Day of the Assault
He could smell the burnt flesh. Clouds of black smoke wafted across the muddy ground, carried by southwestern winds that pushed the gag-inducing strength into the Imperial lines. The weather had taken a decided turn for the worse just before the assault began. As a result the promised air support had never materialized, and continued shelling of the defenses. Pouring rain made the ground slippery and treacherous. The darkness of the clouds made spotting the enemy impossible. The only way to find the enemy was to push forward until they started shooting. Casualties were high.
Despite the death and misery around him, Shannegh felt his spirits soar. After months of waiting, it was finally time for a real scrap. He plodded forward through the mud, lascarbine tracking back and forth in case one of the bodies wasn't truly dead. In the chaos of battle it was easy to mistake an unconscious body for a dead one. That was why the Inquisitor units had been asked to patrol forward in the wake of the infantry. Every so often the crack of a lasgun or some other such weapon proved the value of this strategy.
He stopped at the edge of the third trench line. Huddled together in the shattered remains of an earthen pillbox sat a dozen wounded Guardsmen and two rear echelon medics. The pitiful groaning of the injured made his stomach churn. The walking wounded would have continued on with their units. He had already passed a few stretcher teams that had begun the arduous task of bringing back the dead for processing. One of the medics looked up at him through smoke-reddened eyes. He gazed up at Shannegh for a moment before deciding that he was not there for medical aid.
Anna caught his attention off to his left. She waved for him to keep up. Inquisitor Helsing was impatient to reach the front. Per the General's orders they had waited until noon before setting out. The delay, coupled with the rain, made them all impatient. Gutterball's whining had caused a near-fight with Nicolai. Dunk'er grew bored and wandered off three times over the course of the morning. Shannegh had sat in the tent and played with his new toy. A kopis, the locals called it. Not quite a sword but larger than the average dagger. This one contained extensive adamantine wiring connected to an activation stud on the hilt. When powered the blade discharged an electrical impulse powerful enough to paralyze a man for thirty seconds or so. Perfect for quiet assassinations. Shannegh was sure he would find good use for it in the coming days.
A thoughtful combat engineer had laid a few stapled strips of wood across the trench. Shannegh hurried across, not keen on testing the bridge's stability, and rejoined the staggered line. The ratio of corpses had begun to turn faintly in the Imperial's favor by this point. Many of the dead wore non-standard armor, and many had fallen face first into the mud. Shot in the back as they ran away. There were some of those in every army.
One of the bodies was struggling. Shannegh lifted his lascarbine up and down to signal he had found something. Anna trained her rifle on the area as he approached the body. It wasn't Imperial. The man had been shot twice in the lower back. The shock must have knocked him out long enough for the second wave to pass him by. Or they just hadn't spotted him in this downpour. Shannegh checked to ensure his hands were visible before approaching the man.
"Don't move" he ordered. The wounded man turned his head slowly, trying to look up. Blood coated his face. His beard had grown wild in the past months, and his skin stretched taut over his bones. Intelligence had speculated that they were short on food. The state of this man appeared to corroborate that news. That or they had been unable to resupply the trench companies because of the shelling. "How many of you are left?"
"Not enough, sadly." The man did not tremble in the face of the menacing lascarbine. His eyes glowed with too-bright energy. "And less now."
"Any chance you could clarify that?"
The man's hand inched towards a fallen lasgun. Shannegh shot him in the base of the neck. Grumbling under his breath at fools and their allegiances, he stomped onwards. The corpses began to thin in that precious space between defensive lines. Here and there he came upon the wreckage of carts or support weapons that had been annihilated while trying to make it across the field. The mountains loomed ahead. He could only see the vague outline of the nearest ones. Soon he would hear the rolling crackle of lasfire.
Hunter Seeking Status, Check.
Everyone responded affirmatively except for Lieutenant Eulogy. Her Praetorian Rifles had discovered a man-sized tunnel just behind the third trench line. They had marked the location and were awaiting a platoon of Tenean PDF that would secure the entrance. Helsing's frustration bled across the vox, but he confirmed her report and issued orders for the entire team to halt. The picket line would not be very effective with a squad-sized hole in it.
Sighing quietly, Shannegh cast about for a relatively dry patch to sit down. There was none to be found. He stood in a sea of mud. Cursing the weather did not seem to earn him any favors either, so he kicked a dead mercenary onto his back and plopped down on the man's body. He spent a minute scraping mud off his boots. The heavy shroud of rain gave the setting an eerie feel. Every crack and crevice in the ground was full of mud, blood and water. Corpses thrown about by the artillery shelling cast ominous shadows in the lightning flashes.
After the massive bombardment conducted over the past two days, taking the trenches had been a pushover. That hardly meant anything, considering the mountains were universally acknowledged to be the tougher obstacle. Even so, the Guard had paid horrifically for the base of the mountain. They must have lost at least a hundred men before even reaching the first trench. The defenders might have been outnumbered and outgunned, but they had put up a hell of a fight. And that fight had continued all the way through the second and third trench lines. It was only after losing all of their prepared positions that the defenders broke and ran.
It still amazed him to see how men could march to certain death like this. Having never served in the Guard, he could only imagine the kind of balls it took to storm over the edge of the trench into a sheet of incoming fire. Sure, he had seen his fair share of hairy action, but this was on a whole other level. Only a madman enjoyed this sort of slaughter.
