Ashes

by Martin Allen

  Balbus was also vaguely familiar with the song that had eased Mya into slumber; he though remembered it as a lullaby that a family friend of his parents had sung to him when his parents had been working late in the refectory of the Imperial Compound. The language, he knew was Arabic, but he had no knowledge of the meaning of the words for he had eschewed that language to distance himself from the possibility of being indoctrinated by something other than that which would grant him citizenship. He glanced over at the monitors, for if the storm were to break he would have to empty the Crab immediately and get the Squad into prescribed marching formation before the easing made the Squad’s actions apparent to the rest of the column. For while he knew without question that the Squad was doing the right thing, he also knew it would not be viewed as such by the Empire. He did not want to have the possibility of a trial on his record, for this would sully his chances of joining the Empire and riding himself of the stigma of his genealogy. One of the adult prisoners noted the sleeping form of Mya in his arms and offered her own arms to take her from him but Balbus merely shook his head gently so as not to wake Mya. She was fine where she was and Balbus was not discomforted by her presence. Far from it, he felt relaxed and comfortable there and then, a small child in his arms. Perhaps when this and his tenure with the Imperial Guard was all over he would be granted permission by the Empire to marry and have a child of his own. He had never considered this previously but it seemed right and reassuring. He had always been focussed on obtaining his goal of citizenship, but now the idea of something after that appealed to him, and he knew that his child would never have to suffer the torments he suffered for it would be born into citizenship and a loving home.

  Chapter 8

  The bunker shook once again as the remainder of the first trial generated by the Investigator took to the air in missile form. Investigator Celeris almost shuddered with eagerness, soon the unfaithful would feel that which their own unholy books predicted. For them this could be the ultimate degradation, the trials supposedly of their own gods brought down upon them by the will of their own enemies God, for was not Furius the will of Sol Invictus himself? The flight of the missile was as the flight of the comet that predicted doom, by their own superstitious traditions. Soon it would cease its flight and the comet would fall cementing their suffering, suffering that they greatly deserved for their apostate nature.

  General Hostilius noted the fall of the Investigators shoulders as she entered the final code for the launch of the last missile. She seemed to gain pleasure from the act, as though some daemon of suffering possessed her and called for the maximum pain she could inflict and would reward her with pleasure each time she did as was instructed by the sadistic being. The Investigators were renowned for their cold logical application of force and doctrine, but this development spoke of a greater need than that which was supposed to motivate her. Surely the Empire would be protected should the siege be ended and the perpetrators be executed or eliminated. The description of the horror to come chilled the General to his bones as to the excessiveness. He had been trained to win an engagement using appropriate weaponry; such a chemical attack would leave him unable to advance until the gas cleared. He also knew from the co-ordinates placed in the command console that the chemical attack was only centred on part of the rebel positions, it was not designed to created a breach he could readily exploit. The losses would be catastrophic to the ability of the rebels to advance, but that capability had already been decimated by the rocket attack. It seemed wasteful to use such a weapon only as a psychological advantage.

  The readouts from the front flared, the impact of the falling curse communicating itself as a brief infra-red signature on the satellite imaging. The horror had begun. It was impossible to track the spread of the cloud that the Investigator had predicted, but the minds of those in the command bunker filled in the blanks that the technology left. In the minds eye the cloud of green toxicity would slowly expand, even as it filled the lungs of those that were closest to the initial impact of the canisters designed to release the venomous payload. Those in the command centre could see, and would ever see men floundering as though in fire or lime in the thick green light. In their helpless sight men guttering, chocking, drowning; white eyes floundering in their faces, their hanging faces churning forth the spittle of death, their own life’s blood. Even though the hollow, impersonal readouts did not provide this depth of insight into the battlefield itself the image tunnelled into the psyche of those that had been privy to the Investigators grim prediction of the apocalyptic events to follow the impact of those dread harbingers on the battlefield. There was not one man in the Command Bunker that appeared to have any semblance of morale left in him, only the Investigator stood tall and keen.

  As the winds whipped at the Squad Sergeant Curtius cursed the command that had left him to the action of abandoning the relative comfort of the Crab. Although he knew he was pursuing the correct course of action he was aggrieved that he was compelled to march alongside the Crabs. The storm should have been a cue to shelter and continue when it was over. He alternated to which side he held his head but it did not matter, right or left, the sand still stung his face. The visor of his combat helmet helped and the feed overlay from the Crab’s sensors assisted him in keeping track of his surroundings, but he still felt blinded by the storm and abandoned by central command. He wondered what he had done to deserve such a fate. He glanced over at his men; all had their heads down to minimise the impact of the winds and the sand. It had been several days, and the storm showed no sign of relenting. The prisoners, despite the infrequent release of water rations were showing extreme signs of fatigue. They had managed to smuggle small food packets with them but these had been exhausted on the march. The rations provided by the Empire had been meagre when the march had been progressing through clear skies, but, under the auspices of the storm, there were no rations to be distributed. Here and there a crust of bread, or a small measure of water was passed to the most needy, but this was precious little compared to the might of the desert winds. The gauntness of the prisoners approached a level that was most disturbing to the eye. Bones already apparent from the meagre rations afforded to the prisoners en-route were highlighted, even in the poor visibility of the tempest. Starvation was now a very real danger for the column, before long many, especially those that had sacrificed their own stores, would simply drop by the wayside, exhausted and deprived of the energy they required to carry on.

