A particularly controversial take on warhammer 40,000, breaking a few rules that some warhammer loyalists may not be happy about, please don't take it personally.
Chapter One
"Incoming, target has a lock!"
"Launch photon pods, now!"
Three Tau mantas careened through empty space at many thousand miles per hour, but speed barely mattered with a chaos squadron of bombers on their tail, the Tau were low on ammo, low on fuel and low on options.
"Fire the main railguns!" The ethereal in command cried.
"My Lord, the main guns are currently recharging, they'll need another ten minutes.
"Hell Talon fighter bomber closing in!" a side gunner practically screamed through his comm. Before being blown apart in a vicious cycle of smoke, fire and blood. There was a cataclysmic explosion as chaos dreadclaw assault pods boarded one of the three vast manta carrier ships and the commander onboard activated the self-destruct process.
"They're closing in on us!" The third co-pilot on board reported.
"Do we have any escape options?" the ethereal asked over his shoulder.
A hell talon chaos fighter bomber pulled up directly in front of the cockpit, then turned round to face them, travelling backwards at over 6000 mph. The ethereal gasped as he looked into the eyes of evil, but he refused to be reduced to a quivering ball of fear. He brought his staff down to the floor with a thud and roared, "Firing line!" His mouth creased, his tonsils vibrating in their blue fleshy cage. A unit of pathfinders converged around him as he held his breath and closed his eyes. Bright blue light filled his vision through closed eyes as twelve Rail rifles opened fire, obliterating the cockpit windows and the pilot who was sitting smugly in the ship across from them. There was a huge boom and the entire manta shook from side to side when the large fighter-bomber smashed into them, there was a sharp creaking sound as the cockpit window doors creaked closed and they were able to breathe again.
"Oxygen levels?" the ethereal gasped.
"57% my Lord," the pilot reported, and then handed the ethereal his helmet; the pilot was trained in filtering air in situations like this. "Here, my Lord, it may not suit the robes but at least you won't have a heart attack!"
"Thank-you," he gasped and wrenched the helmet on, "do you see anything on the radar?"
"Wait… yes! We are on a direct course to the Bask'n custodian."
"Good", the ethereal said and breathed a sigh of relief. "Full speed ahead."
When they came within two miles of the boarding deck, the custodian's two main guns came online, two huge bright blue pulse rounds ricocheted through the sky, lightly skimming the manta and colliding with a whole row of ten fighter-bombers, causing an explosion quite alike to an atomic bomb.
The manta slowed down as it began the docking procedure and the ethereal was on the exit ramp before they had even finished their safety checks. It was quite a sight, the custodian. It was the first Bask'n custodian of its time; Bask'n was one of few septs to own such revolutionary technology, their mother sept, Vior'la, which owned about ten or more, such was the size of the Tau air caste. T'au owned 30+. The custodian was on a slow expeditionary course towards the edge of the galaxy and wanted to try a new machine; which could mean a change of history entirely.
The custodian itself had two wings, which were triangular in shape, and not particularly long in comparison with the main body, which had attached to it; a command tower, a dome in which warriors lived, and three huge engines that had warp speed potential. Protruding from the front of the custodian ahead of the dome were two simply huge cannons. Each the size of forty mantas, these were the largest weapons in the galaxy and could tear chunks in planets.
Outside, the second manta just came into dock as the ethereal reached the command tower to find himself face to face with a commander holding a huge blade; Commander Farsight, the legendary Ork killer. He nodded with respect and the ethereal nodded back. He was an exile from T'au, but Vior'la had found him and sent him here in an effort to clear his name.
"We must escape," the ethereal announced to his fellow brothers.
"What better way to test our new device?"
"But it could self-destruct!"
"It would take us to a different time period entirely though, and according to my research, if they try to follow us through, they'll be lost in a different time period."
"But who says we'll go back in time?"
"You'll have to trust my judgement…"
Chapter Two
"You ready, Will?"
Will nodded with a grin and drew his glock from its holster in his shirt. Patrick followed suit, except he had a colt M1911. He checked the magazine, and then hid it in his hand under his shirt. They faced the bank, and then Will strode through the automatic doors and pushed the barrel into the closest security guard's back. The guard did not hesitate in dropping his holster and weapon on the floor with a loud thud that made people jump and turn to the source of the noise, Patrick heard him announce in a loud voice what he was doing, and one by one everyone in the bank dropped to their knees. Will wasn't sure who set it off, but moments later the alarm started blaring. Will's eyes darted round till he spotted the camera staring back at him from the corner of the ceiling. He smiled slyly. He leapt over the counter and started shovelling notes from various orders into a plastic bag in a plastic bag, to avoid it breaking. Patrick leaned in and shouted, "pigs!"
"Got it," Will replied and leapt back over the counter.
They stood on the corner and watched as cop cars pulled up on 6th. "The chase begins," Patrick mused with a smile, relishing the moment.
"You got it, Packie, get ready to run." The cops drew their weapons and closed in, Will and Patrick dropped their weapons halfway between them and the cops. As they bent down to grab the guns, Will and Packie ran. "Go, go, go!" They heard the sergeant shout and six men in blue uniform sprinted after them, "stop or we'll shoot," the duo heard one shout, but they never shoot on a public street. They ducked and weaved through the various people in their way, then turned suddenly into an alleyway, to keep the glorious chase going, Will reached into his shirt and pulled out the gun he had picked up from its holster on the floor in his hurry to leave the bank, and fired three shots at neighbouring buildings. More sirens blared and the crowd of policemen behind them grew. The truth was that Will and Packie didn't need money, they were adrenaline junkies, the chase was all they wanted, they loved running, except the only thing restraining them from running professionally was that they were rebels and they loved running from the authorities, if it meant terrorising innocent people in the process then so be it. They were proud of themselves and held no thoughts to the people they might inflict pain upon.
As they turned down another alley, they made a mistake; it ran on for a hundred meters, and then stopped at a driveway. They inhaled deeply, then let it all out as they sprinted harder than ever, aiming for the low garage, upon which was a fire exit leading to the open streets. They envisaged all the greatest runners of 2013 to 2015, the present and poured everything they had learned from them into their efforts. They reached the garage and Will jumped first, the top of the garage wall was wet and slippery, but he pulled himself up and turned to help Packie, but the cops were almost on them. Packie was still running, too fast, he jumped, but his feet hit the wet garage doors and he flipped over, landing on his back with a crunch. He yelled out with pain as the cops smothered him, Will stared at the bundle for a moment, and then disappeared into the night. Little did Packie know that he would never see Will again…
Chapter Three
All across the Custodian, fire warriors marched down its long corridors in perfect formation, in rows of five by four they marched, their rifles propped up against them on their right hands, holding their helmets in their left, their expressions were blank, their pace perfectly in time with their comrades, a single mind for twenty men. They came in long columns of men, just ten metres between each unit, every twenty units was led by a single ethereal, this was the exercise routine every passenger on the vast battleship had to undergo in order to avoid 'space-cramps' and 'water-bones', which meant it was almost impossible to move unless you walk at least ten thousand steps per day. Battle suits were constantly being field-tested in the firing range for faults, hammerheads and other large vehicles were loaded with fuel for their pulse weaponry, ever solid object more than 4x5 cm was rigorously scrubbed with antibacterial disinfectants to avoid the unlikely possibility of disease that plagued many ships which travel thorough the warp, even on short hops, normally associated as 'warp-sickness'.
