"They are falling for it, Evocatae," a helmeted soldier spoke to a tall, similarly dressed figure. Dirty-cream fatigues daubed in symbols of devotion were their uniforms, a chipped and scarred mess of black flack armour plates their defences. These men, elite, bodyguard soldiers with decades of experience, wore forged-metal helmets that looked almost knightly in their appearance - were it not for the eye-piercing symbols of devotion and patches of dirt and blood spattered across them. Numerous figures toiled in the gloom of the cavern-like room. All wore vaguely similar outfits; cream and black, though there the uniformity ended.
"The cultists have performed their role better than we could have expected," Another figure, with a similar knightly helm, spoke.
The tall figure made a rough noise through the mouth grill of its own gleaming metal helmet, like the bodyguards' except more ornate to reflect his status. Warriors were blessing rifles of numerous patterns; autos, las rifles, carbines, even the odd bolter. Their skin was pale, some like alabaster, many with purple circles under their eye sockets, as if suffering an odd jaundice. Bowl helmets, bandanas, all sorts of head gear was present. Many stopped when they heard the noise from their Evocatae.
It was laughter.
"Ready the Kohorts." The breath misted through the helmets grill once more. All around, warriors pumped their arms in their air and yelled.
"Narcissus! Narcissus! NARCISSUS!"
Macara, Cairns and Becyver sat in conversation. So far it had all been about their arrival on Ramillies.
"Well, I'm sure the lads will get on grand," Cairns nodded, supping some caffeine from a tin mug. The Thoran smiled at them with perfect white teeth, his light brown skin a stark contrast from the pale Garrowans. His thick, jet black hair was trimmed neatly, and perfectly framed the warrior tattoo covering a good quarter of his face and neck.
Macara decided to find out more about his new allies. "Yes, indeed. Now, colonel, enough of the mission. Tell me about your Thorans. I thought you were all drop troops?"
The well-built colonel chuckled slightly. "Well, not quite mate. Yes, we have lots of drop troops because of the way our world is. But we have plenty of space and men to train infantry regiments as well. And I can tell you that only the Infantry are allowed the title Bravers!"
Macara smiled, confused slightly. "What do you mean, the way your world is? Tell us of Thora."
Becyver thought for a moment and then spoke. "We have one vast sea surrounding a single continent, but there are several thousand islands spread around the globe. Few can home more than a couple of hundred thousand people, with only one large enough to maintain a population into the millions. However, when all are taken into account, these islanders still make up seventy percent of our population." he paused a moment for a quick drink of water, and then continued.
"The continent is a place of rolling plains and great forests. There are a few large cities, and many towns. The cities are big, really big. Couple of million in each. Communications are great due to the relatively flat land. The climate is one of warm, wet weather. Very green and humid for most of the year, when the storm season isn't hitting. We have many farmers and agri-districts now, and produce some of the finest pilots the Navy could ever want! Our main love, though, is the sea. We were a naval people, we needed to be due to the type of world we had. You often had to trade with other islands, and tribes would wander far across the globe. Then, when we could fly, we bred some of the best pilots. When the Imperium re-discovered us and brought us back to His light, they decided our pilots would come in very handy for the Navy. Since that day, the sector fleets have done whatever they can to procure Thoran pilots!"
"If your home is so flat, what stops the sea from consuming it?" Cairns asked. The idea of a flat world intrigued, and frightened, him.
"Our home is about sixty metres above sea level, on a plateau. It is, I am told, an odd form for land to take, with no natural gradient towards the sea. We have settlements at the cliff base, too, with stairs and ramps carved in the rock to the surface. The islands, however, do tend to suffer from the Storm Season, many have been overtaken, whilst new ones form regularly. I miss it, for I have not seen it in thirteen years."
Macara nodded. "It must be hard being away from home for so long."
"You said, back at the briefing, that it is odd for you, the idea of not going home. How did you mean?" the Thoran Braver asked, interested.
"Well, because of our odd formation, we follow Angels companies to battle. They often return to Garrowa. Whilst it could still be a decade at a time, our forces have a much better chance of seeing home than other Guard. It is a strange day indeed when Garrowan forces do not support the Angels of the Black Blade. It is why we were created, it is what we were trained for."
