[Imperial Guard 04] - Desert raiders

by Lucien Soulban - (ebook by Undead)

  “Flyers,” he said, stutter-gasping into the micro-bead.

  “Orakle One? Did you say flyers?”

  The spike tongue shot out on pneumatic muscles, cracking through the bone of Shamas’ skull and fishing out his final thoughts.

  11

  Hussari groaned as he stretched his back and cramped legs, and relieved his bladder. The blue sun was swimming on the deep azure horizon, and for the first time in hours, they had a moment’s reprieve. There was time to tend to their aching muscles and to refuel. Qubak was standing nearby with a vox ready. He was downing a few ablative pills to ease the stiffness that had spread across his back and neck. Corporal Maraibeh stood atop his Sentinel, staring out through a pair of magnoculars.

  “Confirmed, sir,” Maraibeh said. “They’re heading back.”

  Hussari finished his business and motioned Qubak over. He took the vox handset and waited for Qubak to raise the outpost. He finally nodded; they had a signal.

  “Report,” Nisri said over the vox.

  “We kept them busy for most of the night. They finally pulled back. We have the Burning Falcons to thank for that.”

  “Any losses?”

  “Yes, sir,” Hussari said. “We lost many Sentinels. The Orakle’s Apostles, Burning Falcons, the Dust Marauders and the Holy Striders are gone. We lost another bird from the War Chasers. The survivors from the Blight Thorns are rendezvousing with us. That leaves us with ten Sentinels, sir. The tyranids have given up the chase, for now. All surviving squadrons report the beasts retreating.”

  “Hmm,” Nisri said, musing over his options, “probably to deal with the damage to their ship. But, we still need more time.”

  “Sir, they have flyers. That’s what killed the Orakle’s Apostles. They might have ambushed us too had Sergeant Shamas not warned us. What I’m trying to impress upon you is that if you remain at the outpost, they’ll have you on five sides, and there’re too many to fight.”

  “The next words out of your mouth better not involve the caves,” Nisri said, the warning clear.

  “Of course not, sir,” Hussari said. He clicked off the handset for a moment to mutter a colourful string of expletives, before returning it to his mouth. “I just hope you’re very well prepared for what might be coming your way. What are your orders?”

  “Don’t let the tyranids escape. You’ve made the Emperor proud this day with your courage and dedication, but I need you to keep on them… keep them distracted.”

  Hussari craned his neck back and stared at the sky. He shook his head and placed the handset to his mouth. “Understood, sir. Runner One out.” Hussari tossed the handset back at Qubak and headed to his Sentinel. “The colonel expects us to get massacred defending an exposed position,” Hussari barked. “Let’s not disappoint him.”

  “Let’s show him how the Sentinels fight,” Qubak said.

  Hussari offered Qubak a grim smile as they both climbed into their waiting birds. Hussari dropped into his seat and ordered the remaining Sentinels to rendezvous for another thrust.

  12

  The command bunker was silent. Nobody spoke, for Nisri didn’t appear to be listening anymore. He stared at the tactical slate, studying the possible approaches to the outpost and their best defence. The operators continued to monitor auspex and vox, Rezail appeared to be asleep on the cot in an adjoining room, while Tyrell simply watched everything with his quiet fastidiousness.

  Turk couldn’t stand to be inside any longer. Nisri’s stubbornness was killing the finest squadrons of Sentinel pilots that Turk had ever known. Now they were being used as cannon fodder to protect an outpost with no hope of ever surviving the onslaught that awaited it. Turk was certain that Nisri knew this, but the colonel was committed to a course of action and unwilling to sacrifice the caves. Nisri was trapped. Turk actually pitied him, for a moment, because he knew that Nisri saw no way out of his situation. The sense of pity lasted but a moment, however. It was mostly his men that were dying in the desert, his Banna kinsmen, and soon, all of them would die. The urge to walk away was overwhelming.

  “I’m going to check on the men,” Turk said, by way of an excuse to leave.

  Nisri offered a distracted head nod, but continued staring at the indication runes on the tactical table.

