by Martin Allen
The Squad slogged up to the steel-titanium gates to the nearest tower, the crackle of the external heating elements that stopped drifts building up around the exterior of the structure could be heard. Despite the strength of steel-titanium eventually, on this world, large drifts would crush the complex, rendering the facility useless. In a shorter period of time the gates would be blocked, isolating the complex from the colony. The squad fell in to a line facing the gates and the blue lights of the scanners fell over each man in turn. Over each man a red light remained indicating the presence of weapons. This stopped rebels smuggling armaments through the gates and trying to take the transportation hub. The com-link crackled into life.
“Identify yourselves, you show weapons on the scan.” came the terse demand from the complex.
“107th Battalion, Calidius Squad reporting in as ordered”. Intoned Lieutenant Gratius “ID code 97826 Alpha Green.”
The gates lid open to a holding chamber, known informally as murder holes. The name had come from the Medieval Castles on Earth, now renamed Invictus. Holes above the gatehouse entrances could be used to pour boiling oil down on invaders once the gates had been breached. Now the gates would be opened in relation to any code given in response to the challenge. Once inside the murder hole, Gamma radiation would poison the very cells of anyone within the chamber who had given an incorrect code. The levels of radiation were so high that there would be no chance to circumvent the remaining security before the radiation kicked in. This was well known within the Patriarchal Guard and as always the walk into the beckoning chamber was tinged with trepidation. Perhaps the voice recognition software was malfunctioning; perhaps the Lieutenant had been misheard or misspoken the code. The would be no way of knowing until the radiation kicked in and by then it would be too late. It was not a pleasant way to die either; radiation poisoning was a horrific death, but at the levels in the chamber, the symptoms would come thick and fast at the same time as the flesh cooking on the bone and slowly peeling off. The gates closed behind the last squad member and sealed themselves so that any resulting radiation would not escape to the outside world. Again in the chamber more sensor sweeps swept over the squad determining if any off-world antigens had infected any of the members whilst on the colony. Given the size of the Empire the possibility of a hitherto unknown pathogen entering into the general populous was an ever-present danger. It would also provide the Empire with something of a public relations nightmare. Illness in the Empire was, due to the economics of healthcare and scarcity of medical supplies, deemed by the Theocracy to be down to the will of Sol Invictus. If Sol Invictus willed the disease cured, then it would be. If an epidemic took hold it would be perceived as the will of Sol Invictus and the illness would be interpreted as the judgement of whole swathes of the Empire. The Empire was, therefore, dependant on large numbers of health checks to prevent disease and so developed precious little, in comparison, for the actual treatment of illnesses. Should an unknown and incurable illness become apparent then the unfortunate individuals who contracted it would first be isolated along with anyone that came into contact with them and studied as lab rats, gauging the speed and infectiousness of the disease. They would be used as incubators for the disease and the main focus of the research would start on detection for the scanners so that the spread could be contained. Only then would research into a cure be sanctioned, funds allowing.
To the relief of the squad the inner doors opened and the inner reception of the tower became visible. Shoulders that had risen slowly during the scan of the squad now dropped as one when the initial crack of light showed in the centre of twin sliding doors. The less experienced members of the squad gave themselves away with a sharp exhalation at the same time. Gratius could hardly blame them, it was all he could do to stop himself from releasing his pent up tension in the same way, but it would not have been appropriate for him to show such weakness in from of his men. When the doors reached their full capacity the men formed up wordlessly. A second chamber was visible where in slits on the ceiling and upper walls were retracting machine gun barrels. Another heavily armoured door was retracting into its housing at the top of the doorway. Two by two the squad marched through with Lieutenant Gratius at its head and Sergeant Curtius to one side of the column, as was his station. They walked past a military checkpoint to the left in a vast internal chamber and on to the parade ground in the barracks.
“OK, we are assigned to Block D. Dump your kit and the rest of the day is yours. We Trans out 16:00 hours tomorrow for Invictus itself. So do not be late. Lateness will count as desertion. Is that understood?” Yelled Sergeant Curtius
“Sarge, Yes Sarge!” came the emphatic reply.
“Fall out and try not to get into too much trouble, I don’t want to have to explain to the Lieutenant why any of you are in the stockade and he has to ask for your release.”
