“For Raham!” Nisri shouted, and the volley of fire intensified. Nisri tapped the puttee wrapped leg of the soldier behind him and swapped out. He moved down the rough-surfaced tunnel, past soldiers waiting for their turn at the firing line, and around a turn in the corridor. The noise was staggering, the tunnels amplifying the thunder of weapons dozens of times over. Nisri activated the noise filters on his micro-bead and switched to the command channel.
“Lieutenant-Colonel Iban Salid, respond!”
Turk manned Tunnel Four alongside B Platoon, one of several orphaned platoons, the one that had answered to Captain Anuman. Like Anuman, his men were gamblers, and quick with their knives. They were rough in an urban sense, loud drinkers and brawlers, and they loved getting their hands dirty by jumping into the middle of fights. They were perfect for the close quarter, execution style action of their chokepoint.
B Platoon protected what Captain Toria had referred to as a chimney. It was a vertical cut in the rock between two tunnels. In the tunnel above, the floors had partially collapsed, revealing the corridor several metres below. Nubis had used explosives to seal one end of the lower tunnel, funnelling the tyranids into a dead end.
Turk and B Platoon stood on the ledge above, firing down at the tyranids as they streamed into the pit. The fighting was intense, the fast-moving enemy often got through the tunnel passage and scaled the walls before anyone managed to draw a bead on them. Regardless, Anuman’s men did their work with ruthless efficiency, standing firm, wearing their best scowls, and firing down a steady hail of punishment.
“Lieutenant-Colonel Iban Salid, respond!” Nisri’s voice called over the micro-bead.
Turk stepped back from the ledge and let another Guardsman slip into his spot. “Yes, sir,” Turk responded, cupping one hand over his ear to hear better.
“What’s your situation?”
“Tunnel Four is secure for the moment. We’ll run out of ammo before they gain any real advantage.”
“Don’t underestimate them,” Nisri said. “They’re widening the chokepoint. I’m not sure how much longer we can last after that. Make sure they don’t find a way around you!”
“Understood!” Turk turned in time to hear the screams. A leaper managed to leap up to the ledge and grab a soldier’s leg. It pulled him down into the pit. The platoon killed the tyranid under a pounding onslaught, but the Guardsman was already dead, impaled through the chest, stomach and neck on the spiked backs of the enemies.
“Fill that gap!” Turk ordered, but a fresh soldier was already on it. He took his place at the ledge and began firing down with his lasgun.
“Captain Nehari,” Nisri said over the micro-bead, “respond.”
Captain Lakoom Nehari and F Platoon protected the chokepoint of Tunnel Two. It was supposed to be the easiest job of the lot, the chokepoint a “squeeze”, a tight tunnel that the Guardsmen jokingly called “the birth hole”. At least they thought it was funny, until the tight hole birthed a steady stream of small tyranids, leapers and runners mostly. Nehari and his men thought they had a handle on the situation up to a moment ago, when snake tyranids tunnelled through and suddenly, two more “birth holes” opened in the wall.
Now the horde was squeezing through three holes, and Nehari wasn’t blind to the steady pounding of heavy stubbers and las-fire that further chipped at the walls surrounding the chokepoint.
“Captain Nehari, respond,” Nisri demanded.
“I heard, sir. The snakes are widening the chokepoint here as well. We now have three — damn it, four, four holes!” Nehari screamed as a snake smashed through another portion of the wall and scrambled up the tunnel towards them. The hail of blasts tore it to shreds, but it was too late. The damage to the chokepoint was done, the rock peeling away in large chunks.
“Our chokepoint won’t last much longer,” Nehari responded into the micro-bead.
“Hold your position for as long as you can,” Nisri responded. “Commissar Rezail, are you listening?”
Nehari returned his attention to the fight. It was becoming frantic. The Guardsmen of F Platoon realised they would be swarmed the moment the chokepoint collapsed.
“Blow the third and fourth rings of shaped charges!” Nehari shouted.
“…are you listening?”
