The Test of Faith - Thomas Parrott

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  Cover

  The Test of Faith – Thomas Parrott

  About the Author

  An Extract from ‘Legacy of Caliban’

  A Black Library Publication

  eBook license

  The Test of Faith

  Thomas Parrott

  ‘We have entered visual range, my lord Chaplain,’ reported Sergeant Raum.

  Interrogator-Chaplain Raguel looked up at being spoken to. The formal nature of the address struck him as a mixed blessing. The Reclusiam deserved respect, of course, and few more so than those who had risen to its highest echelons. Yet, none of the Primaris had ever lost their solemnity with him. None save Hadariel. There was a distance there he was not certain how to help bridge. Regrettably, that was not his task for the day.

  ‘Thank you, sergeant,’ he replied steadily.

  The inside of the Repulsor was kept in dim red lighting. It posed no difficulty for the enhanced eyes and war-plate auto-senses of a Space Marine. In the gloom he could see the squad of Intercessors standing by, their bolt rifles stowed on their armour for now. They exuded an easy calm. These were no fresh recruits, however the rest of the Chapter still spoke of them. Since they had joined, the Primaris Space Marines had been proven in combat time and again.

  Still, it never hurt to bolster morale before a battle.

  ‘Do you wish to address the brethren?’ Raguel asked Chaplain Hadariel on a private vox-link.

  They had fought alongside one another for years, ever since Hadariel had first begun to train in the Reclusiam. He was of the Second Generation, as were the rest of the troops on this mission. Only Raguel was of the original gene-seed line.

  The Primaris Chaplain looked at him, red lenses gleaming coldly in the skull-mask of his helm. ‘I do not,’ he said.

  Raguel frowned. ‘As you wish.’ He switched over to a unit-wide broadcast. ‘Brothers of the Dark Angels! Sons of the Lion! Even now, we close in on those who have shattered the Imperial peace on this world!’ As if on cue, stubber rounds began to rattle off the armour of the Repulsor. ‘Stand firm and crush all resistance. They will break before us! For we are the Angels of Death, and we are the Emperor’s vengeance!’

  ‘For the Lion!’ came the full-throated response from the gathered warriors.

  ‘Intercessors, prepare for boarding,’ barked Sergeant Raum.

  The gathered warriors disengaged their restraints and rose to their feet. Simultaneously, the hatchway of the transport slid open. The odd orange light of this world came through the aperture, along with a rush of the cold, thick atmosphere. It contained toxic elements; no threat to a brother of the Adeptus Astartes, but there was also nothing to breathe. War-plate seals would have to be maintained until they were on board the target vehicle, at least.

  One by one the Dark Angels aboard the transport leaped across the gap to the enemy vehicle. The sergeant was the first one to cross and the Chaplains brought up the rear. Raguel could see the exiting Space Marines coming under heavy stubber fire as they left the shelter of the tank. The hammering sound echoed throughout the area, even over the roar of the Repulsor’s grav-engine. Sparks flew as rounds ricocheted from ceramite plates.

  Then it was Raguel’s turn to make the crossing. For one brief beat of his hearts he stood in the egress. The thick ice plates that formed the surface of Muz rushed past underneath both vehicles. Overhead hung the titian haze of the sky. Straight on was the corrugated surface of the enemy… ‘vehicle’ scarcely did the scale of it justice. The great tracked deep-miners of Muz were more like mobile hab-blocks than autocarriages. Entire clan populations lived out their lives on board, working the machine as it harvested crude promethium from beneath the ice plates.

  The Interrogator-Chaplain leaped across in an easy bound, catching hold of the grooves and scars in the hull of the mining vehicle. Hadariel was only a step behind him. The wind howled and tore at them, exposed out here, but their transhuman strength was not so easily overcome. The squad had already spread out to allow room for them. Even as Raguel arrived, one of the Intercessors was planting melta charges on the metal skin of the great conveyance.

