Student Eshu Orun never had any friends. Well, that was perhaps an exaggeration. Student Eshu Orun didn't have anyone he could call a friend. Acquaintances, classmates, roommates, yes, but no true friends. It's not that he was antisocial or a misanthrope; he could cite inspiring speeches of Machiarius or Creed in front of the entire auditorium, but that was different. Personal relationships were not a part of the curriculum, so he ignored them. And yet still…
Eshu breathed in and out to calm himself, then picked up his las pistol. Every student on the commissar course received one. It was no blessed boltgun and only had enough energy for one shot, but he didn't need anything else. He re-read the assignment. It needed to be public, the application of justice had to be seen, or else there would be no purpose to it. He slowly breathed in and out and tucked the pistol in the holster. He could do it, no, he needed to do it. All of his heroes did it and so would he.
He walked out of his room, trying to stay calm. He passed through the hallway, sweat running down his spine. The stained glass saints looked down at him, judging him, shaming him. Was he truly so cowardly that he could not accomplish what they had done? He made his way down the hallway, past the courtyard and into the mess hall.
The hall was full of students from different classes, all chatting and eating. Drill Abbots patrolled the tables making sure the teenagers didn't waste their time. One of them nodded at Eshu - they were warned of what he was tasked with. Eshu swallowed, and approached one of the tables, seeing his target. The chatter stopped, all eyes turned to him. He had to do it, he couldn't let the Emperor down. He pulled out his las pistol. He had to do it. The faces turned from puzzlement to horror. He had to do it. He pronounced the accusation and the sentence. His voice trembled. He had to do it. He aimed at the girl and pulled the trigger.
—
Eshu rubbed his temples trying to chase the memories of the dreams away. They never really stopped bothering him, but since the drop it was getting worse. Perhaps it was all the stress, or perhaps the ghosts of the past chose this moment to haunt him. Either way he had trouble sleeping, constantly waking up, drenched in sweat, his phantom arm aching. The chief medicae of the regiment, Suzhen, looked over him with a critical eye, as he nearly dropped the bottles of pills that he was carrying to her workplace.
"You haven't been taking the sleeping pills." The grey haired woman stated plainly, sipping a cup of recaf.
"Yes ma'am." Confirmed Eshu, "I just don't think I should, in case there's an emergency in the night."
Suzhen rolled her eyes: "Suit yourself." She was in her sixties, perhaps more, dressed in a distinctly non standard white coat, over which she wore flak armour. Both pieces were decorated in strange cyan symbols and hieroglyphs that reminded him of flower fields he saw in books.
Eshu blinked in surprise: "You're not going to insist?"
The medicae scoffed and turned back to her ledger which displayed the ever diminishing list of supplies: "Kid, I can save people from fractures, wounds, infections, viruses and internal bleedings. But I can't save them from themselves. Professionally speaking I can't recommend it, but I also can't force it down your throat."
Eshu paused, then nodded.
The doctor waved her hand: "Now get to treating the new arrivals, before the infections get to them. Damn orks and their rusty weapons."
He did as she asked, taking a bottle of antiseptic and cotton wool under his shoulder. In the week following his talk with Chalci he had made a full recovery. Well, about as full as he could in his state. He had been congratulated by the Colonel herself and other members of the regiment, like Lieutenant Farid, visited him, offering encouragement and small talk.
"It's really not that bad once you get used to it." The old guardsman had said fidgeting with his metal jaw. "And you got yours after a great battle. I lost my chin because of a grenade prank gone south! Had to pull some real favours to get a replacement from the Munitorum!"
Hartmann also had offered terse congratulations. He had seemed distant, more so than usual. Battle fatigue probably. Eshu understood that. He hadn't been on the barricades even once and he could barely hold himself up. Nightmares aside, something within him was missing, but he didn't want to dwell on that. Unable to fight and considering himself too drained for other commissarial duties, Eshu remained in the medical bay. Suzhen was always in need of a pair of hands or in his case a single hand. True, he couldn't do any complex operations in his state, but he could still assist and help with the small things.
Eshu went around each bed, stopping and uncorking the bottle which he held in his right armpit, then soaking the cotton balls and treating whatever small wounds the soldiers sustained. He left the big wounds for Suzhen's surgeons to treat, and made sure to say a few empty platitudes to the conscious troopers. He knew that his job was as much related to morale as it was to wound treatment. Apparently he became something of a star in the regiment, a 'mek killer', he tried to argue otherwise but both Chalci and Lieutenant Samusenko argued that he did all the work and was the real hero.
He didn't feel like one.
As Eshu tried opening the bottle for the third time, it jumped out of his armpit. Cursing, he tried to catch with his right hand and, of course, failed. There was no bottle shattering crash however.
Because another hand caught the bottle.
Eshu sighed in relief: "I'm sorry, ma'am, I promise I'll-" He stopped, seeing that the hand didn't belong to the chief medicae but instead the Colonel, who put her fingers to her lips in a conspiratorial motion.
"Ma'am?"
"Let's not let Lady Bai hear that I got past her without a mandatory check up, alright? She's been trying to get me into her care for the past week." The colonel winked and started applying antiseptics to the wounds.
"Oh- uh thanks? But shouldn't you be um… commanding?"
