Green Sector East, Norn, Grendel
Cunning sods, trying to split up.
The rubber soles of my boots slapped upon the wide cobbles. At my waist, water sloshed in my canteen and my bulky respirator bounced around in its haversack. Are those louts still on me? Phlegm exploded from the back of my throat. The armoured plates inside my flak vest clacked together, the weight boring red marks in to my shoulders. "Aahh, shit." I drew the canvas sling attached to my rifle over the ridge moulded in to the right shoulder of my body armour and pushed on. Muffled shrieks from the three women ahead in the alley floated back to woman clutching the Rekyl, flagging, passed the gun to one of her accomplices and took off down a different passage. A screech of steel against brick and the woman was brought to a stop. The sling had caught around a piece of jutting brick.
"Just the rifle please, miss, just the rifle," I called, reaching out to unhook the sling. "Ow!" A short metal rod pummelled the crown of my helmet. "Oi, give it a rest. I just want the rifle." I pushed the offending woman away by the shoulder. "That why you're wearin' scarves, eh, so we can't get a handle on you?"
The other woman's response was a quick jab at my side with a foldout knife. The blade pricked the cover of my flak jacket then came up short against the armour plate. "Aw, go on, hop it!" I dragged the Rekyl in to my arms. "I'll forget it if you scarper – I will!" The knife-armed woman lifted her scarf up high enough to launch a thin flurry of spittle at me and fled after her friend. Heavy bit of kit, aren't you? I set the Rekyl's bipod legs upon the smooth flagstones. Nothing bent, nothing broken? I wiggled the carry handle and bent low enough to put my eye to the drum sights. A white number 2 showed on the dial. Two hundred yards? Nothing wrong there. I looped the sling over my shoulder and hauled the Rekyl around by the carry handle. All was quiet now the women had run off. Who the…?
A Clanker, shrouded in a blanket of red, watched me from the mouth of a side-alley, the face nothing but a mask of cables. A pair of dirty eye-lenses glowed from underneath its hood. A second passed, then the Clanker withdrew. Aahh. I patted at the back of my flak jacket. My spine prickled. The fifteen-foot walls on either side of me lengthened. Before me, the alley stretched. In my mind the Clanker beckoned. Is he trying to help? The Rekyl's wooden grip and carry handle warmed in my hands.
The louts spilled in to the alley, a whooping braggart twice my size at their head. I planted the Rekyl's bipod on the stone and unfolded the charging handle. The click-clack halted the headlong rush so fast the louts piled up against one another. I thumbed the weapon's selector to 'repetition'. That third click sent the louts back the way they had come, each one with his tail between his legs. Yeah, that's right. I tugged the sling over my left shoulder and set off at a jog. Where are you then? I pushed the Rekyl's muzzle in to the alley the Clanker had vanished down. Come on, poke your head out. See what happens. The rugged brick gave way to corrugated iron sheets a little way further down. No openings or gateways were visible. He'll have run the whole length then. A sticky sweat had built up inside my helmet. Both shoulders complained at the weight of rifle and stubber. These trivial matters were then kicked out of the spotlight, when I withdrew from the side alley and returned to the main branch to double back towards the river.
The red figure waited. Underneath the hem of its robes, black boots, spread wide, protruded; the toecaps ever so slightly pointed. Within the depths of its hood, twin lights glinted. A tide of gooseflesh rippled across my body. From my toes to my ears, each and every hair stood on end. My forefinger hooked around the Rekyl's trigger. Silence fell upon the passage. The soles of my boots refused to budge from the flagstones. Run.
Stand.
Not a sound came from the figure in red. A foreign presence wormed its way inside my head, the voice oozing over my familiar murmur of reason and common sense; drowning it. Who are—? The lid slammed down, silencing my consciousness and seizing it in cold talons.
Lay down your weapons and walk towards me.
I don't want to. Razorblades nicked the outer layers of my mind. I don't want to! 338 and Rekyl leant against the wall and sat upon the ground respectively. Wait, my rifle! My hands clasped at thin air. The scuffed toecaps of my boots shuffled forwards. Who are you?
A blade, wicked-sharp, slid from the figure's sleeve. The hood dipped downwards, hiding the figure's mask. Held at its side, the point turned towards me. Why are you doing this?
The spell faltered as two more Clankers in red swept in to the alley and flocked to their cohort. The taller of the two brought his hand down upon the figure's shoulder. At once, the weights dragging me forwards disappeared. "Shit." I turned tail and pelted back to where my rifle leant and took it. I picked the Rekyl up by the carry handle and made a turning in to an alley. What the hell just happened to me?
My lady, stop! Derin's mind and body struck out at Izuru. Under no circumstances are we permitted to engage the enemy unless he engages us first! His hand came down upon Izuru's shoulder. Let the soldier go!
Saeros fell short of Izuru, the urgency in his pace falling away. I know him…
Izuru turned on Derin, the reversed knife in her hand flying at his neck. No! Derin deflected the blade with his forearm. Saeros, assist! The felarch's fingers gripped Izuru's arm and tried twisting it behind her back. Saeros!
Izuru's feet left the ground and rode the wall upwards. Kicking off the bricks, Izuru's body spun in the air, her legs finding Derin's head and tightening around it. Derin's knees buckled.
Madam, if you take this path you will never see your children alive again. Saeros' mind made sallies against the iron walls surrounding Izuru's. With child's hands, Saeros pulled at Izuru's hood and mask. I believed you better than this. One driven by petty vengeance is not worthy of respect. Izuru's hood fell. Saeros hauled her head backwards, both gloves covering her eyes.