"I…didn't think Astartes were allowed their own personal armies?" Becyver asked honestly. Some of the spindly black legs of his tattoo twitched with his cheek muscles as he spoke. Macara smiled at the directness.
"I don't think they are meant to. But Garrowans have been fighting for the Emperor for two thousand years as guardsmen. We are loyal to Him and will fight where and when we are needed." Cairns replied for the colonel.
"We have an Adeptus Sororitas convent in our capital now," Macara said sadly. "The Order of the Vigilant Watch. They are there to ensure our loyalty, by force if needs be. And we have commissars for the first time since our inception."
"Your regiments have a discipline problem?" Becyver asked, surprised.
"Not even slightly," Cairns groaned, knowing that now was the time Macara normally began a rant. The colonel restrained himself this time, given the company they were keeping.
"They will never trust us. But we will fight and die for them none the less,." Macara finished.
"Good enough for me. Just as long as your rifles aren't pointing at me, that is,." Becyver smiled.
"Well, his might be, but that's only because he can't shoot straight,." Cairns laughed. "Now, you asked about Garrowa, sir. Imagine a world the complete opposite of yours. Whilst we have one continent, it's because we only have two seas, no part of our world being unconnected to another. And mountains," Cairns said, eyes lighting at the thought of home. Macara also smiled.
"Mountains?" Becyver returned the infectious grin. "I must admit, I do enjoy the sight of a great peak in any theatre They are rare at home."
"How about a world of peaks and valleys? What little flat lands we have are all part of the valleys, some of those being fifteen miles across, but the rest is a world of beautiful, snow-capped peaks," The Major replied. His voice had sped up slightly, his accent broadening.
"The cities are in the glens. Our largest valley runs for three hundred miles, and is some twenty miles wide at its largest. At one end of the pass, there is the capital. And between the valley floor and the city, Gateway Pass. Two huge mountains stand guard, named Anu Beig and Anu Ainir. Gateway Pass, also the name of the fortress monastery, lies there. Our home bastion." Macara's voice was full of pride.
"We don't like flat," Cairns said. "Not because it has no beauty, Colonel Becyver, but it makes us feel…uncomfortable. A horizon is a strange thing to us. We naturally feel ill-at-ease with no tower mountains."
"I can imagine it may be odd if you grew up in their shadows. It does sound a beautiful place however. The fields and forests, the crystal blue waters, all of my home is beautiful to me. But they don't have the majesty of mountains, and I am a strange one of my kind - a sailor who prefers the land,." Becyver said.
"Trust me, colonel, it can be a hard life too. The cold is perpetual during winter. And it's not exactly tropical during the summer. I would give my right arm to see a long, green field, or ocean without coastline. I should go to your world," Macara smiled.
"He's just sick of having to hike up those mountains to the Pass," Cairns muttered, taking a drink from his mug.
The three men chuckled away as a stocky officer approached them.
"Eh, excuse me?"
He was a major, and a Cadian at that. He came to attention and saluted. Cairns looked away with a scoff. "Major Avre, C.O of the 104th Cadian." the newcomer said. The Garrowan and Thoran colonels just looked at him.
"I have, ah, just received my routing orders. As you saw in Faulin's notes, my regiment is in your brigade."
"I didn't, as it happens, because I haven't looked at the damned thing since I got out of that room," Macara snapped, perhaps unfairly. The violet eyes narrowed slightly in return.
Avre, to his credit, did not flinch, continuing. "I know our esteemed High Lord has had confrontations with you in the past, and at the moment you're not too happy with Cadians in general. Well, I happen to believe the Lord General is quite an arrogant man."
"That comes with ranks," Cairns sneered, taking a drink, not even deigning to make eye contact.
Avre continued. "I also see his idea of breaking up perfectly formed brigades when fighting an enemy we have no reliable intelligence on, a risk."
"Now, why would you hold such opinions, major?" Macara asked, slightly harder than he intended. Avre seemed unfazed, however.
"I serve in General Mareven's Division. He has gone to great pains to let us know how effective you and your fellows are, and not to pre-judge, like so many other officers already have done. We are loyal to the Lord General, but we will not allow allied units to have a reason to hate us. My battalion is made up of many raw men – we lost a lot of troopers fighting in the cultist infiltration of our home. They would rather be at home fighting there, clearing the last scum from the face of our world. Most are fresh from the Whiteshield units, some as young as seventeen. They don't need a bitter feud with veteran Guardsmen," Avre finished. He held out his hand to the three officers sat before him, a look of hopeful eagerness on his face. Becyver took it. Macara gave Cairns a look that only men who had known each other for decades could translate. Cairns shook the hand as well.