The water caste devised plans all day with the commanders in a vast meeting room at the forefront of the ship. Resources were constantly being mined from every odd microscopic rock their air vents happened to come across, some worthless, some containing precious concentrations of pulse fuel found in many elements, which can be diluted and fed into a recycling hub, each microscopic strand of this fuel could be expanded to allow one railgun shot, a very real game changer. Thus the hammerhead battle tanks and Broadside heavy battle suits were filled to the brim with this precious resource, wary of the challenges ahead. The inhabitants of the ship spent their free time getting used to the ever present smell of cleansing disinfectant, gazed out the window at the nothingness, except for a small sun in the distance that, every day, tiny black dots ever so slightly dimed the brightness. That was their goal.
Engineers ran past in units of 4x5, hauling sheets of 4x5 metre metal to a warehouse that measured a colossal 4x5 kilometres down in the storage bay. Everything was 4x5, the Tau love organisation above everything else.
Gilbert yawned loudly on purpose while the credits rolled on his mate's favourite film, Independence Day, John replied with death looks then sighed at his colleague's total lack of respect and returned to the monitors showed a constant feed of action from the cameras on satellites deep in the solar system in strategic points, he also had screens showing the strengths of the tides across the world and a vast assortment of maps in a messy pile beneath. The monitors were big fat things with about 200 GB each. Much more than the 'stylish' Macs of the present with their paper thin screens. But the keyboards were fat, clunky and continuous jabbing was sure to wake the whole centre up from their midnight beauty sleep. It was an astrological centre on the top of a dusty mountain in Utah. NASA funded… for now, nothing new had been discovered since their self-employed staff had found a rock on Venus with a small concentration of liquid water, yet no bacteria whatsoever, it was a breakthrough 6 months ago in 2014, but nothing had happened since, the planets continued to move round the sun, small rocks collided with the sun and made solar flares a few meters bigger than normal, that's it. John rubbed his eyes and scanned the screens individually, S205 was encountering some static; it was the outermost satellite, about 2,000 miles away from the solar system. "Got some fuzziness on Jackrabbit 5," John yawned, then sipped at his cold 'hot' chocolate. Something caught his eye: a large shape, moving impossibly fast towards the screen, the fuzziness increased and there was a loud grinding as the satellite was shunted back, as if a wall of air had been rammed into it, before the satellite exploded in a fantastic array of red and orange fire, John glimpsed the thing that had destroyed their prized Series 2 v20 engine powered explorer satellite, Jackrabbit no. 5. A vast construct of unimaginable size, engines roaring, heading straight for Earth…
Chapter Four
A small explosion carried across the ship as the custodian began its entry sequence and slowed to manoeuvre around the planets and their rings. Many looked up from what they were doing, they were too fast to recognise what it was from, probably just some fuel going off.
Lots of calls, the chairman of NASA, and various professionals travelled thousands of miles to examine the footage of the alien ship destroying their 6 million euro invention. There was lots of controversy to whether this could have actually been an alien ship, some thought it was just an especially large rock, some explained that the engines on the back were just rocks burning in their own atmosphere. Either way, the site was surrounded by news companies and the leaders of the western world were already trying to think of a solution, it was no secret that they were trying to give Russia and the middle eastern countries as little involvement as possible, and while their governments continued their pathetic squabbles and grudges, the construct grew ever closer, last seen on the satellite monitoring Pluto, the thing was examined in detail and it was confirmed that they were dealing with 'people' from another world, far more advanced than their own… as expected, of course. The people of Earth absolutely loved the stereotype and many were ready to welcome the beings with open arms as long as they didn't go all 'Independence Day' on them. The religious leaders of the modern world said little but knew I their hearts that something would go wrong, when one dared to speak their thoughts, they were overflowed by a torrent of anger and frustration at their piousness, the general message was; "Why do you continue to reach of one God when there are obviously more powerful beings who would deny His existence too?" But it was almost as if the religious leaders all over the world were uniting so they could speak with one voice, the extremists stopped and watched with suspicious eyes, the atheists laughed at them and told them where to go, the agnostics watched them get at each others' necks and looked forward to the arrival of the foreigners so they could feel less lonely.
Chapter Five
The custodian loomed over the watery planet of Earth, two indigenous species held their breath as the huge ship circled, the fist scouts were sent from the ship to investigate the radio signals, pollution clouds and dense light formations.
"Drone 1 and Drone 2 are in the air," Commander Farsight announced in the intercom, "descending now, time to find out what we're dealing with."
The two remora drones swooped down at 1800 mph; each was the size of a small plane and had a pair of burst cannons on the joints of each wing. They were stealth fighter drones and also had a markerlight on each of them and a pair of seeker missiles; the burst cannons were like Gatling guns but fired pulse instead and at a slightly lower rate. The markerlights were target locators to allow anything connected to the same link to get a good fix on an individual target. They were smaller than jets, faster and just as well equipped, even better, they were unmanned.
Down on earth, NASA detected them on radio and swiftly sent a message in Morse code on all frequencies and two jets to guide the way to JFK airport.
"Two Armed vehicles approaching, advising countermeasures", one of the drone controllers shouted.
"No! Follow them, co-operate, we don't want to start the meeting of two races with a bang", Farsight said calmly, "and if they do decide to pull some dodgy manoeuvre, we've got devastating weapons that will blow them to smithereens. Now, have we got a successful match on the species?"
"No, sir, not yet…"
The two drone fighters' shot across the Atlantic Ocean accompanied by both jets, they were making good time, but NASA was wary of the weapons and their purpose on this particular mission. Some wanted to shoot down the drones, but that was quickly denied as they didn't want to-quote, start the meeting of two races with a bang, unquote. People watched the LIVE feed from both tinted window stealth bombers guided the drones to the coast, which was rapidly approaching.
"Confirmation made, species identified, we are in the early 3rd millennium." The head of the Bask'n water caste announced.
"33, 000 years before the existence of our race," Farsight murmured to himself.
"What species?"
"Human."
Farsight's breath caught in his throat, "What planet is this?"
"Earth, AKA, Terra."
