Regia Barracks, Loyalist Sector, Norn
Rain lashed the windows of the gymnasium, dirty water spattering against the grimy panes. With thunder rumbling outside, the thirty men of Battery B stood beside their foldout beds and waited as Sergeant Reimer, Stazak at his heel, conducted his inspection of the gunners' kit.
"Chippy, Larn." Reimer belted out the word so fast I misheard.
"Sergeant."
"Your kit rates chippy."
Is that good or bad? I shot a glance at Stazak, keeping my head straight. At Reimer's shoulder, Stazak gave the slightest shake of his head. Directly opposite me, and behind Reimer, Wyrig snorted quietly. "How funny is it?" Reimer spun and snapped his fingers at Wyrig. "I'll make a special appointment for you, Gunner." Reimer dove in to Wyrig's kitbag. "Well. Well, well, well, Wyrig." Reimer produced the bottle and shook it. "A taste for the local plonk, have you? Come with me. Bombardier, carry on here."
"Sergeant." Wyrig, his face drained of colour, marched after the sergeant and out of the gymnasium.
"Let that be a lesson to all of you." Stazak's gaze swept the gunners, lingering upon Art and I. "You're up at zero five thirty tomorrow. You'll be receiving your orientation. Right, scratchers out, nappers down." Stazak loped out, dimming the lights as he left. So, is that it? I lay down on the springy camp bed and took off my beret. No excuse? Art caught my eye. He winked and leant his head back against his kitbag. I hope that's Wyrig gone for good, or at least a while. Samuel's still here. He's a nasty one too. Still not sure about Kerris and Wenrok though. In the corner of my eye, Samuel turned first one way then the other, finding a comfortable spot to sleep. Is he bothered? The silence, broken by the few sniffles and snores, prevented me from heading over to Art and talking. That would only look suspicious though. Can't be doing that. I'll save it for the morning.
On the cusp of sleep, one hand behind my head and the other draped across my face, I jumped at the clack-clack of the door opening. Sergeant Reimer, giving the gymnasium a sweep, beckoned to me with a finger. "Larn."
"…Sergeant." I rolled from the camp bed and pattered out in to the corridor. A few heads twisted or looked up at me as I passed.
"Shut the door behind you." Reimer awaited me with folded arms.
"Sergeant." I pulled the door to and eased the push-bar in to place. Oh, God, he knows, doesn't he? Wyrig told him it was Art and I. My warm hands clasped one another tightly against the small of my back. My woollen shirt and vest were plastered together, sticky with sweat.
"Your extra duties and non-judicial punishment do not permit you to neglect your primary concern which, as of right now, is the proper maintenance of your kit – borrowed though I know. Do you understand, Private?"
"Yes, Sergeant." My slick hands loosened. Was that it then? What about Wyrig? I bit the inside of my lower lip and held the question in. I can't let him know.
"When you return to your billet, I want you to sort your kit out. It'll be spick and span at inspection tomorrow, won't it?"
"Yes, Sergeant."
"Right, off you go."
"Sergeant." I stepped back a pace, turned and headed back in to the billet, drawing the door closed, only exhaling once it had sealed. My hand, warming the steel push-bar, I leant on. The air I sucked in through my nose, filling my burning lungs. Nearly stopped my heart there. I touched the spot on my jacket where my drumming heart pounded. I'd better see to my kit.
In my socks, I worked through the tangle of straps and clips on my large pack and double kidney pouches, sorting out the underwear, socks, washing and sewing kit.
"Pack it in, ya ballbag," someone grunted.
"Yeah, stow it till the morning."
"Tryin' to sleep 'ere, Cheggers."
Two pattering feet approached me from behind. "Making a right racket there, mate." Art squatted opposite me and reached for my rolled poncho. "Let's do a quick job, eh?" The corners of his eyes crinkled. A glint outside the window, far up in to the sky caught my eye. The glint became two specks of light, as if two stars fell from space on to the city. Just a ship coming in to land. Nothing to worry about. I paused and grinned back at Art.
Arvus Lighter, Grendel
"There." Izuru leant over Derin and tapped the marker blinking upon the map. "Felarch, check your velocity. Activate the air brakes."
"Air brakes? My lady, I am certain such a cumbersome craft does not possess such surfaces," Derin snapped. "Or if it did, its operation currently eludes me."
"Well check speed nonetheless." Izuru's claws made marks upon the arm of the seat. "What foul human hive do we find ourselves drawing near to? I can barely see the ground, it is throttled by urban structures so."
"A stint in the pilot's chair perhaps, my lady?"
"I have not the time for humour, Felarch. Set us down!"
"Your words are keenly felt, my lady." Derin wiped the console down with the back of his hand. "Saeros, we are on final approach."
"Won't you sit, my lady?" Saeros tightened his harness. Izuru slammed her fist in to the back of Derin's seat and stamped over the wayforger's body, drawing her own harness across her chest. "Find your mask and don your hood. What is your name?"
"Ammos Tayne, menial of the Adeptus Mechanicus." Saeros fixed his mask in to place and raised his hood. "What is yours?" Saeros's voice came out garbled.
"Tyssa Marchent. Cult Mechanicus. And your name?" Izuru tightened the straps of her own mask.
"Locurr Indra. Cult Mechanicus," Derin replied.
"What is our business on Grendel?"
"Pilgrimage and burial of valued companion." Saeros blinked behind his mask's lenses.
"Straight from my mouth. Give further reasoning."
"My lady, we are twenty seconds out. I have us locked on approach to the coordinates the humans provided."
"Let us pray there is no welcoming committee." Izuru unzipped the holdall beside her and clipped a sheathed combat knife to the belt at her waist.
"Are we permitted to bear arms?" Saeros looked at the small-arms jumbled inside the bag.
"Bear nothing but holdout weapons on your body." Izuru drew a laspistol placed it in her lap. "Take it." She handed Saeros a spring-loaded blade and palm-sized laspistol.
"The – the humans…"
"Are easily confounded. Fear not."
"Won't they notice the blood-crystals?"
"Again, it takes little to befuddle their weak minds. Have faith, Ammos. We are the dominant species."
