Hellsreach - Aaron Dembski-Bowden [50]
‘You are not permitted to defile Oberon’s body. To remove the cannon would be to sever its head or remove its heart.’
‘Consider this, Zarha, for I am finished with standing here and posturing over Mechanicus banalities. The Master of the Forge was trained on Mars, under the guidance of the Machine Cult and in accordance with the most ancient oath between the Astartes and the Mechanicus. He reveres this weapon, and counts his role in its reawakening as the greatest honour of his life.’
‘If he was true to our principles, he would not do this.’
‘And if you were true to the Imperium, you would. Think on that, Zarha. We need this weapon.’
‘The Lord of the Centurio Ordinatus is en route from Terra. If he arrives in time, and if his vessel can break the blockade, then there is a chance Helsreach will see Oberon deployed. I can give you no more support than that.’
‘For now, that is all I need.’
I thought that would end it. Not end it well, by any means. But end it nevertheless.
Yet as I walk away, she calls me back.
‘Stop for a moment. Answer me this one question: Why are you here, Grimaldus?’
I face her once more, this twisted, ancient creature in her coffin of fluids, watching me with machine-eyes.
‘Clarify the question, Zarha. I do not believe you speak of this moment.’
She smiles. ‘No. I do not. Why are you here, at Helsreach?’
Strange to be asked such a thing, and I see no reason to lie. Not to her.
‘I am here because one who was brother to my dead master has sent me to die on this world. High Marshal Helbrecht demanded that one Templar commander stay to inspire the defence. He chose me.’
‘Why you? Have you not asked yourself that question? Why did he choose you?’
‘I do not know. All I know for certain, princeps, is that I am taking that cannon.’
‘I find it difficult to countenance,’ Artarion said, ‘that your plan actually worked.’ The knights stood together on the wall, watching the enemy. The aliens were massing, forming into clusters and chaotic regiments. It still resembled a swarm of vermin more than anything else, Grimaldus thought, but he could make out distinct clan markings and the unity of tribal groups standing apart from others.
It would be dawn soon. Whether or not that was the signal the xenos were waiting for didn’t matter. The flow of landers had fallen to a trickle, no more than one every hour now. The wastelands were already home to millions of orks. The attack would come today. The overwhelming force they needed to take the city was here.
‘It has not worked yet,’ Grimaldus replied. ‘Ultimately, it comes down to what they will allow. We need their cooperation.’ The Chaplain nodded to the gathering horde. ‘If we do not have Mechanicus aid in reactivating the cannon, these alien dogs will already be gnawing on our bones within a handful of months.’
A cry went up from further down the wall. Few Guardsmen remained posted on the battlements, and those that were served mainly as sentries. Two more of them shouted, and the call was taken up along the entire northern wall. The general vox-channel came alive with eager voices. The city’s siren once more began to wail.
Grimaldus said nothing at first. He watched the horde sweeping closer like a slow tide. What little order had been evident within the enemy’s ranks was broken now, and in the sea of jagged metal and green flesh, scrap-tanks and wreck-Titans powered forward – the former dense with aliens clinging to their sides and howling, the latter shaking the wastelands with their waddling tread.
‘I have heard it said,’ Artarion noted, ‘that the greenskins raise their Titans as idols to their strange, piggish gods.’
Priamus grunted. ‘That would explain why they are so hideous. Look at that one. How can that be a god?’
He had a point. The wreck-Titan was an iron effigy of a corpulent alien, its distended belly used to house the arming chambers for the proliferation of cannons thrusting from its gut.
‘I would laugh,’ Nero said, ‘if there weren’t so many of them. They outnumber