Kamala fired back, her mental energies slamming into the creature’s shields. Electricity flared and sparked across the entire chamber. The tyranid’s and Kamala’s powers snapped and danced against one another like two wild animals. Bolts struck the wall, and slammed one soldier in the chest, blowing his ribs open. Kamala almost buckled to her knee, but the creature’s shield also seemed to dim.
Suddenly, it wasn’t so invulnerable. Suddenly, it wasn’t so untouchable. A crack was all it took for panicked hope to surge through, that last kick for the surface before drowning.
“Fire, damn you, fire!” Kamala screamed.
The Guardsmen, shaken awake from their fear and briefly shielded against the hive-mind, unleashed a sudden avalanche of rounds. Some shots whined and ricocheted off the creature’s bio-shields, but many found their way through the weakened barrier, striking the tyranid horde.
It was growing difficult to see, Kamala’s electric storm clashing with the creature’s powers, the points of intersection flaring with brilliant explosions of light and peals of thunder, but the Guardsmen kept heavy fingers on their triggers. Another trooper rushed in to take the place of the fallen gunner, bringing the second heavy stubber to bear. Another soldier on the line fell, a blast of electricity shearing his shoulder off. The creature shrieked, the attacks overwhelming it, rounds skipping off its bone plates, shattering two of its limbs and destroying a segment of its tail.
Kamala doubled over in pain. Even with the amplifier, it was difficult maintaining her powers against the creature, but she seemed to redouble her efforts each second, pushing herself even after she collapsed to one knee, and then both. Her hand stretched out, trying to push against its thoughts. She was taking the brunt of its mental assaults. One of the fingers on her outstretched hand exploded from the lashing psyker energy. She screamed, but did not buckle. Another digit was obliterated soon after.
“C Platoon! Now!” Nubis screamed.
A second later, sporadic fire erupted from the adjoining tunnel, catching the tyranids and the creature in the crossfire. The hail of tracers and las-rounds increased with each passing second, the Guardsmen regaining ground.
The creature was buckling under the assault, its agony setting the tyranids behind it into an animal frenzy. Some raced into the killing fields, where incoming fire punctured and lacerated them to shreds. Others turned on one another, completely feral, and unable to distinguish friend from foe.
Another soldier fell, a stray bolt obliterating his face. Nubis stepped into the gap, his war cry carried in the cycling whine of his heavy stub cannon. The creature screamed, round after round pounding through its protective field and shattering pieces of its body. Finally, Nubis delivered the killing shot, a stream of hollow points stitching the creature’s face and blowing out chunks of greenish matter from its brain sac. It flared for a moment, a surge of bio-electrical energy and the hive-mind’s psyker powers scorching rock and beast. Finally, it crumbled to the ground in a number of unceremonious heaps.
The tyranids were stunned by the creature’s death, as were the Guardsmen, who were rendered senseless from the mental slap.
“Keep firing, keep firing!” Nubis cried at the same time the pack of tyranids went completely feral and began fighting anything they could see, each other and the Guardsmen.
On the vox, soldiers were reporting the same thing; the tyranids were lashing out at everything around them. But, this was not the moment to celebrate. The tyranids were turning into rabid berserkers, and some of them were reaching the firing lines before dropping, killing Guardsmen in their dervish dance of claws and scythes. More explosions rocked the tunnels; the shaped charges were being expended quickly.
The large bipedal tyranid continued stabbing the Guardsmen with its spiked limbs, chittering madly as the nearest soldiers screamed back and shot it at point-blank range. It eventually stumbled back, its carapace cracked wide and a gut-wrenching miasma spraying the line of men. Captain Nehari continued firing at the tyranids charging the line, yelling to drown out their horrible, guttural screams. The tyranids fell metres from the skirmish line, and the chokepoint had partially collapsed, allowing more of the creatures to stream through.
The chatter over the vox was frenzied, the Imperial Guard losing control over the battles in three of the four tunnels. Only Turk and B Platoon were having any success in keeping the tyranids corralled.
A runner with tube-like protrusions on its back reached the Guardsmen. As it bit into the shin of a soldier, it blasted out a cloud of greenish gas from its tubes. The soldier screamed, his tibia shattered.
