Sabbat Crusade

by Dan Abnett

  ‘How long’s that been here?’ Luffrey wondered.

  ‘Can’t be since the last supply drop,’ said Rerval. ‘It looks ancient.’

  ‘We’ll need to clear it, too,’ said Kolea. He looked at Baskevyl. ‘You think the servitors can move it?’

  Bask shook his head.

  ‘I’ll vox up and have some heavies transported down,’ offered Rerval.

  ‘Yeah, do that,’ said Kolea.

  Rerval pulled the vox-caster pack off his back, set it down, and began to nurse it to life.

  ‘Armaduke, Armaduke, this is the surface team, copy?’

  Static buzzed.

  Rerval repeated his call.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said, looking up at Kolea.

  Kolea moved his lamp beam so as not to blind his adjutant.

  ‘This happens,’ said Baskevyl.

  ‘Yeah, all the time,’ said Kolea.

  ‘No, here,’ said Bask. ‘It was in the briefing packet. Vox-links can be disrupted from time to time by atmospheric magnetics.’

  ‘Let me guess,’ said Kolea. ‘The two moons?’

  ‘Uhm, yes, actually,’ said Baskevyl.

  ‘Yet they were so beautiful,’ Kolea snapped caustically. He looked at Rerval.

  ‘Try again in a few minutes,’ he told the adjutant.

  ‘Sir.’

  Rerval rose and reslung the ’caster.

  VII

  ‘You took your time,’ said Wes Maggs.

  ‘It was dark, and some of us fell over,’ said Kolea.

  ‘By some of us, he means Rerval,’ said Baskevyl. ‘Hey, Wes.’

  Wes Maggs was the lead scout of D Company. He was also a rare example of a non-Tanith making the scout grade. He was crouched, gun flat across his thighs, his back against an ancient rockcrete wall. He rose, threw the majors a casual salute, and looked at Rerval.

  ‘You fell down?’

  ‘There was a creeper-related incident,’ said Rerval.

  ‘Try the vox again,’ Kolea told Rerval.

  ‘This is the silo?’ Baskevyl asked Maggs.

  Maggs looked up into the dense darkness.

  ‘Pretty much. Right place, right ref. Big place, though you can’t see much of it.’

  Kolea approached the rockcrete wall and placed a hand on it. It was wet with moss and lichen.

  ‘It slopes,’ he said.

  ‘Schematics say the depot is underground,’ said Maggs. ‘The cap, this part, is a pyramid.’

  Like an ancient tomb, Kolea thought.

  ‘What’s up?’ Baskevyl asked him.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Your face just then.’

  Kolea drew Baskevyl to one side.

  ‘I’ll be honest, Braden,’ Kolea whispered. ‘I don’t like this, not one bit. There’s something about this place. Like Lyse said. It’s creepy.’

  ‘It’s just a depot, Gol.’

  ‘I know, I know, but the whole thing… the shadows… the trees… It’s just hitting all my alarm buttons.’

  ‘I thought you were a bit jumpy,’ said Baskevyl.

  ‘Sorry. I can’t explain it. Something…’

  Baskevyl placed a reassuring hand on his friend’s massive shoulder.

  ‘I’ll tell you what it is, shall I?’ said Baskevyl.

  ‘Yeah, please do.’

  ‘Salvation’s Reach.’

  ‘What?’ asked Kolea.

  ‘We just went through fething hell.’

  ‘We’ve been through worse. I’ve been through worse,’ whispered Kolea.

  ‘The last time is always the worst,’ Baskevyl replied. ‘It’s the freshest. At the fething Reach, we lost friends. We lost good men. You’re still all wound up. You’re still on… what is it that Hark calls it?’

  ‘Fight time,’ said Kolea.

  ‘Yeah, right, fight time. You’re expecting the worst, and this isn’t it. You’re wound up tight.’

  ‘Maybe. And you’re not?’ asked Kolea.

  ‘Of course. I just don’t let it show like you do.’

  ‘Because you’re a professional soldier and I’m some scratch company lout?’ asked Kolea.

  Baskevyl paused. He withdrew his hand.

  ‘No,’ he replied. ‘Because I’m Braden Baskevyl and you’re Gol Kolea and we do things differently, according to our characters.’

  Kolea nodded.

  ‘Yeah, sorry. That was terrible of me. Sorry, Braden. I… Sorry.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ said Baskevyl.

