by Martin Allen
In the blue steel of her eyes General Hostilius saw someone who was not simply seeking an objective, or a way of achieving it; she was almost enjoying it. The more horrific her solutions to the problem of the uprising the more she satisfaction she would feel. From this moment onwards he realised his command of this campaign would be remembered as a masterpiece of horror. The ghosts of all involved would call his name throughout the ages, forever linked to the depravity of these few days. The dead and dying would have all the cause in the world to chant his name within a drone of vengeance. He should have pulled the trigger and joined them. For this was only the beginning.
“I seem to remember a number of stockpiles that would be of use now that neither side can advance decisively without reinforcements.” The Investigator murmured, staring at the ceiling, deep in thought. “I do believe they are here on this planet, their power too useful to simply destroy, but too damaging to simply inflict on an otherwise productive world. Now we have our stable perimeter I do believe these devices could be effective in our campaign. General, issue an executive order for stockpiles G76YQ9, G032NMD3 and C9BG3 to be issued and be made ready to deploy as soon as practicable.”
General Hostilius issued the written orders, knowing that the Investigator could just as easily order these stockpiles, whatever they were, to the front as easily as he could. In fact they would probably be at the front sooner if she requested them under her own authority. Amazingly, unlike many other stockpiles of weapons, there was no description in the mainframe for the items the Investigator requested. There were a large number of weapons at the Empire’s command, some new and some old, but all had a description in the mainframe accessible to Red level security so that the correct choice of weapon could be made on the battlefield should the Commander of an Imperial force require something specific. These descriptions were also searchable so that a query could be made. The weapons requested by the Investigator were so classified that it was easier to avoid naming or describing the items than invent the security to protect the data, data the Investigator had memorised.
The prisoners sat huddled under the watchful gaze of the local contingent of the Patriarchal Guard. As Lieutenant Gratius had expected the local contingent were out of shape and held themselves poorly. As this was the Capital World of the Empire, it was unthinkable that here should ever be any military action here. Even the Investigators would be embroiled in undercover operations or covert assassinations rather than anything overtly military. Lieutenant Gratius doubted that the local contingent could walk for more than three miles without having to sit down and recover their breath; he also thought the same of the prisoners, but not for the same reasons. In start contrast to the bloated lazy men in uniform, the prisoners were lean, too lean. The emancipated faced showed cheekbones that were on the wrong side of prominent, tendons could clearly been seen as operating the various skelecature of the body. Yet, despite this, the prisoners did not have the sneer or inhuman contempt on their faces that the local Guard had, they grouped in family circles; the members of the family in their twenties and thirties caring for the young and elderly with tenderness and compassion. Smudges of gruel were wiped from the chin of those with wrinkles and those without - with equal care and love. Here and there a toothless grin or a smile directed at another within the circle occurred. Despite the horror of their ordeal so far and the prospect of worse to come; despite the contempt directed at them from the local guard and many members of the new arrivals; the prisoners appeared to maintain some semblance of hope. It was the hope that they would maintain their humanity until the end.
Balbus was offended by the presence of so many prisoners in one place. Why had the Trado of Doctrina allowed for these animals to escape judgment for so long? What is justice at the hands of a God if not administered quickly and effectively? They seemed so primitive huddled together in squalor, eating what could only be described as gruel - a grey slushy gloop that they were scooping out of old tin cans that they had obvious scavenged from a garbage heap somewhere. They were even feeding it to their children. The whole scene made Balbus feel ill. It was beyond comprehension that people could consider sinning against Sol Invictus, knowing that this would eventually be their fate. That and the pyres of the Trado of Doctrina. They had even condemned their children, now as guilty as the parents; for the parents would have passed on their heretical ways to their offspring.
Sergeant Curtius glanced around at the prisoner emplacement with disgust; this was no way to set up a containment camp. The soldiers were all faced inwards. Given the half-starved nature of the prisoners, the main threat would come from without not within. The Lieutenant had been correct in his estimation of that, while desperation could drive people to extraordinary acts the pitiful condition of the inmates meant they could barely walk let alone, even with the help of others, overpower even the most inexperienced and weakest of his men. There was no evidence of planning for contingencies; the only weapons seen were assault rifles, whilst they were a good all-round weapon, there were situations where longer range and accuracy or sheer power were required and the assault rifle just could not provide that flexibility. Thankfully, his own men had been allowed access to a more varied assortment of weapons solutions, one of the advantages of serving under a careful commanding officer. He could, with a combination of plasma weaponry and missile launchers, perform an effective defence against a well equipped external threat or use the overwhelming firepower of the squads anti-personnel solutions to combat the numerical advantage of the prisoners should a stampede ensue. Curtius was content that at least his squad was prepared, and that a number of others were as well. He was distressed that a large number of squads had been equipped simply for crowd control. Curtius knew the content of the briefing and although it served to lead the mind to the conclusion that the main threat would be internal, there was inherent in the instructions an external threat would be a definite possibility.
