Sister Caia didn’t know what the machines were, but they were bipedal, long-legged and fast.
The tanks were crawling slowly around the long curve in the road, and the Immolators had almost reached the junction. The servohauler tracks gleamed with intent, and upthrust jags of black rock were scattered to each side of the roadway, like a hill-range of spikes that protected the road from the water.
Watching for the attack, the Sisters’ voices carried on the brown air – a bugle of challenge.
And with them, a powerful counterpoint to their rising harmony, the canoness prayed, her voice a strong contralto, broadcasting the litany out through the vox-coder.
‘From the lightning and the tempest!’
The Immolators’ weapon-muzzles tracked back and forth, waiting.
Then Caia said, like a breath of realisation, ‘Got them!’
Her auspex had blipped contact – four, no five, moving dots, all hidden among the rocks. Simultaneously, the Immolators caught the motion. As the machines came at them, the tanks’ weapons were already aiming.
Caia had never seen their attackers before, but the canoness knew what they were.
‘Ironstriders.’ She said the word aloud, like a curse, then snapped into the vox, ‘Mikaela! Heavy bolters. Wide, continuous suppression, take as many of them down as you can. Repressors, halt and prepare to disembark!’ Reaching for her helmet, indicating for Caia to do likewise, she called down into the transport, ‘Rhene!’
The old Hospitaller creaked and grumbled. ‘Aye. I’ve seen autocannons before.’ Her tone sounded like resignation – as if she knew full well the damage these guns could do.
And, as Caia closed the seal on her helm, she saw them open fire.
She closed her teeth on a curse.
Fast repeated muzzle flashes, oddly pale in the burnished ochre of the Lycheate morning. The weapons were heavy and long, their muzzles tracking from raised shields. An energy crackled about them, a mist of data that must surely be coming from Rayos herself; they shot at the Sisters while the machines were still running. It made their aim erratic, but–
Throne!
Heavy explosive rounds chewed up the roadway directly in front of the canoness’ Immolator. Ianthe snarled the litany in return, raging at them, almost as if she could deflect the ammunition by her faith alone. The other machines were aiming at the front rank, rounds hitting and detonating on thick ceramite armour. One hit a heavy bolter with perfect accuracy, and the weapon blossomed in flame.
Metal graunched, plates buckled, tracks split and broke.
On the right flank, Eleni’s Repressor took a clean hit. Even as its emergency ramp crashed to the floor, one of its twin thermic reactors ignited and blew. The force of the explosion rocked Caia where she stood; she made an effort not to duck. Shrapnel whistled past her; black smoke rose and billowed, obscuring her view.
‘Squad! Roll call!’ Eleni said over the vox.
The canoness barked, ‘Watch your auspex, Sister Caia! There may be more.’
‘Aye.’ Prayer and adrenaline thundered through Caia’s blood. She was trying to see Eleni through the smoke, but it was heavy and thick, and it hung like a shroud over the dead vehicle.
She saw only isolated flashes of scarlet.
In the fog, though, her auspex continued to track. Five blips were rapidly closing their distance on the assembled Sisters, and the Immolators had a swiftly shortening field of fire.
Rayos, Caia realised, had calculated her ambush perfectly.
‘Mikaela!’ The canoness called the order. ‘Fire!’
A booming rattle as the tanks’ heavy bolters opened up. The smoke was billowing across the roadway now, limiting visibility, but Caia could see that the weapons were turning in an arc, hitting the enemy in the legs. Machine-armour sparked, rounds missed and exploded on the rocks. A rush of stone rumbled to the ground; the noise and dust were tremendous. As the smoke closed over the scene completely, she caught one machine toppling sideways, kicking and twitching.
But the other four were still running, straight at the assembled Order.
They had pilots, she thought, and she wondered briefly where the servitors had come from…
But there was no time. Another order boomed through the vox: ‘Repressors, disembark!’
Behind them, the vehicles’ ramps crashed to the ground. Voices shouted, boots clanged on metal, and two armed squads of Sisters deployed in perfect formation, heavy bolter first, covering the others as they took position.
Seeing them move, Eleni’s squad formed with them – a single line, five paces apart, heavy bolter at one end, flamer at the other.
Spreading the machines’ targets, and making the autocannons’ success that much harder.
In just a moment, the enemy would be past the front rank of vehicles, and closing on the Sisters.
Caia found herself holding her breath. She felt very exposed, standing up there in the open, but the canoness showed no inclination to move. Ianthe stood like an icon, fire-red and furious, her plasma pistol ready in her hand as if she would wield pure destruction.
She thundered, out over the vox-coder, ‘We beseech Thee, destroy them!’
A single shot from her pistol and an Ironstrider was toppling over itself, its entire head removed.
Molten metal spread out across the roadway.
