[Imperial Guard 05] - Ice Guard

by Steve Lyons - (ebook by Undead)

  The prisoner blanched at the prospect.

  “Please,” he stammered, “I’ve told you all I know. Don’t make me… I can’t go up against him, he’s too… he’s too strong. You can’t beat him. It took Mangellan less than a month to drive the Imperial Guard out of Iota Hive, hundreds of thousands of them. Hundreds of thousands of men dead, and you… There are only a handful of you.”

  Steele had made up his mind about the cultist now, but still he glanced up at Blonsky and Mikhaelev for a second and third opinion.

  “Do you believe him?” he asked, and the troopers confirmed that they did. “Good,” said Steele. “I do, too.”

  He drew his laspistol, and shot the young cultist through the head.

  The Aquila had been gutted. Even its seats, once luxuriously appointed for the carriage of dignitaries, had been torn out, and the mutants had left their slobber everywhere. Still, once the passenger compartment had been cleaned up a little and blankets laid out, it made an adequate shelter for nine dog-tired soldiers.

  Much more than that, the ship could not offer. Grayle had been unable to start the engines, to no one’s surprise, and the comms were fried. Barreski, however, had found a portable vox-caster, not too badly damaged. The only thing it lacked was power — and a few hours of sunlight, even through Cressida’s grey clouds, would provide that. He thought he could have it working by mid-morning. Steele could then contact a naval vessel, report the loss of the Termite and arrange an airlift for after they had found Wollkenden.

  For the first time in half a day, Grayle could see a way off this world, and the prospect cheered him — almost enough for him to overlook the small fact that an army of Chaos worshippers stood between the Ice Warriors and their goal.

  He and Barreski had taken the first shift of the night watch, being in better condition than most. Grayle sat in the Aquila’s hatchway, alert for any sign of an approaching foe, hearing only the deep breathing of the sleeping men behind him. Barreski was over by the embers of the campfire, laying out a number of broken machine parts in the scant light. It was unlikely he’d be able to salvage anything more of use, but he wanted to be sure.

  It was Grayle, then, who saw it: a movement, behind the rise on which the Ice Warriors and the cultists had fought. He had only glimpsed it out of the corner of his eye, couldn’t be sure that there had been anything at all. But Barreski had picked up on his body language, and ceased his tinkering.

  They watched the dark shape of the rise for a while, but saw nothing, heard nothing. At last, Grayle signalled to his fellow tanker that he was going to take a closer look.

  While Barreski covered him with his lasgun, Grayle crept forward, keeping low. As he climbed the rise, he lowered himself onto his stomach and crawled the final few metres. He lay there for a few minutes, overlooking the field through which his squad had so recently marched, feeling the wet snow seeping into his greatcoat, letting his eyes adjust to every shadow in the darkness until he was sure it was no threat.

  There it was again!

  It had just disappeared behind another natural contour: a grey-furred figure with an odd shambling gait. Quickly, Grayle weighed up his options. If this was indeed a mutant, and it was alone, then he and Barreski could handle it. They had no need to wake the others — and anyway, by the time they had done so, it might have escaped, might have gone to fetch more like itself. But then, what if it was not alone? What if it had been sent to lead him into an ambush?

  He didn’t think that was likely. It was trying too hard not to be seen.

  With a quick warning gesture to Barreski, to stay where he was, Grayle plunged down the rise and went after the creature.

  “Colonel Steele. Colonel Steele, sir.”

  Steele was sitting up before he had opened his eyes, some inbuilt danger sense putting him on the alert. Immediately, he checked his internal chrono, which told him that he had been asleep for just under three hours. He was still blind in his right eye. Palinev was beside him, had just shaken him awake, and around them five more Ice Warriors were beginning to stir.

  Something was burning, but Steele couldn’t pinpoint the source of the smell.

  “I heard a shot,” reported Palinev, and Steele could tell from his comrades’ body language that Gavotski, Blonsky and Anakora had been woken by it too. It irked him that he had not, that his acoustic enhancers had apparently failed him again.

