Turk sat down in front of Nisri and continued whispering, low enough not to draw the attention of the operators. “I believe it is. You can court-martial me, and you can execute me, but Commissar Rezail is not here. This is a matter between two tribesmen and not soldiers. Give me a minute. After that, I will follow your direction as your subordinate, praise the Emperor in all things.”
Nisri sighed and finally stared Turk straight in the eyes. The colonel looked fatigued, the weight of his decisions and the inevitability of their fate a sure toll on his spirit. “Fine… as one prince to another, what is it?”
“The caves,” Turk whispered, “you wish them to be a gift to your tribe, correct?”
“Not according to your views,” Nisri responded.
“What I think of the caves is not in question, is it, Prince Dakar? What matters is what the caves mean to you.”
Nisri thought about it for a moment. “Yes,” he said, finally, “very well. The caves are for my tribe… for staying true to our faith,” he added as a small jab.
Turk bit down on his words and allowed Nisri his petty moment. “What, then, if you’re being tested?” Turk asked. “What if this is another ordeal? Choose between your duty to the Emperor or the gift He bestows? Which is more important?”
Nisri straightened, instantly aware of the argument’s implications. “It is no such thing, Prince Iban Salid. We have found a paradise worthy of the Turenag, and I will not be the ruin of it.”
Turk leaned forward. “The Aba Aba Mushira would not give you a paradise, just to fill it with scorpions. He would not offer you an oasis, just to poison it.”
“What if it is a test to see if we are truly worthy of keeping it?”
“And what if it’s a test to see whether it is greed or faith that drives you? Think, Prince Dakar, imagine the glory that would be promised to your tribe if you turned your back on paradise to fight His enemies.”
“A paradise neither you nor Rezail believes to be ours.”
“Did it ever matter to you what we believed?” Turk asked.
“No,” Nisri admitted.
“I know you Prince Dakar, and you know me. You do not spend this much time hating someone without knowing the truth of them. I am not asking you to surrender your garden of delights. If the Emperor truly meant for you to have it, then nothing can stand in the way of providence. If this isn’t providence, then nothing can save it. In either case, our remaining here, on this plateau, is certain suicide. It is a waste of our duty to the Emperor.” And with that, Turk shut his mouth.
If Tyrell was speaking the truth, and Turk believed he was, then Nisri already knew the caves were their only hope. He’d fought the tyranids before, and he understood the dangers of remaining exposed on all sides. The trouble was, as in all things that afflicted the two tribal alliances throughout this civil war, Nisri needed a reason to change his mind without appearing weak or betraying his people. He needed a reason to retreat to the caves without appearing indecisive. He needed someone else to state the truth for him.
Nisri appeared to have a burden lifted from his shoulders, as though he were no longer shouldering them alone. He straightened. “I hear paradise can be fattening.”
Turk smiled. “Only when it prepares you for the slaughter.”
“Emergency council, all command staff and every officer,” Nisri said.
“Yes, sir,” Turk replied, snapping up to salute before he transmitted the order over his micro-bead.
2
The command bunker sweltered with officers, everyone quietly listening to Turk speak as they stood surrounding him.
“We lack the firepower to protect us from an all-out attack on all sides, and once the tyranids swarm us, we’ll be cut off from our supplies of food and water. We will not last the night,” Turk concluded.
The officers listened, some nodding their heads, while others shook theirs, and looked to Nisri for support.
“We’d be leading the tyranids straight to the caverns,” Captain Abantu said, speaking directly to Colonel Nisri, “to the future home of our—”
“They’ll find the caves with or without our help,” Captain Toria responded, interrupting. “Is that not true of the tyranids? They possess an unerring skill in tracking down bio-matter to consume.”
“They do,” Dashour responded, “but I say we keep them as far from the caves as we can for as long as possible.”
“This isn’t a discussion,” Nisri said, “it is an order. The caves do not belong to us unless the will of the High Lords of Terra are in our favour. If the caves truly belong to the Turenag, then the Emperor fights with us, and the Banna, in protecting them. Let any man who doubts that speak.”
