by Martin Allen
General Hostilius could only guess at the weapons that the Investigator had made him order to the front. He knew that the most powerful of his tactical solutions, up to and including high yield explosive multi-war headed missile weaponry, did not warrant such secrecy. Whatever was out in the courtyard was something that the Empire valued as ordinance far more than even the most powerful weapon at his command. Hostilius could only guess as to the effect this would have on the rebel troops. All he knew was that he would not even in his wildest nightmares wish to see firsthand the effects these weapons would have. All that he could extrapolate was that given the Investigator wished to escalate the horror level of the battlefield then the psychological and physical effect of these new weapons would be devastating in the extreme. He at least felt some level of relief that the battle would soon be over.
“General,” The Investigator called back “I feel you may find this educational.” Corvus sighed. So much for not seeing the classified weaponry and maximising his chances of not being executed to cover up its existence.
General Hostilius reluctantly made his way into the courtyard to behold the weapons now de-cloaking.
“You may be familiar with the basic contents of these weapons. The Trado of Doctrina, when appraising the Historical archives, found some interesting weapon specifications from the pre-Imperial era. They had been agreed to be much too horrific to be deployed, by almost every civilization that deemed itself in the ‘developed world’. With these updated relics we will crush the spirits of not only the rebels here but all over the Empire. Are they not things of terrible beauty?”
General Hostilius had heard a number of rumours about what the pre-Imperial nations had cooked up in various weapons labs, fragmentation rounds, fire-based solutions which stuck to targets and were nigh on impossible to extinguish, but nothing that was out of the current capabilities of the weapons he already had access to.
“Imagine if you will a cloud creeping along the battlefield, you would assume that this would provide some cover for an enemy attack, would you not?” The Investigator did not pause for an answer to the rhetorical question, “So you would refuse to move your troops from that location. Now imagine that the cloud IS the attack, no troops, no risk to the opposing force. As soon as the cloud hits your troops they start to cough, which limits their effectiveness. After some time within the cloud they are no longer coughing mucus but their own lungs, haemorrhaging and drowning in their own blood. By the time you realise this cloud is the cause your men have been within it too long and die spectacularly. This reduces the moral and therefore the effectiveness of the remainder of your troops. Truly an impressive system. This shall be part of the coup de gras of our offensive. This was the first blow of our trinity to which the rebels will be wholly unprepared. We shall unleash the fury of Sol Invictus himself with primary strikes on three areas of differing but equally deadly attacks. We have already sent War. Now we shall unleash Famine and Disease; before we finally grant them Death.”
Corvus stared in wide eyed amazement. The Investigator had taken leave of her senses. Not only was she talking about unleashing poison gas on Sol Invictus itself, but she was quoting one of the forbidden text -, a well know apocryphal prophesy from the Christian Bible. Corvus began, for the fist time in his military career, to shake with fear.
“All Squads be advised that land transport of supplies will be curtailed until the adverse weather conditions diminish. Air drops will be utilised but due to the flight risk only supplies for the troops will be deployed.”
Lieutenant Gratius swore under his breath. The Convoy had not even reached the secondary target and they were haemorrhaging prisoners at a brisk pace. His orders had stated that it was imperative that at least some of the prisoners reach the final waypoint. At this rate, he would loose the majority in days. Now they were to be starved on a forced march? This did not bode well for his objectives. Although he was now back on his feet and had retaken command of his Squad from a near exhausted and emotionally drained Sergeant Curtius he was not yet functioning at peak efficiency and was extremely dubious as to the competence of the command he was forced to follow.
“Command, Squads have been encountering high winds, temperatures and sand has been clogging key systems. We would request double the regulation drop for Squad Calidius and any other Squad which has used water rations to combat said conditions and to clear out the key systems.” Lieutenant Gratius hoped that he was correct in his estimation of the intelligence of the command structure above him if he was to complete his mission.
“Affirmative Calidius, extra requisition approved. Combat effectiveness must be maintained.” Lieutenant Aquilinius breathed a sigh of relief, the requisition had been approved with no follow-up, and command had bought every word hook, line and sinker.
Sergeant Curtius leaned in close to the Lieutenant and whispered into his ear, “Sir, the sand has not yet affected the key systems and the Squad is within the Crabs, there is no need for extra water.”
“Sergeant, our orders are to deliver a number of prisoners to our objective, should they die of dehydration in the middle of this Invictus cursed desert we will have failed that mission. We need water if any of those prisoners out there are to survive the next few days. I don’t see how we can get extra rations but hopefully the storm will die down by then and normal supply lines can resume.”
“I don’t like it; I don’t fancy being sent to the trials for being a sympathiser. It’s one thing to creatively interpret orders, but you have been specifically told that the supplies are for the troops only.”
“We are in the middle of a sandstorm with the prisoners huddled around our vehicles, which will house our supplies, how hard can it be to keep a secret?”