Listen to Saeros, Ranger. Is sense not spoken by the youth? Derin bucked underneath Izuru's weight. Cease this mindless violence! You are angry, you are upset, you wish harm upon those you believe have wronged you! Izuru's legs twisted.
Stop, please, you will break his neck. Is this what you want? Saeros tore at the straps holding the mask to Izuru's head, pulling the thin metal off and tossing it against the wall. I am sorry. Saeros drew his lasblaster and pushed the muzzle against Izuru's ear.
In the distance, a rattle sounded. It was no report of an automatic weapon however but a hollow clatter as if metallic instruments were striking each other. Izuru loosened her hold on Derin, freeing his head. Saeros withdrew his lasblaster and bent down to help Derin up. Felarch?
Unhand me. What is that noise? Derin straightened his hood and re-seated his mask.
Can we leave now? Saeros' shaking hand tucked his lasblaster away. The city is awakening. I can feel it.
They are calling to one another. Izuru searched about on the ground for her mask. Saeros jumped at the sound of a crack, this one a gunshot, echoing through the warren. A barrage of single shots was answered by a much deeper, laboured thump of an automatic that, even at some distance, punched at Saeros's fluttering stomach. Not here. Please, not here. Saeros hunched his shoulders and shivered.
Keep mind and body in its place, Ranger. Derin stiffened. The human returns! As precaution, Derin took hold of Izuru's forearm. Saeros, conceal your weapon. Our quarrel lies elsewhere.
The overladen soldier rushed from the alley he had not long ago fled down, his shoulder striking the wall beside him, bringing him to a halt. He tilted the brim of his helmet upwards then swung the stubber he carried in the Eldar's direction, his mouth a black hole. Quite terrified. Derin watched the young human bear down on them, his equipment jangling. Without a doubt, quite young.
My lady, your mask.
Fractured, Izuru's mask sat in front of her. She made no attempt to shield her face. His right forearm shaking under the weight of the stubber, the human loped up to the three. "I know you," he gasped, a slight quiver in his voice. "You're the one who killed my friends." The stainless-steel muzzle, slightly flared, tilted down to point at Izuru's face. A thin wisp of smoke rose from the muzzle.
"Our quarrel lies elsewhere, human. Yours is with your kind. Ours is with ours." Derin raised his hands slowly. Gunshot residue coated the human's hands and sleeves. Derin could smell it too. "Pass in peace. You will forget this encounter—"
"Kill me." Izuru reached out for the stubber. The human jerked it back, his lips drawing back from his teeth.
"I will forget this encounter," he replied. The moment he edged past the Eldar, he broke in to a jog.
"You godless bastard, come back here!" Izuru screamed.
"He's down 'ere!" A human voice yelled. The soldier threw a quick glance back over his shoulder and whirled round, his finger clamping down upon the stubber's trigger.
Cover your ears. Derin clapped his hands over his ears and lowered his head. Ear-splitting cracks from the lead flying along the passage shut down Derin's senses momentarily. Is this the fate I have been awarded, to die in an alley on a backwater at the hands of humans? Not a single scratch marked his flesh though. Everything had flown overhead. Where the human had stood, there was only a handful of shell casings. The voices of the pursuers had faded. Let us retire with haste before the humans catch our scent. Derin helped Saeros up. My lady, maintain your disguise. Izuru sneered and drew her hood over her head. Hurry!
Where the human took a left to return down the tunnel to the riverside, the three headed in the opposite direction, and were soon vaulting over fences and scaling walls. Here. Derin dropped in to a walled garden. Down here. Saeros and Izuru followed. Now that you cannot be trusted… Derin swiped the lasblaster from Izuru's belt. Saeros, your mind is unclouded. Tell me who that human was and why our ranger displayed such a keenness in applying her knife to him. Derin held out his hand and waited. Izuru slapped the handle of her knife in to Derin's palm. Drawing her cloak around her, Izuru folded her arms and turned her head away; a slight pout on her lips.
The humans the Webway portal delivered to us, one of them escaped on Platis. Saeros leant back against the stone and bent down to lean on his knees. It – it was my fault, I could not bring myself to shoot one so young. I did not want infanticide on my conscience. We are not murderers. Raiders we are, but not murderers.
Derin shook his head. Impossible, impossible! How could this very human – if he is the one you say he is – appear before us, just like that?
He said – he said he knew the Lady Numerial. There can be no doubt that he spoke truth. Saeros rubbed his sore hands together. The sleeves they protruded from were shredded from climbing over walls tipped with glass shards. I worry he can now betray our presence.
I told him to forget us. His mind will be fixed solely upon the human agitators pursuing him. Fear not, Saeros.
My lady, were you certain?
Patience, Saeros. We shall hear her side in due course. Let tempers first cool.
Whelp, Izuru muttered to herself. For the rest of the day she said nothing more.
What was I supposed to forget again?
Back on the riverside, I stood before the stone wall looking out over the river and raised myself up on tiptoes, hoping to see OG-covered heads waiting for me on top of the bridge. Have they pulled out? I could see only civilians moving back and forth. Where's the platoon gone?
"You lost, friend?"
"OI—!" I shook the Rekyl from my shoulder and held it against my hip. A herd of civilians approached, at the front young men all taller than me.
"You bringing trouble?" A civvy raised his hands. "Alright, back away, you lot. Give him room."
"You started it." I moved to the left. Norn's rail-bridge looked promising.
"Us? We're not Graw, mate."