  Turk walked outside, and felt immediately grateful for the bright wash of sunlight and for the sounds of life, such as they were. Men were adding more sandbags and fastening tripod guns and grenade launchers to the parapets. Rows of mortars rested in the courtyard, ready to provide indirect fire, alongside ammunition crates protected under small plasteel bunkers, water drums to cool the mortar barrels and the hulking form of the self-propelled Basilisk artillery piece. The forward observer and fire direction centre for the mortars and Basilisk were sheltered in a plasteel observation nest on the floor above the command bunker. It offered a 360 degree view of the desert, and it contained several turret-mounted autocannons, facing both the desert and the compound interior.

  Turk stood watching the men scramble to prepare the base for a fight they couldn’t win. He was surprised when Tyrell walked past him and whispered, “We must speak. Meet me behind the vehicle stable.”

  Turk continued stretching, pretending he’d heard nothing. Tyrell vanished behind the vehicle stable building, and Turk followed.

  13

  The remaining squadrons approached the tail of the tyranid horde, ten Sentinels against thousands that seemed hell-bent on ignoring them. Major Hussari’s small task force was a couple of kilometres behind the swarm and blinded by their dust wake. The Guardsmen spread their formation out and steered by auspex alone, navigating the flat desert plains with cautious ease.

  Another kilometre and the Sentinels were closing the gap fast; they would be in firing range within a few minutes. The rumble of the tyranid stampede shook through the soles of Hussari’s boots, and he took deep breaths in anticipation of another long chase. He even wondered if their adversaries knew they were shortening the gap behind them, but the auspex returned one solid mass of enemy moving away from them.

  They were less than a kilometre behind when Hussari gave orders over the micro-bead to go weapons hot. The guns swivelled in their mounts, the pilots blindly tracking the largest clusters of enemies, their fingers eager on the triggers. In a matter of moments, the autocannons of the Cadian-pattern birds and the lascannons of the Armageddon-pattern vehicles would be in range. Catachan- and Mars-pattern Sentinels with heavy flamers or multi-laser weapons were paired with the long-range birds to handle any tyranids that approached too closely.

  Half a kilometre away, and the dust storm was blinding.

  Suddenly, screams and curses filled the micro-bead. New runes identifying enemy positions by the hundreds appeared among the Sentinel formations.

  “Evasion, evasion!” Hussari cried, but it was too late Tyranids burst from the ground with lightning fast speed. All that Hussari could see were multiple pairs of scythe arms and a snake-like lower body ending in, I mandible stinger, all protected by carapace plating. It haemorrhaged a flood of smaller bugs, behind, electricity dancing between their mandibles.

  “It’s a trap,” someone screamed.

  Hussari barely avoided the one that broke free of the ruptured earth ahead of him, its scythe arms slicing too close for comfort. A nearby Sentinel was not so lucky Two snake-like tyranids sank their scythes into the bird’s legs and brought it down. Hussari ran past it as the tyranids skewered and pulled the pilot out of the burst cockpit frame, snapping bone and rending flesh. The smaller bugs swarmed over the screaming pilot, burying him and his cries.

  Auspex was a mess, the solid mass of tyranids ahead disintegrating into smaller clusters of skirmish groups that were doubling back to attack the Sentinels. Hussari cursed and hit the channel purge on his micro-bead, silencing all screams and cries for help for long enough to issue a single order.

  “Retreat! Full retreat!”

  The screams flooded back in, and Hussari cursed the
cunning of their adversaries. He continued running through the dust wake, trying to find other Sentinels to help. He may have issued the retreat orders, but he was damned if he was going to leave his men stranded.

  Hussari came upon Sergeant Hadoori’s Sentinel, which was still standing, but running in a wide circle. Smaller tyranids were crawling up its frame, a bleeding Hadoori steering with one arm and screaming as he fired round after round from his laspistol at the creatures swarming his cockpit. One dropped inside and turned into a frenzy of whipping claws. Hadoori was done for. Hussari angled his bird straight at the other Sentinel and opened fire with his autocannon. The whine of the spinning barrels was followed by a steady volley of shots that ripped through tyranid, Sentinel and pilot alike. It exploded a moment later, the flying shrapnel lacerating the surrounding sand and anything unfortunate enough to be in the way.