  “It sounded close,” said Anakora, “maybe just outside.”

  “And I don’t see any sign of Barreski or Grayle,” added Palinev.

  Gavotski and Pozhar had drawn their lasguns and were making for the open, empty hatchway. They peered around its frame, and Pozhar reported that there was nothing out there. A second later, he added, “No, no, wait, I can see someone, running towards us. It looks like… It’s Barreski, and here comes Grayle. It looks like they’re okay.”

  “Maybe they were just taking pot-shots at rats,” said Mikhaelev.

  “I don’t think so,” said Blonsky. “I think Trooper Anakora was wrong. I don’t think that gunshot came from outside the ship at all.”

  Everyone turned to look at him, and Steele saw that he was holding the vox-caster, now a smouldering wreck, its components fused together, the source of the burning smell.

  “You think…?” began Palinev, in disbelief.

  “I think,” said Blonsky, “that a single las-beam was fired at this machine — and it must have been fired from inside this compartment.”

  Barreski appeared in the hatchway to find seven pairs of eyes staring at him. “What the hell happened here?” he asked. “Did someone fire a lasgun?”

  “We were about to ask you the same question,” said Steele.

  “You’re the one who’s supposed to be on watch,” said Pozhar. “You and Grayle.”

  “You didn’t see anyone?” asked Anakora.

  Grayle had appeared at Barreski’s shoulder. “There was something,” he reported. “Another mutant, I think. I tried to follow it, but I lost it. I don’t know how it got away, it must have moved like lightning.”

  “So, you let this mutant lure you away from the ship?” asked Steele.

  Barreski shook his head firmly. “Grayle went after the mutant. I went as far as the top of the rise, to keep an eye on him, but I never left sight of the lander. There’s no way anything could have got near this hatchway without my seeing it.”

  “Are you certain about that?” asked Steele. He indicated the remains of the vox-caster, still in Blonsky’s hands, and Barreski’s face fell as he saw the damage for the first time. “Because if this was not the work of an intruder…”

  “Then one of us is a traitor,” said Blonsky.

  “Now steady on,” said Gavotski. “Let’s not jump to conclusions, shall we?”

  But Blonsky insisted, “The evidence speaks for itself. One of us must have woken, found himself unobserved and taken the opportunity to destroy the vox-caster, our best hope of being able to complete this mission.”

  “Why are you looking at me?” cried Pozhar. “I saw you, you were looking at me as you said that. You’ve done nothing but criticise me, and question my loyalty, since we climbed into the Termite.”

  “I think you are more concerned with your personal glory,” said Blonsky, “than with serving the Emperor. I consider that a dangerous attitude.”

  “Even if that were true,” said Gavotski, “it doesn’t make Pozhar the guilty party.”

  “You’re just accusing me,” said Pozhar hotly, “because you have something to hide. Well, how about it, Blonsky? I didn’t see you when that mutant attacked me. What were you doing when Borscz died?”

  “He was fighting alongside me,” said Anakora. “He played his part.”

  “Yeah?” said Pozhar. “So, maybe we should look at you then. Maybe we should ask how you managed to survive Astaroth Prime when no one else in your company did. Oh yeah, I know all about that, Anakora. I remember your name.”

  “Sergeant Gavotski is right,” S
teele broke in. “None of us is above suspicion.”

  “Well, Grayle and I can vouch for each other,” said Barreski.

  “Can you?” asked Palinev. “I… I don’t meant to imply anything, it’s just… well, you know that Grayle couldn’t have snuck in here, but can he say the same for you? He must have taken his eyes off you to search for that mutant.”

  “I’ve known Barreski since basic training,” said Grayle, “and apart from anything else, the last thing he’d do is harm one of his precious machines. It was him who found the vox-caster in the first place, remember?”

  “Then there is our comrade Mikhaelev,” said Blonsky, “who has had nothing to say for himself so far. In fact, it is rare that he voices his thoughts — but when he does speak, he says more than he thinks he does.”