"Then why do we steal to this planet as thieves?" Izuru flipped the shutters on her mask down, blocking Saeros from view. Damn him and his questions. "Heed my words, young one. Be seen and not heard."
"Yes, T-Tyssa… Madam. Madam Marchent."
"Madam Marchent. Remember that."
"Five seconds."
"Are we received?"
"A wide landing ground approaches. There is not a soul in sight."
"We are lucky."
"There is no luck, Ammos. Conceal your weapons."
Saeros pulled at his harness. "…Too tight."
Isha, protect me for this excursion is folly. Izuru closed her eyes and willed a soothing bubble to encapsulate her. "Touchdown."
"Ammos, make ready." Izuru popped her harness and rose. "Find a means of bearing the body. Quickly now."
"I observe three humans approaching from the north-west. Not one is armed," Derin said. "I shall remain here and ensure the ruse holds. Madam, you and Ammos must greet the humans."
"Hood up." Izuru smoothed down her robes. "Hurry, Ammos, hurry!" Saeros, his goggles riding his forehead, struggled with a foldout stretcher which had become wedged within the tight confines.
"Here." Izuru kicked at the wedged arm of the stretcher and snapped the other in to place. "Tilt it sideways then lay it on the floor. Be prepared to slide it underneath the body, which I shall lift."
"Madam." Saeros tilted the stretcher.
"Now!" Izuru heaved the blanket-covered body up, giving Saeros room to slip the stretcher underneath.
"The humans await us!"
"Then lower the ramp and we shall greet them." Izuru advanced on Saeros and raised a finger. "You will not speak."
"Yes, my lady."
"Now, take the tail. I have the head." Izuru bent her knees, kept her back straight, and lifted. Kaela, the human night greets us with callous disdain, Izuru thought, thank the Slave Machines for these eyes. The three humans, all in one-piece boiler suits, fluorescent safety vests, and wool caps, approached the lighter's nose. At the sight of the stretcher-bound, all three quickened their pace.
"Do you need the Medicae?" one shouted.
What did he say? Izuru strained to hear over the noise of the cooling engines and the periodic thunderclaps.
"Is medical assistance required?" The first human jogged up.
"Not necessary. This is our late comrade's homecoming. We seek to bury him," Izuru replied. Isha, I hope my Gothic holds.
"I see." The human nodded. "Right, we need to carry out an inspection of the ship's premises then, once that is done, you need to sign the paperwork to let us know we've accepted your ship in to berth. Further paperwork will follow. Is that acceptable?"
"Quite."
"Your pilot is still aboard?"
"For the moment."
"Very well. We require access…"
"Search away." Izuru's stomach flipped. All three humans took the lighter's rear ramp and climbed up inside. You had better see the humans are satisfied, Felarch. The fewer witnesses to our pathetic incursion the better.
Trust the felarch, my lady. Do not drive such a wedge between us, when we are all you have. This cannot be accomplished alone. You need us.
And you need to learn to stay that inquisitive, overly opinionated tongue of yours, Pirate.
Do we wait here?
Silence. Izuru bent her knees. Place the body on the ground. Felarch, why are you silent?
Derin did not need to reply. The trio of humans trooped out of the lighter a scant fifteen seconds after boarding. "Sorry for the delay, Madam. We were unaware officials of the AdMech were aboard." The first one said.
"If you'll allow us, we will clean up the mess inside you ship."
"Transportation will be arranged. Have no fear, Madam, we will soon have you out of this rain."
"Gratitude. With haste!" Izuru barked. "Our masters must not be kept waiting."
What just happened?
Observe the power our minds have over the weak, Saeros. Impressive though it is, I can think of nothing more degrading than witnessing beings scurry about like slaves.
Have you ever…?
No. Pick up your end of the stretcher. Izuru's gloves found the steel bars and lifted. Nothing more than the weight of a feather. You still have some use to me, Pirate.
After twenty minutes waiting with the ramp lowered, and the wind and rain intruding, the humans returned with a tall, four-wheeled lorry. Twin headlamps shining in the darkness, the lorry trundled around the Arvus in a slow circle, stopped, and reversed up to the ramp. Well-trained hounds. Izuru stepped back to let a human with a bucket and sponge see to the blood. "Once task is fulfilled, return to your primary duty."
"Yes, Ma'am."
"Let us see to our cargo." Derin moved past the human and plucked at the overhead containers.
"Our friend first, surely?" Izuru nodded at Saeros. "If you would take the other end?" The lorry's tailgate was lowered by one of the humans, who ushered the stretcher-bound corpse in to the covered troop bay.
"Up you go." Izuru pushed at Saeros, who hesitated before the tailgate. "Stow this safely." She passed the soaked bag containing the long-arms up to him. And for Isha's sake, do not say either of our names aloud. Saeros hoisted himself up and took the twin handles and slid the stretcher away from Izuru.
"Your assistance is required inside the ship." Izuru rapped out.
"Yes, Madam." The human scooted up to Derin.
"Be careful with these relics. Both profession and life will be forfeit if they sustain damage." Derin passed the human a launcher case. "When that is loaded, return for the other."
"Yes, my lord."
With haste. Izuru scowled at Derin. I can only stomach so much blind subservience. Saeros, await us inside the human vehicle. Saeros took charge of the launcher containers and placed them both on the same bench row.
What is inside that compartment? Izuru caught a glimpse of a smaller container Derin carried himself. I do not recall seeing it.
"If you will take us to accommodation for our kin, we would be most grateful," Derin said aloud.
"Very well, my lord." The two humans attending them made their way around to the cab and climbed in.
I too am unsure. Derin set the case down, with himself between it and Izuru.
Felarch… I would know the contents. Is it heavy? Is it explosive? Are we stumbling in to the unknown as amateurs? Izuru pushed off from the bench and made to step around Derin. A jolt underneath put her off-balance.
Please, find your seat. Derin's arm shot out. If you would let me, I will reveal the exact details of the mission. Sit.
Do not lay your hands on me, damn you, Pirate. Izuru fell back against the bench. The question still stands.