  ‘It’s not,’ said Kolea. ‘That was out of line. I’m sorry. I just want you to know… There’s something about this place that has been freaking me out since we arrived. And it’s not just the fact we’re only three weeks out of combat.’

  Baskevyl shrugged.

  ‘I know,’ said Baskevyl. ‘I felt it too, the moment I got here. I was trying to ignore it. It’s the shadows. Under the trees. The shadows are just… bad shadows. Like–’

  ‘What did you say?’ asked Kolea.

  ‘When?’ asked Baskevyl.

  ‘Just then. You said “bad shadows”.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Where did you hear that, Bask?’

  ‘I didn’t hear it anywhere. I just said it. With words.’

  Kolea looked away.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Baskevyl asked him.

  Kolea unslung his rifle.

  ‘Bad shadows. I don’t know why, but that phrase means something. I wish I could remember why.’

  VIII

  ‘Vox?’ Baskevyl asked.

  Rerval shook his head. He’d been trying for five minutes.

  ‘Keep the cans on, Rerval,’ Baskevyl advised. ‘You might hear something.’

  Rerval nodded, and hooked the headphones back over his ears. He gathered up the vox set.

  ‘Let’s get working,’ said Kolea. ‘Let’s find the access point.’

  ‘What?’ asked Rerval, too loudly, headphones on.

  Maggs dumb-signed him, Verghast style.

  ‘All right. The entrance,’ Rerval said, consulting the data-slate. He slapped it a few times. ‘Eighteen metres that way.’

  He pointed.

  ‘Let’s move,’ said Kolea.

  ‘What?’ asked Rerval. ‘No, you’re all right,’ he added. ‘I see what you’re doing.’

  IX

  Maggs had brought a machete. It was probably a meat cleaver from the Armaduke’s cook rooms, but it served as a machete. He hacked back the vines and creepers that blocked their route along the wall. It was ridiculously dark. The shadows were upon them like a weight.

  In the distance, Kolea could hear the rush of flamers. He kept his weapon tight and ready.

  ‘What was that you said?’ asked Rerval from behind him. Kolea turned. His adjutant was pulling off his headphones.

  ‘You get a contact?’ Kolea asked.

  ‘No, no. You said something.’

  ‘No one said anything,’ said Luffrey.

  ‘You said “eagle stones”. One of you did,’ Rerval said.

  ‘What the gak are “eagle stones”?’ asked Maggs.

  ‘No one said anything,’ said Kolea.

  ‘But I heard it, sir,’ said Rerval.

  ‘Just keep moving,’ Baskevyl advised.

  They continued. There was no sound except the squelch of their boots in the muck, the hack and chop of Maggs’s blade, and their panting. It was hot. They were all sweating hard.

  ‘All right, stop fething me about,’ said Rerval suddenly.

  They looked back at him.

  ‘What?’ asked Luffrey.

  ‘Someone said it again. Just then,’ said Rerval. ‘“Eagle stones. I want the eagle stones. Bring them to me.”’

 
‘You heard that?’ asked Kolea.

  ‘Like a whisper, sir,’ nodded Rerval.

  ‘Honestly?’

  ‘Swear by the Throne.’

  Kolea looked back at the others.

  ‘A joke’s a joke, but that’s enough,’ he said. ‘Tell me, right now, which one of you is pissing this boy about?’

  In the green-black gloom, they all shook their heads.

  ‘Then I’m going to abort this mission immediately,’ said Kolea.

  ‘Shit!’ said Baskevyl. ‘Gol, we can’t do that! After the Reach, we’re down to twenty per cent munitions and fifteen per cent promethium! We need this resupply.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Gol, ‘but more than that, we need to stay alive. Something’s here. Bad shadows, Bask. Bad fething shadows.’

  ‘Come on, Gol,’ said Baskevyl. ‘Another few metres and we’ll be at the door. By nightfall, we’ll have the apron cleared. We need this.’

  ‘No. I’m calling it,’ Kolea said firmly.

  ‘Gol,’ said Baskevyl, ‘if we don’t make this resupply, we’ll be down to the dregs the next fight that comes along. Las-packs. Bolter shells. Promethium. Feth, we need them.’

  Kolea looked at his friend’s shadowed face.

  ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Keep going. I want to know where Caober is with that fething Navy man. Rerval? Cans on. Keep hailing the ship.’