Halberdier Gabinius cast his eyes over the prisoners; they all looked so poor. All were grimy and unwashed; the contours of their bones were clearly visible through their skin and their wasted muscles resembled tendons. He had little doubt that the profit to be made from this excursion had already been made by the local contingent who were lounging around the prisoners. The local contingent was fat, out of shape looking very pleased with themselves; not for them days, if not weeks, of enforced marching in combat formations as he had just been doing. They had obviously divested the prisoners of their valuables already; the corpses had already been picked clean prior to his arrival. He cursed the twist of fate that had resulted in this. If only his squad had been involved from the very start, from the initial containment to this intermediate stage prior to the march, he would at least have got something of value out of this march. He now had little to look forward to save the tedium of maintaining his chaotic marching pattern and occasionally sending a high velocity round at long range through an escaping prisoner. The prospect did not appeal.
Lieutenant Gratius ordered his squad to hold position as the local contingent moved the prisoners into convoy formation; he wanted as little involvement in this stage of the process as possible. The confusion of the formation meant that this was the point when, at the prospect of a small weakness in the guard, a sole prisoner would mistakenly think he or she could make a run for it. As there were two snipers to each squad, each of which had a range of one and a half miles, this was delusional at best. The dunes did not give enough cover, and the pyramids themselves were easy enough to climb to provide extra range and visibility. The terrain itself did not assist the potential escapee as even a sole running figure could generate an easily visible dust cloud that could identify such an individual. Gratius glanced around to check on the formation of his squad when he saw a dark figure moving away from the column in another squad’s area of influence then dodging behind one of the dunes leaving only the tell-tale haze of dust to mark his passing. Gratius dammed the laxity of, from what he could now see from the insignia
on the uniforms, Pompeius Squad of the 54th Battalion.
“Halberdier Gabinius,” Lieutenant Gratius whispered into his command mic, “Get high, use the Pyramids, south, evading target, behind dunes, level with Pompeius section, do you copy?”
Heavy breathing came back over the link indicating the ascent of the Pyramid had already started. “Copy, is it already past range of Pompieus? Over”
“That’s an affirmative, no long range ability to our front for three or four squads distance. We are only long range or heavy enabled unit.”
“Shit! I’ve got a hell of a perimeter then haven’t I” grumbled Gurges as he made his way up the exterior of the Pyramid.
Although the exterior of the Pyramid was stepped now the exterior facings had fallen off over the thousands of years the structure had stood against the weathering of the Sahara, the steps themselves were roughly to the shoulder of an average adult male. The climb would be gruelling but not impossible or extraordinarily slow. The only difficulty lay in the trigonometry of the situation. Gurges would have to reach a sufficient height on the Pyramid, all the time travelling further away laterally from the target, to see over the dunes that the target was using as cover. While he was doing so, the target would be travelling further into the desert, towards the maximum range of the sniper rifle and taller dunes. It would not be possible to order the crab to pursue out of line of sight, as this would leave another weak link in the perimeter around the prisoners - given the head start and the fact this was to an angle out of Calidius’ assigned position.
“Current range? Over” Came in Halberdier Galbinius’ query, attempting to keep abreast of the situation as to when to stop climbing without having to waste time turning around.
“No visual, estimate one mile based on last known position. Cover improving for target shortly, advise immediate interdiction if possible.” Lieutenant Gratius knew Galbinius would need time to set up the long-range shot and steady his breathing after the climb. He hoped half a mile to maximum range would be enough time for this to happen, and the sooner the better.
“Galbinius in position, searching for visual. Over.” The breathing was still ragged, coming over the comm.-link; the shot would be wasted if the rhythmic undulation of the body were not slowed to enable careful aim. “Got a possible, still covered by dunes. One and a quarter miles out from my position One mile from Pompeius Section, can see part of possible target. Confirmation from Crab, infra-red needed.”
“Guardsman Buteo, this is Lieutenant Gratius, I need an infra-red scan from the Mark 17 at ….”
“I have been monitoring the situation, I am aware of the incident. Running the requested scan now.” The time stretched on as confirmation of whether the identified object was human was requested. If it was not it was likely a prisoner had escaped and a contingency plan would have to be formulated to hunt it down at considerable resource cost to the Empire. The most likely eventuality would be a squadron of fighters would be scrambled and used to eliminate the former prisoner. This would reflect badly on whichever squad had allowed the escape. Calidius, although they would be investigated, would escape punishment as it was not their section that had failed. In fact, they may even be commended for taking extra care of a perimeter section outside of their own and, eventually, preventing an escape. “Confirmed, object is human, target has been confirmed.”
“Galbinius, did you copy that? You are Green to engage.”
