V3 Chapter 51: The First Battle in the Name of the Shadow Wolves of Luna
A series of cracking booms tore through Vulcantia's low airspace.
Several Thunderhawk gunships, escorted by a formation of Lightning fighters, cut through the still-burning toxic cloud layer and reached a remote position deep within the ground battlefield. It lay close to the equatorial foundry belt, where a cluster of black obelisks had long since been exposed at the edge of the ash plains.
Precisely because it lay so close to the foundry belt, the orbiting fleet had never opened fire on this location.
What lay beneath might connect to the primary sector's foundations, power conduits, and those anomalous mineral structures. If a single orbital strike triggered a ground collapse, the friendly forces still holding out within the equatorial foundry belt would be dragged down with it.
The Thunderhawk gunships began descending.
Nose-mounted heavy bolters and flank weapons swept the area around the entrance, while Lightning fighters passed overhead, using missiles to clear the Necron guards near the obelisk cluster. The fire never touched the obelisks themselves, only suppressing the enemy at the perimeter.
Dozens of figures leapt down from mid-air, slamming hard onto the ground.
At the front were thirteen tall figures clad in pearl-white Mark X power armour. The red cloaks at their backs whipped in the gale kicked up by the Thunderhawks, their frames standing a head taller than the Novamarines behind them.
Markus rose to his feet and looked up at the green phase gate.
He glanced sideways at the Novamarines, who kept a deliberate distance from them, and offered no explanation. Those Astartes could see clearly enough, and they understood exactly what the white armour and the downturned wolf's-head sigil meant.
Markus tied into the restricted comm channel, his voice low.
"This is the Black Shields detachment... the Shadow Wolves of Luna."
He paused for a moment.
"We are in position with the Novamarines Third Company assault detachment."
Other Astartes detachments answered over the channel in turn.
"Aurora Chapter assault detachment in position."
"Novamarines Third Company confirms the entrance perimeter is suppressed."
"Fire window is closing."
The accompanying Tech-Priests and Skitarii disembarked from other landing craft as well. The red-robed priests deployed their instruments at once, and a swarm of servo-skulls carrying micro-probes surged toward the green phase gate.
The moment the servo-skulls neared the gate frame, warning glyphs flared to life on their casings.
Binaric prayers rose one after another into the air.
The Tech-Priests made no attempt to understand the entire xenos system. They only confirmed the entrance could hold stable for a short time. Dozens of metres ahead showed no sign of imminent collapse, and there were no open energy traps near the entrance.
"Passage stable in the short term," one priest said.
"Recommend immediate entry."
Markus gave everyone a nod.
He hefted his heavy storm shield and power sword, and walked into the phase gate at the head of the group.
Beyond the gate, it was utterly silent.
Far off, the main battlefield had already erupted into full-scale fighting, gunfire and explosions covering the ash plains. But in here, every sound seemed cut off by some cold and unseen force.
No dust or trace of rust was visible anywhere.
The walls were like black mirrors. The light from the surrounding servo-skulls reflected off them, revealing only a layer of green light flowing somewhere deep within. That light crept along the wall's surface, like some mechanical vein slowly stirring awake.
The Novamarines followed the Shadow Wolves of Luna in.
The Tech-Priests and Skitarii held the middle of the formation, while several warriors carrying heavy promethium weapons moved along the flanks. The servo-skulls continued flying ahead, soon vanishing into the depths of the corridor.
Necron Warriors lined both sides of the corridor.
They stood in alcoves, heads bowed, arms cradling gauss weapons. Their postures resembled statues, and also an army waiting for orders.
Markus stopped walking.
He watched the Necron Warriors, his storm shield raising slightly.
"Hold formation."
From a crack in the floor near his feet, a green-glowing Scarab suddenly crawled out.
The moment its metal legs touched the ground, Markus stamped his foot down without even looking. The thing burst beneath his power boot, a thread of green sparks spraying from its shattered casing.
In the next instant, the entire corridor came alive.
Endless swarms of metal insects poured out from every crack in sight; walls, floor, and ceiling alike filled with the fine, skittering sound of movement. The Necron Warriors standing bowed in their alcoves suddenly lit their eyes green.
"Engage!"
The Novamarines' bolters opened fire at once.
Promethium flame roared from the rear of the formation, burning the charging Scarab swarm into glowing metal slag. Gauss beams lanced out from the alcoves on both sides, striking against Markus's raised storm shield in a burst of green sparks.
