Rogue Trader

by Andy Hoare

  The air erupted and the ground was churned as bolt-rounds hammered in from the Space Marine gun line. Heavy bolters added their throaty roar to the sharp staccato of the boltguns and the smoke banks sizzled as balls of plasma lanced through. Though un-aimed, the fusillade could not help but strike the foe. Sparks flew as rounds struck invisible bodies over and over again. Then the tau attempted desperately to return fire and a stream of blue energy bolts spat out from the invisible heavy weapons. But the tables were turned; the tau could not see their targets, and they were cut down before Sarik’s eyes. As each fell, their shattered forms resolved, broken armour and body parts scattered across the ground.

  The return fire died away, and within seconds ceased as the surviving tau retreated in the face of the Space Marines’ overwhelming fusillade.

  ‘Brother-sergeant,’ a voice cut in over the vox-net. ‘Estimated fifty contacts, closing in behind us’

  Lucian and his two subcommanders looked west through their magnoculars into the setting sun. The skies had turned a deep turquoise the like of which Lucian had never seen before, with a faint glimmer of stars appearing overhead. Below the white sun, the distant towers of Gel’bryn glinted in the fading light, tempting the rogue trader with the riches and opportunities to be found there.

  The city was small by human standards. In the Imperium it was often convenient to pack the multitudes in as tightly as possible, as near to their workplaces as could be achieved, in order to control the means of production with brutal but vital efficiency. The ultimate expression of this harsh reality was the hive cities of such worlds as Armageddon, Ichar IV and Gehenna Prime, each of which could equal the industrial output of any other planet in the Imperium short of a forge world of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Instead of packing their population into a relatively small number of massive cities, the tau evidently preferred to establish thousands of smaller settlements across an entire planet, and Gel’bryn was the largest of those on Dal’yth Prime. Lucian suspected that each city was relatively self-sufficient too, if the surrounding farmland was anything to go by. The use of advanced technology, forbidden or simply lost in the Imperium, for such simple tasks as farming was beyond anything he had seen in his decades of contact with all manner of xenos species. It suggested a highly ordered society in which individuals were free of the drudgery that was the reality of everyday life in the human Imperium.

  But despite their seeming reliance on technology and their aberrant social order, the tau had proved a highly capable foe. While their skills in close combat were no equal to the sheer ferocity of the Rakarshans or the Space Marines, their advanced weaponry made up for that deficiency. The Departmento Tacticae was slowly piecing together a picture of the tau’s capabilities, which it was disseminating to the ground force commanders as quickly as the reports could be compiled. The Imperium had learned more about the aliens’ battlefield doctrines in the last forty-eight hours than it had in the entire crusade, for in previous ground battles Imperial forces had encountered little more than line infantry. Now reports were flooding in from all fronts of anti-grav armoured vehicles, target designator-equipped artillery spotters and a myriad of equally unanticipated, yet highly deadly foes.

  ‘Be advised,’ the voice of the Departmento Tacticae advisor crackled over the vox-net. ‘Spearhead Sarik reports contact with enemy heavy infantry equipped with some form of stealth field. Ex-loading tacticae script now.’

  Lucian lowered his magnoculars and took the data-slate handed to him by Major Subad. He scanned the reams of information being transmitted from General Gauge’s command centre on the Blade of Woe, ignoring large portions of it and zeroing in on what was most relevant.

  Item; main advance stalling, Imperial Guard units engaged by multiple ambushes resulting in fractured progress. Regimental Provosts to increase activities pending Commissarial intervention.

  Item; advance to be consolidated into three main fronts. Battlegroup Arcadius to advance along present axis to probe city outer limits. Space Marine composites to amalgamate as soon as possible to reduce main enemy concentration. Titans to amalgamate ready to face enemy destroyers.

  Item; second wave Imperial Guard units to proceed in attached order of march. Armoured and cavalry units to be made ready for push against enemy units consolidating along River 992. Armoured infantry to move up in support of armour. Mechanised units to muster as per attached orders.

  ‘Havil, better get the boys fed and watered,’ Lucian told the sergeant-major as he lowered the data-slate. ‘Subad, draft a warning order. We’re going in. I want us moving by nightfall.’

