Hello again, this is the second chapter of the story. If any of you have ever watched the film 'Centurion' (One of my favourite films set in the Roman period) you will likely recognise one of the scenes in this chapter. If you haven't seen the film, check it out.

If any of you have any feedback: positive or negative, I'd really appreciate it. I really want to ensure the quality of this story in its entirety. If any of you are wondering, yes I am willing to rewrite chapters to make the story flow better.

Sidenote: I'm back at university now and I'm doing a fairly intense course which means that my update schedule may slow down somewhat. Still, I hope you enjoy the chapter.


Chapter 2 – Over the Hills and Far Away

When the soldiers of the 195th had been given this posting, Colonel Demetris had requested mechanized transportation. This request was denied by Segmentum Command but as a consolation prize, the garrison had been given horses to make up for it.

At first Colonel Demetris had been furious… but he'd quickly changed his mind once he'd surveyed the terrain of their new home. The thick forests and uneven ground would have been incredibly difficult for even the sturdiest of tracked vehicles, never mind the wheeled variants.

The garrison had been given twenty horses of varying quality and breed. To choose their eventual riders, guardsmen who had any sort of experience at riding horses had been called upon to demonstrate their ability or lack thereof in front of Colonel Demetris and his staff.

The twelve best riders were then chosen, one of which was Locke. He knew it wasn't because he was particularly good at riding; rather, most of the soldiers in the two companies were so abysmal at it, it practically made him a fully-fledged Rough Rider in comparison.

The open grounds of the monastery covered the entirety of the hill's crown, all of which was now enclosed within the 12-foot-high wooden wall. The original part of the fortification, jutting forth near the monastery's entrance, was a curtain of crumbling onyx stone which ended abruptly around a quarter of the summit's perimeter.

In the early days of the garrison's deployment, work teams had laboured around the clock to establish a new set of defences built from local timber. Where the old wall ended was where the new began as it swept round the rest of the hills summit until it ran up against the mountainside. The pinnacle of the newly constructed palisade was the gatehouse located on the northern section to allow access to and from the outside world.

From the enclosed courtyard and through the gatehouse, ran a dirt road which followed the shape of the perimeter of the wall. It was bordered by the shear cliffside before it bent round in a hairpin turn; descending in a series of ramps cut into the precipice which formed a winding serpentine trail.

Looking up from the clearing, it looked like a giant had carved a zig-zagging pattern into the bluff as the pathway ponderously made its way from summit to valley floor. Upon reaching the wide kill zone surrounding the hill, the dirt track set off straight towards the east where it was soon immersed by the neighbouring woodland.

Within the confines of the monastery's grounds stood the stables and various storehouses buttressed up against the mountainside on the western edge of the compound. The latrines stood in the north-eastern corner, right next to the gatehouse. It had quickly become a joke amongst the garrison that the first thing to welcome you back, after an often-miserable sentry duty at the outpost, was the smell of shit.

A large portion of the monastery's grounds was taken up by a large patch of beaten dirt, laughingly designated as the parade ground. It bore witness to near continual use as the ground was pressed hard from the repeated stamping feet of troops practicing their drill every other day by order of Commissar Virilus.

Locke, along with the other chosen scouts, headed to the ramshackle stables. Behind them the guardsman of 1st and 2nd platoon of 'B' company formed up into a marching column. Patting the door frame for good luck, the guardsmen ducked under the low entryway as each of them made their way to their assigned mount. The mixed aroma of dry hay, timber shavings and horse dung filled the air, a nostalgic smell of Locke's teenage years.

The sound of the stable door opening caused all of the beasts to pause their fervent chewing as each animal in turn poked their heads over the stable doors at the sudden commotion. An assortment of snorts and whinnies welcomed the soldiers' entrance.

Stroking a few muzzles along the way, Locke walked to the stall marked with a 7 in high gothic numerals where a great chestnut stallion with a black mane waited impatiently for him. At Locke's approach, the horse started kicking the door with his forelegs, evidently excited at the prospect of leaving the confines of his stall behind.

"Hello there Fury, me old lad," Locke whispered. He placed a few mints into the palm of his right hand before holding them up to the horse's nose. The stallion hoovered up the treats in the blink of an eye, giving a snort in way of thanks. Locke stroked Fury's muzzle for a few moments, saying sweet nothings into the horse's ear as he entered the fiery mount's enclosure.

Grooming and tacking Fury turned out to be a pain as always; the scout had to weather a storm of bites and kicking hooves. "Come on now, none of that," Locke pleaded. After almost a year of riding the stallion, he had become proficient at dodging the majority of whatever his four-legged companion threw at him.

Unfortunately, on this occasion, Fury got lucky. A stray hoof caught Locke in the shoulder while he was picking out Fury's back hooves, sending him sprawling into the saw dust and narrowly avoiding a large pile of dung. The horse neighed loudly as if he found the whole thing highly amusing.

"Behave, you daft bastard!" The guardsman shouted. He picked himself up and did his best to brush off the saw dust that now clung to his uniform. He had to put up with almost ten minutes more of the horse's nonsense, before the beast finally relented and allowed Locke to get him ready.

Each scout rider led out their mount in turn, lining up next to one another on the parade ground facing towards the north. Capaldo was the last to the join the assembled party - her horse, as hard as it was to believe, was even more ill-behaved than Fury. Locke stood at attention with Fury's bridle in his right hand while his left remained at his side. Glancing down the line of dismounted horseman, Guardsman Haslinger cleared his throat.

"Scout riders! Mount!" the lead scout called.

The scouts, through a year of endless practice, proved to be as adept in their cavalry drill as the infantry were with their foot drill. Locke moved to Fury's flank, placed his left foot in the stirrup and in one clean motion brought himself up into the saddle. With only the slightest delay between them, the six horsemen mounted up virtually in unison which only increased Haslinger's proud smirk.