About ten minutes passed before he detected an incoming body. The steady squelching tramp of combat boots slogging through the mud preceded a shadowy shape coming from the mountain. Shannegh calmly slid off his corpse-seat and leaned back against it, laying his lascarbine across his body ready to fire. He doubted it would be an enemy, but it never hurt to be safe. Flicking the fire selector to full, he squinted through the rain.
A bloodsoaked Tenean Guardsmen stumbled out of the haze. He had a rough web of bandages pressed to the stump jutting from his right shoulder. Seemingly oblivious, he walked right past Shannegh and kept on towards the Imperial lines. The man was muttering to himself. Said something about an ambush.
Reaper Seeking Hunter. Ambulatory Local. Warn Prepared Hostiles.
The vox remained silent for a long minute.
Hunter Seeking Reaper. Verity?
Uncertain. Ambulatory Shock.
Again, a pause. Helsing's next command sent everyone scrambling.
Hounds. Converge By Half.
Anna was by his side in the time it took him to stand up. She stood beside him, sniper rifle tracking in the direction of the passing soldier.
"I can fetch him" she said. "Nick the knee and drag him back."
"Don't fecking shoot him! He's on our side."
"Click, bang, scream…"
"Point that the feck elsewhere!" Shannegh growled and knocked her sniper rifle into the air. Her eyes flashed with murder at the intrusion of her personal space. In the span of a heartbeat she had drawn back out of his reach and shoved the barrel into his chest.
"Third rib" she hissed. "Left atrium. Tap, hiss, gurgle."
Her tendency to list off the exact effects of her shots unsettled most of Helsing's crew, but not Shannegh. His nerve was never stronger than when someone put a barrel in his face. "Shove off. We've got a job to do."
Blatantly ignoring the threat, Shannegh stalked off in Helsing's direction. The Inquisitor's order had been to draw down into a paired picket line at half the normal width. Being the outliers on the left flank, they had a good half kilometer to slog through before they repositioned. Anna trudged along after him, glaring daggers into his spine. He caught snatches of her whispering to her rifle, apologizing for the unsanctioned touching and promising to take vengeance. The woman was psychotic enough she actually might consider shooting him in the back in combat. Taking the infiltration alone suddenly seemed like a lot better plan.
They proceeded until he caught sight of Dunk'er massive frame. The Ogryn had indeed requisitioned a missile launcher, and he carried it proudly on his shoulder at all times. The question of whether or not he knew how to operate it hadn't yet come across the big guy's brain, but Shannegh had faith he would find a way to use it. Worst case scenario he could hurl the missiles like grenades. Wait, had he even taken ammo?
"Dunk'er, Dunk'er, Dunk'er" Shannegh called out. The last thing they needed was for Dunk'er to panic on seeing them and assume they were the enemy. The Ogryn turned their way and waved cheerily.
"Ey Rippah! Purdy day, eh?"
"Sure thing" he called back. "We moving out?"
The Ogryn did not need to answer, because Helsing's armored form appeared out of the haze at a jog. At the sight of the Inquisitor, Shannegh gave the nearby area quick glance before relaxing.
"Boss" he said, nodded respectfully to the Inquisitor. Helsing's scowl was well-hidden by the wide-brimmed hat he wore to keep the rain off. He did not appear to be in the mood for talking.
"What did the man say?"
"He'd lost an arm and looked near catatonic, but he was talking to himself about an ambush. Mentioned rockets, lasers, people dying all over the place."
The inquisitor adopted that introspective look he wore when considering bad choices. After a few moments he shrugged. "The Teneans are ahead of us. We will push forward until we spot the fighting, then we will decide how to proceed. But I will be damned before I let the other Inquisitors beat us to the conclave, do you understand me?"
He did not know if Helsing was referring to his task or the whole team's, but Shannegh nodded nonetheless. His boss was in a foul mood and not at all up for wisecracks. Offering an encouraging nod, he pointed on ahead.
"Anna and I can scout ahead, see what we find. We won't run into any ambushes."
"Agreed. You two will take the lead. I will bring up the rest behind you. Give me three minutes to collect the others."
With that the Inquisitor turned on his heel and stalked off through the muddy battlefield. Shannegh stared after him, crunching numbers in his head. He had no idea if that man had been a sole survivor or merely too wounded to remain up front. Hopefully it was the latter option. He had not woken up this morning hoping to be thrown into a full-on battle. Helsing's voice came over the vox, issuing orders for the others to regroup and prepare to move en masse. The Praetorians reluctantly abandoned their position, leaving the tunnel marked but unguarded. When everyone was assembled Helsing gave Shannegh the order to move.
"Let's go hunting" he told Anna. She bared a feral grin and slunk forward. Within moments her body had vanished. Shannegh trudged after her, not as graceful but about as stealthy. In half an hour they left the muddy field behind for the rising slope of the mountain. Here the number of corpses began to grow again. First a couple Guardsmen, then half a dozen Teneans stretched out away from a blast crater, then the bodies began to mingle. Some lay in firing positions, their lives cut short by a lucky shot. Others were contorted in grappling poses, knifed or beaten to death. At one point he came upon a pile of three charred bodies. The middle had been lost a leg, and the two beside him might have been dragging him to safety when a flamer consumed them. The carnage only grew worse and more intimate the higher they went.
