[Imperial Guard 04] - Desert raiders

by Lucien Soulban - (ebook by Undead)

  “For what?”

  “For keeping your word, for stopping Anuman from shooting more of Nisri’s men, for being a soldier I could rely upon and a man whose word I could trust.”

  Nubis nodded and then slipped his hand over Turk’s. “You’re welcome, but I could never marry you. You’re just… too ugly for my tastes.”

  Turk pulled his hand away. “Bastard,” he said, laughing.

  3

  Commissar Rezail took a deep breath of the limestone and jungle flavoured air, hoping to remember it forever before the smell of blood and cordite painted its stench over everything. Apostle was busy with the rumble of idling engines and men shouting orders to one another, but a few steps into the jungle, and all the noise seemed to evaporate. For a moment, just one tranquil moment, Rezail could imagine he was, in fact, enjoying paradise.

  “Let me ask you something,” Rezail said, hating to break the silence. He faced his adjutant, a look of utmost gravity in his expression. “Did you offer Lieutenant Colonel Iban Salid advice on how to address and approach Colonel Dakar. Their… understanding was too sudden given their history.”

  Tyrell hesitated for a moment before looking down at his feet. He nodded. “I am sorry, commissar, but I saw a way out of the predicament.”

  “And you didn’t trust me enough to speak with me first?”

  “No no, commissar,” Tyrell responded, immediately panicked. “It is only that… the advice I offered is from one tribesmen to another. I would never go behind your back… I swear.”

  Rezail shook his head. “Never again, understood? If I was a lesser commissar, I would have shot you on the spot for toying with my trust.”

  “No, commissar, thank you. I never intended to be disloyal.”

  “Very well,” Rezail said. “Apology accepted, on condition that this is the last time.”

  “Yes, commissar.”

  They walked further into the jungle, brushing aside the growth.

  “But I am curious… what is it you told the lieutenant-colonel that you didn’t think you could trust me with?”

  “It is not that I didn’t trust you, commissar,” Tyrell explained. “It’s just hard to explain.”

  “Try,” Rezail said, stopping to face Tyrell. “Take your time.”

  Tyrell thought it through for a moment, trying to plot out the best way to address the matter. Finally, he took a deep breath and allowed the explanation to flow of its own accord.

  “Understand, commissar, that for Tallarn tribesmen, whatever is learnt in the cradle is carried with them to the grave.”

  “Go on.”

  “The first lesson learnt by someone like Iban Salid, a Banna, is that the Aba Aba Mushira is the supreme ruler of all. Service to him is absolute. The second thing he learns is that the word of the Orakle is absolute, for he carries the word of the Emperor. The third thing he learns is that he must avenge any wrongs against his tribe.”

  “That has been this regiment’s problem from the beginning,” Rezail said with a sigh. “They should remember their duty to the Emperor first and foremost.” The entire matter bothered him, and he felt like he was presiding over a family squabble rather than a regiment.

  “Yes, commissar, but if I may speak frankly?”

  “Go on.”

  “Please don’t shoot me.”

  “Go on!”

  “Yes, commissar,” Tyrell said, clearly nervous. “You do not… appreciate the problem. You think that you can execute a few men to bring about discipline, but what are a few executions to a band of men who are willing to become martyrs. Hate your tribe’s enemies from the cradle to the grave. That is what they know. It is the absolute law of their lives, handed to them alongside an imperative that rightly says they must remain loyal to the Emperor. They carry their blood feud with the same conviction that they must obey the Emperor. They could no sooner disobey one imperative than they could turn their back on the most Munificent Golden Throne of Terra.”

  “Damn,” Rezail replied. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

  “Because before today, commissar, you wouldn’t have understood, or perhaps you wouldn’t have listened.”

  Rezail nodded; the implication of this was a devastating blow to the regiment’s survival prospects. If they survived the tyranids, could they survive one another? Rezail wasn’t sure and, frankly, he was facing larger concerns. There was, however, one last concern on his mind, a simple question really.

