Strike and Fade Guy Haley Where there had once been many sons of Nocturne, now there were only four – Brother Jo’phor, grim Hae’Phast, the young neophyte Go’sol, and the ever-silent Donak. They crouched among the rocks above the trail. None knew the others well, and that they had come together at all amidst the turmoil of the massacre was as great a miracle as any. They spoke in whispers. They had not dared use the wider vox-net for days. Their voices barely carried above the wind and Donak’s repetitive sharpening of his combat blade. Go’sol flexed his shoulders, stretching his numbed limbs. ‘When will they come?’ Jo’phor quietened him with a raised hand. ‘Patience, neophyte.’ ‘And stay still,’ Hae’Phast added. ‘Your motion will betray us to the enemy.’ Go’sol’s face reddened at Hae’Phast’s words. ‘I am sorry, masters.’ ‘Do not be sorry,’ said Jo’phor. ‘This is not how your training should be, but you will be stronger for it.’ The Scout nodded. Hae’Phast grunted bitterly. ‘If we live...’ The old warrior had no patience with the youth – whether that was his nature or merely anger at the recent atrocities they had witnessed, Jo’phor could not yet tell. ‘Brother, mind the spirit of the neophyte,’ he urged him. ‘And what of our spirits? My dreams are tapestries of gross betrayal, our brothers slaughtered by those they once called friend.’ ‘Just have a care for the lad.’ Jo’phor sighted down his weapon to where their improvised explosives had been planted. ‘I worry more for Donak. He has not spoken at all since we found him. The flames of his eyes are low. The forges of his hearts have been quenched.’ Hae’Phast looked at him. ‘You see? There are things too great for even a Space Marine to bear. Tell me you are untouched by it.’ Jo’phor spoke so quietly, his voice was barely audible. ‘I am not untouched, brother. My hearts ache. My mind cannot contain the enormity of the slaughter. My eyes are sore with sorrow.’ He turned to Hae’Phast. ‘But my rage outmatches it all. We four are of different companies within the Legion, granted, but all of us were born of the fire and fury. Our brotherhood is unshakeable. There is succour for me in that, and power. Let all the other Legions turn upon the sons of Nocturne, for nothing can break the bonds between us. There will come a reckoning. That is what I say to any who doubt us.’ Hae’Phast nodded solemnly. When he spoke, he was calmer. ‘And that is why we follow you, brother.’ ‘All is not lost,’ said Jo’phor. ‘That the traitors spend so much time scouring this particular area gives me hope. I do not believe that we are the last servants of the Emperor on Isstvan Five.’ Behind his visor, Hae’Phast chuckled. ‘And if we are?’ Jo’phor shifted. ‘Then we will fight to the very end. Silence now. The Night Lords are coming.’ They all held themselves as still as the rocks around them. They waited until the faint sound of engines reached their enhanced ears. Go’sol looked up. ‘Do you hear that?’ ‘Bikers,’ said Hae’Phast. ‘Do we withdraw?’ Jo’phor shook his head. ‘Too late. Look!’ A figure came around the curve in the track. He was clearly a legionary, but unarmoured and with welts criss-crossing his pale flesh. He staggered towards the defile where the Salamanders’ booby traps waited. ‘Now?’ Go’sol produced the detonator switch, but Jo’phor held up his hand urgently. ‘Wait. That is no traitor who runs before them...’ The sound of bikes built to a roar as a figure in night-blue armour veered around the mountainside. He rode the narrow, uneven path with breathtaking skill. He chased the stumbling figure, lashing him with a cruel whip, harsh laughter grating from his stylised helmet augmitters. Four other bikers followed, the lightning marks on their battleplate sullied with dry blood. Hatred boiled up in Jo’phor’s hearts. He looked at Go’sol – the Scout’s face was flush with excitement. ‘Wait for their captive to get clear.’ The lone legionary was still within the blast zone, but the bikers were gaining on him. Any longer and they too might escape the worst of it. Jo’phor felt his guts twist. ‘Now! Go’sol, now!’ There was a terrific explosion, the blast of multiple charges erupting out of the lengthening shadows. The leading Night Lord was hurled from the track like a rag doll, his bike plunging end over end down the steep mountainside. His followers skidded to a halt, frantically scanning through the clouds of obscuring dust to see who had attacked them. Jo’phor surged forwards, aiming for one traitor who had removed his helmet. He would pay dearly. A boiling jet of promethium from Jo’phor’s flamer engulfed the warrior. He fell screaming from his mount, his burning flesh sloughing from his bones. The others spun their bikes and opened fire. Treachery had left their skills undimmed, and bolter shells tore up the rocky terrain, but Hae’Phast and Donak fired with impunity from cover. One Night Lord raised a plasma pistol, before a bolter shot took him in the chest and he slumped over the handlebars. There were two of the traitors left. One gunned his engine as his comrade intensified his fire, rearing up onto the hillside. Fishtailing madly, he rode his bike up the incline towards Jo’phor. He brought a chainsword down at the Salamander’s head, but his bike slipped sideways on the scree-covered slope and he reached out to stay his fall. His hand never touched the ground. A bolt exploded within the traitor’s gauntlet, spraying ruined flesh and metal. As the warrior fell, Jo’phor looked to his left; Brother Donak strode forwards, his weapon held level in both hands. He advanced calmly on the fallen Night Lord, putting a single shot through his eye lens. The last traitor swung his bike around again to bring its twin bolters to bear, but Hae’Phast brought him down, blowing out his chest plate along with the ribcage it shielded. The silence was sudden and horrifying. The air stank of propellant and murder. Jo’phor wrinkled his nose. ‘Well fought, brothers. By a thousand pinpricks must we bleed them.’ ‘They died more easily than they deserved,’ Hae’Phast muttered, advancing warily between the bodies. Then he turned to Go’sol. ‘Quickly now, young Scout – “strike and fade”. Let’s strip the bodies.’ He went down to the dead, and Donak and Go’sol followed him, rifling through the saddlebags of the nearest bike. Hae’Phast halted suddenly, doubling back towards them. ‘What have we told you, lad? Leave the gun! Take nutrient packs, ammunition...’ He stopped to put a bolt in the head of a traitor who stirred. ‘Night Lords bolts fit a Salamander’s gun. A Night Lord’s water bottle will quench a Salamander’s thirst.’ Go’sol seemed unsure. ‘It feels wrong.’ ‘These warriors were our cousins. They were raised up by the Emperor alongside us – their cause has been our cause, their lord brother to our lord. But now we are opposed. They are the enemy, and we are the righteous.’ Jo’phor did not hear his brother’s words. He knelt beside the Night Lords’ fallen captive and his hearts sank when he saw a fist-sized hole in the legionary’s back. He rolled him over, seeing the emblem of the Raven Guard tattooed on his shoulder. The legionary’s eyes fluttered. Jo’phor took him in his arms. ‘I have killed you, kinsman,’ he murmured. The Raven Guard’s eyes focused. ‘No, brother. You have saved me. Do not weep.’ ‘I would weep for us all, my friend – loyalist and traitor alike. To slay our own kind is no small thing, no matter the enormity of their crimes.’ ‘They are our own no longer. Darkness has overtaken them.’ The legionary was wracked by a bloody cough. ‘Listen to me. You must fight on. Fight and survive...’ ‘And you, survive with us!’ Jo’phor urged. The Raven Guard smiled and weakly shook his head. His eyes closed. Jo’phor stayed with him, until the weak beating of his hearts had ceased. When his brothers approached, Jo’phor pointed to the mountain peaks high above the trail. He did not speak, for in that moment he did not trust the authority of his voice. As they made their way from the ambush, he went to one of the Night Lords corpses. With his knife, he scratched the mark of his Legion into the warrior’s greave. The work was rapid, but fine – a dragon’s head of pure, silver scores roaring outrage against betrayal. ‘Let them see,’ Jo’phor muttered. ‘Let them see that the shadows of Isstvan harbour the flames of vengeance, and that those flames will burn them all.’ Then he departed, following his brothers away from the traitors’ inevitable pursuit.