Aftermath

Arytt watched the crows. They had flocked onto the soldier almost as soon as the laspistol had struck him in the back. It seemed almost as if they had been waiting. In a way it disgusted Arytt but in another way it seemed to remind him of how he was now living, doing whatever it took to survive, except he didn't eat dead enemies. He picked up a brick from the debris at his feet and threw it at the birds, they scattered. He walked over to the corpse and plucked the ration packs from it, he'd done it too many times now to be sickened by it. Even before all this he had been a successful hitman for the gangs, during which time he often had to take tokens from his targets bodies or weapons or ammo from their bodyguards. This however was quite different because he hadn't been used to seeing the corpses grotesquely savaged by birds. The first time he'd taken a ration pack from a dead Chaos soldier he had run a few feet and been violently sick. Now he was used to it, he had looted so many of them, often having to get rid of the crows first, that it barely bothered him. It almost disturbed him how emotionless he seemed to be becoming. He stumbled into a half destroyed house through a massive hole in the wall. He was weak with fatigue, not having slept properly in days. He had managed a few short naps but no proper sleep because of fear of detection from enemy patrols. Now that he was alone his survival was more difficult, he couldn't take on platoons with large numbers of his own men. He collapsed to his knees, exhaustion getting the better of him, and began to stuff the rations he had just acquired into his mouth barely taking time to chew. He heard a snake-like slither behind him and spun around, dropping the ration pack as he did so. He located the source of the sound with little difficulty. There before him, in matt black armour and a leering face mask, was an enemy soldier with a long knife in his hand. The would-be killer jumped at the Imperial's sudden movement. Arytt lunged at his assailant grabbing the knife-hand at the wrist in his left and hand pulling it across his body while slamming his right fist, backhand, into the attacker's left side, where there was no armour. The blow to the kidney forced the Chaos trooper to drop his knife. The difficulty Arytt realised here was that while the enemy didn't wear much armour what there was gave good protection against unarmed attacks. Except for one area he realised. With his opponent still reeling from the kidney punch Arytt swung his boot to where it counted, connecting hard with the opponents groin. The man crumpled but stayed standing; this took a lot of strength Arytt guessed. Arytt himself was too weak to fight much more with the last of his adrenaline used up and an understandably feeble punch from the enemy knocked him to the ground then dropped on top of him picking brick from the ground to beat him to death with. Arytt was about to face the death when his hand wrapped around something. It was the knife he had forced the attacker to drop. Using the very last drop of adrenaline he had Arytt thrust the knife into the soldier's mask, spewing blood over the ground and himself. In a death spasm the brick was hurled from the dead man's hand hitting an inconspicuous sheet on a pile of rubble and carrying through, revealing that underneath this pile of rubble was a recess in the ground most likely made by a grenade of some kind. Grabbing food and ammo from the corpse which he the dragged outside. Arytt slid into the recession, taking care to cover it with the bed sheet again. He was lying beneath a bed covered in rubble. It was just what he needed, had it not been for the coincidence that the sheet had been knocked off no-one would ever have discovered it. Immediately, exhausted, he fell into the first proper sleep he had for days.

Bist awoke in the medical ward. As was usual, the atmosphere in the ward seemed to be of pure panic. He looked down the length of the cot to see Prett. The gunner smiled at his sergeant and nodded

"Good to see you conscious again, sarge."

"Good to see you too, Prett. I'm actually glad to be able to see anyone at the minute because it means I'm alive." Prett chuckled but it looked like there was something he was holding back. Bist noticed this. As he recalled his last memories of the fight it dawned on him.

"Silgan's dead isn't he." There was a not of expectant grief in his voice.

"Not quite, sergeant," answered doctor Tanil. "He should be though, his wounds were so severe he should be dead twice by now: Four stab wounds to the torso; two in the lungs, another missing his heart by a hairs width and a deep stab in his intestines. That isn't even taking into account three las-shots to his limbs and an autocannon round in his leg. Prett began to fidget slightly at the last one. This behaviour didn't go unnoticed. Bist looked at Prett in disbelief.

"You shot him? You shot Silgan?"

"It was only a minor scratch," the doctor intervened. "Apparently Meric and Prett defended a number of fallen soldiers from being bayoneted and Silgan got a minor scratch from an autocannon round."

"OK! So tell me Prett how has the platoon been in my absence?"

Elanit watched the banshees. He liked to watch the banshee training drills, although he was always careful not to look too interested. He sat lazily on a crate in the warehouse, his back propped against the wall. He smiled quietly to himself, knowing that no-one could see him or read his thoughts as he watched the dance, the Eldar didn't approve too greatly of that kind of thinking. Perhaps it was because of these thoughts Elanit didn't realise the human appearing at his side.

"Interesting dances," he said in a tone of casual conversation. Elanit jumped and almost fell off the crate until the human grabbed him in a strong grip steadying him.

"How did you … I didn't even hear…" Elanit fought desperately for words but shock and fear prevented them forming.

"It's my job, Eldar." He said. "Name's Bedan, scout."

"Elanit," the Eldar replied recovering his composure and extending his hand as they taught him when he was younger at the Craftworld's education shrines. Elanit had liked learning about Humans; the barbaric, uncivilised 'Mon Keigh' had a lifestyle which Elanit had always secretly liked. The Eldar were too strict too disciplined he had thought. Humans on the other hand had a much more liberal life. Only the Human clergy lead a life as disciplined as the Eldar and they chose to. In a way he guessed he envied humans but he remembered Koren, the head of the Eldar armoured divisions on Deyja and one of its more lively inhabitants telling him that those were dangerous thoughts and he shouldn't be thinking those thoughts. Bedan shook his hand and nodded a smile at him.

"The Dire Avenger Exarch who got here first?"