Felarch, if what you carry is dangerous, you would tell us, wouldn't you? Bounced around by the lorry's motion, Saeros clung on to the frame behind him. Please let this mission not be divided by conflict. No more death.
Agreed. Felarch, provide us with knowledge while privacy stands with us. Izuru raised her goggles and sat back, crossing her legs.
Observe. Derin produced a tiny white object from a pocket. Before question is asked, this was hidden amidst the wayforger's teeth.
A false tooth? Saeros leant forwards, his mouth opening and closing.
Listen.
Our objective is to deliver the launchers to an insurgent group on the western bank of the river, splitting the planet's capital city in half. Saeros, if you would come over to us. Derin shone a diagram of the city-centre across the creased canvas. At present, we are on the eastern bank.
Who and when? Izuru counted the streets and bridges between the airfield and the bright, shining blip in the very centre of the western quarter.
Three days from now we bring the launchers to an arms dealer in the slums. His name is Veen.
A need to know basis. Izuru sighed. Why the princess could not have briefed us all in full before we landed? She balled her fist and thumped the bench. Curse her and the Void Dragons! Izuru bent over her knees and dug her fingers into her bun and twisted it.
Is there anything we can…?
No, Saeros, there is not. Derin planted a hand upon Saeros's shoulder. Leave well alone.
Her head in her hands, Izuru watched the blackened streets roll by. What am I doing here? What am I doing here?
Regia Barracks, Loyalist Sector, 08:23
"Your attention. Though basic this information is of the utmost importance and may be vital in telling friend and foe apart out there." Major Delica aimed his laser-pointer at the map of the city displayed on the projector.
So this is Norn. Luka Ahern, in the company of a dozen other officers and NCOs, sat in a large theatre – vacant save the front rows of seats occupied by the Alderians and Joparr Paras – and listened to the battalion 2IC.
"Though small enclaves exist on either side of the river, Norn can be split roughly in half. The river itself acts as the divider. On the eastern bank, colour-coded orange, the Lysades Volunteer Force controls roughly ninety per cent of the streets, so be aware that any paramilitary unit encountered on this side of the river is certain to be friendly. They, like their renegade counterparts, the Grendel Revolutionary Army on the western bank, coloured-coded green, are plainclothes militants." Delica moved his pointer to the three bridges, two road and one rail, that spanned the river. "Road and rail traffic are regulated by these three crossings. They are all that keep the secessionists and loyalists apart. Now, the barbed wire in place on both banks is to keep civilians from entering the water and swimming across. Under no circumstances must any of you enter the river. There will be no warning shots. Both the east and west side have checkpoints, which is what you'll be manning. Other assignments include mobile patrols in the loyalist sector in support of both the Adeptus Arbites, a brigade of which has been assigned to Norn, and the LVF. We are currently establishing liaison with local groups in preparation for future combined operations. That is all."
LVF, GRA, Arbites. Ahern frowned at the lines he had scribbled on his notepad. What split this city so much that armed checkpoints must keep both halves separate? How do I tell a friendly paramilitary from a hostile? Is a dull security detail really what I have spent years training for?
Ahern tapped the nub of his pencil, driving a dot into his notepad. "Sir, I have a question…" Ahern looked up at the stage, finding it bare and the projector screen dim. "Sir…?" Ahern spun in his seat. Shit, they've all gone. What are my orders? What am I doing? The subaltern slipped his notepad in to a breast pocket and pocketed his pencil. Where's the brigade major? I need orders. Ahern paid a visit to G branch, in a block neighbouring A branch, and asked to see the BM. In the BM's place, a GSO III officer, a captain in barrack dress, approached from the forest of subalterns seated behind desks at newly-installed cogitators. "Help you, Lieutenant?"
"Yes, sir, I'm Lieutenant Ahern, Alderian Light Air Defence Regiment, I'm seeking orders." Why haven't I got young Larn doing this? He's my blasted runner. The captain swivelled around and picked out a seated subaltern. He's explaining. Ahern rocked on his feet and glanced at the cracked glass of a wall-mounted clock. 08:44. I need to be getting back to the platoon – no not platoon, battery! Ahern pinched the bridge of his nose. We might as well be glorified infantry now. There's not a Scoba gun in sight.
"Your orders, Lieutenant." The captain passed Ahern a sheet of green paper the cogitator had just spat out. "That's all."
Warm. The ink's still wet as well. Ahern skim-read the miniscule black font. Guard duty, western end of the Scorpr bridge until relief. Which bridge is that. Road or rail? There's really not much to go on here.
Sergeant Reimer, after lining us up in front of the hatch that looked inside the armoury, tapped on the steel shutters. "Corporal. Sergeant Reimer, Battery B, Alderian Light Air Defence Regiment, here for issue of small-arms and ammunition."
"One moment sergeant," a voice on the other side of the shutters replied. Right behind me, Art poked me in both sides.
"Oof! Oi, c'mon, Art." I drove my elbow backwards.
"Shuddup." Stazak appeared beside us. "Keep your hands to yourself, Drow. Elbows in, Larn."
"Can't keep his hands off him, he can't." Samuel snorted.
"Oh yeah, where's your Wiry then?" Art hissed over my shoulder. "How's he gettin' on?"
"Aw, I knew it was you—" Samuel bared his clean white teeth.
"Sergeant!" Stazak called.
"Just a minute, Corporal." Reimer left the corporal, whom he was conferring with, and strode over. "Gunner, face the front. Straight eyes. Show me that chin."
He never even raised his voice. I exchanged a look with Art, who shrugged.
"Okay, Corporal, let's have a rifle for each man in the battery and four section automatics. One magazine for each man. Hard cover and riot shields too."
"One magazine for each man?" I muttered. "What's he on about?"
"Ssh." Art pressed his thumb in to my back.
"You're not after the riot gear are you, Sergeant? The Joparr guardsmen were in here about half an hour ago and they…"
"I'm sorry, Corporal?"
"I think they might be in possession of the battalion's compliment of riot shields. I'm – I'm sorry, Sergeant."
