A/N: Chap 33 revie responses are in my forums as normal. Also thanks for the kind words. RL has not been kind and I let a little bit of a whine seep into my fics. Good news is that we're approaching massive changes, and you get the first signs here. Thank you all for reading. Also, housekeeping: There will be no posting next Saturday. I hope those who celebrate it have a wonderful Christmas Holiday. All others, enjoy your time and cherish those you love.
Chapter Thirty-Four: In Angelis Suis Repperit Pravitatem
"How the hell can you sleep through this, Washton?"
Directly across from Taylor, Sergeant Skerrell stared at her incredulously. His massive bulk barely fit in the restraints of the safety webbing. "I know you haven't done one of these before!"
Right beside Taylor, her platoon corporal laughed nervously. "Sarge never fought in a war before Verghast, either. Didn't slow her down a bit." Sehri Muril had come a long way from being a food clerk in the two years spent as a Tanith Ghost. She already proudly bore a Tanith tattoo on her cheek–a blue knife. Most of them did, all save Taylor.
Major Rawne stepped into the troop cabin, glaring at the four hundred men and women within it. "LZ is hot!" he shouted. "First ships down are already taking heavy fire. Enemy has armor and numbers that were not reported. When we land, combat egress and make to assembly point Alpha-Tango Eight-Six. Follow your platoon leaders. Platoon leaders, you follow me. We'll form up, and then engage. Keep your heads down, people. We hit smooth air in five. Prep for landing."
Almost to the second of Major Rawne's warning, the worst of the turbulence abated as the combat dropship burned through reentry and reached the inner atmosphere. Though the ride was still rough, Taylor undid her safety webbing. Opposite, Skerrell and the other platoon leaders did the same.
The Tanith First did not organize itself by companies. Instead, they were an entire regiment made up of 10–20-man platoons, and most platoons were led not by commissioned officers, but NCOs like Sergeant Jada Washton.
She turned and walked down the line of 14th Platoon. "Weapons check!"
As she walked down the line, her nineteen troopers held their lasrifles in ready positions. Each weapon showed fully charged, and each soldier had at least five new charge packs stored away in their tac-vests. Walking back, she called, "Vox check!"
All around them, the other platoon leaders did the same, moving up and down the lines of their people. Even the veteran Tanith, some of whom were old enough to have adult children, went through the pre-insertion ritual. It was technically Taylor's first time doing this for something other than a ship-board drill. It still felt terribly familiar.
At the front of the cabin, a large display plate glowed yellow. Beside it, number runes began counting down.
The bar turned green. The ship came down hard enough to force Taylor to grab support bars. Far behind, the main ramp dropped fast. "Stand! Weapons hot!"
Her people undid their safety webbing and stood. The shouts of "Go! Go!" echoed through the chamber as those in front moved out at a sprint. As the alien air blasted in, Taylor could smell the fycelene and smoke of combat. She could hear explosions and the constant whip-snap of lasrifle bolts. From the front of her platoon, she began running. Muril and the others followed close behind.
They cleared the ramp. Directly ahead, she saw a burning imperial tank surrounded by mangled gibbets of flesh that used to be Imperial guardsmen. Beyond that was a city made primarily of stone and wood. Through the smoky haze she saw golden domes from various basilicas and other religious structures, but the only truly tall structure in the city was what looked like an up-thrust of stone topped with an ancient-looking, white-marble citadel that rose almost from the center of the city.
Using the citadel as a compass, she oriented herself on the grid-map she'd placed on the vambrace she wore on her right arm. She turned and ran hunched over across the killing field. The first group of Tanith, and the bulk of the Pardus armored regiment that landed with them, managed to push the enemy into the city proper, but lasrifles had a long range to them and they were taking fire.
Despite heavy conditioning shipboard for the twenty months of their passage from Verghast to Hagia, Taylor found herself sucking breath when she arrived. Her kit weighed over twenty kilos fully loaded, almost a sixth of her total body-weight. She wasn't the only one, but none of them let it stop them.
Rawne picked a good spot to assemble. It looked like an old playground or sports field. A heavily armed Salamander transport and a Conqueror variant of the venerable Leman Russ tank held station at the edge of the field. The tank was absorbing the occasional lasrifle pot-shot, returning fire with the pintle-mounted heavy autocannon.