Amatius Balbus stepped out from barrack block D a free man, at least temporarily. The rest of the squad were off to seek somewhat less than approved recreational activities, but Balbus was not going to risk falling into bad habits. He had only joined up a year beforehand with the hope of achieving citizenship and he was not going to allow one night of indulgence to see him forever barred from that hope, residing on a Hell-World or worse, in an interment camp prior to being executed. While the Patriarchal Guard was, in practice, given certain dispensations due to the stresses of the job; and certain types of recruits that joined or were requisitioned, Balbus did not wish to risk crossing the line. Several generations ago his family had been practising Muslims and this was reflected in the Imperial records. As a result his parents and the generations prior to them were barred from applying for citizenship, whatever the route. Balbus was the first of his family to have the option to become more than a second class citizen. His only route was to join the Patriarchal Guard. The Empire had decreed that for four generations of a family belonging to any other religion would be barred from the prospect of citizenship to avoid the possibility of infidels spreading within the Sol Invictine hierarchy. Thus all those whose families had, past a certain point, practiced any other religion were condemned to a life of servitude to “full blood” Sol Invictines. Balbus’ parents had eked out a living washing plates in the cafeteria of the Imperial Archives. It was about as high status as they could get given their non-citizen status. Still, they had been devastated when he had announced his decision to join the Patriarchal Guard. They could not focus on the potential advantages of the situation and could only concentrate on the prospect of his death. He had found this a little morbid; sure there was a possibility, but to just bring it up like that had been a little disheartening especially as he had already signed up. They hadn’t cared about the amazing opportunities that they could never have that would suddenly become open to him. He would be able to live outside of the slums, earn a decent wage and have replicated food tokens. Replicated food was a symbol of status in the Empire given the energy required to generate it. The matter for the food was created out of energy condensed into a static matter form, which meant that as long as the computer held the chemical signature of the required food item in memory then it could in theory create any dish possible. Recently amongst the more experienced soldiers there was talk of new weapon designs that used this same technology to generate emergency ammunition when required rather than needing to be reloaded. The energy required was too demanding for anything more than a few bullets but in certain situations a single bullet could make all the difference.
Amatius Balbus made a beeline for the Invictine Temple to offer thanks for an uneventful tour of service. In contrast to his parents, who seemed only to go through the motions of worship, Balbus was a fervent believer in the teachings of Sol Invictus. He believed that the excesses of previous religions had lead to the evil present in the Pre-Invictine world. Islam had lead to extremism, Christianity to the Crusades and the Inquisition; and Confucianism to the century of warfare in Japan. To Balbus’ mind those that could not see that a unifi
ed religion based on the equality of man before Sol Invictus’ judgement deserved all that they reaped from their heretical beliefs. He strode down the narrow walkways of the internal complex to the Temple; he was surprised to notice that there were no bars or houses of ill repute from the barracks to the temple. The construction and zone planning of this complex allowed those interested in their eternal souls to walk unmolested to the Temple without having to pass the more disreputable areas, Balbus approved of this for he hated to think of himself being tempted by the ungodly. Everywhere there were temptations of the flesh ready to hijack the unsuspecting and drag them down to the pits of depravity. Balbus continually wondered why his fellow squad members did not attend to their spiritual well-being with as much energy as their recreation; but had yet to think of a satisfactory answer.
Chapter 2
As the wall of the bunker exploded with the fury of a fire daemon Hostilius Corvus flew through the air, hitting the wall with a thud that was drowned out by the barrage of sound that came from the explosion. As he impacted with the ground he rolled to gain his feet. Once the outer wall had been breached he knew that the advance would start as the tactical strength of his position had been severely compromised.
“Fall back! Fall Back! Back to the reserves and hold position there.” yelled Corvus over the sound of small arms fire and the pounding of artillery.
Through the confusion and smoke the remaining troops in the bunker, except for those lying on the ground bleeding from mortal injuries, moved to quickly and efficiently pack up the communication and computer equipment in the bunker before moving out to the main entrance of the bunker and into the night air to make their way back to the secondary positions. A figure in black armour peeled itself out of the shadows in the bunker, its cape swirling as it turned for the exit. This figure seemed relaxed and at ease even under fire and the confusion of retreat. It appeared separate, not flinching at the bullets and ricochets that brought out stray sparks near the figure. Soon the bunker was empty of all men and equipment. Near the breached wall and the main entrance small red lights blinked on and off attached to round capsules on the walls.
The Service was held in a small chapel, despite the size of the base. There were relatively small numbers of personnel permanently stationed at the hub and so there was no need for a larger Temple. Many of the operators at the hub would be high-ranking science officials and would qualify for a separate chapel from one open to the public. The troops were transient and so provision was made in the colony itself. That being so, it was still puzzling to Amatius Balbus that the chapel was so quiet. Although the sermon was a common topic, the inadequacy of the flesh before the judgement of Sol Invictus, the lack of people in the service seemed to prove that this message was falling on deaf ears. Balbus knew that on the morrow he would hear the stories of the various drunken exploits of his comrades. At the section of the service dedicated to private prayers he took to his knees and prayed for the souls of his squad. Although they sinned rather more regularly than Balbus would have liked they still took the same risks, and served the same Empire, as did he. Thus he prayed that their service would be taken into account when they faced Sol Invictus. He also prayed that at the next service he had the opportunity to attend that more of his compatriots would attend with him. This prayer he offered every time, but it was yet to be answered, the call of the bars and women seemed too strong for his fellows to resist. To round off his prayers he gave thanks for the opportunity to serve, for in the brotherhood of the Patriarchal Guard he had found a sense of belonging that had been absent in his childhood and early teens. Always the status of his family as non-citizens and that of his parents as in the no-mans land of coming from Islamic stock had set him apart from his peers. Bullied and insular he had come to rely on his dream of acceptance through military service. Here in the cradle of his new life as a member of the society that had so rejected him he felt at home and if that cost him his life then it would be a small price to pay for the feelings of brotherhood that he felt.
