Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 9
Under the warm sun an airbase bustled with activity. It was a mediocre place, little more than a lone strip of Ferrocrete, lined with prefabricated hangers, dormitories and a single control tower. Men in brown uniforms laboured over PDF Lightings, Thunderbolts and Marauder bombers while servitors dragged pallets to and fro. It was a hurriedly put together forward base, a typical hardscrabble posting for a few squadrons to operate from. Yet this picture was marred by the sight of smooth, hulled craft, a strange trio of aircraft that had no business being on a human world. These were tended to by hard-eyed men, who cast warning glares at any passing labourer who dared to wander too close. Idly curiosity was not welcome here, not around the Brownshirt's precious machines, which had been gifted unto them by the Tau.
Everything about this base screamed its temporary nature, from the shallow latrine pits to the cooking stoves shimmering in open tents. This base had been thrown together in a hurry as the front advanced and would be torn down just as fast when the war moved on. But for now it served to provide air cover as the rebel closed upon their goal: the capital city and its pitiful handful of defenders. Every man labouring under the clear sky wondered when they would finally crush the last dregs of the Imperium and they oft asked each other when the 'Big Push' would come.
But they should have been paying more attention to their own situation.
Suddenly and without warning an explosion ripped through the base, a blast of fire arising from a fuel bowser that spread black smoke widely. Men started in shock, thinking that some accident had occurred but they were cruelly disabused of that notion when the roar of promethium engines arose and the smoke parted to reveal an arrowhead of bikes hurtling through the flaming debris. They shot into the bewildered gaggles of men, mowing them down with tight bursts of bolter fire that blew rebels apart with ease.
Sergeant Reddam smiled grimly to see the rebel's falling before him, their mortal reflexes so slow that they seemed to be statues in his path. He swerved his bike to and fro, blasting men apart with quick bursts of fire as his squad spread out to sow havoc. To his left Tebes and Joffel were driving right into milling ranks of bewildered men, breaking limbs and crushing men under their wide tyres. They left a trail of broken bodies in their wake, a showy but effective strategy in Reddam's opinion.
To the right Larus and Glord were trundling along, their bolters and Heavy Bolter mowing down men with contemptuous ease. Glord was laughing merrily as he swung his weapon left and right, blasting away with abandon, the joy of battle filling him from head to toe. Larus was terse as always, calling out looming targets with mechanical repetition.
In Reddam's wake trailed Kazao, his helmet glinting in the sunlight. He alone was not firing wildly into the crowds, saving his Grenades for more important targets. He fired single shots at munitions trucks and cargo pallets, each one sending up clouds of smoke and fire as secondary explosions set the base ablaze. As they veered nearer to the aircraft, from which panicked ground crews were running, he put a Krak grenade into the first one and the plane blew apart in an achingly bright explosion as its fuel tanks erupted.
Reddam looked upon the devastation and was pleased for it was good to be on the attack again. For two days he had led his squad into the wilderness, driving as far away as they could. Ever since the attack on the village he had felt watching eyes seeking them, his auspex picking up high-flying aircraft scouring the landscape. Many times they had been forced to stop and hide in gullies and culverts, concealing their bikes as best they could. The intervals between aerial passes had decreased each time and it was clear that the rebels were on their tail.
Reddam had felt the net closing around them, their hunters growing in number and cunning. Time was running out and the squad's options had been dwindling fast. Reddam had known it was inevitable that they would be discovered and surrounded by numbers even they could not match. Thankfully the Adeptus Astartes had a tried and tested contingency for such times, when outnumbered, outgunned and outmanoeuvred they would always go on the offensive.
Reddam swerved to avoid an overturned trolley and drove into a man huddling behind it. The man barely had time to scream before the bike crushed him, spraying blood over its wheel and cowling. Reddam grimaced at the untidy kill but affirmed that the rebels deserved no better. They had not been expecting the squad to double back and had not cast their gaze close to their own base, it was sloppy and amateurish and this base had been caught completely unawares, an unforgivable error. The perimeter guards had been killed with ease before they could send a warning and the barbed wire perimeter had fallen to the heavy bikes with barely a jolt. Now the Amber Vipers were in among the helpless rebels and wrecking absolute carnage.
Reddam saw rebels fleeing before him but knew it was only temporary, shock and confusion would only last so long, the squad had to maximise their advantage. Reddam lifted his voice and cried, "Larus and Glord, strafe the dormitories, kill any you find within! Joffel take out that hanger, leave none alive inside. Kazao, spike the planes on the runway and Tebes run interference. I am going for those filthy Xeno planes!"
The squad broke up, racing away with weapons blazing. Splitting up was a risk but they had to inflict as much damage as they could in as short a time as possible. Reddam jerked his handlebars to the right and his bike skidded about, coming to bear on the isolated alien craft. A twist of his throttle and he was hurled back in his saddle, the acceleration peeling his lips back over his teeth.