"Graw? What's – what's Graw?" I tracked the Rekyl across the gathering crowd.
"Oi, better come away. There's Graws on the bridge looking down on us." The civvy gestured to me. "C'mon."
"Leave him. Don't help him," a woman said.
"My son's older than him." Another shot a glare at her. "Let him through."
"Better hurry up, mate. Don't want the Graw's getting your scent."
These people were probably the ones shooting at me just now. My gaze roved around the faces surrounding me. Some were blank, others inquisitive. Many looked sullen, as if they resented the military presence. And who's this? I sized the larger civilian up and down. Grey-blue boiler suit. Shoulder-length brown hair. Nothing to suggest weapons on him. No bulges or protrusions. If he's leading me in to a trap, I'm sunk. I don't think I can run much further.
"Come on, Mukka!"
"Oi, who are you. What's your name?" I batted away the hand of a child, when it brushed my sleeve. "No touchin' guns."
"I'm Risto."
"Uh?" I stuck a finger in my right ear and wiggled. Without the sling over my shoulder, the Rekyl tipped over. I caught it by the handle and drew the sling taught. "What d'you say?"
"Oh, Risto. What's your name?"
"James. James Larn." I shooed away a curious flock of children pulling at my respirator sack and canteen. "Go on, get home."
"What you doing over this side o' the river anyway. Your lot's whooping it up on the east bank."
"Uh? I dunno, I only got 'ere yesterday – where's your mum then? – these women stole our L4. I got it back then…"
"Then?" Risto stopped. "A Graw snatch squad took your stubber?"
"Yeah. Some louts shot at me and I – I returned fire on 'em."
"Think the entire city heard that." Risto laughed.
"What happened next…?" I frowned down at the dirtied toecaps of my boots. "I was back at the river."
"Hm?"
"…No, there was something else."
"Look, I'm gonna help get you back across the river, James. I want you to promise me something though."
"Whassat?" I pushed the brim of my cover up. Can't be making promises, I just met you.
"Don't mention me when they ask you what happened. Nobody helped you, you found your way back by yourself."
"Erm… okay, Risto."
"I've got a wife and son up in the Stonehill, James. If Graw find out I've helped a soldier, they'll kill 'em."
"Graw, what's this Graw?" My gaze flickered up to the rail bridge. The chunky supports underneath cast deep shadows, where anybody could be hiding.
"Grendel Revolutionary Army. Look basically they want the Boots and Tin Men out."
"I thought we were trying to help." I shrugged.
"Tell that to the Tin Men." Risto kicked at a bush he passed. "Night raids, daylight harassment, internment without trial – flat-footed fuckers!" Risto swooped down upon a poster partly hidden behind a mess of ivy. "Look a' this, James." Risto tore the poster down and showed it to me. A helmeted, faceless thug painted blood red and carrying a cudgel prepared to strike me from behind his raised riot shield. The background was plain white, with an equally frank slogan: PAX IMPERIALIS.
"There's your peace, James, delivered by the falling of the baton upon the body and the stamp of the boot upon the face."
"You made this poster, didn't you?"
Risto pressed the corners of the poster back in to place and tore the obscuring ivy away. "Please don't tell them I helped you. Please, I know you could run me in for that – you've got the guns and I've confessed. I'm anti-imperial and proud."
"I'm not – I'm not that person. That's not me." I swallowed. "Listen, I want to help. I just – I just want to help. I didn't want to use this L4. Look." I transferred the Rekyl to my shoulder and unslung my 338. "Let the gunners have their L4 back. I'll stick to the sidelines and watch."
"Err, guess you're one in a hundred then. All I've seen are meatheads with cudgels and cyberhounds."
"They're nothin' to do with us. We're on the cooldown from a combat deployment, that's all. I didn't ask to come sort some domestic squabble out…"
"Domestic squabble…" Risto tutted. "These troubles have been called quite a bit over these years. I've never heard anyone call it a domestic squabble."
"Well, what is it then?"
"I dunno either, only it's much, much more complicated than that." Risto shoved his hands in his pockets. "Train station's just up here. I'll pay for your ticket. It's only a short trip."
On the way up a flight of stairs, a civilian with bloodshot eyes and blooming pupils rolled in to Risto. "You want the Scura? Packet o' Mylla?"
"No thanks, Will, he doesn't do smack." Risto brushed past Will. "Easy there."
"Nice lookin' little soldja-boy…" Will burped in my face. "D'you read the papers?" He waved a rolled-up newspaper at me. "There's xenos spies lurkin' in the shadows, dontcha know!"
"S'alright, he's harmless. He likes touting his xenos conspiracy theories." Risto waited for me at the head of the stairs. "Sleep it off, yeah?"
Xenos. I remembered a woman's voice calling to me. "You godless bastard, come back here," I murmured.
"What's that?" Risto turned to me.
"There's something else…" I shut my eyes. "A woman."
"A Graw? One of the snatch squad?"
"Nah, different." I pinched skin on the bridge of my nose together. "She was different."
"Chasing you?"
"Stalking me. An AdMech. But she weren't a Clanker. I saw her face."
"Describe her." Risto took a notepad from the breast pocket of his boiler suit. "I'll write it down and see if Talia can sketch her."
"Talia?"
"The missus – sorry – she's good at faces."
"Can we – can we sit down first? My legs are killin' me."
"Alright. Nowhere in the open though." Risto peered up at a tall hab-block at the end of the street.
"Why?"
"Graw likes to sling lead across the river every so often, if they see Meatheads." Risto's hand on my sleeve drew me out of the lopsided building's line of sight. "Won't stop 'em shooting down this street if they see you."