“Can barely hear you,” Rezail responded. He fired a bolt pistol, having swapped out his laspistol in favour of something with more kick. The tunnels shook from two distant explosions rattled off in quick succession.
“For the Emperor!” Rezail shouted in Tallarn.
The forces of Captain Toria’s C Platoon and Sergeant Nubis’ A Platoon shouted out a cheer at the commissar’s near-fluent mastery of their tongue. Tunnel Three was, by far, the most heavily contested section. It was wider and higher than the others, with a chokepoint that split the passageway to the left, towards Toria’s Platoon or to the right towards Nubis. The crossfire was whittling the tyranids down considerably, but the passages were clogged with their bodies.
Unfortunately, after an hour of fighting, the tyranids had managed to break down part of the wall between the two split tunnels that formed the inseam of the chokepoint, widening it considerably. Now tyranids filled the tunnel like a living plug, their numbers scrambling on the floor, scurrying on the walls and scampering along the ceilings.
While the creatures were no longer caught in the crossfire, the two passages were wide enough for the four heavy stubber nests to spit out thick ropes of tracer fire, while the firing lines of Guardsmen were staggered three deep. One group was on their stomachs, the second on their knees, and the third standing. Occasionally, the sharp crack of an explosion filled the corridor with a deafening snap, pasting tyranids against the wall and splattering viscera on the men. How many explosives Nubis had planted played on everyone’s curiosity, but they were definitely taking their toll on the enemy, and adding the stench of fyceline to the already heavy aroma of ozone, cordite and tyranid entrails.
Commissar Rezail and Tyrell stood with the men of the last row, firing their bolt pistols and shouting encouragements at the troops. The commissar also carried his chainsword, waiting for the moment when he would need it in close quarters combat. Nubis also took his share of the line, firing a heavy stubber with cycling barrels, and an ammunition chain fed from the pack mounted on his back. He cycled through his store of hollow points, delighting in the shrieks of his enemies, the near solid stream of tracers cutting the enemy in half.
Kamala Noore stood behind the left stubber nest, biding her time, which naturally set the gunnery crew on edge. She appeared dazed, unfocused as though the battle was an echo to some greater truth. She was waiting for something, her fist clenching and releasing, the small sparks of bio-electricity sheathing her wrist with each flex. That small display of power occasionally found release when a tyranid ventured too close to the skirmish line. Kamala’s attention found focus, and she lashed out with her mind, a flare of psychic electricity slamming into the beast and bursting it open. Then she returned to waiting.
The desert seemed empty again, the sand scored by millions of tracks. The sound of screeching tyranids was loud, the host of beasts clustered at the cave mouth, eager to get inside. A brood of tyranids each with four legs, a scorpion’s tails and the armoured snout of a war hound, ventured out further, sniffing about here and there, but the fighting quickly drew them back to the tunnels.
On a ridge of dunes that overlooked the surrounding desert and the pillars of rock, a small section of sand shifted and spilled away. Two Guardsmen, members of Nubis’ anti-armour squad, quietly crawled out from under their blankets. They’d been watching everything, waiting for their time to strike.
One of the soldiers pressed his micro-bead twice, generating a burst of static that squawked in his earpiece. A moment later more static bursts rang back, each unit reporting its readiness, seven in total. Everyone was in place.
The soldiers retrieved their portable missile launcher from the pit and unwrapped it from its s
waddling cloth. It was a heavy device, a shoulder mounted weapon that required a gunner to handle the tube-like launcher, and a loader to carry three spare missiles strapped to his chest via a weight distribution rigging. Both men belly crawled to the lip of the dune and gazed down at the cave entrance.
The swell of tyranids was staggering. They seemed to number in the thousands, the swarms restless and eager to get inside. Some were huge, larger than the smoking ruin of a Chimera that had been flipped over near the tunnel mouth, apparently larger even than the tunnels. The two soldiers exchanged glances, but said nothing. Instead, they quickly searched the desert for the three other anti-armour crews, but with their tan and orange uniforms and camo-painted launchers, they would be difficult to spot. That was for the best.
