by Andy Hoare
The shape at Karasinda’s feet had been a man, but now it was little more than a lump of charred meat, the stink of seared flesh filling Flint’s nostrils. The combat medic appeared entirely unmoved by the sight or by the smell, but Kohlz was on the verge of throwing up.
‘Move ahead, Kohlz,’ Flint told his aide to avoid him being violently ill. ‘But be careful for…’
‘No, sir!’ Karasinda barked, her gaze sweeping up the tunnel wall and along the ceiling.
‘What?’ Bukin called back, angry that he couldn’t see what was going on.
Kohlz froze. ‘What?’
‘Listen,’ Karasinda hissed.
Flint did so, and there, beneath the muffled sounds of gunfire echoing through the rockcrete, he heard a high-pitched hum.
‘It’s a generator,’ said Flint, craning his neck as he swept the shadows above. ‘Something like a Terminus-pattern…’
‘Kohlz,’ said Flint. ‘Step back, very slowly, now.’
The aide stared dumbly back, then followed Flint’s gaze to look directly overhead. There, set into the rockcrete, was a small brass hemisphere, glinting dully in the low light of the tunnel.
‘Crap,’ said Kohlz.
‘Now!’ Flint hissed. ‘Slowly, Kohlz…’
Kohlz swallowed hard and tensed, setting one foot gingerly behind the other as he edged backwards, his eyes fixed on the brass power node. The humming increased in pitch and volume with each step, and then a searing white arc spat outwards, passing through the space where Kohlz had been standing and grounding itself in the wet rockcrete floor.
Finally clear, Kohlz spluttered, ‘What the hell is that?’
‘It’s a power shield,’ said Flint. ‘One way, by the looks of it.’
‘Terminus-pattern, as you said, sir,’ Karasinda confirmed. ‘One more step, Kohlz, and you’d have ended up like that,’ she jerked her head towards the burned corpse sprawled nearby.
‘So what now, sir?’ Bukin called over his shoulder.
‘We find another way down,’ said Flint. ‘Get moving.’
Another explosion sounded from down another side passage as Vahn dashed across its mouth, a billowing cloud of dust and vapour swallowing him for a moment before he burst through the other side and pounded down the passageway after Trooper Solomon. Even at full tilt they were less than halfway towards the chamber floor. Once again Vahn was starting to feel cornered, and when that happened, people often got hurt.
The tunnels were turning into a warzone, though they were so intertwined and complex that Vahn’s squad had yet to cross paths with any others from their force. But they had heard them sure enough, the las-bolts, shotgun blasts and grenade explosions of the Imperial Guard competing noisily with the discharges of the myriad looted or hand-cast weapons used by the rebels. They had heard angry shouts and grunts of pain, and orders bellowed back and forth. On several occasions Vahn had been positive that one of his fellow penal troopers was just around the corner, only to find no one there. Once, a grenade had rolled out of a side passage and Vahn had only just dived clear as it detonated, lacerating his back with painful, yet ultimately non-lethal, fragments of shrapnel. He found no trace of who’d thrown the grenade.
A curse sounded from up ahead and Vahn only just threw his arm across his face as a blinding white light filled the tunnel. The air erupted and bolts of seething energy danced across the moisture coating the floor and walls, crackling and spitting as the air filled with ozone. A hot, greasy shock wave powered up the tunnel, throwing troopers aside or slamming them into the walls.
Then it all went quite and the stink of burning meat assaulted Vahn’s senses. Someone swore loudly, and someone else vomited even louder.
‘Sound off!’ Vahn shouted, his vision still swimming with livid nerve light.
‘I said…’ he shouted, before he heard the first of the squad call his name. As Vahn’s vision cleared he guessed what had happened and shouldered his way to the front of the squad.
A smoking corpse was strewn across the floor, battledress and armour burned away to reveal blackened and cracked skin. It was Katko, and he’d run straight through another power shield trip.
‘No one move,’ Vahn said through grated teeth as he quickly scanned the walls. It didn’t take long to locate the hemispherical brass nodes secreted in the rockcrete.
‘What now?’ said Solomon, his face pale and his eyes wide as he glanced back up the tunnel the way they’d come. Muffled sounds of combat drifted back from the darkness.
