Chapter Fifteen
Ch’an had given himself a week to lose his patience. He did not make it through the first afternoon’s session, in one of the sublevel lecture theatres.
A pale Ke’lshan warrior named N’loo relayed footage from Mu’gulath Bay.
‘This is another successful kauyon engagement,’ he droned, and showed footage of a fleet of drones swooping over the hilltop fortified Imperial position. It had been prepared in depth, with rockcrete bunkers, twinned trench support systems and gun emplacements at each of the six forts that offered enfilading fire to each other and to the long wall sections.
‘See how they keep the heads of the enemy warriors down. Then look. This is a new use of the Stormsurge, a tactical variation developed on Ke’lshan known as the Petalled Sword.’
He played the footage of a lone Stormsurge landing in the middle of the compound. One foot crushed the command Chimera while the other kicked a power lift sentinel that tried to engage it. The air was suddenly full of airburst fragments, and then it opened up with its pulse battle cannon from point-blank range. The forts all faced outwards, and their guns swivelled helplessly as the Stormsurge singled each one out from behind with a blast of its pulse battle cannon. One shot was enough to destroy a fort, the ammunitions inside raining the troops with debris. Six shots and all the forts were neutralised; fire warriors were already deploying from their Devilfish and mopping up the last defenders.
‘This is called the Stunned Krootox,’ N’loo started. He almost smiled. ‘It was a name I came up with myself, for reasons that I believe will be obvious.’
N’loo loved to hear the sound of his own voice. After an hour, Ch’an could not hold himself back. He stood up. ‘Excuse me, honoured one. May I speak?’
N’loo faltered to a stop. There was an embarrassed silence as Ch’an pushed himself up on his cane. ‘My name is Shas’vre Ch’an. You will forgive me interrupting like this. My body has been broken beyond my years. I am delighted to see so many victories over our enemies, but I have fought the gue’la many times, even though it was with the forces of my sept of Au’taal, which I know many of you do not consider to be within the top rank, or even second rank of fighting septs.
‘But even we have found that the gue’la are not entirely stupid. They have a base and evil cunning, and they will be learning our methods of war as much as we learn them here. And they will find ways to counter them. It is our strategy that we should be three steps ahead of them at all times. It is by speed, power and innovation that we destroy our enemies. You give us footage of all these victories, but you know as well as I that we are losing Stormsurge crews faster than we can replace them.
‘We should not be studying our victories but our failures. I would like to see our failures on Mu’gulath Bay. Then we can learn from that. Then we can break our enemy on their own anvil.’
Ch’an let himself sink back onto his stool.
N’loo had coloured a deep ultraviolet. His nostrils flared and he bowed briefly. ‘I will bring us to the failures of our esteemed commander. We will consider this in the second half of the kai’rotaa.’
‘Do we have that time?’
The instructor’s mouth opened in shock and there was a stir as some of the warriors there made a low and disapproving hissing sound, and turned their heads. Ch’an pushed himself to his feet again. ‘Forgive me, teacher. I was on Mu’gulath Bay and it is terrible. We have all heard about the Imperium of Mankind, how their kingdom stretches for tau’cyr of travel. Many tau’cyr. The numbers of their worlds are legion. The power of their empire is vast.’
He made a gesture to the black coat he wore. ‘This jacket was taken from the body of a warrior they name the Kom’sr. His duty is to make sure his warriors fight. He uses this stick.’ He gestured towards the cane that he leant on. ‘He drives his men forwards like cattle, and if they fail, he speaks to them and then he shoots them in the head.’
There was a stunned silence among the cadets. How could a warrior kill one of his own?
‘I have seen this happen. Many times. That is the way of our enemy. I wear this coat to remind me of the nature of the foe we face. They are cruel, they are merciless, they are uncivilised and they are evil. I use that word with much thought. I, like many of you, have fought alongside our gue’vesa allies, and they use a word that I should quote here – in-human. But they are many and we are few. We are like a…’ he paused for the right comparison, ‘a fl’aat bee when the fanged honey bear comes to break into his hive. The bear is stronger, more powerful. Why, he is the master of his world. But each bee has a sting, even though it may kill him when he delivers it. We are those bees. The gue’la empire can crush us with just a single claw of its mighty fist. We have to deliver such a blow to it at Mu’gulath Bay that it pulls back its paw in pain and shock. Then we must pursue it from one planet to the next and we must drive it away, as the hive of bees drive off the bear.’