The entire ship was dumbfounded as they let the news sink in, on the screens, the fighters took multiple photos of humans far below getting on with their daily lives.
"This is CNN, I am Natasha Robinson, on today's top story, two robotic constructs have left the ship hovering above our atmosphere and are currently being led to JFK airport. After 18 hours of discussion, the American president has decided to allow the Russian Prime Minister stay to greet the 'aliens'. As well as Vladimir Azarov, the Russian Prime Minister and Aaron Morales our President, leaders from all over the world including North Korea have come to greet our guests. Just three religious officials have decided to travel, one being a cardinal from the Vatican, one a Sikh official, and another a famous Jewish Rabbi.
"The welcoming ceremony will include the classic welcome that has been used in many films in the last century, the world's leaders will stand in a semicircle around the visitors, the religious leaders standing in front of their respective countries. There will be a screen in the center of the semicircle which will hopefully provide an accurate representation of our culture, if you have any suggestion please don't forget to tweet or visit our face book…"
Packie watched the screen from his cold, clammy cell, the door had been left open but a prison guard with an electric baton was stood opposite each door, making sure the prisoners leaning out didn't try anything funny. The screen sat on a shelf at the end of the corridor, it wasn't exactly a plasma screen, but it was big enough to get the general idea, the volume was at the max and everyone watched with bated breath, the prison guards were trained to show little emotion, but kept one eye on the screen. Packie leaned so far out the door he was nearly falling out; there came a few frustrated shouts for him to move his head, but in a lot more colourful language. Packie sighed and crouched low, a screwed up ball of paper hit him on his closely shaved scalp, there was a yelp as the thrower was kicked in the shin by a guard and led back into his cell, but he didn't care, the screen was too fuzzy to make anything out from that far away anyway.
Packie glanced back to the corner of his cell, wondering if the child-sized thing was still there. It was a bloated, gurgling, green-brown ball of sludge with small arms and two rows of sharp teeth, Packie figured it was either a test of his will power, a prank set by the guards, or that he was still hallucinating when the police officer's knee rammed into his head back outside the garage the day he was caught two months ago. It didn't seem to be there. There was a roar of approval as the CNN reporter- who the boys thought was super hot stuff- Natasha Williams announced that the Jets had broken off and the aliens were coming in to the airport. We watched with bated breath…
Chapter Six
"Guide them in," Farsight whispered to the drone controllers, "land in the centre of the lights on the ground."
"Amongst the humans?" the drone controller responded uncertainly.
"Affirmative, it seems they have organized a welcome party," he added with a sly smile.
"Roger that," both controllers responded with sharp smiles at their one and only true commander's subtle humour. He rarely expressed such emotion, so they were keen to make the most of it.
Many engineers on the decks commented on the technology visible on the screens from the cameras mounted on the Remora drones.
"Ready a devilfish and my personal bodyguard," Farsight announced, "I want two water caste diplomats and I want my battle suit ready in the back."
Two pathfinders sprinted down the hallways to comply with his orders, they were very fast sprinters, everybody gave them a wide berth as they headed to the cargo bay…
Both Remora Drones hummed to a halt at heads height, the leaders of the world craned their heads to stare into the red lights situated on the markerlights on each drone, cameras, the Tau gasped when they saw them up close, the human race frowned, not sure of what to make of it. They waited. And waited. The leaders began to murmur amongst themselves, but then! A loud roaring of engines as Farsight's devilfish activated its safety procedures. The landing 'legs' extended and the engines on either side swivelled so they were facing upwards and the vents that allowed it to hover were facing down.
The devilfish tuned 180 degrees and before it had even touched down, the ramp swung open. Twelve fire warriors rushed out in full armour. The humans were ready for this though and there were a hundred clicks as safeties were turned off and guns were pointed. The fire warriors paid no attention though as the first helmetless Tau stepped off the transport to greet the humans. They lowered their weapons and created a wide berth for Farsight and the two ethereals…
President Aaron Morales gasped as he came face to face with twelve long, black rifles. Humanoids dressed in body armour trained their guns on them; the famous rabbi instinctively stepped forward to protect his 'foolish' companions. The large transport ship had already startled them, and he didn't feel any safer with the red dots darting on the aliens armour from the laser sights equipped to the USMC snipers' rifles on the building behind him. Great start he grumbled to himself, and his mouth screwed up slightly at the explosion of flavour when he accidentally bit too deep into his strong mint. He quickly recovered. Then the two men stepped out, accompanied by a huge robot the size of three men, a bulbous chest, a weapon on one arm, a strange disc on its shoulder and a sword on its other arm.
Everything was quiet, the CNN newsreaders watched, the prisoners at Shawshank state detention centre watched, the professors from the astrological centre in Utah watched from the glass windows in the airport, the world had come to a standstill. People gasped as the fist blue men came out. The huge robot hung back and the two Blue men, about the height of the president, at about six foot, stepped forward and held out their hands…
There was silence, then the Russian Prime minister cleared his throat and stepped forwards to take the alien's hand, but the American President saw what was about to happen and got there first, subtly nudging the temporary 'ally' out of the way. The Tau frowned at this, but smoothly took the President's hand one by one, then shook the Russian's. The American was beaming, but the Tau could see it was very forced, for the news camera traversing the Tau transport behind, and for the news helicopter above.
The President nodded to one of his bodyguards, who pressed a button on the side of the large plasma screen television. To their dismay, the aliens looked fairly bored as they watched the video in total silence, absorbing the culture of this common foe, and the language. In their earpieces, the Tau ethereals were given a stream of Earth words to process, it was their talent to learn languages quickly for emergency communication with foreign peoples. The humans waited as the ethereals talked in their own strange, guttural language with far too many syllables to understand or even get a hint of what they were talking about. Then the ethereal cleared his throat and opted for a human greeting to put them at ease. "How do you do?" He croaked, his voice was hardly perfect and he said it far too quickly for casual conversation. The humans relaxed slightly and one leader chuckled quietly at the sweat that had beaded on his forehead.
They then went round greeting each other, the huge robot staying still.
Farsight watched the commotion, studied their faces, spotted three humans studying him more suspiciously than others, their clothes reminded him of the ethereals but it was plain to see by the way they occasionally glared at each other that they were minor leaders of very different religions. Religion. That was the thing that would separate them.
The three leaders stepped forwards to study the robot, eyeing it suspiciously, the ethereals glanced uneasily at them and Farsight's bodyguard stepped in front of the religious Zealots to intercept them. "Allow us to introduce our founding leader." An ethereal announced. "Commander Farsight, overall war commander."
The body of the suit opened to reveal Farsight in a sitting position, dressed head to toe in extra battle armour, many markings on his face. He studied the humans without the aided vision of the battle-suit. Ministers of defence sized him up, then after a long pause the talks began.
