by Gav Thorpe
Those/ the Colonel continues, jabbing a finger towards the pile of parchments, 'are Imperial pardons for each and every one of you. I will sign and seal them once we have completed our final mission. You can refuse, in which case the provosts will take you to another penal legion/
'And the Heretic Priests of Eidoline came forth, bringing false images for the praise of the lost people/ Kronin says, frowning hard.
ЛМш?' says the Colonel, taken aback by the madman's statement.
'He means this is far too simple/ translates Lorii. I know what she means, the offer seems too good to be true. And then I
understand that it isn't, that I know what the Colonel has in mind.
'You were serious when you said we're going into Coritanorum/ I say slowly, making sure the other Last Chancers understand the statement.
'Of course I was serious, Kage/ the Colonel answers brusquely. ^Vhy would I not be serious?'
"Well/ puts in Linskrug, leaning forward, 'mere is the small matter that Coritanorum is the most impregnable citadel in die sector, the most unassailable fortress for a month's warp travel in every direction.'
'No citadel is impregnable/ the Colonel replies, radiating self-confidence and sincerity.
The fact that five hundred thousand Imperial Guard, backed up by the Imperial Navy, haven't been able to take the place doesn't vex you?' blurts out Linskrug, highly perturbed by what the Colonel is proposing.
We shall not be storming Coritanorum, mat would be ridiculous/ the Colonel tells us in an irritated voice. 'We shall be infiltrating the complex and rendering it inoperable from the inside/
'Assuming you can get us inside - which is a hell of an assumption - there's about three million people living in mat city/ I say, brow knitted as I try to work out what the Colonel's whole plan is. "We're bound to be discovered. Frag, I couldn't even hide among people on my own side, on my own/
Then we shall have to endeavour to do better than your recent exploits/ the Colonel replies curtly, obviously getting impatient with our reluctance. 'Make your decisions now. Are you coming with me, or do I transfer you?'
'Count me out/ says Linskrug emphatically, shaking his head vehemently. When he continues he looks at each of us in turn, forcing himself to speak slowly and surely. This is so insane, so reckless, it's unbelievable. It's sheer suicide trying to attack Coritanorum with seven people. I am going to survive this and get my barony back, and marching into the middle of a strongly held rebel fortress is not going to help me do that. Do what you will, I'm not going along with this suicide squad deal.'
Very well/ the Colonel says calmly, strolling over to the bed with the pardons on. He sorts through them for a moment, finds Linskrug's and holds it up for all to see. Then, slowly and
deliberately, he begins to tear it up. He tears it lengthways down the middle and then puts the two halves together and tears it across its width. He does this a couple more times until sixteen ragged pieces nestle in his hand. With the same deliberation he tips his hand over, the scraps of parchment fluttering to the floor around his boots. He treads on the pieces, twisting his foot on top of them to scrunch them up and tear them even more. We watch this in horrified silence, and to me it's like he's torn up and scuffed out Linskrug.
He bends over and picks up another pardon, holding it up for us to see. I read my name across the top and my heart flutters. Linskrug has got a good point: the whole idea of going into Coritanorum is suicidal. I have a philosophy about staying alive, and that's to do it for as long as possible. Going into the enemy fort isn't going to help that at all. But for all this, that's my life the Colonel has gripped between finger and thumb. If I say yes, and I survive this ridiculous mission, then I'll be free. I'll be able to do whatever I want. Stay in the Guard possibly, make a home for myself here on Typhos Prime, or perhaps be able to work my way back to where I was born on Olympas.
If I survive...
The Colonel looks at me with those ice-shards he has for eyes, an expectant expression on his face. I think about all the pain, misery and danger I've been through in the past three years, and consider the whole of my life being like that. I can tell that this is the only chance I've got to get out of the penal legions. If I'm ttansferred, I'm dead, sooner or later. That'll be the whole of my fate, for perhaps another three years if I'm lucky; just more wars and death and wondering when that bullet or las-bolt will finally get me. Perhaps I'll end up like Kronin, head snapped with the enormity of my destiny. And will there be someone around to watch my back the same way I look out for Kronin? Maybe, maybe not, but do I want to risk it? One choice, almost certain death, but the chance for freedom. The other choice, death almost as certainly, and no escape. I had my best bid for getting out the easy way here on Typhos Prime, and that wasn't good enough, and besides, do I really want to spend the rest of my life wondering if I could have done it the proper way?