By the time Anna signaled contact front Shannegh had decided that this sort of warfare did not suit his tastes. An enemy could be behind every rock. Advancing soldiers had too many angles to watch and not enough guns to cover them all. A squad of ten skilled men could wipe out a company of a hundred in a setting like this. The Tenean dead were beyond counting.
"Mortars" Anna announced, pointing ahead. Shannegh acknowledged and scuttled forward, careful to avoid presenting a profile. The last thing they needed was some trigger-happy Guardsman taking a shot at him on the approach. He crept to within twenty meters of their position and ensured he had good cover before shouting out the operation's pass word.
"Aquila!"
The nearest three men scrambled for their lasguns and trained them in his direction. One rose from his mortar and took a hesitant step in Shannegh's direction.
"Faith!"
"Coming out." Shannegh lifted his lascarbine straight in the air to identify his location. Shrugging the hood of his cloak back, he leapt down from his perch and strode into the mortar position. The men had dug in as best they could and stood by waiting for a fire mission. Set in a V-shape, the three mortar tubes had their bases reinforced with the lids of ammo cans to prevent their sinking into the mud when fired. Two men attended each weapon, one gunner and one assistant. Another two crouched at opposite flanks for security, and two more were huddled around a vox. That would be the section commander and his communications officer.
The section leader broke off from speaking to his vox operator and strode over to greet him.
"You're not Guard" the man observed. He eyed Shannegh's cloak and grimaced. "You're one of them headhunters, aren't you?"
"My Inquisitor is close behind me" Shannegh told them. The mortar men gazed about uneasily. No one liked Inquisitors, especially Guardsmen. "What's your status?"
"We've been punching our way up this slope for the past three hours. Casualties are high, ammunition for our mortars is low as a sailor's pants on shore leave. But we're pounding the piss out of those xenos-lovers."
"That is good news. How far forward are the infantry?"
"Not more than a couple hundred meters. This rock does strange things to the noise, but once you cross that little rise you'll hear them plain as day."
Shannegh nodded and called for Anna to come in. She slunk in from the shadows, appearing beside one of their perimeter sentries before he noticed her. The Guardsman nearly leapt out of his skin when her pale hand landed on his shoulder and pushed him aside. Most of the mortar crews stared. They hadn't seen a woman in a while, that much was certain. And certainly hadn't seen anything like her either. Moving lithely through the muck, she came to Shannegh's side and tapped her ear. He took her advice and reported in.
Reaper Seeking Hunter. Friends Found. Awaiting.
He did not wait for a reply. Helsing would push the others forward in a rush to catch up.
"Lots of friends ahead" Anna sighed, caressing the butt of her sniper rifle with a trembling hand. If she did not shoot something soon she might start taking shots at the Guardsmen just for the hell of it. "Can I go meet them?"
"No further than that rise" Shannegh said, pointing to the spot the officer had indicated. "And if they return the favor I want you right back here, got it?"
"Rain, rain, go away" she whispered, and started for the rise.
The officer stared after her, one eyebrow arched. "How old is she? She looks like a kid."
"Older than she looks and old enough to kill."
That settled his questions. The officer excused himself and went off to check with his vox operator. The mortar crews returned to their tubes, waiting for the coordinates to send their next rain of death. Empty containers littered the area, and as Shannegh watched one of the sentries retreated from his position and began collecting the boxes. He stacked them all in a pile beside a small four-wheeler with a trailer-bed attachment. They must have driven the ammunition up on the trailer.
Within minutes of his arrival the mortar crew received a fire mission. He calmly stepped out of the way and watched as the two-man crews rushed to adjust their tubes. It took effort to maneuver the heavy metal pieces through the mud, but they didn't complain or lollygag. When the mortars were in position and adjusted they began firing salvoes. Offsetting their shots by two seconds, they launched a one minute long stream of high explosive shells. He could see the haze ahead grow brighter over the rise, but strangely he heard nothing. Just the dull 'whoosh' of the warheads leaving the tubes and the splatter of rain on rock and mud.
The officer called cease-fire at the minute mark. The gunners scrambled to restock their depleted warhead supplies while the loaders double-checked the placement of the tubes and scooped water from the puddles to cool down the barrels. That done, they called off their reserves and collected spent arming pins from the fired warheads. Their firing must have been effective, because they did not have a second call. It was all efficient and mechanical. They were damn good at what they did.
Anna returned from her forward position at about the same time Helsing brought the rest of the team in. The Praetorians pushed right past the mortars, ignoring the odd looks they received, and set up a skirmish line twenty five meters ahead. Behind them the Thracians took position in a clump, not in battle formation but ready to drop shoulder to shoulder in an instant. Their bronze shields held the coat-of-arms of their families; Shannegh knew they prized their shields over their lives. The last time he had talked to Nicolai about it the man had rattled off some wizened quote about coming home with his shield or on it. Frivolous honor crap, in his opinion. If someone dumped a heavy shield on him and he had to get out of trouble, he'd drop it in an instant.
The Inquisitor went straight to the section officer, demanding an update on the situation before the man could even register that the being before him in wonderfully engraved archaic power armor was the one pulling the strings. He saluted nervously, and rattled off a report as the two began to speak in low tones. Shannegh did not bother trying to listen in. He knew his orders. The where did not matter.