As Macara did the same, he spoke.
"It is good to know Cadia can produce more fine men like Mareven." he said warmly. Avre nodded proudly.
"Miket, you have command of the 119th Thoran, 511th Dramarian and three PDF regiments." Mk'Fedan growled sadly.
Bukanan punched the wall of the room, making a dent in the plasti-board wall. "Not a single bloody battalion of my own men. Not one, Bylin. The bastard," The bearded giant snarled. Mk'Fedan just shook his head before continuing with the make-shift briefing.
"General T'emether, you will have my 9th Heavy infantry and 10th Rifles. You will also have the Cadian 23rd and two Dramarian units, the eh…3rd and 87th," He nodded at a Thoran brigadier.
"You are both, however, in my division, thank the Throne." Misade said.
"That's a little bit of good news amongst a pile of utter shite. Sir." Bukanan stated.
"I should point out the Cadian 23rd and 104th are the only Cadian units not being commanded by their original brigade officer." The Thoran replied. That was met by many verbose comments on the Cadian hierarchy.
"Quiet, gentlemen." Mk'Fedan snapped, stilling the noise.
The Thoran nodded, and continued speaking. "Finally, the last brigades under our command. I should let you know, Tollin was not happy with a colonel commanding a brigade, but he agreed in the end when I pointed out that our colonel here is more experienced than any of the three general staff he wanted to put in command instead. That, and by this stage I was so angry I believe my face was the same colour as my shoulder pads. And besides, only colonel Mc'Caulish is senior to you Macara," Mk'Fedan said. The reference to the senior colonel was made because everyone understood armour was subservient to infantry command.
"So, sir, who do I get?" Macara asked.
"You have most of the 1st Cavalry, the Thoran 67th," Macara nodded to Becyver as the general spoke. "The Cadian 104th, Dramarian 92nd and…"
"Yes?"
"You won't like it." Mk'Fedan said.
"Oh feck, come on and just tell me, sir. Not some arse-licking Ramilliens?"
"No, worse. Those ragged, ill-disciplined 5th Heavies," Mk'Fedan couldn't keep a straight face.
"You bloody beauty!" Macara yelled, punching the air.
"You serve in the Cadian Heavy brigade,"
"Oh. Great." Macara said, Mk'Fedan tempering his good humour.
"And in Tollin's division."
"Oh yay!" Macara's sarcasm was rife.
"At least you got your regiment. I didn't get any of our lads," Bukanan growled in his normal manner, as if it were all he ever did. The low sound emitted from the great beard in a very disconcerting manner.
"At least you will have me in command of your Brigade, general," Misade said quietly.
"That is the only good thing in this fecked up mess," Bukanan snorted, before realising. "Erm, fecking mess, sir."
The room exploded into laughter at the idea of the fierce man correcting himself over anything.
"Well gentlemen, we have preparations to do. I will see you all later," Mk'Fedan said clearly, and the officer made to leave.
"Well boys, here, we go," Becyver muttered.
"Colonel Macara, I do not believe you have a choice. You will hold the left flank of the division in the hab district,"
"But sir, that puts us almost isolated on the end of the entire flank! The closest unit is the Dramarian Brigade holding the suburb area to our own extreme right. There is a two-kilometre gap between us and the other divisions in that sector! If any defence has to be made, or, Emperor forbid, a withdrawal, my force will be isolated and slaughtered," Macara replied defiantly.
"This is an offensive manoeuvre, colonel, not a holding action. You make it sound as if we will have to defend from attack. I doubt we will have to worry about such an eventuality." Tollin laughed, soon followed many of the Cadian and Ramillien officers of the 2nd 'Cadian' division.
"Oh, don't worry, you will," Macara said only loud enough for his own clique to hear. That consisted of himself, Becyver, Colonel Mc'Caulish of the 1st Cavalry, Lt-colonel Naesmyth of the Dramarian 92nd, Major Cairns and Major Avre, who did not seem to share his brethren's scorn. He had ostracised himself from his own officers to stand with Macara. And Macara respected that immensely.