  Lieutenant Gratius called a halt to his squad, and over the howl of the wind saw the same looks their eyes as he imagined he himself had. “They won’t make it much further.” He stated.

  All of the squad that had gathered around him returned the same look of resignation. The nods passed around the circle, one by one the soldiers gave their blessing to the course of action Lieutenant Gratius had proposed. They had carried most of their kit from inside the Crab, so as to make space for the children, and they had given over much of their water ration to the prisoners. Even though their supply had doubled, it had not been sufficient for the needs of those huddled around their vehicles. This new hardship would tax them harshly, for the weight of the equipment and malnutrition together would drain them much faster than the prisoners who had been divested of much of their belongings prior to the march’s commencement. The prisoners, weak as they were, marched unencumbered; therefore the Squad would tire much more quickly.

  “Hand out half of the rations to those that look most likely to drop.” He needed to say no more as the Squad reached into their packs and sought out those that would receive the Empire’s infinitesimal bounty for their own.

  Lieutenant Gratius hoped that the sandstorm would beak soon for he and his men could not march on half rations in these conditions for much longer. He was already feeling the pangs of hunger for several of the airdropped ration packets had been lost in the swirling sands before they could be located. Gratius could almost feel himself starting to wonder if the Black Guard had appropr
iated these rations for themselves in their sense of superiority.

  The Black Guard being of noble stock and beloved of Sol Invictus for their previous devotion to the Empire, and indeed the power base that had helped fashion it, were afforded a privilege that the mere members of the Imperial Guard were not. The most advanced weaponry and armour developed by the Empire were released to the Black Guard prior to any infantry unit in the Imperial Guard. The Imperial Guard was used to hold all manner of positions but the Black Guard forming an elite were given the choice assignments. Although these assignments could in themselves be more risky, their chances of survival were vastly boosted by their superior equipment and training. Their arrogance stemmed from this, and always the Imperial Guard was given second status. It assisted the Black Guard’s status with the Temple that they were also rumoured to be given the tasks that would possibly be considered distasteful by a normal unit. They had their hands in with the Trado of Doctrina despite not being related to it in either organisation or superiors, except of course the Patriarch, who was head of the Temple itself.

  The squad were by now stumbling forward, their packs threatening to weigh them to the ground, to be buried in the maelstrom of the sand, for despite Lieutenant Gratius telling them to only distribute half of their rations, many had merely handed over all they had and made the decision to weather the lows of starvation.

  Halberdier Amatius awoke to an urgent tugging on this uniform, despite being assigned to station in the Crab; he had fallen asleep at his post. A beeping accompanied the pull on his sleeve, a beeping that in his slumber he had been oblivious to. The storm was passing.

  “Sir, the weather is breaking.” Balbus yelled into his comm.-link.

  Mya looked up and smiled at him, for she had been the one tugging at him to inform him of the warning of the consol. Balbus smiled back and opened the doors of the Crab. The wind still blasted into the body of the vehicle, for fortuitously the wind had not yet eased to a sufficient degree to stop this happenstance. The prisoners once again formed a line and passed the children along, this time to the floor of the arid landscape, where they once again took shelter in the lea of the APC. The Squad quickly took their stations, passing the bulk of their equipment back into the Crab for storage and Halberdier Amatius with some relief took his station outside once again. Although the hunched position to maintain a reduced target hurt thighs once again he was glad to be on “normal” duty once more. It had been painful to see those in his squad enduring the harsh conditions while he was relatively comfortable inside. It would have come as little comfort to know that he had been the first to share his rations with the prisoners for his suffering had been lessened by the walls of the APC.

  As the walls of visibility lifted, the Squad saw that their portion of the prisoners had fared better than most but the gaunt countenances of the other squads evidenced that many others had at least distributed their rations as well. As the only squad without a Black Guard liaison, they had obviously been the only Squad to offer up the shelter of their carrier to the prisoners and their distribution efforts had been much more successful as they had not the need to avoid the watchful eye of the members of the Black Guard. Consequently, many more of their prisoners had survived. Out of the dust the Black Guard marched, unaffected by the gruelling conditions of the past week, for true to their rumoured form they had passed the storm in their relative APC commands. The squad looked at the haughty arrogance engendered by the Black Guard and bit back the comments of disgust that would normally have exited their mouths.

