by Phil Kelly
The sergeant’s face paled visibly. He waved frantically to the Demolisher, and its main gun pivoted away.
‘I didn’t… there’s no need for that,’ the officer said hurriedly. ‘Shell shock, nothing more. My heartfelt apologies, brother-sergeant…?’
‘I believe this heroic individual’s name is Sergeant Sicarius,’ said the grey-uniformed officer behind him. He brushed a speck of spall from the medal on his chest. ‘And this is Jorus Numitor, unless I’m mistaken. If I may interject, I am Deletei Nordgha, of the One Hundred and Twenty-Second Baleghast Castellans.’
‘I’m Sergeant Alect Kinosten,’ said the grey-haired officer.
‘Acting sergeant,’ corrected Nordgha.
‘Baleghast,’ said Numitor. ‘I have not heard of it. But you have heard of us, clearly.’
‘As a master of ordnance, I make it a priority to familiarise myself with every front-line war brief I can obtain,’ said Nordgha. ‘Especially concerning vanguard troops. Cuts down on the likelihood of… unfortunate miscommunications. It is common practice for the captains of the Ultramarines to make their rosters known to the higher echelons of the Astra Militarum structure, and–’
‘–and he talks too much when he’s nervous,’ interrupted Kinosten.
‘Evidently,’ said Numitor.
‘And why are you not with the rest of your division?’ asked Sicarius.
‘We’re on patrol,’ said Kinosten. Behind him, Numitor saw something in Nordgha’s body language, a slight stiffening of posture.
‘Patrol from where?’
‘We’re on autonomous pattern, rearguarding the hexwastes,’ replied the sergeant. ‘It is a true honour to meet the fabled warriors of Ultramar. Is there any assistance we can offer to you?’
‘We need your vox,’ said Sicarius.
‘Ah, right,’ said Kinosten. ‘Yours not working, then? Machine-spirits angry?’
‘Worse than that,’ said Veletan from behind Numitor. ‘They have been scrambled by xenos wartech. It is a subject we have learned a great deal about over the last seven days, six hours and fourteen minutes.’
‘In truth it is a relief to finally rejoin the Imperial war machine,’ said Numitor. ‘We have to report back if we are to continue our mission at pace.’
‘Well, the Vodhjanoi here’s taken a good few hits,’ said Kinosten, ‘her hailer’s got the vox-grems bad. In fact, all of our comms are shot, even Nordgha’s. We must have been hit by the same xenotech as you.’
‘Is that so,’ said Numitor.
‘Yes, sir,’ said Kinosten, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. ‘It is.’
Numitor was quietly impressed. Not many humans could look a Space Marine in the eye for long. These particular Astra Militarum were different from the norm, somehow, but he couldn’t place it.
‘You will get out of your vehicle,’ said Sicarius, ‘and you will allow us to placate its machine-spirit so we can contact our brothers.’ He stepped forward, hand on the hilt of his tempest blade. ‘Or would you rather I threw you out?’
There was a moment of stilted silence. Kinosten’s expression darkened, and he ducked back inside the Chimera, pulling Nordgha back with him before closing the hatch.
The rear door of the transport clanged open. Sergeant Kinosten was the first out, closely followed by two Guardsmen, both openly gawping at the Space Marines before them, then Nordgha. The master of ordnance helped an elderly woman out of the Chimera, clad in emerald robes and thin to the point of emaciation. Numitor was briefly taken aback when he noticed she had no eyes in her sockets.
‘Astrosavant Malagrea,’ she said, turning to face him as she straightened up. ‘No need to stare.’
Numitor quickly looked away.
‘I meant no offence,’ he said. ‘You have a striking aspect.’
‘Don’t mind the hag, sir,’ said the next Guardsman to clamber out of the tank. ‘She’s only happy when she’s making people feel uncomfortable.’
‘You’re not fit to talk to them, Victo,’ said Sergeant Kinosten. The Guardsman looked away, swinging a black-barrelled plasma gun around from his back and popping a wad of what smelled like Catachan tobacco into his mouth.
Behind the plasma gunner came the last of the squad. A bald man, he wore dome goggles and a gas mask, presumably to protect himself from the backwash of heat from the flamer held protectively to his chest. The strange behaviour of the Guardsmen, coupled with the fact they all had their guns unslung, made Numitor feel even more unsure of the situation. His hand strayed to check his bolt pistol, just for a moment.