All these thoughts are whirling round my head at the speed of a las-bolt, everyone else seems to be caught in some kind of stasis loop around me, the universe pausing in its slow life to
let me make my decision. And through it all there's a recurring voice at the back of my head. You're an Imperial Guardsman, it says. This is the chance to prove yourself, it tells me. This is where you show them all that you're worth something. This is where the Colonel sees what kind of man you are. A man, it repeats, not a criminal scumbag.
'I'm in, Colonel/ I hear myself saying, my mind feeling like it's floating around a hand's breadth above my head, letting some other part of me take control for the moment. The others give their answers but I don't register what they actually say, my mind is still racing around and around, trying to catch up with itself. I hear Gudmanz muttering how dying in Coritanorum will be a release for him. Then, with a slamming sensation in my consciousness it hits home.
If I survive this, I'm free to walk away.
I have no doubt that the Colonel will keep his promise. All I need to do is survive one more mission, one more battle. Okay, it's Coritanorum, but I've been through some real crap lately and I'm still here. Who knows, this could be easy in comparison, if the Colonel's got it figured right.
With this realisation seeping into my thoughts I manage to turn my attention to the others. There's still only one torn-up parchment on the floor, so mat must mean all the others accepted as well. They're looking at me, including the Colonel, and I realise that someone was speaking to me but I hadn't heard them, my mind was so engrossed in its own thoughts.
"What?' I say, forcing myself to try to think straight. It's going to be essential to think clearly if I'm going to get to see that pardon again.
"We said that we were going with you, not the Colonel/ repeats Lorii, looking encouragingly at me.
'What?' I snap, angry because I'm confused. 'What the hell does that mean?'
'It means that if you think we can make it, we're willing to try/ Loron explains, his pale face a picture of sincerity.
'Okay then, guardsmen/ the Colonel says. *We move out at nightfall. You have two hours to prepare yourselves/
The storm seems to be passing, the thunder rumbling away to be replaced by the roar of distant artillery batteries. We're sitting on a rocky hillock, about eight hundred metres past the
current Imperial trenchline, as far as I can tell. A plain stretches out for a few kilometres in front of us, swarming with rebels. It seems to be a kind of staging area, the open ground buzzing with activity. In the distance I can just about make out a sally port of Coritanorum. Two gatehouses flank a big armoured portal dug into an outcrop of rock from the mountain into which most of the citadel is dug. It's that mountain that makes it so easy to defend, rendering it impervious to all but the most sustained and concentrated orbital bombardment. Who knows how deep its lowest levels go? The parts that are above ground are rings of concentric curtain walls, each metres thick and constructed of bonded plasteel and rockcrete, making it hard to damage with shells and energy weapons, their slanted shape designed to d
eflect attacks towards die dead ground between them. That open space is a killing ground too, left dear and smooth to give no cover for any foe fortunate enough to get over one of the walls. I can see why half a million guardsmen have thrown themselves against this bastion of defiance with no effect.
I'm distracted as a cluster of starshells soar into the air over to die west, to our left, exploding in a blast of yellow blossoms.
That is the signal we have been awaiting/ the Colonel says from where he's stood on me lip of an abandoned rebel trench.
The fighting's moved away from this area now, and die communications trench along this ridgeline gives us perfect cover from the scrutiny of Coritanorum's defenders. The forces being assembled before us are probably for a push along the southern flank of the Imperial line, hoping perhaps to turn the end of the line and pin a large part of the Emperor's troops between mis sally and the walls of Coritanorum.
The diversionary attack will have begun/ the Colonel informs us, clicking shut the case of a gold chronometer that he procured from the commissariat, before we left the relay outpost where he'd given us our ultimatum. Placing the timer into a deep pocket of his greatcoat, he looks around, seemingly at ease. Very at ease, actually, considering mis is the most important and riskiest mission we've ever been involved in.
