Engines of War by Steve Lyons Read Free Book Online Page B

it.
    Brusquely, he informed the Daedalus ’s commander of his vehicle’s predicament; too late, he feared. There was a good reason why Skyspear missiles were as effective as they were.
    Unlike other missiles, their flights weren’t guided by machine-spirits and cogitators. They were guided by human intelligences. The mummified brains of distinguished Chapter-serfs were entombed within the Skyspears’ warheads, still partially aware.
    What this meant, in practice, was that they did more than just follow enemy pilots; they could actually outthink them, anticipating their evasive manoeuvres. They almost always hit their targets – sooner or later – as Arkelius had seen for himself. Even when their targets were currently splattered across the front of a friendly tank.
    Arkelius could do nothing now but pray.
    He wasn’t used to that feeling, and he hated it. Even on the worst day of his life; even as the ork axe had cleaved his armour and the dirt of an alien battlefield had rushed up to meet his face; even then, as long as he had been able to cling to consciousness – and to his bolter and chainsword – he hadn’t felt as powerless as he did now.
    The nose cone of the missile had grown to fill his view through the vision slit.
    Then, with a sudden flash of light, it was gone.
    The Daedalus ’s gunner had transmitted the abort codes in time – or perhaps, just perhaps, the embalmed intelligence inside the Skyspear had seen the havoc it was about to wreak and acted on its own initiative. The result, either way, was that the missile had been destroyed, without its deadly warhead being triggered.
    The Scourge of the Skies had been buffeted by the blast, but had weathered it. Corbin had acted on his own initiative too, lowering the hydraulic stabilisers.
    Arkelius already had another problem. The suicidal fly on his prow was – incredibly – clinging to a shred of life. It was stabbing through his broken vision slit with a slender barbed stinger. Its wings, torn though they were, vibrated furiously, creating a loud buzz that seemed to drill into Arkelius’s ears.
    The stinger, of course, couldn’t reach him in his sealed compartment. The fly must have realised this for itself because it squirmed around and showed him its misshapen head instead. Green pus dribbled from its clicking mandibles. Its three compound eyes seemed to fix the tank commander with a baleful glare through his periscope mirrors.
    Then, the fly vomited up a thick stream of viscous green liquid. Arkelius’s readouts confirmed his instinctive suspicion: the ooze was virulently acidic. It was eating into the Scourge ’s armour plating. He cursed under his breath.
    He threw open his circular top hatch. He levered himself up until his head and chest were above the Scourge ’s roof, and he could see the fly on the front of the tank below him. The fly saw him too – those blasted compound eyes, he realised – and it spat at him. Acidic green ooze spattered against Arkelius’s forearm and it began to strip away the topmost layers of his ablative armour. He shook off as much of it as he could.
    Then, he emptied a full bolter magazine into the insect’s vile, black body.
    The fly slid down the Scourge ’s sloping prow and out of Arkelius’s sight. He dropped back into his seat and pulled down the hatch behind him. His right forearm was a mass of congealed blue ceramite and plasteel. He voxed Corbin, telling him to pull up the stabilisers and step on the accelerator pedal. He felt no more than a slight bump as they rode over the fly’s remains and crushed them underneath their caterpillar tracks.
    ‘Resume course, sergeant?’ asked Corbin.
    Arkelius checked through the slits in his hatch again. The battle in the sky was showing no signs of abating. Flies and their riders were being battered by Stormtalon assault cannons. It looked as if the tide was slowly turning the Imperium’s way.
    And now, at last, he saw it: little more than a fleeting