Chapter Seven
A warp rift opened on the edge of the solar system, from earth it would take a day for it to be seen, but from Pluto the sight would have made any mortal go insane from the sight and the noise, which was like a club with the volume turned up LOUD, even from a thousand miles away. The fabric of reality rippled then tore apart, a lime green hole forced its way through the darkness and through it five or six huge living ships were launched through, and through the chunk of rock from one end to another. The immense pressure was way too much for the pathetic excuse for a planet, it was sucked halfway in and when it closed, the rift cut it in two, launching the surviving piece deep into the solar system so that two weeks later, after sling shooting around two or three planets, it would smash into the molten gas of the sun and cause a huge wave of heat to roar out in the direction of earth.
The sky went black as night, for the tiny organisms on the heat bathed surface of Venus, the sudden cold froze many scaly bacteria in place, the largest beings, small dust ridden spiders that fed on random deposits of hydrogen in the air wherever it could find them took the brunt of the change and let loose squeaks of pain at less that 0.001 hertz, chaos tentacles reached out and enslaved the organisms, already feeding off their supplies of life and supplying the ships with a source of fuel, within just ten minutes, the entire planet was covered in a cloud of rage, bacteria fought among themselves, ripped each other apart, the death rate rose incredulously, but not noticeably to human speculation, besides, theories of life on Venus had long since been abandoned. The whole planet was permanently redder, like a chilli ready to erupt in flames, the temperature rose exponentially and pockets of air exploded, destroying any neighbouring objects, including the SS Shame XI, a Mexican satellite launched just two months previously…
Within the first few weeks, the Tau had settled their ships in the desert in North Africa, integrated into society in different major cities all over the world. Their policies were not entirely approved of by the west so they based themselves mainly in Asia. The human governments seemed interested in involving them in their own disputes once they'd seen the practical demonstration of their weapons. The Tau soon realized that many of the white men were power hungry and the rest were either religious zealots or brutal dictators. When religious leaders preached that the guests were demons, the Tau certainly did not respond kindly, they fought back with accusatory words, hundreds of warriors cheered for the ethereal speakers and called for the execution of their pious hosts. Within a few weeks, they became a very controversial issue, many religious leaders called it a sign that judgement day was near, the ones who were not god fearing, or not deluded, as the ethereals liked to phrase it, called it a wake up call from an ignorant society of optimists and idealists, ideas which were banned long ago in Tau society, all ideas but the Greater Good had been banned, only one idea would survive, introduce two or even more and there will only be war.
The blistering hadn't subsided, my entire arm was covered in cracked, swollen skin, the prison doctor told me to rub cold water on every half hour and apply cream at least four times a day, but I think he just wanted me to think I was going to get better, I saw the look of dismay when he saw it, as if it wasn't the first time he'd seen it. He examined it under a magnifying glass with a furrowed brow the depth of the Grand Canyon. He shook his head and prescribed me some kind of treatment for burns, didn't say anything about blisters on it. The inmates were acting weird too; I sat with three mates, huddled in a corner, while others stared at us with dead gazes, we decided then and there to apply for the military and as we dispersed, I showed myself to my cell while the guard stood by the corridor, staring dumbly into the barrel of his rifle, what was funny was that no-one took advantage of the situation, it was just too creepy.
17th May 2015, the same day the US withdrew all it's troops from abroad, Patrick decided to join the corps for the rest of his sentence, he was bored and desperately needed to be active, plus he was afraid the other inmates might turn on him at just a moments' notice, little did he know that he's be there for longer than a year, and little did the officers know that the skinny, rebellious ruffian would become a renowned war hero in the epidemic war to come.
Chapter Eight
Farsight stared across the cabinet at the members of the United Nations, flanked by two Honour Guards who had refused to relinquish their weapons on entry and stood guarding their leader. "The signs are clear", Farsight announced, "the enemy we fled from has followed us, for that, humans, I am sorry, I advise you gather your armies and prepare for total war."
"Hold up, you mean to say you brought an enemy to our planet," said the secretary of defence for the united states of America indignantly, and forgive me for saying so, but we've seen your technology and seen what it can do, so if you were running from this enemy of yours, doesn't that mean the enemy must be stronger, and if so, than how are we supposed to stop it?"
"Excuse me," the Spokesperson for the secretary of Foreign Affairs for The Russian Federation, "maybe we ought to let him speak."
"Oh for god sakes! This is not the time to start picking sides again, Russia!" the President of the US, Aaron Morales, re-elected because of his policies to ensure that all Americans keep all their rights, even in the presence of the visitors. "Wake up and smell the bacon! We should send them away and if their enemy comes here, we should discuss peaceful negotia—"
"NO!" Farsight roared at the top of his lungs, which was about as loud as a rocket propelled grenade exploding on a slab of metal, the entire board jumped up in fright, he slammed his fists on the table and explained in a raised voice, "This enemy can not negotiated with, it can not be defeated in an arms race or a war of attrition, they are like the Al-Qaeda you face even today, they are like a disease, you need to destroy every last molecule before the death will stop, they can not be reasoned with, they reach out with long arms and grab everything within reach, and when they grab hold, they do not let go till everyone is DEAD AND ROTTING in the cusps of their hands! If we leave you WILL be doomed!"
The President gathered himself and spoke, "And if you stay?"
"You will probably be doomed."
"Well isn't that reassuring", the Irish prime minister scoffed with a tired expression and drooped eyes.
Farsight stood and began to stride round the high roofed room, the Tau believe in the Greater Good", he began, "and we believe this is achieved by allying ourselves with any who might see the good in our aspirations, that is how we have always done it and it has worked damned well so far."
He continued round the semicircle, ascending the stairs till, he reached the members of the British Ministry of Defence, "We will fall in with your troops and utilize each others' skills to crush this enemy of superior strength."
"If I may interrupt you," exclaimed the US secretary of defence, "Several weeks ago, the United Nations was informed that the outlying rock, commonly referred to as a small planet; Pluto went off the map. Last Tuesday so did the rest of the solar system except from our neighbourhood sun. We managed to recover this video of the disappearance of Venus in progress." He turned and pressed a small blue button on his desk. The projector overhead whirred and the room turned to face the image at the front. What they saw was a sequence of unbelievable events, supernatural, impossible; a vast colony of ships leaking black smoke and dripping blood. It was a sped up progress, each second, half an hour passed, Venus turned as red as a tomato, moist, no longer solid, like a water balloon, then it burst from one side and turned black and wrinkled as blood poured in impossible amounts from the gigantic rift in the planets' base, it then shrivelled up and exploded like a watermelon, vast fragments of rock, bone and rock.
"As you can see, ladies and gentlemen, we now have not only a terrifying enemy to fight, but all space flights will now be all but impossible, what with the vast asteroid fields now covering our once peaceful solar system. How are we supposed to defeat such an enemy?"