  The outskirts of Gel’bryn lay ahead, the details lost to the static-laced, monochrome green of Lucian’s prey-sense goggles. Battlegroup Arcadius was advancing towards a small conurbation on the eastern shore of the watercourse designated ‘River 992’, beyond which lay the city and the bulk of the tau defenders. Patrols platoon was a kilometre forward, the very finest of the Rakarshans’ scouts leading the rifle companies forwards under cover of darkness.

  Though he had wanted to go in with the foremost platoons, Lucian had been told in no uncertain terms that he was nowhere near the equal of the Rakarshans when it came to stealth and field craft. His insistence on wearing his ancestors’ suit of power armour tipped the argument. Lucian was currently positioned halfway down the line, where he was less likely to give away the Rakarshans’ approach.

  Lucian knew that the advance into the outskirts would not go undetected for long, for it had been established that the tau had their own low-light technology. Though he kept the heretical thought to himself, it seemed likely to Lucian that the tau’s technology was superior to the Imperial forces’ in this, and many other fields. Though the Rakarshans’ own night-vision devices were offset by the tau’s, they had other advantages and skills to draw on. The Rakarshans moved with such utter silence that one could be marching right next to Lucian and he would not have heard. Their use of cover and concealment was beyond any human unit Lucian had ever witnessed. In fact, they were almost supernaturally good.

  With a slight start, Lucian realised that he was alone, no Rakarshans visible in the darkness around him. He continued his advance nonetheless, knowing that there were probably over a dozen of the stealthy riflemen within ten metres of him. The terrain dipped as it ran down towards the distant river, beyond which the Tacticae advisers reported a concentration of the enemy units gathering.

  ‘Sir!’ an urgent whisper hissed out of the darkness. Less than three metres in front of Lucian was a Rakarshan section leader, barely visible in the shadows behind a low shrub. Spread out behind him was a whole rifle section, which Lucian had not even known was nearby.

  Lucian halted, lowering himself into a kneeling position beside the corporal. ‘Report.’

  The section leader clearly spoke a small amount of standard Low Gothic, for Lucian could just about understand him when he said ‘Enemy, right flanking.’

  Lucian adjusted the gain on his goggles and studied the terrain to the right of the group. The land continued to dip as it ran towards River 992, which sparkled in the middle distance. Three hundred metres to the east was an orderly plantation of the ubiquitous purple fruit trees, but to Lucian, they harboured nothing but dark shadows.

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Ghosting in the thick.’

  ‘Well enough,’ Lucian said. ‘If you’re sure.’ Lucian looked around for the signalman who had been his shadow for the last day or so. He was not surprised when the man appeared from the darkness nearby.

  ‘Advise Subad we’ve detected movement in the woods to the east. Tell him I’ve ordered a sweep, but the advance should continue.’

  The signalman passed the message on, shielding the pickup of his vox-set with his hand as he spoke in hushed tones.

  ‘Right lad,’ Lucian whispered to the corporal. ‘Let’s go see what we have.’

  The man’s eyes
narrowed in disapproval and he nodded to indicate Lucian’s power armour. ‘You go first then,’ Lucian conceded.

  The section leader saluted silently and in a moment was gone, along with his men. Lucian engaged his prey-sense goggles again, and could just about make out the Rakarshans’ thermal signatures as they dashed across the open ground towards the plantation. Lucian cycled through his goggles’ range bands, looking for any sign of an enemy in the treeline. He found none, but that did not mean there was no enemy there. If the enemy the Rakarshans had detected were the stealth-fielded heavy infantry the White Scars had encountered, then it was incredible the Rakarshans had detected them at all. According to the tacticae reports disseminated to the various commands, the stealthers were not just shielded from the eye, but from other targeting devices too. Perhaps even from the war spirit that animated Lucian’s prey-sense goggles.