Major Skult with his small entourage walked over to the assembled scout riders. Haslinger, along with the rest his troop, snapped a smart salute which was duly returned.

"Impressive stuff Haslinger, your lot have been practicing I see." The officer complimented, squinting slightly as he looked up at the lead scout.

"Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome. Now let me make this clear, this operation will be done by the book. I want your vox-man-," Skult gestured to Lueker, who had his bulky vox caster strapped to his back, "-and another one of your mob to ride out on ahead to Outpost Landfall to see what's what. The rest will watch the column's flanks. If there's something out there that means us harm, then I want to know about it. Is that understood?"

"Crystal clear sir, you can count on us."

"Good, we move out in five minutes. I'll leave the briefing to you." Salutes by both parties were exchanged before Skult and his men moved back to the waiting column of guardsmen.

Haslinger watched the retreating officers back before turning to his scouts. "Alright lads and lass, I don't know about you, but I've got a horrible feeling in my gut about this whole thing so no sightseeing or dicking about. Keep your eyes open and stay sharp." He glanced round at the assembled horsemen who all gave him a firm nod of understanding.

"Locke go with Lueker. Do a vox check at Edmund's ford and then onto the outpost. When you're within about two miles of the place, get off the road and dismount. If you see or hear anything amiss, I don't care how small, contact the Major and get back to the column ASAP. You both got that?" They both chorused their agreement.

"Good get going then. Me and Capaldo will watch the northern approach to the column. Kosters and Faltz will watch the southern side. Any questions?"

A shake of heads. "Brilliant, take your positions."

The other scout riders moved to either side of the marching column where they stood at ease waiting for the command to advance. Locke and Lueker walked their horses towards the open gate.

"Hey Lueker!" One of the lookouts atop the gate called out. "If you see that wanker Lowe, you tell him he owes me a new razor!"

"I'll pass that along, Derril!" He waved back.

The mounted pair passed underneath the timber gatehouse and began the arduous and winding journey to the bottom of the hill along the narrow cliffside path. The idea of going anything faster than a walking pace filled the guardsman with dread. Fury, however, did not see it like that; the allure of freedom was making the horse borderline uncontrollable. "You alright there, Locke?" Lueker asked innocently.

"I'm fine," Locke said, straining against the reins.

"Fury not giving you any trouble?" Locke could hear the amusement in the man's voice.

"Nah, he's a bloody angel as always!" The scout quipped through gritted teeth. Locke kept the horse on a short rein but even that seemed to barely hold the fiery steed in check.

From behind them they heard the booming voice of Sergeant Major Dobbs as he signalled for the column to move.

"Company! By the right! Quick March!" He bellowed. The procession of infantry and their mounted lookouts burst into motion. "Left! Right! Left! Right! Left! Right! Left! Watch your spacing!" The Sergeant Major called once more.

Locke and Lueker rode carefully down the winding road, making sure to not go too close to the sheer edge. When they finally reached the base of the hill, Locke turned to see the footsloggers accompanied by the other scouts only a quarter of the way down the manmade slope. Many of the marching guardsmen were singing the familiar tune:

.

"Hark now the drums beat up again,

For all true soldier gentlemen,

So, let us list and march I say,

And go over the hills and far away."

.

"O'er the hills and a long way gone,

To go where the 'perium's light needs shone,

The Emper'r commands and we'll obey,

When over the hills and far away." [Chorus]

.

"There's twenty shillings on the drum,

For him that with us freely comes,

'Tis volunteers shall win the day,

Over the hills and far away."

.

[Chorus]

.

"Come gentlemen that have a mind,

To serve the Emper'r that's good and kind,

Come 'list and enter in to pay,

And go over the hills and far away."

.

[Chorus]

.

"'Prentice Tom may well refuse,

To wipe his angry master's shoes,

For now, he's free to run and play,

Over the hills and far away."

.

Locke smiled at the song; it was one of the regiment's favourites. He started drumming his fingers in time with the song on the pommel of Fury's saddle. The two men trotted their horses along the dirt track surrounded by the dormant tree stumps that littered the cleared area around the base of the hill.

The wood acquired from the felled trees had not gone to waste, as by necessity it had become the garrison's primary building material. It had been used to construct the various buildings and fortifications as well as the road that they travelled along. Lance Corporal Barden, the proud ex-lumberjack in 'A' Company, was of the opinion that the indigenous palantal timber was vastly inferior to the Narvosi silver sydern.

As the two of them drew closer to the edge of the woods, the cries of an assortment of different fauna welcomed them, the curious 'clicks' and 'caws' of pine raptors and hearty bellows of bessatros herds chief amongst them. From the edge of the clearing, it was around a mile and half to Edmund's ford followed by a further nineteen miles to reach the outpost.

Upon reaching the edge of the deforested area, the two scouts ran into a small party of half a dozen guardsmen led by Corporal Kaylene Elis, Locke's normal squad leader. Judging by the dead bessatros hanging from a pole held aloft by two of their party, they had clearly been sent out on a hunting expedition.

The carcass swayed eerily in time with the guardsmen's footsteps, its lifeless eyes peering at a world it could no longer see. Guardsman Juana Tapia, Locke's other previously absent squad mate was also in attendance, bringing up the rear of the hunting party.

As soon as Locke recognized his section leader, he raised a hand in greeting and halted Fury with a gentle tug on the reins. Lueker did the same but remained at a respectful distance.

"Is that our Locke?" Guardsman Tapia asked, shielding her eyes from the morning sun.

"It looks like it." Elis replied. "Ayy up Locke, taking Fury out for a jaunt?"

"Unfortunately, but what can you do, eh?" Locke shrugged. Taking advantage of their troop leader's distraction, the idle guardsmen took some respite before the grim journey uphill as they sat down and drank from their canteens.