The sound of small stones skittering over the rocks above us gets everybody swinging round with weapons raised - except the Colonel, who's still stood there gazing towards Coritanorum.
'Good evening, Lieutenant Striden/ the Colonel says without looking, and we see a young man scrabbling down from the ridgeline, his thin face split with a wide grin.
'Good to see you, Colonel Schaeffer/ the man says pleasantly, nodding politely in greeting to each of us as well. He's swathed head to foot in an elaborate camouflage cape, patterned to blend in almost perfecdy with the grey-brown rocks of the hills around Coritanorum. He jumps over the narrow trench to stand next to die Colonel, the cape fluttering around him.
'Now, Colonel Schaeffer?' Striden asks excitedly.
When you are ready, Lieutenant Striden/ the Colonel affirms widi a nod.
'What's happening, sir?' Lorii asks, looking suspiciously at Striden.
'Lieutenant Striden is going to call down some fire on these rebels, to clear a path to the sally port/ the Colonel replies, dropping down into the trench.
'You're going to need some big guns to shift that lot/ I say to the lieutenant. He turns his permanent grin towards me.
'Oh, we have some very large ordnance, Mr Kage/ he says, pulling a complex-looking device from beneam his cape. He squats down and opens up a shutter in the fist-sized box, holding it up to his eye. His fingers travel back and forth along a row of knobs down the side of what is evidendy a range-finder or something, making small adjustments. Pulling the box away from his face, Striden looks down and I see a series of numbers and letters displayed on a digi-panel. He nods with a satisfied look and then looks upwards into the cloud-filled night sky.
Wind's sou' sou' west, wouldn't you say, Mr Kage?' he says suddenly.
Wind?' I blurt back, taken completely by surprise at this unusual question.
'Yes/ he says, glancing at me with a smile, 'and it looks as if tiiere is a counter-cyclic at about six thousand metres/
Your guns must lob their shells a hell of a long way up for that to matter/ comments Loron from the other side of the lieutenant.
'Oh no, tiiey don't go up at all, they just come down/ he replies amiably, pressing a stud on the bottom of the gadget and holding it up above his head.
'Doesn't go up...' murmurs Gudmanz. This is coming from orbit?'
That's right/ Striden affirms with a nod. 'I'm ground observation officer for the batdeship Emperor's Benevolence. She'll be opening fire shortly/
'A batdeship?' I ask incredulously. My mind fills with memories of the cruiser that was with us in the Kragmeer system, and the rows of massive guns along her broadside. Emperor knows how much firepower this batdeship has!
'Here it comes/ Striden says happily, directing our eyes upwards with his own gaze.
The sky above Coritanorum begins to brighten and a moment later I can see the fiery trails of ten missiles streaking groundwards. As they approach, movement on the ground attracts my attention as the rebels begin to scurry around in panic when they realise what's happening. With a vast, thunderous roar the torpedo warheads impact into die plain, and "a ripple of explosions, each at least fifty metres across, tears tiirough die assembled traitors, tossing tanks tiiirty or more metres into the air with great balls of fire. I don't see any bodies flung around, and I assume the men are completely incinerated. The ground is engulfed in a raging inferno, and tiien die blast wave hits us, from a kilometre away, causing the Navy officer's cape to flutter madly as die blast of hot air sweeps over my face, stinging my eyes. The air itself seems to burn for a few seconds, blossoms of secondary explosions filling the skies. Striden taps me on the arm and nods upwards and I can just make out a series of streaks in the air, reflecting the light of the flames around Coritanorum. The Colonel climbs out of the trench to watch, his eyes glittering red from the burning plain.
The shells' impacts are even more devastating tiian the torpedo fire as they explode in four parallel lines towards us, each one ripping up great gouts of earth and hurling men and machines in all directions. The roar of the detonations drowns out their screams and the screech of sheared metal. The blasts from the shells extinguish the murderous fires from the plasma warheads; a black pall of smoke drifts into die night sky, silhouetted against the twinkling lights of distant windows in Coritanorum. The salvo continues, numerous explosions creeping closer towards us across the plain. For a full minute
the shells impact nearer and nearer and I start to worry that I'll go deaf with the intense, continuous pounding in my ears.