They shot the creature dead, and pulled the wounded soldier from the line, but not before everyone began coughing. The men closest to the wounded soldier fell out of line, vomit exploding past their lips, and many soiling themselves. More men took their places, but everyone was fighting violent stomach cramps and intestinal spasms; the smell of faeces in the air didn’t help. Nehari wasn’t a fool. He’d fought the tyranids before, and he understood what they were up against.
Nehari activated the command channel on his micro-bead. “Colonel Dakar, we’re about to be overrun! We can’t hold the line much longer.”
Nisri hissed a curse at Nehari’s message. Nothing could be done about it, but fighting while retreating was no way to do battle the tyranids. Worse, Tunnel Two and Tunnel Three were connected further back. If Two fell, Commissar Rezail and the combined Platoons of C and A would be trapped. Moreover, the tyranids would then flood into the caverns.
“D Platoon will help you fall back,” Nisri responded, immediately switching channels and sending half of D Platoon to help Tunnel Two evacuate under bounding overwatch fire. The other half, minus Sergeant Ballasra’s squad, which was still searching the caverns, was to remain in reserve in case any of the fighting spilled into Apostle.
“All tunnels, all tunnels, prepare for withdrawal on my mark. Blow the remaining shaped charges.”
“Confirmed,” Turk called back.
“Hurry,” Nehari yelled, the fight at his position obviously desperate. “Ready!” Nubis said.
“C Platoon,” Nisri said. He paused as a roar of explosives filled the tunnels. “On my mark, collapse your tunnel and shift around to help cover A Platoon’s retreat!”
After receiving the confirmation reply, Nisri waited for a desperate moment that felt like an eternity. The fight in his tunnel was going badly. The tyranids had almost reached the skirmish line, and men were being cut down before his eyes. His men began backing away, the enemy close enough for them to spit on.
“D Platoon in position!” a voice said.
“Withdraw now. Go, go!”
On cue, the decibel levels in the caverns rose to deafening pitch and the caverns shuddered under multiple explosions.
“E Platoon, withdraw and provide overwatch!”
Dust and bits of rock rained from Tunnel One’s ceiling, and the soldiers staggered their retreat, tossing grenades into the swarm to slow them down. The explosions ripped through the front lines, enabling the gunners and Guardsmen to pull out from their positions. The soldiers were back-pedalling, practically firing down at their feet as runners and dog tyranids raced towards them.
Corporal Demar, Raham’s replacement, was on the last row, when one of the bipeds hit him and two other Guardsman with toxic rounds. All three men went down, their muscles tightening to the point of snapping tendons loose from the bones. Nisri, in grim horror, saw Demar’s exposed bicep curl up into the flesh of his arm. Someone tried grabbing Demar to pull him along, but more muscles snapped loose from their bone moorings. The Guardsman let go in horror as Demar’s muscles bulged grotesquely. Within seconds, the advancing enemy covered all three bodies, and E Platoon was fighting in full retreat.
In Tunnel Three, the scene was much the same, the tyranids at the feet of the firing lines and the Guardsmen dying by the lashing death throes of their kills. Everyone was still rattled from the collapse of the neighbouring tunnel, but C Platoon
was already providing covering fire for A Platoon’s retreat.
When the order to withdraw came, Nubis cried: “Go! We’ll hold them back.”
The second gunner nodded and opened up with a full salvo, no longer caring whether or not his heavy stubber overheated.
“What about you?” Kamala cried. Her hood was off. She bled from the nose and mouth, her eyes scarlet from internal haemorrhages. Tyrell supported her, while Rezail used his chainsword to keep the odd tyranid at bay. He opened a runner with a disembowelling slice, but even fighting them one on one was too difficult, even for Rezail.
“Commissar,” Nubis pleaded, “you’ll be overrun if we don’t cover your retreat. Go, damn you! Tell them to collapse the tunnels.”
Rezail nodded and backed out with the remaining men, firing at the tyranids to keep some of the pressure off Nubis and the second gunner.
Turk nodded to the Guardsmen to withdraw; three of them pulled frag grenades from their belts, yanked the pins, and simultaneously dropped them down the chimney. Turk withdrew from the ledge as the explosions rocked the tunnel below and the screams increased to frenzied pitch. The soldiers darted into the tunnel and continued glancing back the way they had come.