"So, this is where you've been?" Locke said, gesturing at the dead deer-like beast.

"Lieutenant Maxim thought 4th Platoon deserved a nice change of pace from our daily MRE packs, so we got given the task of hunting tonight's dinner. I'm sure Kern and Gramm can make something tasty out of it," Elis said with a small smile. "So where are you off to then?"

"Me and Lueker drew the short straw and now we're on scout duty. Apparently, there's trouble at the outpost so we're gonna go have a little looksee."

"Poor thing," Tapia said, feigning sympathy. "Suppose it's only fair, while we've been out here since before the crack of dawn while you and the others have been sitting cushy."

"If that place is your idea of cushy," he said, pointing his thumb over his shoulder, "then I'd say you need to get your head checked. Any of ya got any food on you, by the way? I'm bloody famished."

"Sure." Elis Replied, "wouldn't be setting a good example if I let one of my own go hungry." She stated with a clear sarcastic tone as she searched through her webbing pouch.

"More of Doric's early morning lectures I take it?" Tapia chimed in.

"Pretty much. Don't get me wrong I like the guy; I just wish he'd let me have my breakfast in peace before dragging me away on one of his 'crazy' adventures."

"No one to blame but yourself. If you feed a stray cat, don't be surprised when it follows you home."

"I take it that's what happened with you and Jaxx?" Locke shot back.

"Depends on who you're calling the stray."

"Well, she's 6'1" and snores loud enough to wake the dead."

"Watch it you, another word and I'll pull you off that horse."

"If you two are finished," Elis cut in, having retrieved some edibles from her kit. "Will a nutrient bar and some grox jerky keep you going?"

"Corporal Elis, you are an absolute champion." Locke greedily took the food, admiring it with hungry eyes.

"Oh, shut up, you'll make me blush. Now get going before you're put on latrine duty for tardiness!" she said with a determinedly straight face before calling her tired troop back to their feet. The hunting party resumed their weary march and departed towards the monastery, Tapia flinging a rude gesture in Locke's general direction, leaving the pair of scouts alone.

Both of them took a few seconds to watch their fellow guardsmen leave, just a little way ahead of the hunting party, the column had finally reached the valley floor. Locke could feel the war horse's taut muscles wound up like a spring beneath him in eagerness at the sight of the open road. The two scouts in unison checked their chronometers.

"Infantry's finally made it, time we got going," Lueker stated.

"Agreed. At the canter?"

"By your lead."

"Try to keep up." Locke said.

Fury needed no other encouragement and was off like a high powered lasbolt. The young soldier watched from beneath his green visor as the world raced by in a blur; the thrill of moving quickly across the ground was intoxicating.

Who says the Guard can't be fun?

For the most part he let Fury have a free rein; the war horse knew where they were going, and at this point Locke was merely a passenger along for the ride. He checked behind to see that Lueker was just managing to keep up the pace despite his old mare, Nida.

Locke looked around him at the landscape whizzing by. They were deep within the woods now, surrounded by the alien conifer trees. The woodland stretched off into the distance in all directions with only the black peaks of the mountains breaking the monotony.

Up above it was a clear sky with sunlight streaming down through the canopy to the forest floor below; this gave a flawless view of the gas giant the moon orbited, Deyria Prime. Usually, Deyria Prime was obscured by the grey overcast clouds which were the norm on Deyria III, but not today.

The sweet aroma of pinecones and pine needles was everywhere around him as he rode along the track. It reminded him of when he would go for walks in the mixed forests near his hometown on Narvos.

I'll go back someday. I wonder what's changed?

By now, with a good amount of distance behind them, Fury's pace had transitioned back to a fast walk after releasing his pent-up energy. Locke didn't mind the change of speed, as now it gave him a chance to get a bite to eat. Lueker, catching up, was also visibly relieved that Fury had moved to a more manageable pace.

"You want some of this?" Locke mumbled through a mouthful of the nutrient bar whilst he held up the humble fare.

"If you can spare a bit of that grox jerky, then sure." Lueker replied

Locke threw him a piece that went wide. The other man had to lean out dangerously far from his saddle just to catch it, causing Nida to whiny in discontent at the abrupt change in her rider's balance.

"Throne, that was a bad throw, almost headbutted the ground," the vox operator criticized.

"Sorry, my aim's always been shite," Locke shrugged.

"I can see that. Makes me wonder how the hell you passed basic."

"Emperor was smiling on me the day of my shooting test, I guess. Normally I can't hit the broadside of a barn."

"I take it that's from the inside too?" Lueker asked sardonically. Locke shot him a grin before shaking his head.

They chatted absently for a while, but the conversation ebbed away almost as fast it had begun as they both tucked into their rations. The only things shattering the fragile silence was the soft sounds of horseshoes striking the ground, the slight breeze blowing through the trees and the faint calls of various woodland critters. When a stream came into view, Lueker reached round, pulling the microphone on the vox set from behind his back while he tuned it with his other hand.

"Exped 1, Exped 1, this is Vanguard 6. Vox check, over. "

"This is Exped 1, we read you loud and clear Vanguard 6, over."

"We've reached Edmund's Ford. What is your ETA, over?"

"ETA is 10 minutes. Be advised, maintain current separation, over."

"Copy that, over and out." Lueker said, placing the phone back into the vox set. Doing some basic mathematics in his head, Locke estimated that a ten-minute separation put them roughly just over two thirds of a mile in front of the advancing column.

"Well, that's not too bad, if all hell breaks loose, we're not too far away from the main force."

The two riders splashed through the ford and made it to the other side with ease, although to Locke it seemed the rather tranquil brook marked the edge of their home's outer boundary. From this point on, as far as they were both concerned, they had entered hostile territory that belonged to an unknown and unseen enemy, if one actually existed.