"Okay, not to worry, we'll take the rifles and stubbers as requested and carry on with hard cover only. Alright, first gunner come forward and be issued with rifle, ammunition and hard cover. Quickly now."
This don't sound good. I shuffled forwards. Each gunner that fell out carried an abnormally long ballistic rifle – an autogun – with wooden furniture. Some of the pieces were stained dark and close to black, others were near yellow. What the hell are they? Don't we get lasguns at all? Balanced atop each gunner's head was an antique-looking helmet. Some were bare, showing the shiny green paint, others had camouflage, crude enough to have been applied by hand, while some bore cloth sacks and nets. The skid-lids were all held in place with a single khaki strap under the chin. They look hideous. Not comfortable at all. Where's all the Triplexes at?
"Samuel." Reimer's gaze followed the broad gunner. "Corporal, let's have another L4."
"I'm afraid we only had one serviceable, Sergeant." The corporal held an inventory tablet in front of him. "Joparr were here earlier…"
"Five Hundred." Reimer slapped the counter and sighed. "Alright, we'll just take the one Rekyl. Gunner Samuel, step forwards."
"Rifle." The armoury corporal hooked a finger around the autogun's charging handle and drew it back. Once satisfied the chamber was clear, the corporal passed the rifle to Samuel. "Ammunition and helmet." A single loaded magazine and bare helmet were passed across the counter. Samuel replaced his beret with the helmet and, slinging his rifle, went to join Kerris and Wenrok.
"Larn, step forwards."
"Rifle." The corporal picked up one of the autoguns from a rack and brought it over. He performed the same safety check – checking the chamber was clear – then passed it to me. Fitted with wood, the worn rifle smelt of gun oil. Where every other handguard had two lozenge-shaped holes, mine had three smaller round holes and looked to have a number painted upon the stock; 13. Tape was also tied around it.
"Secure that weapon, Private," Reimer said. "It's your piece. Check it's clear."
"Sergeant." I tilted the rifle down and unfolded the charging handle. Odd thing.
"Chamber clear?"
"Yes, Sergeant."
"Alright, take your ammunition and hard cover and fall out."
Autoguns, only one magazine, steel helmet. Why are they issuing us with such obsolete gear? I found a vacant spot in the hall and waited by myself for Art. Are they nattering about me? I threw a few glances at Samuel, Kerris, and Wenrok. I can't tell.
"Aw, the look on Reimer's face." Art giggled. "Bloody Joparr stealing everything."
"Pfft, first come, first serve. What's this rifle anyway? And why we only got the one mag?"
"IM 338. They give us the shit stuff PDF use 'cause there ain't no war here. It's a security action, mate. We're not s'posed to shoot unless there ain't no other option."
"But there in't PDF 'ere, are there?"
"That's why they dragged us and the Tin Men in. Look, it's not gonna be anything back-breaking. I'm gonna enjoy a bit of light duty, James. Standin' around catching the eyes o' the birds, that's my game." Art grinned. "Let's see if we can pull some bints while on duty, uh?"
"Err, yeah-yeah, sure. Whatever you say, mate." I hitched the sling of my 338 higher on the shoulder of my body armour.
"How's the fizog?"
"Uh?"
"Your nappa. Your head, mate."
"Err, feeling a little better, yeah." I tilted the brim of my steel up from where it fell over my eyes. "I dunno where you're pulling this lingo out from, Art. It's odd."
"Aah, you'll change, you'll learn eventually."
"Look lively!" Corporal Stazak announced the arrival of Lieutenant Ahern.
"We a bit short on shields, Sergeant?" Ahern passed through the crowd of gunners. "I'm not seeing too many stubbers either."
"Joparr were here earlier this morning, sir," Reimer replied. "The battery has been issued one L4 Rekyl. The rest will have to make do with rifles."
"Helmets?"
"One for each man, sir."
"Good." Ahern's roving gaze passed over me. "Today's operation has us pulling security on the western end of the Scorpr bridge. We are relieving a unit of Arbites at zero nine fifteen, twenty-five minutes from now. Carry on."
"Right, you heard the lieutenant. I want every man outside and ready to load up." Reimer clapped his hands. "Bombardiers, police your crews."
"Outside, gunners. Move out in to the yard, quick as you can." Stazak's arms wafted the air around the men of Number Four Gun.
"Shit weather last night. Glad it's cleared up," Art said to me. Jostled on both sides by shoulders, I nodded back. "Could do with some sun." The mess of khaki and OG gradually filtered inside the canvas troop compartment of the Hennus four-tonner. Rifles and the single L4 were passed up in to waiting arms. Gunners clambered inside and filled out the benches.
"Hurry-hurry!" Stazak and another bombardier shepherded the last few stragglers, Art and I included, inside the lorry.
"Feels nice havin' a gun again, don't it?" Art smacked my thigh. "Gonna score some birds, huh?"
"That gun is referred to as a rifle, Drow." Stazak growled. "You'll refer to your weapon with the correct terminology."
"Oooohhhh." Samuel, Kerris, and Wenrok chorused. All three laughed. Sitting with my knee against the tailgate, I shrugged at Art and smiled. Glad you're here, pal.
Chatter occupied the gunners on the outbound journey to the bridge. Art and I watched the uneven, white-washed walls and overgrown hedges drag by. Another wreck. I sniffed the acrid smoke blowing across the road, originating from another torched motor vehicle. I thought this was a friendly area? A shrill whistle came from Samuel's mouth, his eyes fixing upon a trio of women walking along the pavement. One of them waved. "Yeah, just you wait and see what I've got lined up for you." Samuel continued to ogle the women until they were out of sight.
"Is that the run away screaming thing again, Samuel?" Art chortled. "Don't want a repeat of Haven again now, do we?"
"Hey, fuck off. I can tell ya there's not a chance in hell anyone's gonna go for a pale, gangly prick like you. Need a bit o' colour, that's what." Samuel grinned, bits of food showing in his teeth. "Right up the arse."
"You know the saying: too much meat?"
"Hey, if she's not screaming, I'm not beaming." Samuel bumped his fist against Wenrok's.
"Hrgh, bet those birds were wonderin' what he tasted like." Art mimed a pair of scissors. "Slice bits off and feed 'em to the birds."