The Colonel chuckled and continued her work: "I've been running my poor brain into overdrive for the past twenty days. The major has things under control for now so I decided to take a long deserved break."
Eshu levelled an eyebrow: "By… treating wounds and avoiding the chief medicae?"
The Colonel shrugged: "Everyone has a different definition of downtime. Mine usually involves manual labour."
Eshu considered that. Whenever he was feeling tired, or in the dumps, he took out his frustrations on a training dummy. It was manual labour, of a sort. Now of course he was bereft of that, unable to calm himself by making his chainsword sing a familiar tune. Perhaps he should've trained more with the pistol, but he never was good with those. Not after the Schola.
"Were you serious when you mentioned Chief Suzhen?" Asked Eshu trying to shuffle aside all thoughts of pistols. "She seemed to consider my decisions concerning my health."
"You're a Commissar." Answered the Colonel after she had cleaned the wound, and made small talk with the wounded Elysian. "Cadet but still. Lady Bai tends to be respectful of anyone in a peaked cap."
She didn't seem that respectful, thought Eshu who followed the commander to another bed.
"That and we have something of a history," she continued, after shaking the hand of another trooper, "She's not actually from Elysia."
"Really?" Asked Eshu. Guard regiments tended to be homogenous. With the exception of auxiliary troops such as Commissars or tech-priests, they all came from the same planet, sometimes the same hive city.
"We sort of picked her up." the Colonel said, her eyes distant. "She used to be a civie doctor in a hive city we were liberating. During one of the drops to the underhive, I took a nasty wound to the side. Would've died there, if a local sawbones didn't patch me up. Her only payment was a position as a field medic in the regiment." She weaved her tale smoothly, as they moved through the line of beds, sometimes interrupting themselves to give a few troopers encouragements which seemed more earnest than whatever he had, or at least more practiced.
Eshu tilted his head confused: "Her payment was a demand to join you?" Volunteers were not unusual, in fact the Elysians were composed purely of them, but a civilian medic from a different planet? There had to be more there.
The commander shrugged: "Underhive can often be more dangerous than the battlefield. That and she finds the regiments to be a better group than the scum she treated there."
"I suppose the 36th can feel more like a… a family." Mused Eshu, cleaning another wound.
"A family? God Emperor, no," snickered the Colonel, "a family bickers, a family spats, a family is tied first and foremost by blood. Not us. Personally, I always thought of the 36th as a small village where everybody knows each other. We are all farmers, artisans, craftsmen. We may not like each other, but we trust our neighbors enough to leave the doors open without fear for robbers. And we all know that when winter comes to the mountains, you'll only have your neighbor to help you with the snow piling up your door and offer you a misri when you run out."
Eshu blinked: "A what?"
"Crystal sugar. You can eat it or add it to a chai. I was a big sucker for them. It's not easy to get one nowadays so I reserve it for after I bring everyone back alive."
"Oh like the Munitorum issued moral uplifting sweetmeats."
The Colonel exploded in contagious laughter: "No, ours had actual sugar."
"Never had the pleasure."
More laughter. Despite himself, Eshu started to chuckle. It's been a while since he did that.
"The point," The Colonel continued trying to stop herself from laughing, "the point is that we're all trying to stick together and weather the snowstorm."
What if we don't? Eshu wanted to ask. Asking that, in the vicinity of wounded troopers would not only damage morale but could potentially be seen as an attack against the integrity of the commanding officer.
The Colonel stopped in her tracks and looked directly at him: "We will, Eshu."
"H-how-" Eshu stammered.
"Because everyone is thinking the same thing. Everyone has the same thoughts and the same fears. I do too. But I know we'll survive this."
"How can you be so certain?"
"Because I believe in you." She answered simply. "I believe in this regiment. I believe that together we can take on anything this galaxy throws on us and spit it back. As long as the neighbours help each other."
It was a blind faith, a sort of determined belief that dwelled sometimes in the hearts of men. Eshu wanted to believe it, but his mind darted back to the deaths of Kamran and Elaheh. They faced this galaxy and were dead before he even realised it. He remembered the bitter laugh of Chalci, her eyes weathered by all the things they had witnessed. He was only on the frontlines for less than a month and yet the Sergeant's fatalism had already begun to affect him. How could the Colonel continue to be this optimistic after seeing so much?
He didn't say any of this. Instead he pretended that the speech had a positive effect on him and nodded.
—
Lieutenant Natia Samusenko was going through a personal tragedy. Far more tragic than any historical drama about Sebastian Thor or any myth about the legendary bird of the Elysian mountains, for Samusenko was on her last pack of Lho sticks. She sighed and checked again her cockpit, every nook and hidden spot where she put her arsenal of nicotine.
Nothing.
A responsible person would've probably started rationing such critical supplies since day seven. Samusenko was already bearing the responsibility of an entire platoon, she didn't want to be responsible for her own addictions on top of that. And now, a month since the drop, she was paying the bill of her past self. Yesterday's Sam was a real prick, she thought, remembering the pack she smoked a day prior. Feeling angry, she decided to leave the confines of her sentinel and find a more suitable target for her fury than herself.