The mild paranoia that accompanied any scouting mission set in almost immediately. Locke was observing every bush, and tree for the tell-tale sign of movement. His head was on a constant swivel; scanning the foreground that flanked the roadside then peering deeper within the forest before moving up into the lush canopy and back again. Lueker was doing much the same.

Locke was uncomfortably on edge, despite all logic telling him not to worry. The likelihood of an enemy force coming out to an insignificant backwater like this was remote, but that did little to douse the growing disquiet he felt.

At uncertain times like these, if he were able, he'd flick through the sketchbook that his sister had given him on the day he'd left for boot camp; the guardsman had found that it never failed to focus his mind. He dared not do so now, not when he needed every ounce of his wits focused on his job, but he promised himself it'd be the first thing he'd do when they arrived at Outpost Landfall.

The two of them carried on with their search for another ten miles with nothing to report. They spoke not a word, completely focused on the dark glades and the insidious things that might hide amongst them. Every potential hiding spot was visually interrogated as the guardsmen's vision swept their surroundings.

A sudden burst in movement accompanied by rustling in the undergrowth to their left brought both scouts to an instant stop. Dismounting in a well-honed manoeuvre, they unholstered their lasrifles and brought them to bear in the general direction of the disturbance's source. Using a quick series of gestures, Locke signalled Lueker to cover him while he flushed out the threat.

Locke moved swiftly into the forest, wading through the vegetation. Within a few heartbeats his eyes had grown accustomed to the shade of the massive trees, many of which were easily the height of a multistorey hab block. Pushing on into the underbrush, the guardsman moved as silently as he could manage, rolling the edges of his feet to reduce the noise.

The lasrifle was cold in his hands, the stamped metal pressed up hard against his chest. Estimating he was within striking distance; Locke crouched against the rotting trunk of a fallen tree and gently squeezed the safety off. He took a deep breath to steady himself, followed by a silent prayer.

Now or never.

The guardsman pushed off with his legs and leapt over the dead tree in one fluid motion, whilst in the same instant bringing his weapon to bear on…

…. a harmless bessatros fawn, happily munching on a sapling's leaves. His abrupt intrusion drew its attention away from its meal; its eyes studied him as its ears flicked up in trepidation. The tension in the guardsman's limbs relaxed as he let out a long sigh of relief.

"False alarm Lueker, just a bessatros fawn!"

"Are you joking?"

"We'll just pretend this didn't happen," Locke called back, then turned back to the fawn. "Well played ya wee rascal."

The little beast's ears twitched once, then it bounded off back into the woods.

Lueker had already remounted by the time Locke left the forest's edge; his own horse was busy eating the alien flora. He mounted quickly and the two scouts returned to their duty.

"Now that was anti-climactic, wasn't it?" Lueker grinned.

"Bloody thing was lucky. If I had a quicker trigger finger, I'd have blown it apart."

"No, you wouldn't have, you'd have missed by about ten feet."

"And that's why you use full-auto."

"Ah, the old spray-and-pray technique."

"Exactly, my dear bed-shitter. If you don't hit anything, don't worry, just keep shooting till you do."

"Fuck off, don't call me that. It's bad enough with Arren and his mates using it at every given opportunity."

"Couldn't resist." Locke chuckled at the man's discomfort.

Four miles on from where they'd encountered the bessatros fawn, the road started to descend down a gentle slope into a shallow ravine. With no signs of danger, the two travelled along the man-made causeway.

They were within five miles of Outpost Landfall by now - they'd be in sight of it as soon as they came out the other side of the ravine - and Locke had almost managed to convince himself that nothing was wrong after all.

Almost.

It wasn't long after they had travelled halfway through the ravine that the two scouts soon noticed the mist.

"The hell?" Locke asked quietly. A creeping fog was seeping out of the treeline, clinging to the ground, growing thicker by the second. Lueker glanced up to the sun; it was just after noon and blazing as brightly as it had all morning, the sky perfectly clear.

"This fog should have burned off hours ago."

"This fog wasn't here hours ago, Lueker. It wasn't here five minutes ago! This isn't natural."

"Don't know about you, but I think Haslinger's gut might've been right."

"Can't remember it being wrong before. We have to halt the column. Now."

"Already on it." The vox operator replied, bringing the microphone to his mouth. "Exped 1, Exped 1, this is Vanguard 6. Come in Exped 1, over." In response, the receiver vomited scratchy static into the scout's ear, loud enough to make both him and his horse flinch.

"Exped 1, come in, over." Once again, the only reply received was indecipherable white noise.

The atmosphere had taken on a noticeably different tone; Locke could only think of it as a deep sense of foreboding. Their two mounts also sensed something was off. Nida was showing the whites of her eyes with her ears jerking at the slightest sound.

Fury too was acting up, his body rigidly tense, with his ears flat and nostrils flaring. Locke tried to calm him, but the horse took no notice of his softly spoken words. Something that Locke had learned early on in his life was that animals tended to have far better senses for things than humans.

The grox and kreery herds back home always knew when it would rain and would lie down in response. Likewise, the swift and feathered falcerys could always sense the subtle approach of winter and proactively journey south. The fact that the two horses were this upset was a troubling sign.

"Anything?" Locke asked.

"Hang on." Lueker muttered back as he continued to try to tune the unhelpful vox-set. "Maybe its interference from the dells?"

"Come off it. This isn't nor-" A sudden flash of movement in the canopy stopped the soldier mid-sentence.

"What?"

Locke ignored his question, his eyes glaring at the partially obscured trees. He had seen something; he was certain of it. It was only then he realized how silent everything suddenly was. The bestial calls and cries of many of Deyria's wildlife had gone quiet while the air itself felt cold and still despite the strength of the sun.

"I saw something."

"Are you sure?" The other scout asked, his voice cracking slightly as his nerves began to fray. "Maybe it was just a hurmat?" He reasoned but the explanation rang hollow in the frigid air.