  Lucian was overcome by the notion that someone was watching him. He told himself it was nonsense and moved out in the Rakarshans’ wake, but could not entirely shake the feeling. Wanting to be ready for combat, he drew his plasma pistol, and was just about to activate its power cycle when the signalman put a restraining hand on his forearm. He was right of course; the high-pitched whine of the containment coils drawing power from the plasma flask would ring out like a bugle signalling a cavalry charge. Lucian nodded his thanks to the signalman and re-holstered the pistol, drawing his power sword instead, but not activating it for now. The sword could be powered up in a second, so he could leave doing so until really needed, whereas the pistol could take long seconds to be readied to fire.

  Lucian continued as quietly as he could, leaving a generous distance between himself and the leading Rakarshans. He was painfully aware of every little sound his suit made, marvelling that he had never noticed any of them before. The fusion core of his backpack gave off a low hum, while the actuators at the suit’s joints hissed and strained with his every movement. Ordinarily, the sounds were practically inaudible, but in the dark night, with a concealed enemy potentially training a crosshair on Lucian’s forehead, they were appallingly loud.

  ‘Sir!’ the signalman hissed, dropping to a crouch. Lucian followed the man’s example, and scanned the treeline through his goggles. Still nothing.

  ‘What?’ he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath.

  ‘The riflemen, my lord,’ the man said. ‘They have detected movement beneath the trees. It must be an ambush.’

  Lucian located the riflemen, who were spread out in a line about a hundred metres ahead, each taking cover behind the low lying shrubs that studded the area. Lucian felt suddenly that whatever would happen next was down to him to decide. He was used to such situations in the void, where his actions in a space battle might doom himself and thousands of crewmen, but this was something else. What would Sarik or Gauge do, he thought?

  Both would fight through the ambush, he knew. And they would do so from the front.

  Turning back to the signalman, Lucian was about to give the order to press on when a thunderous burst of gunfire erupted from the treeline. Five Rakarshans went down, dead or wounded, Lucian could not tell which. ‘Damn this,’ he spat, and drew his plasma pistol from its holster.

  ‘Charge!’ Lucian bellowed, uncaring of the high-pitched whine of his plasma pistol powering up. He stood, the signalman following his example, and strode forwards. A second burst of gunfire sounded, pale blue bolts whipping through the air all too close.

  ‘That’s it!’ Lucian yelled as he picked up his pace towards the treeline. ‘Come out and play!’

  Lucian strode past the Rakarshan section leader, the man’s face staring up at him with a stunned expression. ‘Now’s your chance, lad,’ Lucian hissed. ‘Get moving!’

  Understanding dawned on the Rakarshan’s face and Lucian grinned like a fool. In an instant, the man was leading his riflemen away, starting a wide loop that would bring them towards the hidden enemy’s left flank.

  Now Lucian was picking up speed as he neared the dark treeline, and a third volley of gunfire split the air. The projectiles were the same condensed energy packets fired by other tau weapons, but the discharge of the weapon firing sounded distinctly different, somehow cruder and certainly noisier.

  The signalman was directly behind him, and thankfully, so too were several other sections. Lucian brandished his power sword and thumbed it to full power, arcs of white lightning leaping up and down its length. The nearby Rakarshans followed his example, limbering their lasguns and drawing their ceremonial blades.

  Now the treeline was only twenty metres ahead, and Lucian heard a ripple of lasgun fire from fifty metres to the left. The Rakarshans had engaged. An ululating hoot sounded from within the trees, and was repeated along its whole length. The sound was utterly alien and savagely barbaric, and not like any other Lucian had heard so far on Dal’yth Prime.

  Then the trees rustled, and a dark shape leaped to the ground in front of Lucian, followed within seconds by a dozen more. The figures glowed bright green in Lucian’s prey-sense goggles, and were tall, muscular and whip-fast in their movements. In the last few moments, Lucian tore his goggles free, knowing they would hinder his three-dimensional awareness in the brutal melee to follow.

  The creature in front of Lucian let forth a high-pitched, almost avian-sounding cry, and charged in. It lifted its rifle, which was fitted with wickedly sharp spikes at barrel and butt. Lucian brought his power sword high to parry the blow, and the rifle erupted in sparks as it was cut in two.

  The creature kept on going, brandishing the two halves of its ruined weapon like hatchets. If anything, it was now more dangerous. With a twist, Lucian turned his forward momentum into a sideways lunge and brought his power sword down in a wide arc aimed at the creature’s middle. It anticipated the move and sprung backwards with an angry hoot.

