Like a force of nature – an irresistible, implacable force – the Death Korps of Krieg bore down upon the young trooper’s lonely position.
‘Wait for it,’ the general’s vox-augmented voice cautioned. ‘Hold your fire until it can have the greatest possible effect. A shot fired too soon is a shot wasted.’
The young trooper had been bred to show no fear.
But most men would have fled or at least frozen in terror by now.
‘Far better to die with your weapon fully loaded than to empty it in vain. Your weapon can always be recovered and used again.’
The young trooper crouched inside his half-demolished, brick-built turret. He held the butt of his standard M35 lasgun to his shoulder. He betrayed no weakness. He maintained his rigid, muscle-locked stance, his trigger finger poised. Waiting.
A sound drew the creature’s attention. It snapped its globular head around sharply and probed the dusty gloom with its keen eyes.
A wall had fallen, only recently, bringing down a section of the ceiling with it. The rubble was still settling. And there was that sound again, loud in the dusty silence. The scraping of rock against rock. The sound of that rubble shifting.
There it was! The protruding shape of a gloved hand, twitching. The creature scuttled towards it, eagerly. It walked on two legs, but hunched over, using its two hands and two claws as well for improved speed and balance.
This was what it had been searching for, exactly what the creature needed. Life!
A human figure lay sprawled amid the wreckage, pinned by a roof beam across his chest. He had been struggling to free himself, but didn’t have the strength. He let out a low groan and fell still. He didn’t even react to the appearance of the creature looming over him. Had it not been so desperate…
The creature turned its keen eyes upon its prey. They were met by their own reflections in a pair of dark-tinted lenses. The fallen human’s eyes were hidden, so the creature couldn’t tell if it had made contact with its mesmerising gaze or not.
The human was unlikely to put up a struggle, anyway.
The creature’s tongue slavered in anticipation behind its fangs as it searched for a seam or a crack in the human’s armour, a vulnerable spot. The best point at which to strike in order to deliver its critical payload.
Had its mind been less addled, it would have known that its search was futile.
The creature’s prey didn’t have to struggle against it. It was enough that, at that moment, he released his final breath and died.
The creature couldn’t accept it at first, couldn’t accept that its most desperate hope had been thwarted. It worried at the fallen human with its hands and claws. It tried to prod, push, frighten him into motion. It was no use. He was no use to the creature any longer. No more than a slab of cooling meat now.
It threw back its globular head and howled its anguish to the sky.
Missiles screamed across the grey sky, leaving smoke trails like scars in their wakes.
The Death Korpsmen saw them coming and sprang into well-drilled action. They broke formation, leapt for cover where they could find it. A moment later, fire blossomed three times within their ranks and scores of them were consumed.
The rest of the forces continued their relentless advance. The young trooper would have expected no less of them.
Many of the attacking soldiers had dropped to their stomachs, hauling themselves forward on their elbows. They returned fire, from missile launchers of their own and from the vehicle-mounted stubbers. Some of them – the nearest to their objective, the ruined city – lobbed krak grenades.
They were targeting the defenders’ gun emplacements, wherever they could identify them. The ruined city shook with the impacts of their projectiles, and the turret in which the young trooper crouched threatened to crumble beneath him.
He heard the general’s voice, bellowing over the clamour: ‘Target the enemy’s big guns. Destroy them and you reduce their offensive capability. Do not be distracted by their–’ A particularly fierce explosion, close by, drowned out the rest.
The instructions had been heard elsewhere, however.
Another pair of missiles shot out from inside the city. They streaked over the skull-masked heads of the attacking army. Bringing up the soldiers’ rear was a ragged line of artillery units. The first missile struck an Earthshaker cannon and cracked its armoured shell. The second, however, fell short and only claimed more human lives.
The first of the Death Korpsmen had crawled into long-las range. It was the turn of the snipers to do their work. In the doorways and windows all around the young trooper, muzzles flashed. He held his own fire, however. There had not been enough sniper rifles available for everyone. He remembered the general’s admonishment: ‘A shot fired too soon is a shot wasted.’
The snipers were doing little good, anyhow. For every Korpsman cut down by their las-beams, four more surged forwards to replace him. Some were driving their dead along before them, utilising their bodies as shields. They too had been taught to make the best use of every resource.
‘Remember your orders… It has already been calculated that you cannot win this battle… Today, you face defeat, at the small cost of your worthless lives. But die bravely, die hard and… Praise be to the Emperor!’
The young trooper’s moment was approaching.
This was what he had been waiting for, that brief window of opportunity during which the enemy would be within his range, before they overran his position. Hardly any time at all in which to act. Did he worry he might fail in his Emperor-appointed task? Did he offer up a prayer to his god for his immortal soul?
He knew that his first shot would betray his presence. It would have to be a good one, then. His best shot. He chose his target. It could have been any of the advancing Korpsmen, really. He aimed for the eyepieces of the mask. Did he wonder at all about the face behind those dark lenses?
Did the young trooper ask himself if it might be a face he recognised?