Locke shook his head. This was no animal. The guardsman remembered as a child being taught about the five human senses at his local scholam. His strict teacher had declared them as such: sight, smell, hearing, taste, and touch, but with his time in the Guard, Locke came to realise there is in fact a sixth sense.

This sixth sense has no name, but it describes the feeling that anyone has when they are being watched or hunted; a subtle gift from mankind's primeval past. He felt that sense indicated by the pressure built up in the back of his head. There was something out there. Something hunting them both and it was closing in for the kill. Not wishing to alert their hunters, the scout tried to act as calmly as he could manage.

"Lueker," Locke began. "Shut up and do as I say." He hissed. "On my mark, we're gonna wheel about and ride as fast as we can back the way we came. Ya got that?"

The other scout, too on edge on to speak, swallowed and gave a small node in agreement. Another flash of movement from the other side of the road was all the confirmation that Locke needed. Taking in a deep breath in readiness; a shudder ran up from the base of his spine.

"Go!" Locke shouted, all pretence of ease and calm abandoned as the two scouts violently pulled their mounts about and charged off back in the direction they had come from. Locke kicked Fury into a gallop, but his mount was already ahead of him; the horse ploughed across the dirt track at breakneck speed, his hooves kicking up clouds of dust which mingled with the misty air.

Nida, obeying her equine herd instinct, followed alongside the galloping stallion while Lueker clung on for dear life. The guardsmen had only made it for several heartbeats when Locke finally caught sight of their hidden enemy.

In the overwhelming panic to escape, he had almost missed it. Crouched along a thick branch which protruded above the road, practically hidden amongst the green boughs, was a humanoid shape. It was clad in faded white armour with a skull mask that sent a wave of fear down through his body.

He had spotted the xeno too late however, the realization of his imminent and inevitable demise clamouring like a siren. There was no time to halt Fury or turn him away nor was there time to draw his lasrifle from its saddle holster. His own momentum had betrayed him to this alien swine.

The xeno, timing it perfectly, drew its blade and dropped from the tree's limb, aiming to skewer the guardsman through his shoulder down into his stomach. Time seemed to slow; Locke's vision focused on the wicked point of the alien's sword.

Whether through divine intervention or sheer luck, Nida, practically mad with fear, smashed into Fury's side. A sharp gasp accompanied his grunt of pain as the guardsman's leg was crushed against the mount's flank while Lueker cursed incoherently at his steed's clumsiness.

This violent collision had the unintended side effect of pushing both Locke and Fury out of harm's way. Unable to alter its trajectory midfall, the xeno ended up spearing poor Lueker through his collar bone.

Staring back at the scene as he rode on, Locke watched in horror as the sudden impact of the falling xeno broke the beast's back; causing her to crash to the floor. The mortally stricken horse mewled pathetically as she slid across the rough track; a short bloody trail left behind her.

The unwanted alien passenger, unperturbed, simply surfed along the crippled mare's body before it came to rest. Once it had done so, it removed its shimmering sword from the lifeless guardsman and gave the dying horse a swift end.

Not wanting the same grisly end for either himself or his own mount, he pushed his feet hard into Fury's flanks while lashing the stallion's harness… only for his blood to freeze in his veins as six more of the terrifying warriors stepped onto the road thirty paces ahead with their weapons drawn.

Charge straight ahead, onto those shimmering blades, or risk the unknown within the woods - Locke chose the latter.

It was advised that the scout riders refrained from cantering or galloping through heavily forested areas unless the situation left no other option.

If this isn't one of those times, then I don't know what is.

Acting quickly, he pressed his left foot hard into Fury's flank and tugged the horse so that he went careening into the awaiting forest.

Fury barely acknowledged the incline as he rocketed up the short hill and plunged into the woods. Twigs, branches, and leaves buffeted the guardsman and horse, but that was a minor annoyance.

Much more serious was the combination of unnatural mist and thick foliage almost immediately cutting visibility to just a few feet. The thought of getting lost and being unable to find the road flickered through Locke's mind, but was quickly overshadowed by the more pressing matter of survival.

Unable to see where they were going, the pair ran headlong into a briar thicket. The vicious thorns took hold instantly, ripping into Locke's skin and Fury's flanks. Within seconds, horse and rider were covered with long, bloody slashes. Fury, finest horse of the Imperium by Locke's estimation, did not relent; he powered on through the bushes and onwards.

Are we safe? Did we lose them?

Locke risked a peek over his shoulder and was greeted with the sight of two of the aliens sprinting effortlessly along the spindly branches and boughs of the giant palantal trees up above.

Definitely not. Throne, how can they be this fast?

He switched back to his front, doubling over as he pushed Fury on. "Come on, lad, stay with me!"

Fury whinnied in fear, thrashing his head while globs of spittle flew from his muzzle. The guardsman kicked his mount's sides and lashed the horse's bridle to maintain the withering pace. Locke panted almost as hard as his horse, a trickle of blood and sweat running down his face. He hauled Fury left and right, dodging a myriad of obstacles as tree trunks, stumps and low hanging branches flew by in a high-speed blur.

And all the while, the alien warriors, dashing elegantly along the tree limbs above, closed in on their quarry.

Something caught Locke's attention from his peripheral vision: a tunnel of light, a break in the morass of greenery and fog. The road; the promise of the column and safety. Fury noticed it too and galloped towards it without any prompting.

Not wanting their prey to escape, the alien warriors descended to the lower boughs, their nimble feet eerily silent as they vaulted between the branches, somehow gaining on a mounted rider. One of them, in an incredible display of its skill, jumped off one branch, flew through the air to grab hold of another, and then swung itself onto a log to Locke's left, all in one fluid motion.