Both men quickly shook hands and embraced. There was never any illusion that they would survive this thing, and there was no lingering on their fate. What came, came. The gunner set about making himself comfortable and acquiring targets through the launcher’s scope. The loader removed two pressure plate mines from his rucksack and buried them on side of him and the gunner. He planted a small twig to mark their positions. At no time did he stand, instead shifting around on his belly like a snake, careful to avoid being seen over the dune’s crest.
A static squawk sounded over the micro-bead. Slowly, over a matter of minutes, seven static bursts filled their earpieces. The two Guardsmen were the last to sound theirs. They followed it up with a four burst squawk. Nobody replied. They didn’t need to. They were too busy firing at will.
The metallic whump and whistle of mortar shells sounded first, four shots in all. From nearby crests, the thunder and rush of two missiles streaked a smoky path to the cave mouth. The tyranids barely had time to acknowledge the attack, the explosions of fire, smoke and sand bursting in the thick of them. The blasts flung tyranids and body parts through the air.
By the time the gunner fired his missile down at the mob, a second flight of mortar shells pierced the air with their shrill keening. A terrible roar followed and the projectile curled, careening towards one of the pillars. The explosion devastated the thirty metre high stack of limestone, bringing it crashing down across at the entrance, crushing more beasts under its weight.
The two men swore they could hear the other crews cheer, and allowed themselves a smile. The loader mounted another missile into the launcher and tapped the gunner’s head. He fired again, his missile joining the other projectiles as they devastated the hordes of tyranids, sending more dismembered beasts flying. Instead of being frightened or cowed, however, the tyranids surged outwards, splitting into smaller swarms, each unerringly homing in on the different crews. Each knew its place, each its duty. And, they were bridging the gaps fast. Time for one more, the two men realised. The loader popped another missile into the launcher and tapped the gunner on the head before dropping down next to him and covering his ears. The tyranids were scaling the dune to reach them, but the gunner took his time aiming. His next shot, his last shot, arced over the heads of his attacker, towards the tunnel entrance, and a second missile rocketed down from another angle, the mortar shells raining down hard and persistent. Both missiles slammed into the cave mouth, blossoming into hellish explosions that caught the beasts trying to escape further into the tunnels. The entrance collapsed at the same time as the first tyranids, bipedal creatures wielding scythes, reached them. One inadvertently stepped on a pressure plate mine, adding to the thunder of the explosions.
“Commissar Rezail,” Nisri repeated over the micro-bead. “Are you there?”
“I’m here, I’m here!” Rezail yelled back. “We’re holding our…” He stopped, his voice deafening in the cavern. The tyranid swarm had stopped advancing, the corridor filled only with their dead. The Guardsmen hesitated for a moment, terrified of the sudden calm, before they scrambled to reload their weapons. Rezail could see the fear on their faces. They could still hear the distant echoes of gunfire in the other caverns, but the deathly silence in Tunnel Three seemed oppressive.
Nubis flicked on his micro-bead and contacted C Platoon in the neighbouring tunnel, but they could see nothing either. Everyone exchanged quick, panicked glances, but mostly, they couldn’t tear their eyes away from the chokepoint with its carpet of dead tyranids. Something was happening, and they were more afraid of what they couldn’t see than of what they could.
“Steady, men,” Rezail said. “Remain strong and the Emperor’s light will shield you.”
“What’s happening?” Nisri asked over the micro-bead.
“The tyranids,” Rezail said more quietly, “they’ve stopped attacking.”
“Not here they haven’t,” Nisri replied. “All tunnels, what is your situation?”
“Tunnel Two… we’re still getting swarmed,” Captain Nehari replied, his voice almost panicked. “All shaped charges expended!”
“Tunnel Four… they’re trying here, but we hold the advantage,” Turk replied.
“Same for Tunnel One,” Nisri said. “Commissar, be on your guard!”
“Depend upon it,” he said. Rezail glanced away from the tunnel long enough to address Kamala Noore. She was standing straighter, her battle-hood with its cyclops-like eye piece and power cables crackling with psyker energy. She almost appeared to be standing on her toes, her powers levitating her from the ground.