‘We double back to the last branch,’ said Vahn. ‘Press on ‘til we meet up with the rest.’
‘Or not,’ scowled Vendell. Several of the other penal troopers nodded while others cast nervous glances between Vahn and Vendell.
Here it comes, Vahn thought.
‘We don’t have to link up with the rest,’ Vendell said. ‘Do we? We got a whole generatorium to get lost in, if we want.’
Vahn drew himself up to his full height as the sound of closing pursuit echoed through the tunnels. Squaring off against Vendell, he looked down his nose at the man’s upturned face.
‘We’ve done this already,’ Vahn growled as he met the smaller man’s glare. ‘Now is a really bad time to kick off, Vendell.’
The other man’s face twisted in a nasty leer as he gave thought to pressing the point, but when no one else seemed willing to join him he relented. Vendell stepped backwards and stalked a few paces back up the passageway.
‘Okay,’ he called back. ‘We’ll do things your way. But I ain’t taking point,’ he nodded back towards the smoking corpse of the provost.
Vahn sighed as he shoved Vendell aside and took position at the head of the squad to lead the former convicts back the way they’d come.
Flint and the rebel came around the corner at exactly the same moment, but the commissar was quicker and far better armed. His power sword plunged through the man’s guts, its glowing tip lancing upwards to emerge between the shoulder blades. The rebel was dead before he even knew he’d been struck, and Flint pulled the blade free to let the corpse fall forward and slam into the rockcrete floor at his feet.
A las-bolt whipped down the tunnel, dispelling the shadows in the blink of an eye before slamming into the shoulder of another rebel. Flint threw himself sideways against the wall, drawing his bolt pistol as he did so. Karasinda fired again, her next shot dropping the second rebel.
A shotgun boomed in the darkness, filling the passageway with smoke and fire. Bukin racked the slide of his shotgun and fired again, shouting incoherently at enemies closing on the rear beyond Flint’s sight.
The tunnel up ahead was filling with rebels, but there was no other way down. Gritting his teeth, he levelled his bolt pistol and stepped around the corner. The space in front was some kind of landing, three or four side passages joining together and rebels streaming out of each. Flint’s first shot caught a rebel in the side of the head, the initial impact sending the man cart-wheeling backwards to crash into two others before the bolt buried in his cranium exploded and showered them both with shards of bone and grey matter.
His lip curling in disgust as he jerked his pistol left, Flint’s second shot struck another rebel and severed the arm that was raising a heavy gun jack’s piece, sending the ugly pistol clattering across the wet floor.
By the time the rebels were organised enough to fire back, Flint was already moving. Sidestepping right, he avoided a burst of automatic fire that chewed into the wall he’d just been standing in front of. His third shot took the firer clean in the centre of the chest, the bolt exploding as it plunged through his heart. The rebel’s death spasm caused him to empty his weapon’s entire magazine in less than a second, a wild spray of bullets stitching death across the landing and felling three more rebels.
An instant later, Karasinda and Kohlz were at Flint’s side, pumping fire into the mass of rebels spilling out of the tunnel entrances. Though cut down like chaff, their numbers seemed endless and it was only a matter of time b
efore Flint’s group was overwhelmed.
‘Lhor!’ Flint called out. ‘Front and centre!’
The burly dragoon emerged from the portal, Hannen at his side with a spare fuel canister in each hand. Lhor’s face was a greasy black mess, his eyes and teeth shining white as he grinned insanely.
‘Stand clear!’ he drawled, and Flint, Kohlz and Karasinda ducked back to avoid the worst of the backwash.
The heavy flamer erupted in searing chemical fire, the nozzle set to a wide aperture. A wall of fire washed outwards in an unbearable torrent, the front rank of the rebel mob simply scoured away. Those rebels further back were engulfed in seething flames and transformed into screeching human torches, though the screams of pain were mercifully attenuated. The rebels towards the back of the mob, those who had might have thought themselves safe from immediate harm, suffered the most, as gobbets of flaming promethium splashed over their bodies. It burned through clothes and skin in seconds to melt fat and bone to liquid as they bellowed in pain and threw themselves to the floor in a futile attempt to douse the all-consuming flames in steaming puddles.
