched the exchange with growing alarm.

'What's happened?' she asked, her metal-clad fingers clicking as she gripped the wooden arms of her chair. 'General Morten? What's going on?'

Morten waved his aide away. He looked questioningly at Luther, who gave his permission with a curt wave of his hand. The general took a deep breath, and addressed the magos.

'There's been… an incident at Sigma Five-One-Seven,' he said.

'An incident?' Bosk said, her voice rising. 'You mean an attack?'

'Possibly,' the general replied. 'At this point we don't know for certain.'

'Well, what exactly do you know?'

Morten couldn't entirely suppress a frown of irritation at the administrator's demanding tone. He related what he knew in a clipped, businesslike manner. 'Approximately forty-eight minutes ago our headquarters received a garbled transmission from the garrison at Sigma Five-One-Seven. The vox operator confirmed that the signaller was using the garrison's proper callsign and encryption code, but couldn't make out what he was trying to say. The transmission lasted thirty-two seconds before being cut off. Nothing has been heard from the garrison since.'

'Jamming?' Luther inquired.

Morten shook his head. 'No sir. The transmission simply stopped. The signaller was cut off in mid-sentence.'

The Master of Caliban turned his attention back to Magos Bosk. 'What exactly is Sigma Five-One-Seven?'

'A materials processing plant in the Northwilds,' she replied. 'It went online last month, and has yet to become fully operational.'

'How many labourers?'

'Four thousand per shift under normal conditions, but as I said, the plant wasn't operational.' Bosk pursed her lips as she accessed her cortical data shunts. 'There were difficulties with the plant's thermal power core. An engineering team was on site, trying to track down the source of the problem, but that was all.'

Luther nodded. 'And the garrison?'

'A platoon of Jaegers and an attached heavy weapons squad,' Morten answered. 'Enough to defend the site against anything but a major rebel attack.'

'Well, obviously that's exactly what happened,' Bosk snapped. 'You said you had mobile troops to reinforce the garrisons in the event of attack. Why haven't you despatched them?'

The general glowered at Bosk. 'We did, magos. They landed at the site five minutes ago.'

'Well, what in the Emperor's name did they find?' Bosk demanded.

Morten's expression turned grim. 'We don't know,' he said reluctantly. 'We lost all contact with them moments after they touched down.'

Luther sat bolt upright in the Grand Master's chair. Zahariel felt a wave of unease wash over him; something very strange was going on. From the dark look in Luther's eyes, it was clear that the Master of Caliban felt much the same.

'How large was the relief force?' Luther asked.

'A reinforced company,' Morten replied. 'Two hundred men, plus heavy weapons and ten Condor airborne assault carriers.'

Zahariel's unease deepened. 'A force that size would have been more than enough to deal with any rebel attack. 'It's possible that the original transmission was a ruse, and the relief force was lured into an ambush.'

'It's possible,' Luther said, somewhat dubiously. 'But why no vox signals? Surely we would have heard something.' He turned to Morten. 'Are there any other reaction forces in the area?'

'The closest one is more than two hours away,' the general replied. 'I can divert them to the site, but it would leave the Red Hills sector without any reinforcements in the event of another attack.'

Bosk rose angrily to her feet. 'This is outrageous,' she declared. 'Master Luther, I mean you no disrespect, but I have to report this to Primarch Jonson and my superiors on Terra. The situation is worsening by the moment, and it's obvious to me that you're unwilling to commit your Astartes in battle against your own people. Perhaps forces from another Legion can be despatched to put an end to the uprising.'

Luther's handsome face paled with anger. General Morten saw the danger and began to stammer a quick reply, but Zahariel cut him off.

'The defence of Caliban is not a matter for the Adeptus Terra to concern itself with,' he said in a stern voice. 'And our primarch has more important matters to occupy his attentions at present. Master Luther explained to you that he was waiting for the proper time to order our battle brothers into action, and clearly that moment has arrived.'

Luther turned to Zahariel as the Librarian spoke, and the two warriors locked eyes. The Master of Caliban glared at the Astartes for a moment, his dark eyes glittering with anger. Zahariel met the knight's gaze steadily.

After a moment, Luther seemed to master his anger. He nodded slowly, though his expression was still deeply troubled.

'Well said, brother. Assemble a squad of veterans and depart for Sigma Five-One-Seven at once. Eliminate any resistance and secure the site, then report back to me. Understood?'

Inwardly, Zahariel breathed a sigh of relief. He regretted having forced Luther's hand, but he was certain that, in time, the Master of Caliban would forgive him. The Librarian bowed to Luther, then nodded respectfully to General Morten and Magos Bosk before striding purposefully from the room.

His conscience was clear. For the sake of the Emperor and the honour of the Legion, the Dark Angels on Caliban were rousing themselves for war.