Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 3
The man sitting across from him had a personal music device, a small machine that trailed wires to the shaped pods in his ears. It was such a small thing to notice, but that was what made it so decadent. It was a smooth oval in his hand, uncluttered by an Aquila or a Mechanicus Cog, shaped with elegant curves that proclaimed it's non-human origin's. Arbet couldn't help but stare at the small machine, with envy and resentment brewing in his heart.
Arbet was a young man, with lean muscles and a faint wisp of stubble upon his chin. He wore a brown shirt and jacket over mud-stained trousers and boots but at his neck were brass Lieutenant pins. Scars on his knuckles and a broken nose attested that he had earned his rank the hard way and he had the wary air of one who had spent too long at the sharp end of battle. At his waist was hung an empty holster but his watchful appearance made it clear he was more than ready to fight even when unarmed. He was Lieutenant Arbet of the People's Liberation Army of Maraha, or as they jokingly called themselves, the Brownshirts.
Arbet was sitting in the broken ruins of a hostelry, now repurposed to serve as the forward command post of the effort to free this world from Imperial tyranny. The place had once been gloriously decadent, with soft furnishings and gold-leaf frames that bore propaganda pieces from off-world. Now it was all smashed to bits, broken furnishings going damp as the wind blew through shattered windows. Yet it was far from quiet. Officers and aides bustled about bearing important documents, all looking harried as they dashed from place to place. They wore the uniform of the Liberation Army but they were no soldiers, more administrators and clerks, but even a rebel army needed some form of bureaucracy and so here they were. Arbet paid no mind, fixing his eyes upon the man with the music device. Some civilian with rich robes, who stuck out like a sore thumb.
Arbet could remember a time when such a machine would have been deemed heretical on Maraha and carrying one openly would have warranted immediate arrest and public flaying. Of course that hadn't stopped many from secretly owning such devices, illicit trade with the Tau Empire had been going on for decades, but it was strange how fast times had changed. For three years the Brownshirts had fought to liberate their world and notions of Heresy had fallen by the wayside. The Imperium was the enemy now and its dogmatic creeds were quickly forgotten.
There was a cough beside him and a gruff voice asked, "Credit for your thoughts?"
Arbet looked out the side of his eye and saw Sergeant Egar, his right-hand man. Egar was an older man, weathered by life's cares and with grey in his beard. He was dressed in brown but his jaw was working a piece of chewing Tabbac. How he supported such a habit when the weed didn't grow on Maraha was a secret Arbet had decided not to explore.
The pair of them were sat together in mouldering chairs, whose decadent furnishings were fraying and uncomfortably damp under their rears. Neither of them minded though, after three years of sleeping on the moors or within burned out ruins this was the lap of luxury.
Arbet leaned back on his chair, and muttered, "Just looking at that man over there."
Egar squinted and said, "Fat civvy, I bet he's never held a lasgun in his life. Why is he here?"
Arbet shrugged, "Armies are expensive things, all those men to feed and arm. The money's got to come from somewhere."
"Bescumber," Egar cussed, "We've got the Tau on our side, what good are sops like that? Any man who won't pick up a lasgun is useless to the cause."
"Now, now," Arbet chided, "We're trying to free all our people, we will need merchants like him to rebuild once the fighting is done."
Egar snorted, "When the Brownshirts win this war, people like that will be put against the wall and shot."
Sternly Arbet rebuked him, "Remember we are one people and don't call us that, it's the People Liberation army in public."
"Pah," Egar scoffed as he spat a black gobbet of Tabbac onto the fading carpet. Arbet didn't respond, Egar had saved his life far too many times for him to take umbrage.
Suddenly the pair were interrupted by a boy whose uniform looked two sizes too big. The lad saluted then squeaked, "Solidarity Lieutenant Arbet, Colonel Westerfield will see you now."
"Solidarity," Arbet replied by rote, "Lead on."
The pair of soldiers stood up and followed the boy into a large dining hall, here teams of vox-operators worked over large sets of devices while wide tables had been laid out to hold various maps. The noise of everybody chattering constantly was deafening as was the bustle of more senior officers arguing over matters of logistics and deployments. Arbet ignored it and was ignored in turn as they were led through but his ears pricked up as he heard the words 'Big Push' being bantered back and forth.
The boy led the pair to the back of the hall and they were let into a smaller ante-room, with but a single table. It was a close and dark, lit only by Lumen-orbs but there was still enough room to see two beings within. The first was a lean man, tall and gaunt, with sharp eyes and a clean-shaven jaw. He had actual gold pins at his throat but other than that seemed no more decorated than any other man in the hostelry.
Arbet swallowed as he recognised the face of Colonel Westerfield, the leader of the People's Liberation Army. Of course he wasn't the first commander of the Brownshirts, that honour had fallen to General Maggar. But the man who had raised the banner of rebellion had been cut down by Imperial Guard snipers two months into the war, as had the three generals who succeeded him. Colonel Westerfield had assumed command after a year of crushing defeats and retreats and decided that poncing around in a general's braiding and medals was an invitation to be shot. Like all the officer core he was a former PDF soldier and like them he had reached the end of his patience with Imperial rule and taken up arms to free his world.
