Highway 2, Cadia Secundus, 00:04
No sooner had the rain abated, shovels began hacking away at sodden earth, broken out on Lieutenant Corta's orders. Restless and dispirited, Staff Sergeant Perandis threw down his fold-out spade and left his hole half dug, leaving the area where the remains of the company headquarters were located and walking amongst the foxholes the precious few men left in C-for-Cannon now occupied.
"Any news of Larn?" Perandis stopped by Aimo Garst's hole. The young fullscrew was closest to Larn out of all the men in the company.
"No, Staff Sarn't," Aimo said glumly. "Ain't no body though, so he's out there."
"Yeah, he's out there. That's why we're gonna go back and look for him right now whilst Mister Corta's got us bivouacked here."
"No need, Staff Sarn't." Aimo glanced back at Cyrano who had stood up eagerly. "We'll go get him."
Perandis looked beyond the cavalryman and saw the mess sergeant, Kat Katecka, and Ral Bleak materialise. "You sure? If Mister Corta packs us up and we move, we ain't coming back for you."
"Number one, Staff Sarn't. Never leave a lad behind, no matter 'ow much of a dosser he is." Aimo heaved the sling of his IM stubber onto his shoulder.
"Alright. But the big guns stay with us. You'll want to travel light, just weapons and ammo. I'll find some for you." Perandis moved off.
"Number one," Aimo muttered. "Wrong leavin' Larn behind."
"Agreed," Cyrano added, straightening his fur hat.
"Seemed a bit 'ard. But, life's unfair," Kat said.
"What you doin' here, Mess Sarn't? You got no business with Larn. He's my boy, not yours. You've got your lads with you."
Picking up his Lecta by the sling, Breezy Gale straightened his helmet. "Never thought of him as a particularly bad soul. If anyone can show Olen Azar up, it's him. Getting' too big for his boots that fella, struttin' about all high an' mighty in the comp'ny headquarters thinkin' a runner's a special job."
"You comin' too, Ral?"
Ral Bleak said nothing, just swapped his beret for hard cover and checked the load on his .338.
"Molke holdin' on?"
"Carillo's watching him. He's still unconscious," Ral said brusquely. "So are we gonna stand 'round here talking all night or are we gonna go out there and get our mate back?"
On Perandis returning with a tiny handful of ammunition for the .338s and M-36s, the search party, headed by Aimo, set out. Almost immediately after leaving the untidy mess of foxholes behind, the noise fell drastically to near silence. Keeping to a ditch on the east side of the highway, Aimo led Gale, Cyrano, Kat, and Ral north, his ears fixed for the telltale rumble of an engine or rattle of a track. Their cautious, plodding pace put very few klicks under their belts every hour. Aimo was worried about unmarked minefields that the Cadians seemed so fond of. It made sticking to the roadside a necessity. What if James is still standing there? Aimo agonised over that thought. Would he have fallen asleep before Zeke found him, if Zeke had indeed struck out further than Rakka? We're coming to get you, James. We'll bring you back, dead or alive. If there wasn't any body then he wouldn't be pronounced dead, just missing in action as far too many men had been before him.
"Down." Aimo heard the whine of the motorcycle at the same time the others had, negating the need of a verbal order. Cyrano, Ral, Kat, and Gale hugged the side of the grassy bank as Aimo wriggled up to the edge of the road, poking his rifle through the gap in the steel barrier at the shape of a motorcycle and sidecar.
"That's a Zik." Gale, who had crawled up beside Aimo, said.
"Zeke?" Aimo misheard him.
"Enemy." Gale flicked the safety off his Lecta and aimed.
The rider was alone. Aimo could have sworn he had only heard the Zik and not the motorised column it recced ahead of. If this was indeed a recce probe then it was not a serious one.
"Hold your fire. I'll give him a warning shot." Aimo stood up behind the barrier and aimed his .338. The subsequent shot, cutting through the dawn silence violently, made the rider swerve suddenly, brake and come to a dead halt. He then toppled off his mount and scurried around the back. "Imperial. I'm imperial! Friendly!" he cried, waving frantically from behind the stationary Zik.
"I know that voice," Aimo laughed, vaulting the barrier and running over to where the rider cowered. "James?"
"James?" Gale squinted confusedly.
"Found our boy," Cyrano grinned, helping Ral up and over the barrier.
"Aimo?" Larn stood up slowly and was greeted enthusiastically by Aimo who hugged him and shook his hand warmly. After another round of hand-pumping from Ral, Kat, and Cyrano, Aimo stepped back and studied his best friend. "Thought that mine had you bang to rights, mate."
Larn looked terribly drawn-out and not at all happy to be back with his mates, Aimo remarked inwardly. What had happened to him?
"Got to be the only bloke I know who can go hand-to-hand with a mine and win," Gale snorted. "Where'd you get the Zik from?"
"Remarkably good nick." Kat noted. "Who's this?" he pointed at a passenger in the sidecar who appeared to be asleep.
"Zeke pris'ner," Larn said shortly.
"D'you take the bike off him?"
"Yeah. No. Long story."
"Well, tell it to us on the ride back." Gale made to haul the Zeke out of the sidecar.
"He ain't dead. Unconscious."
"Oh, you didn't waste him? Why not?" Gale frowned and felt for the Zeke's pulse.
"Be smart, man," Cyrano snapped. "He can give us information. Mister Corta shall be pleased."
"I'm not goin' back yet," Larn said, "I need you, Ral, only you."
"Why's that?"
"Uh, w-wounded Zeke, an officer." Larn's eyes were on the ground. "I need you, Ral, please."
"This bike. You didn't steal it off Zeke, did you?" Aimo asked. "How many more Zeke are there, and where are they?"
"There's none," Larn said in a little voice. "I got 'em all."
Confused, disbelieving looks were thrown around. Aimo however did believe what his friend was saying, even if he was acting subdued and clammy. "Where, mate?"
"Back up the road. Checkpoint."
"We passed through there yesterday, yeah. There weren't no-one there though."
"Zeke mob."
"Zeke? How many?" Aimo glanced worriedly at Ral.
"Dunno. Ten, fifteen maybe."
"Right," Aimo decided, "I'm going with James. Ral, you are too. Gale, Cyrano, Kat, I want two of you to ditty-bop with this Zeke back to Mister Corta and get him caught up with the situation."
Kat volunteered to go back immediately. "Fine," he said as he dragged the Zeke out of the sidecar. "You'd better not be too heavy, you bastard."
Cyrano shrugged. "Aah, one Zeke is little trouble. I have carried my other half on my back before for many, many miles."
"Oh, your wife?" Gale said.
"No." Cyrano looked mildly offended. "My steed."
To Aimo's relief the Zik, being a larger than normal motorbike, could carry him, Larn, and Ral, with Gale, the heaviest, occupying the sidecar. Having control of the vehicle's mounted weapon made the cook perk up significantly.
"Didn't know you could ride, James." Aimo looked over Larn's shoulder at the road ahead as Larn tried to restart the bike.
"Me granddad rode bikes when he was young."
"He teach you?"
"Only had the one lesson. I fell off and that was it."
"I guess sidecars help," Ral said. Perching unsteadily behind Aimo he put his arms around Aimo's waist, prompting a squawk of indignation from him.
"Get off, I don't go for that," Aimo shoved his elbow backwards into Ral's stomach. "Hold on with your knees or something."