  The demolition devices activated. Blinding light emanated as the thermal beams tore a sizzling hole straight through to the interior. Thick air howled in through the opening, just as it had with the Repulsor. Without hesitation the Dark Angels swung through the red-hot opening and pulled their bolt rifles out. All of it, from crossing over to punching the hole to entering ready for battle, happened in a matter of seconds.

  It was enough to catch the vehicle’s crew completely off guard. Pallid figures in heavy work leathers stared in shock as the hulking forms of the Space Marines poured into their workspace. It was some sort of storage area: great casks were stacked in rows, floor to ceiling in a chamber fifteen feet tall. The Dark Angels gave them no chance to recover. Their orders were clear: purge all occupants of the deep-miner known as Meridian Secundus.

  Bolters began to roar immediately. Carnage followed in their wake. The workman’s garb these traitors wore provided no protection. Everywhere shells hit, they punched right through into bodies and detonated within. Chests and heads exploded in gory bursts. Limbs were carved away in sprays of blood.

  Raguel joined the onslaught the moment his boots connected with the deck, his plasma pistol flaring time after time. Each shot claimed a new soul, white-hot starfire scouring their flesh away in the blink of an eye. Hadariel followed in his wake, reaping his own harvest with cold efficiency. The thunder of the younger Chaplain’s bolt pistol was a steady cadence of death.

  Half of the locals were dead before they even managed to respond. Others were already choking and wheezing as the toxic fumes flooded the chamber. To Raguel’s surprise, however, the handful that were still alive and wearing rebreathers did not break and flee. Instead, they turned and flung themselves towards the Space Marines in a frenzy. Most carried nothing more than heavy tools as makeshift melee weapons. A few carried autoguns or autopistols.

  Five of them rushed directly for the pair of Chaplains. Bullets were deflected by the sacred energies of the rosarius in a series of blinding flashes. What shots got through glanced from power armour without doing harm beyond scratched paint. Raguel’s plasma blasts annihilated two, and a bolt shell from Hadariel excavated the chest of another.

  Then the enemy was on top of them. The first lunged directly at Raguel with a scream of fury, swinging a massive wrench like a club. The Interrogator-Chaplain drew and activated his crozius arcanum in a swift, smooth movement. It caught the wrench head-on. Heavy-duty metal met a crackling power field. The wrench shattered at the point of impact, spraying fragments in all directions.

  The chunks popped and sparked off Raguel’s armour harmlessly. The same could not be said for his assailant: one caught the traitor right in the eye, tearing through the orb in a spray of blood. The Dark Angel silenced his screams with a quick burst of plasma that evaporated two-thirds of his attacker’s body. What gobbets of meat remained fell to the ground, burned and sizzling.

  Silence had fallen over the area. The battle was done for the moment.

  Raguel contemplated the ruined bodies strewn amongst the casks. ‘It is a powerful emotion that would drive such rabble to attack Adeptus Astartes warriors. A deep loyalty, perhaps, or fear. What do you think?’

  Hadariel stared straight ahead. ‘I do not know.’

  Three of the Intercessors approached. One of them, Battle-Brother Gnaeus, held up a hand in greeting. ‘It is good to have you fight alongside us once more, Brother-Chaplain Hadariel. We feared
you might have lost your edge while gone on your special duty.’ The tone was the jibe of an old friend.

  Gnaeus and Hadariel had served together even back amongst the Greyshields, Raguel knew. He remained stoic on the outside but listened closely to the exchange.

  Hadariel turned his gaze on his old ally. Silence lingered. Finally, he said. ‘No. I am fully capable of combat.’

  Gnaeus glanced to the two Dark Angels with him. ‘Of course, Chaplain. I meant no disrespect.’ His eyes darted to Raguel uneasily.

  ‘I have taken none,’ said Hadariel flatly. His head turned away.

  Before Raguel could say anything, the sergeant’s voice cut into everyone’s vox. ‘The enemy will not remain disorganised for long. We must push on towards the control centre. Rally at the western door.’

  The squad and its pair of attached Chaplains moved to comply. They set up flanking the indicated exit. Most of the crew who had been unready for the flood of toxic air had fled in this direction. They could well have gathered rebreathers and weapons during the fighting to set up an ambush here. All the Dark Angels were poised and ready as the warrior on point opened the door.