He chose to wait beside Gutterball and Dunk'er, knowing full-well the effect of seeing three wildly dissimilar men so close. More than a couple sets of Guard eyes stared at them in wonder. One time a snobbish noble had seen them together and asked if Shannegh was their 'beast handler.' Shannegh's response had been to look him dead in the eye and reply that they were lovers. Startled the ignorant fop so badly he had fainted on the spot. Ah, good times.
"What're you packing there, Dunk'er?"
It was a small necklace made of used IV tubes with a few picts wrapped in plasitk hooked through. Despite the gratuitous length of tubing taken to form the string, it barely fit around the Ogryn's throat. Shannegh stepped closer and lifted one of the picts to examine. He didn't recognize the woman, but she wore a medicae uniform. Not bothering to ask for permission, he checked the others. Feck, it was all a bunch of nurse picts. Sadly, they were all fully clothed. But damn were they easy to look at.
"Where'd you get these beauties, Dunk'er?"
"S'a gift" he mumbled, blushing a brownish crimson color. "From da purdy ladies fer bein' help."
"Feck all, if I'd known they'd hand out picts for a few hours of work I would've been all over that hospital." Shannegh picked the prettiest one and plucked it from the necklace. He tucked it into his vest pocket and patted the Ogryn on the arm. "Should'a gotten them to show some skin, but I'll take it."
"Why dey do that" Dunk'er asked, his wrinkled face scrunching up in confusion. Gutterball snickered lewdly and made a motion with his hands.
"Dunk'er, someday I'm going to have to sit down with you and explain what happens when a man likes a woman."
"I like plenny o' woman."
"And they like you too, I bet." He hesitated, having a sudden and very hopeful revelation. Digging the pict back out of his vest, he checked the back. "Throne have mercy! Gutterball, look at this."
The mutant-man scurried over and peered at the back of the pict. Shannegh held it close to his chest, leaning over it to avoid getting the plastic wet. This was not the kind of thing he wanted to risk ruining. The clear red print of a woman's lips and a name. Suddenly they weren't laughing anymore. Muttering a curse, Shannegh checked the other ones. All the same.
"I am so jealous right now" Shannegh grumbled. "Feck, if you had half a brain you'd have had the sweetest rumble this side of a Sister's initiate class."
"Huh?"
"Forget it, Dunk'er. Too late now." Shannegh put the pict back and lifted his lascarbine. He could see Helsing making his way over. "Well, now I have something to look forward to when I get back. She's gonna need a lot of stress relieving when this thing's done."
"I assume this is conversation is significant to the task at hand" Helsing growled. His eyes fairly blazed as he looked them over. Not waiting for a reply, he addressed them while jabbing aggressively with his powerfist in the enemy's direction. "The Teneans have stalled out against this ravine-like terrain. Heavy fire from both slopes has them pinned."
"Well, that's kind of what they've been doing for the past half year. Why are you surprised?"
As soon as he said the words he regretted them. He was far too used to saying whatever came to mind that he overlooked the Inquisitor's clear fury at the delay. Subjected to Helsing's withering stare, he shut his mouth and looked at the ground.
"The Maccabean's have already established a breach on their lines five kilometers northeast. Inquisitor Jadus is behind them. We cannot let him reach the Eldar first."
"Plan?"
Their Inquisitor made a fierce noise in his throat and gestured to the Thracians. "For now I will move Anna and the Praetorians forward to provide support for the Teneans. The Thracians will muster up for exploitation once we achieve a breach."
"And us?"
"I want you two" he indicated Shannegh and Gutterball, "to see if you can approach along our right flank. The rain will do poorly for our shooters, but it should play into your favor."
"A two-man assault on prepared and alerted enemy positions?"
It was a lot to ask for, but Helsing never ordered his team to try something they could not achieve. To do so would be wasteful, and the Inquisitor hated waste. Especially considering he had a lot riding on Shannegh's survival.
"If you happen to commandeer some Teneans while you are at it, by all means. But you will need to be stealthy to make this happen."
"Stealth is my middle name" Shannegh said with a toothy grin. He grabbed Gutterball by the shoulder and yanked the nervous man closer. "And his is cowardice, so that's pretty much the same thing right now."
"Off with you then." He turned to Dunk'er and opened his mouth, but fell silent when he saw the gifted necklace. Loosing a defeated sigh, he motioned for the Ogryn to follow him. The Inquisitor muttered something about hopeless idiots as he strode off towards the Thracians.
"Come on then" Shannegh said. He slapped Gutterball on the back. "Let's go gank some mercs."
"This is s-s-suicide" the man whined, but he followed obediently. His hands disappeared inside his heavy cloak, no doubt sorting through his weaponry and searching for an appropriate choice. There were all sorts of vile things inside those robes. Despite having hoped to remain away from the fighting, Gutterball always had a backup plan. And a shit ton of weapons to get him out of the worst situations.
They moved at a brisk walk until reaching the rise. Anna had gone back to her spot by then, and Shannegh dropped down beside her to get a good look. Well, as good as he could manage. The rain seemed to be letting up just a little, giving him enough visibility to spot the rearmost members of the Tenean unit. Combat medics and wounded. The muted cacophonic chatter of hundreds of guns drifted down the slope, punctuated here and there by pulses of light when explosives went off or heavy lasguns fired. He heard a lot of autoguns. The Teneans used lasguns. By the sound of it, they were getting their asses kicked.