The lieutenant-colonel was among the last group of men to retreat, when a rumble shook the ground and pitched him against the wall. A flood of tyranids broke through the collapsed passage, crawled out of the smoking chimney and gave chase down the tunnel after them. Turk and the others opened fire, trying to stop the sudden onslaught, but the tyranids were on them fast.
“Collapse the tunnels!” Turk yelled into his micro-bead, firing into the snarling face of a bipedal creature with elongated snout and bone plating that was mere metres from him. Men screamed as the tyranids cut them down.
“Almost there,” a voice called back.
Turk continued firing his laspistol, watching as the number of men between him and the enemy dwindled with each second. There were six men between the swarm and him. The tyranids pulled one man to the ground, his head crushed under cloven hooves. Five men remained. A beast impaled two men on the same scythe, and then took a moment to shake them loose.
“Blow the tunnels!” Turk screamed.
This time another voice joined his. “I’m being swarmed,” Nubis cried over the micro-bead.
Turk’s heart sank when he realised that his friend was about to die, but he had to focus on his own survival. Three men remained. One man jerked and screamed as he spun, his face collapsing from an acid round. Turk shot him to spare him further agony. Two men remained. One convulsed as a hissing beetle round struck him in the chest and ate its way through his sternum.
One man remained. His body jerked and spasmed as a tyranid lance speared him, filling his body with carnivorous worms. Turk fired his last rounds into the man and into his attacker, killing them both.
“Detonate the explosives you Turenag sons of whores. Do it!” Nubis’ voice cried over the micro-bead. He was obviously in pain.
“Charges are set!” a voice responded.
“Now, now!” Turk screamed.
“Fire-in-the-hole!”
The repeated crack of sharp thunder ran along the spine of the cave, shaking the very heavens. Turk watched in horror as the roof above his head broke and stone seemed to rush towards him. Before he could even shield his head from the falling debris, several sets of rough hands pulled him out of the way.
“That’s it. We’re sealed in,” a voice said over the micro-bead.
Coughing and lying on his back, Turk looked around at the dirty, exhausted faces of the men in B Platoon. He had never expected paradise to be his tomb.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Every day of your life is just another overlooked sentence in history.”
—The Accounts of the Tallarn by Remembrancer Tremault
1
Cavern Apostle was filled with quiet bustle for the moment, the soldiers in shock over their ordeal. Everyone slowly filed out of the debris choked tunnels, covered in dust, viscera stains and the blood of their comrades. Some dragged their guns behind them, but the ever-sharp glare of Rezail snapped them back into discipline. Everyone headed to the edge of the jungle, where the loam was thin and the vehicles waited. The tyranids had proved themselves capable of many tricks, and the Guardsmen had little doubt that they still had quite a few more to unleash. Until that time, however, the soldiers needed a moment to catch their breaths, eat and see which of their friends had survived.
Turk dusted himself off as he headed for the command Chimera. He checked on the various squads resting on the ground. Nobody slept, the infusion of adrenaline and fear a powerful remedy against sleep. Everyone had lost a friend in the skirmish, but for Turk, the most painful loss was Nubis. Nubis was a friend, stubborn and arrogant when he wanted to be, which was all the time, but true to his word. He was an honourable man, and Turk was proud that Nubis had proved to be the great Guardsman that Turk had always known him to be, saving the lives of the commissar and the men of his platoon.
That was all the thought Turk wished to indulge at the moment. He walked past the two sentry Sentinels, which were patrolling near the tunnels, waiting for the tyranids to bore through. Given the number of creatures they had slaughtered, Turk hoped it might take them a while to regroup. The tyranids were, literally, single-minded in their determination, but even they had to stop and recover from their battle wounds, right? Turk decided not to ask Nisri. He didn’t want to know.
Turk arrived at the command Chimera, which sat next to four waiting Sentinels and another Chimera being used by the medicae to perform triage on the injured. Corporal Adwan Neshadi, Nubis’ protégé for demolitions, was speaking with Rezail, Tyrell and Nisri. He appeared nervous, his youth betraying his confidence. Kamala stood nearby, her brow damp with sweat, and her eyes swimming in and out of focus. She smiled at Turk. He returned her smile, instantly concerned at her injuries and the blood in her eyes, but unable to show it in front of the others.