  ‘Sir.’

  ‘If I find out any of you is playing tricks,’ Kolea warned the rest of them, ‘know this. I have a log. With Baskevyl’s name on it. But names can easily be changed.’

  X

  ‘And behold,’ announced Maggs, wiping sap off his blade. ‘The front door.’

  It was a huge cargo hatch, double-overlocked and festooned with creepers and vines. It lay at an angle, recessed into the pyramid’s slope, as if attempting to bathe in a sun it would never see for long.

  There was a crunch. Kolea turned hard, gun at his hip, ready to fire. Maggs was a microsecond behind him.

  ‘Easy, easy!’ Caober called. ‘Feth, you’re jumpy.’

  ‘Shit,’ murmured Kolea, lowering his rifle.

  Caober approached. There was a Navy officer with him. The man was clearly not used to doing anything except standing on a steel bridge shouting orders and sipping amasec. Each step he took was a gingerly attempt to avoid getting filth on his shiny boots. He had an augmetic monocle implant. His hair was silver, and oiled back. He wore a dark blue uniform with silver brocade. He walked stiffly, upright. Like he had a concealed warhead up his back passage, Gol thought.

  ‘This is–’ Caober began.

  ‘I am Senior Fedrush Arskil, Master of Materiel for the Highness Ser Armaduke,’ the man said.

  ‘Arskil?’ whispered Luffrey. ‘That’s a joke just waiting to happen, isn’t it?’

  ‘Stow that, Luff,’ Baskevyl hissed.

  ‘Who is in charge here, I wonder?’ Arskil enquired, leaning forward, his monocle whirring to focus.

  ‘I am,’ said Kolea and Baskevyl at the same time.

  ‘He is,’ Baskevyl added, looking at Gol. ‘He is.’

  ‘Your ruffian here,’ said Arskil, indicating Caober with a dismissive gesture, ‘led me through these vile woods in the belief there was something to inspect.’

  ‘Sorry about the vile woods and the ruffian, sir,’ said Kolea. ‘We have located the access hatch. Do you have the codes?’

  ‘Naturally,’ said Arskil, producing a sleek data-slate.

  ‘I’m not a ruffian,’ Caober observed quietly.

  ‘We will revisit that issue when we haven’t got people around,’ Kolea told him. ‘You hear anything coming in?’

  ‘Like what?’ Caober asked.

  ‘Dunno. Voices?’

  ‘I did not, sir,’ Caober replied.

  ‘Hatch codes as requested,’ Arskil said, handing the data-slate to Kolea.

  ‘Thank you, sir. One thing. That eye of yours…’

  ‘I lost my eye in the last Battle of Khulan,’ Arskil declared, as though everyone was interested. ‘Shrapnel from the desk of the Master of Artifice as it exploded. He died, poor soul. I mourn him still. Warp torpedo through three decks, just beneath the bridge of my ship. Took out the entire deck plating of the bridge and–’

  ‘Terrible, sir, terrible,’ said Kolea. ‘But that eye? The augmetic? It can see in the dark?’

  ‘Why of course, young man. I have worn it since Khulan and it has never failed me.’

  ‘Tell me then,’ Kolea asked, gently turning the Navy officer to look out into the undergrowth. ‘Do you see anything?’

  ‘Such as what, good fellow?’ asked Arskil.

  ‘I don’t know. Anything?’

  ‘Trees. A great deal of them’ said Arskil. ‘Creepers, vine. The heat-swell of your flamer units, in the distance. Woods from here to the rim of the apron, eighty-nine metres away. Fifty-one metres that way, I see the ruined chassis of a Valkyrie gunship.’

  ‘Well spotted. Nothing else?’

  ‘No, my good man,’ Arskil replied.

  ‘Nothing at all?’ Kolea pressed.

  ‘No, nothing. Why do you ask me so repeatedly? It’s just shadows out there. Bad shadows, mark you, but still.’

  ‘Bad shadows?’ Baskevyl asked, seizing on the phrase. ‘Why would you call them that?’

  Arskil looked surprised. ‘Serious and unusual levels of light depletion. It quite foxes my augmetic. Sometimes the old eye can get a little stiff.’

  Bask looked at Kolea.

  ‘Open the hatch, sir,’ Kolea said to the Navy man.