The other being was as different as night was to day. He was shorter and frailer with a slit for a nose and was blue-skinned. This was Por O'Dea Ukos and he was a water-caste emissary for the Tau Empire. O'Dea had been bringing Tau artefacts to Maraha for decades, smuggling trade goods back and forth. Then had come the rebellion and he turned from smuggler to gun-runner, bringing advanced weapons that had turned the tide of the war. Arbet hated to admit it but without his aid the rebellion would have been crushed by the Imperial Guard's reprisal army. Many weren't happy with his offers of subsequent protection from the Tau Empire, but few were stubborn enough to deny that without a patron the Imperium would simply send wave after wave of armies until they won.
Arbet saluted as he said, "Solidarity, Lieutenant Arbet and Sergeant Egar reporting."
"Solidarity," the Colonel responded with a distracted salute, "Stand at ease."
Arbet did so and Westerfield eyed him up and down then said, "I heard about Archaria city, a tough fight indeed. But your platoon comported itself well, many speak highly of your service. You are to be commended."
"Thank you, sir," Arbet stated, skipping over the weeks of death and madness he had seen. The days huddling face down in broken rubble as las-bolts flew overhead and nights spent sleeping in his own piss.
Westerfield continued, "Your conduct will be evaluated in due course but I'm not letting slip any secrets when I say promotion is in your future. But sadly that will have to wait."
"Sir," Arbet repeated blankly.
Egar wasn't so circumspect and muttered, "I sense we're about to be volunteered for something, Sir."
Westerfield smiled wryly and said, "Sharp man that, I like a trooper who's not afraid to speak his mind."
Arbet's heart sank but the Colonel was moving to the table saying, "I have a sensitive mission for you, but you need to understand the current situation."
The table held a map of Maraha's primary continent, the oceans, moors and hills, mountains and rivers laid out in detail. The various cities were spread out like a rash, each one surrounded by rich farmlands, but the planet was young, as Imperial worlds went, and vast tracts between the lonely cites were still empty wilderness.
Westerfield waved his hand over the map saying, "Victory is close at hand. We rule from the coasts to the mountains and in most of the cities. People everywhere rush to join us and nine-tenths of the PDF have defected to our cause, only a few stubborn towns hold to the Imperium's rule. The Imperial Guard is isolated and outnumbered. Their reprisal army was broken by our friend's railguns and now they are reduced to defending Dunham city against our advance, but they can't hold much longer. Once we breakthrough we will drive them back to the Kalcha Mountains and the Capital city, where Governor Nugga lurks. Then Big Push will come and we will take the Capital, finally ending this war."
Egar spat loudly at the name of the hated governor, the greedy fool who's corrupt rule had been so repugnant that the people had seen no choice save to rise up against him. Arbet couldn't see anything wrong with the situation as described but ventured, "I assume the Imperials are calling for reinforcements."
At that O'Dea stepped up to say, "They try but the Kor'vattra reports their armies are drawn away to other wars. They are stretched too thin; no more armies are coming to save them here."
Arbet thought about it and said, "Once Dunham city falls we can push them up against the mountains surrounding the capital city. They will be trapped in the shadow of the Kalcha dam with nowhere left to run, they can't stop us now."
"Sounds great, Sir" Egar muttered, "What's the catch?"
Westerfield nodded, "Governor Nugga has one last card to play. His Astropath's cries have been answered, but not by the Imperial Guard. Space Marines have come to Maraha."
"Space Marines!" Arbet spluttered feeling his heart leap into his throat. Space Marines, the vaunted Emperor's Finest, legendary Demi-gods and avatars of the Emperor's Will. Even though they had rebelled, the people of Maraha still held an ingrained reverence for the Emperor and His angels, it was the oppressive Empire set up in his name they couldn't stand.
O'Dea stepped in saying, "I understand your hesitation but it is not as bad as it seems. The Kor'vattra have a ship in orbit and they report the Gue'ron'sha fleet is small and curiously sub-standard. While their ground forces are few and oddly hesitant."
Westerfield agreed, "They're not coming for us all guns blazing like Space Marines normally do. They seem to be trying to slow us down. Some of them have deployed to Dunham city but we press forward regardless, our sheer weight of numbers is insurmountable. The real problem is that they've dropped fast-hitting raiding forces behind our lines. They're hitting our supply lines, communications, air bases and munition stores. The havoc is screwing up our plans."
"So you want something done," Arbet guessed.
"Indeed," Westerfield stated, "You and a few other platoons are being assigned to hunt these raiders and eliminate them."
"Sir, you want us to chase after Space Marines?" Egar gasped.
O'Dea raised a hand saying, "We understand your fear but we do not underestimate the threat. The Tau empire is your friend and we support your willingness to join the Gue'vesa. Pulse rifles, Devilfish, Piranhas and air support shall be yours, even the Gue'ron'sha have their weakness."
Westerfield nodded, "We were holding those in reserve for the Big Push but this threat requires maximum overkill. Take your platoon and hunt down these enemies and Maraha will be freed. Can I trust you with this?"
Arbet swallowed in trepidation but there was nothing else he could possibly say except, "Yes sir."