"We need a way up" Shannegh told the sniper. She did not look up from her scope, too intent on hunting for the source of the enemy fire. Her rifle had a rare Preysense scope. It allowed her to see through the haze to some degree, and she was taking advantage of that ability.
"Tap. Left shoulder. Drop shell. Big boom."
She squeezed the trigger and a scarlet hotshot bolt darted into the rain. The scream did not make it through the sounds of battle, but the explosion did. Moments later more explosions occurred, rippling through the chaos like a drum solo. Anna giggled and began searching for another target.
"Anna, path!"
"Ten o'clock" she murmured, sounding entirely focused on the battle. That was all she would give them, so Shannegh pushed off the rock and started easing his way down. The ground here was shallow, mostly loose topsoil and rocks shards. He made it halfway down into the ravine before it before he lost his footing and slid the rest of the way down. Dozens of corpses lay at the bottom of the slope, mostly Tenean. Their bodies were sprawled about in ragdoll positions. The defenders had ambushed them as they descended the slopes. Smart.
Gutterball clambered down after him, using two little hand picks to keep his grip. When he got to the bottom he looked over the dead and shook his head.
"Glad we w-w-weren't in the front."
"Well, we are now so keep your head down." He gestured to head left. They continued forward, watching their feet to avoid making loud noises. The din of battle grew clearer as they drew closer, until finally they reached the combat medics tending to the wounded. Occasional overshots cracked against the rocks around them, making the wounded flinch. They might as well have been extra-large drops of water for all the attention the medics paid. Their job was to keep people alive, and that was what they were going to do.
"What's the news" Shannegh demanded, not that he cared. They had all the info they needed.
"We're stuck as stuck" a wounded soldier called back. He had sergeant ranks on his shoulder, and looked impatient to be in the rear. Then again, he did have a giant bloody gash in his thigh. Someone must have dragged him back to the medics. "Bastards had this position prepared ahead of time. Whenever we push up they roll rocks and grenades down on us."
"Rocks?"
"Really fracking big ones. Like the kind that could knock a Chimera on its ass."
"Oh." Shannegh nudged Gutterball. "See, nothing to worry about."
"Let's j-j-just get going" the man said. He pointed off to the left. "What's t-t-that way?"
"Sheerest part of the ravine. Not climbable."
"We'll see about that" Shannegh muttered. He rummaged through his pack and tossed a spare E-kit at the medics' feet. He always carried a few, just in case. "Hope this helps."
The nearest medic, a sharp-faced elderly soldier with bony hands, grabbed the kit and tapped it against his helmet in thanks. His good deed done, Shannegh hurried off with Gutterball towards the steep slope. They circled a little to the south as they went, not wanting to draw attention. The slope was indeed steep, and relatively bare of cover too. Shannegh studied it from the ground, using his camo-cloak to shield himself as he sought out a good path. There looked to be a lone sentry at the top, but the man disappeared after a moment. They could handle one man. The hard part would be getting up.
"How many of those hand picks do you got?"
"J-j-just mine" Gutterball said. He held them out for Shannegh. "Y-y-you first?"
Somehow Shannegh could not bring himself to feel surprised that Gutterball forewent the honors. Taking the picks, he wrapped the leather straps around his wrists and approached the slope. It took a few soft blows to dig in enough to find purchase. He could afford to be loud thanks to the battle, but he did not feel like pushing his luck. Moving slowly, he began pulling himself up the slope one hold at a time. There was very little to hold on here, and he found himself having to pull himself up by his arm strength alone. The going was slow, and painfully interrupted each time the sentry wandered back over. The man's heart did not seem in his duty, because he took little more than a peek over the edge before hurrying back to shoot at the Teneans.
He reached the top after a good twenty or so minutes, and his arms were burning badly. But he did not go over the edge, preferring to remain and wait for the sentry's back. The man took a while getting back to his position. He seemed to walk over every five minutes. After waiting seven minutes and not hearing the man Shannegh grew impatient. His arms were aching and every minute that passed was a minute more of Helsing's fury. Cursing the sentry's laziness, he pulled himself.
And found Gutterball hunched over the man's corpse, blood coating his muzzle. The sentry's throat had been torn out. Stunned, Shannegh approached and dragged the body behind a rock. He appropriated the man's autogun and what spare magazines he could find.
"How the fecking hell did you get up here before me" he hissed, pulling the bloody mutant down to a crouch. Gutterball's eyes had taken that crazy light that came with his wakening bloodlust. Now that the juice was flowing in his veins he'd be a wrecking ball. The mutant lifted his claw-like fingers and wiggled them. They were also coated in blood.
"You were taking too long" he hissed.
"Arsehole."
They broke cover and stalked forward, keeping to the shadows and whatever cover they could find. The first position they came upon was only a dozen meters away. Praising the Throne for the rain cover, Shannegh motioned for Gutterball to remain behind a rock. He strode right up to the position, trusting in his unaffiliated clothing to remove suspicions. The men hardly seemed to notice him. One looked back and made a grunting noise before turning back to shoot at the Teneans. He peered over the rocks, spotting the grey-and-white clad Teneans scurrying like rocks in the ravine below. There were a lot of corpses out in the open. Turning to his left, he saw that the enemy had regular intervals between their fortified positions. Just far enough that he could quietly kill his way down the line.