The other squads were clambering out of their Chimeras too, the Astra Militarum troopers forming up in loose groups with lasguns at the ready. At least half of them were nursing crippled limbs, and several had plasma burns. Most of them had blood-encrusted bayonets attached to the ends of their rifles, and many openly held grenades.
Something wasn’t right.
‘Sicarius,’ said Numitor under his breath, ‘I think they are–’
‘I’m handling it, Numitor,’ growled Sicarius, motioning Glavius toward to the command Chimera. ‘Glavius, get on that vox and raise company command. We have to report back.’
Glavius nodded, hastening to the empty personnel carrier. The Space Marine had to disengage and detach his jump pack just to fit inside, and then had to crawl on his hands and knees to get to the vox in the front.
‘I told you,’ said Kinosten. ‘The vox is out.’
Numitor’s hand moved slowly to unclip his bolt pistol from its holster.
‘It… it has been sabotaged, sergeant,’ came Glavius’ muffled voice from inside the Chimera. ‘Most of these wires have been cut through.’
Sicarius grabbed Kinosten by the throat and slammed him up against the side of the Vodhjanoi.
‘You are deserters!’ barked Sicarius. ‘I knew it! Do you want to die in disgrace?’
‘Don’t…’ choked Kinosten, ‘We…’
‘It was the tau on the ridge!’ gabbled Nordgha. ‘We broke them! We did our duty, didn’t we? We turned the tide at Via’mesh’la, by ourselves! Don’t we deserve a reprieve? Then they sent in their warsuits… we didn’t stand a chance! We’re more use to you alive, surely, and…’
‘Silence!’ shouted Sicarius, veins bulging in his forehead. ‘You are all cowards, traitors to the Emperor’s name! You deserve to die, every one of you. Do you really think you could stop us? Do you think thirty lasguns is enough to stop two squads of Ultramarines?’
‘Especially,’ said Numitor, ‘when they’ve got no ammo clips.’
‘What?’ said Sicarius.
‘There are no clips in their lasguns.’
Kinosten, choking and turning purple as he tried in vain to prise Sicarius’ gauntlet from his neck, hammered his heels against the side of the Chimera in a spasmodic tattoo.
‘Got… wrong… ammo…’ the Astra Militarum sergeant gasped. A bitter, burbling laugh escaped from his blood-flecked lips.
‘Just let him go, Sicarius,’ said Numitor. ‘They never intended to fire upon us. These men are beaten already.’
‘They will be,’ came the reply. ‘Severely. And this one at the very least will face summary execution from his commissar.’
There was a chorus of dissenting grumbles from the massed Guardsmen.
‘Let him go,’ said the largest of their number, a scarred brute with skin like boot leather.
‘You heard Reytek,’ said a scrawny, rat-faced private with a missing ear. He was visibly shaking. ‘Let the sarge go. Please.’
One of the Leman Russ Demolishers reversed, its turret angling.
Sicarius gave a barking laugh, long and loud. Numitor did not like its tone one bit. ‘When Captain Atheus gets wind of this,’ said Sicarius, ‘you are all for the gallows.’
‘Captain Atheus is dead,’ said the astrosavant Malagrea softly.
‘Slain by a xenos war leader.’
‘What? You lie!’
Malagrea shook her head, her expression solemn.
Numitor felt stunned as the news sank in. It had the ring of truth to it. There was something else bothering him, too, in the middle distance. A faint but high-pitched whine, like that of an engine.
Numitor tapped his fellow sergeant’s forearm and put a cupped hand to his ear. Sicarius cocked his head, absently letting Kinosten slump to the ground. The Militarum officer sucked in wheezing gasps of air that turned to whooping lungfuls as his windpipe reopened.
Then the Baleghast Castellans began to die.
A few metres from Kinosten, Victro danced like a puppet and came apart in a shower of blood. Struck twice by glowing bolts of energy, his plasma gun detonated in a blinding flash to throw gobbets of superheated liquid in all directions. Reytek went down a moment after as his guts were blown out of his back, his twitching fingers reflexively pulling the pin from the frag grenade he had grabbed from his belt.