"Through attrition," Farsight shot back, "our enemy feeds on death, hopelessness and loss, if we can hold out for enough time, the tide will turn…"
The meeting carried on at this pace throughout the night, an endless volley of opposite views, using each other's comebacks as ammunition.
Patrick's first week in the army was brutal, nothing he had expected, a number of Russian and British commanders had travelled to the US to teach them how to be the ultimate soldiers, with the threat of a large scale war ever present. His running skills were invaluable, but his mind was always elsewhere. Not everyone's cut out to be a soldier said the voice in his head. Patrick told it to shut up. His friends were always distracted. They had gone to train in Alaska where the temperatures were sub-zero and everything that wasn't covered in three layers of wool fell off. Morale was low, too law for new recruits, suicide was apparent. Patrick played poker with his new friends, normally it was banned, but now even the generals played it as an excuse to 'hone their minds'. Time moved so slowly; it was as if the cold had frozen everything. One morning Patrick awoke early and went outside to puff on a cigarette. The sky was dark as night even though it was eight in the morning. His hands shook and sweat froze as though they were freezing needles on his skin. A mound of snow weighed down the tent behind him. Across the camp, one musician was playing a lone violin; the sound reminded him of his old Xbox games set in WW2 about defiant Russians in the winter cold. He barely acknowledged those parts, thought they were stupid, that they wouldn't have time for such nonsense, that they should be killing people all the time. So naïve. The ground had faint tracks on it from the odd cargo truck packed with frozen goods; frozen vegetables, frozen meat, frozen guns. Another truck turned in about a hundred metres away on Patrick's left. The headlights were like exploding stars in the endless night, they cast welcome heat on Patrick's cheeks and the sound of the rumbling engine was a relief in the frustrating silence of the random icy plane, in the middle of nowhere. He found himself staring at the truck's tyres as it passed. In its' place in front of him, once it had turned the corner towards the canteen, there was a perfectly round stone, like endless black against the perfect white snow, it had no solid edges, it was perfectly round, it was an eye, was Patrick's conclusion, though when he felt it he knew no eye that was as hard as this, it was strangely warm and he felt his blood running in his feet again. He decided he would show it to his friends when they awoke and he started inside. He almost made it; as he turned the stone eye over in his hands, and a long oval of white, as clear as the snow around the orb appeared. It moved across the stones' surface with a strange serenity under Patrick's palm and seemed to see him,then the eye closed until it was just a black stone again and slid into his now warm pocket and stayed there.
It took some time for the Tau to integrate with human forces but soon they were covering each others' backs as they raided houses, secured objectives and fought the now decreasing numbers of rebels that threatened civilisation; they seemed to have been caught off guard and were retreating into their until it all finished when they could tell the world they had all been hallucinating and that they were the real rulers. They now experimented with popular culture such as music and video games and explored the virtues of human life, discovered their values, such as respect, love and achievement and mocked their disparity in the face of impossible odds, boasting to the humans of their incredible prowess in battle, causing various scuffles and a few fists to fly, to the surprise of the Tau who didn't expect them to have such a capacity for violence in this early stage of their existence. They were astounded by their charities and sometimes selfless careers, envious of the level of empathy they could feel, they experimented with religion and faiths, interested in the similarities and differences between their many current gods and their one future god.
They wondered why they were not all regarded as equals, how some lived in absolute poverty and others lived in huge mansions surrounded by precious metals and arrogant servants, they developed a basic trust with the lower class of the world and expressed their feelings frankly to the rich who refused to give to the poor, harassing them and asking rather rudely if they were a different species than the humans that believed in charitable giving and had such big hearts, filled with empathy. They argued against such saving graces as the bill of rights and laws which allowed larger holidays, or bigger salaries than others, and they praised successful communist states such as Cuba, but criticised North Korea for forgetting about it's population, who retaliated by threatening to send a nuclear bomb their way, causing a very heated feud. A lot of death threats and insults followed, mainly criticising how close minded the North Koreans were, which the Koreans twisted and fed to its' population as praise for their beautiful, joyous state. On this matter all of humanity had the Tau's backing.
One such army base in southern Pakistan was a perfect example of this unity; a team of pathfinders had integrated with a British SAS squad; two perfect killing machines in one place, they were very much the same, they felt as important as each other, they worked with the same efficiency, the same speed, confrontations with Islamic extremist groups were not so much a challenge as a competitive game to take out the enemy first. But despite their snobbish nature, they were both very serious when it came to the fight and forgot about their petty differences with regular soldiers. The SAS squad leader's name was Duncan Stuart, the Tau Shas'vre, an individual who declined the chance to fight in a colossal battle suit when he was promoted more than five years ago, was called Bentu'vre, as he was wise and experienced, and Vre was his rank. "What is it like where you're from?" Asked the 40 year old Duncan in one of his rare conversations with Bentu'vre, who was 60 years old himself, 20 years older than the average Tau lifespan, but somehow hadn't lost any of his youthful virtues.
"Our world varies like yours does. Where we are based the land is hilly, with grass and mountains, elsewhere the ground is as dry as a lizards skin. Foul alien spores corrupt some areas; others are dotted with tombs here and there to compensate for sleeping machines. It is not a pleasant land, every day our defences are assaulted by hordes of creatures, every day thousands die on either side, which is nothing compared to the losses outside." He spoke with little emotion, but stared at his knees. Duncan dared to ask, "and outside?"
"Death, only death, there are tales of a human world upon which trillions die upon every year."
Duncan could barely believe it, but didn't want to argue so he left it at that.
Chapter Nine
They weren't ready, not ready for the ferocity of the first attacks, their troops weren't dispersed enough, there were not enough to cover the globe as the first rocks from destroyed planets fell, they were in fact cocoons for the enemy troops; cultists from 38,000 years in the future, savage, with small rifles that shot small rapid bursts of laser. What was most disturbing was that they were all human at some point, but their bodies had been ravaged by chaos, it took the earthlings too long to comprehend the enemy they were facing before they were overwhelmed.
North Korea, Pyongyang, in one of their artificial districts, littered with plain-faced individuals who were not allowed to speak for themselves and had seen nothing of the outside world. They looked up as they heard the faint roaring of the rock hurtling through the atmosphere, some pointed, others tried to continue as if nothing had happened, constantly afraid of the oppressive government. The roaring became unbearable, then rock smashed into the ground, not causing a crater nut instead shattering, impaling a number of people and leaving forks of rock stuck in the tarmac. Bayonets and flashes of light quickly cut down the rest. Later that day, North Korea appealed for help and for the first time in many, many years, foreign soldiers were allowed to cross the border into the world's biggest prison.
The entire world was panicking, riots were amok, martial law was in effect in most states, and the apocalypse was being preached in dozens of pious countries. Patrick had been moved to one of the worlds' most important assets, which was currently under siege by thousands of crazy cultists; London, England.
