13th Legion

by Gav Thorpe

  What's that bloody noise?' Jorett asks as I hand out the rebreather masks and photolamps. I listen for a moment, brow furrowed, and hear it as well. It's like a scratching on the hull, an intermittent scraping noise.

  'Haven't a clue/ I tell him with a shrug, pulling on the head­band of my own mask. Apparendy the moon's atmosphere isn't breathable, but other than that, and the darkness of being in an underground cave, everything else is tolerable. The Colonel's watching over the men as we attempt some rudi­mentary repairs to the engines; the power relays were punctured during the crash. The tech-priest pilot is phasing in and out of consciousness, and from his scattered mumbling it's clear we're not going to go anywhere until the engines are back on-line, and a few other things are fixed up. The warrant officer who took over piloting says his last navigational contact placed us about thirty kilometres from the penal colony, well out of marching range. We've only got enough rebreathers for a dozen people, and even if we had one for everybody the tanks last for only half an hour or so before they need refilling from the shut­tle's filtering system, and that's at full stretch at the moment, running on auxiliary power. We're going outside to check for any damage to the exterior, but there's been no hull breach as far as we can tell. If the shuttle's contaminant detection systems are working, that is.

  We're running on secondary power with the engines offline and so have to hand-crank the ramp down. It's a laborious process, because two sealing bulkheads have to be lowered first to form an air-lock. It's sweaty work and the air circulators in

  the small boarding cabin are almost at overload with the eleven of us puffing and panting, making the air stale and thin. After about an hour's work we're ready to get the ramp into position.

  'Okay, get your masks in place/ I order, pulling down the mouthpiece of my own. I take a few experimental breaths to check it's working properly and then push the two nose plugs up my nostrils. I pull the visor down from my forehead, set­tling it across the bridge of my nose, and then check everybody else is ready. I get three of the men on each crank wheel, and they start turning, lowering the ramp centimetre by centimetre. I feel the wisp of a breeze blowing in as the air outside flows fit­fully inside. Five minutes later the ramp's down and I march down into the cave, switching on my photolamp. In its harsh red glare I can see the strata of different rocks in the jagged wall of me cave. Looking up, the beam disappears into the darkness, so the roof must be more than ten metres above us. I wave the rest down and set off towards the engines, the most vital part of the shuttle at the moment. Grit crunches underfoot, the floor littered with shards of rock brought down by our crash. I can hear the strange scratching noise again as I near the engine pods. The heat emanating from the thrusters makes me break out in a sweat as I approach closer.

  I ran the beam of the photolamp over the nozzles of the thrusters, looking for any cracks or dents, but don't see any­thing. I see Jorett walk past me, playing his photolamp over the engine housing on the other side. He takes a step forward for a closer look and then straightens up, a frown on his face.

  'Kage/ he says, voice muffled by the mask, waving me over, 'have a look at this/

  Stepping up beside him I look carefully where his photo­lamp is pointing. In the ruddy glare I can make out a shadow about halfway up the engine housing, just above my head. It looks like a hole and I curse inwardly. If the housing is punc­tured, it'll need patching up before the men inside can go through to reconnect the relays. Then the hole seems to move, changing shape slighdy.

  What the frag?' I hear Jorett murmur. Pulling myself up the grab rail a little, I peer closer. The hole isn't a hole at all. It's some kind of many-legged creature about the size of my hand. I can see its eyes glittering in my photolamp beam. Its ten legs

  splay outwards, hooking on to the hull of the shuttle. Its three centimetre mandibles work in and out and I see a kind of froth by its mouth. It seems totally oblivious to my presence. I prod it with the photolamp but it doesn't even move. Something else catches my eye and I look further up the fuselage. I can see another two dozen or so of the things clamped to the hull. Bubbling rivulets run down the hull, leaving metallic trails through the heat-blackened paintwork.

  'Send two men to the weapons locker in the boarding bay, and bring every flamer we've got/1 order Jorett. He hesitates for a second. 'Now, Jorett!'

  They're eating the shuttle/ I tell the sergeant after he's sent a couple of his guys heading back to the ramp. 'Have a check up front, see how many more of them there are. If they penetrate the fuselage, the air will bleed out and everyone inside will choke to deatii...'