"Slice that beak o' yours off, Drow."
"Beak?!" Art squawked.
"Oh! Something just hit me." Kerris cried. "Hit my back."
"Who's chucking stuff at us?" Art poked his head out of the back. "It's bloody kids!" A gang of youths spilled out from an alley and gave chase to us, lobbing stones and bits of brick, all the while screaming insults.
"Lower that rifle, Drow!" Stazak shouted.
"I was gonna send 'em runnin', Bombardier."
"No you flamin' well weren't."
"C'mon, Art, they're just kids," I said, my rifle clamped between my knees. "They don't know any better."
"Oi, you can shuddup, Outsider, nobody said a fucking thing to you," Samuel spat.
"Don't listen to him." Art rolled his eyes. "Twat."
Our pursuers fell away once we were through a nest of concrete barricades, barbed wire, and towers guarding the eastern end of the Scorpr bridge. Manning the checkpoint were other grunts in Olive Grey, who wore khaki berets. Every man carried the same long-barrelled autogun as we did.
"Oh shit, we're 'ere already." Art grasped the overhead frame and twisted his head around. "Right bloody murk that looks down there. Wouldn't want to swim in it."
"Barbed wire and all…" I spotted the steel bushes separating the raised road from the mud at the water's edge. All along the waterfront coils were laid. Maybe mines too? From my tail-end spot I could see the western bank roll in to view. Looks just about identical. So, is that enemy territory then? A jolt bucked the lorry. "Pothole, boys. Calm down." Stazak's voice rose over the clamour of curse-words pouring from the gunners' mouths. Another disruption, this one a swerve, and we stopped. A pair of doors slammed and Reimer dashed around to us. "Debus."
"Quickly, boys!" Ahern's voice, higher-pitched than Reimer's, called to us.
The first grunt on the ground, I glanced along the 150-yard stretch of bridge then turned my back on the east. Oh, shit. The rubber soles of my boots glued themselves to the asphalt. Art's hand propelled me forwards. "C'mon, James."
A flotilla of parked Sixers, all painted white and decorated with a black fist gripping a pair of scales, sat with their noses facing us. Beyond them, a single row of sandbags, waist-height, protected a squadron of Tin Men armed with tower shields, stout mauls, and chunky shotguns. They stared down the tumble-down hovels, many stacked one on top of the other, that made up the Secessionist sector. Is that a hive? I squinted up at the eight and nine-storey habs. Dozens of chimneys, many skewed and belching smoke, jutted from walls and roofs. There's people up there.
"Eyes straight and level, Larn," Stazak muttered. "Tin Men won't be hanging around here for long." The mob of gunners milled around the lorry as Lieutenant Ahern and Sergeant Reimer went to speak with the leader of the Tin Men.
"Right cheery lot, the Potheads." Art planted the butt of his 338 on the ground and leant on the muzzle.
"Yeah." Blank visors obscured the Tin Men's faces. Thin, hard lines crossed their jaws. Black stubble covered the Arbites commander's jaw. Yellow teeth showed when he spoke. "Eurgh."
"PICK!"
Art and I ducked our heads. "Bombardier, you scared the shit outta me!" Art gasped.
"Drow, pick up your rifle and hold it as you were instructed. Larn, unsling your rifle and carry it in your firing hand. And don't you dare touch that trigger."
"Yes, Bombardier." Drow propped his butt against his hip and held his rifle with the muzzle pointed skywards.
"Your firing hand, Larn."
"Err, this… this is my firing hand, Bombardier." I adopted the same carry as Art, only with my left hand holding my 338.
"You'd better make the switch before parade, boy, or the Badge will come down on you like a tonne of bricks." Stazak glowered. Before he could berate me further, Reimer returned with Ahern.
"Alright, boys, the Tin Men are packing up and moving shop. We're stepping up here, so I want a gun crew manning the emplacement on the north side, one on the south side, another to guard the transport, and the last crew in reserve."
"That's it then." Art winked at me. "Standing 'round looking tough."
"Iggery! Move your arses." Stazak and the other bombardiers corralled and shoved the gunners behind the sandbags and around steel tank traps, all the while politely ignoring the Tin Men as they re-mounted their parked Sixers and drove off.
"Stazak, hold your gunners back for now. I'll call if we need you!"
"Right, Sergeant." Stazak called the grunts on Gun Four back to where the Hennus was parked.
"Sir, do I…?" I took a step towards Ahern.
"You – you stay with Stazak's crew for now, Private." Ahern waved me away.
"Aah, reckon he's a good sort, the lieutenant." Art leant back against the steel fence and cradled his 338 in his arms.
"S'not really what you're trained for though, is it?" I sat my buttplate on the pavement and propped an elbow on top of the railing. "Aren't you shooting down planes or something?"
"Pfft, light air defence is a bit vague. We're what Brigade wants us to be. Sorta dogsbody really." Art shook his head. "I dunno. Least we're not taking fire. I'll have this detail over any contact. Hey, you smell that?"
A procession of scarlet-clad beings moving north out of the tunnel underneath us caught my eye. "Who are they?"
"Clankers. Bloody AdMech, that's all." Art flicked a dried-up piece of snot at the chanting horde. "Nothing to do with us."
"Oi, you two! I can see a fizzer coming across the bridge and it's coming very, very fast." Stazak pounced. "Stop slacking off and act like you're blasted Guardsmen."
"Sorry, Bombardier." Art's face fell.
"Pick up those rifles."
With Stazak behind him, Art smirked. I hefted my rifle and moved out past the rear of the Hennus and over to the other gunners. The change in hands had attracted civilians in pairs and threesomes who began making cautious forays on to the road. "Girls! There's girls!" Art scampered to the forefront of the northern barricade, Samuel soon following.
"Er – Art!" I flung a glance at Stazak, who was talking with Lieutenant Ahern over by the lorry. Reimer prowled the southern barricade. "Art, we're not s'posed to go forwards." A shoulder collided with me, knocking me to one side.
"Prick." Wenrok strolled past me.