Hearing the Zik's engine kick into life, Aimo held on as Larn turned the bike around and pointed it northwards. Cyrano waved goodbye before taking the unconscious Zeke out of Kat's grasp and slinging him over his shoulder, disappearing over the rail and down the embankment.
The Zik's nippiness took a plunge with the addition of three passengers. Balking initially at Gale accompanying us as opposed to Cyrano, I felt considerably better when I remembered the armoured car and half-track. I hoped either Aimo, Ral, or Gale could drive. I did not want to have to leave or disable both vehicles when the company was so desperately lacking in MT and those two were within such easy access.
"Slow it down a bit." Aimo's voice was loud in my ear when the blocky shapes of the compound came into view.
I shook my head and accelerated regardless of Aimo's reservations. It was less than an hour since I had ridden south. With luck the Zeke push would wait for their recce element to report back before using the highway, allowing us time to recover the MT and drive it back to the company. By the time Zeke sent another probe forwards to investigate their unit's disappearance, we would be long gone.
"Bagged us a doozy of a ride here." Gale noted the pristine armoured car and half-track with approval.
"Ral." I beckoned for Ral to follow me once I had pulled up in front of the MT. "You'd better 'ave your medic stuff or we're sunk."
"No prob. Got it here with me." Ral hefted his Unit One bag.
Gale clambered out of the sidecar and shuffled around, massaging his numb buttocks. "Makes your legs and arse ache, doesn't it?"
"You never had it so good!" Aimo sniped. "You in the sidecar, gettin' to ride in luxury an' all."
"Be nice." Ral said over his shoulder. "This you?" he asked about the four Zekes covered by the bedsheet.
"Yeah," I grunted, trying not to look at the shapes of the bodies when I passed by.
"Yep, they are confirmed." Aimo kicked one of the Zeke's legs. "One for four's a nice ratio."
"Ratio?" You sound like an officer, always pruning about kill-ratios." Gale lifted the corner of a bedsheet and looked under. "Wasted."
Incensed by the callous treatment Aimo and Gale were giving the dead Zeke's I led Ral inside the bunkroom and over to the bunk where Izuru lay.
"Well?" I hovered anxiously on the other side of the bunk when Ral set down his Unit One bag and began examining Izuru.
"Well, what?" Ral lifted Izuru's eyelid, seeing she was conscious and stirring.
"No reservations?" I sat down on the adjacent bunk and leant forwards on my knees.
"Whether you're one of us, one of Zeke, or falling under neither of the above, I will always treat you to the best of my abilities," Ral said solemnly.
"Even xenos?"
"Even xenos."
"Say if you shot her beforehand, and she needed aid?"
"I will always treat casualties."
"Our lot comes first though. How's Molke?"
"Carillo's with him. Molke hasn't regained consciousness though." Ral's voice lowered. "I'm worried he might never awaken. It might be for the better though as right now there's no facilities, no surgeon; I haven't even got any morphia left to placate him if he does. Poor lad will be in terrible pain."
I felt my stomach lurch at the thought of Molke awake and in agony. Poor lad, I agreed solidly with Ral. I would make it my first call to apologise sincerely to Molke when he woke up.
"Can you hear me?" Ral leant over Izuru and put an ear close to her mouth.
"Yes. I remember you," Izuru smiled. "The healer from the Grace."
"Took some lead from young Larn over there. Nine-milly hollow-point fragment wasn't it?" Ral said cheerfully.
"I remember." Izuru twisted her head and looked across at me.
"Promised I'd do better next time, I'd aim for your 'ead." I said bluntly, trying to keep my face impassive. "Can't quite manage it though."
"The graze on the side of your head appears to have closed up by itself," Ral noted. "It's far too recent to have done so naturally. Your blood is also crystalline, not liquid."
"We have the ability to seal wounds through mental commands. Passive biomancy I think would be the correct term," Izuru replied. "Were I to permit you to examine my body you would find numerous wounds sustained in recent weeks that would be debilitating to a regular human. Not to an Eldar, even to an oddball like I am. As I recall telling my cohort, I am loathe to depend on human charity, but I find myself out of allies."
"S'cuse me." Ral bent over to see the shrapnel embedded in Izuru's side. "You can seal wounds but not pull metal out… Hmm."
"Self-surgery with a wraithbone blade would be risky."
"Okay, I'm gonna have to cut the fabric around the wound away. It might do in your shirt, so apologies in advance." Ral dug out a pair of scissors and some tweezers. "Tools are clean, hands aren't. Apologies for that too." Bringing his bag with him, Ral came round the other side of the bunk and gestured for me to take up his former position opposite him. "This will hurt. There's no morphia."
"Your primitive medication would have no effect on me," Izuru said.
"Fine, okay." Ral lined up the scissor blades and dug them into the black fabric some distance from the wound area. "Thought you were having a heart attack there for a moment when I listened."
"Our hearts beat at a far higher rate than that of a human's. We are quite unlike you biologically, however similar we appear on the outside."
"Yeah, uh, James, can you talk to her," Ral glanced up at me. "I need to concentrate here."
"She ain't badly hurt. Not like she's in danger of dyin' or anything," I said defensively.
"Well if you won't talk to her then bugger off. Go police up some of that Zeke gear, get it loaded into the track. No use sitting 'round here doing nothing."
Adopting the same manner as if I was trying to keep a dying grunt awake, I leant forwards. "Okay, what's your name?"
"Izuru Numerial?" Baffled, Izuru took a moment to stare at me in dismay.
"Right, where you from?"
"Look at her!" Ral seen I was staring at the floor.
"Where you from?" I repeated, this time looking Izuru in the eye.
Blinking slowly, Izuru replied as if glad to be asked such a question. "I am from the Craftworld Ulthanash Shelwé."
"Yeah. You got a family?"
"…You know that."
"Got a short memory I 'ave. Tell me about 'em."
"I have two beautiful children, sired by a pureblood of the Craftworld Alaitoc. Ilic and Korsarro are their names."
"Thought you were from this Ulfway place?"
Izuru sighed, the action apparently causing an acute pain in her side. "I was born on Lyanden, nurtured and wed on Alaitoc, and trained for war on Ulthwé."
"Well-travelled then. Your kids, they're waiting for you on Ulfway?"
"No."
"Husband? He waitin' for you?"
The mention of Izuru's family sparked a moment of sadness in her eye, which grew mournful but only for a second.
"Alright, fine, what do you do then?"
"What do I do? In what context?"
"What d'you do for a living?"
"I am a ranger, as you know, a captain of the Second Ranger Caste of Ulthwé, The Nightspear's Own."
"Never said you was a captain." I paled at the notion that Izuru was an officer.
"Were a captain. Must I instruct you on the finer intricacies of human dialect…?"
I stirred uneasily at the slyness in Izuru's voice. "Cheers for that, Ral."
"Keep the ball rolling, pal, I'm just doing my job," Ral muttered.
"And where are you from?" Izuru asked me, wincing as Ral's tweezers pried a chunk or metal out.
"Who's asking the fucking questions, you or me, stickie?" I rose from the bunk indignantly and began to pace around the room with hands on hips.
"We've had a hard week," Ral said quickly.
"Likewise. How goes the process?" Izuru's chin touched her breast as she tried to watch Ral work.
"Smoothly. You must have a cast-iron ribcage or that metal would have burrowed inside it. From what I can see, none of the shrapnel penetrated it. It means I can just pull it out and give you dressings. Have to apply sulpha as well."