Risto and I sat on the edge of the pavement opposite the open doors leading inside the station, with us both removed from any long sightlines. With the Rekyl between my legs and my 338 held in the crook of one arm, I attracted quite a few uneasy glances from civilians, of whom there were many more on the opposite side of the street than there were ours.
"Won't people notice you talkin' to me?" I looped my 338's sling around my forearm.
"If anyone asks, I'll say I'm dealin' on the black market." Risto grinned and nodded at the onlookers. "Give me a description then."
"Erm…" I dug a hand underneath the back of my cover and rubbed my sweat-tinged hair. The words came back to me clearly, as did the near-fluent Gothic the woman spoke in. The face was there too, only it was surrounded by two other blurred beings, masked yet in the same blood red as their comrade. No, the woman was important. I took a clump of my hair and squeezed. Come on, think!
"Well come on, I can't hang round here all day."
"Pale," I blurted. "Her face was…"
"Like smashed spanners?" Risto laughed. "I can see why you don't want to remember now."
"Nah, she was…"
"Oh, the opposite? I'm likin' this…"
"Round – no heart-shaped face. Strong chin, uhh, curved nose—"
"Proper snout on her?"
"Nah, nothing like that. Gold eyes, thin eyebrows, dark hair tied back." My heart began to tremble. "Shit." I clapped my free hand against my body armour. "Shit."
"What?" The broken end of Risto's pencil stood still.
"Pointed…" I jammed my thumb and forefinger in to my eyes. "Pointed ears," I whispered.
"…Thought it was too good." Risto tore the piece of paper off and scrunched it up in to a ball. "You didn't say anything to me, James."
"Sorry, I'm sorry, Risto." I slipped the strap of my cover out from underneath my chin. "Stickie…"
"Ssh, don't!" Risto slapped a palmful of credits in to my hand. "I'm in enough trouble as it is helping you now."
"Forget it, just forget it, Risto, forget me," I gabbled. "You didn't see anything and I lied to you."
"Right, fine, you have this." Risto threw the scrunched-up ball of paper at me. It hit my chest came to rest against the Rekyl's stock. "Get your arse on the train."
"Stonehill?"
"The Stonehill." Risto leapt to his feet. "I've gotta run now."
"I'm gonna pay you back." I rose and picked up my weapons. "I'll pay you back…"
"Station." Risto pointed past me. "And they're definitely Graw. They'll come for you, not me!" A few men in greatcoats had appeared on a street corner and were watching us from a distance. All had their hands in their pockets.
"Uhh…" I slipped my chinstrap back in to place and hurried inside the station. Graw stood idle on the street corner, watching me. Will they follow me across the river?
"Um, I want to get back across the river." I pushed the whole handful of credits through the slot inside the ticket-master's booth. Urgh, a Clanker. A bald, grey head with the wispiest strands of hair covering the scalp poked out of what seemed to be a sustaining chamber, permanently housing the ticket-master. Aside from the crown, nose, and eyes, the Clanker was entirely mechanical. Robotic arms with spindly fingers drew the credits to a slot in a bulging belly. Where are those Graws at? The toe of my boot drummed upon the smooth floor. The few civilians sitting on rickety seats were either staring at the ground, hiding behind papers, or had slipped away. Shit, come on, come on. I turned my thoughts to the xenos woman, the image of her made my heart turn somersaults. Why did I describe her to Risto? I've got him in enough trouble as it is.
A flat green card spat out of a waist-high slot in the ticket-master's booth. I grabbed it and took the stairs up to the platforms two at a time. At the half turn, I caught sight of the men in greatcoats stepping across the threshold. Each still had his hands in his pockets. They're leaving Risto be, thank the Emperor. I barged through civilians waiting on the platform. Gasps and cries followed me. That's feet running on the stairs! Further shrieks went up as Graw gained the platform. Where's the trains? I banged against shoulders, forcing them aside. A quick look both ways gave me nothing. The two platforms were empty of shuttles. The western route curved away from me gently until it was out of sight. East the bridge stretched away in a straight line.
"Stop him!" somebody shouted. A shove from behind sent me sprawling on to the rails below. Rough ballast scraped my knees and hands. My cover dinged against a rail. I spat upon the reddened steel and staggered upright. Both weights I pulled along with me. Above the wobbling brim of my helmet, hands reached out to me.