The precious water was distributed through the firing ports on the Crabs, no doors could be seen to be open from the other command vehicles, even using the advanced detection equipment at the command of the Empire. The huddle of prisoners around the Crabs kept the infra red from seeing anything but the huddle, optical cameras were useless due to the sandstorm and no other wavelength was able to provide the resolution necessary to detect the clandestine supply operation. Still even with double the normal amount of water for a squad, even one washing down the external components of their vehicles, there was not enough water for all the prisoners in the section of the Squads responsibility. Hands endlessly extended towards the firing ports until the water containers stopped coming. The inherent humanity in the prisoners continued even in the severe conditions the prisoners were enduring. The strong refused water and pushed it towards the young and the elderly for they would be more badly affected by dehydration, but slowly even they had to start taking some of the limited supply for themselves.
Halberdier Amatius noticed it first, “Sarge, there aren’t as many old people, there are more and more kids round the Crab.”
The squad crowded round the monitors to see what was going on. It had been several hours since they had handed out water, seeking to ration that which was given out to maximise the number of people who actually survived the storm. The infra-red was confusing as the crowd milled around changing its shape and composition as the steady cycle for shelter continued, but the constant vulnerable members of the sheltering group were changing in their composition. The height deceased slowly, on average and the head size in relation to the body grew.
“It’s mainly children by the Crabs, now Sir.” Observed Sergeant Curtius.
“Switch to optical; let’s see what’s going on out there. They’re close enough to make out at short range.” Lieutenant Gratius ordered.
As the monitor readout switched, small groups could be seen gathering around elderly members of the prisoners and hugging them. The children would be pushed into the shelter of the Crabs and the elderly would make dismissive hand gestures as though refusing further assistance. Nothing else could be seen from the cameras as the brown haze of the storm moved over the group that was alternately clasping each other and s
eparating.
“Halberdier Amatius, get out there and find out what’s going on. If they are eliminating the old I want to know about it so we can put a stop to it.” Sergeant Curtius yelled; fearing the worst. “Damn heathens, they claim to believe in a life after death but never hesitate to sacrifice everyone else first. Fucking Hypocrites!”
Halberdier Amatius fell through the briefly opened door accompanied by a blast of hot desert air and dust, which temporarily blinded the rest of the Squad in the Crab.
“Well, what the Hell are they doing?” thundered Sergeant Curtius.
Balbus lay in the footwell of the Crab covering his face. At first the Squad assumed the grit had got into his eyes and he was trying to wash the pain away with his body’s natural defences. After a number of minutes Balbus made no effort not move from the foetal position he had adopted and the shaking of his body indicated that he was not just in pain due to the grit of the desert. His body started racking in sobs as he attempted to pull air into his lungs, lungs that were overreacting due to his emotional state. Amatius was lying in the middle of his Sectio crying like a child, uncaring as to his surroundings, oblivious to his standing in the Squad. Huddled and small he refused to answer even the simplest question, tears running down his cheeks unable to form a word to explain his sudden loss of control.
“Dammit, I’ll go and find out for myself what’s going on.” muttered Vice-Corporal Ovidius, who was the direct superior to Halberdier Amatius.
Headier Amatius grabbed Vice-Corporal Ovidius’ arm like an industrial clamp and held on. He would not be shaken loose and when Vice-Corporal Ovidius looked down he looked into eyes which had sunk almost to the depths of oblivion and madness. Pain and horror was found in equal measure, as Balbus found his voice. He found his voice so that no-one else would see what he had seen and would have to relive the nightmares he knew he would endure for the rest of his life. What had been seen could not be undone, what he had been complicit in could never be rectified. The screams of anguish were because of his actions, and his inaction in the face of an implacable God demanding this outcome. Had he been but stronger he could have endured another life that did not bring this guilt to his door. The camaraderie he felt meant that he had to try to shield his fellow Squad members from what lay outside that door.
“Don’t go out there; you don’t want to see it.” he gasped.
“Why what are the sick bastards up to?” asked Vice-Corporal Ovidius grasping his weapon even more tightly “I wouldn’t treat my grandmother the way they’re getting rid of the old people out there, she practically raised me”
“The old people won’t make it, they know it. They’re saying goodbye. The families don’t want them to go but they can’t stop them. They say goodbye and just walk off into the storm. The remaining prisoners have to keep up with the Crabs.”
The Squad sat around in stunned silence; they had all seen an occasional act of self-sacrifice in battle, throwing oneself over a grenade to save a Squad that was otherwise doomed and other such immediate actions. This wholesale sacrifice was something beyond their experience. Logistically it made sense, the water handed out by the Squad could not sustain the prisoners indefinitely, their numbers were just too great. The young and the elderly would be the least likely to survive as both needed constant support and greater supplies of water. The elderly knowing they were unlikely to make the journey had decided en mass to remove the possibility of their survival for a short period, improving the chances of the young, and were just walking out into the storm to die. They could have had a less horrific death if they had continued walking so that it seemed they were making an escape attempt, but they barely got out of sight before they sat down and waited for the inevitable. These were the fading footprints on the infra-red monitors the Squad had been watching. These were the lives they watched become paler. Each glow as it grow fainter was the selfless sacrifice of another human being giving what little time they had to enable the remainder were able to continue, to continue to the trials of the Inquisition. The screams that Balbius had heard were not the screams of the elderly as they were forced to lay down their lives in a Darwinian struggle for survival; it was the screams of their children watching the serene faces of their parents fade from their lives forever. Excruciating as hearing such visceral grief was to Balbus, this was not the worst of all that he had seen and heard.