“Copy that sir, just got to wait for him to move out of cover, that’s a lot of sand to shoot through at long-range, not sure it will make it.”
“Wait for a clean shot; let’s not waste a good shot to attempt a bad one.” Gratius advised.
From the wait, it seemed like the escaped prisoner was waiting for any potential fuss about his escape to die down. Gratius had specifically not informed Pompeius of the escape yet as the prisoner was so far out of range of the capabilities of that Squad that they would have to charge out into the desert simply to get a shot near the escapee. As it was, only one man had broken formation and, at that, moved away from the escapee and on a section not near the former prisoner. This action was unlikely to alert him to the danger of a Sniper looking for a specific target. Fortunately, unlike many of the other Squad commanders, Gratius had ordered the correct combat camouflage fatigues to be carried and worn by his men for all the terrain they would encounter, it did take up extra space in the Crabs, but it did mean that Galbinius was almost invisible on the Pyramid.
A dark shadow, magnified by the bending of air rising from the desert, raced from the cover it had been enjoying and attempted to reach the next line of dunes. The figure zigged and zagged in case it had been seen. Lieutenant Gratius held his breath. If Galbinius could not make this shot it would be unlikely that any other chance would be successful as the range increased. Seconds ticked by, as slowly as the sweat dribbling to the end of his nose, before he saw the figure stop suddenly. The stick figure lurched slightly to its left and became shorter. The crack of the high velocity round found its way to the Squad; the visual effects of the round’s impact having already done so, but the sound took longer to catch up with the bullet that had already hummed past its audience. The figure disappeared into the haze of rising heated air near the horizon as it slumped into death.
“Scratch one runner. Target confirmed down, shot directly between the shoulder blades” Galbinius reported over the comm.
Lieutenant Gratius started to make his way to the Crab to report to Guardsman Buteo on the escape attempt and to recommend that Pompeius be warned to keep a better perimeter, given their lack of long-range capability. The shot used to eliminate the prisoner was a waste, he knew, if he had just been seen before he got past any guards he could have been called back and re-inserted into the column then watched more carefully for similar occurrences.
The door of the Crab slammed open and the Guardsman stormed out of the vehicle directly towards Lieutenant Gratius. Gratius assumed the Black Guardsman was just as annoyed as he was about having to save another section of the perimeter potentially at the expense of holding their own; until the fist the Guardsman threw landed just under his right eye throwing him to the ground.
“I am in command of this Squad and you report to me! You shall refer to me as ‘Sir’ and not, I repeat, not simply tell me what you ‘need’ and expect me to provide it without question,” Buteo screamed at Gratius, who was lying on the floor shaking his head at the impact his face had just received.
Gratius seemed to be overly preoccupied at a situation behind Buteo’s head, and at a shake of Gratius’ head he heard the uncocking of several assault rifles. Buteo had not noticed he had come within seconds of becoming the second casualty of this campaign. As the Squad dispersed away from the incident Gratius levered himself to his feet and attempted to reconcile with the offended Guardsman.
“I apologise for that, I am used to one of my squad being in the Mark 17 operating the scanning equipment. I had assumed you would relay my request under your own authority knowing that this incident needed to be dealt with quickly. I had not realised you were viewing the feed directly and would thus be doing the scan yourself.” Gratius was puzzled. There was no way to effectively command while operating the scanning console. The amount of information to filter out was prodigious, attempting to do all that would inhibit command, not enhance it. The presence of skilled operator at the consoles meant that only pertinent information reached the commander so that swift decisions could be made without the distraction of superfluous data.
A scream erupted from a familial group in the convoy and another figure broke away from the main body of the prisoners. A few of the female prisoners reached out and called to the shape now moving directly past the stunned soldiers of Pompeius Squad who had been observing with amusement the assault on Lieutenant Gratius and paying no heed to their own perimeter, again. Gratius caught the movement over the shoulder of Buteo at the same time as Sergeant Curtius raised his rifle to respond to the running motion in
the same way as Galbinius had previously. Gratius saw that the figure was less than half the size of the man that had attempted to escape the convoy earlier. The upward motion of the rifle attracted Gratius’ attention as the scene passed in slow motion.
“Hold fire Curtius, Amatius, non-lethal response NOW!” Yelled Gratius as he realised the runner was a small girl, tears streaming down her cheeks running past hundreds of armed soldiers with orders to shoot any and all runners. “Amatius, Tazer shot, for the love of all that’s holy! TAKE HER DOWN! ANYONE ELSE THAT CAN HEAR ME; DO NOT FIRE!!!”
Gratius hit the ground for the second time that day, never having seen the fist swinging to intercept his chin. He lay on the ground as steel-toe capped boots smashed into his midriff repeatedly. The air escaped his lungs but he could bring no more air in to replace it.