"Come on, son, up you get." From the crowd, arms lifted me on to the platform and thrust my rifle at me. Which way? I burrowed through the protesting crowd. Few civilians parted for me, most lashed out verbally, kicked at me, or just spat. Underneath my boots, the platform fell away to the ballast surrounding the rails. Dust blew outwards as I landed in the ballast and ran along the rails, leaving a fine trail in my wake. I spat again, this time mucus and bile splattered the ballast and rails. Shoulders, arms, knees, and back burned. Coughing, I switched my 338 for the Rekyl. A crash of feet upon stones preceded a crack and a whizz. "Fuck!" I teetered on the uneven stones and fell in to a girder and slipped behind it. A thick bar running horizontally along the bridge stopped me from finding proper cover behind the girder. Half my body, my right arm and right leg remained in the open. Loud cracks from the men's pistols slapped at my right ear. Each passing shot a giant, invisible hornet. I slid down in to a crouch and unfolded the Rekyl's bipod legs. Safety. I set the Rekyl to repetition and came about to plant the spikes in to the ballast. Aiming right-handed, I squinted at the running figures through the rear sights and laid the three-pronged foresight upon a Graw in a patched khaki jacket. "People…" I muttered. They're watching like it's a bloody football game! "My money's on the large lads," I grunted. Who in their sorry life is gonna bet on me? I cursed some more, spat, swiped the Rekyl in to my arms, and bolted. No such handicap was placed upon Graw, who kept blasting away with their pistols. What? In the midst of the barrage, a rail began vibrating under my foot. "Oh no…"
The growing rattle began dislodging ballast. The miniature landslide dragged the ground away from underneath me. Chunks of the grey stone shook themselves free and slipped through gaps in the bridge. Behind me, the firing died down. Ahead, a steel wall marked with two bright, shining eyes barrelled towards me. I snatched a look at Graw. All four stood poised, ready to move in whichever direction I moved in. No good here. There was simply not enough space for me to stay out of the shuttle's way. Oh no, James, what are you doing? My teeth rattled in their roots. First one boot then the other stepped over the bar, leaving me balancing upon the edge, with only my arms hooked around the bar keeping me from falling in to the mine-laced water below. Held in place by my boots, the Rekyl pushed at them, desperate to be carried down in to the water with the shower of ballast. I turned my head and caught a glint of a muzzle aimed at me from around a girder. The scream caught in my throat right as the bullet shot past my face. Simultaneously, the shuttle careered in the other direction. A wave of air punched me in the back, unseating one of my boots and flinging it outwards. A squeal, and sparks flew from the wheels. A second shot disrupted the air before me.
With the cyclone's passing, I opened my eyes and raised one leg over the bar. Where's the Rekyl? I dragged my toecap through the ballast. Steel met steel. Gotcha. My hands ploughed at the dust-covered L4, and carried it off like a newborn. My boots struck the tracks, mounting the ringing steel, and carrying me onwards. Throne, what's pushing these guys on? I skidded to one side. More shots rang out. All this for a bloody stubber?
Abruptly, the shooting faded. Obscenities echoed along the struts and girders. The opposite bank, platforms similar to the western sector, reared above me. Barbed wire fencing barred me access to the platforms, neither of which held crowds of bystanders staring at me. "Hey, anyone!"
A chunk of platform near my shoulder exploded. My knees collapsed under me. My 338 fell from my shoulder. The Rekyl slammed on to the ground.
"That's one of ours, you fool!" A faraway shriek reached me. Figures in camouflage rushed along the platform and began removing the barricades.
"Come on, get his rifle and stubber. Bring him out of there!"
"Name. Rank." A hand slapped me across my cheek. "Name and rank. Answer me!"
"Larn. I'm Lairs – Alderian Light Air Def…" I babbled. "I got the gun back."
"Right, on your feet, Larn." Hands upon my arms lifted me up.
"That's our L4. I got it back from Graw," I mumbled. My feet dragged along the platform. "Tell the lieutenant I got it back as ordered."
"Okay, pal, you're safe now."
"Right headcase thing that, running in front of a train."
"Leave it alone. Can't you see he's ballbagged."
"I'm al… I can walk." I shook free. "Just…" I unclasped my chinstrap and let my cover dangle by it. Is that it then. I'm alright? I pulled at the snaps of my flak jacket and unzipped it, letting free a warm musk. Where are we going now? My boots clacked upon a staircase leading down from the platform to street level where a six-wheeled armoured car and two Hennus lorries were parked and under guard. An officer wearing a black beret waved me towards one of the lorries. "Mount up, Guardsman, quick as you can. Sarn't, I need a quick run over to Regia Barracks. This gunner is returning to his unit."
"Sir."
I crawled inside the lorry and fell against the frame, stretching my legs out. "Ahh, God…" I touched the sodden material covered by my body armour.
"Bet your sick of the sight of this now." A grunt hoisted the L4 up in to the lorry and slid it over to me. "Nice one sticking it to Graw, mate. Wish I could've seen it." I waved a limp hand at the considerate grunt. Couldn't give a shit, pal, I'm shagged.
The violent thumping in my chest gradually matched the rhythm of the moving lorry. Not even the roving packs of youths throwing stones at the Hennus disturbed me. My neck rested against the hard collar of my body armour. Arms sat limp in my lap. My legs were splayed across the compartment, with my boots planted upon the opposite bench. From inside the shoulder-bruising weight of my body armour, I brought out my egg-shaped canteen and sucked every drop of the lukewarm water out. God, that's good. I sat the canteen on the bench and drew my shaking hand back and let out a quiet moan. It's okay, James, you're alright.
You godless bastard, come back here.
"No…" I hugged the shoulders of my flak jacket and rocked forwards. My muzzle wavered in the stickie's face, warm and eager to follow through with its thunderous stream of lead spat at Graw. Through the snaking finger of smoke, the stickie reached for the steel. She wanted death. For me to kill her. Why? I found the crumpled ball of notepaper Risto threw at me inside a hip pocket and smoothed it out across my knee. Pale, dark, strong-featured, bright eyes... perfect. A lump ballooned in my throat. Oh, Bull, Skargo, why'd it have to be you? I pressed a damp hand against my forehead and propped my elbow against my leg. God, I should be with you all, not here being stalked by this mad stickie and shot at by civilians. Who is she and why is she here?
The Hennus swung round, the driver braking hard enough to bring us to a stop. My cover tipped from the bench and thudded against the floor where my rifle lay next to the Rekyl. A bang came from the cab. "Debus, soldier, I'm not waiting all day!"