Rawne did a quick headcount, not of men, but of the platoon leaders. With a nod, he called them all over. "Buckle up, this is a gakking mess," the major said with a disgusted snarl. "Armor's going to push forward, we're going to flush out on either side. Room by room, urban clearance. Eleven, you're with my group. Twelve, thirteen with Obel. Fourteen, fifteen, Washton. Sixteen, seventeen with Meryn. Obel and I will cover east of the main street. Washton and Meryn west. We've got friendly units from Ardelean Colonials to the west, and Brevian Centennials to the east. Objective is designated Checkpoint Magna, a basilica ten city blocks in. We do not stop until we secure every block between here and there. I will personally carve off the ears of anyone who shoots a friendly. I'll carve off both if you let them shoot you. You understand me?"
When he got the answers he wanted, Rawne hoisted his own weapon. "By squads, for Tanith."
"For Verghast!" Serhi called from behind Taylor.
"For the Ghosts!"
Rawne slapped the hull of the tank in signal, and they moved forward. Away from the group, Taylor split her own platoon in three. She counted off roughly a third of her team and pointed to Muril. The second third she pointed to their veteran Tanith corporal, MkTagrt. The rest gathered around her. Nearby, Sergeant Meryn divided his team into quarters. He had far more veterans, Taylor's platoon was made up mostly of Vervunhivers with one or two senior Tanith to help season the newer recruits. Thirds gave them a larger group to protect each other.
With the grinding growl of the tank and transport moving through the main street, she and Meryl's platoons split into their component squads and spread out into the side streets.
They came to the first building on their street–what looked like a shop with shattered glass windows. "Jessi, Tayn, up top," Taylor ordered. The two troopers peeled off to take oversight with their modified sniper-las weapons. Muril's squad moved to the next structure.
"Clear!"
"Clear!"
"IED!"
Trooper Olan Brown wore the same silver axe-rake studs on his collar that Taylor and all the other Vervunhivers wore, just like most of his unit. He wasn't one of Gol's miners, but he fell in with Agun Solic's scratch unit and was a good man with a sharp eye. He called the warning a second before he grabbed Lanis Chiria's kit and hurled her bodily back and dove himself a second before the improvised explosive sent shrapnel flying through the room.
Taylor felt a sting to her left shoulder as the blast sent her stumbling back. She looked down as her ears rang and saw a piece of twisted shrapnel embedded in her tac vest. She pulled it out with a grunt and winced from the pain of it.
"Sound off!" she said from her prone position. She felt satisfaction when her whole squad responded. She climbed back to her feet and touched her vox. "Fourteen. Be advised IEDs in the buildings."
"Three. Acknowledged."
"Good eye, Olan," Taylor said. "Medic, come make sure this thing isn't too deep. I'll be damned if I'm out before I've fired my first shot."
The medic was a Tanith man, almost twice her apparent age. He pulled the diagnoster from his kit. With a satisfied nod, he stored the device and then shoved a suture wand through her flack vest. The damned thing hurt worse than the wound, but sealed it shut with synthflesh and glue. "Only a few millimeters in, no serious damage, Sarge."
"Emperor protects. Squad, move on, we've got work to do," Taylor said. Her ears were still ringing from the blast.
Muril's squad had already cleared the second structure on. Taylor led her squad toward the next. This one looked like another shop, but was three levels high with an overhang over the ground floor.
"Contact! Vector nine high, second floor!" Jessi's warning was accompanied by the whip-crack of her long-las firing. Taylor glanced at the building across the street from the three-story shop and saw movement in the second floor window. From the structure behind, Muril's squad engaged, freeing Taylor's squad up to make sure the building they'd initially targeted was clear.
She nodded to Olan, fired her weapon at the door lock, and took position as Olan kicked the door open. She had seconds to see her very first contact with the enemy. She caught sight of green silk robes over carapace armor from the corner of her eye. The face was covered in a porcelain mask painted with obscene images of Saint Sabbat consorting with animal-headed demons.
The three enemy cultists were positioned behind overturned tables and cabinets and opened fire the very second the door opened. Taylor ducked behind the door frame as a shot glanced off her helmet and sent it flying.
"That hurt my feelings," she said between gasps of adrenaline. "Can someone blow the gakking hell out of them please?"
Brown and Vamberfelt tossed a tube-charge each. The sharp, bone-shaking pops send a wave of dust and debris flying out of the door on the wave of the concussive pressure wave. Taylor spun into that wave with her weapon firing. The charges were not enough to kill the three cultists, who's impromptu barriers were sufficient to shield them. But it bought time to breach.