The Belly was, as usual, full of activity, troopers moving everywhere to their rotations, Kantuari's servitors trying to repair the sentinels and aids getting in the way. Samusenko climbed down her walker and jumped off before reaching the final step located on the machine's leg. Climbing up a sentinel was a challenge in itself for young recruits. Samusenko was doing it without thinking. Fidgeting with her last pack she walked down the rows of sentinels stationed in the middle of the big chamber, doing a systematic count of the war machines. They were down to eighteen. A loss of only six sentinels in prolonged combat engagements with no artillery or armour support would be considered a phenomenal success in most guard regiments. Not in the 36th. Perhaps it was Samusenko's pride, but each loss stung like a knife wound. No, she thought, finally deciding to pick up a Lho stick, if anything it was the Colonel's mindset rubbing off on her. She and her precious perfect score of zero casualties. If there was ever a commanding officer with a more bleeding heart, they were long dead from blood loss. How she managed to stay sane, was something Samusenko never understood. She always had that smile, yet Samusenko had seen her drunk more than once, rarely as that happened. For the colonel every death was a tragedy, a personal failure. Guard commanders couldn't afford to be that sensitive. But still she persisted.
Mind distant, Samusenko approached the Chatterbox and Boiko who, as usual, was pestering Kantuari.
"...So why can't we?"
"Because it's different!"
Boiko puffed in her usual expression: "I don't see a difference."
"You're not a servant of the Omnissiah! For the last time there is a great deal of difference between using the weapons of the enemy and syphoning energy from a third party source!"
"You're not going to convince him, Boiko!" Yelled Samusenko, interrupting the usual verbal match. One that has been going on for days.
Boiko stretched and grinned: "Oh come on, Lieutenant! Don't tell me you don't wanna use these big guns, the greenskins so kindly left for us!"
Samusenko lit up her Lho stick and sighed: "Given their usual explosiveness, I really don't."
"Well the generator didn't explode."
"And praise the Omnissiah for that!" Added Kantuari, "By the holy canticles of Mars, I still can't believe that the Colonel talked me into this."
"It was either that or slow death by proverbial starvation." Noted Samusenko, "I think the Machine God is forgiving when it comes to such extreme cases." The fact that she considered said slow death to be a certainty was not something she talked about.
"All I can do is pray that it will forgive me for my transgressions." Muttered Kantuari. "I certainly have no need of sullying my binary coding even more by trying to understand xenos weapons."
Boiko groaned and Samusenko suppressed a smirk. "Alright sergeant, you're not paid to bother the Enginseer."
"Technically I'm not paid anything." Parried Boiko, "Unless we count food rations."
Samusenko put on a vicious grin: "Oh but I am counting them, and your allotted portion seems to shorten by the second…"
That was enough to make the mascot make a quick salute and vacate the premises in the span of a few seconds. So, she could be quiet when she wanted. Sam considered that before looking back at Kantuari, who was trying to ignore her. He had detached the Chatterbox's multi-melta and was busily spreading holy incense oil from a metallic flask. He had his power axe this time, holding it in one hand and waving it before the multi-melta as if it were an Aquila symbol. It was a bulky weapon, more akin to a halberd in length, with sawed edges on its axe head that made it look like a gear. After a few minutes of silence he sighed.
"What?" he asked.
"Trying to understand xenos weaponry is sullying your coding?"
The tech-priest made a binary gurgle, similar to the sound that cogitators made when they were hit one too many times.
"You promised to keep it quiet." He finally stated, in an accusatory manner.
Samusenko threw her hands to the sides: "I haven't said anything. I'm just curious."
"As I have stated before, I used to have a certain interest in Teleportarium engines. I suppose it was nostalgia."
Samusenko just smiled. She hadn't questioned Kantuari's request to retrieve the Big Mek's strange device after his fight with the Cadet. A good pilot knows not to question the cogboy responsible for keeping his sentinel running. But given Kantuari's usual predilections she was curious. Perhaps he was far more unorthodox than she ever gave him credit for.
Kantuari gave her another look and she realised that she was actually smiling.
"What?" he asked again.
"Just good to know. I tend to forget how human you are beneath all the wires. No offence."
"Some taken." Grumbled Kantuari. "You're no less human, if you have a hearing aid or an artificial eye."
"I thought the Tech-priests wanted to reject humanity? You know the whole, progressively replacing your body with metal bits."
"The Crux Mechanicus seeks the purity of the machine, yes." Acknowledged Kantuari. "But you fall into the classic false dichotomy between machine and man. We seek to rid ourselves of our decaying flesh constructs, but we are not less human for it. No more than that Cadet will be after he gets an arm replacement."
"Alright, I'll concede on that." Granted Sam, "But you have to acknowledge that removing your emotions is somewhat inhumane."
"If humans were only defined by emotions, Lieutenant, we would be no better than the Orks pounding at our gates."
"And if we're only defined by our logic?"
"We would be perfect in the eyes of the Omnissiah." Stated Kantuari matter of factly. "According to the Magos anyway. Personally I find annoyance a great engine for the mind-" He interrupted himself. "But what would I know?" He finished staring blankly at the weapon on the table.