This is it. I've made it. I hopped down in to the yard where the Joparr vehicles were parked. The same sentry – probably a different para – watched me. A glowing cigarette poking out from between his lips. Rifle, L4, cover, canteen, and paper. I leapt away from the reversing lorry, the only indicator being two tiny tail lights that were near-invisible during the day. Steady on there. How's it going to look if I get run over outside the barracks?
The Joparr sentry laughed and turned away. "Oi, lend us a smoke will ya, pal?" I limped over. "Had a right proper run around gettin' this thing back from Graw, I did."
"Uppity little shit." The Joparr laughed nonetheless. He had a brownish complexion and wore his beret in the same odd way the other paras did. "Rekyl for a Raiman – one Raiman. Trade ya."
"Not on your bloody life." I sneered. "…Do one."
"Walk away free today, boy. Next time I give you a scar to remember it." The Joparr's slant eyes narrowed. "Don't be leaving any brown footprints around the yard. I don't want to tread in any of your Alderian shit!"
Elitist prick. I scowled.
"Mission accomplished, Private." A man in stripes spoke from the darkened corridor I entered. It was Reimer.
"Sarn't." How the hell did he know I was back?
"That's sergeant to you, Private. Be very careful who you say that to." Reimer unfolded his arms and waggled a finger at me. "I'll be having that L4 automatic now. Pass your rifle and ammunition too."
"Er, Sergeant, Lieutenant Ahern ordered Stazak and I to retrieve it…"
"Bombardier Stazak is currently on light duties due to injuries sustained earlier this morning, Private. In fact, you can carry those weapons. Follow me."
Is that it then, no thank you, no bloody well done, Larn? I swallowed the snarl that rose in my throat. I'm in enough trouble…
Once more under Reimer's eye, I returned both my 338, the L4, and their corresponding magazines to the Armoury corporal, as well as my cover, body armour, and belt kit. "A little late this one, isn't it, Sarn't?" the corporal commented.
"I don't see any problems here, Corporal. Do you?"
"We'll see once the store's been over these weapons. Ahh, I don't like this one, he's got a nasty big chin on him."
"A lip too. Alright, you may report to Lieutenant Ahern to resume your duties at once, Private."
"Yes, Sergeant."
"Beret."
"Yes, Sergeant." I produced my squished beret from the back pocket of my trousers and shaped it to my head.
"Right, off you go."
"Sergeant."
"Larn, straight to the lieutenant. You are not to deviate to the other ranks' billet. D'you understand?"
"Yes, Sergeant." My eyes fell to the floor. Inside the officer's billet, I trudged to the spare room allocate to Ahern and knocked on the door. "Should you be in here?" An officer stopped at my back. "Well stand at attention, damn you." I about-faced and stamped upon the carpet, bringing myself to attention, just as the door opened, whereupon I spun about stamped again, and stood straight in front of Lieutenant Ahern. "Sir, Private Larn reporting back to the battery commander as ordered, sir!
"Emperor's balls, Larn," Lieutenant Ahern exclaimed, blinking and shaking his head. "My runner, sir, I sent him out on an errand earlier this morning."
"I see. Well, Lieutenant, I do not like common soldiers wandering around in officer's country unsupervised. You know as well as I that they are nothing but thieves and shirkers that turn to crime unless kept on a tight leash."
"Absolutely, sir." Ahern nodded. I remained rigid and listened to the fading footsteps. "God, Larn, tell me you have it…" Ahern clasped his hands together. "Actually, come in, come in."
"Sir."
"At ease, Larn." Ahern unfolded a camp chair and sat. "Tell me…"
"Sir, both 338 and Rekyl are back in the Armoury."
Ahern flopped back in the chair and let out a slow gout of air. "Well done – bloody well done, Larn. I had – I had a good feeling about you." Ahern waved a finger. "Alright, I can put that in my report. What about ammunition?"
"Sir?"
"You brought back the ammunition too, didn't you?"
"Full magazine for the 338, sir. Not a single round fired."
"Good, that makes things easier to explain."
"I… I had to shoot the L4, sir."
"How many rounds?" Ahern's face went white.
"I dunno, maybe just over two-thirds of the magazine."
"…Right, I will need you to take down your own version of the events of this morning. If you could get started on that now, and I'll have it by lunchtime, Private."
"Umm, yes, sir."
"I will warn you, there may be an investigation in to the incident. You may be called up for an interview in the near-future, so don't be alarmed."
"Sir." My shoulders slumped.
"I'm sorry it had to be you, Larn." Ahern folded his arms and scratched his chin. "Stazak took a few knocks in that crowd, trying to follow you…"
"I wondered where you all went, sir. I looked for on the bridge, so I did."
"Alright, that's enough now, Private. You err – you go back to your billet." Ahern shifted his chair around far enough to face away from me. "I don't need anything else now."
"Yes, sir."
I've put my foot in it now. Why does it have to be this way? Outside the officer's billet,I laid a hand upon my stomach, nursing the gaping hole there. Art, where's Art?
I slunk in to the sports' annex and back to the gymnasium. Small groups of gunners sat facing one another on the camp beds, chatting, smoking, playing games, or attending to kit. My kitbag – with the name Larn scrawled in black pen on the canvas – sat unopened. A few gunners glanced in my direction. Nobody called out. Why would they? I'm the outsider. I don't belong here. I climbed on to the bed, letting my weight stretch the fabric. Right then, I cared only that my feet were off the floor.
"Alright?" Art's blurred face hung over me. "Hellooo?"
"Urgh…" I twisted on to my side and leant on my elbow. "I fall asleep, Art?"