‘At them!’ Flint bellowed over the roar of burning corpses as he waved the squad forward. The landing had been transformed into a vision of damnation, the floor a mass of guttering flames and smoking chunks of flesh. A shot rang out from behind as Karasinda put a las-bolt through the head of a rebel who hadn’t had the sense to die just yet. Glancing back, Flint suspected it was more an act of military necessity than one of medical compassion.
As he pressed towards a portal on the opposite side of the landing, Flint’s throat started to fill with thick, black smoke, and he coughed to clear it before lifting his rebreather over his mouth and taking a deep breath. The mask filtered the worst of the smoke, but it couldn’t keep the stench of burning flesh out.
Advancing through the burning charnel house, Flint came to the nearest of the portals and leaned in to check the way ahead. The tunnel was dimly lit by a wan light source shining from below, and Flint realised it must open up into the carceri chamber. They were almost free of the labyrinthine tunnels.
‘Sir!’ Karasinda shouted, her voice so urgent Flint froze, his subconscious telling him what was wrong before he fully realised what was happening. He looked upwards, and saw set in the rockcrete a small, brass hemisphere, its surface spitting white arcs as the air filled with a deep, subsonic hum.
‘Back away, sir,’ the medic called out. ‘Slowly.’
‘Stupid mistake,’ Flint growled under his breath as he backed carefully away from the power shield node, watching as it sparked and guttered as if reacting to his movement. As the light at the base of the steep tunnel receded as he backed away, he cursed his stupidity and thanked the Emperor for Karasinda’s alertness.
‘Which way?’ said Kohlz as he looked towards the other portals leading off into more tunnels. None of them appeared to be heading in the same direction as the one Flint had been about to plunge into. They were so close, but the power shields must have been placed to herd them into deadly killing zones as they fled towards the safety of the open carceri chamber.
Soon after taking point Vahn found an almost sheer, spiral stairwell leading straight downwards and threw caution to the wind as he descended into its lightless depths, taking the steps three or four at a time as the sound of pursuit rang out from above. He was placing his faith in the stairwell not being seeded with more power shield trips, for the ones they’d encountered so far were all set in straight corridors.
‘We must almost be there!’ shouted Solomon. Vahn was thinking the same thing and despite the sound of heavy footsteps and angry shouts ringing from high above he slowed up, his carbine raised as he approached what must have been the last few turns of the spiral stairwell.
‘What the hell is that stink?’ said Solomon, lifting his rebreather to cover his nose and mouth. ‘Smells like…’
Vahn held up a hand as he crept around the last turn and Solomon shut up. The dank air was filling with greasy black smoke illuminated by a flickering orange hell-light. As he descended the last few steps, Vahn heard the sound of crackling meat and popping fat. He made the signal to be ready for contact with an unknown number of enemies up ahead.
Counting down to zero with the fingers of his raised hands, Vahn took a deep breath and stepped neatly out from the stairwell…
…and stopped dead as he found himself staring down the barrel of Corporal Bukin’s Mark III.
‘What took you?’ Bukin leered.
Vahn lowered his carbine, which he had been about to discharge in Bukin’s face, and breathed out, his blood thundering in his ears. He looked around the landing he found himself in, his lip curling at the sight and smell of the guttering corpses feeding the fires that raged all about. Commissar Flint and his aide were approaching, while Karasinda, Lhor and Hannen covered the other entrances opening into the area.
Ignoring Bukin’s jibe, Vahn called across to the commissar, ‘We’ve got company, no more than a minute behind!’
‘Understood,’ Flint shouted back. ‘Lhor, cover the stairs, Vahn, get your squad covering the other mouths.’
As Vahn waved his squad out of the stairwell, Dragoon Lhor approached, a savage grin lighting his soot-blackened face. It looked to Vahn like the logistics man was enjoying his new role rather too much.
‘Everyone back,’ Lhor growled as he test fired a short huff of burning promethium and placed his feet wide at the entrance to the stairwell. ‘This is gonna hurt.’