  “So what did you tell the lieutenant-colonel? Flow did he sway Colonel Dakar’s decision?”

  “I told him to understand the truths of the Turenag, the convictions that drive them: Serve the Aba Aba Mushira, fight your enemies and struggle for the purity of your faith, and for this you will be rewarded. Perhaps the Turenag will not openly say this world is their reward for their service to the Emperor, but they want to believe it is. I told the lieutenant-colonel to treat this place as Colonel Dakar’s garden of delights, and to be the voice of those concerns he dared not utter. I told him not to be the enemy or the rival, but to be the advisor.”

  Rezail noticed the sadness in Tyrell’s eyes. “And that’s it?”

  “No,” Tyrell admitted ruefully. “I told him the chances of the Turenag settling this world were impossible, and since that is the case, why argue over who is going to inherit something that neither is bound to receive.”

  “Sage advice, but you don’t appear happy for bringing the two sides to an accord.”

  Tyrell offered a wistful sigh and a half-hearted smile. “I have brought both tribes closer to any peace they’ve known, closer than the wisest men of my tribe could do, and there is nobody to see my small victory.”

  “Come,” Rezail said, sitting upon the root of a large jungle tree. “We’ll celebrate your victory together.”

  Tyrell sat down with the commissar and groaned at the pleasure of sitting and relaxing, if only for a moment.

  “To the small victories,” the commissar said.

  “May they be many.”

  4

  Turk moved through the jungle, pushing giant fronds and glowing bulbs aside, and nearly stumbling over the roots of trees in his rush. He finally reached a small stream, no more than a few metres across, cut into the rock, and edged with plant rich soil. A shirtless Nisri, his emaciated body pushing his ribs through his onyx skin, washed his upper body in ritual preparation for the battle to come. A rich tapestry of tribal scars laced his back.

  “What was so important that it couldn’t be said over the vox?” Nisri asked, dipping his wash cloth in the stream and passing it over his arm.

  “I spoke with Captain Toria. He’s currently assisting Sergeant Ballasra in finding surface tunnels.”

  “And?”

  “Captain Toria suggested a plan that I think holds merit.”

  “So you came to plead your case in person… I’m not going to like it, am I?”

  “No, sir, but I ask you hear my argument through.”

  Nisri sighed and set the wash cloth down. He motioned for Turk to sit opposite him, and waited patiently as the lieutenant-colonel knelt.

  “We know the tyranids are heading for these caves,” Turk said. “Perhaps they were heading here from the beginning and we were simply in the way.” He waited to see if Nisri was following him. Nisri sighed and motioned for him to continue.

  “If the tyranids entered the caves, they would add considerable biomass to their existing army, perhaps enough to launch an invasion of the neighbouring systems. We cannot let them have what is here.”

  “I’m not sure I like where you’re going with this, lieutenant-colonel.”

  “Please… hear me. I am only talking about preparing for a possibility.”

  “You’re talking about collapsing the caverns!”

  “If it came to that, yes, sir, I am.”

  “Out of the question!” Nisri replied.

  “Sir, we’re already committed to a course that we can’t control—”

  “I wi
ll not gamble with—”

  “Please, sir, let me finish,” Turk said, feeling brave enough to interrupt, “and then the decision is yours. We cannot control our outcome, but, by the Emperor, we can control the tyranids’ fate. I’m not talking about destroying the caves if we don’t have to. I’m talking about sparing your virgin paradise from the tyranids’ ravages, should our defences fail.”

  “You’re asking me to destroy my tribe’s future.”

  “No sir, I am putting the fate of that hope in your hands. You alone dictate what happens here… you, sir, not the tyranids. What would be the greater travesty here, today? That you surrendered paradise to save the Emperor’s subjects? Or that you let the enemy despoil the Emperor’s blessings?”

  Nisri said nothing. He picked up the wash cloth and dipped it in the river again. For a quiet moment, he washed his hands and scrubbed his face clean. He was clearly in turmoil over the decision, his brows knotted by the decisions weighing him down.