From what little she knew about the cult Mecanicus, Enginseers were considered to be low in status. Much like the humble guardsman, they were necessary to the functioning of the Imperium's war machine but individually they weren't important. Kantuari had once likened himself to a gear, simple, effective, sturdy, but ultimately replaceable. He meant it as a noble comparison, but Sam heard the bile in his metallic voice, on more than one occasion. A gear wishing to be a lightbulb. Perhaps once upon a time Enarch Kantuari had greater ambitions, just like once upon a time Natia Samusenko wasn't a hopeless addict.
"In any case, you needn't be so curious." Continued the tech-priest, moving past the touchy subject. "I have already scrapped the infernal device. Lest the Angels discover it once they come to our rescue."
So he still has hope. Was she the only pessimist in the regiment or was everyone else so good at hiding how they saw half empty glasses? Sam puffed but kept her tongue in check.
"Well, out of sight, out of mind." She stated, flicking away the remnants of her Lho-stick.
"Indeed." Confirmed the tech-priest. "I already sullied myself enough, trying to maintain that damned generator. And the Colonel is no help either, always wishing to know which systems can be pow-"
The tech-priest didn't have time to finish his ramblings, as a loud explosion made the Gargant tremble.
—
Eshu was thrown back by the force of the impact. What was that? It didn't sound like the explosion that was just before it, more akin to a collision between two pieces of metal. Another sound overwhelmed him, a sound of metal tearing apart as if it was devoured by a titanic beast. He looked up at the wall separating the medical bay from the exterior. And saw a two headed industrial sized drill poking into the room.
What? He didn't have time to process as the underside of the drill opened and its occupants poured into the room with chilling feral cries. Orks. By the Emperor, Orks! Here! They were moving, screaming, some started shooting wildly in the air, they were already upon the patients beds who were scrambling, trying to get out of the way or to their weapons. Eshu tried grabbing his broken chainsword with an arm that wasn't there. He was powerless, he didn't even have ammunition for his bolt pistol, he couldn't-
Light. Heat. One of the orks exploded, his head and shoulders melted away. The Colonel. "This is Command, Orks in the medbay, repeat Orks in the medbay." She said, voice ice cold, one hand on her micro-bead, the other, aiming a sizzling plasma pistol. Another Ork tried rushing them. In a flash, the Colonel pulled out her second pistol and aimed it at the greenskin. It came to life, crackling with light. The ork tried jumping to the side but it was too late - a ball of superheated matter disintegrated his chest before he could scream. Eshu had heard tales of Sirin and Alknost, two ancient relics of the regiment, passed down from commander to commander. He never saw them in action until now and, as the Colonel shot another ork, he started to understand the reason for the tales. The guns, one painted white, the other black, trimmed with gold, didn't just sizzle or hissed as they performed their deadly duo. They sang.
"Get the wounded out." The Colonel commanded Eshu, and took a shot at another ork. Her smile was gone, replaced by a scowl. He moved trying to keep his eyes on the orks. There were only a dozen or so of them, perhaps they couldn't fit any more on that strange boarding craft. Eshu grabbed one of the troopers and started moving towards the exit. He could hear screams from behind, some beds were too close to the wall, too close to the orks. Another explosion. The gargant shook and nearly made him trip but he kept on moving. He got to the exit and looked back. Blood. The Orks were shooting indiscriminately, moving from row to row. But for each one that killed a trooper, another one exploded in pale blue light.
"I'm here you bastards!" Farrah Zal yelled, "You want a fight? I'm right here! Do you hear me? I AM HERE!"
She got up on one of the empty beds and was yelling her lungs out as she shot the orks after the next. Her shots were now going astray. She was in the open. She was going to get shot.
She didn't care.
She wanted them to focus on her, to target her. Anything to stop them from killing her men. Foolish, stupid. And something Eshu desperately needed to replicate.
He got back into the room looking for a weapon. Las pistols were out of the question, he wouldn't be good with that, but there were no chainswords eith- There. Eshu grabbed a scalpel from one of the stands and rushed into the fray. Stupid. Orks were immune to small cuts. He would need to plant the small blade into the eyes of the xenos or the brain. If they had brains. Normally that would've been difficult. Doing it with his left hand would be impossible. But he didn't have time to think, his legs were already moving on their own towards the danger.
One of the orks, armed with an oversized cleaver, was going to a patient's bed. Eshu yelled trying to get his attention, but the xenos, overcome by bloodlust and savagery, ignored him and brought his weapon up for a swing.
No you won't. Eshu brandished the scalpel and went for a piercing stab from behind aiming for the beast's neck. He plunged it deep into the Ork but missed by a few inches and the scalpel touched the back instead. The xenos didn't even turn. No. He brought the cleaver down. Eshu heard a sickening thumb.
"NO!"
His yell was louder than gunfire. The Ork started to turn now looking for another prey. Eshu wouldn't, couldn't let him. He grabbed the scalpel and dashed around the xenos, who had just noticed him. Being this close actually gave Eshu the advantage, the cleaver was too large to use in such close quarters. The Ork tried stepping away now. Eshu wasn't going to let him. He bent down, under those green arms, then surged upward aiming for the skull. That was a clean hit, through the chin, ignoring the bones and hitting the Ork's tongue. The beast howled and punched Eshu with its other hand. Eshu's breath went out, he stumbled and fell on the bed where the victim of the brute lay. In the corner of his eye he saw the Colonel. She was still firing but he could see her bleeding. A stray shot went near her head and she fell. It was all going so wrong. He didn't have time to waste, the ork was done pulling the scalpel out from its chin. Seeing his size, the xenos might've used it as a toothpick. He needed another weapon.