A single las-beam through the brain. Failing that, if the mask was only damaged, still it would expose the wearer’s skin to the poisonous atmosphere. Death would be equally certain. A slow and lingering death.
A single moment. But the young trooper had been waiting for it all his life.
He held his breath and squeezed his trigger.
A voice – a human voice – had lured the creature here to this vast city square, still partially intact, although most of the avenues and staircases that branched off from it had collapsed.
However, something was wrong. It could taste it on the foetid air that there had been life here, and not too long ago. Not now, though. The square was empty. From where, then, had that taunting voice originated?
The answer came in the form of an electronic squeal which set the creature’s hackles on end. A short burst of radio static. Then the voice blared out again, startlingly loud and close. It emanated from a metal box above the creature’s head. A speaker, affixed to the side of a mangled, rusty lifter cage.
The creature howled again and lashed out with its claws. Its first swipe cut the speaker’s wires and choked off its lying promises. The creature’s blind fury, however, was not assuaged. It reached up and gripped the speaker with both hands. It wrenched it from its moorings and dashed it to the ground.
There was silence for a moment. Long enough for the creature to contemplate its failure, to mourn its unfulfilled existence, if indeed it was capable of such thoughts.
And then… Then, something new. A new sound. The unmistakable clomp of approaching footsteps. A delicious new sound. And a new taste in the air.
Did the creature stop to ponder its incredible fortune? Did it offer up a prayer in gratitude to its tyranid gods for sending it this perfect life form – this human being, this lone human being – at its time of direst need?
The new arrival wore
armour, a dark greatcoat and a full facemask. His garb made him indistinguishable from his fallen, dead comrade. He had likely been drawn here by the creature’s howl. His weapon was readied. That put it at a disadvantage.
Had it had more time – had it known that someone was coming – it would have sought out cover, prepared an ambush. As it was, it was caught out in the open. Exposed. The creature caught the human’s eye, through his dark lenses. He snapped up his rifle to cover it, but didn’t fire. Did it occur to the creature to wonder why? Or did it merely count its blessings once again?
It had to get closer to him. It couldn’t risk any sudden moves, however. It stole a step, two steps, towards its victim, keeping its keen eyes trained on him all the way. The human being backed away a single step. He had already looked into the creature’s eyes too long. He was transfixed. It had him now.
A plaintive whine – an attempted cry for help, perhaps – died in the human’s throat. The last shred of his will to resist. He had actually fought longer than most.
He relaxed his battle-ready stance and lowered his weapon.
He surrendered himself to his natural predator.
The exchange had been over in seconds.
The young trooper had loosed off four las-beams. Two, at least, had found their targets. He didn’t know if he had made any kills. The enemy’s response had been too fast, too furious.
He had had to abandon his turret. It had been strafed, totally destroyed, by stubber fire. Stubber fire! That meant he had cost the enemy more than he had expended himself. He had done well. Most unexpectedly of all, he was still alive.
‘–repeat, those of you who are still able, fall back to your secondary positions. Those of you who are not, if you can hear this message, we salute you.’
The young trooper’s direct route through the ruined city was blocked. A tunnel had been brought down by the Korpsmen’s bombardment, forcing him to take a detour. He was joined en route by more of the city’s defenders, far fewer than had made the outward march to the perimeter alongside him.
The skull-masked soldiers exchanged no greetings, no acknowledgement of each other’s presence. Nor was the young trooper moved to see that some of his comrades had sustained injuries. One of them was missing his left arm beneath the elbow, blood and filth soaking through an improvised tourniquet.
‘Keep moving. You must stay ahead of the enemy. He will keep you from forming a new defensive line if he can.’
Another section of the roof came down. It was some way ahead of the young trooper. He only knew what had happened because of the tremendous noise, and then the cloud of dust that billowed back along the tunnel to engulf him.
He was saved from choking by his mask and rebreather unit. He knew that some of his comrades would not have been so lucky. He had no time to mourn them, even had he been inclined to do so. No time to consider that it could as easily have been him, crushed under the remnants of the city’s upper levels.
What had been lost, anyway? Just the lives of a few men who could never have been Korpsmen or fathers. Worthless lives. The lives of rejects. Rejects like him.
For the second time, he sought a new route to his assigned position. He clambered over the remains of a flattened hab-block. He ducked beneath a stone archway, crumbling, but defiant beneath the creaking weight of its burden, still displaying the scored symbol of the Administratum with stubborn pride.
The young trooper emerged into a large, open space. He could tell this mostly from the ring of his own footsteps, as he couldn’t see or hear a great deal else. A city square. Its vaulted roof was largely intact, allowing just a sliver of the sky’s grey light to pierce it. The young trooper had no luminator. His eyes would need a few seconds to adjust to the dusty gloom.
He didn’t have those seconds. A shape shifted in the darkness ahead of the young trooper and his ears were violated by a terrible noise: a harsh, non-human screech, which set his every nerve on edge.