Mc'Caulish was extremely annoyed. The 1st Household Cavalry had had seven companies removed to defend the factories, leaving him with three in the field. Faulin had done this out of spite towards the Garrowans, apparently giving no second thought to leaving fifteen thousand men with no armour support.
And now Mc'Caulish had only sixty tanks and twenty support vehicles of the four hundred in his regiment. That made him rather dislike Faulin.
They all nodded to Macara's statement. Tollin mistook the gesture for acceptance.
"Very well. Colonel, your brigade will deploy from the lower bridge today at 1300 standard time."
"Yes. Sir," Macara replied coolly. "We shall leave to meet up with our units, general. Good day," The Garrowan rose, a look of disgust evident on his firm features. The other officers of his brigade followed him out of the room as they headed to the PDF barrack's motor pool.
Their units were stationed only a mile from the bridge, so they would have to make their way there from the main spine headquarters. With airborne transport out of the question, they were resigned to travelling the, slightly, safer road routes that had been cleared by Dramarian and Cadian units only a few days before.
The officers of the brigade arrived in a sectioned-off area where staff cars, cargo-8s and armoured scout cars, about half the mass of a Chimera, sat in wait.
"Do any of you have a problem travelling in a scout car?" Macara asked them.
"I think it's probably a safer option than tabbing out way there, in all honesty, considering the distinctly unfriendly nature of the 'friendly' sectors of this city," Naesmyth replied. The other battalion officers nodded.
"Trooper, could you sign out the use of a car and driver for my brigade please?" Macara called over to the duty Guardsman.
"I can provide a car, sir, but…um…no driver, sir," He returned weakly.
"Just sign out the car. Identification Bravo-niner kappa," The Garrowan grunted. He grabbed the ignition-stick from the clerk-trooper who still sat silently at his desk, going to the nearest scout car and opening the door.
"You must be kidding! It's alright gents, we don't have to worry about the enemy. Daine will kill us with his driving," Cairns laughed. The officers stepped in laughing along.
Macara scoffed "Don't be so silly, major. That's what a batman is for. Corporal Kallum!"
The burly corporal ran from the gatehouse at his colonel's shout.
"Yes, sir?" he asked, saluting.
"You're driving."
"Of course, sir."
"Colonel, may I take my adjutant?" Naesmyth asked.
"Space for ten in here. Pretty sure he can. Becyver, yours too. Cairns, I would let yours too, except you don't have a proper batman yet," Macara mocked.
The engine revved over Cairns' verbosely rude reply, and the car headed for the gates of the motor pool.
"Eh, corporal, you haven't been drinking have you?" Cairns asked in mock concern as the car hit a bump at speed.
"Me sir? No, sir. I'm just always a bad driver," Kallum replied jovially. The officers laughed, but not all were certain the corporal was joking.
The noise of battle could be heard from all around, in some places intense and brutal, in others sporadic. The location, atop a hill in the city, brought the noise of conflict from a three hundred and sixty degree area, amplifying and broadcasting it.
In an empty street, a blackened Rhino APC sat hull down in a ruined hab. Around it, shadowy figures watched the side streets, whilst others inside used the vox and monitored traffic.
Across the street, shrouded in a cloak and a doorway, a well-built figure looked out over the western portions of the battle-damaged city.
From the Rhino, another cloaked figure hurried across the street, flinching every time a shell burst was heard, or if an Earthshaker round caused the ground to vibrate.
"My lord Kopar, the Legion has formed up and seems to have moved against the Guard forces. Faulin and his troops are, as yet, unaware of this development, or their exact nature." The cloaked acolyte spoke quietly. "The guardsmen holding the Warehouse Sector have the area well defended, but have not garrisoned the Basilica in force."
In the shadows of the alcove, the even more shadowy figure muttered a stern reply.
"Good. Move to the cathedral as soon as we have a clear route."
"Yes, Inquisitor," the hooded acolyte bowed low, then dashed away into the grim, shelled streets of the city, again flinching until cover was reached.
Kopar put a magnocular to his already enhanced eye-sight, and in the distance he could pick out the looming, graceful shape of the Cathedral Basilica. It stood out amongst the damaged habs and warehouses, miraculously unscathed.