His chest grew tighter with panic while trying hopelessly to keep his vision locked onto the light at the forest's edge. The promise of safety was so close, only a few yards more. All sense of self-discipline broke down in that moment as he stole a glance to either side only to regret it.

The alien warriors were poised to strike when all at once, rider and horse exploded out of the forest in a green and brown shower of leaves and twigs. Their pursuers did not follow him onto the road, seemingly refusing to chase beyond the confines of the trees.

He didn't stick around to wonder why. Fury breathed hard while a fine sheen of sweat coated his flanks, but Locke refused to let the animal slow. After another mile of hard riding, they turned a bend and came face to face with a mass of figures partially shrouded by the cloying mist - the column at last.

Locke raised his hand in greeting to a rather confused-looking Lieutenant Carr and a now worried Major Skult - who were at the forefront of the column. The main force had at some point switched their formation from the marching column to a more appropriate patrol stance set in loose order: two offset lines travelling along the edges of the road. Locke guessed that they had probably adopted the formation once they had crossed Edmund's Ford.

Around fifty paces separated the mounted scout from his brothers in arms, the hope of safety so tantalizingly close. However, the sense of relief that Locke felt was short lived. The base of a nearby palantal tree and another further down the road exploded, shattering his hopes as the blast sent visible shock waves rippling through the mist.

Large splinters were sent in all directions, one of which spun off through the mist and speared Guardsman Stanier's throat. The hapless soldier clasped at his gargling windpipe; a river off blood seeping through his fingers as he slumped to the ground, his lasrifle hitting the floor with a metallic clatter.

Taken by surprise, Fury bucked violently and threw Locke backwards out of the saddle before the dazed soldier had time to react. The wind was knocked from his chest as he smacked into the ground, his bleary sight staring at the sky. It was then that he noticed one of the treetops, swaying violently unlike its brethren as its trunk bent towards him, gradually filling his vision more and more.

Only at the last second did Locke realise that the tree was falling toward him. Rolling away, the ancient giant yawned painfully as it came crashing down onto the spot he had presently occupied. A thin plume of dust and errant fog was sent skyward as the felled tree collapsed across the road. The imperials were boxed in.

The soldiers of the expedition were paralyzed by the abrupt detonations until the gruff voice of Sergeant Major Dobbs cut through the confusion.

"Ambush! Get to cover!" the NCO roared.

"Get off the road! 1st Platoon, defensive perimeter to the north! 2nd Platoon, defensive perimeter to the south! Move, move, move!" Major Skult shouted to the strung-out expeditionary force. The two lines of infantry frantically separated and moved into the woods and the two drainage ditches that flanked either side of the trackway.

Locke, overwhelmed by the raw smell of burnt wood and pine sap, found himself submerged in a sea of downed foliage. Shrouded in darkness and unable to breathe due to his clogged respirator, he ripped off the faulty equipment only to suffer several racking coughs from the lungfuls of dust he'd inhaled.

The trapped scout clawed his way towards the light, gasping for clean air. The guardsman ponderously pulled himself along the ground away from his leafy prison, his fingers biting into the sharp gravel. After several minutes groping around he managed to pull himself over a branch whilst several splinters dug their way into the meat of his hands. The scout cursed, hauling himself over the fallen bough and back into the sunlight.

His dirt covered form flopping onto the road was spotted by two nearby guardsmen, Laen and Wyllis, who immediately moved to help their comrade. Much to Locke's appreciation, they ignored the orders of their section leader to get back.

Dashing across the road in a crouched run, the two soldiers dragged the disoriented Locke by the straps of his webbing into the relative safety of the overgrown drainage ditch. With a dry raspy voice, Locke thanked the pair who moved away to take up a defensive position at the lip of the trench close to a rotting tree stump.

The battle-hardened voice of Sergeant Major Dobbs called from across the other side of the road once more.

"Company! Prepare to repel!" The command echoing down the ravine.

At that command, every man's right hand went to the bayonet sheath on their webbing, waiting in readiness for the last part of the command. Locke, even in his disorientated and dishevelled state, still reached for his bayonet out of ingrained habit from his relentless training. He stopped himself when he realized that he didn't even have his lasrifle. It had still been in its saddle holster when Fury had bolted.

Shit!

After several agonizing seconds, the last part of the command finally came. "Fix bayonets!"

In unison, every guardsman carrying a lasgun slipped the 10-inch blade from its sheath and attached it onto the barrel.

From somewhere unseen, Major Skult shouted encouragement to the men of the 195th. "Steady men, steady! No matter what comes out of that mist lads, you will hold the line! Do your duty, for the Emperor protects!"

Taking a moment to get his bearings, Locke wiped the dust from his helmet's visor. The scene that greeted him was one of soldiers stooped low, urgently moving down the ditch line into decent firing positions. Autocannon teams were doing their best to set up as fast as they could on either side of the road while suffering the scathing words of their section leaders.

"Get that autocannon set up, you sodding bastards!" Sergeant Glasdern's voice was chief amongst them as he chastised an adjacent gun crew.

Locke hated to admit it, but the aliens had chosen the location of their ambush perfectly. The road ran along the basin of a V-shaped valley bracketed by gentle tree covered slopes. It wouldn't matter how well dug-in the men of the 195th were, they would still be extremely vulnerable from enemy fire from the opposite side of the ravine.

The scout shook himself out of his shocked stupor. I've got to find the Major! I've got to-

His internal monologue was cut short as all hell broke loose. The expedition was only just starting to recover its cohesion when high velocity flashes of light sliced through the mist to cut down every one of 'B' Company's vox operators in quick succession. The scout had arrived too late, the battle was on and its inevitable outcome loomed close.

"Snipers!" Corporal Carrin yelled, who slid into cover behind a fallen log just off to Locke's left. The experienced eldar sharpshooters soon shifted their focus onto the heavy weapons teams and officers. Their insidious goal to sow as much confusion and terror into the ranks of the imperials.