Nobody spoke; the root of the dissension between the soldiers was tribal in nature, but with Nisri and Turk supporting one another’s decisions, nobody dared offer a dissenting voice.
“There is one thing,” a rough voice said. Everyone turned to discover Nubis standing up to speak. Turk groaned inwardly, praying that Nubis understood the delicate balance they’d achieved. “If we are going to make our stand at the caves, then we should mine the entry tunnels and collapse—”
The Turenag officers exploded into argument, and even Nisri was vehement in his refusals. To despoil paradise with their fight was one thing, but to begin destroying the tunnels was too much to bear. Nubis, however, was never one to be cowed by officers screaming at him, and he effectively raised his voice to cut through the wash.
“If!” he barked, loud enough to be heard. “If we collapse the larger passages, we force the tyranids through smaller chokepoints. We conserve ammunition that way, and it we’re in danger of being swarmed, we can collapse the tunnels completely and seal ourselves inside the caves… with no damage to them. We save your paradise!”
The voices lessened in pitch, enough for Nubis to speak normally. “If we collapse the tunnels, the tyranids would have to dig far and long to reach us, and even then, we could continue to mount a defence, perhaps for long enough to be rescued, if the Emperor so wishes it.”
The room was quiet before Nisri spoke. “Very well… we collapse specific tunnels to funnel the enemy, and we mine the others. If we must, and only on my word, then we collapse the others to save ourselves… and to save our paradise.”
Turk allowed the order to sink in before he moved on to the next matter, one most terrible to ask, but crucial to their survival nonetheless.
“What I am about to ask,” Turk said, “will require a great sacrifice from some of you. Major Hussari reports that the tyranids will be here in about seven hours.”
Turk paused for a moment, allowing the statement to sink in. He could see the officers glancing around. They knew what was coming, what was being asked. Some officers could not meet Turk’s eyes, and their gaze fell to the floor.
“If they find nothing here and follow us directly to the caves, they will catch us before we can prepare an adequate defence,” Turk said. Each word felt bitter in his mouth, a poison that would surely kill him for speaking it. He continued nonetheless. “We need volunteers to remain behind to man the fort and engage the tyranids. We need volunteers to buy the regiment more time to prepare. Major Hussari is already aware of the situation. He’ll arrive before the tyranid assault and engage the horde with the remaining squadrons in the open desert.”
The room was uncomfortably quiet. Commissar Rezail rose to his feet, about to challenge the men to rise to the occasion. Turk caught the commissar’s eye, however, and gently shook his head. Rezail looked shocked, but he held his tongue.
Finally, Major Dashour stood. “I hate caves,” he said. “Confined spaces bother me. I’ll stay and fight beneath the open sky.”
Another moment passed, everyone’s breath held hostage in that moment between waiting and acting.
“I’ll stay as well,” Captain Abantu replied at last. “You’ll need a gunnery crew operating the Basilisk, and who knows, perhaps our sacrifice will move the High Lords of Terra to give
our people this planet.”
“Thank you,” Nisri said.
Then, to everyone’s surprise, Quartermaster Kortan stood as well, his eyes dark and haunted, the long scab of the fight still fresh on his face. “I wish to stay,” he said, nodding. Everyone was taken aback; Kortan’s gift for selfish action was legendary. At first they thought it was another joke, and someone chuckled needlessly, but Kortan neither cracked his customary grin nor laughed. The room went quiet.
“Thank you, quartermaster,” Nisri replied, “but your expertise will be needed at the caves.”
“Actually, sir,” Kortan said, “Private Sabaak is more than capable of managing the supplies. I recommend him for a field promotion, sir, and, truthfully, I… can’t let the Turenag stay behind alone. Someone has to bring the Banna glory,” he said through a weak smile.
Several of the officers chuckled, and Toria patted him on the shoulder.
“Very well,” Turk said, “and thank you. I want the remaining officers to seek out volunteers to man the base. We can’t spare more than fifty men.”
“Dismissed,” Nisri said. “Begin evacuations.”