  Mikhaelev turned purple, and spluttered, “I have always followed orders.”

  “But you have not always agreed with them, have you? Tell me, Mikhaelev, how greatly does it bother you that the Emperor considers your life less valuable than that of a man like Confessor Wollkenden?”

  “There’s one possibility none of you has considered,” said Steele. “The traitor could be me.” His quiet words brought down a heavy silence, as he had known they would.

  “You all know about the augmetics in my brain,” he continued. “My heart may not have been corrupted by Chaos, but what if my head has been?”

  Their initial shock dispelled, the Ice Warriors rushed to assure their commander that they couldn’t believe it, that the Emperor would allow no such thing to happen. He raised his hand to stem their protests.

  “I’m just making a point,” he said. “We know nothing for sure — and until we do, we can gain nothing by hurling accusations.”

  “Colonel Steele is right,” said Gavotski. “I am pleased with the way this squad has bonded so far. We must not jeopardise that. We will fight again tomorrow, as comrades, and we need to be able to trust each other.”

  “Nevertheless,” said Blonsky, “I would request that the colonel search each of us for signs of mutation — and that, for the rest of the night, we have one man standing sentry outside this ship, and two inside.”

  Pozhar pretended to be asleep.

  Anakora and Mikhaelev were sitting nearby, Steele having agreed to Blonsky’s suggestion that the guard be increased. Pozhar didn’t want them to see that he was awake, couldn’t let them suspect that his conscience was troubling him. The back of his right hand itched, but he didn’t dare scratch it.

  He didn’t know why he had done it.

  He had woken from a vivid and troubling dream, had perhaps been half-dreaming still. It had taken him a minute to work out where he was, to identify the shapes around him as those of his comrades, to see the vox-caster on the floor beside the hatchway, to remember…

  In the dream, Steele had contacted the Imperial Navy on that caster. They had told him that the search for the confessor had become too dangerous, that they were sending another lander for his squad, that Cressida was to be left to its new masters. The details were hazy, but Pozhar thought he remembered an army of cultists and mutants, laughing. Laughing at the Ice Warriors as they turned their backs on their mission, as they turned and ran.

  He had acted on instinct. He had seen that Grayle had abandoned his post. No one was watching him. It had all been exactly as Blonsky had said: one las-beam, one squeeze of his trigger. He hadn’t even thought about the sound it would make. As the other Ice Warriors had woken, Pozhar had dropped back onto his blanket and pretended to be waking too, although his heart had been hammering in his chest and he had felt a cold flush down his back.

  His right hand was itching like crazy now. He shifted his position, carefully, until he could reach it with his left. Steele and Gavotski had searched everyone, again as Blonsky had suggested. Pozhar had been certain he would pass their inspection, but still he had felt relieved to be given the all-clear. The verdict had reaffirmed his belief in himself, reassured him that although he couldn’t explain what he had done, he had done it for the right reasons. For the Emperor.

  His questing fingers found the back of his right hand, and Pozhar froze in horror as he felt something unfamiliar, something strange, something that had not been there an hour ago: a tuft of fur.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Time to Destruction of Cressida: 23.53.42

  The first avalanche was a small one.

  The Ice Warriors had been expecting it. Still, all they could do was brace themselves as the snow shifted beneath their feet — and hope, of course, that this small slide would not trigger a bigger one.

  They had faced a choice this morning: take the well-trodden roads to Mangellan’s stronghold, the erstwhile Iota Hive, facing the likelihood of more encounters with the enemy en route, or attempt to approach through treacherous, snow-laden hills. Steele, being unlike many other commanders, had opened the question to debate. It had been the only time so far today that his troopers had spoken more than two words to each other.

  The accusations of the previous night hung like a dark cloud over them. Even Palinev, although still scouting ahead, reported back more frequently than he had done yesterday, as if thinking that too long an absence might arouse the suspicions of his comrades. He might have been right. Everyone was watching each other, and Steele could hardly blame them. He was watching too.

  They waited for the snow to settle, and then they moved on in silence.