He had been taught about xenos, of course. Twisted, blasphemous monsters that bred in every dark crevice of the Imperium like a cancer. He had never expected to encounter one. Not on Krieg. Not alone. Did that prospect horrify him? Disgust him? Or maybe he thanked the Emperor for this unexpected chance to serve.
Either way, the young trooper readied his lasgun. He waded through the shattered remnants of statues and fountains. He followed the sound of gasping breaths and a putrid stench that penetrated even his protective mask.
And came face to face with the creature.
It had sensed his approach and dropped into a waiting crouch. The creature was bipedal, but more insect-like than human in appearance. Two of its additional limbs ended in bony hands, the other two in nasty-looking claws. It had natural armour: a chitinous, blue-purple exoskeleton. Its round head was oversized for its body and long, sharp fangs gleamed between its distended jaws.
The young trooper had no name for this particular breed of xenos. He didn’t know its capabilities. He only knew that it was different, and therefore a threat.
In the shadows behind the creature, he made out a human shape. A fellow trooper, fellow reject, on his knees; awake, apparently, and showing no signs of injury, but unmoving. Acquiescent. And, in the same instant that he realised what this must mean, he was transfixed by a pair of bright purple, alien eyes.
He felt them worming, burning their way into his brain. And was lost.
But for only a moment. Salvation arrived, unexpectedly, in the form of two more comrades, doubtless looking for a safe route through the besieged city, just as the young trooper had been; stumbling into this square as he had done.
The xenos’s gaze flickered towards the new arrivals. They levelled their guns at it, but fired no beams. They had no authorisation to consume resources in that way. Even lasgun power packs couldn’t be recharged indefinitely.
They resorted, instead, to a two-bayonet charge. The xenos bared its claws and emitted a warning hiss. If it expected its Krieg-born attackers to falter, however, then it was disappointed.
It reared up and slashed at the two men as they reached it. It tore open the stomach of the first of them. In exchange, it was bloodied by the bayonet of the second, stabbed through the joint of a spare arm as it shielded its throat.
The young trooper stumbled forward to join the battle. His mind had been freed once the xenos’s stare was broken. It had taken him a moment, however, to pull himself together. He felt as if he were waking from a dream, his senses dulled.
The creature knew when it was outgunned. It turned tail and ran. There was no point in chasing after it; that much was immediately evident. It was too fast for any of the three troopers – inhumanly fast – and more surefooted than they would have been across the rubble. It was out of their sight within seconds.
The young trooper went to see to its victim instead. He hadn’t so much as twitched, even during the brief battle that had raged in front of his nose. He was deep, deep under the xenos’s hypnotic spell. What had it done to him? It had infected his mind, for sure, if not his body. Standing orders, in that case, were very clear.
The young trooper snapped his hypnotised comrade’s neck.
‘This is it. We have confirmation that the enemy is on the move.’
The same words as before, echoing throughout the city.
‘Stand fast. Remember your training. Remember your orders. You must be ready to meet your attackers with lethal force.’
The young trooper ought to have been in position by now. A minor link in the secondary defensive line. A shorter line by far than the first one. The Death Korps was advancing again. He ought to have been crouched, ready for them. Waiting.
What, then, was keeping him here?
He had been rejected by the Korps’ recruiting sergeants. He wouldn’t have been given a reason. It might have been a lack of aptitude. More likely, they had found a flaw in his genetic make
up. One of the kinds that manifested during adulthood, undetectable in the vitae womb. A damned mutation!
This, then, was how he served, as a target for the draftee soldiers who until today had been his peers. A final test for them before they were shipped off-world to their first assignments. A live-ammunition training exercise.
But all that… That was before.
The young trooper was alone. His two comrades had patched up their wounds and followed the general’s voice. Had either of them deduced that that voice was only a recording, played a thousand – no, at least a hundred thousand – times before?
None of the rejects in the field had been issued with a comm-bead. Doubtless, that had been adjudged a waste of resources too. How could their leaders have anticipated, after all, that they might have something to say?
But how, then, could they know about the new danger in their midst?
As the xenos had fled, hurt, from the city square, it had left a trail of stinking ichor behind it. It was likely that it was dying. But then, surely, that must have been so ever since it had arrived on Krieg? And it wasn’t dead yet…
There must have been a hundred ways down from the old city to the newer tunnels underneath it. The tunnels in which the young trooper had been birthed and trained, in which tech-priests and medicae specialists laboured endlessly to extract and refine Krieg’s single natural resource. The techniques they used were outlawed on every other Imperial world, and with good reason. The vitae womb was this world’s most valuable asset, but its vulnerability too.
A hundred ways, each of them ostensibly sealed off long ago.
But what if the xenos found one of them? What then?
‘Wait for it. Hold your fire until it can have the greatest possible effect. A shot fired too soon is a shot wasted.’
The young trooper closed his eyes to the voice of the long-dead general. The nearest speaker in the square was broken anyway. He turned his back deliberately to his out-of-sight comrades. And he began to follow the trail.
Honour Imperialis - Braden Campbell & Aaron Dembski-Bowden & Chris Dows & Steve Lyons & Rob Sanders Page 92