“What is it?” Rezail asked.
“Something comes, something to surpass my prowess,” Kamala said simply, her voice echoing with a faint metallic ring, her head held aloft. “You will quake in its presence, but whatever you do, do not flee. I will try to distract it and keep your minds free of its terror. Shoot when I tell you to shoot. I cannot kill it alone, and neither can you. We need each other in this. Together we have a chance. Now, steel yourselves for horror!”
The ghost flickers of blue bioelectric sparks leapt from the distant walls to the tyranid corpses. The air buzzed and hummed with power, and the lume-paint on the walls seemed to glow more brightly.
“The Aba Aba Mushira’s light guides me,” Rezail said, trying to instil courage in his men. “His beacon is the celestial chorus of the Astronomicon, and so long as they sing, I will always be close to His Grace. We war for the Emperor!”
“Aya!” a few men cried, their voices strangled by fear.
“Any man that runs will be executed,” Rezail concluded.
A shadow crossed the passage ahead, a shadow moving among shadows. It produced its own light, and it approached the chokepoint.
“We war for the Emperor!” Rezail repeated, his voice stronger, more demanding.
“Aya!” more voices cried out.
“We WAR for the EMPEROR!”
“AYA!” the platoons cried across the two tunnels.
A tyranid floated into view, lazy tendrils of electricity dancing off its atrophied spine and enlarged brain sac. Its mouth was pulled back in a perpetual scowl, revealing, I row of bloody teeth, while from its back tube-vents leaked a greenish miasma. It was more than a linchpin of the hive-mind, it was one of the axles that guided the tyranids. The hive-mind’s thoughts leaked out through its very being, stray images like bullets that wounded the mind and injured the Guardsmen. Some of the men cried out in terror. A few others sobbed. Even Rezail stopped speaking. He felt like he stood on the shores of an infinite, black ocean, able to see further across its vastness. Some unnamed horror rose from the waters, its tentacles raised so high as to brush away moons, its voice sending out ripples of tidal waves across the ocean’s surface, so dwarfed were he and the others by the staggering monstrosity of the alien sea that drowned them.
They were all paralysed. They saw nothing but the beast, heard nothing but its terrible whispers.
“Do not drown,” a tiny voice said.
Rezail heard Kamala’s voice, feeble against the roaring waves of the infinite seas. Like a man drowning, Rezail grasped at the lithe hand stretched out to pull him away. As he closed his hand around hers, he could feel others do the same.
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Absently, almost subconsciously, a few of the gap-mouthed men tried to fire at it, but their bolt and las-rounds struck a bioelectric barrier surrounding the creature. Their shots ricocheted, and hope seemed to leave them again.
“Don’t drown!” a voice shouted in their minds, and Rezail knew that Kamala was trying to buffer them from the worst of the attack.
Behind the creature, tyranids followed slowly, cautiously: the pack behind the hunter, waiting to be unleashed.
The creature seemed to scream, although its mouth never opened, and the full brunt of the hive-intellect blasted through the minds of the Guardsmen. A handful of soldiers scurried back, abandoning their positions and stumble fleeing down the corridor, their minds stripped down to their primordial terror. Rezail was too locked in his nightmare to even consider shooting them for cowardice. Instead, he stared at the creature, unable to take his eyes away from it. He was only distantly aware of a few men sobbing, and watched in horror as energy crackled and built in strength around the tyranid. He recognised the signs of an impending attack, the signs of death.
“Not this time,” a metallic voice called, cutting through Rezail’s terror. “In the Emperor’s name, I smite thee!”
A hammer of bioelectric energy appeared in Kamala’s hands, her hood crackling with an electrified halo. She motioned, and the hammer flew from her grasp, striking the creature’s shields. Electricity sparked and showered everywhere. The tyranids screeched in anger, but did not rush forward. The blow, however, rocked the creature, and it blasted back with a braid of bio-energy that barely missed Kamala, and incinerated a nearby gunner.
[Imperial Guard 04] - Desert raiders Page 18