"Pfft, dunno, you just appeared there." Art squatted next to me. "Got a good game going on."
"Wha – hold on, I just brought the bloody L4 back. Cleaned up Ahern's mess and you're playing games!"
"Heh, speaking of mess, Snepp's getting a month of fizzers for losing the L4." Art tittered. "Maybe you get a promotion, huh?"
"Aw, thanks for the sympathy, pal." I undid the buttons and zipper on my jacket. The sleeves were covered in a thin dust and smelt of propellant. "Can't wait to get my posting."
"Well, you're back now." Art's tone changed. "Sorry, James, we had a bit of a rough wake-up on the bridge."
"They shot at me y'know."
"Well, you had it worse than us. And we ran away while you went in there alone and brought our gun back. Bloody hero."
"No, Art, I don't like that. That's not me." I hooked a finger inside my shirt collar. "Listen, I've gotta write my report."
"Report, on what?"
"Aw, don't be a thick cunt, I'm—" I broke off. My throat tightened enough to stall me mid-sentence. "I'm sorry, Art, I've had a bit of a time."
"Tell, tell."
"Mmm." I wrinkled my nose. "Later, I've gotta write this up before lunch. You got some paper I can use?"
"Err, Stazak's in charge of our admin. He's over there with the lads."
"Right." I lifted my foot and found the laces underneath my puttee. "Had enough stomping around in these…" I tugged the laces through the eyelets, loosening the tough leather enough for my foot to slide out. Hope I haven't got blisters, they'll really do me in for the rest of the week. "Ow."
"Hold on." Art rose, stuck his hands in his pockets and sauntered over to Stazak.
"Art…" I watched Art jerk a thumb at me. Everybody's head turned around.
"Didn't hear him come in," Wenrok said.
"He get that stubber back?"
Stazak got up and stepped between Kerris' and Samuel's shoulders. He bore a purple mark beneath one eye and most of his right hand was in a cast. Shit, he took a bunch of fives.
"Tell me this weren't for nothing." Stazak waved his hand at me.
"I'm safe and sound."
"Knew I should have left you in Wyrig and Samuel's care. That bloody L4's worth more than you are—"
"Bomb, he got it back. The Rekyl and his rifle too," Art said. "James did good, huh?"
"This true?" Stazak stared down at me. "And don't interrupt me."
"Yeah, Bomb."
"Now, see, if you'd come back without it, you'd be off your feet and languishing in the Glasshouse so fast your clobber would have fallen off. I dunno what's keeping you in one piece, boy, but I'll be quite pleased seeing your back."
"Alright, Bombardier, I've got orders to write my report and I need some paper and a pencil."
"You're a grown-up… mostly. You can go find some yourself. If you can survive the Green Sector, you can find a bloody pencil and paper. Dig out, Private." Stazak stumped off back to his game.
"I'm gonna be extra nice and give you some of this." Art took a pad of drawing paper from his kitbag.
"Erm, Whassat picture there?" I glimpsed flowing hair.
"Mm, bit of a side hobby that. Not suitable for you." Art grinned.
"Not suitable for me! I'm eighteen, mate, and I've seen more combat than you."
"You 'aven't got a fucking clue, James." Art flipped some sheets over and tore a clean one out. "How many tours then? Go on." He flicked a pencil in to my lap.
"Uhh, one, I guess. Bastille innit. Bloody Butcher's Rock."
"Skagerrak. Platis." Art ticked them off on two fingers. "That's my TI."
"TI?"
"Time in – so yeah, I've got more TI than you, son. Want some char, Oppo?"
"Aw, char, give it me straight up."
"What, no milk?"
"Uhh, yeah, milk actually. I never…" I scratched my head. "Gonna have to run oppo past me again, Art."
"Buddy-buddy innit. Go on, get writing." I kicked at Art's shins as he scampered away.
"Knob," I tutted. So, when is this from then? Before we set out, or when I left the battery? I pressed the nub against the paper, leaving a round indent. I can't mention Risto and the stickie. I don't want them getting hurt – involved – I mean. I bit down upon the end of the pencil. Blood warmed my cheeks. What would Bull, Skargo, and Davir think of me? Bloody mad is what.
Regia Barracks, Norn, 15:49
An aching bladder made standing up agony. How long are they going to keep me here? I shifted my weight from one foot to the other and resisted scratching my groin. Art's donated woolly-pully itched my neck. Art's pair of boots, considerably cleaner than mine, he loaned to me on the condition that I spilled to him exactly what had happened after I left the battery.
"Larn, in you come."
Okay, how did it go again? Stamp, about-face, stamp again, and march…
"Shut the door behind you." A staff non-commissioned officer in barrack dress stood off to one side facing two uniformed officers sitting behind a desk. One officer waited before a square tabletop cogitator, the other had a pile of papers spread out on his side of the desk. "Sit down, Private."
I took the chair in front of the desk and perched on the edge. The SNCO to the side sat down facing me and folded his arms.
"I am Captain Henniker, this is WO2 Lammert. We are here to take your statement. CS7 is here for your benefit."
My benefit? I glanced at the colour sergeant. I don't even know who he is.
"In your own words, Private." The captain readied his pencil. The warrant officer extended his fingers to the keyboard.
"From – from when my battery left the barracks or when I left the battery at the bridge, sir?"
"In your own words, describe your participation in your battery's operation in Green Sector East, Private."
Through the stumbles and stutters, I offered a rough retelling from when I dropped from the bridge, up to when I escaped from Graw, leaving out only Risto's and the woman's involvement in the affair. None of the room's occupants made a sound. There was only the scratch of the pen upon the paper and the rapid clatter of the keys.