  Major Hussari never slowed. He continued running, raking the ground ahead of him with a burst of autocannon fire, when auspex revealed a ghost of a return, another snake-like tyranid hidden underground.

  Sergeant Iath was losing Mohar’s rune among the throng of tyranid returns on the auspex. It was growing increasingly difficult to read the battlefield signals; the fight was one large, frantic skirmish in the thickening dust storm. Particles of energised sand were generating a static charge large enough to disrupt auspex and vox with ghost images and noise bursts. Screeches, howls and the thunder of autocannon fire or the crackling whip of las-fire saturated the air, as did the muted hiss of tyranid bio-weapons.

  Mohar screamed over the micro-bead before his transmission cut. A moment later, the dust storm lit up with a long gout of fire from a heavy promethium flamer. Iath headed in that direction, firing a fusillade of shots from the rotating barrel of his multi-laser into the tyranids that crossed his path. The razor beams of light shredded and cauterised any beast they caught, leaving behind smouldering, dismembered husks. Mohar’s flaming Sentinel abruptly ran into view, the charred remains of Mohar slumped forward on the steering leavers, carbon-cooked tyranids fused against the hull like a thick coat.

  Iath watched the burning Sentinel vanish into the storm, and headed deeper into the fray, trying to locate others. He arrived in time to see an energised plasma shot splatter against another Sentinel. The plasma salted the pilot and bored holes into his chest, before the superheated material ate through the promethium tanks. The fiery explosion devoured Sentinel and tyranid alike, while the concussion wave toppled Iath’s Sentinel. Iath screamed, the blistering heat and flame of the explosion flash-searing his exposed flesh and melting cloth to skin. It instantly fused his rubber-rimmed occulars to his face.

  The agony overrode reason, and Iath fumbled for the cockpit’s med-kit. It didn’t matter that he was surrounded by tyranids; it only mattered that he reach the pain killers, that he numb the excruciating agony that lanced him. His nerves felt devoured by flame and his skin screamed its anguish into his brain. It killed him to move, his clothing melted into his flesh; every little movement pulled at the doth, tore open a fresh wound and exposed him to some new profound torture.

  Iath couldn’t grab the med-kit, his gnarled hands burned into fleshy knots. He cried in agony, until he saw centipede tyranids snaking towards him, their thorny feelers twitching in anticipation, their hundred legs moving like waves underneath their bodies, their mandibles clacking. Iath watched them approach and screamed at them to kill him.

  He never thought the tyranids would be his measure of mercy.

  Auspex didn’t lie, and it was telling him he was surrounded. “Mad” Maraibeh could see the pockets of tyranids moving through the dust storm, some towards him and others in different directions. They were organised, each one to its purpose, and none deviated from its course. The Sentinels he could see on scope had either stopped moving or vanished from the plate altogether. Only one Sentinel appeared to have escaped the massacre, but it was a wounded bird and limped along at half-speed.

  He was alone in the fight, but the thought did not bother him. He would die serving the Emperor, and the notion of that glory emboldened him further. Maraibeh opened the micro-bead channel with its dying voices and began to sing, not of the Emperor and not of his own children, but a popular melody back home. It was a song sung at the campfires, of men and the pretty women they loved. Maraibeh smiled at the memory of his wife, feeling her jab him in the ribs, indignant. And, for that, he loved her all the more.

  A superior, Sergeant Hadoori perhaps, yelled at him to clear the micro-bead, but Maraibeh was too jubilant to comply. There was nothing interesting to hear on the channels… only cries of help and orders to retreat. So he sang, and opened the nozzles on his flamer to full. He headed to the largest mob, clearing a path before him by washing the desert with bright promethium flame. A series of handwritten runes on his auspex marked the different distances and the times to reach them.

  Maraibeh pulled out one of his pipe bombs. When a large tyranid mob on auspex reached the sixty second mark written on his display plate, Maraibeh cranked his tube charge to seventy seconds. He dropped the explosive into the satchel resting in the cockpit’s foot well and jammed his lit cigar into his mouth.