"Come on then." I shook a fist at Wenrok's back. I banged out Samuel, I'll bang you out too. Wenrok ignored me and made off after Art and Samuel. Where are these women then? I hovered on the edge of the barricade. A gaggle of women in shawls and headscarves were gathered around the front of the sandbags, many of them holding the ends of their scarves up to their faces. "Aw, don't be shy." Samuel, his rifle slung, reached past the L4 another gunner had set up on the parapet and held out a packet of dry rations. "Got some nice scran 'ere for you, love." A hand snatched the rats.
"She's keen." Art laughed.
"Oi, how much?" Samuel made a ring with his thumb and forefinger and pushed his other forefinger through it. The result was a chorus of giggling from the women. "C'mon, how much?"
"Ha-ha, he's right forward, he is. Hey, James, c'mere. There's gotta be someone here for you." Art beckoned. Both gunners and civilians were smiling and laughing. "Seems alright this." I held back, catching sight of a ruddy-faced man trying to push his way through the people in front of the southern barricade. An arm was thrust between two gunners, as if the agitator wanted to confront Sergeant Reimer directly. Where there was one bad-tempered soul, a few more began to spring up. Why are they all over there? I stared at the growing discontent spreading through the civilians around Reimer's barricade. What's their game? "Oi, Kerris, I reckon it's about to kick off over there."
The gunner nearest to me, Kerris, grunted, "uh? I dunno. Who cares. We've got the firepower, they 'aven't. Let 'em riot."
You're bloody helpful, aren't you? I sauntered down to Art and tugged his sleeve. "Let's have a mo' eh?"
"That's his boyfriend that is." Samuel stuck an arm in the air and pointed downwards over Art's cover. "Taking him away for a quickie."
"Yeah. Yeah, come on, lad." I forced a grin. "Oi, it's important. Come over 'ere."
"What's the matter, James?" Art whispered.
"Can't you see it's bloody kicking off down where Reimer is?"
"Just some local louts. So what?"
"So, why's it so calm and sunshine over with you then?"
"I dunno. Hey, I'm gonna enjoy this. We're gettin' paid to have a natter with girls, James, come join us. Oi, where you going?"
"Bombardier. Sir?" I ran back to the Hennus where Ahern was still speaking with Stazak.
"Larn, what is it?" Ahern broke off immediately and signalled me closer. "Speak."
"Sir, it's kicking off down the southern barricade—"
"One or two louts, sir, nothing to worry about," Stazak butted in. "You return to where you were assigned, Private. It's not your concern."
"Sir, why's it so friendly on the north barricade then?"
"Alright, Larn, that's your second charge."
"N-no, Bombardier, I want to see what Larn's seeing." Ahern undid the flap of his pistol holster and followed. "Show me."
"Err, see the bloke mouthing off against Sergeant Reimer, sir. There's more from where he came from, sir." I pointed out the agitator, from whose mouth spittle flew.
"A few bad sorts no doubt roam the area, Private. There's no reason to take action unless we come under fire. You're not left-handed, are you?"
"Wha – err yes, sir." Why is this such a big deal?
"Or do you favour both hands?"
Why the hell does he want to know that now? "Sir, I'm getting a really bad feeling 'ere."
"Ha, he's brought his son along." Ahern snorted at a father placing his son up on top of the sandbags. "There's no trouble here, Private." Art waved at me to come over. "Must seem like a far cry from your old posting. Where was it again…?"
A black, cylindrical object, a blur in the corner of my eye, came sailing over the crowd. Pitched from further back, the object slapped upon the dirty asphalt and rolled in a lazy circle. Ahern's mouth opened. As he drew breath to utter a warning, I beat him to it. "ART, GEDDOWN!"
"Grenade!" Reimer bawled. His hands snatched at frozen gunners and hauled them down behind the sandbag wall.
"Bloody—!" Samuel pushed Art away, tripped backwards, and fell against the crouched L4 gunner.
"Shit!"
"Larn, get down!" Ahern's fingers brushed my sleeve. "Get away!"
"Oi, wait a minute." I made for the solitary bomb, lying in the centre of the road and dropped to the ground beside it. Only flying through the air could it have passed for live ordnance as I realised when the 'grenade' crumbled to pieces in my fingers. "Sir, sir, it's a fake!" I brandished the mock-up at Ahern, Stazak, and the other gunners, who were hiding underneath and behind the lorry. "It's not real!"
"Help!" A high-pitched voice cried. The mock-up fell from my fingers. A bloody decoy! Samuel, in barging in to the L4 gunner, broke the man's grip on the weapon, which remained sitting on top of the sandbags as the gunners took cover, leaving it unattended. "Help, I can't hold it!" Art, both boots on either side of the prone Samuel, steadfastly held on to the Rekyl's wooden butt, caught up in a vicious tug-of-war with the women, who were pulling at the flash hider. "Sarn't!"
"Push that crowd back!" Reimer clocked an agitator in the temple with his rifle's buttplate. "Get up, you clots!" Startled gunners prodded and beat at any hands coming in to range.
"Sergeant!" I levelled my 338 at the veiled women. "Art, you're in the way."
"Sam, Kerris, help me." Art screeched. Against the strength of the five women, his feet left the ground and his body slithered over the parapet. "Aaargh!" A whip-crack boxed the hearing in my left ear. Stazak lowered his rifle, the smoking muzzle trained skywards.
"Hold your fire!" Reimer shouted.
"Do not fire. Do not fire." Ahern thumped Stazak on the shoulder. "Suslo, get on to HQ!" Suslo, Ahern's signaller, spoke in to his wired handset then handed it to Ahern. "Zero, sir." Stood beside the officer, I ducked as a bottle cartwheeled over our heads and smashed against the lorry. This was quickly followed by more bottles, bricks, and stones.
"I lost the gun." Art, hauled backwards by the seat of his trousers, screamed. "Sir, we lost the gun!"
"Bitches carried our L4 off, sir," Stazak snarled. "Sir, they're scarpering! What d'you want us to do?"
"Hello Zero, this is Four-One Alpha—" Ahern trailed off. I tracked the bobbing heads of the women making their way to a flight of concrete stairs that would take them underneath us and in to the crowd of Clankers.