  ‘Ah, can’t you do it, my good man?’ Arskil replied. ‘I gave you the slate. I don’t want to get my gloves dirty.’

  XI

  Gol raised the slate and studied the access codes. He slunked back the heavy metal weather-cover of the hatch controls, exposing the keypad.

  ‘Weapons set,’ he told his team. They all stood ready.

  ‘Why are you Astra Militarum devils so wary?’ Arskil asked.

  ‘Because we’ve danced this dance before, more than once,’ Caober replied. ‘Besides, we’re ruffians.’

  Kolea began to punch the code into the old, worn keypad. A yellow light glowed, and then turned green. The massive hatch opened, ripping root tendrils and creepers aside.

  A sigh breathed. Ancient air. Stale air.

  Kolea turned suddenly.

  ‘I heard it that time,’ he stated. ‘“Bring them to me.” Someone distinctly said “Bring them to me.” Which one of you was it?’

  Rerval, Caober, Maggs, Luffrey and Baskevyl looked at one other.

  ‘Nobody said anything, Gol,’ Bask replied.

  ‘You really are quite agitated, sir,’ remarked Arskil. ‘I wonder why you–’

  His head came off.

  One moment it was attached to his body, the next it was spinning away into the shadows, slack-mouthed, trailing a corkscrew spray of blood.

  Arskil’s severed neck vented arterial spray. His headless body sank to one knee, as if he were about to be decorated or promoted, and then fell over. Copious amounts of blood darkened his dark blue tunic and stained his brocade.

  ‘Wait,’ said Rerval, almost baffled. ‘His head just came clean off. How the feth did that happen?’

  Kolea and Maggs were already firing, loosing wild shots into the trees. Baskevyl, Luffrey and Caober swiftly followed suit. Rerval found his weapon and started shooting too.

  ‘There’s something in the trees!’ Maggs yelled.

  ‘There’s something in the fething shadows!’ Kolea yelled back.

  ‘Keep shooting!’ Bask cried.

  ‘At what?’ Kolea shouted.

  The air was full of sap and shot-torn leaves. Vines burst and snapped. Creepers spurted juice.

  ‘What’s happening?’ R
erval yelled, firing on full auto.

  Bad shadows, Kolea thought, bad shadows.

  Something uncurled from the darkness to his left. A squiggle of malicious blackness.

  It looked like–

  Gol Kolea remembered. He remembered. The memory stabbed into his head like a warknife.

  Tona’s cabin. Dinner. Just a precious few nights before.

  Yoncy. His baby girl Yoncy.

  A drawing. He still had it in his pocket. It had shown an anguished, heartfelt black squiggle of chalk made by his child’s hand. The squiggle had been ground into the paper. The chalk stick Yoncy had used had broken several times during the furious effort. There had been something desperate about the marks, as if the child had been trying to destroy the paper and erase an image so terrible that she hadn’t wanted it to take form.

  ‘I was going to draw more trees,’ Yoncy had explained, ‘but I picked up black instead of green by accident, and it made a bad shadow shape, and I didn’t like it so I scribbled it out.’

  He could hear her saying it.

  Bad shadow.

  Bad shadow.

  Kolea pump-ejected a spent clip and slammed home a fresh one. He kept firing at the bad shadow.

  The picture had been done in coloured chalk. There had been spiky things, several figures, and two sickle shapes in what Gol had presumed was the sky. The sickle shapes had made no sense at the time. Now they did. Two moons. Two crescent ghost moons, just as he had seen them with Baskevyl. There had been something else, too, a triangle. A pyramid. The depot pyramid.

  ‘Are these trees?’ Gol had asked, pointing.

  ‘Yeah,’ Yoncy had agreed, eating her stew with relish.

  There were trees every fething where around him.

  ‘Who’s this?’ Gol had asked, pointing to the figures.

  ‘That’s you, silly. You and Uncle Rerval and Uncle Bask and Uncle Luffrey.’

  They were all present. All of them.

  ‘How can a shadow be bad?’ Kolea’s son Dalin had asked, at the table.

  Yoncy had wiggled her hands and picked up her dolly.

  ‘A bit like a monster.’

  She had leaned over on her seat and pointed at the drawing in Gol’s hands.

  ‘See? Look? You’re killing it. Those jaggy lines? Per-chew chew chew chew chew! You’re shooting it with your gun. Per-chew chew! I used yellow chalk.’