Patrick rose to attention as the officer in charge spilled out orders in a thick south London accent, barely decipherable. His insults when used against unruly marines were downright hilarious, words like "Knobber!" and "Bell end!" The English truly were terrible at insults. However he never went psycho with us, he stood his ground and looked us straight in the eyes, while he broke us down mentally. He was a prick, but we held a special kind of respect just for him, the kind that involved 'friendly' jives and pouring cans of beer over his head at two in the morning, rewarding us with two hundred push ups, while he went round and stood on each of the culprits' backs in turn. But it was all morale lifting stuff, no hard feelings.
The next morning, I woke in my small room. We were based in a prison, in cells with unlocked doors, I shared with two guys and they were quite spacious, which counted for nothing when you had nothing but plain grey walls to stare at if you couldn't sleep. In the corner was the small black orb. I had forgotten about it. It's eye hovered over me, staring, shrunk away when I glared back, grew when I lost interest. There was shouting and a crash as a table was flung over the railings outside and hit the solid concrete four floors down. The orb's eye grew, as if in alarm, then it seemed to stretch till the orb was three times it's original size, with a kind of thick tail on one end. It slowly wriggled towards me and I rose my knees to my hips on the metal chain link bed, with its' thin mattress. It stopped at the base of his bed, its' eye now the size of his foot, the entire body the size of an adolescent panda. It raised its' 'head' with the speed of a sloth and became as still as an old oak tree. Patrick slowly clasped his hands around its' warm exterior and lifted it as if he were examining a newborn baby. It seemed to look inside Patrick, looked into his soul, then the eye closed and it shrunk to the size of an apple, it's tail disappearing into its' inky dark surface, the eye closing. Patrick put it back in his pocket where it belonged. Where it belonged.
Patrick's first confrontation with the enemy was one to haunt him forever, it was an embodiment of the name the aliens had given them; Chaos. He set out into Twickenham in Richmond, where they'd managed to contain some of the threat thus far. There were a few big schools nearby, and an active high street, with a wide, empty road. They disembarked off a military train at Twickenham station and sprinted up the stairways on either side. Five teams of six, each equipped with state of the art Swiss weaponry. Patrick ran the last few metres of the bridge walkway despite his heavy armour, and then successfully vaulted the barrier. They were very well disciplined, they first secured the station and a team set up defences there and stayed put in case they needed a quick getaway. The other four teams spread out. Patrick's team headed down one of the narrowest roads away from the main high street, securing and clearing large houses and newsagents along the way. Some people were even still living here despite the warnings to evacuate to the inner city. So far the loss of life was at 1,500,000 in the UK alone. They turned left onto a fairly long suburban stretch and spread out along the road. Fires crackled on either side and the sky was a dark, moody gray. There were bodies, but they were either dismembered or burnt unrecognizable, however, they were all clearlydamaged by the rocks and not the bastards themselves.
They reached a small junction where a separate road on the left curved round a corner. It didn't look promising; it was pitch black, fires roared in silence, broken furniture blocked it off; two houses had collapsed onto the road, covering the street in bricks, glass and tiles. Worse, they had found where all the bodies had gone. They were on sharpened wooden poles, wrapped around lampposts, some were hanging by their spinal cords, and others were still alive… Patrick couldn't stand it any longer; he bent over and heaved. He had never seen anything like that, not in the fatal shooting of his parents and younger sisters, not in the famous US prison massacre of 2014. They carried on and approached the school. This was worse; teenagers and adults had been flung over the railings, the gates had been decimated. We stooped over the wreckage of the wrecked iron gates and proceeded to enter the school through the once automatic double doors.
It was a mess, chairs were everywhere, some melted, others welded to unlikely surfaces, such as windows, there was a smell of burnt plastic and there was a rainbow coloured liquid all over the floor; petrol. We secured the huge school room by room; there were hundreds, as we continued down the infinite corridors towards our objective; the playing fields in a boxed off section of the school. It was unsafe to go round to the fences surrounding the field as the rocks were falling like rain and the area was being pounded by heavy mortar fire. There was a screech as a burning cultist with a huge meat cleaver leapt out of a room way down the corridor and flew straight through a plane glass window, it turned its head to spot us just as it passed through, a wretched expression on it's face as it went, its nose was huge, with boils and one nostril several times bigger than the other. Its mouth was tiny, clamped by its teeth, which hooked through its lips. Another followed, this one completely focussed on its playmate, large, tubby, with a gasmask and a spiky club on the end of a sleeve which looked like it belonged to a girl's dress, except the yellow flower patterns were now dark red and shredded.
Poor taste anyway, Patrick heard himself, and then scolded himself with some very rude words. They continued down the corridor at a quicker pace now, as the rooms got more and more grimy, burnt out and were filled with more meaningless symbols. No longer checking rooms, they reached the stairs and bounded up, now they were sprinting down a torn carpeted part of the school.
"Cover!" the sergeant roared as a couple dozen mutated humanoids surged towards them from round the corner. But there was no cover, so they ran, fortunately none of the creatures had projectile weapons. Once they reached the first corner and had but a bit of distance between them, they turned and faced them, rifles looking back at them. The devices in their earpieces were beeping fast; the distress beacon was nearby. They opened fire, shots raining down on their infected bodies, shredding them limb from limb, every shot had a target, was planned and hit its mark. They backed up quickly till they reached a junction, one corridor on either side, one behind us. Suddenly, there was a humungous crash as a meteor ricocheted through the school and slammed half a metre into the wall at the end of the corridor to our right, while the creatures continued to push forwards on their left, the rock shattered, peppering them with rocks, one shard shredding a marines' necks, killing him automatically. "Back up!" the British sergeant shouted in their ears amid the deafening RUT-RUT-RUT of the 5.56 rifles. They ran backwards, their feet pattering on the carpet. But behind them another swathe of rabid freaks bundled round a corner, tripping over each other, stray cleavers and maces decapitating mutants wherever a cultist wasn't careful. There were now hundreds of them, literally in such a large mound that their heads reached the ceilings. They closed in gradually, Patrick was sweating violently, and then he turned his head and in desperation kicked a classroom door open. "In here!" He roared over the gibbering mound of no-brainers. The squad rushed in and Patrick shut it behind them, pushing back against the swarm. The others rushed to grab a few tables and prop them against the door. Private Kelly scanned the room and spotted the group of youths in the corner, a mutilated soldier with a distress beacon beeping away in his chopped off hand, a dozen dead mutants lay dead in a circle around them. They quivered with fear, holding the deceased monsters' weapons; the ringleader pointed a chrome glock at the blue door, a determined look on his face. He had a long scar running down his face, one eye was scrunched up, his head was burned where there would be hair and his eyes were bleak; he looked like one of them.