A cry of alarm from Gale, having appeared unannounced in the bunkroom, made me jump.
"Eurgh, is that a stickie?" Gale sneered. "Where's that Zeke officer you told us about, Larn?"
Gale had three rifles over one shoulder: an M-35, a Vintok, and a KA. On the other was a Castra forty-millimetre. His Lecta was in his hands.
"Seeing her there," I said, sticking my hands in my pockets unconcernedly.
"I was masquerading as a Chaos-affiliated merc—" Izuru began, only for Ral to cut her off.
"This one isn't a Zeke officer. Let's just get our facts straight."
"Well what is she then?" Gale edged closer and stared down at Izuru's cut-up shirt and the grey marks of the shrapnel standing out on her pale flesh.
"An advisor," I said.
"Consultant." Izuru made to rise up from the bunk but Ral protested.
"Not finished yet, sorry."
"Hang on, that stickie looks familiar," Gale gawked. "Damned if I haven't seen her before somewhere."
"She's the one that negotiated passage off Nemtess for us," Ral said loudly. "It's thanks to her we're here right now."
Turning my back I made a face for that was not strictly true. The compromise I made with the Inquisitor still loomed over me like a storm cloud about to break.
"Oh well, I wouldn't have rated a stickie being concerned with what happened to our lot. You're all supposed to hate us," Gale pointed out, his armoury clacking together on his back. "Bloody mad you lot trying to throw in with us."
Even lying down, Izuru made her voice heard. "Your kind are primitive, incompetent, underdeveloped barbarians, but you are currently the lesser of a great many evils that shall shortly prey on the naked galaxy. Such truces have existed in the past. It is my mentor's wish that we temporarily set aside our differences and work towards a common goal."
Not listening to a word Izuru had said, Gale parked himself on a bunk as far away as was possible from her, shaking his acquired weaponry off and removing his helmet.
"Oi." I leant on the metal frame above where Gale sat. "That MT, does it work?"
"Uh, Aimo's checking 'em over." Gale scratched at the stubble on his chin.
"Aimo's checking over the MT? Good. I need you to police up some dead Zeke's upstairs, most kosh." I jerked my thumb over my shoulder.
"Don't give me any o' your lip, Private," Gale smirked. "This is the exact reason why you – A – lost Ten Platoon, and – B – got punted down to private. You can't go ordering NCOs around like you're still one of them. It's your mess, so you go clean it up."
"Well that's the thing. It ain't my mess…" I nodded my head at Izuru. "It's hers. So how 'bout as a thank-you you diddly-bop upstairs and start bagging and tagging her confirmed, just make sure you arrange 'em underneath that sheet outside."
"You're a piece of work, Larn," Gale glared. "You and your stickie."
"Gimme that weapon." I lunged for the KA Gale had tossed on the bunk. "That too." I pulled the Castra away from Gale before he could haul them off with him.
Whilst I was butting heads with Gale, Ral was finishing plucking the shards out of Izuru. He tutted at Gale's back as the cook stalked out of the bunkroom, kicking a fallen aquila out of his path. "Dear."
"What are…?" Izuru propped herself up on her elbows, her face a picture of concern as Ral poured sulpha powder on the freshly-cleaned wounds.
"Just standard medical procedure, sulpha prevents an infection from developing."
"A placebo, I cannot feel a thing." Izuru made to brush off the thin powder. "Such primitive measures."
"And that sidearm you carry?" Ral had spied the Moses sitting in a poorly-fitting stickie holster on Izuru's left hip. "Odd you've got that now."
Izuru made no reply to that remark.
"You'd be in trouble if Gale was a sarn't of infantry," Ral remarked coolly when I ambled over.
"He ain't no grunt, he's a bloody cook and that's how it's gonna stay." I plonked myself down on the bunk next to Izuru and checked the load on my weapons. "You finished yet?"
"Such an insubordinate streak is punishable by execution." Izuru looked at me gravely. "I understand I do not know the context behind your demotion, but if it concerns your conduct with superior officers then it must stop."
"I agree with her." Ral swallowed. "Don't know why, but yeah."
Rocking the KA's full magazine back into place angrily I stood up and said, quite coldly, "I hate all officers," and stormed outside.
Aimo was sitting in the driver's seat of the half-track. He stuck a hand out of the open side panel and waved when he saw me.
"Can you drive?" I leant against the car's angled flank wearily. "Gimme short answers."
"Yeah, easy." Aimo grinned, uprooting from his seat and climbing into the passenger compartment. "Come 'round the back!"
Aimo opened the rear door and climbed out, wiping his hands down on his trousers. "Perfect, there's still plenty in the tank too."
"And the scout car?"
"Still got to look over it."
"Right. Be quick."
"Hmph, roger.
"Oi, it weren't no Zeke officer I dragged you all out 'ere for." I caught Aimo's arm before he could disappear inside the Horus. "It's the stickie."
"Our friend from Nemtess?" Aimo raised his eyebrows. "Interesting."
"Number ten, Aimo, she ain't our friend. Let's be real about this. All she's looking for is another one of her lot that dropped from orbit with us. Once she's found her then she's off out of 'ere without a second thought. I saw her work over these Zekes and she honestly don't care how many humans she has to waste. She's deranged, unhinged. She likes taking that blade of hers into bodies too much. Put the bloody wind up me, it did."
Aimo, listening quietly to me, said, "well, I reckon we're alright then. Ain't gotta worry about that knife of hers as long as you're 'ere."
"What d'you mean?"
"She likes you."
"Number ten also, mate," I shuddered. "Number one-chonking-thousand. The stickie said I was gonna help her find her friend because I made a promise to her on the ship that I would look out for Keladi. I lost Keladi when we landed, now Izuru's bloody found me again and won't leave me alone until Keladi's safe with her. That's the reason she's here." I kicked at the half-track's tyre in frustration. "How could you bloody think that? Are you daft?"
"Whoa, mate, I'm sorry if I overstepped." Aimo, flabbergasted, raised his hands and stepped back as if afraid I might take a swing at him. "It's just I spoke to her, so I did."
"What?" I felt my temper rising.
"When you were in the Pen, I went outside the wire and did in a tank Zeke was trying to fix up. I met Izuru out there."
"What did she say to you?" I said in a quietly menacing tone.
"Something about not being able to see my child ever again or some such bollocks. She asked about you too."
I shook my head in silent derision. "I don't believe it. Aimo, this thing, this history between me and this stickie, it goes back a lot longer than Nemtess, alright? Call it fate or whatever you want, but I don't buy it. It's one massive coincidence. And, I tell you, it was a hell of a lot worse back then. She was trying to kill me, Aimo, kill me for a long time. She was a right holy terror then and still is now. I don't understand what goes through her head, but it ain't natural, like."
"Can't explain it." Aimo pulled himself up onto the Horus' large, front mudguard. "Maybe you got under her skin?"
"Daft." I waved a finger at Aimo as he dropped inside the open turret.
"Sausages."
The word came from Gale's mouth, not Aimo's. Depositing a fresh Zeke from upstairs down on the ground beside the covered bodies, Gale rubbed his twinging spine when he straightened up.
I strolled over, paying a cursory glance to the blood-covered Zeke at Gale's feet. "Wha' 'bout sausages?"
Gale gave me a disturbed, hollow look. "Not that kind."