"Return fire! Give 'em hell!" Dobbs roared before being yanked to the side by an invisible hand as his lifeblood sprayed out from the side of his helmet.

Obeying his final command, the guardsmen of 'B' Company opened up on their unseen assailants with everything at their disposal. The high-pitched whine of lasrifles filled the air, punctuated by throaty bursts of autocannon fire.

A hail of red lasbolts penetrated deep into the fog, leaving tunnels of atomized vapour in their wake. In addition to this, white-hot tracers of ballistic rounds tore into the murky forest causing great cascades of vegetation to fall due to the shock waves of the passing projectiles. It did not take long for the choking stench of ozone and cordite to waft through the surrounding valley.

Despite the imperial's defiant retaliation, it appeared to have little effect as the accurate and precise salvos by the unseen alien snipers did not let up for a second. Much to the guardsmen's dismay, the enemy sharpshooters were soon joined by more rapid, although no less accurate gunfire. A silver torrent of tiny razor-sharp discs exploded from all around the ravine, cutting down the guardsman in their droves.

Realising that he was of no use, Locke stooped low and hurried down the ad hoc trench as fast as his legs could carry him. Tussocks of grass were kicked up along the ditch's parapet, showering him and those close by with upturned soil.

Off to Locke's left Corporal Kilchester was taking cover behind a sturdy tree. He was leaning round periodically to deliver a few quick bursts at a time until he was struck by a volley of light blue shurikens in return. Several of which hit his ammo pouch causing the battery packs to cook off and explode. A bright flash along with a loud boom that sent Locke's ears ringing, preceded the falling rain of gore.

Reaching over from the ditch, he grabbed the lasrifle's sling from the dead soldier's hands. Silently promising to avenge the man, he peered into the fog further up the slope where the scout spotted a series of faded flashes.

Found you.

After a brief check of the safety catch, he squeezed off a few shots of his own into the foggy wood before hurriedly ducking back down as a spurt of shurikens smacked into the ditch's parapet just above his head.

The orchestra of battle: screaming, explosions and the constant sound of gunfire was well under way by this point. Even with his small contribution, the enemy's fusillade refused to dissipate.

Another guardsman to Locke's right, moved up from a fallen log to take aim, but was hit in the back by a series of blue shurikens from the opposite side of the hill. The unfortunate soldier moaned in pain, as his legs gave way underneath him.

He tried in vain to drag himself back into cover but another salvo of xeno projectiles raked across his body, finally making him lie still. Enraged by the sight, Locke switched his lasrifle to 'full auto' and discharged a blistering number of lasbolts in the direction of the obscured forest canopy on the reverse slope behind him.

The adrenaline was surging through his veins once more; the heat of battle making his blood run hot. The wider world shrivelled away from him, unimportant to the task at hand. The only thing that mattered to Locke in that moment was the small patch of ground on which he stood.

The person he was - with all his hopes, dreams and fears - momentarily disappeared to be replaced by a mere fleshy automaton.

Load, get up, fire, take cover and repeat.

The simple four stage process that had existed ever since the dawn of modern firearms. How long he remained like that, going through the motions while guardsmen fell around him to never rise again, he would never know.

A timely hand on his shoulder brought him back to reality. It was Lieutenant Carr.

"Guardsman Locke isn't it?" He shouted over the gunfire. The scout nodded to the officer. "I've got a task for you."

Locke fired off a single shot before slinking back down into the ditch. It took several seconds for his battle focused mind to realise what the man was saying.

"Yes sir."

"We're in a hell of a mess here… one we're not likely to get out of."

Locke's heart fell at the officer's brutally honest words. "Best we'll manage is to buy time for someone to get out of here."

"Right. Who's the runner sir?"

"You are. We've got to salvage something from this shitshow and you're it. Get back to the monastery and warn the garrison of what's coming, do you understand?"

"All well and good sir but how? I won't be fast enough on foot."

"I spotted your horse on the other side of the road, he's managed to get his bridle caught in the branches. He's your ticket out of here."

Fear froze him to the spot. Running out into the open with all the surrounding gunfire sounded like a suicide mission.

If I can even reach him.

Noticing the scout's hesitance, Carr reassured Locke, "don't worry, we'll cover you. Soon as we open up with everything, you run like the Abyss. Alright?" The officer explained, twitching as a few projectiles came close. This did little to fill Locke with confidence.

God-Emperor save me.

Swallowing some dry phlegm, Locke took a deep breath. Readying himself at the road's edge.

"Ready? Covering fire!" Carr shouted, the call was rapidly taken up by any officers and NCOs who remained. All as one, the remaining guardsman on the northern side of the road fired off everything they could muster in unison. Briefly thereupon, lasbolts and autocannon tracers outnumbered the returning shurikens and photon beams of the enemy.

"Now Locke, go now!" The officer urged.

Jerking up from his position, he slipped on a patch of loose weeds; making him curse. Terrified that every second exposing himself invited more unwanted attention; he frantically scrambled up the sharp slope like a rat up a drainpipe.

His heart hammered away during his mad dash across the road while spouts of dust fountained up around him from projectiles smacking into the dirt. The enemy fire getting closer and closer until it abruptly ended as he dived headlong down into the southern ditch line. The world spun as Locke rolled down the incline until he landed in a heap at the trench's basin.

He winced at a stinging pain in the side of his torso where a near miss had partially scorched his skin. Doing his best to ignore the minor injury, he looked out across the slope where he caught a glimpse of a distressed animal in the treeline, desperately tugging at his harness.

Fury! Stay put now.

Just over a hundred yards separated him and his trapped mount. Not wasting any more time, he sprinted down the ditch line, dodging enemy fire and jumping over the dead or wounded. Up ahead he saw an autocannon team, their gun barrels glowing a fiery red while a pile of spent shell casings littered the ground.