  Nothing happened. Only silence greeted them from the hallway beyond.

  The man at the vanguard glanced through the opening and then looked back to the rest. ‘No sign of hostile forces.’

  ‘Push on,’ Sergeant Raum instructed. ‘We cannot afford to tarry here.’

  They continued on into the corridor beyond in good order. Each of the Space Marines remained alert, constantly on the lookout for any sign of an enemy attack. This place was old and weathered, as befitted a machine of its great age. The floors were scuffed and worn by the passage of feet across centuries. Pipes on the walls dripped condensation, and old lights along the ceiling flickered where they were not burned out. Other passages branched off from this one from time to time.

  Then the lights died.

  It was only a momentary inconvenience. Even absolute blackness could not stop Space Marines in war-plate. Their auto-senses switched over to the thermal imaging of preysense in the blink of an eye. All it bought was the briefest pause.

  It was enough.

  They came scuttling in from the darkness. They were already moving the moment Raguel’s vision cleared. Their blurred heat-shapes hurtled in from the side passages and along the ceiling and walls. They moved faster on their six limbs than any baseline human could hope to match. Shrieks of alien rage came only at the moment they struck, scarce warning for anyone caught off guard. Even with their enhanced reflexes, the Space Marines were embattled at close quarters before they could open fire.

  One of the creatures leapt through the air and caught Raguel in the chest. The weight of it knocked him off balance into the wall behind him. Pipes caved under the impact, spewing hot steam over them both. Teeth bared, the Interrogator-Chaplain grappled with the many limbs of the xenos. Razored claws struck at him, carving through ceramite where they hit. One strike scraped along the side of his helmet, deflected from shredding his face only by Raguel hurling himself into the creature.

  Raguel drove the beast into the far wall with all his might. Its grip on him loosened for a split second. He struggled to bring his plasma pistol to bear at that moment, but it writhed aside from the incandescent blast. A glowing hole melted into the wall was the only result. Teeth snapped inches from his helmet. He wedged a hand between their faces and drove its head into the red-hot edges of the impact point.

  There was a hiss as xenos flesh met molten metal, and the creature shrieked. It was still alive and utterly deadly. There was one key benefit, though: he had bought enough freedom to bring his crozius to bear. The first blow crunched into its midsection, caving in its side. He did not stop there, smashing it repeatedly. It vomited pulped innards across him as its torso crumpled completely. Then it flopped to the floor with a final spasm.

  Raguel spared himself a single breath to recuperate and tally his wounds. He was bleeding from a number of slashes, but none were life-threatening. Then he turned his attention to his comrades. The fight was still raging and Hadariel was nowhere to be seen. The Interrogator-Chaplain lunged into the fray without hesitation.

  ‘Death to the xenos!’ he thundered.

  A surgically placed plasma blast here evaporated an alien talon as it pulled back to eviscerate a Space Marine. There, a brother held a beast at bay only with a combat knife between its gnashing jaws; Raguel applied his crozius arcanum to the back of the monster’s skull, spurting liquefied brain matter in all directions and ending the stand-off.

  Then it was over just as swiftly as it had begun. Dead xenos were strewn about, and the Dark Angels were reduced in number by four. Sprays of blood on the walls showed hot on the thermal imaging. Raguel turned on a helmet-mounted stablight and deactivated his preysense with a thought. The bodies of the aliens could be seen clearly now, with their elongated heads and excess of limbs. Their flesh was purple under the light, standing out from blue-black carapace. They bled a disturbingly human red, however.

  ‘Genestealers,’ said Raguel with disgust.

  ‘That explains why this world rebelled against Imperial control,’ said Sergeant Raum.

  It was easy to imagine how it had played out. The insular clans that lived on the deep-miners made contact with Imperial authorities only when their tanks were full, to trade for fresh food, clean water and other necessities. No one from the outside would even know they were being infiltrated.