3
Kortan was shaking as he walked back to the supply shed. He stared at the bloodstained rock where two soldiers had died, and fought to stomach the queasiness that made his intestines and guts feel slippery. Officers were already barking orders to their soldiers, and everyone was getting ready to pull out with emergency provisions only. Their personal items would remain behind until they could return to retrieve them.
There was a line of soldiers already at the supply shed, with Sabaak trying to handle the flood of requests for survival gear. Kortan was about to make his way inside when a rough hand grabbed him and pulled him to the side of the shed. A few soldiers saw and watched, but nobody interfered.
Kortan met Nubis’ piercing black eyes; the scar patterns accentuated his angry scowl. Kortan knew what was coming.
“Make sure you don’t survive,” Nubis whispered. “There is no home for you at the caves, I promise you that.”
“Why? Because I killed two of Anuman’s men… who were trying to kill me?”
“You murdered two men of the Banna Alliance, two men of the Nasandi! My tribe!”
Kortan pushed Nubis back. “I saw no men of the Nasandi… only jackals who set their teeth at my throat! And so, I shot them like jackals.”
Nubis reared back with his fist, but Kortan didn’t flinch.
“Tell me, master gunner,” Kortan said, a crooked smirk on his lips. “Is the Nasandi tribe a kennel these days? Strike me if you truly believe I killed two of your kinsmen that day, and not dogs.”
Nubis did not strike, but his fist wavered.
“I thought so,” Kortan said. He turned and headed for the supply shed, half expecting to get beaten. No blows arrived. The other soldiers parted way for him and he entered unmolested.
4
The camp seemed to be in staggered uproar. The Chimeras were leaving the compound with soldiers packed inside and atop the vehicles. Friends wore sombre expressions as they shook hands, embraced and kissed the cheeks of those staying behind. They clasped arms and exchanged data-slates holding farewell letters written to loved ones. Others traded pieces of jewellery: devotion chains, lockets with pictures of their wives and medallions of saints. None of those staying behind said it was so their comrades would remember them. It was always “for safekeeping”. The Guardsmen spoke quietly, the air filled with the noise of machines.
The Chimeras would make a couple of trips to get everyone, but the soldiers involved in cementing the defence of the caves went first; they knew this would be the last time they would see one another. The Guardsmen were dog-tired, their efforts spent over the last day on fortifying the base camp. Now they were expected to lay explosives throughout the cavern’s tunnels and secure the choke points.
Worse, perhaps, was that with the shift of attention from fortifying base camp to fortifying the caves, the men leaving felt a renewed sense of hope. They could collapse the tunnels and seal the tyranids out. That hope, Turk knew, also tore them apart with guilt. That hope came at the expense of the men they left behind, and more than a few wept quietly, shuddering to contain their grief as they left.
Turk watched as a squadron of Sentinels headed for the main gate carrying men on their open frame roofs. It was far from an ideal ride, but Captain Toria and his men were urgently needed to scout the remainder of the caverns, to uncover any additional passages leading underground: anything that the tyranids might use to bypass their defences. Already there was the worry of bur rowing tyranids, but Nisri had expressed doubt that the diggers could create traversable tunnels for their allies to use. Whether he was lying to offer a glimmer of hope, Turk knew not. But, he noticed that Nisri spoke through clenched teeth, and that was enough to worry Turk.
Shaking the many thoughts from his head, Turk briefly watched two Guardsmen lower the regiment’s double eagle banner and roll it up reverently. The 892nd, such as it was, was already home to them. He ducked inside Kamala’s tent. Her kit had been packed and she appeared ready to leave, despite sitting on her bed and staring at the wall in a daze. Turk took her hands and kneeled before her.
“My love,” he said, “wherever you are, come to me.”
Her tired eyes riveted on him, her expression almost wild and panicked. “Did — did I leave you?” she asked, frantically.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“When I first arrived,” she replied, “I was sure there had been no massacre on this world, no Imperial presence. Now I’m certain of the opposite. There were Imperials here, some forgotten expedition, and they died, cruelly.