Ch’an’s anger had got the better of him. His words died away and were greeted with silence, then a scattering of applause that grew in strength and feeling.
Ch’an took in a deep breath and bowed stiffly before sitting down. Half the listeners seemed scandalised, the other half delighted. H’an touched his arm.
‘Well said!’ he whispered. ‘About time someone told them!’
That evening Ch’an and H’an were to suit up for their first test flight.
The suiting bay lay towards the top of the firing range, a long, low building with a row of gates for the Stormsurge battlesuits to pass through. It was a short distance from the hab-dome. Ch’an’s leg had stiffened as he sat, and the cold of the crossing had done it no good either. He used both hands to lower himself, wincing as the limb jammed against the knee brace.
‘I’m fine,’ he said. He felt strange emotions of fear and trepidation. ‘Take my jacket off.’ He watched as it was hung on a peg by the door.
‘I shall make sure that no one touches it,’ the earth caste technician, Fio’o Bork’an Koba’ashi, reported. His assistant was earnest as he helped Ch’an into the pilot’s bay. ‘I have adjusted the stirrups,’ the young assistant said. He spoke quickly and breathlessly around the veteran.
‘Thank you,’ Ch’an said, adjusting the controls, and then pulled the pilot’s vision helm onto his head. Ch’an slid his hands into the controls and welcomed the feeling of becoming the machine, without old wounds, a stiff leg, or the unpleasant memories. Machines had no memories, he thought as he flexed the arms and bent the legs as if for a giant spring.
They’d updated it. This was a newer version than he had been using on Mu’gulath Bay. The holo-graphs did not lag as much.
He started the power generator as H’an slipped into the seat beside him. His last gunner had been from Au’taal, of course. His name was… P’ort’a, and he’d hum his favourite lines of poetry as he fired. When battle was at its worst, he would chant The Ballad of O’pon’sa. He was the one who really deserved the title of ace, Ch’an thought, as H’an flicked the gun systems on.
‘Live fire exercise two hundred and seventy-six,’ H’an dictated into the system log. ‘Cluster rockets, one through four – check. Destroyer missile – check. Flamers engaged – check. Pulse driver cannon – check. Shields engaged – check. Secondary generator, full power – check. All weapon systems active and engaged.’
The Stormsurge lurched forwards on its massive legs.
‘Right,’ Ch’an said, ‘let’s see how this thing moves.’
For the first hour, Ch’an was fine, but when they started the wargame simulator programme, he felt his hands begin to shake. He closed his eyes and tried to focus, but for a moment he was back on Mu’gulath, dropping from a Manta into the maelstrom of battle. Even the descent was terrifying as searing tracers and missiles arced towards him, their contrails of white falling gracefully behind them.
‘Is all well, master?’ H�
��an asked.
Ch’an closed his eyes to find the inner peace. For him it was the view of the Western Lakes on Au’taal, with the sacred mountain, Fi’jen, in the background, reflected on its mirrored surface. He held that image in his mind for a moment, just as he had when he hung from the bottom of a Manta, praying that they would not be shot out of the sky. But as soon as he opened his eyes he felt the panic return, and in irritation he lurched forwards as the thrusters flared, making the opening of the target range in two great bounds.
‘What is wrong with this machine?’
H’an looked at him in concern. ‘Master,’ he said. ‘Are you sure you are well?’
There were beads of sweat on Ch’an’s brow. He wiped them away and closed his eyes once more. I am fine, he told himself. But the Stormsurge did not move. It stood motionless for what seemed an age. Ch’an sat in the pilot’s carriage and breathed deeply.
‘The suit is faulty.’