  As he walks off, I turn my attention back to the alien bugs spread across the shuttle. Walking around to the far side of the shuttle, I count twenty more. I guess they must be like the ferro-beasts on Epsion Octarius, digesting metal ore from the rocks. The shutde must be one hell of a banquet for them, that's for sure.

  There's about forty of the fraggin' things down here!' I hear Jorett's muted shout from the front of the shutde. The two men sent inside return, each carrying a couple of flamers. I take one from each of mem and tell them to get forward with the sergeant.

  'Help me burn the litde fraggers off/1 say, passing the flamer to Lammax, the dream interpreter. I take a step back and push the firing stud on the ignition chamber, the blue flame spring­ing into life. Tossing my photolamp to one of the others, I take a firm grip of the flamer in both hands, bracing my legs apart, pointing the nozzle up at the top of the shutde. I pull the trig­ger and let flames spray out six metres across the shutde for a couple of seconds. In the pause between bursts I see flickering orange from ahead and know that Jorett's doing the same up front. Lammax opens up and I can see patches of steaming grease where the alien beasties used to be. Lammox redirects the flow of fire and burning flamer fuel slides down the hull, splashing a metre or so to my right.

  'Watch where you're fraggin' pointin' that thing!' I cry out and the flames disappear. Opening up the flamer again, I send

  an orange jet of fire washing over the thrusters, making sure none of the creatures are hiding inside the nozzles. For another minute I make my way sideways along the shuttle sending bursts across the roof every few metres. Patches of flamer oil carry on burning, stuck to the fuselage, illuminating the cave with a flickering orange light.

  'Okay, cease fire!' I call out. Swapping the flamer for my pho­tolamp again, I clamber up the grab rails to stand on top of the shutde. Playing the beam of the photolamp across the roof, I can see blistered, melted paint and nothing else. I turn to call back to the others that it's all clear, when a strange noise starts echoing around the cave, a low continuous scraping. Scanning around with the photolamp, I see that there's a tunnel leading off about twenty metres from the rear of the shutde. As I look, I see a shadow moving down the tunnel towards us, accompa­nied by the same scratching sound we heard inside the shutde, only getting much louder.

  'Oh frag,' I whisper as the tide of aliens sweeps into the chamber, spreading across die cave floor like a living carpet.

  'Flamers!' I bellow to the oblivious guardsmen below, point­ing to the approaching mass of aliens. Jorett comes running back from the front of the shutde as once more blazing fires illuminate the cave. He sets himself up next to Lammax and fiddles for a moment with the nozzle of die flamer before send­ing a wide sheet of fire arcing towards die tunnel. I hastily clamber back to the ground, constantly looking over my shoul­der to see what's going on.

  'We're bloody holding diem/ declares Jorett as he unleashes another burst.

  Yes, but not forever, they're spreading out/ adds Lammax, pausing to point to his left. I see that it's true, the creatures are spilling around the flamer fire, threatening to surround us.

  'Darvon! Thensson!' I call out to the troopers with flamers. 'Get yourself over there and push them back to the tunnel/ As they do as I ordered, I step up between Jorett and Lammax. We've got to keep die little fraggers contained within the tun­nel, where they can't get around us/
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  As we force them back, step by step, something else occurs to me.

  'Did you see any other tunnels down the front?' I ask Jorett, casting a panicked glance behind me.

  'Rest up/ he replies. That was the first fraggin' thing I checked/

  Breathing a sigh of relief I step back and let them carry on with their work. A couple of minutes later and we're stood at the mouth of the cave. It's about two and a half metres across and the same high, almost circular.

  'I'm out/ calls Thensson, pulling the flamer up to his shoul­der.

  'Get to the weapons locker, there should be spare canisters inside/ I tell him.

  They've stopped!' exclaims Darvon. Pushing past, I see he's right. There's no sign of them for the twenty metres we can see up the tunnel, before it curves away out of sight.