  “I’m not agreeing with you, yet,” Nisri said, finally putting down the wash cloth. “What is Captain Toria’s suggestion?”

  “We call in the remaining Sentinels. We pack them with explosives and fuel drums, and send them to the cavern’s weak points. Captain Toria believes that by detonating the Sentinels at these spots, we can trigger a chain reaction. The caverns will collapse with the weight, and those adjacent will fall with the shifting rock. At least, that’s how he explained it.”

  “Has he located these weak points?”

  “Two so far, but he’s keeping his eyes open.”

  Nisri stood and donned his shirt and kafiya. He dressed slowly, considering the matter. Turk stood as well, and wondered what must be going through Nisri’s mind. Both men considered themselves pious, both with regard to their tribe’s needs and their devotion to the Emperor. He couldn’t fathom what it felt like to hold the promise of the tribe’s future in the palm of one hand, and to be the instrument of its destruction in the other He didn’t believe this to be a Turenag paradise, or even that the Turenags deserved one, but he did understand the hardship associated with making such important decisions. He was glad he wasn’t the one making that choice. He wasn’t even sure he could make the right one.

  “Lieutenant-Colonel Iban Salid,” Nisri said, “tell the Sentinel scouts to make haste for the caverns as soon as the tyranids begin moving towards us. Use the explosives and fuel drums to generate a maximum kill yield, but I alone will hold the trigger.”

  “Permission to pull Captain Toria from exploration duty.”

  “Granted, but keep word of this quiet for now. There’s no reason for the men to think we’ve lost hope.”

  “Yes, sir,” Turk said, snapping off a salute before heading back to the command Chimera.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “A house divided cannot stand.”

  —The Accounts of the Tallarn by Remembrancer Tremault

  1

  Four hours ago…

  The mass of tyranids began moving again, heading towards the caverns with sudden purpose. They’d been feeding on the dead and fallen for the better part of the day, reclaiming precious bio-matter for their ship’s organic factorums. The swarms within the horde redistributed themselves according to the new hierarchy, their numbers strengthened by those that had lagged behind, their lynchpins bringing order to the mental chaos, and bearing to the inevitable flood.

  The Sentinels signalled the tyranid advance and their direction, which remained unchanged, before heading to the caverns as ordered. None of the tyranids broke formation to give chase. They moved as a single mob.

  2

  Two hours ago…

  The seven surviving Sentinels cleared the mobile picket of fourteen vehicles, Chimeras and Hellhounds, and arrived shortly afterwards at the caves. They were ushered through the main passage and parked in front of Nubis’ demolitions squad.

  Members of Nubis’ squad then began wiring explosives and attaching fuel drums to the Sentinels via a makeshift cradle. It would take a few hours to complete the task, but as each was finished, a member of Captain Toria’s group escorted the Sentinels to their positions in the caverns.

  3

  One hour ago…

  The charges were laid and the tunnels cleared of personnel. Colonel Nisri Dakar and the other officers watched quietly, as Nubis hooked the last wire lead to a main terminal box, offered a quick prayer to the Emperor and yelled, “Fire in the hole!”

  One by one, he detonated the explosives, leaving several switches untouched.

  The caverns shook with the force of the explosions and the resulting cave-ins. Tons of rock and sand filled the larger tunnels that the vehicles had used to enter the caverns. The small passages were likewise collapsed, their numbers too great to defend adequately. It took fifteen minutes for the dust to settle and the teams to report back in, but Nubis’ squad had done its job well. The tunnels that were meant to collapse had collapsed, and those that were meant to channel the enemy into deadly chokepoints remained untouched. He had the master artisan’s touch for demolitions, and even Nisri gave a sombre nod of appreciation, high praise indeed, especially given that it was for Nubis.

  Nubis’ squad quickly mined some of the larger passages and the rock heaps, to deter any tyranids from burrowing through. The remaining Guardsmen manned their positions at the four chokepoints, their positions heavily sandbagged and supplied with ammo crates. A regimental priest passed at each location, offering prayers and benedictions to the Guardsmen.