Eshu scrambled, trying to find something, anything. Seconds before the fiend chopped his head off, he felt the hilt of something, grabbed it and plunged past the ork, using the bed as a launch point. He ducked and rolled, coming out from behind the ork again. He brandished his new weapon, a combat knife, that of the dead trooper. It would have to suffice. The cleaver went up again. Eshu dodged it and jumped again to shorten the distance. Again the ork couldn't use his cleaver. Again he went for a punch. Eshu wasn't good at many things, but he did learn from his dueling mistakes. He sidestepped the punch, moving between it and the ork's body. He could taste the beast's foul breath, feel the chest pulsating. Eshu grabbed the knife in a reverse grip and drove it straight into the thing's brain.
The Ork didn't scream. Instead he simply stared down at Eshu, and started to fall. Triumph quickly turned to horror as Eshu realised that the Ork was going to fall on him. They hit the ground, the full weight of the xenos slamming down on him. He could hardly breath, the stench of the ork filled his nostrils, his body aching, the corpse obscuring view and sound. He tried kicking, pulling, shoving. It didn't work. He could feel the Gargant trembling as there was another explosion. He was close to giving up when suddenly he felt the weight decreasing. A few moments later he was free. It was Suzhen and a few of her aids. Eshu glanced around. The fight seemed to be over.
The chief medicae looked him over: "Alive? Good, help the wounded." She stopped and looked at the ork's corpse. "Impressive work."
"I got lucky." Mumbled Eshu, trying to check if his ribs were broken.
"Lucky men don't kill Orks with knives." Said Suzhen, but she walked away before Eshu could contest that statement. He got up. The fight only lasted for a few minutes but the victim's count was severe. Men and women, lying dead in their beds. Tired, wounded troops gathered up near the exit. Reinforcements started to arrive but they were too late. Body aching, Eshu started walking where he saw the Colonel. She was alive, sitting on the floor, Suzhen kneeled next to her. The shot grazed her but it was still ugly. Part of her cheek was rendered apart and bleeding out. So different from her usual smiling self.
As she sat there, amidst the corpses of the wounded, Eshu Orun realised a cruel truth. At the end of the day, their lives were the Emperor's currency and it was up to him to spend it. At the end of the day, that was more important than their struggles. At the end of the day, Colonel Farrah Zal could not protect everyone in her little village.
And yet, she got up.
Suzhen tried to get her back down, but The Colonel started gesturing instead. Sign language, Eshu realized. Most regiments had their own variants, though almost all were basic, focused on relaying important intel in the midst of battle. This was more complex however and Eshu had trouble keeping up. The chief medicae nodded and tapped her own micro-bead: "This is medbay, Command says that there might be a bigger assault coming, repeat this is medbay…"
Eshu felt a shiver running down his spine: "How can you be sure?"
"Because the Greenskins have a societal avalanche effect." Answered Suzhen for the Colonel. "The more there are, the more complex they can be. A dozen wouldn't be able to build or maintain this drill ship. Which means that more were behind its production. And the Orks don't stay behind the lines when there's a chance for a fight. Well that and…"
Another explosion cut her off. The Colonel finished the explanation with a single sign: "Artillery."
—
Samusenko was back in her sentinel when the second drill hit. Apparently, due to the rains, night time visibility and the speed of these things, the snipers couldn't spot them in time. Just great. Well, on the bright side they knew what the 'smarter' Greenskins were occupied with these past few weeks. Airplanes with drills. Just great. As the ground shook, she turned the engine on and activated the weapons. While that was going on the Ork also decided to start using artillery. That alone was disturbing, as Orks rarely had the patience to stay behind lines for long. And to add to that, Boiko's Chatterbox was still being outfitted with the multi-melta, but the rest of the sentinels started coming to life, moving around the Hall, taking positions. Sam fought down the tinge of pride and focused on the enemy.
The second drill hit the backside of the Gargant and was now finishing up its munching. Bad position. It landed quite high, near the lift and they needed to be careful with their aim. Sam cursed and made her way to the point of entrance. The underside of the drill opened and the orks started jumping down, though a fair few got burned. They, armed with guns and crude rocket launchers. The firefight started. Elysians behind cover had the numbers and the position, the orks… well they had the spirit. Sam rushed past the las fire and made her way towards the few charging orks. Unlike plasma weaponry, melta guns didn't have much range, ten meters being the optimal distance. But they packed a punch. Sam picked a particularly big ork, armored and bigger than the rest, aimed and fired. The room got covered in a flash of bright yellow light as heat waves streaked across. The big Greenskin stopped existing, a smell of burned meat and charred metal in his place. The orks got confused and Samusenko used the opportunity to stomp on a smaller one crushing the alien. Sweet Emperor, she loved her weapon. She complained often, and usually for good reason, but this? Those brief moments of omnipotence? The power to erase villains from existence? This was what she lived for. Well, that and Lho-sticks.
A rocket shot past her sentinel but missed the cockpit and flew off into the depths of the belly. That brought her back from her power trip. They needed to wrap this up before the orks destroyed their humble and ugly fortress from the inside. She stomped on another alien, then aimed her melta again and discharged another heatwave. In a matter of a few minutes, the orks were dead. Sam checked her own troops. The casualties seemed to be minimal, though a few sentinels had superficial damage.