Lhor waited a moment longer as the sound of heavy footsteps descending the spiral stairs grew louder. Then, he opened the nozzle, angled the heavy flamer upwards into the stairwell and let out a three second burst that arced upwards in a seething torrent of flame, silhouetting him against the raging inferno. Even against the roaring flame, Vahn heard the banshee wail of men burning alive, and he held up a hand to shield his face from the searing backwash.
‘Vahn!’ Flint shouted over the roar. ‘Have you seen any other groups?’
‘No, commissar,’ Vahn said. ‘But we saw Strannik, positive ident.’
‘Us too,’ said Flint. ‘Now we need to reach the regiment.’
‘Problem?’ said Vahn, knowing something was wrong.
‘You could say that,’ Flint muttered as he leaned inside the tunnel that the medic Karasinda was guarding and squinted up at the shadowed ceiling. ‘You’ve encountered the power shields, I take it.’
‘Yeah,’ said Vahn. ‘We…’
‘Hey,’ said Bukin. ‘Where’s Katko?’
Vahn opened his mouth to answer, but an explosion somewhere overhead rocked the landing and brought rockcrete dust showering down on the warriors.
‘Dead?’ said Bukin.
‘Walked into a power shield. I’m…’
‘Stupid khekker,’ Bukin growled, ducking his head into the tunnel mouth that Flint had just looked down into. ‘Always was. Anything, sir?’ he said.
‘Can’t tell,’ Flint growled back, scowling as another grenade explosion shook the rockcrete and brought another drift of dust pattering down. ‘Looks like we might have to take the unsubtle approach.’
‘Blast through?’ said Vahn, his eyebrows raised incredulously. ‘I guess that could work…’
‘I wouldn’t recommend it,’ said a new voice, and every warrior on the landing spun around as a black-clad figure appeared at the mouth of the side tunnel that Kohlz was supposed to be watching. Flint’s aide swung his lasgun up sharply, but the figure caught its barrel and pushed it firmly away.
‘Gruss,’ said Flint, as the Claviger-Primaris came into the open, his squad of wardens emerging behind and spreading out. The commissar looked far from happy to see the head warden. ‘We’ve tried that passage,’ Flint nodded towards the portal. ‘There’s a power shield down there.’
‘This is our domain, commissar,’ Gruss’s voice sounded from his armour’s hidden phonocasters. ‘Despite what the inmates might believe.’ Looking around the corpse-strewn, gu
ttering landing, he added, ‘Are you coming or not?’
‘Wait!’ Flint snarled. The two men squared off against one another, the tall commissar looking down into the chief warden’s glossy, black visor. The guttering corpse-fires cast baleful reflections but nothing of the man’s face was visible. ‘You knew about the power shields?’ Flint said, his voice low and dangerous.
‘Of course, commissar,’ Gruss matched Flint’s tone.
‘And you didn’t think it worth informing me?’ Flint barked.
‘Certain information regarding this facility’s security measures is…’
A deep, rumbling quake shook the landing and great chunks of rockcrete tumbled from the ceiling along with clouds of billowing dust. Neither Flint nor Gruss moved, though it was clearly time to get out, and quick.
‘Everyone!’ Vahn bellowed over the explosion’s aftershock as he darted for the mouth of the tunnel the clavigers had just emerged from. ‘Move!’
None needed telling a second time. Another deep rumble shook the rockcrete chamber and Vahn made to leave. ‘You coming or not?’ he shouted to the commissar and the chief warden.
The two men continued to stare at one another a moment longer, then each stepped backwards, the stalemate broken.
A moment later all three men were heading towards the open space of Carceri Resurecti.
Commissar Flint blinked as he emerged into the carceri chamber, a strobing wave of nigh blinding white light arcing down from directly overhead. He raised an arm to shield his eyes from the pulsing glare and saw that the light was sheet lightning, flickering in the black clouds high in the chamber. The air was charged and heavy and the instant Flint stepped out into the open he was drenched by the fine, relentless drizzle.
Several dozen warriors were emerging from nearby openings. Even though they’d found their own way around or through the Terminus field trips they must have suffered casualties, their numbers drastically reduced.
‘Commissar?’ Dragoon Kohlz pointed towards a group of penal troopers clustered around a portal further along the chamber wall. ‘It’s Skane’s multiple, sir. Looks like he’s having trouble…’