Just as Locke got to them, the enemy struck with something new. Out of the fog, a ball of dark blue energy was gathered and released, arcing straight towards the heavy weapons team. The warp energy exploded on impact, melting the autocannon into slag and disintegrating the gun grew in a violent explosion that threw Locke off his feet.

To remain stationary was to invite death; he picked himself up with wobbling legs, climbed out of the ditch and ran down the forest's edge. Gunfire from both sides filled the air all around him; it was frankly a miracle that he wasn't hit.

Along the way he passed various guardsmen, who were all popping up in a random order to shoot before diving back into cover, their lasbolts flashing over the top of his head as he ran on. Several of the unfortunate guardsmen were flung back as the eldar warriors found their mark.

By the time he finally he reached his horse, Fury was in a state of utter panic. Locke was breathing heavily which only served to steam up his visor from the perspiration, making visibility even harder. Fury's eyes were rolled back, revealing the whites of his eyes, while the horse himself was pulling helplessly against the reins tangled in the tree branch.

At the sight of Locke, his steed started to calm but only slightly. Locke untangled the reins and swiftly mounted Fury before the horse had a chance to bolt again. A sudden lull crossed the battlefield which drew his attention towards the murky fog. His heart stopped. The enemy had revealed themselves at last.

Terrifying warriors in bone white armour and skull-like helmets with flowing red manes, carrying alien pistols and power swords, emerged from the mist. They didn't allow the imperials to recover their wits and sprinted down towards the horrified guardsmen - who by this point, were few in number.

"Come on lad, like the wind!" Locke urged his steed. The horse burst into a canter, wanting to escape the slaughter. The horse vaulted over the ditch with ease and pounded across the dirt track, heading straight for the other downed tree at the rear of the formation. Locke bent himself as low down in the saddle as possible as they rode through the gauntlet of gunfire and falling bodies.

Rider and mount were on the final approach towards the makeshift roadblock when an ear-splitting shriek filled the air from behind him. Locke momentarily released the reins as he gripped his ears in a desperate attempt to block out the vile sound. The soldiers who had faced the full brunt of this audible attack were struck to the ground, writhing in pain.

It felt as if someone was burying a white-hot knife into his skull. He screamed for the sound to stop; his hands pressed into his ears. Around him, though he didn't register it through the pain, the remaining guardsmen were picked off by the alien snipers.

As quickly as the sound came, it went. He felt something pouring down from both ears; he assumed it was most likely blood, not that he could stop and check. The sight of the warriors struck terror into his heart; the after effect of the terrible wail disappeared in an instant.

The alien warriors seemed to just flow over the battlefield with a speed and elegance that should have been impossible. The men started reforming the firing line too late as the eldar warriors crashed into them from both sides.

Guardsman Coldren tried to impale one of the alien warriors with his bayonet, but had it batted aside as if it were a toy. The eldar warrior then cut through the man's flak vest to open up his stomach with her power sword. Without even breaking stride, she continued forwards, ducking underneath a lazy swing of Captain Marcos's chainsword.

She smashed into his legs, sending him flying into the air head-under-heels. She decapitated him with a deadly backswing while the man was still in the air. Meanwhile, Coldren was on his knees, cradling his intestines as he let out a scream of his own.

Locke tried to ignore the crisscrossing of lasbolts and shurikens whilst doing his best to keep his balance as Fury surged towards the fallen tree. Locke looked behind him; it was a scene of total chaos. An ever-shrinking circle of guardsmen had formed near the tree line on the northern side of the road with Major Skult, who was unbelievably still alive, at its centre.

Up ahead, Sergeant Firn had managed to rally over a dozen survivors as they charged towards the makeshift roadblock. Although, whether this was an attempt to escape or to get a better defensive position, it was hard to say. Just as they reached it, the desperate soldiers were set upon by several dire avengers who sprang up from behind the thick log.

The strange roar of their shuriken rifles mixed with the screams of the sprinting soldiers as they were riddled with the deadly projectiles. They were lacerated and disembowelled before they even hit the floor; their bodies spasmed under the withering onslaught, red puffs of mist spraying from the many impacts.

Incensed by the cruel injustice of it all, Locke galloped Fury towards the battered and burnt palantal tree. Clicking his newly reacquired lasgun to 'full auto', he sent a fusillade of lasbolts towards the dead tree trunk over his steed's head. To his relief, he managed to briefly suppress the enemy as his shots blew large chunks out of the dead tree.

Sensing Locke's rage, his mount pounded towards the log as fast as his legs could carry him. The desperate scout held the horse's reins tight until the last possible minute before giving it some slack. Recognizing the command, the horse sprang into the air, flying over the downed tree. An unlucky dire avenger chose the wrong moment to return fire as a hoof collided with his helm, sending him reeling backwards.

Hitting the ground running, neither horse nor rider was interested in stopping to survey the results of the collision. Locke, very nearly thrown from the saddle once more, was concentrating all his effort on keeping his seat, holding onto the steed's harness with all his strength.

Movement caught his attention and he instinctively ducked low into the saddle as he saw a xeno take aim at him from the woods with her shuriken pistol. At the exact moment she fired, Fury stumbled slightly, causing both horse and rider to temporarily drop in height by at least a foot. The shots passed harmlessly overhead, but after adjusting her aim, another salvo quickly followed the first.

Locke felt Fury shudder underneath him; he'd obviously been hit, but Locke couldn't bring himself to look down to assess the damage in case he lost his balance. The horse didn't falter though and only seemed to accelerate to get away from the danger.

Within a few moments of hard riding, the battlefield was swiftly lost from view. Locke said a silent prayer of thanks to the God-Emperor and begged Him to look after the souls of those who had fallen; they deserved that much. He soon switched his attention back to the task at hand, pushing his steed ever onward. He had a monastery to warn.