"Soon," Inquisitor Kopar muttered. "Soon."
They passed by men and tanks in their hundreds, heading to or from units. There were ambulance-marked cargo 8s, columns of tired, dirty soldiers falling back, with clean, grim-faced guardsmen moving up to replace them. All along the strength of roadway, broken and burnt civilian vehicles lay in piles that had been pushed to the side of the thoroughfare.
The group of officers spoke at the state of the command situation, none going as far as to make any actual mutinous comments, but all realised that there were better choices for command. As they drove, the numbers of troops grew thinner, as they approached the area between divisions. Rubble and damage was greater here, and corpses of habbers and guardsmen lay everywhere.
"Typical that we get placed at the furthest end of the line," Mc'Caulish muttered.
"You would moan if we were too close, too," Cairns smiled.
"Yes, major, I would. I'm a tanker. We're meant to be right in the middle of the action," Mc'Caulish gave a fierce grin.
As Kallum drove the scout car, he noticed that a section of the highway ahead had collapsed, due no doubt to a previous bombardment.
"Sir, I'm going to have to take her into the city streets until I can find an on-ramp past the damaged section." Kallum called from the drivers' compartment. "We have men stationed on the highway, nearby, but not in this section of the city itself,"
"Okay corporal," Macara shouted.
Outside, nothing moved except the scout car. No habbers, no Imperials, no enemy.
Nothing.
"Kallum, speed up a bit. I want us back on the highway." The bluff corporal didn't reply, just nodded and gunned the engines even more. The scout car sped on.
"What's wrong, Macara?" Avre asked seriously.
"I'm not sure it's safe here."
"Well, the Ramillien PDF is meant to have secured the area," Naesmyth said quietly.
Cairns snarled "I think that's what Daine means,"
"Surely you don't think the cultists would be crazy enough to cause trouble this close to our lines after the PDF engagements?" Becyver asked.
"I think they would do anything to disrupt our lines of communications. And I also think they are mad enough." Macara followed up simply.
The officer looked silently through the small view slits in the armour.
"Anyway, what are your thoughts on our disposition?" Macara asked out loud the question they had all held-back since leaving the main spine.
"Absolute crap. We will be cut off if the enemy makes a strong enough push along our whole front. With at least two miles between us and our nearest back-up, a dedicated force could push through the gap and roll along our lines." Becyver said scornfully.
"I agree with the colonel," Avre said.
"Our positions could have been better…" Naesmyth continued his own quiet rant.
"Far better." Cairns added, drawing glances. "I'm just saying."
"And I agree wholeheartedly. Is there any man here who believes we will be on the offensive for long? Or that we won't suffer large casualties doing our duty for Faulin?" Macara asked pointedly.
Naesmyth replied, voice still low, as if it were his only tone of voice. "I would hope that our men could defeat the enemy in this sort of action. I am not, however, stupid enough to think that we can prevail against such numbers with this sort of deployment."
"It goes against all the tactical thinking we have ever been taught!" Avre joined in quietly.
"You bet it does." Cairns said in his normal jovial/scornful manner. Mc'Caulish sat in gloomy silence, taking in everything being said but making no further contributions.
"Well, now, gentlemen, maybe we should stop for the moment. He is a Lord General and we are bordering on Heresy. Let's concentrate on the matter at hand," Macara finished the conversation, realising that starting it had been irresponsible of him. The men sat in silence for a while, just staring at the broken buildings from the narrow window-slits. After several minutes, Avre spoke up.
"This isn't right. Why is there no one ou…."
"Krak rocket!" Naesmyth bellowed, proving he did have a voice. The scout car made a sharp right turn to avoid the incoming missile, Kallum's reactions faster than Macara would have thought possible in a vehicle that size.
The projectile missed the hull, but hit under the left-front wheel. In a shower of debris and plascrete, the armoured car flipped from the concussive force, and at speed rolled along another twenty metres.
Metal screeched with impact force, and the small gun turret snapped out of its ring. The vehicle came to a stop in an almost upright position. The whole car was lopsided however, as a large portion of the rear end was now a gaping hole. Smoke poured from the engine. Bullets and las shots pinged off the armour.