"How many Zeke upstairs?"
"Eight. They all look like someone's hacked 'em up with a cleaver. Something you'd find in a slaughterhouse." Gale looked queasy. It appeared he had already thrown up somewhere along the line. "Tell me that wasn't you."
"The stickie cleared upstairs… with a knife."
"Phew, good." Gale looked at me wide-eyed. "I'd have Corta put you under arms the moment you got back if you had done that."
"Bloody savage."
"Yeah. Goddamn bloody xenos savages." Gale made the sign of the aquila hurriedly, glancing up at the sky. "Wanted to apologise for earlier too, just didn't want to in front of the stickie. We're indebted to you, Larn, for finding this MT for us."
"Ta. I'll give you a hand with the rest."
"No-no. I've got this. Uh, any extra weapons or ammo we find, we'll stick in the back of the track."
"Number one. Scran or meds too."
"Yuh-huh."
Ral looked up when I came into the bunkroom. "These bloodstains..." he began before the icy glare I shot Ral with when I sat down on a bunk made him drop the subject immediately.
"I'll go see if Gale needs a hand." Ral slung his repacked Unit One bag and left.
With my back to Izuru I worked a rag over the body of my KA, wiping off any muck its previous owner had not bothered to clean away. Admiring how such relics could take a beating, I heard a soft clink of rounds against one another and turned to see Izuru holding the Moses. She performed an awkward motion by placing her thumb inside the trigger guard and her fingers in front of the muzzle, slowly easing back the slide to see inside the chamber.
"You still holding onto that?" I went round to the bunk Izuru was lying on and leant on the top frame. "Fine, you do what you want," I said when she withheld a reply.
Raising an eyebrow, Izuru popped the Moses' magazine out along with the chambered round. She then proceeded to disassemble the pistol, managing to do so without taking her eyes off me. "Why do you hate officers?" she asked softly, taking a cloth to the neatly-arranged pieces.
Sifting through a bundle of officer's webbing I slapped at the bunk frame. "Because of the class. It's not the men. I've known good officers, so I have. My Mister Corta, he's not a bad subaltern, that's the truth."
"But what made you hate them as a class?" Izuru shifted from her reclining position, planting both feet on the floor.
Carrying the gear with me, I sat down on the adjacent bunk and thought back to Nemtess. My knee began to jiggle, the muscle spasm coming on quickly. "Because he killed my platoon," I said weakly.
"Who?"
"Upper-class noble called Max Kaukasios. Now if you ever hear me call someone a Kaukasios, you understand it means I want 'em wasted. Fragged, like." I felt my jaw tighten. Inside my boots my toes curled. "Kaukasios, our company commander on Nemtess, hated our platoon sarn't, a good fella named Scherder. This feud extended to me and the rest of the platoon." Balling my fists, I scrunched the cargo pockets on my trousers. "Kaukasios had a yellow streak, a nasty one. But he weren't a silly coward, he was a dangerous one. Upper-class knob left our platoon behind during a general retreat, hoping we'd get overrun. He'd get the Star of Terra for leading a counterattack he weren't even there for. Another good officer, Paul Meinerz, led the counterattack against Zeke. I know. I was there. He left me the Moses."
Reassembling the Moses, listening intently all the while, Izuru leant forwards. "You said he killed them all. Whom do you speak of?"
"Kaukasios. Bloody Kaukasios," I almost snarled the name, "ordered a commissar he had in his pocket to open fire on us by accident. We lost everyone there 'cept me, Scherder, and Martti."
Saying Martti's name bit deeply, reawakening the old guilt. "Commissars too. All commissars can burn."
"And Kaukasios?"
"Don't know." I looked away, near-choking over the memories of Nemtess. "He weren't on the ships out of Nemtess so I guess he never left. Good. May he die unremembered over and over again. Preening bastard."
With sadness almost on the verge of tears, Izuru handed the Moses to me. "Here is to Paul Meinerz, a good officer."
"Emperor carry his soul. May it rest in the fields where the stars of terra grow." My fingers closed over the grips, taking the pistol and placing it in my lap. Looking down at my feet I sniffed, realising my eyes had grown wet.
"May your comrades' souls be at peace," Izuru said softly. Leaning closer she pointed at my heart. "They live on in there now. Never forget."
"Same with you." I nodded gratefully. A weight had been lifted from my heart now that I had spoken a little about Nemesis Tessera. The pain was still there, but talking about it openly had helped.
"Show me your hands," Izuru spoke in a low voice.
Ral barging in interrupted her. He carried a bundle of combats in his arms.
"What you got for us, Ral?" I asked innocently, shifting away from Izuru.
"Combats. These were all I could find that were big enough, James."
"Uh, right-ho." I took the unfolded clothing from Ral and passed them to Izuru. "Spare kit here, Sniper. Get yourself fitted. We're moving, most ricky-tick."
"…Very well." Izuru sniffed at the combats suspiciously.
"That stuff's LP gear – Lizard Pattern – shouldn't be too much on the big side." Ral dragged a zip-up combat vest from off one of the top bunks. "Mind the blood on this one."
"Leave you to it. Don't take too long," I said flatly, searching around for my Castra. "Where's my…?"
Izuru picked up the grenade launcher from behind where she was sitting and handed it to me, popping out the loaded cartridge beforehand.
"Thank you." I made to take the chunky shell. Izuru instead slid it neatly into the nylon pocket on the breast of my flak jacket.
"Yep, obliged," I muttered, working the slung Castra around to my back.
"Stay."
"Nothing doing." I flipped my cover over in my hands and resettled it on my head.
"Wear this, I beg." Izuru tossed the upper half of her sniper oversuit to me.
Catching it I sniffed the faded material. It had become so mucky it was difficult to tell what colour it had been before. "Stinks."
"Humans stink. How do you think I smell after falling in with a company of them?"
"Nothing doing, Sniper."
"Wear it so I may recognise you and your companions in a crowd."
Holding the garment at arm's length I took in the size. For a taller, broad-chested being it would be well-fitting. On a thin, scrawny grunt it looked closer to a smock than than a shirt. The only benefit I could see over my worn OG jacket was the addition of a draw-string hood.
"Fine." I took off my body armour and hastily replaced my OGs with the sniper smock. "Happy?" I asked, zipping my flak jacket back up. Jabbing a finger at Izuru, who was waiting for me to leave, I added, a little more forcefully than I intended. "Get changed. You're on your own time now."
Standing around staring at the dozen Zekes lying in front of them, Aimo, Ral, and Gale looked grim. Ral replied to my questioning look when I stepped out of the building. "Zeke'll find these men."
"So?" Why was it that they were no longer confirmed kills to Ral but real people?
"We're worried about reprisals on Imperial soldiers," Gale said dourly. "Zeke won't take it well when he finds his recce team mutilated and left out in the open like this."
"Well what about those two lads in the Wolf back up the road? Mister Corta and Perandis wouldn't' let us see them. So maybe Zeke's already getting' started with reprisals. I don't think they see us as 'Imperial soldiers' rather extra fodder, or bayonet practice." I pointed out.
"Yeah. Yeah, he's got a point." Aimo nodded. "But I reckon we've got to bury them."
"Number ten. We're not wasting any more time hanging around 'ere. Look, dawn's right about now. We're gonna miss the company if we don't leave now."
"Larn, we're motorised, they're not. We can give 'em another half hour whilst we bury these men," Ral said patiently. "It's the right thing to do."