Brown, Vamberfelt, Chiria and Tayn charged in behind her. The first cultist popped over the table to fire, but by then Taylor had crossed the four feet of empty floor and got a headshot in. The second and third cultists fired blindly from their posts. Vamberfeld screamed as a shot took his entire right arm off and flipped him hard onto his back.
Brown leaped the counter and stabbed with his long, silver bayonet. The remaining cultist jerked back under concerted enemy fire.
"Room secure!" Taylor called. Pulled her own tube charge and threw it up the stairs. The second it popped she rushed into the second level of the building. Olan and Chiria were right behind. The second level was an opening living area, with ragged, torn furniture and a kitchen.
"Clear!"
She pulled her next charge as she headed up to the third floor, but paused when she heard crying. "Imperial guard!" she called up. "Identify yourselves or we will open fire!"
A hesitant call came down the stairs. "I am Zho Barin. A baker. My family, and my bother's family."
She glanced back at Brown and motioned for him to have a tube charge handy, just in case she was about to die. She climbed to the top of the stairs, lasrifle ready.
She found a miserable, hungry-looking group of civilians, one adult male, two females and a dozen children. "Is anyone else up here?"
The baker shook his head. One of his eyes looked bruised and swollen, and he had burns on his hands and arms. One of the women stared with a dead look in her eyes, but the other was protectively holding the children. Brown and Chiria both came up behind her. "Orders regarding civvies, sergeant?"
"Remain in place, mark the building," she told him. She walked over to the family. "It's not safe for any of you to move right now. Stay here, stay quiet. We'll put a mark on the building to make sure people know you're here. As soon as we have the area secure, hospitallers will come to evacuate you to a refugee camp where you can get some food and safety. Do you understand?"
The man blinked his one good eye. "Beati must have sent you! We will do as you say!"
Taylor led her back down to the ground floor. Stark, the Medic, knelt beside Vamberfeld. The pale, round-faced man lay with eyes closed, pale and gasping each breath. What remained of his arm lay near the door.
"Medivac on its way," Stark reported tersely. "Can't do anything else."
"Grab his charges and ammo," Taylor ordered. She knelt down and took the man's hand. He wasn't a scratch fighter, he was simply a clerk in the city who lost everything he loved and tried to find meaning in the Guard. "Emperor protects. Serhi, MkTagrt, status?"
"Lost Solia, Abashet wounded," Serhi reported. She sounded furious.
"Ghalar KIA," came the level voice of MkTagrt. "My squad is next block up. Taking heavy fire. Enemy armor sighted."
"All squads converge," Taylor ordered over her vox bead. "Fourteen taking heavy fire, first intersection, section 9. Enemy armor sighted."
"Twelve. Hear you, Fourteen. We're half a block east of the intersection."
The building opposite the one they just cleared was on fire, but the structures were coated in fire retardant paint that seemed to limit any potential damage. She leaned over to pick up her dented helmet. Ahead, she saw Serhi's squad. "Double time," she ordered her own people.
Fourteenth platoon arrived in the middle of a vicious firefight. The far side of the square had enemy cultists entrenched behind a demolished building. At least two autostubbers and a damned Urdeshi AT70 tank were leveling every piece of cover the Ghosts could find.
"Fourteen, we have an AT70 giving us a bad day," she reported over her vox.
Almost immediately, she heard a new voice over her vox bead. "Fourteen, the Imperial Navy sends its regards."
She looked up in time to see the beautiful wingspan of a gold-painted Valkyrie resplendent with the Imperial aquila on its hull. "Ghosts, incoming fire! Incoming fire!"
A single Hellstrike missile seared through the air as the AT70 tried to lift its main cannon, and a moment later the entire enemy strongpoint was enveloped in a blast of white-orange fire. The blast shattered almost the entire block around the enemy tank, and sent roofs and glass flying from those buildings around Taylor's team. She and the rest hit the ground and covered their heads in their hands as the Navy cleared the road for them.
Blinking at the dust, she looked up to see the Valkyrie sheer sharply to one side as enemy missile fire responded in kind. The heavily armed drop ship returned fire with the multi-laster cannon mounted to one side of its cockpit, and then went hunting for other targets.
"Fourteen owes you a drink, Valkyrie," Taylor said over her vox. "Squads, move! Secure the square!"