As he had been watching families torn apart he had been seen by one an elderly lady. She had walked over to him after tenderly embracing whom he could only assume was her daughter and whispering a probable platitude to ease the pain of her departure. She had stood directly in front of him and looked him directly in the eye, calmly and in a measured manner. He had expected a tirade of blame of some sort, but no such response had come forth. She had gently rested a hand on his arm.
“For the water,” she said kissing him on one cheek, “for giving water to my family,” she said kissing the other and gently tipping his head forward so her lips could reach his forehead, albeit still covered by his helmet, “for Mya.” and then she was gone.
The Squad sat in the Crab in silence, they were painfully aware there was little they could do, their orders were clear.
“Sir….” Whispered Vice-Corporal Ovidius “Surely…”
“Shut up.” Hissed Lieutenant Gratius closing his eyes to block the almost pleading eyes of his Squad.
The Silence covered all with its shroud, the audio sensors had been cut off by a silent nod from Lieutenant Gratius when it appeared too much for his men to take. The screams of loss had echoed and reverberated around the metal interior of the Crab, bringing tears to the eyes of many of his men. Finally, Lieutenant Gratius opened his eyes and the desperation of his previous torment seemed gone, replaced with the fire of purpose.
“Everyone out!” He yelled as he stood up. “Get the children into the Crab, NOW!”
The Squad piled out into the biting wind and formed a chain to lift the children into the Crab in as efficient a manner as possible. Although their visors were down the sand found new and interesting ways into their faces no matter which way they turned to avoid it. Heavy backpacks were also carried with their supplies of water, which they would need in the oppressive heat. Their arms burned with the exertion of lifting child after child into the relative safety of the Crabs. They could not afford to halt the Crabs and so they had to maintain the marching pace whilst holding the line. They grabbed each child with little or no explanation, for each word would rob them of precious moisture that they knew they would need for the remainder of the march. The parents of the children fearing the worst had initially fought and clutched to their offspring when the line had formed, slowly they had realised the purpose of the scheme, when the Crab half-filled with children. They then had brought forward their own for consideration. It had been hard to hold off on just grabbing the nearest child and stuffing it into the Crab, but as the prisoners assisted they were able to effect a triage system, the smallest and least able to walk had been placed first, so as to maximise the benefits. The earlier efforts of the prisoners had also assisted, many of the smaller children had been permanently huddled in the lea of the Crabs in any event, and they were the easiest to lift into the interior of the vehicle. In a small amount of time the prisoners were lifting children in height order to the soldiers to be housed in the Crabs. Thankfully by the time the Crabs were filled the supply of children had dwindled and a few of the older prisoners could be placed within the APC’s to help keep order for only the driver and a Vice-Corporal, to operate the sensors and relay command messages, were left within. Halberdier Amatius had unanimously been nominated to remain within, as the newest addition to the Squad he was the least well conditioned and would be more of a liability on the march in such challenging conditions. He had taken to the news well; despite the fact that he wanted to do his part he had not relished the prospect of seeing any more sacrifices. He had been last seen by the squad, before the doors closed, sitting in the operators chair w
ith Mya on his lap.
Mya sat uncomprehending in the lap of Balbus. She did not know what had happened to her father, his last words had indicated that he was going to get help and she should find her adopted grandmother. She could not recall what had become of him after that. Something itched in her that she should, for some reason, remember what had happened to him but her mind skipped over events after he had left her telling her he would be back. She looked around her, perhaps this was the help he had promised, these people had looked after her since he had gone and she had no idea what where her grandmother had gone. Confusion rose within her and her eyes welled with tears only to be met with a look of concern from the soldier holding her steady. He gently wiped her burgeoning tears away with the sleeve of his uniform and put a comforting arm around her. She settled into the embrace grateful that someone at least cared for her. Around her the children chattered excitedly, especially the boys. The prospect of riding in a military transport was obviously of some import to them for some reason but Mya found it cramped and noisy. The confusion grew in her mind and threatened to overwhelm her but again the soft intuitive attention of the soldier calmed her as he slowly and gently patted her on the back gently shushing her. A soft lilting melody came from the mouth of an elderly lady who was also in the metal interior. The tune carried and was caught up by the few other adults who were not outside. The chattering slowly ceased and a few of the children joined in. Mya was calmed; she had heard the song before but could not place it. It did carry an overtone of home, despite being in a language that was unfamiliar to her. Many of the younger children settled down and Mya fell into a deep dreamless sleep.