This is replaced by a more urgent fear as the bombardment carries on into a second minute, and it seems as if the battleship is going to go too far. When shells start exploding at die bottom of the ridgeline and keep coming, panic grips us, and everybody starts hurling diemselves into the trench. As die bombardment continues I begin to fear for my life. I wouldn't trust ground artillery to shell that close to me, never mind a battleship more than a hundred kilometres above my head! The Colonel jumps in after us, a concerned look on his face, but Striden just stands there on the lip, gazing in raptured awe as the devastation approaches. Rock splinters are hurled into die sky by an explosion no more than fifty metres away and in die bright glare of the detonation, I see Striden raising his arms above his head and just make out shrill laughter over the tumult of the barrage. His cape is almost being ripped from his shoulders by die successive blast waves, but he stands tiiere as solid as a rock.
Then everything goes silent and dark, my ears and eyes useless for a few seconds as they adjust to the sudden lack of violent stimuli. Striden's still laughing like a madman, and the Colonel gives a scowl and brushes down his coat before climbing out of the trench. The Navy lieutenant drops his hands to his sides and looks back over his shoulder, his eyes wide with excitement.
'Emperor help me, it doesn't matter how many times I see that, Mr Kage, I still get a tingle watching it!' he exclaims passionately, bright teeth showing in die darkness.
That was a little fraggin' close!' I shout at him, pulling myself up over die rim of the trench and striding over to him.
'Orders, I'm afraid/ he says apologetically. 'Usually we'd bracket a target first to make sure of our positioning, but we weren't allowed to do that this time. This time, we're here, so we don't want anydiing unfriendly dropping on us, do we? And we were requested to miss the gatehouses too, which is a bit strange, but orders is orders. There's no need to worry, though: we've had quite a lot of practice at this/
'I guess we won't be able to get in if the gate is fused into a molten lump/ says Lorii, vaulting gracefully over the top few rungs of the ladder out of the trench. I survey the scene
as it is
now, not even five minutes have passed since the starshells went up. The plains are pockmarked with hundreds of craters, at a rough guess, and from here, with my eyes still reeling, I can just about make out tangled heaps of wreckage scattered around. For about six kilometres in every direction, the plain has been bodily ripped up and dumped back down again. A haze of smoke floats a metre or so above the ground, dispersing slowly in the sluggish wind. The tang of burnt shell powder is almost asphyxiating, the air is diick with it. Nothing could have survived that, nothing mat ever walked, crawled or was driven across the face of a world, at least.
'Going inside?' says Striden suddenly, Lorii's words filtering into his over-excited mind. 'Emperor's throne, that sounds damned exciting. More exciting than standing here waiting for my next target orders. Mind if I join you?'
4Vhat?' I exclaim. 'Have you totally lost it?'
He gives me a pleasant smile and then looks towards Coritanorum, eyes staring with fascination.
'He can come,' I hear the Colonel say heavily from where he stands, further down the ridge, looking at the devastation wrought by the Emperor's Benevolence. I can tell that even he's impressed by the magnitude of the slaughter - there must have been near on ten thousand men down there a few minutes ago, and upwards of a hundred tanks. Now there's nothing. 'I do not think we could stop him, in fact/ says the Colonel meaningfully. I understand what he's saying - Striden'll follow us anyway and short of killing him, which the Navy won't appreciate one little bit, there's noming we can do.
Picking our way across the ruined landscape is a time-consuming process. We need to move quickly, but the route to Coritanorum is littered with burning tanks and mounds of corpses, not to mention the fact that the ground has been torn up and in places the rims of the shellholes are six metres high and fifty metres across. As we get nearer, within a few hundred metres of the gate, a thick layer of ash carpets the ground, in places piled up in drifts which go knee-deep. I remember that this is where the plasma torpedoes impacted.