“It took longer to affix the drum cradles,” Neshadi said. “We need half an hour to arm the Sentinels.”
There was a pause. Turk realised that Nisri was starting at the cavern jungles; he almost appeared in shock that this so-called blessing might be lost to his tribe. Turk understood exactly what was happening. In his mind, it seemed incomprehensible to be surrendering this paradise, to believe it the salvation of your people, and then have it torn away. He was staring at the shredding of his convictions, the exodus of two million kilometres walked, and knowing that another two million were to come.
Unfortunately, if Nisri was distant, then everyone could see it plainly. Turk forced himself into the conversation.
“I’m sure Colonel Dakar would agree that the best course of action would be to send the Sentinels to their positions, and to equip them with their explosives there. We cannot afford for them to be caught in the fight when… if the tyranids attack.”
Nisri, who stirred at the mention of his name, nodded in agreement. “Correct, Lieutenant-Colonel Iban Salid. Send the Sentinels on their way along with members of Sergeant Nubis’ platoon, whoever’s best to arm the birds.”
“Speaking of Sergeant Nubis,” Rezail said, “he was a hero today. He saved our lives.”
“Sergeant Raham also trained his men well,” Nisri said. “They held their ground until the very end. Raham fought with us today. Every man here is a hero.”
“Most,” Rezail said, “yes, but some men fled from the enemy. I’ll be dispensing discipline shortly. Unfortunately, the men who fled may have already hidden in these caves.”
Nisri removed his kafiya and ran his fingers through his puffy afro. “Commissar, if you would offer the men encouragement, I’d appreciate it.”
“Of course.” Rezail and Tyrell walked away, making their rounds to various groups of men.
Nisri turned to Corporal Neshadi. “Get these birds out of here and prepare the explosives.”
Neshadi saluted and spun around to
organise the work details. There would be no respite for any of them today, Turk thought wearily.
“Situation report, lieutenant-colonel,” Nisri said, moving into the jungle.
Turk nodded. “F Platoon took the heaviest casualties: twenty-eight men killed. The survivors, eleven of them, including Captain Nehari, were exposed to toxic fumes. Six of them won’t make it through the day. The rest can barely stand.”
“Unfortunate,” Nisri said. “And the others?”
“A Platoon and C Platoon lost half their men in the Tunnel Three skirmish. I suggest merging them into A Platoon and putting Captain Toria in charge.”
“Agreed.”
“B Platoon only lost seven men; they’re still able to fight, as is D Platoon, which didn’t lose any of its forty men. Sergeant Ballasra’s squad is still on patrol.”
“We’ll fold the survivors from F Platoon in with E Platoon. Even then,” he sighed, “Sergeant Raham’s squad was almost picked clean. They won’t be at full strength until we receive reinforcements.”
Turk nodded and waited until the silence seemed almost unbearable. Nisri appeared to be lost in thought, again, and horribly morose. “Sir?” Turk said, “Shall I oversee preparations for the next attack?”
Nisri nodded, half-distracted by his surroundings. “Hmm? Oh, of course… yes. See to it, will you?”
Turk offered a crisp salute, not that he thought Nisri noticed, and was about to leave when their micro-beads clicked on.
“Colonel Dakar,” said Sergeant Ballasra, “I have found it. Thank the Aba Aba Mushira for his good humour today.”
“Found it?” Nisri asked. “Found what? A way out?”
“Yes, sir. It’s a bit of a walk, but I found our escape, and it’s free of the tyranids.”
Nisri nodded to Turk. “Get the men ready. We’re withdrawing to the exit point.”
2
It took a couple of hours before Ballasra’s squad returned and briefed the men of their escape route. The cavern designated Halo of Purity, which Ballasra had named, was a small cave overlooked in their initial search of the Golden Throne cavern. Ballasra’s men managed to burn a path through the jungle for easier access, news that brought a pained grimace to Nisri’s face. Ballasra, however, promised that when they emerged from this ordeal, he would personally replant those destroyed trees in atonement. That, at least, drew a half-hearted smile from the colonel.
[Imperial Guard 04] - Desert raiders Page 19