Bedlam erupted all around, the screams of the burned and the dying filling the dusk air. A dozen of the Astra Militarum were mown down in the space of a few seconds. Reytek’s abandoned grenade went off, and another three Guardsmen were shredded apart.
Numitor took three punching impacts on his pauldron. He darted forward on reflex, another volley of shots almost spinning him over into the bladegrass, and regained his balance just as a storm of pulse fire hammered into the side of the Chimera where he had been standing a heartbeat before.
‘Ambush! From the west!’
Sicarius blasted into the air, jump pack roaring. Glavius, Ionsian and Veletan followed close after him, their own packs spitting blue flame. Almost as soon as they left the shelter of the armoured column, three volleys of pulse bolts converged upon them in a deadly crossfire, sending Ionsian and Veletan careening back to earth in blazes of white flame.
Using the Chimera as cover, Numitor leant out into the gloom for a second. The second Chimera in the column was rocking dangerously, taking heavy impacts as its turret tracked around to spit ruby beams of multilaser fire into the distance.
‘And from the east!’ he shouted. ‘We are surrounded!’
The sergeant quick-scanned the horizon, but saw nothing other than shimmers and flickers of light in the dusk. Part of him burned with the desire to trigger his jump pack and boost out there, to close down the enemy gun lines with bolt pistol and power fist, but some instinct held him back. The tau were cunning, and judging by the fate of Ionsian and Veletan, they were out there waiting for them to do just that.
Three Imperial Guardsmen ran around the back of the second Chimera, footsteps splashing, only to be met by a volley of hissing plasma. Glowing wounds burst in their backs as unseen ambushers mowed them down. There was a flicker of light in Numitor’s peripheral vision, coming from over a narrow ridge to the west. Sicarius had seen it too. He was already on an intercept course, angling in mid-flight with a flare of jets. Glavius, close on his heels, was punched from the air by two streaming volleys of plasma bolts. Trailing smoke, he corkscrewed to earth, slamming hard into a swathe of razorgrass with a splash of brackish water.
‘Throne, they’re taking us apart,’ said Numitor.
Sicarius roared as he hurtled feet first through a curving stream of energy rounds, taking fire but coming in hard nonetheless. He slammed into a hazy shape, lashing out with his sword to catch another and send it sprawling in a blur of malfunctioning holotech. Then he was lost to Numitor’s sight behind a low ridge, a strobing flash of energy lighting the gloom in the middle distance.
‘Tau stealthers!’ he said over the vox. ‘Squad, get over here!’
‘Hold your position,’ shouted Numitor, ‘we cannot afford to–‘
The command Chimera’s engine exploded with a bass crump, sending Astra Militarum and Adeptus Astartes flying left and right. Shrapnel pinged from Numitor’s legs and hips as he staggered into a marksman’s crouch, firing his bolt pistol into the east. He could see no clear target, and bolt ammunition was not to be wasted, but even suppression fire was worth something if they were to gain any sort of control.
‘We have to get in there and engage,’ said Magros. ‘We’re badly outranged!’
‘No,’ said Numitor, ‘that’s exactly what they want us to do. We go out in the open, we will be caught in a crossfire. These tau know how to bait a trap.’
‘Sergeant, we have no choice,’ shouted Magros. ‘Sicarius is already out there!’
‘Cato!’ shouted Numitor over the vox. ‘What’s going on?’
There was no reply.
‘For Throne’s sake,’ cursed the sergeant. ‘Kinosten, get the Vodhjanoi moving, and get that third Chimera rolling behind it. The Demolishers on either side. Form a box. Leave room for the rest of us in between. The tanks can take a little more punishment.’
Kinosten, his throat still red where Sicarius throttled him, looked incredulous. Numitor stepped towards him, eyes burning with intensity. ‘Just do it, sergeant. Drive the damned tank yourself if you have to, and maybe the Commissariat doesn’t need to hear about your little detour.’
‘Right,’ croaked the sergeant, nodding frantically and grabbing his gas-masked comrade’s uniform. ‘Dektro, you heard the man,’ he said, pushing the bald flamer operative in the direction of the third Chimera. ‘Get over to the Vorzht and pull her in behind the Vodhjanoi. Suppressive fire from the turrets until we’ve nothing left to shoot.’