Inside, the officers groaned. The Dramarian aide was lying, unmoving, his head caved in by a large bracket that had formerly held his seat in place. The contents of his skull now decorated the floor and part of Cairn's left leg.
Avre was groaning, sporting a long, deep gash along the length of his left forearm.
"Damn. Ev…everyone out, now!" Macara coughed. He kicked the door closest to him, but it didn't budge. He looked to see which men were fully aware of the situation.
"Becyver, help me here!" the Garrowan barked. Still reeling, the Thoran colonel wriggled over and joined him in kicking the damaged side-hatch. It still wouldn't move.
The las-fire, however, stopped.
"They've stopped. Could we use that side?"
"We'd never get out that way. They're waiting for us to try." Naesmyth grunted, in case Avre had decided to try the other door.
"Here man, help us!" Macara shouted. Naesmyth and the Thoran adjutant, Fermana, added their boots to those crashing on the inside of the damaged door.
"It won't budge sir!" the Thoran corporal cried.
"Keep trying!" Becyver urged. Avre and Cairns had started to fire their pistols out of the damaged section of armour, where the gash was about a foot wide. They snapped shots off towards the source of the enemy fire.
"Hurry, sir! They've got another krak launcher!" Cairns called back to them. The five men pounding the door stopped abruptly. There was the sound of las-fire outside the "safe" side door and shots on the locking mechanism.
Macara drew his side arm. Cairns and Naesmyth followed suite, and the Thoran adjutant scrambled round the floor of the damaged vehicle. Mc'Caulish drew his combat knife, his pistol lost in the violence of the crash.
"Here sir!" Fermana called, throwing Macara one of two lasrifles he had prised from their rack underneath the seats.
"Any power-cells?" the colonel barked.
"Only the ones in them, sir." Fermana replied grimly. Mc'Caulish reached for Macara's side arm as the infantry colonel, easily the better shot with an infantryman's weapon, checked the sights on the weapon.
There was a trio of dull, metallic thuds on the safe side door. All inside the vehicle tensed up, triggers tightening on triggers.
"Steady…" Macara growled as they all aimed towards the door.
A gust of cool air swept through the armoured car, and the bulky frame of Corporal Kallum was shadowed outside, lascarbine in one hand, bent crowbar in the other. In the excitement, Macara had forgotten the corporal stuck in the partitioned drivers section.
"I'd be getting out now, sirs, if I were you." He said in a tone-of-voice that did not reflect the fact there was a hail of las-fire peppering the air around him.
The officers scrambled out, keeping low and using the vehicle's hull for cover. They looked around, watching for flankers as they evacuated, Avre cradling his wounded arm.
"Okay, we have enemy fire coming in from at least three positions. We have three lasrifles and four pistols. I guess there are about ten shooters…"
"Seventeen. Definitely." Mc'Caulish stated, interrupting Macara.
"You sure?" Naesmyth asked. Mc'Caulish just cocked an eyebrow.
"The Colonel is awfully good at estimating enemy numbers from muzzle flashes, being an armour colonel. I'd trust his guess before my own." Macara always used Mc'Caulish rank when addressing him. Despite having command over him, Macara thought that the older, far more experienced man deserved that respect. "So, seventeen enemy, with lasguns and at least one krak launcher, in the large building directly opposite us on two floors." He looked again to Mc'Caulish, who nodded.
"How are we going to get out?" Avre asked through gritted teeth as Fermana tied a field dressing from the car tightly to his arm.
"Here's how we do it. Two of us run to that building," Macara pointed forty metres to the left. "The others provide cover fire on the larger building, the one with the damage Aquila across the doors. Now, after those two move across, a third man will appear at the left side of the armoured car before ducking back. They will, hopefully, be expecting us to go for that route a second time. So three will advance to the building on the right, where there are…" Macara nodded to Mc'Caulish
"Three."
"Three gunmen. Again, those left will provide cover fire." The others all nodded their understanding. "Those five will move round the cultist positions and catch them in the rearm establish some good enfilades. The remaining three will stay here and continue giving cover fire."
"Who stays?" Naesmyth asked.
"We send one rifleman in each group, giving some heavy hitting power to the fireteams. If they have seventeen men, then five of us with pistols, even flanking, will have a damned hard time. Send Kallum with the group of two. I will stay here with the Thoran trooper and Avre," Mc'Caulish suggested.