Above it, the air was filling with trumpets and dirt and noise – the ongoing clatter of the tanks’ bolters, the heavy blasts of the explosive ammunition. The canoness was broadcasting the full litany, now, hard and strong, defiant. Her rage was palpable, and Caia breathed a prayer, feeling her own blood surge and roar.
She wanted to be down there, bolter in hand. She looked for her squad; saw them at the outer left flank, their line made distinctive by the las-streaks of the two young soldiers. Mors and Rufus had their rifles tucked into their shoulders and aimed clean at the incoming enemy.
Two figures of green in the centre of all that blood-red ceramite – but neither of them so much as twitched.
Caia had only a split second to take all of this in, and then the command rang out, ‘Immolators, cease! Infantry, target the servitors. And fire!’
One solid volley: three squads, in unison, shot upwards at the running machines. In the onslaught of noise, Caia could pick out the deep, thunderous battering that was Viola’s thrice-blessed heavy bolter, the weapon raging as the litany came from the Sisters themselves. The canoness was pistol-in-hand, her voice lifted, and Caia found her hackles rising with the force of the moment.
Another machine staggered under the incoming fire. It lurched, sparks racing across its surface, but it didn’t fall. Amid the confusion, Caia saw the twin streaks of red light that came from Mors and Rufus both; saw one of them hit a servitor, clean to the head.
The figure rocked in its gunnery seat, toppled, and fell. Blood and oil splashed outwards as it struck the roadway. More smoke billowed in Caia’s face, and she lost her vision. As it cleared again, she saw that the machine had run two more paces and then had lost its heading, barging into its fellows and knocking them aside.
Mors, Caia realised, blinking, was an extremely good shot.
Watching, her breath held, she prayed that the staggering machine would falter, take its comrades with it when it fell, but it rapidly regained its trajectory and continued to run, straight at the Sisters.
Its autocannon, however, had slumped forwards and ceased to fire.
All three of the surviving machines were now closing on the standing lines of infantry.
Before them, a red line across the black road, Sisters stood fearless and fast, still shooting, still singing, their close harmonics edged with focused rage.
‘That Thou wouldst bring them only death!’
Caia found herself echoing their words, repeating them over and over again – only death, only death – like a mantra. She had never seen a battle from a tank’s vantage, and she found her heart thumping hard in her chest. She wanted to be shooting, wanted to be on the ground. She wanted to be out there, amid the smoke and the noise and the slaughter; she wanted to stain her armour with the blood of her foe…
She wanted to rage denial against this feared, final fate that was finally closing down upon her, the thing she’d dreaded since she’d been a wet-eared novitiate…
I was called to be a warrior, and a warrior I will stay!
As two of the three incoming machines opened fire, she saw one red-armoured figure fall, then another – but not her own squad, they were still on their feet. The smallest figure, Akemi, had stopped to change her magazine, the movement smooth as reflex. A second later, she was firing again, her bolter held hard in both hands, her aim true.
Caia’s hands tightened on her auspex and bolter both…
‘That Thou shouldst pardon none!’
In front of her, the canoness shot again; she broadcast anger and defiance with her every sung note. In the belly of the tank, however, Rhene had stopped singing. She was muttering aloud, almost to herself, ‘Ironstriders. They’re sharpshooters, seen ’em before. On Melecantha. They ambushed us. So why are they running?’
Without thinking, Caia replied, ‘They’re trying to get behind us. There must be another wave!’
Ianthe barked, ‘Exorcists, on my command. Caia, watch that auspex!’
‘Aye.’ Caia’s acknowledgement was echoed over the vox, and she lifted the auspex, watching. And it seemed her hunch had been right – the attacking machines weren’t slowing down. Two autocannons tracked round as they ran, and again, opened fire.
One targeted the canoness.
The other aimed straight for Sister Viola.
On the ground, Augusta held her position, bolter and chainsword in hand.
She stood at the centre of her squad’s line, Mors on one side, Alcina on the other. Viola stood on the line’s inside, and Melia at its outermost edge – this was not a battle for flamers.
Echoing the canoness’ thundered song, the Sister Superior’s voice reached a crescendo as Mors hit the servitor, but the machine was still running with its fellows, through the rising smoke and straight at them.
In all the clouds of dirt, it took Augusta a split second to realise that the machine that had been hit was not firing. Without its pilot, it was simply following its last command, and, with His blessing, it would run straight off the edge of the road.
She dismissed it, concentrating on the one closest.
If that turning autocannon hit them, they would all be facing the Emperor.
But Viola was still shooting, the booming clattering of the heavy bolter filling the filthy air. Shouting the words of the litany, she raised her aim as the thing came closer, shooting upwards and almost into its belly.