  4

  Fifteen minutes ago…

  The mobile picket line reported the approach of the tyranids. They were no longer moving slowly, but running at full pitch. The sound of weapons fire clattered across the desert. Chaser Chimeras, stripped for speed and armed only with pintle heavy stubbers, strafed the flanks of the tyranid surge. They managed to pull smaller broods away from the main force and draw them within range of waiting Hellhound squadrons. The ploy was working on too small a scale, however, and for all their tactics, the Guardsmen were essentially killing the enemy tank by peeling paint flakes off its armour.

  5

  Now…

  Thick black smoke from smoke grenades covered the battlefield and mixed with the dust storm to further muddy everyone’s vision. The tyranids were everywhere, either trying to avoid the fast-moving vehicles or to attack them. The Hellhounds and Chimeras broke through the enemy line in wedge formation, and then proceeded to spin, weave and drive erratically through the combat zone, their treads spitting up sand and the innards of their crushed enemies. The Chimeras used their front-mounted shovel plates to shield themselves against enemy fire, before barrelling into tyranid formations. The Hellhounds did what they did best and washed everything with fire.

  “Squadron Three has picked up a tail of fast-moving tyranids,” the tactical cogitator yelled.

  Corporal Bathras Euphrates sat in the commander’s chair below the Hellhound’s turret, just inside the cupola with its protected vision slits. He checked auspex and saw the marker runes of Squadron Three blinking.

  “Tell them to shift to a bearing of forty-seven degrees,” Euphrates said. “When we cross paths, we’ll shear off anything chasing them.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Sarrin,” Euphrates said, “head for them and be ready to evade.”

  “Yes, sir,” Private Ibad Sarrin shouted, and he tugged the vehicle’s steering levers hard, bringing it back around.

  A moment later, Euphrates and the two surviving vehicles of Squadron Three were heading straight for one another. They couldn’t see each other through the dust and smoke, but their identification runes on auspex were pinging loudly as they approached.

  “Now,” Euphrates shouted, and grimaced as Squadron Three’s Hellhound and Chimera passed on either side of him, almost rattling his teeth loose. Private Darha Lumak, the gunner seated below him, unleashed tendrils of flame into the dust storm on faith alone. A swarm of scorpion and centipede tyranids ran straight int
o the blaze. They bolted off in different directions, some aflame and others merely singed. The Hellhound drove over the badly injured with an audible pop as their carapaces shattered.

  Despite being outnumbered, the Hellhounds wreaked havoc with the tyranid lines. The vehicles were too few to be in any danger of colliding with one another, while the tyranids were practically tripping over each other trying to get at their adversaries.

  “Lost contact with Squadron Six command tank! Chimera two is in trouble,” the tactical cogitator yelled, half turning in his seat. “He’s getting swarmed!”

  Euphrates stared through the shielded visors for a second, and spotted the Chimera through the smoke and tyranid bodies. It was driving erratically, trying to throw off the bipedal scythers, leapers and other myriad beasts that were climbing the transport. They were trying to pry the personnel and equipment hatches open.

  The Chimera’s heavy bolter still blazed, however, obliterating tyranids with each shot. Four of the six lasguns sticking out of her side were also spitting out a steady stream of crackling energy. The tyranids, however, were quickly damaging the lasguns, de-fanging their opponent one tooth at a time.

  “I see it!” Euphrates yelled.

  “Auspex is dying out on us… damn storm!” the tactical cogitator yelled.

  “Warn the gunners on Chimera Two to close their gun ports now!” Euphrates tapped Lumak on the shoulder. “Give her a kiss! Not enough to cook the hull, but bake whatever shouldn’t be there! Sarrin,” he yelled, “get us closer!”

  Sarrin jammed the steering levers with little grace, throwing everyone to the side and pushing the Hellhound in a new direction. Static electricity sparked off its hull. The tactical cogitator, Private Trask Aba Manar, fired the hull-mounted heavy bolter into a group of tyranids that swung into view.