‘Is it?’
‘Yes,’ Ch’an said. He closed his eyes again.
‘Shall we go back?’ H’an said. ‘Fio’ui K’or can check it.’
Ch’an paused and then nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I think that would be good.’
Ch’an managed to get them back into the suiting dome, and Fio’o Bork’an was there to open the hatch.
Ch’an could not get out fast enough. As he dragged himself from the machine, he caught his bad leg on the rim and gritted his teeth against the pain.
‘Apologies,’ Fio’ui K’or said. ‘I will check the suit straight away.’
‘My thanks,’ Ch’an said as he took Fio’o Bork’an’s hand. He grabbed his leather jacket and sucked in long breaths.
By this time H’an had climbed out. ‘Are you sure you are well?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ Ch’an said. ‘You are very kind. I think I will lie down.’
Ch’an had not long closed his eyes and started to breathe slowly when someone shook his shoulder.
‘Shas’vre Ch’an.’ It was a Ke’lshan voice. He sat up and saw the pale face of N’loo staring down at him. ‘Commander M’au has summoned you. You are to come at once.’
N’loo marched with Ch’an to the lift and out into the snow. M’au did not make him wait long, having Ch’an brought in as the commander sat cross-legged on the floor.
‘Sit,’ M’au gestured, but Ch’an tapped his leg. ‘It is easier if I stand.’
‘As you wish.’ M’au drew himself up. ‘Shas’vre Ch’an,’ he said, his voice straining with fury. ‘I hear that yesterday you interrupted a training session with talk of jackets and gue’la and shooting your own troops.’
‘Yes, sire. I did.’
‘What do you mean by this?’
Ch'an started to speak but M’au cut him off. ‘You were criticising our training. You do not think we are teaching the cadets properly. You are typical of the warriors of Au’taal. You think yourself above all others. You hide your laziness behind contempt. You are separate, when strength comes from being whole. This is the way of the Tau Empire. We work together as one. We do not pursue individual aims and goals. What is it you want, Shas’vre Ch’an? Personal glory?’
‘No, Shas’el.’
‘Then do not criticise us again. Is that clear? I keep a strict grip on this camp. We are all working towards the Greater Good.’ Ch’an turned towards the door but Fireblade M’au called him back. ‘One more thing. I made an exception before, but I think I made a mistake. Please take off that filthy jacket. I know what it stands for. You disrespect us all by wearing such a thing.’
Fireblade M’au called one of his guards forwards. The fire warrior took the jacket from Ch’an’s shoulders, first one side, then the other. ‘Burn that filthy thing.’
Ch’an was stiff as he stood before the commander.
‘I expect you to support our efforts here, Ch’an. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, Fireblade.’
‘Dismissed.’
Chapter Sixteen
Ch’an lay in his bunk all that afternoon. Whenever he closed his eyes he felt his heart pounding, he heard the thunder of battle and he felt himself falling as his Stormsurge burned about him.
He lay there throughout the afternoon and into eventide. His dorm mates stayed away out of respect and H’an stood at the door to ward off the chain of concerned warriors who came to visit.
‘He is unwell,’ he said. ‘It was a long flight. He is going to meditate. Yes, he was most impressed with the improvements in the stabilisation controls. He liked the rotary controls. Yes.’
The sound of the evening bell brought him back. He sat up and touched his brow. He was cold, he thought. Damp. It was an unhealthy sight for a tau. H’an was sitting at the end of the bed. He looked concerned. ‘The cooks have prepared a feast.’ Ch’an made no response. ‘It is in your honour, shas’vre.’
Ch’an sat up slowly. He nodded. ‘I’ll come,’ he said.
‘I could bring you something.’
‘No,’ Ch’an said. ‘I am fine.’
The food sharing hall was a wide, low-sided chamber, dug under the ice, with rows of long benches and tables. When Ch’an limped in that eventide, the whole cadre of Stormsurge pilots and gunners stood and started the low hooting noise that marked deep respect. He hooted with them in return and they all sat and went on with their meals.