"Okay, we'll go with that. Kallum and Naesmyth, get ready to break for the left-hand side. Everyone else, cover on my mark," Macara looked round as everyone checked their weapons. "Ready, three, two, one…mark!" he called. The officers opened fire, Imperial las peppering the walls and windowsills of the larger building. The cultists, evidently not trained soldiers, ducked back from the sudden fusillade, only a couple of them snapping off nervous return shots. Kallum and Naesmyth ran as if the very daemons of the warp were behind them. Within five seconds they slammed into cover, disappearing from sight.
As Macara and the others ducked behind the scout car again, the cultists regained their firing positions and returned the favour.
"Cairns, Becyver, Corporal, get ready to move. The colonel and I will cover you," Macara said, swapping himself for Fermana. It wasn't due to any aversion to charging into the building, it was simple smart delegation. The corporal was still a line trooper, with more experience in room clearance than the colonel, whose skills lay more at regimental command than fireteam skills now.
Macara and Mc'Caulish opened fire again, Avre also leaning out to snap off a few shots, although his face was pale from blood loss and pinched tight with pain. The frontage of the building splintered at the damage, chips of rockcrete flying through the air. The damaged Imperial Aquila lost one of its twin heads to a glancing las-shot.
Cultists ducked back, but more stayed to fire, anticipating anther dash to the left. A krak rocket sped into the gap that Kallum and Naesmyth had just cleared. When the smoke cleared and there were no bodies, the cultists reloaded to take another shot at the scout car, not happy with their victory over the innocent plascrete.
The men noticed three figures running to the right, blasting the façade of the smaller building they ran to. The man with the launcher leaned further out the window to make the most of his shot, knowing that without a frag rocket his shot would need to be far more accurate.
Yelling in triumph, his finger tightened on the firing-spoon on the battered old launcher, a millisecond before a loud crack broke the back of his skull open as Mc'Caulish made an amazingly lucky shot. As the body fell back into the room from the windowsill, the nerve contractions jerked the crude trigger, and the rocket struck the ceiling, killing the other two cultists stationed there.
"Brilliant shot sir!" Macara shouted. The three men continued their barrage as Becyver's group reached their target building.
"The building is just ahead, a few paces to our left, right of the target building. We won't need to go through the front, the side and back is blown out," he pointed to the other men. They had a perfect defilade on the cultist positions as they advanced from where they had gone to ground.
"How many of them are left sir?" Fermana asked.
"I saw three at least who could not have lived."
"So at least thirteen left, if the old man's estimate was right," Cairns grinned grimly. "If we hit them at the same time as Kallum and Naesmyth we could completely disrupt them."
"Okay, move round to the back and try and catch his attention." Becyver replied with a nod. Silently, the three men moved on.
Naesmyth and Kallum moved through the broken habs, coming around the back of the blown-out building. Kallum noticed some movement, figures across the rubble. One was waving.
"Colonel, sir look," He pointed.
"Is it the others?"
"Yes, sir. I think the Thoran colonel is signalling us to wait."
"He wants to hit them at the same time. We need to let them get into a position to see the whole lot first," Naesmyth said, recognising the Guard-standard hand-signals, used when audible comms were not possible.
Kallum smiled fiercely. "Sounds good to me, sir."
"You a good shot with a rifle, corporal?" Naesmyth asked, suddenly.
The big corporal actually chuckled lowly. "Not bad, sir, not bad."
"See that cultist there? He seems to be directing them. Take him first. Should have the others running around like mad."
"That sounds like a good idea too, sir. So it does," Kallum replied, easing forward into a better position, big hands gripping the carbine tightly.
"Hurry up, you lazy bastards," Mc'Caulish snapped as he sat with his back against the scout car. Macara, Avre and the old colonel had expended all their ammunition and were resigned to hiding from the enemy's firing.
That stopped all of a sudden, an off silence falling around the armoured car momentarily, but Macara could still see the enemy moving about.
"Come on, Cairns, what's taking so long?" he hissed. Surely the enfilading group should be there now?
"There, look." Mc'Caulish pointed to a street behind them where a platoon of Ramillien PDF was advancing towards them, obviously drawn there by the firefight, heedless of the danger they now walked into. The angle of the broken armoured car kept Macara and the other two officers oblique to them, hidden.