It juddered under the bombardment, explosions opening like wounds all over its frame, but still, it kept coming. Its feet were big enough to crush Viola clean to the ground. Mors shot it again, his aim not as blessed, and his streak of fire went wide. Rufus was shouting something at him, though Augusta couldn’t hear.
She said to Alcina, beside her, ‘Give me room.’
Alcina shot her a sharp look, but moved.
As the thing readied itself to fire, the Sister Superior held her chainsword ready. To their right, the other running machines were keeping pace with their fellow. One was closing on the canoness’ Immolator, the other on the far flank. Augusta could only see them as a blur from the corner of her eye, but she knew what was coming.
The running machines opened fire together, the autocannons seeming to shake the very sky.
On the far flank, scarlet armour scattered, figures were thrown in the air like toys. In the centre, the machine chewed more holes in the roadway; the canoness’ Immolator rocked, but that was all.
And in front of the squad…
The autocannon was aimed at Viola, identifying the greatest threat. As it fired, its muzzle flaring with light, Viola hurled herself bodily backwards, still shooting.
In front of her, the roadway became a series of craters, and steam and debris leapt into the air. Cursing, Viola rolled into a kneel.
Still, she kept shooting.
In the vox, the canoness: ‘Roku, right-hand machine, all bolters. Nikaya, right flank!’
Augusta heard the order, and understood that the Seraphim were moving to protect Eleni’s weakened squad, but the machine was almost on them now. She watched its foot rise, timed it as it came down, its impact shaking the road…
Lashed out with the chainsword, straight at its ankle.
The blade hit, bit, and got stuck.
A second later the running foot raised once more, wrenching her shoulder and elbow and tearing the weapon from her grip.
Grit scattered; she bit back a curse. She raised the bolter with the other hand, opened fire. Beside her, Alcina did the same. Rounds thundered; twin streaks of lasgun fire cut through the smoke. The combined shooting of the whole squad battered the thing as it ran through them, and closed on the Exorcists behind.
And then, the damage was just too much. Its armour dented and blackened, its autocannon now blocked by its own body, it lurched and began to stagger.
‘It’s going to fall!’ The shout was Akemi, as the Ironstrider twitched, rocked, and then slowly toppled away from them.
Augusta breathed a prayer of gratitude.
As it fell, the crash was tremendous. Its servitor rolled free, but Melia was already there and a single flaming whoosh melted flesh and metal alike.
A sickening, smoking smear was left on the roadway.
Ash blew on the wind.
Augusta went to retrieve her chainsword. With servitor and machine both down, she was already thinking about the rest of the battle.
‘Incoming!’ Caia cried the word aloud as five more contacts blipped on her auspex. ‘No – not incoming, they’ve stopped.’
The first wave of machines was down; the sheer, continuous onslaught of the combined bolter fire had just proved too much. Around the company, the roadway was devastation, pitted with craters, smeared by smoke and drifting with rising dirt. Four machines lay in ruins, their armour and pieces scattered. The fifth had simply run straight over the outermost curve of the roadway and vanished into the water.
Not one of them had made it through the company to reach the other side – but the inflicted damage had been severe.
At the right flank, Eleni’s squad had lost their Repressor, its driver, and two Sisters; a third was badly injured. Covered by the Seraphim, Eleni and her surviving squad-member had picked up the injured woman and had run for the canoness’ Immolator.
Rhene, still grumbling, had lowered the ramp for long enough to let them embark, and then closed it again. Her muttering continued as she tended to the downed Sister.
‘Sister Roku.’ The canoness’ bark was unaffected by the damage. ‘Move outwards, defend the right flank. We’ll hold the centre.’
‘Understood.’
On the left flank, Augusta’s squad was unhurt, but in the centre, the canoness’ vehicle had taken significant fire – its top and front armour plates were badly damaged, and although the storm bolter was still operational, it would no longer turn fully through its right-hand arc. The brass pipes of the organ were a mess, and the company’s banner was in shreds – but these seemed the least of the canoness’ concerns.
‘Locations,’ she said. ‘Caia?’
‘They’re on the rocks,’ Caia told her. ‘Two on the right, three on the left.’ She could see them – just – perched like predators, and silhouetted against the sky.
‘Extreme range.’ The canoness’ words were a statement, and rapidly followed by an order, ‘Immolators and Repressors, hold your locations. Exorcists, on my command.’
Wryly, Caia looked at the mess ahead of them. The various fallen machines had all but blocked the roadway – not Rayos’ original plan, perhaps, but effective nonetheless.
But the canoness, it seemed, was unworried. ‘Sister Jolantra! Ready missiles.’
Sister Jolantra was the commander of the Exorcist unit that guarded the company’s rear. It also, Caia knew, had the range to strike.
But, as the vox-coders began to broadcast again, the trumpet call that was the muster, the call to battle, the five waiting Ironstriders raised their autocannons at the company.
And they opened fire.