"Right thing to do would be to arrest the stickie and make her dig the grave." Gale kicked a Zeke in the ankle, adding in a low tone, "have her dig one more for herself."
Aimo glanced at me as if expecting a violent outburst. I remained composed and never turned an eyebrow to Gale's proposed idea. "We all dig."
"Fair enough," Gale agreed.
"Won't take long," Ral said optimistically.
"We'll load 'em in the track and drive it down the highway a bit first. Aimo?"
"Yeah." Aimo climbed into the cab and started the engine. Gale's eyes strayed northwards. The empty road worried him. It worried me too. Not knowing where Zeke was or how aggressive his offensive towards Kasr Jark would be. I almost welcomed a sighting of Zeke to alleviate the paranoia of the unseen menace.
Aimo halted the noisy half-track and we dismounted a rough hundred yards down from the outpost, striking out across the flat fields. Built across a natural bottleneck, the outpost was flanked on both sides by a prominent ridgeline that commanded an unobstructed view of the Cadian plains. It was in full view of the ridge that Gale, Ral, Aimo, and I commenced burial detail. With picks and shovels taken from the half-track we toiled at the earth, trying not to look behind us at the thickly-wooded high ground where our imaginations had conjured up tides blood-crazed Zekes just waiting to be let off their leashes and fall upon us in a fury of sharpened bayonets.
"Smartly now, lads." I rammed the blade of my shovel into the earth and angled my back sharply, rubbing where it ached. "If we don't look at Zeke, Zeke won't look at us."
I'm talking like a sergeant, I realised too late. Aside from Ral, I was outranked by both Aimo and Gale, a fact that Gale, by his expression, knew all too well. He said nothing though. Aimo too seemed content with acting subordinate to me despite his difference in rank.
Spitting on his palms and rubbing them, Aimo grinned.
"That stickie couldn't be bothered to clean up after herself then?" Gale surveyed his reddened hands where the pick handle had chafed. "Two thirds of this mess is hers."
"Ask not the Eldar a question…" Ral, sweating profusely, muttered.
"Get shovelling." Aimo stamped down on his buried shovel blade.
A loosening bootlace caught my attention. Kneeling down I felt a shadow fall across me. The thrown shovel landed neatly in the earth beside me, skimming across it and coming to a stop, touching the toe of my boot. Gale's reaction was expected, a single grunt of disgust at the stickie's sudden appearance. Ral nodded politely and got on with the job at hand. Aimo, leaning on his spade, looked on in approval. Retying my bootlace around my leg I looked up, not recognising the oddly-dressed newcomer. Only when I looked again did I see Izuru.
Startled by her change in attire, it gave me genuine pause. Izuru was no longer bedraggled, sickly, and dressed in the tattered remains of her ranger garb. She had shed it all in favour of the camouflaged battledress and olive grey assault vest. Two armoured pauldrons the same colour as her vest widened her, already broad, shoulders. A cap with earflaps and a set of dust goggles covered her head, similar to the headgear she had worn before. Beneath the wide peak, her eyes, both of which were now open, regarded us sternly. The deformity in her right eye, the dilated pupil, was prominent.
"Okay, make some room now." I picked up the shovel at my feet and offered it to Izuru who took it without so much as a nod of acknowledgment.
Sun-up was approaching by the time the hole had been dug deep enough and the sides levelled. Gale and Ral went back to the half-track to fetch the first bodies to deposit in the grave, leaving Aimo and I with Izuru. The pair of us were breathing heavily and aching from the constant digging. Izuru was not in the least bit fazed or even moderately out of breath.
"Where is the cameleoline, the long rifle, and the songs that accompany them?" Izuru mimed snatching something out of thin air, giving me a start. I had assumed she would keep her silence in the company of others. Aimo though was listening with interest.
"Alas. What is lost is now forgotten." Izuru's prideful gaze, yearning for her past, centred on me.
"This don't concern you. You don't have to do this," I said.
"I like you get your hands dirty," Aimo said. "Better than most officers I've known."
An unnaturally fierce expression directed towards him made Aimo fall silent.
"I shall not be commanded by you, human. I answer to none."
Izuru's strange coldness struck me as odd. Her warm and friendly manner in the bunkroom was gone and apparently forgotten. Was this the officer in her speaking?
The transfer of the Zeke dead went smoothly. Ral and Gale carried a single Zeke between them, with Aimo and I doing likewise. Working alone, Izuru carried two bodies at a time, taking the weight of the heaviest corpses with ease.
Nobody spared any words for the dozen once they were buried, all of us having had enough of Zeke. Grumbling under his breath, Gale passed the dirtied picks and shovels through the rear door of the half-track for me to stow in the containers underneath the seats. Then, abruptly, he slunk away, his place being taken by Izuru.
Stowing the tools I ignored Izuru as Aimo was waiting in the driver's seat for us to fetch the other vehicles. Only when I made to climb out of the half-track did she lay a hand on the inner edge of the open door, barring my way.
"If my lot sees you, they'll shoot you." I glared. "You can't come with us."
"Then they will not see me," Izuru replied indifferently, refusing to budge.
"I need your eyes. Watch for Zeke and keep us informed if he uses this road."
"You shall not command me."
"Listen," I lowered my voice. Aimo was watching us in the mirror. "If you're gonna find Keladi then you're gonna need to co-operate with me; none of this stickie officer bollocks. Take your sniper rifle and observe. That's what Rangers do, isn't it?" Reaching out I touched Izuru's arm. "Please. Please. I don't want anyone else taking on any more real estate here."
Understanding, Izuru's severe expression softened. "I shall be your eyes."
"Right. You ride with us until you find a place to debus. From then on, you're on your own. We're off back to the company now, then Kasr Jark. That's where our battalion headquarters is. Make sense?"
Izuru stepped back, allowing me to climb out of the half-track. "Be safe," she whispered.
"Can't guarantee that," I replied nervously.
"Then be vigilant."
"Number one. I'll do my best to bring the Tabor's through alright. They're safe with the company."
"You have my gratitude, soldier." Izuru bowed her head sadly.
"Yeah, take care, Sniper."
Gale waved urgently at me as I ran back inside the compound and over to the MT.
"Zeke?" I stopped and listened.
"No. Growling, like dogs or wolves," Gale, unusually flustered, replied.
"Where?"
"Listen."
"Nah, can't hear anything," I said after a beat of silence.
"I'm telling you…"
"Number ten. Let's get moving now." I didn't want to wait around for whatever it was Gale had heard to show up. "Sarn't, get in that bloody car!"
Under Gale's hand the Horus crunched through gears, rolling forwards at a painfully slow pace. Gaining ground on him in the Zik, I was forced to stop and wait for Gale several times before he found a gear that didn't disagree with him. I was conscious too much dithering had occurred as the sun was up and rising steadily. The threat of air attack would grow greater and greater the longer we lingered out on the open highway. I had no wish to fall into the sights of those diving bombers that had laid further waste to Rakka. I imagined the silent sky before hearing the growing whine in the distance, and the appearance of the black specks, each of them bearing their respective cylinders of death, ready to hit freefall.
Thank the Emperor that we were not harassed during the journey south. Indeed our progress was not marred in the slightest by the ongoing invasion which, for the morning, appeared to have been halted, with not a peep from Zeke. At the head of our tiny convoy I kept the Zik on a dead straight heading without bothering to stay on one side of the road. Behind me, Aimo and Gale were of a similar mind. Why would anyone be travelling north in the direction of the enemy?