  They'll be back/ I say heavily. They must have a nest or something close by, for that many to get here so quick. We'll go and hunt them down/

  'Are you fraggin' sure?' asks Jorett. We've already been out here ten minutes. We've only got twenty minutes of fraggin' air left/

  'Emperor alone knows how many of those things are up there/ I tell them. The flamers are almost out of fuel already. Who can tell how many more attacks we can stave off. No, we hit the lair, get them all in one place at the same time/

  'I'm not sure...' Jorett continues, squaring up to me.

  'I'm in charge/ I growl at him and he backs down, shaking his head.

  I was right: the tunnel led direct to their nest, about two hun­dred metres from the shuttle. There's a massive cavern, the far wall too distant to see in the light of the photolamps. There's one more refill for each of the flamers, which might not be enough, because there's thousands of the creatures. They seem to be in some disarray, swarming haphazardly all over the place, covering the floor and scuttling along the walls and roof. Like before, they're not paying us any attention and I lead the squad further into the chamber. I can see another four tunnels leading off this cave, some heading up, others heading down, it's quite a network they've chewed themselves out down here. I wonder if the authorities at the penal colony know what's right under their feet.

  'Sir/ Jorett attracts my attention with a terse whisper, jerking his head to one side. Looking over in that direction I see a mass

  of yellow alien eggs, little fleshy sacs about the size of your thumb. They stretch across the floor in a rough circle, spread­ing beyond the beam of the photolamp, tens of thousands of them. In the ruddy glare of the photolamps I can make out a larger, darker shape. It's about a metre tall, bloated atop dozens of spindly legs, sitting on a pile of eggs at the centre of the nest.

  'I reckon that's the breeder/ Darvon says with a meaningful look.

  'Let's torch it!' I snarl, grabbing Darvon's flamer and heading towards the mother bug. It turns its head towards us as we reach the edge of the egg-pile, a cluster of eyes staring back at me, a look of intelligence in them. I raise the flamer and point it directly at the breeder, smiling grimly inside my mask. Just then I notice movement to my left and right. The other guards­men have noticed it too and start backing away from the eggs. From the side tunnels, another sort of creature is scuttling into view. They stand waist-high on ten many-jointed legs, with vicious-looking horns jutting forward from their insect-like heads. More and more of them are pouring in, hastening behind us to cut off our retreat.

  'Run for it!' I bellow, pulling the trigger of the flamer, engulf­ing the mother alien in flames, seeing it writhe for a moment in the fires before collapsing in on itself. The air is filled with a hissing sound and the soldier bugs, I guess that's what they are, rush towards us, moving rapidly on their many legs. The others are already heading for the tunnel and I pound after them, jet­ting the flamer to my left and right a couple of times as the aliens get too close.

  One of the soldiers scuttles up the wall around the tunnel entrance and hurls itself at Jorett, landing on his shoulders and clamping its legs around his face. He screams as it drives its horns into his throat, spraying blood as the sergeant falls to the floor. In his death-spasm the sergeant's finger tightens on the trigger of his flamer sending a gout of fire searing across the back of one of the other guardsmen, Mallory. Mallory flounders for a moment as the flames lick up his fatigues and his hair catches fire. He comes flailing towards me, his skin melting and bub­bling around his rebreather mask, eyes staring wide through the visor, and I have to leap to my right to stop him grabbing hold of me. He falls flat on his face, a gurgling shriek issuing from his lips. He claws at his face for a moment as his mask melts into the

  flesh, before collapsing and lying still. I haven't got time to give him a second thought, two of the soldiers are between me and the tunnel, legs constricting, ready to jump. A flame whooshes out from the tunnel, incinerating the aliens in an instant, ashes wafting around in the heat of the fire. I see Thensson standing there, waving me on. Leaping over the charred, smouldering corpses of the soldiers, I head into the tunnel.

  We make a fighting withdrawal down the passage towards the shuttle. Thensson, Lammax and I take it in turns to hold back the pursuing aliens before falling back past the next flarner man. It takes us another ten minutes to get back to the cave, where we make our stand again at the tunnel entrance. Lammax is on point when I see that he's aiming too low; some of the soldiers are scutding along the roof of the passage. I shout out, but it's too late, one of them drops on to him, spikes piercing his shoulder. Darvon grabs the thing and flings it away and I drag Lammax out of the way as Thensson steps up to take his place, the first burst from his flarner scouring the ceiling.