There were four men in the position with him. Shannegh eased his pistol out with his left hand and placed the autogun against the back of the nearest man. The mercenary started in surprise, but before he could say a word Shannegh pulled the trigger. A trio of impacts shook his body and he flopped forward. The noise could barely be heard, but the sudden movement drew the others' attention. They gazed up at Shannegh in confusion, their weapons still aimed down the ravine.
He pumped the trigger of his pistol, putting two bullets in one man and four in the next before they put two and two together. Rushing forward on the last man, frantically bringing his autogun to bear, Shannegh jabbed him square in the face with his gun barrel. The blow knocked the man on his back, and a quick double tap to his chest finished him off. He dropped to a crouch and dragged the bodies to the ground. Policing their weapons, he ejected the magazines and tossed the empty autoguns in the opposite corner. The next position over did not appear to have noticed their allies' deaths.
Gutterball appeared at his side, sliding over the rocks like an eel. "Next one's mine" he growled. Two long knives appeared in his hands.
"Just keep it quiet."
"As death itself" the mutant promised. He scurried out of the position on his hands and knees. Shannegh searched the bodies while he waited. Nothing special, just the usual things soldiers stuffed in their pockets before battle. A couple ration bars, some canteens, personal effects. One of the men had a wallet with a few coins of Tenean currency. He pocketed the whole thing, preferring the wallet to jangling coins.
Gutterball came back a few minutes later. His knives had a fresh wet coat on them and he was grinning broadly. "Clear."
"Good. Push on then, every other. We'll leapfrog our way down." He hesitated and stared back at the slope they had climbed. "On second thought, do you have any rope?"
"Yes…" Gutterball eyed him warily.
"Long enough for that slope?"
"Of course."
"Go set it up. I want you to head back down, find Helsing, and let him know we have a foothold on this side. If he can get those Thracians up here, or hell even the Praetorians, we can clean this place out in minutes."
"You just want all the kills" Gutterball grumbled. Still, he began to draw out the rope.
"Trust me, the last thing I want to do is hog all the fighting. Hurry up and you'll be back in the fray in no time."
The mutant rushed off, eager to complete his errand and be back. Shannegh waited for him to disappear over the edge before moving forward. If he cleared out the first four or so positions they would have enough space to get a whole company up here before the defenders noticed. Passing the position Gutterball had cleared out, he looked in and found a gruesome scene of carnage. Blood everywhere, bodies hacked to pieces. They had a bipod-mounted .30 caliber stubber, the kind that would be noticed if it suddenly stopped shooting. Pushing the dead off of it, he appropriated the weapon and reset it facing down the enemy lines. It could come in handy once the fighting started in earnest up here. He spent a minute finding an unopened ammunition container and setting it up for a quick reload when the current belt ran dry. Then he moved on to the next spot.
This one appeared to be a spotter's position for their own artillery support. Four gunmen unloaded magazine after magazine downrange, more intent on suppressing the Teneans than hitting them. Behind them stood a tall and skinny man clad in a faded Mordian uniform. It fit him well enough that Shannegh stopped in surprise. He had never met a Mordian before, but the tales said they were hard as sin and prime soldiers. If they had Mordians here, somehow, holy Throne were they in trouble.
The Mordian had a vox communicator strapped to his hip and was speaking rapidly into the handheld mic. He had a laspistol in his other hand, though it appeared to not have been fired recently. Nevertheless his finger rested on the trigger. Shit, that might be their equivalent of a commissar. Throne knew any Mordian who made it past sergeant was a Commissar in all but name. They were fanatics and coldhearted bastards.
Raising his autogun, Shannegh approached the man from behind and drilled him through the back of the head. It was messy and loud, but he was not about to give that kind of man a chance. The officer's head exploded in a pulpy mess, showering the men in front of him with his brain matter. Kicking the body aside, Shannegh emptied his magazine into their backs. One died instantly, body riddled. The next curled up in a ball and moaned as several rounds punched into his torso and right leg. A third managed to roll onto his back and squeeze off a burst into the air before a round blew a chunk out of his shoulder. The fourth dove instinctively over his cover, catching himself with one hand to prevent an unfortunate and fatal slide down into the ravine. His autogun slapped against the rocks and he fired wildly, forcing Shannegh to dodge back and hit the ground. Snarling loudly, he ejected the empty magazine and slammed in a new one. The wounded man was drawing a knife from his belt and lurching forward. Shannegh shot him through the chest and he slumped to the ground. The man on the other side cried out sharply, then his gun slid out of view.
Not daring to rise, Shannegh crawled forward. The three inside the position were all dead now. Shifting past them, he snuck a look over the cover. The Teneans had spotted the fourth man and lit him up like a party decoration. His mangled corpse had slid halfway down the slope before getting caught on a jutting boulder. Three spots down.
"What the hell is going on" a voice shouted. Shannegh rose to a knee and brought his autogun to bear on the confused soldier running his way. A short burst dropped the man cold, but others had taken notice of the shooting. Angry and panicked voices rose in a sudden chatter. The nearby position abandoned shooting at the Teneans and shifted over to face him. More soldiers were running up from further down the line, drawn by the commotion.