"Finally!" cried one of the boys, who was carrying a metal softball bat, "We've been hiding here for hours."
"Give us a hand!" Patrick roared back, the door was heaving so much; the center of it was bulging inwards. Four of the young lads added their weight to the resistance. The man who was scanning crossed the room and smashed the window, below which, the side of the school next to the football grounds had collapsed, forming a makeshift stairway. Artillery shells slammed down outside ceaselessly, creating an earthquake, causing the school foundations to rumble.
"Climb out the window!" the sergeant roared. The squad rushed away from the door and through the window. There was a short moment of confusion from the crowd outside the door as they stopped pushing against the entire door but instead filed through the open doorway. Their numbers had grown considerably, so that when they moved, various mutants were pushed into and through the wall, creating holes, and finally made the wall collapse, causing the upper floor room to collapse too because of all the vibrations. Patrick slid down the crumbled tower and landed at the bottom, assisting the hooded teenagers. They ran as soon as they were down, stumbling as the shells exploded like C4 around them. The mutants were much slower out there, tripping and crying out in frustration, fighting through random blind fire. A shell landed in a house just behind the squad, causing a huge explosion, making glass and bricks fly everywhere. A chunk of concrete slammed into the back of their sergeant's head just as they had started to put some distance between them and the pursuing horde.
Patrick turned immediately when he heard the dull thunk of concrete colliding with flesh and bone. He almost slipped as he rushed to retrieve their squad leader and haul him over his shoulders before the creatures could devour him. The rest of the squad swore and opened fire, even utilising an under slung grenade launcher, causing a horrific gory explosion, which led to the front lines of the horde to cover their eyes and cough, slowing down enough so that the hundreds that were sprinting behind them crashed into them head on. With a hundred daemonic screams, the rush slowed to a snail pace train of confused, mangled cultists. The squad rounded the corner to the road that led to the high street; the gang of teenagers had already reached the station on the bridge and were vaulting the barricades; the guarding soldiers barely flinching, never taking their eyes off the sights on their mounted heavy machineguns. Their focussed gaze- albeit sweat drenched foreheads- turned to shock and fear as the horde rounded the corner after the fleeing squad, there were so many of them, at least two storey high, climbing over each other, the slow decimated by the strongest, causing them to fall to the bottom and get crushed, culminating in a mess of screams, crunching of bones and heavy footfalls.
Then the armed cultists reached the front of the group.
They opened fire; red lasers scorching Patrick's arms, missing by millimetres, thrown off because the enemy didn't have time to aim with the mad savages closing down upon them from behind. Instead they adopted the unreliable method of 'spray and pray.' This involved pointing the barrels in the general direction of the enemy, while full out sprinting despite their legs of molten lead, running through the pain. Eventually they scored a kill in the shape of one of the British soldiers; the thin beams of dark red light scorched through sinews and muscle structure, creating three small holes, two of which punctured his heart and left lung, they almost went all the way through, apart from the ribs which merely sizzled in the intense heat, causing bile to rise in Patrick's throat. He gagged and tears seeped out of his eyes, a voice in his head roared at him, tormented him, and called him a pathetic weakling. But then the bile disappeared, and then the voice became muffled to a strangled whisper. The slug in his pocket grew and encapsulated him in a membrane under his clothes, invisible to others, causing any shots that hit him to rebound back and shoot through the shooters' barrels, causing mini explosions, eliminating the threat. The membrane then withdrew back into his pocket and the thing concentrated on keeping him focussed. He was dumbstruck at first, then in his mind, grateful as he passed the unconscious sergeant over the barricade at the station, then vaulted it himself, allowing the heavy gunners to open fire. The gun shook a bit at first, then there was a muffled rattling inside as the first rounds entered the chamber, then the gun roared into life, like a lion breathing fire. Each bullet brought an enemy to its knees, the spray created a near impenetrable wall of lead. But it wasn't enough and all at once we were running again, the creatures snapping at our heels, pushing past each other to get a bite out of our meaty shoulders. The train started to leave and the onboard heavy machineguns roared into life. We jumped on as the train sped away down the tracks.
Patrick hauled himself through once they were well away from the station and slammed the door shut. The other squads sat in groups, slumped; humans hadn't experienced so much death in a warzone for decades. They sat in shock, in revulsion of the amount of people they had killed, because even though they were savages, they were all humans once. The sergeant was woken, at which point he screamed, hollow, scared screams, shouting "Blood, blood, blo-o-od." Tears welled in his eyes, parting on his stubble, everyone was afraid. The teenagers were shaken, frozen, they must have been in the school for hours, the dead soldier in the classroom must have protected them but got overwhelmed, before Patrick left he had made sure to grab the man's dog tags.
He opened his fist and stared at the name; L. Peterson, a US navy Seal symbol on the top right corner, a Jewish star on the bottom right. He promised himself that he would mention Peterson to his commanding officer when he returned to be debriefed. He tried to cast the memories of death from his mind as he put his hands together as if was praying and cried into them. Again, he forgot about the strange black creature in his pocket. He didn't have any friends in this unit, but the ones left, including the sergeant when he calmed down, went to sit next to him, somewhat protectively, as they knew the sergeant wouldn't be here if not for him. They say the friends they make in the army are the best friends you will ever make; the friends you make in the army are friends for life. But right now, Patrick only wanted to see Will.
Chapter Ten
The first stage of the invasion was quick, brutal, the death toll was well into its millions, and they were only just getting started. However, now that the Tau was here, the chaos forces were in for a bit of a surprise.
Bentu'vre and Duncan ascended the steady sloped of sand with deadly ease, they were just as fast in the deserts of Libya as they were in the cobbled streets of Kabul, Afghanistan. They were in a hotspot for meteor drops, all they had to do was place a beacon in the center of the drops and get the hell out of there. The US government had something special in mind, something they had only used twice in hostility, something they had anticipated throughout much of the 20th century, something that would show the enemy that they weren't quite as primitive as they thought they were… you'll see.
Once the pair reached the crest of the dune they stopped, lay flat on their bellies and Duncan produced a monocular from his kit. The terrain was flat from here on in, the previous dunes flattened by the force and regularity of the meteors. A few weeks ago, the dune would have dropped suddenly, with light gray rocks at the base of the cliff a hundred feet below. Now however, the flat desert was only 25 feet below since the sand had been distributed evenly over the space from the wind created by meteors burning through atmosphere. They had stopped falling as regularly two days beforehand, but a telescope had spotted an even larger cluster approaching at high speed from the direction of Mars.