"For the Emperor!"
Markus let out a roar.
The disruption field of the power sword in his hand crackled to sudden life.
He drove forward through the gauss fire, his storm shield smashing aside the first Necron Warrior as his power sword swept across, cutting the thing open through the chest. The pearl-white power armour advanced through the green light, the thirteen Shadow Wolves of Luna close behind him.
Behind him, the promethium flame continued to roar.
The Novamarines Third Company assault detachment joined the charge as well, bolter fire and power weapons tearing open the first defence line within the narrow corridor. The Tech-Priests began marking the flow of energy along the walls, while the Skitarii formed a firing screen ahead of them.
Markus did not look back.
The phase gate hall lay deeper still.
They had to tear the entrance open before the Necrons could seal the passage completely.
"My lord."
A mortal adjutant came to stand before Guilliman.
He did not dare meet the Primarch's eyes, and simply lowered his head to give his report.
"According to General Duvette's report, on the Vulcantia front, the ground main battlefield has established a general advance, though losses continue to climb. Several Astartes assault detachments have broken into the enemy's underground tomb nodes."
He turned over the data-slate in his hand and continued.
"On the Cereris front, our ground combat groups have secured the outer perimeter of several granary cities and the water purification facilities. Astartes assault detachments are moving into the subsurface network alongside Mechanicus priests, systematically clearing enemy transfer nodes and the anomalous structures."
Guilliman gave a silent nod.
The mortal adjutant saluted and withdrew quickly.
The command deck fell quiet once more.
Guilliman looked at the holographic map before him. Vulcantia and Cereris turned slowly on the system chart, the blue battle lines extending simultaneously across the surface and underground.
He did not speak immediately.
After the void engagement, the low-orbit fighting, and the atmospheric air battles, he had already formed a general assessment of this xenos race's threat level.
The Necrons were no ordinary xenos.
Their vessels could hold their own against the Imperial fleet even at a numerical disadvantage. Their fighters were extremely fast, their weapons precise. Their ground forces were even more troublesome; living metal, transfer nodes, gauss weapons, and a network of dormant tombs combined into something capable of grinding down most Imperial legions.
Without a numerical advantage, without orbital superiority, without sustained heavy firepower to suppress them, victory would be extremely difficult for the Imperium, if not entirely impossible.
But the reports coming in from the ground battlefield told a different story.
Facing an enemy force equal in scale, and in some respects superior in technology and weaponry, the Imperial combat groups Duvette had drawn into his theatre command chain were slowly advancing the line.
Guilliman brought up a report.
Inexhaustible ammunition. Weapon output beyond normal parameters. Morale that never broke and never gave ground. A capability that enhanced everyone's physical condition. Abnormally stable vehicle machine spirit response...
None of this was confined to any single unit. It appeared across every combat group under Duvette's direct command.
Mortal infantry, armoured vehicles, Knight suits, Astartes...
Duvette had not lied.
Guilliman drew a deep breath.
In truth, he was intimately familiar with Duvette's file. He had gone through it more than a dozen times.
He knew that before now, this mortal Commissar's abilities appeared to have emerged gradually. From the earliest battlefield awareness, to effects on morale, physical condition, weapons, and machine spirits, and now to something approaching a theatre-wide enhancement that had reshaped the entire battle line.
Perhaps he had been concealing some portion of it.
Perhaps his capabilities were still growing.
Either way, it pointed to the same fact.
What Duvette had shown so far was not necessarily everything he possessed.
Guilliman's gaze settled on the star chart.
A thought surfaced suddenly in his mind.
What if he were given command of a fleet?
What if he were made overall commander of an entire expeditionary force?
What if he became... a Warmaster of the Imperium?
Or even, commanding him personally...
Guilliman cut the thought off.
The idea was too dangerous.
History had proven countless times that excessive power could drive anyone toward ruin. The wound left by the last Warmaster of the Imperium still bled, ten thousand years later.
That Duvette was currently willing to help the Imperium of Man was something Guilliman believed, for now.
But he did not dare gamble on it.
He could not gamble on it.
Even if Duvette himself remained willing to stay loyal, Chaos would still take notice of power like this. The more formidable a weapon, the more readily it drew the deeper shadow.
Guilliman slowly let out a breath.
Perhaps this was a matter he should bring before the Golden Throne.
Before the Emperor himself.