  Blue skies reasserted their control over the weather conditions and even the heat that had seemed oppressive in the depths of the storm was rendered mild compared to that which accompanied the cerulean overthrow. Such was the heat that the dark shadow of a settlement flickered and was obscured by the rising air that resulted. Similarly obscured were other dark shadows, much smaller but infinitely closer, that bobbed within the rocky hills to each side of the column. As command groups gathered to assess the progress made and to check that the settlement in the distance was indeed that which they sought these small shadows moved and signalled unnoticed to the column until a warning sounded from the depths of each APC. The integrated command software coupled with the infra-red and motion detectors of the command vehicles had picked up on the shifting presences in the hills. The harsh sunlight had masked their progress thus far and the weariness of the soldiers had allowed their visual progress to go undetected thus far but no farther. As one the soldiers threw themselves to the nearest position of cover to search for the threat.

  Cries of “Which quarter?” came over the Comm.-link only to be answered by “All of them, they’re bloody everywhere!”

  A shot rang out and signalled the descent of bedlam. This first shot ricocheted off an APC near the head of a Black Guardsman who dove to the ground. The ground erupted in small spurts as though an invisible rain of hail had opened onto the rocky ground. Several Imperial Guardsmen who had been too slow to avoid the opening salvo fell twitching to the ground. The fortunate were twitching in the spasms of death but the remainder screamed as their guts spilled to the barren ground.

  “Open fire. Fire at will!” came the order.

  At first only the sound of returning machine gun fire erupted from the column, but as the Squads fell into their rhythm the booming sound of sniper fire punctuated this symphony. Then in came the heavy staccato of the stationary heavy machine guns, which lay down a withering cover fire. The roar of the weapons of the Heavy Weapons Specialists, the Plasma Cannons gave a deep bass rich in power. Each roar sent a bright ball of super heated plasma towards the enemy in the hills to either side of the column. Bright fireworks of flame and death illuminated the pass as men and their weapons were incinerated by the plasma deal out by the Squads. Screaming men ran from their previous positions, desperately seeking to extinguish the fires that had by now reached the combustion point of their bodies. No water available in the arid vista would extinguish such heat, and many of them blundered into their own comrades passing the affliction of pain and suffering to each other. Occasionally as one of the shadows rose to fire its head would disappear to the percussive sound of the sniper rifle as this symphony of death continued its deadly work. As the opposing force realised that the ambush had failed they attempted to use their superior numbers to push forward. Charging as one down the gentle slopes of the pass, they seemed to have no regard for their own lives. They fell, mowed down by the passes of the heavy machine guns. Snipers now no longer had to pick their targets with care, merely fire and move to the next man in the massed charge coming towards the Imperial line.

  No tactics beyond the initial charge seemed to have been employed by the robed men beyond that of the initial ambush, seemingly intent on guaranteeing their own demise. Waves and waves of the men fell to the ground under the massed fire of the Squads, but still the robed men managed to get closer and closer to the column. Their numerical advantage meant that the Squads simply could not cut down enough to halt their inexorable advance. Each fallen man brought the wall of screaming men closer and closer to the squads. This decreased range also meant that the accuracy of the horde increased, despite the anachronistic firearms they wielded. The initial advantage the column had enjoyed melted away as Imperial Guardsmen under less advantageous cover were hurled from their feet by the impact of the bullets into their torsos or heads.

  Sergeant Curtius had taken cover behind one of the Crabs and leaned heavily against the treads of the tracked vehicle. He felt dizzy and weak from the lack of food. He could not aim a damn. He took another glance around the side of the vehicle and opened fire again into the charge; well it did not seem his lack of ability to aim would matter much now, for it was almost impossible to miss. He ducked back as he felt rather than heard a bullet hum past his head.

  Halberdier Amatius was in a similar position and condition to Sergeant Curtius, but, having less experience, was rather more agitated. He could see the faces of his parents in
his mind as they were brought the bad news of his imminent demise. The words of his mother as she stated she had tried to warn him as all his dreams of citizenship fell down around him. He opened fire blindly around the rock he had been sheltering behind, trying to keep as much of his body under cover as possible. He heard the screams of several men, before he retracted his arm as the earth erupted around him from the retaliatory bullets sent in his direction.

  Halberdier Valerius Cato rotated his chair to move from viewing the multiple sensor readouts to the weapons station. He cursed inwardly as he realised the attacking force had used the sandstorm and resulting heat wave afterwards as screen to sneak up on the column. Whoever they were, they were familiar with the terrain and environmental conditions. “Well”, he thought, “let’s see how familiar they are with modern weaponry”. He engaged the turret controls to extend the laser targeting and cannon mounts. While the Crabs could not afford the space to house a full tank turret, they could contain a dazzling array of smaller weapons and one reduced calibre large calibre barrel, all of which could be used independently. He frantically ordered the computer to seek out the heaviest concentrations of enemies for laser targeting, given he could see no trace of any vehicles yet. He then worked on getting the computer to aim for the remaining gaps in the line with the large calibre gun.