"Private Larn, you say you returned fire upon gunmen in the Green Sector. How many gunmen did you see, and how many rounds did you fire?"
"I… I saw six, maybe seven gunmen coming out of an alley. I stopped to check if they were armed and didn't fire until they fired at me. Sir, can I get a drink?"
"How many rounds did you fire, Private?"
"I f – I fired twenty-four rounds, sir."
"How could you have fired twenty-four rounds, Private? That exceeds the maximum capacity of your service weapon."
"I had my rifle slung, sir. I used the section automatic to defend myself."
"Were you authorised to employ an automatic weapon in an urban environment, Private?"
"I… I… I don't know, sir."
"And on the bridge, did you return fire on the four gunmen you said were pursuing you?"
"No, sir, there were large crowds of civilians on the station platforms directly in my line of fire."
"Private Larn, at any point did you receive assistance from civilian personnel?"
I looked down at my knees and answered. "No, sir."
"In your opinion were all rounds fired in accordance with the yellow card?"
My clasped hands tightened in my lap. "Sir?" What the hell is the yellow card?
"Were all rounds fired in accordance with the rules of engagement?"
My eyes never left the creases in my trousers. "Yes, sir."
"There are no further questions, Private. If you sign your name on the dotted line here and here, CS7 will see you out."
"Yes, sir." After signing the statement, I pushed back the chair and tugged the hem of my jumper down.
"Attention." The colour sergeant rose with me. Art's boots stamped together. I about-faced and marched through the door the colour sergeant held open for me. What a bunch of heartless bastards. About as soulless as a stickie.
Outside the shadows had lengthened. A golden sunset tinged with pink poked over the barracks' roofs, glinting upon the sharp contours of the parked Sixers. I placed my hands in my pockets and headed in the direction of the billet.
"Over here."
I turned, expecting to see the sentry rolling up on me. "Hello?" A tingle danced down my spine. "Ow." I pressed my hand to my lower back. The woman in red.
"Over here, James."
"Art?" I hunted through the fat transports and found Art sitting upon some steps behind some wheeled bins. "Mate?"
"Smoke?" Art shook a packet of cigarettes at me. "Down in the dumps, mate?"
"Just don't, Art." Art dropped a cigarette at my feet. I picked it up and blew off the dirt. "C'mon, light me."
"You want to talk about it?"
"Fucking officers…" I dipped the fag underneath a cheap lighter Art held out.
"Heh-heh, you said it."
"Just officers."
"Officers."
"I want – I want my posting out of here right now." I blew smoke from my nostrils and rubbed an eyelid. "I told the lifers lies. They came right back with some bullshit about a yellow card and rules of engagement. Who follows rules when you're in a contact? It's put as much fire downrange as possible and pummel the shit outta your target, or just bolt if your outgunned. God, I never had any problems like this on Bastille, or even in Phase One." My voice cracked. "There's enemy and there's us, Art. Here I can't tell enemy from civvy until the shooting starts—" A rising tickle in my throat brought on a fit of coughing.
Art put his arm around my head and pulled me over. "S'alright, James. You won today. Look at what you did." Art ruffled the short buzz of hair at the back of my neck. "I doubt many of us could have pulled it off. Double-hard, you are."
"So, we all just carry on like it didn't happen then? And I get a bollocking from the lifers." I rubbed at my throat.
"Well yeah, so what? It happened. You got your bundook, you did the job…"
"Aw, I'm begging you, Art." I groaned.
Art burped. "Sorry, uhh, your gat – rifle!"
"I tell you what…" I burst out laughing and wiped at my eyes with the back of my hand. "That bloody L4's a pig to carry."
"You got off rounds though, didn't you?"
"I got off rounds. Hit nothing – haha. Lotta noise, nothing else." I followed the smoke trail from my cigarette rising up in to the air. Flecks of ash gathered at my feet.
"Yeah, you balls didn't get blown off by a nail bomb either."
"Weren't me balls I was worried about, mate. I was this close to becoming an OG speck on the window of a train. Not how I imagined I'd go."
Art laughed at the exhaustive account I gave him of crossing the bridge. "Hah – I'm gonna write this one down and tell my kids one day."
"Tell you what else you can take down." I gestured to Art, cigarette balanced between fingers. "Look, I trust you, Art. I want you to listen." I dropped the spent butt and crushed it underneath my heel. "'Ere." I searched inside my trouser pocket and pulled the piece of notepaper out.
"Heart-shaped face, pale, dark hair…" Art smoothed the paper upon the step. "What's that? You've scribbled on it here. Pierced ears?"
"I saw your sketches. Wondered if you could do that for me?"
"Hmm, one condition."
"Yeah?"
"I'll be having that woolly-pully and them stompers back." Art grinned.
"Okay, good one, pal."
"We'll get 'em back."
"Who, Graw?"
"Whoever started on us at the barricade. Trust me, when we bang in to the Green Sector, they won't know what hit 'em."
"Alright then, how d'you tell civvy from enemy?"
"Whoever's shooting at us is enemy."
"You can't, Art. It's just impossible. It's not just grunts against Greenskins. We've got ourselves a shit detail here and it's the lifers' fault, and the Crotch." I ground the smouldering fragments in to dust under my heel.
"I've got your back." Art's hand wrapped around mine. "Me oppo."
"Me oppo." I shook our bond gently. "'Bout time we got back I s'pose."
"Mm yeah. Race you back to the billet."
"You're bloody on!"