Boiko's Chatterbox walked up beside her. "Did I miss all the fun?" She asked through the vox.
"Seems like it." Samusenko answered, looking around.
"This doesn't make any sense." A metallic voice came through the vox, seemingly puzzled. "Why would the Orks go through all the trouble of building these aircrafts and only put dozens of soldiers into them?"
"You're assuming they are being logical Kantuari." Answered Sam, still expecting another drill to impact the Gargant.
"True." Admitted the enginseer, "But I know how much these aliens love, need to fight and with those artillery strikes-" He stopped talking, then sighed and started moving towards the stairs: "Colonel needs me." He stated matter of factly, before cutting his vox. Good, now Sam wouldn't have to worry about him at least. Kantuari could hold his own in a fight but he wasn't a soldier.
"Shouldn't we take care of those guns, boss?" Boiko asked, itching for action.
"Sniper teams don't have a clear visual." Sam said as the Gargant shook again from an explosion. From what she heard on the officer channel, the Orks were seemingly using some of the Steel Legion's self propelled guns. Aside from the sinister implications (as the Steel Legion didn't lose any self propelled guns before the Drop), it also meant that the Sentinels would have to traverse at least half a klick. Not good odds. No, far better to avoid sorties and focus on the incoming drills.
She didn't have to wait for long as another drill crashed through the front gates of the Belly. Samusenko moved forward, moving back across the hallway, Boiko by her side. She stopped mid-way as another drill crashed into the gate, then another, then another.
She cursed and put her Sentinel into a sprint. So that was their plan. Weaken the superstructure, then make a hole big enough with drills. The ones before were situated too high but these ones could be an entry point and furthermore, risked collapsing the entire gate. That would mean the end, at least for Sam's platoon.
"Drills are within melta range, fuse them to the gate! I'll take the two on the left!" She commanded Boiko. The sergeant acknowledged and ran off to the right. Samusenko moved dangerously close to the still spinning drill and aimed her multi-melta at an upward angle. Light. Heat. The drill stopped moving, parts of it melting and falling off. She thought she was successful, but she was too close. Parts of the molten metal landed in her sentinel.
"Damn it!" She cursed as the overheated piece of scrap played havoc with her machine. Why did they have to make the sentinels open topped? Light on the other side. Boiko was seemingly more lucky as she fused her second drill to the structure. That meant three drills were sealed and immobile. That left the last one. Sam tried moving her Sentinel but the electronics were fried. She was stuck there.
"Damn it all!" She tried pivoting and aiming at the last drill. She could hear the metal hinges of the great door whine in pain as another explosion rocked the Gargant. It wouldn't hold. She realized.
"Boss, you're too close to the drill!" She heard a voice through the vox.
"I'll be fine." She lied. "You need to weld the door."
"But-"
"Boiko, now!" The sergeant moved, running to the edges of the room. Sam looked up. The last drill was still ripping into the metal, rendering the pieces of scrap apart. A few more seconds and it would collapse the entire thing. And she couldn't position herself properly to aim it. Not unless…
Sam gritted her teeth and pulled her hand into the scorching electronics. It burned. Her gloves didn't do much in stopping the molten metal from burning her flesh away. She didn't have time to care. Number seven always had a problem with gyro stabilizers. Now it would be a blessing. Eyes tearing up from the pain she found the correct switch under the controls and pulled on it. She heard a clang. Stabilizer was off. With all her strength she pushed against the back of the cockpit. The sentinel started to tilt, then fell. Impact. Pain. Sam saw the drill right above her. Right in front of her.
Grinning, she pulled the trigger. A flash of light. Again. More heat. Again! The drill slowed down. Again! The drill became red hot and stopped moving. Sam breathed out. The grinding had ceased. Then the drill plunged forward and started moving. Samusenko gasped in panic trying to undo the latches, trying to get out. But she couldn't. Glancing down she saw the problem. That accursed piece of molten scrap had made its way down into her cockpit, and fused her boots, clothes, and her flesh to the seat. She didn't even notice. If she had five minutes she might've been able to move, cut herself free with the knife. But the drill didn't care. Already it was falling down right on top of her.
Futile. Oh well. Sam got out a Lho-stick and closed her eyes. She hoped they had something to smoke in heaven.
—
This was not a good day, thought Major Rudi. The medbay, the Belly, all got hit by these Ork flyers. There didn't seem to be any more, and the bombardment was more sporadic now, but it still shook the entire structure and made life harder for sniper teams. At least Farrah was alive. He looked at the incoming casualties report and shook his head. He couldn't say the same for Sam. Damn it all. He actually liked the sour Lieutenant, she was one of the few that indulged in his paranoia, if only because it went nicely with her pessimism.
The door to the command room burst open as the Colonel entered followed by an entire retinue. Suzhen, that loon, followed her, as well as Hartmann, Kantuari and Farid. Rudi tensed up when he saw the Commissar, then cringed when he saw the stitchings on his commander's face. It went from her lips up to her temple, cutting across the left cheek. In time it would give way to an honourable scar but right now it just looked painful.
