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Beneath the Ashes – Extract

A Black Library Publication

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BENEATH THE ASHES

Mark Barber

A crackling roar echoed across the starlit sky as the conical drop-ship powered up and tilted its nose towards the heavens, its engines flashing white against the surrounding deep blue. Sergeant Nunnen Trax watched the ship recede towards the void above, its bulky outline diminishing until it was nothing more than a white dot moving slowly against the starry backdrop.

‘Hammer Squad, reaching Point Beta,’ he heard Sergeant Kand report over the vox. ‘There’s nothing here, sir.’

‘Hammer Squad, acknowledged,’ Lieutenant Brandt, the platoon commander, replied after a pause. ‘Proceed to Delta. We’ll regroup there.’

Trax glanced to either side at Dagger Squad – his squad – as they trudged forwards through the fine grey ash, ten abreast in an extended search line. The shock troopers wore forest-camouflage combat fatigues, almost vivid in contrast to the colourless world around them. Less than ideal, but their mission was not anticipated to last long enough to warrant the issue of bespoke gear for the terrain. They moved as quickly as their equipment would allow, their M36 lasguns held at the ready.

The three squads of the platoon were drawn up in a line from west to east, proceeding north from the drop point towards Point Delta – the last known reporting point of the previous expedition to Koelran. A simple enough task in essence: search and rescue. A missing Adeptus Mechanicus expedition. It seemed somewhat overkill to send an entire platoon of Guardsmen, but Trax had learned long ago not to question orders.

Behind them marched Brandt and his command squad, and behind them, the tech-priest and his rabble of skitarii. Trax suppressed a bitter laugh. Those shuffling half-corpses had probably been given more information on their mission than his platoon commander had, knowing the famously secretive nature of the Adeptus Mechanicus.

He looked down and saw that the dust storm was slowly getting stronger. When the platoon disembarked from the Devourer, there had been nothing barring their progress. Now, with the intensifying winds whistling through the craggy, claw-like rocks to either side, a miniature storm agitated the ash at their feet, creating a dense cloud of grey powder that somehow extended only up to their knees. Above this, the skies were clear all the way to the ships of the Imperial Navy, miles above the planet’s surface.

Rocks extended up through the dust cloud like dry fingers, curved into near semicircles of sharp stones, broken with lines of cracks that seemed to follow almost geometric paths across their surfaces. The occasional structure broke up the landscape, speaking of some past civilisation. A series of small pyramids – perhaps large enough to house two or three humanoids – were the only sign of intelligent life, leading up to a larger structure that was still obscured by the ash clouds. The cold grey constructs punctuated the surroundings, their orange-yellow interiors barely visible from this distance.

Point Delta slowly grew closer. As the level of the ash storm elevated from knee height up to the waist, Trax saw the clinical lines of a building complex on the horizon. Pyramid-topped, no doubt built at the same time as the smaller structures, but larger. Much larger.

Tech-priest enginseer host Van Kullux felt a deep burn surge through his one organic thigh as the gradient of the rocky ground became more severe underfoot. The wind howled through the rocks as swirls and vortices of ash shot past him, the infrared filter of his bulky bionic eye giving him a fighting chance of seeing through the dense storm. He checked the dataslate bolted to his wrist; his moving map showed that Dagger Squad had already reached Point Delta, with the remaining Guardsmen now closing in from the flanks. Still nothing to cause alarm or concern. Still on track.

Van Kullux closed his organic eye as he struggled up the steep incline, slamming the long haft of his axe into cracks in the rocks by his feet for support with each step. His scarlet cloak whipped around him as his ten skitarii vanguard effortlessly kept pace with him. The augmented warriors of the Omnissiah appeared only as flashing outlines via his bionic eye; even though only a few paces lay between them, the howling ash storm would have been enough to hide a Baneblade.

He grunted and tightened the chin strap of his red hood. He knew that he ought to endure such physical hardships out of reverence to his duty to the Machine God. But in reality, it was something altogether less altruistic than that. It was Gallen. Or at least the bitter thought of Gallen. How, after thirty years of selfless, quiet and dignified servitude, had Van Kullux been overlooked for elevation to the exalted status of tech-priest dominus, yet that fool Gallen was somehow deemed worthy?

Perhaps it would not matter soon. Perhaps that gap in rank would quickly disappear. Perhaps, with just a little providence, the Omnissiah would smile on Van Kullux. Here and now, on the grey, soulless ash world of Koelran, as the enginseer put his own head above the parapet for some recognition for the first time in his life of selfless service to the Cult Mechanicus. Perhaps this would be his time.

Norre – the missing enginseer – had been onto something. That much Van Kullux was certain of. And if Norre was already dead? That just meant that whatever was out here was worth finding.

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A BLACK LIBRARY PUBLICATION

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