  The war cries of the Rakarshans and the whistling calls of the aliens erupted all about, and a swirling melee engulfed the entire treeline.

  Lucian’s foe leaped through the air, directly for him, and he raised his power sword again. In a split second, he saw that he could not hope to deflect both of the alien’s weapons, so he parried one, reducing it to a useless stump, and turned his shoulder to the other causing it to glance harmlessly from a shoulder-plate.

  The creature hissed its anger in Lucian’s face, its sharp, beak-like mouth open wide as if it meant to bite into Lucian’s flesh. The alien came on, barrelling into Lucian and forcing him backwards as its weapon scraped down his chest armour. Lucian saw an opening and brought his power sword up to plunge it into the thing’s chest, but again, his foe twisted aside and sprang clear.

  For a second, Lucian and the alien circled one another, the shadowy forms of bitterly interlocked combatants swirling around them in the dark and grunts of pain and anger filling the air. Its beady eyes were fixed on his and sharp quills at the back of its head ­rattled as they stood on end like the hackles of some enraged predator.

  Lucian feinted to the left, and the creature dodged his blade with preternatural speed. But that was what he had hoped it would do. With his left hand, Lucian brought the plasma pistol up, levelled it directly at the alien’s head and pulled the trigger.

  The darkness erupted into violet brightness as the plasma bolt spat from the blunt pistol’s barrel and consumed the alien in a roiling ball of searing energy. Lucian’s vision swam with nerve-light and he was momentarily blinded. As he blinked furiously to clear his vision, Lucian heard the wet thud of meat striking the ground and knew his foe was dead.

  A Rakarshan yelled something from nearby. Though Lucian did not understand the words, he guessed their meaning and ducked blindly. The sharp hiss of air parted by a razor-sharp blade sounded a hand’s span above his head, and Lucian knew the rifleman had just saved his life. He straightened again and as his vision finally cleared he saw another three of the alien warriors closing on him.

  ‘
Daem’ani!’ a Rakarshan yelled, an unfamiliar note of fear in his voice. The shout was taken up by a dozen other riflemen, and in a moment Lucian was surrounded by Rakarshans.

  The aliens threw themselves forwards at the exact same moment the Rakarshans charged. The two lines crashed together in a thunderous explosion of steel and blood. A rifleman beside Lucian was struck hard in the face by the spiked stock of an alien’s rifle, the blade lodging itself in the man’s head. Before the creature could pull the blade free Lucian lashed out with his power sword and severed both of its arms in a single sweep. The creature hooted in pain as it collapsed writhing to the ground, blood spurting from its wounds.

  Even before the wounded alien had been trampled flat beneath the Rakarshans’ boots, another had stepped into its place. A rifleman leaped forwards, repeating the earlier cry of ‘Daem’ani!’ at the top of his lungs, his ceremonial blade lashing outwards to gut the creature. The alien saw the blow coming and parried it with its rifle, using it as a duel-bladed stave and slamming its end into the soldier’s stomach. The Rakarshan doubled over under the impact and the alien brought the other end of the rifle down across his back, crushing him to the ground beneath the brutal strike.

  A high-pitched whine from Lucian’s plasma pistol told him it had recharged and was ready to fire another blast. He raised the pistol and this time brought his right forearm across his face as he squeezed the trigger so he was not temporarily blinded by its discharge.

  Lucian had no time to aim his shot, but had no need to. The enemy were coming on in such numbers that he could scarcely miss. The plasma bolt burned a hole right through the torso of the first enemy in its way and incinerated the one behind it. The enemy faltered in their assault, and in that moment Lucian saw that scores more of them were pouring from the treeline.

  ‘We’re outnumbered!’ Lucian bellowed. By at least three to one, and rising.

  The section leader was nearby, and Lucian grabbed him by the shoulder. The man’s eyes were glowing with madness, as if he were consumed by overwhelming and unreasoning fear of what the Rakarshans had named ‘daem’ani’, and a berserker’s rage to destroy the foe. The man appeared not to notice Lucian, so he shook him violently until his eyes came into focus. ‘Order your men back, now!’