  As they rounded the edge of a hill, the contours of the land brought the hive back into view, just a few kilometres ahead of them. The sight made Steele’s stomach turn. Every horizontal surface of the city was thick with snow, every vertical plane iced over. It looked unreal, like a life-sized model sculpted from the ice. There was no doubt at all that the Chaos infection of Cressida had Iota Hive in the firmest of grips, had corrupted it beyond all hope of reclamation.

  This morning, Steele’s squad had agreed that they stood a better chance against the perils of their environment than they did against more of Mangellan’s followers. Even Pozhar had not argued too strongly for a full-frontal approach to the hive. In fact, he seemed unusually subdued, although whether this was due to the events of last night or to his damaged gun arm, Steele could not say.

  He was starting to wonder if they had made the wrong choice.

  His men had all been brought up on Valhalla; these surroundings looked almost familiar to them. They thought they knew all the perils that the snow and the ice could bring, were alert for the warning signs — and if the worst should happen, as it had on the frozen lake, then they thought they knew how to minimise the consequences. A squad from any other world would have been dead by now; for the Ice Warriors of Valhalla, this was just a morning stroll.

  But as Gavotski had pointed out inside the glacier, the water on this world had been infected too. And the snow and the ice didn’t always behave as it should.

  The second avalanche was bigger. Much bigger.

  Steele couldn’t blame anyone in his squad for setting it off. It started high above them, and came crashing down at them like a tidal wave. It might have been a natural consequence of recent snowfall upon hard-packed ice — but the timing of it, at least, was suspicious.

  The Ice Warriors, minus Palinev, were spread out across a hillside, keeping a short distance between each of them in case of just such an occurrence — but the avalanche was in the perfect spot, and exactly wide enough, to threaten all eight of them.

  Barreski and Grayle were at the greatest risk. They were closest to the centre of the flow, the point at which the snow would be moving its fastest. They knew they couldn’t outrun it — an avalanche of this size could reach a speed of two hundred kilometres per hour — but they used the few seconds they had before it hit to make a sprint for its edge, as did their comrades.

  Gavotski and Steele, who had been respectively leading the procession and following at its rear, had the least far to go. Steele ran for all he was worth, but still it wasn’t enough. It
could never have been enough. He turned his back to the avalanche as it reached him, and prepared for the impact.

  It felt as if a rug had been pulled out from under him. He maintained his balance for as long as he could, but he was soon swept away. He pedalled with his arms and legs, as if swimming, knowing that to resist the tide would be futile, attempting to ride it instead. The landscape flashed by to each side of him, and Steele could only hope that he wouldn’t be dashed against something solid.

  He was aware of Blonsky being carried alongside him — and of Anakora, who had managed to grab a sturdy tree before the snow hit and was clinging to it for dear life, being left behind. He did the best he could to keep track of them both, as he knew they would be doing for the comrades to each side of them.

  Steele went under several times, and his mind flashed back to the frozen lake. He was determined not to be buried, not to lose consciousness again — and so, each time he was engulfed, he kicked and he thrashed, and he put all the strength he had into his swimming stroke, and he resurfaced.

  After what seemed like an age, it was over. Steele was half-buried, breathless, but still able to dig himself free and climb to his feet. He had only been carried a short distance, but his surroundings looked very different to him now. The shifting snow had formed new contours, and covered old landmarks. Closing his one good eye, the colonel reoriented himself by his internal compass.

  He found Anakora first, three hundred metres up the slope behind him, still holding onto her tree, although she had been buried up to the chest. She was stronger than she looked, he thought. She was also safe.

  He couldn’t say the same for Blonsky. There was no sign of him. He had to have gone under. Steele hurried to the spot at which he had last seen him, and soon found a single gloved hand protruding from the snow, its fingers waggling in a feeble attempt to summon help. Fortunately, the snow hadn’t set too hard yet, and Steele was able to scoop handfuls of it away, to reveal Blonsky’s head. A minute later, he had freed an arm too, and he knew his trooper could do the rest for himself.