"Go back!" Macara shouted. "It's not safe!"
The Ramilliens may have heard him, but, unable to see him, they advanced onward, marching to their deaths.
"Oh, balls. Screw this," Mc'Caulish said, running out from cover towards them. "Get back, you bloody fools! Get back!"
Macara looked at the colonel, nearly going into heart failure at the display of casual bravery.
"Mc'Caulish! Get back here!" he yelled. He got up and started to run after him, to try and get him into cover. It was then that the other five Imperials made their move.
"Now!" Naesmyth yelled. Kallum downed his target with a single shot to the back of the head. Less than a heartbeat later, the four officers opened fire themselves. Seven cultists fell in as many second. The others turned to see their unexpected attackers. Kallum shot one who was still firing out of the forward-facing windows. The cultist managed a single further shot before falling backwards. The other cultists turned and fled after the loss of so many comrades and their erstwhile leader, but as the archenemy fanatics dashed from the rubble of the broken rooms, they ran straight into the fire of the five enfilading men, who used this easy chance to finish them off quickly. Sharp, tight bursts of fire drilled into the chaos followers, pulping torsos, exploding limbs and shattering bones in a flurry of bloodletting.
"Alright boys, up and at them! Let's go!" Becyver shouted. One by one they got up and ran through the remains of the hab, not even giving the cultist corpses a second glance.
As they arrived at the front, a squad of Ramilliens was securing the area. Avre was being seen to by a corpsman. Macara stood by a second medic, who was crouched over the prone form of Mc'Caulish.
"Oh shit!" Cairns barked before sprinting over to him. He skidded to a halt beside the old man. "What happened?" he asked, face ashen.
"He walked into the open, so that the local PDF lads wouldn't walk into a trap. One of the cultists started firing, but missed every shot. When you attacked, he let off a last round before turning away from the window. The shot ricocheted off of the scout car and caught him in the small of the back." Macara said in a rage. Cairns looked at the blood on the ground and the charred hole in Mc'Caulish's back. The fused mess of bone and cartilage was mixed with the man's lifeblood, and visible to the open air. There was no moving from his chest, no rising and falling of breath. As an armour officer, he didn't wear any of the carapace armour the Garrowan Heavies did. If he had, the shot would have most like thrown him to the ground, nothing worse. But instead, the valiant old soldier lay dead in a puddle of his own blood. It was a hard death to accept. An unfair death even.
"Did he die…quickly?" Cairns asked quietly.
"The second it hit him," Macara replied. "Wrap him in a sheet. Take him back to HQ," the colonel spoke to the corpsman this time.
"Aye, sir," The Ramillien stood and replied. Macara reached into Mc'Caulish's collar and took his tags, before he stood himself, rubbing his face with his hands.
"Okay, we need to move on," He said grimly. "We need transport."
"Daine, you can't leave the Colonel with those Ramilliens!" Cairn barked in shock.
"We have no choice, Major! Our troops advance in a couple of hours. They can't go into action without their officers," Macara snarled, taking his major, and friend, by surprise. He thought for a moment, seeing Cairns hurt expression. "You go with him. Get a transport and follow us after you've got him to our medics. Mk'Fedan wouldn't want it any other way."
"Yes, sir," Cairns said sadly. It was obvious to the officers of the other regiments that Macara and Cairns had been good friends with the grizzled Tanker. Becyver took the initiative.
"Get us transport, and one for the major, vox-officer," Becyver said to a PDF soldier.
"Pardon, sir?"
"Just do it, you kec," Becyver snapped angrily.
"Yes sir," the vox-man hurried away.
In the ruins of the hab district, amongst the smoke and bodies, the officers of Macara's brigade sat awaiting their transport, a heavy air of melancholy quickly setting in, and hanging above them, a true hero wrapped up on the ground. Macara looked at the tags in his hand, one with the twin-mountains and shield icon of Garrowa, crested with a keening two-headed Imperial Eagle. The other had all of Mc'Caulish's details; day of his birth, blood type, regiment, ranks and even, scratched in by the old colonel's own hand, the name of his own tank. Macara shook his head gently, before leaning back and falling asleep as the adrenaline left him and fatigue took over.