"Stazak, Larn, get the gun. Get the fucking gun!"
"Shit it. Larn, on me." Stazak took off towards the baying mass of civilians.
"Wait, we can get down from 'ere, Bomb." I drew Stazak over to the railing Art and I had leant against. Directly underneath it was the stairs the women were fleeing down.
"Barmy. You'll snap your ankles leaping down there." Stazak shook his head. "Not a chance."
"D'you want to chance it wi' that crowd, Bomb?" I swung a leg over the railing.
"You come back with that gun or don't come back at all – both rifle and Rekyl, d'you hear me?" Stazak's harsh voice receded and was lost to the brief instance of air rushing in my ears. An AdMech worker, resplendent in spotless robes, collapsed under my combined weight of belt kit, rifle, flak jacket, and the body the Crotch had issued me with, his mask smacking against the hard stone. Still fastened to my head, the inner liner of my helmet banged up and down. The steel rim shot forwards and thumped the unfortunate Clanker in the back of his skull, if it still existed. "Aargh, sorry, mate." I picked myself up from the prone body. Lucky I managed to hold on to you. Sharp eyes at the top of the steps found me as I scooped up my rifle. "Oh, shit." I bounded down the flight, right as a small group of youths hared down from the level above after me. Where'd the women go? I plunged in to the red tide. Green-eyed monsters with shaggy beards made of cables and wires turned luminous, unblinking eyes on me. Part-mechanical, part-organic, the AdMech drones cried out, some in plain Gothic, others producing hideously distorted, rattling growls from voice-boxes grafted in to their faces. Cries further ahead gave the snatch squad away. That's them! I tucked my 338's stock under my left arm and barrelled through the shambling nightmares, swiping aside a basket attached to chains a Clanker held. Scented smoke blasted up my nostrils, the rich taste sticking to my tongue and slapping my senses around. Eurgh, what the hell was that he was wafting around?
Two hours earlier…
Within the minute Izuru desired she awoke, all weariness dissipating from her body. From where Izuru lay in the uneven, lumpy cot, she sat upright and cast her mind out to the still forms of Saeros and Derin, also in cots. Awaken, corsairs. Cast sleep from your mind. Derin's feet, sticking out over the rough wooden edge of the cot, drew back underneath the thin blanket. For a fleeting moment, I awoke back on the Gorynych. Derin rolled his neck. Then I remembered.
Saeros, time. Izuru glanced at the bolted door, the only way in and out of the room. Find your affects.
Must we depart so soon? Saeros rubbed the insides of his arms. He winced as the joints cracked.
To hide away is to invite suspicion. The Slave Machines will notice if we three newcomers hide away in this hovel for the next two days. No, we must find and fold ourselves in to an AdMech gathering, seen but unseen.
Seen but unseen. Spoken like a true ranger.
The lady is quite right, Saeros. We should not hide away like thieves in the night. I also advocate gathering knowledge on the surrounding area before we attempt to contact the humans. Are the packages secure?
Izuru hauled the cot away from the wall and dug a fingernail in to the loose floorboard. Quite safe.
Shall we pay our respects to our deceased comrade before departure, my lady?
Izuru glanced at Derin. If you must. On unfolding her robes and donning the heavy garment, Izuru rose and snapped her fingers at Saeros. Who are you? Why are you here?
Saeros's hair stood on end. The tips of his ears wiggled. Ammos Tayne, menial of the Adeptus Mechanicus. My purpose here is burial of valued companion, followed by pilgrimage. Izuru lowered the accusing finger and picked up her mask. I know I need not interrogate you, she said to Derin.
All the same, I am Locurr Indra, Cult Mechanicus. Derin tucked his hands inside his sleeves and bowed his head. Praise the Omnissiah.
Followers of the Adeptus Mechanicus only, read the sign hanging over the doorway leading inside the hab's damp corridors. Izuru stepped out in to the narrow street and noticed another decidedly more unpleasant inscription painted upon the door in bright white paint. Despicable, lowborn scum unfit to look at the soles of my boots. Izuru turned away, her nose itching underneath her mask.
Saeros, as curious as he was naïve, took a bigger interest than was necessary in the rude slur. What does F-U-C-
Saeros! Derin placed both hands upon the youth's shoulders and swivelled him around. Focus mind on other matters. If you would kindly await us, my lady.
With haste. Izuru leant back against a brick wall and waited for the pair to pay their final respects to the wayforger, whom they had buried discreetly in a back yard the previous night. I am not sorry, Izuru said to herself. Not for any human or Eldar that bows to the Void Dragons' command.
It seems the Independents would rather they had nothing to do with the Machine Slaves.
Maybe. Derin, returning, steered Saeros in to line behind Izuru. But on the eastern bank of the river? I thought attitudes would be somewhat warmer to the AdMech here. Of course, then again nothing is as clear cut as it is usually first made out to be.
If there was ever a more dismal place… Izuru flicked up her lenses to give her eyes a clear sight of the walls and rooftops around her, many of which leaned and bulged to one side, as an overweight human's belly might. Among the tiled roofs were brick chimneys and thin, rusted pipes with conical hats and slits diverting thin trails of smoke outwards. Above everything grey clouds loomed.
It would most likely be across the river.
Our destination. Izuru tipped her head down as the first humans passed them by on the other side of the street. A crossing shall be sought after. With the coming of the first hour spent wandering around, Izuru fixed her sights on a sturdy girder bridge spanning the river. Her hopes of crossing on foot were dashed when a green box on wheels, what the humans referred to as a shuttle or a train, clattered across.
Have you idea of how we might carry ourselves aboard such a contraption? The three watched the train draw across the high bridge from a road running along the waterfront. I confess to having no idea of human norms regarding embarkation. Is there a toll we must pay?
Almost without a doubt. Izuru looked over the stone wall at the filth at the river's edge. And we have no currency. Your wise princess did not see fit to provide us with any. Izuru followed the coils of barbed wire with her eyes. Barbed wire, mines in the water, why go to such trouble to keep two halves of a city apart?
Mines?