Biting back a curse, Shannegh sprayed the rest of his magazine to keep their heads down. When it clicked dry he hurled it at them and drew his lascarbine. Sliding forward against the rocks, he pressed in and waited for the return volley. When it came it came with a vengeance. The patter of rain vanished, replaced by the thunderous hail of bullets striking rock all around him. Hunkering down, he looked about for a solution to this unwelcome situation.
A half-empty box of grenades had been tucked against the rocks, well within reach. Grabbing one, he checked it and discovered they were fragmentation models. Oh Throne, was it his lucky day. He dragged the box over and primed the first one.
"Back at'cha" he muttered. He hurled the first one over his shoulder and waited for the blast. It sounded woefully underpowered when it came, but the shooting slackened. That was good enough for him. There were about a dozen or so grenades still in the box. Leaving his lascarbine to rest against the rocks, he started drawing, priming, and throwing the grenades in quick succession. He laid them out in a fan-like pattern, making sure to spread the joy. Terrified screams filled the air as the rain of explosives wreaked havoc on the defenders. By the time he ran out they had stopped shooting at him.
A prayer formed on his lips as he scooped up his lascarbine. His options were to advance a little and try and hold the position, hoping that Gutterball had done what he asked, or to hunker down. There wasn't much ammunition here, but the cover was good. He leaned over the rocks and looked across the line. Smoking corpses lay strewn about the area ahead, torn to pieces by his grenades. More than a few still stirred, injured but still alive. Damn, those grenades must have been manufactured in some low-grade PDF supplier factory. He rose from his cover and rushed forward, putting a few rounds in each of the wounded men as he moved. There were six in total; the rest had fled.
He had just reached the fourth position, which held a now-ruined heavy bolter, when a full squad of soldiers came rushing in his direction. These ones fired as they ran, not making the same mistake as their predecessors. And they had lasguns too, and what looked like flak armor. The flurry of lasers sent him diving for cover between the former gunner and loader of the heavy bolter. Their faces had been flayed to the bone by shrapnel. Grimacing in disgust, Shannegh patted them down for more grenades. There were none to be found. He could hear their voices, calling out to each other as they spread in a battle line. Feck it all. He was caught.
Two spherical objects clattered against the rocks and rolled into view. Shannegh screamed through clenched teeth and shoved one of the corpses in between him and them. Yanking the other one over as a shield, he pressed his head into the dirt and-
BLAAAM!
The twin explosions shook the ground so hard he slid away. More than a couple fragments sliced through his human shield and cut his skin. All he heard was the ringing of great cathedral bells.
"Son of a bitch, that hurt." He dragged himself to his knees and set his lascarbine against the rocks for stability. A single soldier had gotten up and was moving forward, weapon trained on a spot just to Shannegh's left. They saw each other at the same time, but Shannegh was quicker on the trigger. His first shot sliced past the man's head, temporarily blinding him and causing his own shot to miss. Adjusting smoothly, Shannegh's next shot bowled the man over and sent his lasgun spinning away. Then the others were shooting at him and he had to drop to the ground again. Moments later another set of grenades came tumbling into his position.
"Feck you" he shouted, even as he dove behind the bodies again. This time the concussive blasts hurled him against the heavy bolter. Something metal struck his back and shooting pain lanced up his back. It nearly paralyzed him, pressing the sliver of steel harder against his spine. Rolling onto his belly, he grabbed his lascarbine and trained it on the entrance to the firing pit. He wasn't too keen on trying to shot back anymore. Better to let the bastards come in after him. He could take one, maybe two or three if he got lucky. But another grenade volley would kill him. The bodies he had used were all but pulped by the sheer number of grenade blasts they had endured.
His luck appeared to have run out though, because the soldiers leapt over the side instead of using the main entrance. A lucky flailing foot kicked his lascarbine to the side and Shannegh let it go. Praying that the man had not noticed him, he went limp and half-closed his eyes. Within moments the defenders had swarmed the position and checked the bodies. He had enough blood and scrapes on him that the man who searched him barely prodded him before calling him dead. Four men stood in the pit while the others remained outside. He heard their commander shouting orders to clear the pit and recover the heavy bolter.
Rough hands grabbed Shannegh and rolled him away from the gun. His hand eased under his chest and grabbed his pistol. A thorough check would reveal he was alive, and he was not about to die on his belly. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on listening for his opportunity.
What he heard instead was a perfectly synchronized volley of autogun fire, so well-ordered that it sounded like a single loud shot. Bodies crumpled around him like bowler pins. Moments later he heard a vigorous cheer and a decidedly fierce female voice shouting the command to advance. A smile cracked across his face. Lieutenant Eulogy's Praetorians had made it up.
Rolling onto his back, Shannegh checked the corpses around him and determined they were indeed dead. Each man had a single bullet wound through the head or torso. Taking a moment to admire their work, he gathered his lascarbine and crawled to the entrance. The entire squad of soldiers had been taken down by the Praetorian volley. Excellent work, as always.
Green-clad soldiers came rushing into the now-crowded firing pit, their rifles sweeping the piles of dead. One stopped directly over him and shoved an autogun in Shannegh's face. A boot kicked him onto his back and the man glared down at him. "Got a live one!"
"Give him the Emperor's justice" Lieutenant Eulogy called out. She appeared beside the man, wild strands of her blonde hair whipping across her face as she moved. Her cheeks were flushed with the excitement of battle and the prospect of winning glory. The rain had ruined her precisely-made bun but that did not bother her in the slightest. Gazing down at him, he read the twinge of disappointment that crossed her face. "Belay that order, he's one of ours. Reaper."