The southbound road was chock-full of refugees before. Now where are they? I craned my neck to see through the gaps in the thin hedgerow that ran along both sides of the highway. More barren fields with little grass growing in them, probably minefields. The Cadians seemed to love sowing them without marking the areas of danger.
At the sight of the rattling half-track braking behind me, I eased off the throttle and came to a halt. Eyeing the left-hand mirror I saw a shape bearing a rifle vault over the side of the half-track. A camouflaged cape billowed behind as it slipped through the hedgerow and out of sight. Paying no further thought to the stickie, I released the brake and shot forwards, monitoring the half-track and armoured car as they worked to regain speed.
A little further on, the war resumed with a sorry display of refugees traipsing along the road. The beginnings of the aftermath of a bombing raid were apparent by the occasional crater and wrecked vehicle that had been pushed to one side by a heavier car. Heaps of tree branches, boughs, and leaves were scattered about the asphalt, baggage too. Belongings the fleeing refugees longer had the strength to carry.
The thin crowd parted ways before the Zik, paying no attention to me as I drove through the middle of them. Their odd lack of energy came clear. They were mostly elderly with only a handful of younger civilians that were too weak or ill to move quickly. The abandonment of the old and the sick struck a grim chord.
Keep moving, Aimo, you too, Gale, I fretted, praying that neither men would stop and offer rides to the flagging civvies.
No sooner had the thought passed through my head when Aimo stopped the half-track, forcing Gale to stop behind him in the midst of the refugees.
Damnation. I pulled up and twisted around in my seat. Ral was standing up inside the passenger compartment and gesturing to the civvies.
Keep moving. I waved to Aimo exasperatedly.
Through the driver's vision slit, Aimo shook his head firmly. We're going to help these people.
"Ral!" I shouted, hauling the Zik around and driving up alongside the half-track.
"Listen, we're not the enemy. We're Imperial soldiers." Ral cried, attracting the attention of the civilians. If they had thought we were Zeke before, that belief was gone now Ral was shooting his mouth off.
"Ral, what you doing, you stupid twat?" I batted at refugees as they began to crowd the Zik and half-track.
"Just a minute, we can help these people first."
"We're not even gonna get a quarter of these civvies in the track – get off!" I pushed away hands which were scrabbling at the Vraks. "Aimo, drive the track. We're getting overrun 'ere."
"Have pity on us," an elderly man begged.
"Let us aboard, in the name of the Emperor." An equally frail woman wailed. "I do not want to die tainted by Chaos."
"Get—" My fingers tugged at the flap of the holster attached to the Zeke officer's belt I had stowed the Moses in. Drawing the pistol I pointed it at the sky and let off a shot. The loud clap made the refugees harassing us recoil in terror, giving me an opening to point the Zik south and gun the engine, breaking free of the cordon. Seeing me roar ahead, Aimo followed, allowing Gale to pull away. Ral remained standing up inside the half-track. Still determined to help, he threw water containers and ratpacks to the refugees he felt he was betraying. Seeing him throw away our food in the mirror I spat, "you bloody fool," but was powerless to stop him.
I made a point of keeping a constant speed on the road, never slowing for human traffic if it was in the way and sounding the Zik's horn whenever anyone was too slow to clear our path.
As the crowds grew larger, so did the amount of battlefield wastage. Artillery parks, formerly occupied but now deserted, were left with immense gardens of spent shells that children were playing on. A few live rounds, faulty ammunition, were left lying in the mud, completely accessible to anyone. Bombing victims, entirely motor transport, grew in number. Many of them, if not wrecks, were parked at the roadside, their fuel tanks likely empty and now acting as makeshift shelters for the refugees. Black columns of smoke rose in the distance. The smell of defeat hung in the air.
Not a single man in uniform walked amongst the refugees whose numbers were thickening the further south we moved, slowing our Zeke transport to a little over walking pace. The absence of any friendly forces was disconcerting. I hoped a general retreat was not in effect as I did not want another repeat of Nemesis Tessera; a disorganised withdrawal ending with our backs to a wall. Had the Cadians thrown the towel in already and were preparing to seal themselves inside their fortress-cities, subjecting themselves to a prolonged grind of a siege?
Men, women, and children were among those struggling to stay ahead of Zeke now. Families unwilling to leave one another behind walked alongside the Zik. One young child, trying to climb inside the side-car, was reprimanded shrilly by her mother who picked her daughter up in her arms and bundled her away, seemingly frightened of the sudden military presence on the road. Angling my mirror I noted, with dismay, a few opportunistic civilians had latched onto the Horus and were climbing onboard to sit on the flanks. Gale, with only the narrow driver's hatch to see out of, could see nothing but directly in front and even then his field of view was somewhat narrow. Ral, again, was overflowing with compassion for the heaving throng of displaced civilians, passing down bottles of water and entire boxes of compo.I worried Ral would soon leave nothing for us, or the rest of the company when we caught up. I remembered from the previous day that not a man among C-for-Cannon carried ratpacks, only his weapon and whatever ammunition he still had on him from the siege.
Growing impatient with an odd lack of progress which had left us standstill for more than a few minutes, I stood up on the Zik and tried to see what was holding the crowds up. An upcoming bridge was forcing the civilians to move closer and closer together, slowing them down and bringing us to a dead halt. I slumped in my seat, furious at the presence of the refugees hampering our withdrawal. A far-flung idea of firing a burst from the Vraks above their heads I swiftly banished when I caught a glimpse of the waterway. As ever with each and every piece of their architecture, the Cadians had erected defences on or around the structure, here being thickly-coiled concertina wire that ran all the way along the top of the bank, barring off the canal; leaving the bridge the only means of access to the south.
"I know." Ral was there at my shoulder. He had been handing out smaller individual ratpacks to families with children.
"You left some scran for us?" I took the Zik out of gear and switched off the ignition. Nobody was moving.
"Yeah. I was surprised how well-stocked those Zekes were. Vehicles intact, full tanks, and loads of ammo. They've got better stuff than we have."
"Hunh, well you know low we are on the food-chain. Cadians get the everything brand-new. We're lucky if we can swipe buckshee or steal second-hand." My knee began to jiggle. Expecting Ral to have words with me about the refugees we refused to help, I waited to hear his words spoken in a quietly scornful tone. Conveniently a scuffle broke out between a family Ral had provided for and a group of men, one of whom had taken a water bottle from them, distracting Ral who went over to intervene, forcibly retrieving the water and returning it. Similar such incidents were occurring nearby with gangs of younger men taking the provisions away from families to keep for themselves. All of that would go to waste now. Thanks, Ral, I thought, still sitting astride the Zik.
With only the sun's position in the sky giving any indication of what the time was, I restarted the Zik and crept forwards with the crowds, reaching the ramp that led onto the bridge with the others close behind. We're sitting ducks up here, I noted with worry. My apprehension was felt by many of the refugees too who kept looking at the road behind for signs of Zeke. I had little cause to fear Zeke catching up by road for he would announce his presence long before visual contact was made.
Ral returned. "What was I saying?"
"Never mind. Can you get through these crowds and see what's on the other side of the bridge? We're static here right now."
"Okay, hang on." Instead of moving ahead Ral turned back to the half-track.