  Lammax is trying to scratch at the wound, but I hold his hand away, kneeling on his chest to stop him thrashing around too much. The puncture is deep, but doesn't look too bad until I see a thick, tar-like substance smeared with the blood - poi­son probably. Lammax recognises the look on my face and glances at his shoulder, eyes wide with horror. Tears of pain roll down his cheek, pooling at the bottom of his visor. With a lunge, he pushes me off his chest, wrenching the knife from my belt. I make a grab to get it back, but I'm not quick enough; he rams it into his chest up to die hilt.

  'Right!' I shout, standing up and pushing the others away from where they've clustered around Lammax's body. 'Everyone share a rebreather and get back on the shuttle. Leave the rest for me.'

  "What the frag are you talking about, sir?' demands Thensson over his shoulder.

  'We don't know how long it's going to take to fix the shutde engines/ I explain hurriedly, jabbing a finger down the tunnel to remind Thensson to keep watch. 'One man can hold this tunnel just as well as all of us, and if you give me your masks I'll be able to stay longer than if everyone stands out here together/

  You get back on board/ insists Darvon, picking up Lammax's flarner, 'and I'll hold 'em off/

  'Don't even think about arguing with me on this one/ I snap back. This ain't self-sacrifice crap, I just don't trust you not to get yourselves killed. Now give me that flarner and get your sorry hide onto that shuttle/

  They exchange glances with each other, but when they see the determined look in my eye, I see them give up the fight. Thensson backs away, firing a final burst of fire down the tun­nel, before hooking the strap of the flarner off his shoulder and leaning the weapon up against the wall.

  'Soon as you run out of fuel or air, get inside/ he says fiercely, staring at me, daring me to contradict him.

  'Get out of my sight/ I say, shooing him away with a wave of the flamer.

  I'm left on my own, with three flamers and about an hour's worth of air. I just hope it's enough because one way or the other, if either isn't enough I'm a dead man.

  I've fended off another half a dozen attacks over quarter of an hour when Thensson comes running up beside me. I've already had to swap masks once, and the tank on the one I'm wearing is getting low.

  'What the frag are you doin' here?' I demand, pushing him back towards the shutde.

  The Colonel sent me to tell you tha
t main power's been restored/ he says, batting my arm away. 'It'll be another half an hour before we can ignite the take-off thrusters. Do you reckon you can hang on that long?'

  This flamer's almost out, the others are both half full/1 reas­sure him. He nods and heads back to the shutde, glancing once more over his shoulder. My attention is back on the tunnel as I see another wave of aliens scutding towards me. I fire the last shot from the flamer and then toss it to one side, grabbing another from beside me and opening up again straight away. It's going to be a long half hour.

  I reckon there's four, maybe five, shots left in the last flamer. I'm onto the last rebreather as well, and I glance back towards the shutde to see any sign that they've succeeded in fixing the thrusters. There isn't. Looking back down the tunnel, I can see

  a mound of twisted, burnt alien bodies, half-filling it. The crea­tures are amazing, throwing themselves time and time again into certain death. I can't understand why they do it. They don't look intelligent enough to be out for vengeance for killing their breeder, and the shuttle isn't worth the hundreds of dead they've suffered. Then again, people have asked me why I don't just kill myself rather than stay in the Last Chancers, fighting battle after battle. They've got a point, because if I did it myself I could make sure it's quick, clean and painless, rather than risking agony and mutilation on the bat­tlefield. But for me, that isn't the point. I am not going to die for the Colonel.

  Once, I was willing to die for the Emperor and the Imperium, but the more I've seen of what they represent, the more I've decided they aren't worth it. I've been around a fair bit in the last three years, since I signed up for the Imperial Guard, and I've not seen anything that makes me think all the sacrifices are any use. Millions of guardsmen and Navy guys are dying all the time, and for what? So that ingrate planetary commanders, car­dinals and officers can notch up another pointless victory? So that some Departmento Munitorum or Administratum clerk can make a notation on a star chart to say that a worthless lump of rock is still under Imperial control? So that I can be stood here on this stupid moon, facing a swarm of alien beasts on my own so that I can go off and risk my neck in some other damned war?