Dektro nodded and span round, the fuel tanks on his back sloshing as he sent a stream of burning fuel arcing across the gap between the first and third Chimeras. He and two of Kinosten’s command squad ran, crouching, behind the wall of flame, using it as impromptu cover as they made it across the gap to the farthest personnel carrier and relayed Numitor’s orders. A hail of enemy fire chased them where the barrier of fire was thinnest, tearing apart the last of the three Guard troopers. Numitor winced, sending a bolt shell winging out into the twilight where he estimated the shots had came from, but the dull bang of contact did not follow.
One after another, the Astra Militarum tanks ground forward, the Vorzht pulling in behind the Vodhjanoi and the Leman Russ Demolishers on either side. Keeping low, the Guardsmen and the Ultramarines massed in between. Numitor led his Assault Marines at the front, forming a wall of ceramite before the flak-armoured Guardsmen and moving at a jog. They took enfilading fire through the gaps in the box formation, but each had their pauldrons turned into the firepower, and none of them went down.
Behind them came the ragged remains of Kinosten’s platoon, Dektro hauling the half-panicked Malagrea in their midst as they moved out west. The turrets of the Chimeras tracked around, spraying thick ruby beams of multilaser fire into the west. The Leman Russes vented their wrath, sponson-mounted heavy bolters chugging out firepower brutal enough to blast a battlesuit to pieces.
Numitor strained to hear the telltale bang of the mass-reactive bolts detonating amongst the foe. Still nothing.
It was like fighting ghosts.
Sicarius ran headlong through the waterlogged field, chasing the shimmering shapes that flitted just out of reach. Every time one of the things opened fire a spray of white energy would reveal its location, and Sicarius would sprint towards it or loose a shot from his plasma pistol, only to find nothing there. He itched to trigger his jump pack, to leap high and come down upon these xenos insects with crushing violence, but he knew that by doing so he would be making himself a priority target – a mistake that had already cost Ionsian, Glavius and Veletan badly.
The sergeant could not shake the feeling he was being led further and further away from the rest of the Imperial troops, but he couldn’t retreat now. The more frustrated he got, the less it seemed to matter. There was killing to be done, and his blood sang with the need for it.
Ahead, one of the tau stealthers was in plain sight
, firing back into the main fray from behind a thicket of razorgrass. The alien warsuit had taken a multilaser hit, by the look of its scorched and bulbous torso, its outline rendered visible by its malfunctioning chameleonics.
Sicarius grinned fiercely. The warsuit had not seen him. He held his tempest blade out wide, charging in to cut the damned thing in two.
Heavy impacts struck him from behind, the intense heat of plasma bolts burning across his lower back. More came in from the right, taking his legs away and leaving him crashing mid-sprint to the ground. Yet more hit his arm, blasting the tempest blade from his hand and sending pain flaring up to his shoulder.
The sergeant pushed himself upright, sending a plasma pistol shot towards the visible suit, but it had disappeared entirely. Another volley struck him, sending him skidding through the watery mud of the razorgrass field.
The world around him dimmed as pain wracked his body, a dozen injuries fighting for his attention at once. Grey fog clouded his vision, threatening to pull him into its nothingness.
Then the warsuit that had baited him into the crossfire reappeared, just out of reach. The quad-barrelled cannon that formed its right arm was pointed squarely at Sicarius’ head.
‘Got him,’ said Numitor, pulling Glavius’ unconscious form from the muddy grass and propping him against the Vodhjanoi. They were still under heavy fire, and the Demolishers were taking a pounding on either side of them. But the rolling box formation was slowly getting them towards the cover of the ridge ahead, allowing them to recover their wounded along the way.
‘Glavius!’ shouted Numitor, slamming him back against the steel hull of the personnel carrier. ‘Back on your feet! We have to find Sicarius!’
Numitor was swatted from behind so hard that he slammed into his battle-brother, a blinding light taking his vision for a moment.
He turned back to see a scene from a demented killer’s abattoir.
The Loita had exploded with such shocking force it had cut apart a full half of those Astra Militarum troopers sheltering in its lee. The Demolisher itself had been neatly cut in three pieces by some kind of fusion beam that had gone through engine and fuel tank at the same time. The searing lines still glowed white, yellow and red where the xenos weapon had carved it apart.