Sergeant Curtius rolled onto his back and groaned; his head felt like a platoon had marched across it. As he was lying in a gutter, he couldn’t be entirely sure that it hadn’t; his memory had some significant gaps in it. He could remember a woman of dubious virtue offering him a good time at her place of residence but instead attempting, with a large man behind the door, to steal all the money he had on him. It hadn’t worked; Sergeant Curtius had, prior to being entered into the Patriarchal Guard, been involved in that particular scam and had been on his guard for it. He had been one of the toughest street brawlers in Calpurnius, previously known as New York, until one day he had tried rolling a Sergeant from the Patriarchal Guard. He had given a good account of himself, landing at least three punches before he had come to the conclusion the Sergeant had been holding back to see what he was capable of. Things had gone swiftly downhill from there culminating in his trial for assault on Imperial Military Personnel. Things had not looked good, with the Imperial Prosecutor angling for summary transfer to the Internment Camp at Rome and then execution when the facility could arrange it with the resources at their command. The defence had lost hope and was attempting for a sentence of relocation to a Hell-World; either way he had been looking down the barrel of a death sentence. Just when it had seemed that things couldn’t have got any worse the Sergeant had arrived, striding into the trial just before the sentencing demanding to speak. As he had been the victim of the assault and had somehow neglected to remove his weapons prior to entering the room, the judge had allowed it. Aculeo had hung his head sure that the Internment Camp would be his destination.
“Permission to speak, your honour?” the Sergeant had asked and as Aculeo had expected he was granted that permission. “Your Honour, it is true that this man did assault me, and by my reckoning you should be moving on to sentencing right about now. Well I’d like to propose one - by my understanding of the law that is my right. Well I’d like for your honour to hand him over to me. The Patriarchal Guard is always looking for recruits with promise and he showed some. This isn’t a get out of jail free card your honour, under my command he will suffer like no other, but he will serve the Empire or I will kill him myself. The way I see it, this isn’t any different to sentencing him to a Hell-World except he’ll probably be a lot more use to me in my unit than wherever else he might get sent.”
That speech had seen Aculeo entered into the Patriarchal Guard for double the normal service length as his sentence. When the twenty years had ended he hadn’t felt like going into any other mode of life and had requested to remain with his unit, despite the risks.
Aculeo got to his feet somewhat unsteadily, thankful he had woken up in the gutter rather than the stockade. He had on a number of occasions been demoted to Private as a result of drunken behaviour but had always risen back to the rank he felt he was born to occupy. At least this time he had retained his rank no matter what he had forgotten from the night before. In the Empire Justice worked quickly and he wasn’t subtle enough to avoid it with all those drinks down his neck. Aculeo glanced down to the front of his uniform. Vomit and blood was splattered all down the front of it, dirt had been ground into what little of the back he could see. Thankfully he always kept a spare uniform freshly laundered in the barracks when he went on R&R excursions. His first step back in the direction of the barracks was unsteady and he almost fell but righted himself before finding the remnants of his balance. Each step his balance improved until at last the parade ground swagger of the born Sergeant had returned, somewhat out of place on this scruffy, dishevelled man.
Lieutenant Gratius had spent the night in his private room with a book, the idea of a night of drinking himself into oblivion had not appealed to him. Lieutenant Gratius knew that at least one of his squad would probably end up arrested and he would have to speak up for them so that he would have a full compliment come 16:00 in time for Trans out. This would mean a call could come at any time of the night for him to bail out his men due
to their exploits. Luckily for any member of the Patriarchal Guard that let his hair down on R&R the Empire had a relaxed view of the behaviour of off-duty Guards due to the stresses and the nature of their service. The unofficial line was that any sinning that they may do on their time off, they probably made up for it when on-duty. It was not a policy made public nor did it apply to the public who may serve. This was a military only policy. Aquilinus was not comfortable with the policy but he knew that if it wasn’t in place then prior to any tour of duty he would have to train and recruit large numbers of men. The greater danger to the Empire was not the souls of the men he commanded but the inexperience of those that would have replaced them. In a war nothing can replace the survival instinct of a trained and experienced squad of men who know their orders.