~~Revelation~~
~~Revelation~~
The Basilica of the Saint Triumphant was one of thirty two basilicas within the city of Doctrinopolis on the Shrineworld of Hagia. It was a stone structure with two golden domes, built in a hemisphere pattern of benches facing a central altar. Behind the altar rose a painted statue of Saint Sabbat that stood with the Imperial aquila hanging as a giant golden placard over her head. The windows were beautifully crafted stained-glass depictions of Sabbat's various battles, culminating with a massive stained-glass scene of her nine holy wounds on the world of Harkalon.
That was before the chaos cultists seized it.
When they reached it, Taylor saw dead citizens wired in obscene positions to the statue, with blasphemous symbols painted in drying blood over the statue's face. Those stained-glass windows that weren't broken were covered in human skin, still dripping. The whole abhorrent display must have been placed right before or as the Imperials were landing.
One of the walls of the basilica was reduced to rubble by the Pardus tank they accompanied up the street. Bodies littered the church, most in heretical green silks, but four wore the Ardelean Colonial's orange sashes. The Ghosts weren't the first to reach the checkpoint, but they were the ones to take it.
In the darkness outside, she heard heavy fire from the Infardi's counter-attack. The two light infantry regiments, the Ghosts and the Ardelean Colonials, made up the majority of the initial infantry thrust, being better suited for urban combat. The 8th Pardus armor, the 7th Ardelean Mechanized Infantry and the 23rd Brevien Centennials followed after, to establish their foothold in the city for the day to better evacuate the wounded and civilians. There were not a lot of civilians left.
She sat on one of the few intact benches in the basilica absently eating her first rations of the day. Her hand shook from physical exhaustion and hunger; her helmet sat on the bench beside her.
The local priests called themselves ayatani. Somehow many managed to survive the cultists' sacrilege, though every one of them bore angry, bloodied scars on their faces. They moved without seeming care as they and a few civilian aides helped carry the bodies out of the basilica to be burned.
Her platoon was down five troopers–three dead, two KIA. The rest of her platoon were passed out at various points along the basilica, succumbing to the fourteen straight hours of combat that got them to the checkpoint.
Major Rawne came slinking into the church. He was a handsome man, but there was a coldness in his eyes and a harshness to his words that let her know he was not a friend. He especially despised her as a sergeant. He thought she was too young and physically weak.
He made his way over to Taylor eventually, but waved her down when she started to stand. "Save it for tomorrow. Tally?" He sounded as tired as she felt.
"Solia, Thyrne and Vikia KIA, Moles and Vamberfeld wounded."
Rawne showed no change of expression when he made his notes. "Vamberfeld didn't make it. Just got the notice from Dorden. Get some sleep. Tomorrow's not gonna get better."
"Yes, sir."
He moved on to the next platoon leader. She went back to her tasteless ration pack and tried not to think of the people she led to their deaths. It was not her first time doing so, but it never got any easier.
Mid-bite, she felt eyes on her. She looked up at one of the civilians staring at her with a gaping jaw. It was a girl, perhaps fourteen if a day. Her head was shaved back down to nothing but a ponytail from the back of her skull. It was a mark of station, Taylor was sure, but couldn't remember the briefing enough to know what.
"Can I help you?"
The girl snapped her mouth shut and looked around in a brief panic before one of the older ayatani touched her shoulder protectively. "Apologies, trooper."
"Why was she staring?"
The priest studied her a moment before walking over to one of the many overturned pillars where an illuminated, bound gospels of the saint had fallen. The man walked back with the book in hand, flipping the pages and peering through the dim light until he found what he was looking for. Taylor, nonplussed, said nothing as the priest knelt down in front of her and offered her the thick, beautifully bound book.
Within was a picter image, as if taken the day before, in full color. It was a picture of Taylor herself. Even her hair was cut to the right length to make it easy to wear a helmet, but still keep the curls that she always wanted to remind herself of her mother's locks.
The picture stared out serenely at Taylor with familiar green eyes. "I don't understand."
"That is our most beloved and holy Saint Sabbat," the ayatani said. He was an older man, handsome once before age and various scars carved by the enemy into his cheeks had forever ruined his appearance. "Esholi Laeda has this image in her room. It is well known throughout the city. You look as if the holy saint has returned to us."
"Feth me."
Taylor jumped, startled, as Sergeant Meryn stared over her shoulder. She hadn't even heard him come over. "Wow, you really do look like her, Washton. Something you're not telling us?"
"I thought she had a tonsure?" Taylor said, desperate to find some difference.