"Only you could make that sound like a bad thing" Shannegh chuckled. He rose to his feet, letting out a heavy sigh as he did, and looked around. The Praetorians darted from cover to cover, rising only to take shots at the defenders. He could see the enemy soldiers working desperately to set up defensive positions facing them. They worked with more terror than brains though, and accurate Praetorian fire tore into any fool that moved in the open.
"The rat said you had managed to work your way up the slope." She sniffed dismissively and stepped away from him. Her nose wrinkled as she took a whiff of the area. "I take it you found some explosives. Helsing said this area glowed like a governor's palace on his birthday. The entire defensive line knows we're here now, thank you very much."
"You're just jealous I beat you to the flank." He shifted past her and started forward. The Lieutenant muttered something under her breath and moved with him. Her bolt pistol, a gift from Helsing, added its weight to the din of battle. The high caliber explosive rounds tore bodies limb from limb.
They bounded forward alongside her Praetorians. The Lieutenant might have detested Shannegh, but she recognized his skills and knew better than to waste time trying to micromanage him. Not that he would have listened anyways. Advancing steadily, they shot their way down the line until they reached the junction point where the defenders were retreating further up the slope. Most tried to run up the narrow path that marked the easiest way up, others tried to clamber up the rocks. The Praetorians mowed them down mercilessly, sending dozens tumbling back down to their former positions. Ten minutes later a wave of defenders attempted a counter attack, but the descent was too steep for any real speed. After losing more than thirty men in the attempt all signs of the defenders vanished. They retreated out of sight to what had to be another prepared line.
The rain was letting up now, finally, and visibility began to improve. Mere minutes after repulsing the counter attack the first Tenean soldiers came scrambling over the enemy positions. They were blood-soaked, exhausted, and riled up for more action. On seeing the Praetorians had the situation well in hand they set about securing the top of the ravine and established defensive positions. Helsing arrived with their command element, a single lieutenant and a vox operator. The other officers had been killed at one point or another earlier in the day. He looked around with a satisfied expression before storming up to Shannegh and the lieutenant. She stiffened visibly and spent a moment smoothing her hair back. Not that Helsing would care what her appearance was. But habits were habits, and in the thirty seconds it took him to reach them she had managed to make herself more or less presentable.
"Ravine secured, sir."
"Well done." He looked directly at Shannegh, which drew an irritated glare from the lieutenant. His next words wiped the glare from the lieutenant's face. "Raise your right hand."
He did, eyebrow rising in confusion. The Inquisitor stared at him for a long moment before speaking again. "Just making sure you knew which was which. I told you to take the right flank. That was the left flank."
"Anna said it was open" he responded, hardly bothered by the Inquisitor's demeanor. "And Gutterball and I could climb it."
"Yes, but their left flank had their artillery spotters. While you were prancing around up here they continued to rain mortars on the Teneans. They are nearly combat ineffective now. We'll have to sit here and wait for reinforcements before we can proceed."
"Beg pardon, Boss, but they had a spotter on this side too." He jerked his thumb in the direction of the firing pits. "A Mordian, actually. I'm pretty sure the mortars would have fallen whichever way we went."
"Did they now?" The Inquisitor fell silent, his glower showing remaining displeasure. He made no more mention of the topic, but turned to the lieutenant. "Superb action, as I have come to expect from your command, Lieutenant. What is the status of the defenders?"
"They have retreated up the ridge, sir. We inflicted heavy casualties on this position and on a counterattack they threw at us. One dead, two wounded." Her face seemed to glow when the Inquisitor gave her a pat on the shoulder. If that woman was capable of feeling any pleasure, this was how she got it. Acknowledgement from a superior.
"Excellent. Pull your men back and have them rest up. The Sergeant Nicolai's Thracians will stand guard for now. The Tenean commander has already voxed back for reinforcements but they will not be here until it is too late for another assault. We attack again in the morning."
"Understood, sir."
She saluted smartly before turning on her heel and going off to find her sergeant. Helsing waited for her to walk out of hearing range before turning to Shannegh.
"Tonight" he said. "The weather is clearing so you will have to be careful on the approach, but once you get inside their lines you should have no trouble. Just… clean yourself up a bit. You have blood all over yourself."
He looked down and examined himself. "Yeah, I'll get right on that. Can't have a bloody soldier walking around a battlefield."
The Inquisitor rolled his eyes and stormed off to give his next order. Heading away from the others, Shannegh walked until he was out of hearing and out of sight. A long-held shudder flooded his body and he sat down hard. His hands shook so badly that he stuff them under his armpits to keep them still. His last shot had been almost two days ago. He hadn't been this close to death in a while, the fight had burned through his adrenaline too quickly. When his hand began to shake less he fumbled in his belt for his supply of stimm shots. It took him four tries to select a single one-use shot and put it against his forearm. He stuck the needle in, breathing a sweet sigh of relief as adrenaline rushed into his system. A euphoric sensation surged through him, wiping away the weariness and the pain of his wounds. Especially the pain of the sharp shard of blade trapped against his spine. He almost felt whole.
"Still alive" he muttered, huddling up under his cloak. "You're still alive, Louk. You're still alive…"