"Don't hand out any more compo to these civvies. It's only gonna get stolen when we're out of sight."
Ral glanced around and leant closer for the bike's engine to mask his words. "Can't we at least try and make it look like we care, James?"
"No. I don't care about these people. I care about you, Ral, and Aimo, and Gale, and all the rest of our mob. These 'fugees ain't got a chance."
"We're betraying them if we don't offer aid."
"Tough. All we can do is bring our own people through. No-one else matters."
"Well we—"
"Besides, you 'aven't got any meds. You're outta medical supplies, aren't you? And you can't solve all their problems with ratpacks and a bit of water."
Disgusted, Ral barged through the refugees in front of the Zik without a backwards glance. I understood the medic wanted to offer aid to each and every person. His heart was in it. He had good intentions but he had neither the tools nor the personnel to put them into practice. Tutting to myself I glared at a refugee who had stopped to lean, if only momentarily, on the Zik's sidecar.
Ral was not angry at Larn; he was angry – furious – at himself at not being able to help any of the civilians out. The cold eyes so many were giving him as he strove to move quickly through the crowds packed on the bridge only made him feel more useless. Taking away his meds and dumping him in the midst of a heaving swell of ragged, tired, fed-up, and in some cases wounded, refugees was a nightmare made real. Even overt kindness on his behalf directed towards a mother carrying a child in a blood-stained blanket was sharply rejected. The mother took one look at the offered field dressing and turned away clutching her child closer as if afraid Ral would take it from her. Baleful stares directed at Ral were averted when he looked in their direction. No-one wanted to look him in the eye in case it attracted his attention. As it stood, nobody even wanted his help anyway.
Managing to reach the downward slope of the bridge, Ral stood on tiptoes to see over heads. Men in uniforms were visible behind barricades – a combination of sandbags, concrete blocks and wire grouped on or around the end of the long ramp. At last, friendly faces! Ral sighed in relief. Though the soldiers were not in olive grey or even Cadian khaki, they did appear to be in considerable strength and were manning emplacements along the bank. Behind the checkpoint was a compound comprised of three warehouses and surrounded by a tall wall topped with barbed wire. An even larger force was bivouacked in the open space there. They had vehicles too.
The first soldiers Ral approached were watching the passing civilians from behind an Aegis Defence Line that was broadened by sandbags and given a thin screen of barbed-wire to deter any surprise attackers from clambering over. An identical structure had been positioned on the opposite side the road at a slight angle to funnel the crowd into a narrower, more manageable line. Two weapons teams surrounded by sandbags were standing vigil, the barrels of their water-cooled stubbers trained in the refugees' direction.
They were a regiment of colour, dark-skinned and pale-eyed, wearing grey-blue greatcoats and sack-covered, coal-scuttle helmets, at first appearing to Ral as outdated and foppish. The two-piece Cadian body armour they wore, normally green, was painted to match their uniforms. Brown leather belts and ammunition pouches, similarly archaic, bulged from the power packs for their lasguns which were an ornate, also outdated type.
Observing Ral approaching, one of the dark-skinned soldiers, his lasgun pointed into the sky, brought it down to the fire-ready position, assuming Ral meant trouble. "State your unit and purpose," he barked. "Or step away from the barricade."
Previously slinging his .338 so as not the give the wrong impression to the suspicious soldiers. Ral said, "I'm Ral Bleak, I'm a medic in Cannon Company out of Firebase Rakkassan. We were overrun by Zeke yesterday. We're retreating to our battalion headquarters in Kasr Jark. I have three vehicles crossing the bridge right now. Just be aware that they're friendly. Zeke isn't anywhere near."
Having listened to Ral's story, the stone-faced soldier stepped back and was replaced by another man who ordered Ral to step back from the line. Did he hear all that? Ral realised he was coming under the not-quite-as-yet hostile gazes of most of the dark-skinned soldiers in grey and began to feel awkward when none of them said a word to him.
Ral was waiting a good ten minutes before he was ordered to cross the barricade. "You. Round here." A non-com wearing a grey cap with a leather peak pointed at Ral. "Make sharp."
Admitted into a sandbagged affair with a wooden roof, Ral stooped underneath a doorway and found himself inside a command post staffed by more of the soldiers in grey. Assumed it was the permanent CP for the unit manning the roadblock at first, it quickly became clear that they were packing up and preparing to move.
"You. Present yourself to the officer." The non-com clasped his hands behind his back and glared at Ral.
Unsure who he was supposed to present himself to – the uniforms looked too similar to one another – Ral stepped up to a table where another man in a soft, peaked cap was bending over a map and studying it closely. "Sir, I'm—"
"Preciously late," the officer, a woman, said. Looking up from the map she continued, her tone mildly derisive, "we assumed no other Imperial unit was on the north side of the canal. That is until your officer sent word to us that a few of his men were still to cross."
Caught off guard by the scathing look the officer gave him, Ral replied, "yes, sir, uh, ma-am."
"And your officer's name?"
"Corta, ma-am. Mister – Lieutenant Corta, I mean."
"Was it just you, or are there more? We have a damnable task of destroying this bridge. It would be most unfortunate if you were on it."
"No, ma-am, I've got three vehicles crossing right now. They're Zeke MT. We stole 'em."
The officer drew a finger in a circle on the map. "Show me where you took them from."
Ral pointed at the square shape of the outpost on the road. "Here, ma-am."
"And what is their strength?"
"Uh, zero, ma-am."
The officer's large hazel eyes flicked up. "Explain."
"We ambushed a Zeke recce unit: fifteen troops, one motorcycle combination, a half-track, and a scout car. We got 'em all. They were the only Zekes we saw. As far as we know, there's nothing between us and that outpost. About er…"
The officer tapped a gloved finger on the map. "Forty-eight klicks," she said, adding, "mostly dead ground. What were your casualties?"
"None, ma-am."
The officer's gaze never faltered. "What unit did you say you were again?"
"C-for-Cannon, ma-am. We're sort of a… disciplinary outfit."
"Disciplinary outfit?"
"Beg pardon, ma-am." The non-com spoke. "Individual companies like that do exist. They are usually the last company in each battalion's T/O, comprised of malingerers and ne'er-do-wells. Individuals unsuited to serve in a teeth formation."
"Thank you, sergeant," the officer nodded. Giving Ral her attention again she said, "I do not believe you, private."
"Uh, ma-am, I'm telling the truth," Ral gabbled.
"Tags." The sergeant held out his hand.
Keeping his mouth shut lest an insubordinate remark surfaced, Ral gave up his ID tags.
"Name, rank, and number, Private."
"Right, I'm Ral Bleak. I'm a private and a medic in C-for-Cannon. My number's 29849464, blood type A-positive, mother Allie," Ral reeled off the information in quick succession, apparently satisfying both officer and sergeant, the latter quickly handing the two taped disks back.
"Very well, Private Bleak. I am Lieutenant Leesha D'ambrosia. This is Pioneer-Sergeant Aile Levauz. As you have heard we are tasked with destroying this bridge."
"Yes, ma-am. Um, when were you planning to carry out that order?" Ral, perturbed at the notion that the bridge was to be demolished, wondered why neither mentioned the very obvious number of refugees still crossing.
"Once the last Imperial unit has crossed. Does that not conform to your timetable, private?" Lieutenant D'ambrosia folded her arms.
"There's civilians. Thousands of them still on there. And more to come too," Ral said quietly.