Ch’an moved slowly along, bowing to the chief warriors who came forward to greet him personally. The cadre was a mix of veterans and new graduates. It was so strange to see a room full of a mix of septs. He could see the markings of Elsy’eir, T’olku, Ksi’m’yen, Uan’Voss and Dal’yth, amongst others.
Some of the warriors had the smooth flat faces of young fire warriors, each one with the honour Ch’ay symbol, for elite graduates.
It was easy to spot the veterans. They had a slightly haunted look about them, as if they knew how thin their shadows were. Ch’an knew many of them by face or reputation. Shas’vre N’dras Po’lco, with the almost-black leather hide of his sept, had almost a hundred kills. Shas’vre Mysto, who greeted him with stiff formality, had a Warhound Titan to his name. Shas’el Reet’u, who had lost a finger and part of his skull on Mu’gulath Bay, was credited with driving back an Imperial tank brigade single-handedly. And at the end he saw an old fellow, Shas’el Elsy’eir Sham’bal, who had fought with him in the first battle of Mu’gulath Bay.
‘So they sent you here too!’ Sham'bal said. ‘Must be bad if they’re bringing an old thin-lip like you back.’
‘I thought the same when I saw you here.’
‘I revolunteered.’
‘You did? Then you're a fool.’
Sham’bal made a respectful gesture which meant, will you honour me by sitting and eating with me? After a few refusals, Ch’an accepted.
‘I wanted to keep fighting,’ Sham’bal said at last. ‘I lay in my bed and thought about what would happen if the gue’la ever landed on Au’taal. They would dig her mountains for coal. They would burn her forests. Rip down the arches. They would turn it into a rank and polluted place. I had to go back and fight. I knew that I would never see her again. But I would give my life making sure that my home lived on. We would give other worlds the chance to flourish and bloom, as Au’taal does.’
They took it in turns serving each other the choicest pieces from the platter before them. For a while they talked of Au’taal, and the times they had met there by the Western Lakes, and recalled their battles.
‘So how did you end up here?’ Ch’an said.
Sham’bal shook his head. ‘I was at an awards ceremony when an earth caste by the name of Fio’o Bork’an Koba’ashi…’
‘Oh, I met him this morning.’
‘Well. He was very excited. This was a tau’cyr ago, or more. He said he had helped develop a new weapon that would counter the titans of the enemy. It was the S
tormsurge KV122 at the time. A little heavier. More armour on the front, but too slow. He wanted me to pilot it as they perfected the torso controls. So I helped out. I recommended a lighter chassis. I went through four development stages. There was a problem with the recoil. Then Fio’o Bork’an Koba’ashi came up with the idea of stabilisers. I helped him with those. And when it was done, and perfect, and deadly, how could I leave it and say goodbye? I had to try it out myself. In combat. Against the foe. I just had to!’
Ch’an made the distinctive chuckle deep in his throat. He understood.
They ate for a while, before Sham’bal said, ‘I felt needed. That this battle for Mu’gulath Bay is bigger than anything before.’
Ch’an nodded. ‘If it were not for Shadowsun…’
‘She is very fine,’ Sham’bal nodded.
‘Even she is rumoured to have made…’ he paused, and the last word came out with a look of distaste, ‘…mistakes.’
The word ‘mistakes’ lingered in the air.
There was a long silence.
‘I heard what happened this morning,’ Sham’bal said at last.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Your machine malfunctioned.’
‘No. It was me.’ Ch’an forced a smile. ‘I was a little unwell.’
Sham’bal put out a hand and rested it on the back of Ch’an’s. ‘You could retire, you know.’
Ch’an felt the clamminess returning to his forehead. He slowed his breathing, swallowed and nodded.
‘We cannot let the gue’la change us. We cannot let go of what it means to be tau. Not just the success, but also the art, the songs, the poetry, the tolerance, peace, productivity, innovation.
‘Just imagine a galaxy which was full of gue’la and only gue’la. Just imagine the horror and the devastation.’
Sham’bal shuddered. ‘And the ignorance,’ he said.
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