The desert was covered in figures; dehydrated, dragging their limbs through the deep sand, many mounds of dead mutants with too much clothes, or too little which had resulted in fatal, agonising burns. Primitive walls of shattered meteor had been formed, many holes and crevices in the walls cramped with sheltering cultists. The heat seemed to drive the beast out of them as they strove for a breeze. Surprisingly, their were engineers down there; mutants with welding masks and blowtorches. Duncan used his skills of reasoning to estimate the amount of hostiles in the gorge below. "I'd say roughly 2,200 tangos, we're going have to use a flare… and we'll also need a getaway plan." Duncan shifted in the sand, trying to get into a comfortable position with his bag slung over his back, unbalancing him. He grunted with frustration and stowed the small, camouflaged device, "I prefer clearing buildings."
"Remain steadfast," Bentu'vre murmured, adjusting the scope on his rail rifle. The rail rifle was practically a handheld cannon/ sniper rifle. He had modified it specifically to leave no trail from the projectiles it fired, and to make nearly no noise whatsoever, in exchange for its armour piercing value; now it couldn't punch holes in jeeps anymore, only flak jackets. Each round was as valuable as a human sniper rifle, each owner of a rail rifle probably had a kill count of about three hundred individuals, and usually had disabled at least five vehicles in their life time with pure resourcefulness and tact. The owner was widely renowned in the fire caste as one of many legendary shooters, unmatched in most aspects, perfect accuracy, particularly a Shas'vre, especially one who refused a battle suit.
A freezing breeze washed through the gorge below, then rushed through Bentu'vre and Duncan, they winced but it wasn't something they hadn't experienced before; Duncan in the frozen wastes of Siberia and Greenland in winter, and Bentu'vre on the -60 degree nights on his home planet… and that was on a good day! The mutants on the other hand cried out in pain; they already hated this planet.
"You ready?" Duncan asked with a slight grin on his face, his trigger finger itchy.
Bentu'vre nodded, then they both rose to a crouched position and picked off the stragglers with unmatched ease, each shot entered their temples and cut off all feeling immediately, moving their barrels to combat the 18 mph winds. They rushed the camp, killing all who got in their way, both equally efficient with their ammunition and their combat knives; except Duncan's was short and had a practical serrated edge, while Bentu'vre's looked ceremonial and was long and sharp, meant for stabbing and lopping heads off with the ease of a samurai blade. Then, in the middle of their silent bloodbath, Duncan caught his battle brother's attention. A large figure was looming over a small group of cultists; the figure was at least 8" in height and almost half that in width due to heavy armour. The huge warrior was holding a huge sub machine gun; which looked more like a cannon sized heavy machine gun. It was holding its helmet by its side, which was horned and had both eye slits like an eagle, and a breathing grille that looked like a round triangle, which somehow made it look more terrifying. The monster the suit belonged to was wearing a sly grin, eyes red as a hot chilli shone like stars in the darkness. Bentu'vre stood still as a gargoyle, the monster stared back through the pitch-black darkness. The monster nodded at Duncan, with a sneer that made Bentu'vre furious suddenly. He roared at the monster, startling the cultists and charged him very unprofessionally, so Duncan did the only thing he could think of and grabbed him by the collar of his armour, stopping him in his tracks before he could do something stupid, he was sure the sword with spikes on its side in the monster's holster wasn't just for show. The monster laughed in a deep tone and said something in a foreign language, then put his helmet on. "You do not even know what you are dealing with, puny mortal," the creature sniggered, clearly enjoying the moment; keen to hear their last defiant line before their demise, they were always so creative! But Duncan did something that hadn't been done in thousands of years, something deemed punishable by death by the Imperium; it was the last thing he could think of doing, he pulled down his pants and stuck it in his direction, while flipping him off, then pulled them up and sprinted the other way with a confused Bentu'vre in pursuit. The monster stared after them for a moment, trying to make sense of what just happened, and then roared with blinding fury and gave chase.
They swerved round walls of meteor rock and slumped low behind a mound of sand formed by a recent meteor. "What was that?" Bentu'vre demanded, shaking his head.
"Improvising," Duncan panted with a sly grin.
"Did you pinpoint the target?"
"Affirmative. "
"Where."
Duncan glanced with great embarrassment at the –flare in the middle of the camp; a quarter mile away. Bentu'vre swore in his native language. "How long?"
"Twenty minutes."
They stood still as statues for just a moment, eyes wide, then rocketed up the slope. The pursuing mutants cocked their heads at this sudden change of tactics, but thought little of it and gave followed them in their arrow straight path as far away from the clearing as possible.
Duncan's breathing was heavy, still moving at a flat out sprint to escape the impending doom that was to cover a ten-mile radius. They were not going to make it. "Dig!" Bentu'vre cried. They'd lost the mutants and dug like dogs; once they had a hole big enough, Bentu'vre extended a sheet of thick lead over the hole; used to defend against sandstorms, but should have the same effect on hydrogen bombs if in a sturdy position. There was a dull thump far away. Mutants stopped looking for them and ran screaming, then the loudest bang they had ever heard almost shattered their eardrums. The ground shook, as if they were being shaken by a giant which was using the earth as a colossal bowling ball, the lead sheet glowed white hot and melted the sand in contact with it. Duncan's skin, not used to temperatures so high ended up burying his face in Bentu'vre's arm; Bentu'vre didn't pull away. The deafening roar subsided and Bentu'vre used the butt of his gun to push the cover away, singeing the black paint in the process. Duncan squinted up at the night sky, coloured crimson, toxic smoke filled the air so Duncan wore his gas mask and Bentu'vre pulled on his helmet. Random fires burned, a mushroom cloud rose steadily into the air, such devastation, no matter the circumstances, was nothing to rejoice about. They turned around, and headed north.
It was a huge explosion, a signal to humanity on that terrible day; Monday, August 6, at 8:15 a.m., 1945, a similar, not quite so big bomb was dropped, paving the way to humanity's demise. It was a symbol that there would only be war and death, there would be no more peace; from that day forward, no one would be free again. Kergoth the Lord of Night watched the mushroom cloud grow from orbit, he was not shocked in any way, rather, this is what he had been waiting for, it was the signal that he should take things up a notch, the cultists were being pushed back, the enemy were adapting to them, using the right strategies to purge them in their thousands, then eject them into space via planes that flew just inside atmosphere. He turned and headed through an automatic door, which creaked and hissed as it opened, making a gouge in the floor deeper still. His footfalls were heavy, his armour creaked and motors controlling his blood flow spun like loose rotors on a helicopter, a bubble of septic flesh popped on his face, which he smacked with frustration; by praying to one God of truth, it seemed the others took notice too.
He turned and headed to the cargo bay, where clusters of cultists were being loaded into hundreds of small escape pods for atmosphere entry. He sauntered through a derelict part of the ship, a pair of doors were wide open and red light seeped out, as he passed, there was huge noise, his eardrums rattled, he felt his entire body shake and madness threatened his mind, then he passed and the noise went away.