No debate. We seek a footbridge. Follow and keep senses keen for soldiers. Izuru passed in to the shadow of the rail bridge. The few humans about, either sitting on benches or going about their morning business paid no notice. A light covering of mist sitting upon the river soon revealed another crossing, this one a simple, two-lane road bridge. The bulbs in the streetlights, beacons in the mist, began turning off. This was of no interest to Izuru. Her pace quickened at the sight of a blood-red mob of the Machine Slaves either chanting in machine-cant or dangling burners from their hands. These burners, swinging from chains, spread a greenish cloud around. A demonstration? Izuru drew nearer to the rally. Aha, we have a way through. The soldiers manning barricades on the bridge's eastern end had begun moving the barrier of wire back, admitting the Machine Slaves on to the bridge.
Caution, my lady. Derin caught up. We may find ingress comes easily, but egress not so.
No, this is our chance to gather knowledge of the western side of the city in advance. We go now or not at all. Do you wish to wander around in a threesome all day, Pirate? Izuru reached for Saeros and pulled him along. Seen but unseen.
Izuru snatched looks at the thickset, ugly faces partly hidden underneath bowl-shaped helms as they followed the procession. Long, crude rifles were pointed up in to the air. Fingers remained outside triggers. Safety catches, she imagined, were on. Nobody halted the Machine Slaves or asked for identification. And luck marches with us, Saeros said.
No, think not of such things. Nothing of the sort exists. We seized the opportunity and took action. That is how we prevail, young one. We take action.
I would mention the soldiers guarding the western side appear different to the humans in green we passed.
And I would mention, Locurr, for you to stoop. 'Tis a most alarming sight to see your head on such a proud spike. Izuru sealed the shutters over her eyes. The strong smell made them weep. Quite right in his warning, Derin had spotted humans in metallic body armour and full-face helms that left only the mouths visible. Slide-guns, mauls, shields. Adeptus Arbites.
Who? Saeros rose on tiptoes. Izuru pulled him back down by his elbow.
Look not at their faces. Do you see the symbol upon the armoured cars? The fist holding the scales? It stands for tyranny. The iron gauntlet the Human Empire holds over its denizens is total. A citizen has no rights. Understand that our fight for survival and freedom conflicts with their desire to control the life of every being from the womb to the grave. So, again, look not at their faces.
Once more, the wire was withdrawn and the procession was admitted. The leaders then made a sharp left and led their followers southwards and down stairs that led along the waterfront. Where are they leading us? Saeros grasped the back of Derin's robes. First south, now north.
Yours is not to reason why. Izuru's head swivelled back and forth. The Machine Slaves have a mind of their own now.
Shall we continue north, my lady? Derin dragged Saeros along.
No, let us strike south then west. I would see how extensive the human barricades are, and the general disposition of their forces.
No less prominent than the crowd that had continued north, the Slave Machines following the river south continued to moan and chant. Must they proceed at such a crawl? Derin was forced to take tiny steps, lest he tear off the robes of the human-machine hybrid in front. Are they too mourning the loss of a cohort?
I would not think that individual losses meant much to this bustling mass… Izuru's ear pricked up.
I heard it too. Derin's guiding hand brought Saeros in front of him. His other hand shot round to the back of his belt. None of our business, my lady.
No… Izuru listened to the echo rolling across the river. Just the one report. Rifle-calibre.
Suppressing unruly inhabitants? Derin glanced round the teetering red figures. I dare say this is normal for the people of Grendel.
Carry on regardless. Izuru pulled her hand from where it rested upon the grip of her lasblaster. It is no concern of ours. Let us continue. Izuru beckoned to Derin. Come.
Must we make such melodrama too?
Spit on the Machine Slaves and their litanies, Saeros. Proceed quietly and calmly. Izuru stopped and let Derin draw alongside. When opportunity presents itself, we take action.
Does that mean now?
Why, Felarch? Izuru's head snapped round.
Perhaps a quick step away from the river would serve us better. Derin touched Izuru's back.
She batted his hand away and flung barbs against the outer barriers of Derin's mind. Never, unless I grant you my permission!
To avoid those humans was what I meant.
Izuru sidestepped, catching a blur of shawls and frayed scarves flying past. What in the name of the Mother…?
Petty thieves? Saeros shrunk back as half a dozen women burst through the crowd, scarf ends and skirts flapping.
Rather more so than that… Derin's head followed the humans' flight. Then, without a single verbal command, the women split up. Three carried on through the crowd, whilst the others diverted up a tunnel in the wall.
Enterprising perhaps a more appropriate term. Izuru eyed the long automatic weapon one of the women bore in her arms. Bold humans, very bold.
And the Imperial Guard gives chase. Derin struggled to suppress a snort. All one of them. Howls followed the thieves' pursuer. In the same drab uniform and body armour as the men guarding the eastern end of the bridge, a lone soldier pelted on after the women along the waterfront, then careered in to a Slave Machine and ran inside the tunnel.
Baffling, truly baffling.
Why only one, Felarch?
I haven't the first idea, young one. Do you, my lady? My lady…? Derin pivoted a full turn. Ranger, where are you?
Felarch, the humans pursue. Saeros gripped Derin's arm. A small mob of young humans, all male, were giving chase to the lone soldier.
Then we must too. Though with discretion.
Izuru's feet became a blur beneath her. Damn these robes, I can barely move! A memory of another world, crystal clear, surfaced and played itself out in the forefront of her mind. Platis, a line of human prisoners, bound and cut loose for sport; each one an effortless tally mark dragged at her consciousness. One face, ghostly white and without a single hair on his chin, flew rings around her. The whelp! Izuru's feet carried her inside the tunnel without the felarch or Saeros noticing. To her, the sensation of plunging her knife deep inside the whelp's bony carcass superseded any vague notion of keeping her cover intact. Let no warm thoughts carry your mind to safety, little human. Izuru shot out in to the grey light, her eyes, ears, and nose razor-sharp. An Olive Grey shape, unmistakable, thundered down a winding street to her left then on in to an alleyway a mere fifty yards away. Yours is to die. Mine is to carry the instrument of your destruction.