"Yes." Elanit replied casually, paused then added, "How did you know?"

"I was there when you arrived." The scout opened the crate at the side by a small margin and pulled two bottles out of the crate he sat on offering one to Elanit, who accepted with a nod, it had amazed Elanit when he'd learnt the uses of a nod in human culture. Bedan took a gulp from the neck of the bottle and watched the Dire Avenger take a mouthful, swallow it then flinch a bit.

Bedan laughed. "For an Eldar you can take your drink. So what were you doing here instead of doing something like the rest of your craftworld?"

"I was watching the banshees." Elanit replied, somewhat dreamily, before freezing in horror at the potential consequences of his words.

"They're not half bad." Bedan admitted. Now it was his turn to freeze in horror. "Don't tell anyone what I just said!"

"Deal," Elanit replied, "so long as you don't mention what I just said." They finished their bottles at almost the same time. "Now that is impressive drinking." Bedan admitted in awe, "It's no mean feat to finish a drink in time with a Catachan. Want another one?"

Glym had been amazed to find that so many of the Samu had survived the attack. In such a dense melee he hadn't expected so much as one to survive yet at least half had come out breathing albeit many were now being treated for severe wounds in the medical wings. That was why he was here; a large civilian airport complex cleared for use by the Samu, it wasn't much use now with a war raging so nearby no-one wanted to travel. He was with Komotoko and Commissar Judix. It didn't take him long to realise how so many of the men had survived. At a glance he could see the ranks of the Samu were made almost 100 of swordsmen and spearmen, as he knew previously, he also realised their drills. The Samu trained with their swords or spears in platoons or sparred with each other, not one seemed to be lazing about too much and even the few men who were sitting and chatting seemed alert and ready.

"There are no commissars." Glym pointed out.

"They don't need them." Judix replied almost immediately. It was true these warriors were at the level of self-discipline beyond that which could be instilled in them. The Daimyo smiled at the indirect compliment from the commissar.

"Well, Daimyo," Judix inquired, "You put a lot of focus on skill with blades. May I therefore ask how sharp these blades are?"

"Ujiko!" Komotoko called to one of the platoons of training men. After a brief pause while a few words were exchanged with one of the men, the leader of the sword drill, presumably Ujiko, came over to his leader while the men continued the drill under the one Ujiko had spoken to. When he approached the three men he bowed his head in acknowledgement to their ranks, Glym gave a little bow back more out of habit than anything else.

"This is captain Ujiko." Komotoko explained then turned to face Ujiko, "the general and commissar wish to see a demonstration of our katana's capabilities."

"Yes, my lord" Ujiko replied then disappeared momentarily returning with a lasgun and bayonet in his hands. He handed it to the two non-Samu for examination. It was a standard guard issue Mk II durable and accurate employed by many guard regiments but nothing special. The bayonet, 9 inches long and attached just below the barrel, was similar, reasonably strong and sharp but nothing overly impressive or expensive. Having been examined Ujiko placed the rifle between two chairs making sure it was secure. Then with his sword, or katana as Komotoko had called it, he slashed, one slash no more, at the rifle. Judix and Glym weren't overly impressed at first it was a common bravado to cut a lasgun in two to show strength and blade sharpness. Then the two men froze. Ujiko hadn't cut the rifle in two. There, on the ground at the captain's feet, lay half of the bayonet. They stood in awe, temporarily lifeless, before recovering. Still both were silent until Judix managed a simple "Incredible".

Smiling, Komotoko continued as if nothing special had happened: "Now gentlemen if you would come this way. There is someone I think you should meet."

Detta knew he shouldn't be here, but he just couldn't help the desire. He wasn't going to destroy anything. It was all for reference, but all the same… The Eldar tanks were impressive. He crept over to the hull of one of the beautiful vehicles. It was smooth and almost seamless in construction. He ran his hand along the regal blue armour. It wasn't metal, that much was common sense, but Wraithbone the Eldar made everything out of the stuff. The demolitions expert was lost in wonder at the barely possible aerodynamics of the alien grav-tank. He spun around and whipped out his laspistol in one fluid motion as he felt, rather than heard, something behind him. The Eldar drew his shuriken pistol at the same time and, simultaneously with the Catachan, stopped himself from firing.

"What are you doing here mon… human!" The Eldar ordered

"Just looking. You don't mind do you?" He couldn't quite detect the expression on the alien's face. He prayed to the Emperor that it wasn't one that resulted in pulling the trigger. The shuriken pistol was lowered and Detta began to breathe again. Then he extended his hand.

"Detta, Demolitions."

"Koren, Tank Commander. As I assume you want to know what you are standing beside is a Deyja craftworld Fire Prism Falcon variant. Feel free to examine it just please tell me what weaknesses you discover." After the Fire Prism Koren went on to show the rest of the Eldar war machines to the Catachan demolitionist who in turn shared his observations on the tank weaknesses. Koren, Detta noticed, did not seem overly concerned that this human was examining each one of his precious tanks in order to discover its weakness nor did he seem too arrogant. Then again he thought after Reya there was almost no chance that the two would ever meet again.

Morza was furious. For once some bastard had a stronger gang than he had. Worse still he had been insulted by the attack on his men. This was the worst massacre he'd known in his life and he'd planned quite a few. If he hit back it could be seen as an attack on the Imperial Guard and they were rarely ever gentle in retaliation. He'd have to hit back in a different more cunning way. He sat at his desk for a while and ran his ringed fingers through his greying hair. Then he stood up smiling and looked out of his window on the sprawling hive city beneath him 57 stories down and the crackling energy shield above his head. He was forming a plan to gain revenge on those off world sons of bitches and he knew that it would work, in fact it couldn't fail. He lit a thick cigar and began choosing his hitmen in his mind.