“The sands have claimed them now, but they were here. Their ghosts cry out to be remembered, and I can’t stop hearing them.”
Turk nodded. He asked the question, despite his discomfort. “Can you hear them now?”
“Not clearly, but the tyranids have awakened their memories and given them voices again. It’s hard to tell… the tyranids skew my perception of things. Silence them. Smother,” she said, touching her lips. “It was the tyranids who killed them.”
“That no longer matters,” Turk said. “What matters is that we survive. I secured your transport.”
“Yes,” she said, standing, dazed, “I was about to… go? Is that where I went?”
Turk stood with her and cupped her face in his hands. “My cherished, I couldn’t let you leave without a suitable goodbye.”
Kamala focused on his smile, and smiled in return. She leaned into his kiss and seemed anchored to it. They relished the tenderness of one another for a long, lingering moment, before Kamala’s smile faded. She broke away reluctantly, apparently lost. She grabbed her kit and headed for the door.
Turk stayed inside the tent for a moment longer, absorbing the jasmine ghost of her scent, troubled by her visions. He could not help his thoughts, could not help the primal fear that something was eating her mind. But no… the tyranids, and the ghosts they brought with them, were troubling her. That was all. He walked back out into the wild bustle of the camp, fully confident that in the chaos of the moment, nobody would see him leaving Kamala’s tent.
5
It was dark when the main gates swung open and Major Hussari’s Sentinel strode into camp. He was shocked by the ghostly state of it, the fifty-odd soldiers rattling around inside a compound like a handful of loose coins in a large jug. The other Sentinel squadrons were already on picket duty, with instructions to help base camp for as long as they could before falling back to the caves. Major Hussari, however, had sworn to remain and help the defences. This was no time to hide behind rank, not that he ever had.
Major Dashour jogged up to the Sentinel as Major Hussari turned the engine off and dismounted. He offered a sharp salute before asking the question everyone was too afraid to ask.
“How far behind are they?”
“An hour,” Hussari replied, casually. He handed Dashour a
data-slate. “Their direction hasn’t changed from the information here. They’re coming straight for us.”
Dashour nodded. “Yes, sir. The Fire Direction Centre team can put this intelligence to use. We should be able to drop a few shells on them before they get in range of the wall emplacements and mortars.”
“Good,” Hussari replied. “We’ll have plenty to shoot at when the time comes.”
6
The first sign of their arrival was the dust cloud that slowly devoured the horizon. Long-range auspex picked up the tyranids next, the approaching horde like a solid storm front. If they didn’t know what they were facing, the operators might have mistaken it for a thick storm, but they knew what was coming, and they trembled at the magnitude of the signal.
That’s when the Basilisk began to thunder, firing off a deuterium macro-shell every few seconds, the sweats crew working feverishly to shove shells into the loader that automatically fed the breach. Each shot shook the courtyard and buildings, and sent out a Shockwave of dust, but the soldiers ignored the deafening crump of artillery fire. They all wore ear-guards fitted with micro-beads to hear and relay orders, though this was a weak rejoinder compared to the artillery fielded in most other engagements.
Guardsmen gathered along the northern wall and watched as the distant desert grew dark with bodies. The Basilisk’s shells registered in the approaching mass as impact clouds that flung pinprick bodies into the air and darkened the mass with plumes of black smoke. Only later, what felt like an eternity afterwards, did the air echo back the hint of soft impacts. But, the fire seemed inconsequential compared to the approaching mass, like using a pin to stab at the body of a wolf.
Dashour let the men watch for a moment before sending them back to their positions. The heaviest defences were along the western wall, where a dune created a natural ramp to the plateau and the main gate. While it did not face the approaching tyranids, it would probably be the most heavily exploited avenue up to the walls. Dashour also placed men along the other walls to handle the tyranids that scaled the plateau. But, between the abatis thicket of metal lances and the thin lip of plateau between the compounds walls and the cliffs, Dashour hoped fewer men would be needed to hold those positions.
[Imperial Guard 04] - Desert raiders Page 13