  A minute later, he ploughed straight through the mob of tyranids, dancing his Sentinel in a circle and washing everything he could see in flame. The tyranids were a sea of screeching beasts that surrounded his bird for as far as he could see, and auspex said they stretched out further than that. They jumped up on the frame of his exposed cockpit, but he managed to fling them off with crazy spins that would have thrown most Sentinels on their sides. Shots whizzed by him, but they struck either air or thick metal. Finally, one of the creatures with scythe arms and clawing arms managed to latch on to the Sentinel and pull its head up to the cockpit. Maraibeh laughed and jammed his lit cigar into its eye.

  The creature screeched and raised its cutting arms to kill Maraibeh.

  “Too late,” the madman said.

  The pipe bomb exploded and detonated the remaining charges in the satchel. The explosion engulfed the promethium in the tanks and turned the Sentinel into a massive fireball of sticky flame and shrapnel. Dozens of screaming tyranids were caught in the deadly blossom, and dozens more severely wounded.

  Hussari’s Sentinel was badly damaged and limping The lights on his control panel fluttered, while alarms warned him of catastrophic failures and of the fuel leaks that had all but crippled his bird. He was also bleeding from a forehead gash, opened up by a creature that had got far too close to him before he shot it off. Still, he wasn’t out of the danger yet. He’d managed to escape the battlefield through the confusion, the dust storm and the massive explosion that rattled the desert, but not without picking up a tail or two. Three runners, skipping across the sand with their six legs each, were overtaking his bird quickly. Hussari, however, wasn’t toothless yet. He pivoted towards them and fired his autocannon, raking the sand. The hound-like runners were quick, dodging as best they could, but the major was faster on the trigger. He caught each one in a hailstorm of steel-jacketed rounds, and cut them down well short of his bird.

  On the last shot, his cannon clicked and whined as the empty barrels spun. He had expended the last of his ammunition.

  Hussari continued on his path. From auspex, he was glad to see the distance between his bird and the tyranids grow wider. He’d escaped for the moment, but there were a couple of things still left to do. Hussari flipped through the comm-channels, trying to raise his squadrons. No answers. He was the only one left.

  “Home base, this is Runner One, respond.”

  There was a pause, followed by Nisri’s voice. “This is home base. Report.”

  “My men are all dead. We did all we could.”

  “Confirm that,” followed by another pause. “Did you manage to thin their numbers?”

  “We pinched them,” Hussari answered. “That’s about it. I hope we bought you the time you needed, because auspex says they’re heading your way.”

  �
��Roger that,” Nisri responded, his voice strangely vacant. “Can you make it back?”

  “Not with this bird, sir. She’s badly hurt. But we hid Private Damask’s Sentinel after he died. I can reach it.”

  “Get back with all due haste, major. We’ll need you here. Colonel Nisri out.”

  Hussari clicked the handset back into the locking cradle and swore under his breath. He pushed his Sentinel as fast as she would go and headed for Damask’s bird. No tyranids followed him.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “The mind is for seeing, but it is the heart that listens.”

  —The Accounts of the Tallarn by Remembrancer Tremault

  1

  Turk listened as Hussari gave his report and signed off. The command bunker returned to its tomb-like quiet. After a moment, Nisri studied the tactical plate and issued terse orders to the operators, Major Dashour and himself. Commissar Rezail and his adjutant finally left the room to examine the abatis spear trench laid at the foot of the outside wall using strips of metal from the drop containers.

  When Dashour left, Turk walked up to Nisri and made sure to remain absolutely calm throughout whatever would happen next. He couldn’t get angry. All their lives pivoted on his ability to remain calm. Tyrell’s advice was still fresh in his mind and he knew that this was the right course for both men, despite what it meant to their egos.

  “I would speak with you as an equal, one prince to another… alone,” Turk said quietly enough for his words to pass only between him and Nisri, “but I will obey your decision as one soldier to his superior officer.”

  Nisri looked up, a flash of annoyance burning on his face, but Turk would not back down. This was a matter between two princes and the tribes they commanded.

  “Now’s not the time, lieutenant-colonel.”