"You shouldn't be talking." The doc noted.
"Yes, I think you really shouldn't be saying anything at all if you continue down this line of thinking." Noted Hartmann coldly. Rudi's hand went to his bolt pistol. Since they started using the reactor, he grew even more antagonistic towards the Colonel. Not the hardline Commissar level of 'I will shoot you if you don't charge the enemy suicidally thrice per day' antagonism, more of a 'There will probably be a court-marshall waiting for us once this is over' type of antagonism. And now he seemed even more miffed.
"I'm fine." The Colonel croaked. She sounded tired, even more so than usual. "You said people didn't need cheeks to talk."
"I said that you need to avoid stretching your face, unless you want the stitches to pop off." Answered Suzhen in her usual, aloof, disdainful tone.
"Colonel, do not ignore me." Said Hartmann, moving to a side of the room and taking his place up against a wall, where he had a view of everyone in the room. Smart. "I let the reactor usage slide but what you're proposing is Heretical with a capital H."
"Not to mention extremely dangerous." Added Kantuari. The big metallic priest remained in the center of the room seemingly more morbidly intrigued in studying the bits and bops of the interior rather than actually holding up a conversation. Typical.
"I agree with all of that." Farid remarked, "But those guns and drills will kill us if we don't do anything. I think the Colonel's right." He moved past Rudi who nodded at him. Iron Jaw was about one of the only troopers that the major trusted unconditionally.
"You just agreed that it was Heretical!" Flared the Commissar. "Come on Farrah, you can't be serious!"
Farrah Zal didn't answer. Instead she looked directly at Rudi. She could tell.
"Who?" She asked softly.
"Sam."
Farid groaned and collapsed into a chair. Hartmann made a sign of the aquila, Suzhen scowled and Farrah closed her eyes as she sat in a chair opposite Rudi.
"What's going on, what about the Lieutenant?" Asked Kantuari, confused.
"She's dead." Suzhen dutifully explained, eyeing the stitches on Farrah's face.
The Tech-priest stuttered, stunted: "No, that… No that can't be. She was in perfect condition when I left to join you, This must be a mistake-"
"Boiko confirmed it," Rudi announced, more surprised by the emotions expressed in the cogboy, "body and everything."
The Enginseer stood there, then made some sort of a binary cry. Rudi blinked. Was he… actually crying? No that couldn't be. Probably some sort of a binary prayer.
"I guess I won't be giving her that bottle of Araks anytime soon." Muttered Farid, face down. Silence.
After a few moments, Farrah breathed in. The stitches made a strange siffling sound as she did it. "If this continues you won't have to wait long, old friend."
Farid blinked, then nodded: "I suppose not. So Commissar, you were saying?"
Hartmann's face reddened: "Oh don't use her death as an excuse! A guardsman's duty is to die! To die standing, facing the foes of the Emperor and humanity!"
"Better to live for another day and fight more of his enemies then, wouldn't you agree?" Parried Farid, amicably as he always was to Commissars.
"I would Lieutenant, I truly would, but to use the enemies weapons to that end?"
"Technically a force field isn't a weapon." Noted Suzhen. Hartmann glared at her and she stared back, unblinking. That lasted for a good full minute.
Finally Farrah sighed and tapped the chief medicae on the arm: "I'm fine Lady Bai. Please, take care of the others."
Suzhen looked at the Colonel, then nodded and left. Rudi could never get a proper read on her. Cold and aloof yet almost obsessed with the Colonel. Well that last part he could read just fine, he just had trouble determining how much of it was actual love and how much of it was an overbearing physician–patient privilege. He could never tell with civies.
"We're keeping the force field in mind as a last resort." Farrah stated tiredly.
"But-"
"I said we're keeping it in mind, Heinz!" Farrah flared up, turning to look at her Commissar. "I realise the potential implications of my actions but I do not think that using defensive measures, defensive measures that bear similarities to the Imperium's own Void shields, makes us traitors! We're not consorting with heretics, we're not blaspheming against Imperial saints, we're not summoning demons or calling the archtraitor to aid us! We are simply trying to survive. Is that a crime? Is that heresy?"
Hartmann was taken back by the torrent of words. "Farrah…"
"What Heinz? Am I a criminal for trying to protect my men? Am I a heretic for trying to accomplish my duty, which I remind you, is holding down this bloody gargant!?"
"Colonel." Said Rudi apprehensively.
Farrah turned to him, fire in her eyes: "What Major?"
"You're ripping your stitches apart, Fah." Noted Farid calmly.
Farrah stopped and touched her left cheek. It was bleeding, blood seeping from the now open wound.
"Guess it's a good thing I sent Bai away." she chuckled, taking a handkerchief offered by Rudi. "I'm… sorry, it's been a long day."
"It's alright," Said Farid, "We're all tensed up in this mess. Right Commissar?"
"Y-yes." Hartmann agreed. "I see your point, Farrah. I disagree, vehemently so, but I see it. I suppose we'll keep this idea in mind unt-"
The vox station came to life. Everyone, except Kantuari, stopped and looked at it, surprised.
"Ma'am, we have incoming vox." Tusi said, looking confused. "It's from… the Astartes, ma'am."
That got Kantuari's attention and everyone else's incredulity.