"Yes, well, we have our orders. I have it on good authority that the vast majority have already made the crossing and are safely within the walls of Kasr Jark."
"Aren't we supposed to protect the civilians, ma-am?"
D'ambrosia brushed the question off. "We've waited long enough – longer than we should have. We are due back in Kasr Jark by noon and I intend to keep to our timetable. If that is all, private, you are dismissed."
Snapping to attention, Ral left the sapper's CP and doubled down the road to the buildings where the other units were gathered. It did not take him long to locate Cannon even though scraps of many other units were also there. "Mister Corta, sir!" he called.
Seeing Ral, Corta got up from where he was sitting against the wall of one of the warehouses. "Ral?" Corta's brow furrowed at the sole showing. "Where are the rest?"
"Sir, they're blowing the bridge. You've gotta stop 'em." Ral panted. "There's people on there."
"Hullo, Ral." Kat, oddly unconcerned, came over and slapped Ral on the shoulder. "You find him?"
"Not now, Kat," Corta snapped. "Were you successful?" He began to lead Ral back up to the bridge.
"Yes, sir, yes we were. What did Kat and Cyrano tell you?"
"Uh, just that you had found Larn and were going to acquire some MT which I trust you did?"
"Yes, yes, sir, we got it all. No casualties. Lots of ammo and scran."
"Number one, Ral, good job." Corta sounded pleased. "Can you tell me what the MT is?"
"Please, sir, the bridge," Ral insisted. "Those—uh those blokes in grey…"
"Voynuk Siphanis, damn-odd name but they've got a good rep as first-rate soldiers and dedicated engineers. You spoke to Lieutenant D'ambrosia, I trust?"
"Yes, sir. She's dead-set on doing in the bridge regardless of the civvies."
"She gave me her word she would wait for you."
"Yeah, she's doing that, sir. I just want her to wait for the civvies."
"How far away is Zeke?"
"Bloody miles. Never saw a peep after we cleared the outpost. She told me she had orders though. Please speak to her, sir, make her reconsider. Blowing the bridge with civvies on is bloody murder."
Corta spoke, officer to officer, with the Siphani lieutenant inside the CP. "Are you aware I have men still crossing, lieutenant?"
D'ambrosia smiled. "Why yes, lieutenant, I was speaking with your medic and I assured him that only after the stragglers were across that I would carry out my orders."
Corta's eyes narrowed slightly. "Certainly, lieutenant, I respect that you have orders from your battalion commander and must carry them out within a certain time. But I am concerned for the welfare of the refugees. We have a reputation to uphold, let us keep it from shattering. After all we want the support of the civilians if we are to win. We can't have civil unrest whilst we are occupied with the invaders. It would look bad in the newspapers if a bridge was blown up with civilians on it. And it would certainly tarnish the reputation of such an esteemed unit as the Voynuk Siphanis. A scapegoat would be made…"
A subtle, but well-concealed rage was brewing inside D'ambrosia. She had kept herself composed and professional and was about to offer a cold yet polite response to Corta when a runner burst in.
"Private!" D'ambrosia barked at the unannounced entry.
"Ma-am." The runner stood to attention. "Air attack."
I did not hear the aero-engines over the noise the Zik was making, which was somewhat irritable on the ears even in idle. Others did, many of them craning their necks to look up into the sky. It slowly dawned what was about to happen when refugees next to and in front of the Zik, one by one, turned eyes upwards, expressions of fear and panic taking over as they realised they had nowhere to run or hide.
Remaining on the Zik, I shivered as I too felt the same fear of air attack return. Where are they? I swallowed, my teeth chattering in alarm. Throat dry from nervousness that brought on goosebumps on my arms, I saw three miniscule specks break through a thin cloud bank high in the sky. As one body the refugees ducked, clutching children and babies tightly to breasts. Too jam-packed to throw themselves to the ground, or even to crouch properly they pressed in as much they could to one another, each person using the others around them as shields and vice-versa. Looking down I saw I was the only person on the bridge not huddled against someone else. What was more, I stood out on the Zik plainly, as did Aimo and Gale in their respective vehicles. Hearing the growing whine I pushed against the cowering refugees beside the Zik, wanting to dismount and take similar measures. Unable to budge even an inch, the people remained in place, either oblivious or in too fearful a state to grant me room to abandon the Zik. Terror, panic, pants-wetting fear, whichever was most suitable for the situation, I felt each and every one of them then as the howl of the gull-winged screamers grew louder and louder, drowning out the Zik, the half-track, and the Horus. Climbing over to the sidecar, I pulled the stock of the Vraks into my chest, tilting it down as far as it would go to allow me to fire up at the bombers. Maddeningly the Vraks would not elevate far enough to grant a good angle. It was not even close to getting a shot at the enemy. For the second time, we were all helpless.
Burrowing down in the sidecar I rested my chin on my chest and squeezed my eyes shut. Thoughts of others, some of whom were still with me, some of whom weren't crossed my mind. Then the daemonic shrieks ripped them all away, filling my ears with the terrifying wail. Individual whistles – bombs falling – preceded blasts, some watery, others – closer and more violent – ripping chunks of concrete from the sides of the bridge, spraying fragments into the air, and shaking the foundations beneath our feet. Screams as men, women, and children were picked up by the blasts, some eviscerated entirely, some catapulted into the air, falling back into the throng or down into the water below.
Roaring overhead, the bombers pulled out of their dive, quickly banking and lining on up the length of the bridge, strafing it with their guns; coming in one after the other. Three times the vicious fusillades raked the refugees, cruel stitches of blood and peppered clothing fragments, pinging off the armour plate of the Horus and half-track. Stunned at the merciless attack I removed my hands from my ears and watched the three aircraft fly away, having been completely unopposed.
Children cried loudly, some calling for their parents who had disappeared completely where the bombs had ripped craters in the road. Parents looked for their children, tearing at others who they believed had accidently smothered their offspring in the chaos. Slowly and with great weariness, the much reduced number of civilians got to their feet. Many gaps in the crowds were visible now, as were bodies, some completely still, others writhing about clasping at open wounds, plaintively stifling the weeping blood with dirt or their own torn clothing.
Slipping out of the sidecar I staggered through the bodies, pushing anyone standing in front of me out of the way. "Aimo?" I reached the half-track, seeing the peppering it had received. "Aimo?"
"Y'okay, James?" Shaken, Aimo reached across from the driver's seat and clasped my outstretched hand. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," I replied, in a similarly shaken manner, but glad Aimo was alright.
"Gale?"
"Gale."
"Nah, he'll be alright. That car's got good armour."
Gale was unhurt. The scout car however had taken damage to its engine and both rear tyres. This should not have been a problem, until Gale tried to start it. "US." He pronounced the Horus unserviceable after failing to start the engine and promptly abandoned it, climbing into the half-track to ride with Aimo.
Our supposed triumphant return with the Zeke transport was mired now that we had to do it in the midst of a bloodbath of civilians. I tried to remain stoic as I drove the Zik down the ramp and around the dead and dying. Now that the enemy had made it very clear what he intended do with soldier and civilian alike, the latter were not so unwelcoming of our presence. It took all my willpower to look straight ahead and not at the pleading, desperate hands silently begging us for aid as we rolled by. I was glad of Ral's absence. A sight like that would have caused him terrible distress. To be powerless in a dire situation and unable to help anyone; I was beginning to understand what it truly meant.