The Xenos machines swelled in his vision, sitting there empty and inviting, but they were not undefended. Reddam growled in anger as he saw a score of men dashing into his path, diving behind tool trolleys and cargo pallets for cover. They were armed with feeble lasguns and bayonets, but there were many of them and in the crowded confines encircling the planes Reddam's bike would be a liability.
Reddam saw the situation change and adapted, reacting on instinct he steered his bike towards the biggest knot of men hiding, behind a water vat, and accelerated right at their cover. The vat grew before him, swelling as he hurtled towards it but at the last possible instant he slammed on his front brakes and screeched to a halt. Inertia sent the rear wheel flying upwards, almost flipping the bike, but Reddam had already let go and let momentum send him up and over the vat.
Such a feat would have been impossible in power armour, nothing short of jump-pack could lift such weight, but Reddam wore lighter scout-plate and knew that his leap would carry him clear of the vat and bring him down upon the waiting men. It was a bold strategy and one that would have made an outrageous tale had it gone flawlessly. Unfortunately the moment his boots left the footplates he felt himself begin to tumble, spinning head over heels in an uncontrolled roll. What should have been a graceful leap became an ungainly flop.
Thankfully the rebels had not been expecting such an unorthodox approach and were as shocked as Reddam was when he came crashing into them, going down in a tangle of flailing limbs and cries of distress. Reddam sprawled in the heap of men and berated himself for his own recklessness; he had intended to land on his feet not his head. Vandire's hairy arse, he cursed, how did the Eldar make this look so easy?
The pile of men began to stir but Reddam recovered from the shock faster, instinctively lashing out with knees and elbows to crack skulls, crush throats and break bones. His fists and steel-capped boots were lethal weapons in their own right and he knew exactly how to use them. With a flurry of blows he dispatched four men before he had even gained his feet and the last two he finished off with crushing stamps.
He had no time to celebrate his victory for another gaggle of men came charging around the corner, bayonets flashing in the light of distant fires. Reddam grinned as he reached over his shoulder and drew his power spear in one smooth movement, then he leapt to meet them. Traditional doctrine held that a long weapon like a spear was useless in close quarters, compared to a short knife, but such lessons did not account for the speed and power of Astartes muscles.
Reddam met the first man with a two-handed thrust that slipped past the guard and plunged into the exposed throat. He whipped the spear back, blood steaming off the energised point, as he swept the haft about and caught the next man in the side. Ribs shattered under the blow, driving shards of bone into the rebel's chest and the man went down with blood frothing from his lungs. Then the rest of the enemies piled in, swinging bayonets wildly at the lone warrior.
Reddam snarled as he felt knives stabbing into his muscles, one to the shoulder and another in his side. Such blows would have been meaningless were he clad in power armour but with only light scout-plate the flashing knives drew blood and he felt his body burn as his implanted organs fought to make good the damage. Reddam pushed the pain to the back of his mind and concentrated solely upon fighting back, knowing if he paused for a moment then he would die. The rebels piled in with wild cries, surrounding him in a ring of knives. Yet Reddam's spear spun and smashed constantly, hitting enemies with the haft as much as the point. He kicked a knee with his steel-capped boot and heard bones shatter, then he ran a man through the heart with the point of his spear, even as a blade scored his back. He head-butted another, knocking the man unconscious then smashed an elbow down on the next man's shoulder, shattering his clavicle.
The rebels were falling to his strength but they fought on regardless, determined to bring him down. Reddam's world shrank to the frantic circle of hacking and shouting men. He spun and ducked and weaved, constantly in motion and never ceasing to fight. Two men came at him together and he caught their bayonets on the haft of his spear, one huge lunge sent the pair flying backwards, knocking over a third man. Then Reddam spun on his heel, slashing the blade of his spear horizontally to decapitate another rebel. He came out of his spin and drove the spear's butt into a rebel's belly, causing the man to double over vomiting profusely. Then he smashed the shaft laterally into a rebel's face, causing the head to snap back so hard he heard the neck snapping.
Reddam spun about looking for more foes but was surprised to find no more were coming. Around his feet were piles of groaning and bleeding men, more than a few already cooling in death. Reddam heaved in a gasp of air, feeling every cut he had not noticed in the melee. He had not felt so weary in years and realised he had become too accustomed to his power armour, the way it boosted his strength and dispensed pain-balms without his conscious thought.
Reddam drew himself up and wearily dispatched the remaining rebels, his spear bloody with gore. Once the last was dead he wandered over to a fuel bowser and twisted the spigot open, spilling rich jet-fuel upon the ground. Then he went and retrieved his bike, he wrestled it upright and as he did so glanced at the water vat and muttered, "Thank the Throne nobody saw that, I'd never hear the end of it."
Finally he mounted his bike and tossed a flare over his shoulder before driving off. Moments later the spilt fuel ignited and the site erupted in a massive fireball, blowing the jets to smithereens. Reddam didn't bother to look back, his eyes fixed upon his next target. Before him loomed the control tower and he voxed, "Everybody follow me, the last resistance is in that tower. Let's finish this."