  Raguel tried his vox-unit but only got static. ‘Interference on the comms. Either the structure is a problem or we are being jammed. Either way, we need to alert the master as soon as we can.’

  Raum nodded and turned to rally his forces to continue. Raguel went to locate his fellow Chaplain. He found Hadariel standing over the body of one of the Space Marines. Blood wept from a number of punctures to the chest-plate. Both hearts torn apart along with two of the three lungs, the Interrogator-Chaplain assessed. His work required a keen knowledge of Adeptus Astartes physiology.

  ‘I knew him,’ Hadariel said without looking up.

  It was Gnaeus, Raguel realised. ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘How long did we serve together?’ the younger Chaplain asked.

  ‘You fought together back unto the Indomitus Crusade,’ replied Raguel levelly. ‘A regrettable loss.’

  ‘I do not feel it. I cannot…’ Hadariel trailed off.

  ‘You have been through a great ordeal, brother.’ Raguel clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Come. The squad is prepared to move on. They will need us in what is to come.’

  The Primaris Chaplain nodded slowly and followed behind as Raguel rejoined the unit.

  They pushed on into the dark tunnels. There was a palpable feeling of hostile eyes upon them. The Interrogator-Chaplain heard scuffling sounds down side passages and inside the very walls from time to time. The sounds were nearly lost in the rumble and grind of churning machinery all around them. Were his hearing not superhuman, he doubted he would have heard them at all. He kept his crozius free and ready, now. The foul xenos-worshipping cult that genestealers formed around themselves might not be any match for an Adeptus Astartes assault in open battle, but they had no shortage of underhanded tactics to help level the field.

  They progressed up rusted stairs to the next level. Aged metal creaked under the heavy tread of the Space Marines. It did not give way, however. The deep-miners had been constructed in a different age. Benighted without the light of the Emperor, perhaps, but an era of remarkable feats of technological sorcery. Raguel knew that the Red Priests of Mars had demanded that the assault forces do as little damage to the great machines as possible. The master had suggested they bring their concerns to the traitors and heretics who had made these attacks necessary.

  ‘We are not far from the command centre now. It will be difficult to coordinate a strike with the other boarding squads with t
he vox interference, however,’ said Raum.

  ‘Then we must attack as swiftly as possible. The sounds of righteous battle will draw our brethren on to aid us,’ replied Raguel.

  ‘As you say, my lord Chaplain,’ said the sergeant.

  The Interrogator-Chaplain switched to the private vox-link with his fellow Chaplain. That, at least, was working well with them in proximity. ‘Are you prepared for battle, Hadariel?’

  ‘Of course,’ came the swift reply. There was a pause before the other Chaplain continued more uncertainly. ‘Our special tasking went well, did it not?’

  An uneasy regret stirred in Raguel’s chest at those words. ‘I am certain you comported yourself in a way that honoured the Chapter. I would not concern yourself beyond that. Focus on the present. There is a battle to be won in the here and now.’

  ‘Yes. You are right. I appreciate your guidance, my lord,’ said Hadariel.

  Soon they reached an armoured hatchway. It was tightly sealed, though that would prove no more of an obstacle than the miner’s hull had. Raum took a moment to consult the schematics before nodding to all of them: this was their objective. The squad stepped up to prepare for the assault.

  ‘Brothers Crispin, Herius,’ said the sergeant. The two Dark Angels stepped forward, their bolt rifles equipped with the auxiliary grenade launchers. ‘As soon as the hatch is breached, lay down a spread of frag grenades. We will clear the room from there.’

  Raguel gave Hadariel a pointed look.

  ‘Purge the unclean,’ the younger Chaplain said, his voice as cold as ice.

  Not exactly a speech to put the fire into their brothers, but it would have to do, mused Raguel. He watched as the Intercessor nearest the door applied another of the melta charges to the hatchway. It scythed through the armour plating in a brilliant flash. The hatch fell away amidst a swirl of smoke and debris. With twin whoompfs the grenadiers fired, their explosive payloads hurtling into the smoke and the bridge beyond. Before the detonations vibrated the plates under their feet, the rest of the Space Marines were already moving.