"Some ayatani believe that," the old man said. He spoke just above a whisper, but not to keep quiet. He seemed to simply be soft spoken. She had no doubt his scars hurt. "But the actual images we have, such as this one taken by Saint Kodrius himself, do not show such. We did not mean to bother you, but the resemblance is striking."
"Yeah, it really is," Taylor said. Surely I would have remembered if I led a crusade. "Pretty sure that's not me."
The priest laughed. It was a surprisingly free, soothing sound despite his injury and the desecration of his church. "Indeed. But, perhaps She has guided your steps. There is a sense of righteousness, I believe, in having a soldier who bears the Beati's face helping to retake her beloved city. You may keep this book, if you wish. Come, Laeda. We have much to do before we can rest."
He gathered the girl–the esholi–and together they went back to cleaning.
Meryn sank down beside her. A typical Tanith, he had a thick head of black hair and a thin beard. His arms were filled with spiraling blue tattoos. "That is really strange," he said. "Ever heard of the like?"
Taylor closed the book, bothered by the image. "No. Doesn't matter. We need to sleep."
"Yeah. Hey, Rawne isn't gonna say it. But that was some damned good fighting. Your platoon held up a lot better than some of us old-timers were thinking. Good job."
For a moment, Taylor had no idea what to say. She recovered quickly. "Your platoon cleared the school with only two wounded. That was textbook."
He grinned. "Ghosts are hard to kill. You Verghestites are Ghosts now, just like us."
"Just like. Get some sleep, sergeant. It's gonna be a day tomorrow."
"That it is, Sergeant. That it is."
~~Revelation~~
~~Revelation~~
Orders came through. All Imperial Forces committed to the liberation of Doctrinopolis were on the ground. Those first ten blocks were meant to secure the beachhead for the landing fields. Now, hundreds of tanks, chimeras and salamanders were rolling into the city to prosecute the liberation with overwhelming force.
Nothing changed from day one for the infantry, except now there was a war machine every other street instead of every tenth. The problem is that the enemy had their own war machines.
"Medic!"
Taylor's platoon was paired with a company of the Ardelean Colonials. Their bright orange sashes and burnished chest plates looked great on parade, but drew enemy fire as if they were wearing targets. The Colonial's company lieutenant was down, blown almost in half by an enemy autostubber firing down from the roof of a warehouse across yet another open park. More enemy cultists held the warehouse itself, and the shattered remnants of their escorting Chimera gave mute evidence of enemy armor hidden inside the building.
Oddly, none of the enemy was firing at the screaming Colonial corporal. It took only a moment to realize they were using him as a lure.
"Fourteen, Twelve. You have eyes on the Orange LT?"
"Eyes on. Bait on a hook. I can see a few sashes getting ready to die."
"Stop 'em, please. You have rockets?"
"Patience, patience."
Taylor bit back a tired grin. She looked back at her entire platoon that was holed up in the remnants of a cafeteria. "Get ready to make for the shop next door."
Rockets flew from a building half a block down. Sergeant Obel's platoon carried multiple launchers, and they sent five flying into the warehouse front.
"Move! Move!" Running at a squat, Taylor rushed through the cafeteria with her platoon behind her when the wall that sheltered them suddenly shattered. Her ears rang like a bell as something blasted her off her feet and sent her flying. She landed in a heap and desperately tried to suck in air.
Through bleary eyes, she looked up and saw the monstrous Urdeshi-made cultist tank roll out from the collapsing enemy warehouse. Its primary cannon was trying to spin around from the shot that took out the cafeteria to aim at Obel's position, but a piece of debris was hindering its movement.
"No," she muttered. She pushed herself shakily back to her feet and began running right toward the tank. It felt like she could barely move, and something didn't feel right in her leg.
The tank's pintle-mounted autostubber was buried under rubble, and she saw a cultist trying to clear it as she hobbled awkwardly toward them. The cultist was wearing a closed helmet under the green silks of the infardi, but she could see the head looking up at her as she ran.
He got the stubber clear and brought it around to fire when a long-las bolt physically removed his head. The headless torso flopped back in the chamber just as Taylor climbed onto the side of the massive tank. She threw every tube charge she had into the hatch, only to be blasted back from the tank by the firing of its main gun. She landed flat on her back and felt her head crack against the flagstones of the square.
Where was her helmet?
Her platoon was calling for her as hers and Thirteen rushed the enemy position, but she had a hard time focusing on them. Her head was ringing so loud she could even hear her own breathing.
But the Urdeshi tank was burning. That's what mattered.