"Now, they decide to contact us?" Asked Rudi, "After spurning communications for weeks?"
"That must mean that they're close to us!" Said Kantuari, his usual demeanor returning, "Our angels have arrived!"
Farrah exchanged a glance with Rudi and Farid, then got up. Hartmann and Kantuari were already next to the vox panels looking cheerful. However, Rudi was paranoid as usual. If the Space Marines are close, when why haven't the Orks stopped bombarding us? And why haven't we heard anything from the high command in days? The last communique stated that the Orks were stalling their advances, that the Steel Legion was taking heavy losses and that the Astartes pushed too far, losing contact with the rest of the Guard. Information that Farrah and Rudi decided to avoid sharing with the rest of the regiment. Should we have? He thought. Well too late to think about that now.
The Colonel approached the Vox and took the speaker in one hand, the other holding the bloody handkerchief.
"This is Colonel Farrah Zal of the 36th."
"Colonel." A metallic voice, similar to Kantuari but deeper, more ancient. Esfandyar, the captain of the Sons of Medusa. "I'm surprised you're still alive."
"Surprised?" Asked Farrah, brow furrowed.
"Despite your weakness, you have persisted for this long. That is surprising."
"I'll take it as a compliment." Said Farrah dryly.
"It is. Rejoice, Guardsmen, for we have accomplished our task and now we bring you salvation."
"That's good." Said Farrah, relaxing visibly, "That's very good. When can we expect your forces? The Orks haven't stopped their assault fully so I assume you're a few klicks away-"
"You misunderstand," Esfandyar interrupted. "We have found what we were looking for on this planet and have withdrawn from the assault."
Silence. Shivers running down his spine.
"I-I don't understand," Farrah stammered, "You will use drop pods to land near the Gargant?"
"No." The voice was cold, calculating, uncaring. "We have retrieved what we came searching for. Your duty, consisting of distracting the Orks, is done."
The handkerchief fell to the floor: "You're abandoning the Campaign?" Asked Farrah in a rasping voice.
"As I have said, you will fail. The Orks are too numerous in this area, the Guard too few."
Hartmann's jaw dropped, Farrah grabbed the speaker with both of her hands: "You can't, you- we had a deal!"
"I have promised to assist the Guard, I never claimed that we would turn the tides of this campaign."
"You bastard!" Growled Farrah, "You can't abandon us! Not after this!"
"We are not." The voice stated. "Your resistance is to be rewarded. With the Emperor's peace."
Silence. Only the buzzing of the vox filling the room.
"They… they cut communication." Said the Adjutant, baffled.
"The Emperor's peace?" Asked Hartmann, trying to pick his jaw off the floor. "That means… death… but how…"
Farrah dropped the speaker, a dead look in her eyes: "They're going to glass us. From orbit."
Rudi jumped from his seat. "They wouldn't, they…" They lied about everything else, his paranoia told him, of course they would lie about their cannons being damaged, they just wanted us as a distraction for the Orks. He ran towards the hatch in the middle of the room. He climbed it to the roof. The rain had stopped for once and in the night sky Rudi saw a light. Getting brighter.
Bastards! Rudi jumped back down the hatch and saw the colonel shaking Kantuari.
"Kantuari, we need those force fields active now!" It was no use, the tech-priest was comatose, the Commissar on his knees and praying, Farid was giving orders for sniper teams to get inside the Gargant. That wouldn't matter if they didn't get those shields up. Warp, it probably wouldn't matter even if they did. The Lance batteries of a Spaceship could obliterate most void shields with enough salvos.
Farrah grabbed the robes of the Tech-priest and was pleading: "Kantuari, please, we need you!"
"I'm, I can't, this is… too much…" He stammered, dazed.
"ENARCH! If you don't do this she would have died for nothing!"
That worked. Kantuari's oculars focused, as if he was slapped from a drunken stupor. He nodded and dashed across the room.
"Be ready to press the button on the control panel!" Rudi heard him yell as he ran past the room into the depths of the Gargant.
Farrah followed his advice and moved to the corresponding control panel. Her cheek was bloody, ragged, the stitches open and torn.
"Farrah, it's no use." The Commissar sounded crestfallen. "They said our duty is done."
"I'm not done yet." Snarled Farrah, shoving the charts and maps from the control panel. The dead look was gone, replaced by a fire that he knew so well. Fire. Passion. Love for the regiment. But could love stop an orbital lance battery?
She activated her micro-bead: "Just tell me when, Enarch!"
Rudi looked out the window. Was it him or was the night getting brighter?
"Farrah, it's alright" Hartmann muttered. "We have done our part."
"I am not letting this Regiment die, Heinz!" Farrah shouted. The air was getting brighter, as if another sun suddenly lit up the night sky. A sun that was getting closer.
"I need a few moments." He heard Kantuari's voice in his micro-bead.
"Farrah please." Whispered Heinz.
"WE ARE NOT DYING!" Farrah roared.
The air grew thick with energy, Rudi felt heat, unbearable, vengeful, overwhelming heat, coming from the sky.
"Now!" He heard Kantuari yell.
The incandescent beam of the angels of death came upon them. Farrah screamed and pushed the button. In that surreal moment, stuck between life, death and angels, all Rudi could see was light and his answer.
Yes, love could indeed stop an orbital lance battery.