Unfortunately, the only thing between Toria’s squad and the Sentinel in question was a small pack of five runners that were crawling over the vehicle. They were smelling the bird and deciding what to do about it.
Toria designated the targets with both fingers and, after ensuring everyone was ready to fire, made a low sweeping motion with his hand. The volley of las-shots was relatively quiet, precise and totally lethal. The tyranids dropped from the Sentinel with hardly a sound.
Toria and Neshadi ran up to the Sentinel to begin setting the explosives, while Lassa and the others took up defensive positions. “We need to hurry,” Toria whispered. “The tyranids share a hive-mind. They’ll know something happened to their patrol.”
Neshadi nodded and continued working, rushing to lay the explosive charges without endangering their lives needlessly.
6
The pack of four bipedal tyranids with their scythe arms and bone-plated head crests moved effortlessly through the trees towards the sound of coughing. Nehari wondered if he should admire their skill and lethal precision, but decided that the appreciation was misplaced. These were not trained soldiers; they were beasts, their murderous traits a birthright.
The tyranids found the Guardsman sitting with his back against the tree, coughing up a storm. Blood flecked his lips, and Nehari suppressed the rattling in his own chest. The creatures slouched low to the ground, and hissed as they approached. The ailing Guardsman saw them, his eyes wide in terror. He jerked, as if to move, but stopped himself. He lay absolutely still.
Nehari admired his courage, and drew a bead on one of the beasts. Someone else coughed, however, and the tyranids’ heads snapped up in unison, it was too late. Nehari and the others opened fire from the surrounding brush, catching the tyranids in their snare of las-shots. The air smelled of ozone and entrails as the creatures screeched and died.
“It’s getting… getting worse,” the Guardsman said. He was shaking as he stood, and coughing up blood.
“I know,” Nehari said, spitting his own blood on the dead tyranids. “Whatever we inhaled—” he coughed, harder than before. It hurt like hell, and it was nestled somewhere deep inside his lungs. It felt like his joints would fly apart with each gasping rasp. “Better get to that last bird,” he said. “While we still… can.”
The Guardsmen nodded and, suppressing violent, shaking coughs, headed deeper into the jungle.
7
Turk fired his pistol straight into the outstretched mouth of the dog-like tyranid. It fell at his feet, dead, but the other beasts of the pack were certainly alive and unhappy, and they were many… at least twenty-odd of the small creatures. The branches and leaves rustled as they bounded through on their six legs, their sleekly armoured heads yelping and howling up a storm. Elsewhere in the tightly clustered jungle of Cathedral, another pack answered the call.
One of the beasts leapt for a Guardsman, braids of thorny tendrils unravelling from its open mouth. The tendrils wrapped around the soldier’s throat and tightened, bringing him to the ground and making him easier prey for five other dogs. Blood flowed in thick rivulets over the thorns, and the Guardsman gasped for air as the tyranids dug into the soft parts of his body. Quartermaster Sabaak and Sarish managed to shoot two dogs off the soldier, but he was thrashing around too much.
Another beast leapt for the commissar, shrieking, and startling him so badly that he forgot to swing his chainsword. A bolter shot detonated it in mid-leap, spraying Rezail and Tyrell in gore and body parts. Nisri offered Rezail a shrug, his expression conveying the simple truth… had you killed me; I couldn’t have saved you.
Kamala also stood her ground, sending out sharp tongues of electricity that fried two of the galloping dogs.
“Fire in the hole!” someone yelled, and Turk and the others managed to duck before a grenade detonated in the underbrush and took out half the advancing pack.
More las-shots and bolter fire erupted, and the Guardsmen shot the remaining tyranids that were reeling from the concussive force of the explosion. Nisri ran to the injured Guardsman, who was still alive despite his terrible wounds, and kicked one tyranid off him, while shooting the one with its thorn tongue wrapped around his neck. The booted tyranid landed with a yelp, and was instantly hammered with las-fire.
Nisri and Turk tried peeling off the creature’s tongue, but when they pulled back one of the tendrils, they realised the hooked thorns had shredded the Guardsman’s throat. There was nothing left for him to breathe through. The Guardsman’s eyes rolled up as he continued choking and bleeding. Nisri apologised to the soldier, offering a prayer, before Turk shot the Guardsman through the head.
“The packs know where we are,” Rezail said, looking at the bodies of three dead soldiers.
“We go,” Turk said. He held the vox detonator in one hand, just in case it came time to send the signal. They continued their exhausted trudge forward, a handful of hours behind them, and a handful more ahead of them.
8
“That does it,” Neshadi whispered, jumping down from the cabin of the second Sentinel. “We’re done.”
“How many explosives do you have left?” Toria asked.
“A few krak charges and plenty of frag grenades.”
“Enough to rig a couple more surprises?”
“Yes, most certainly.”
Toria called his men in. They silently moved through the underbrush, alert for any unusual sounds, and knelt at the foot of the Sentinel.
“I say we plant the remaining explosives,” Toria said, “finally bury the tyranids for certain. I know of a good fault-point that the Sentinels couldn’t reach… but we could.”
“We won’t make it out in time, will we?” Lassa asked. The rest of the dirty-faced men were silent. They waited for Toria’s answer, but he could already read their grim expressions. They didn’t think they could make it out alive, regardless.
“I don’t think so,” Toria whispered. “The best we can hope for is to plant the explosives and head as deep as possible. Maybe we could find that lake that someone said they saw. If we’re lucky, we’ll find a cave with no tyranids, and plenty to eat and drink. Maybe the Emperor will let us retire there in peace.”
“Stuck in a cave for the rest of our lives,” Neshadi said, sighing. “I knew I should have brought a book to read.”
The others grinned and patted Neshadi in the shoulder. With a quick glance, Toria tallied their votes by their nods. It was a unanimous “yes”. As quietly as they had arrived, Toria’s squad vanished back into the underbrush, and silently wished their compatriots and fallen comrades a safe journey, wherever that journey ended.
9
Nehari and his men heard the steady stream of crackling las-fire from a kilometre off. As they approached, wild shots flew high over their heads, scything through tree limbs and branches, and raining down leaves around them. They could see a smoke column rising in the air through the gaps in the canopy, and collecting at the ceiling, where it eclipsed the rock and fields of light string worms. The only other source of light came from the flashes of las-blasts, several trees that had been set aflame and the dimming glow of the tree bulbs. It was as if the jungle was dying.
Nehari, however, instantly realised that the shots belonged to a Chimera-mounted multi-laser. Nothing else they had carried that firepower.
The squad broke into two groups of three men each. The heavy coughers, including the demolitions specialist, continued on their way to the last Sentinel. Nehari and two others crept through the forest, suppressing their coughs and hoping the continued las-fire would mask their approach. They were weakened by the toxins running through their veins, but their curiosity had been pinched, and that was enough of a motive.
The medicae Chimera was half-wedged in a crevice, a fissure that had opened up beneath it. Its nose was jammed in the crack and rested against the crevice wall, while its rear was angled upward in clumsy balance. It had shredded its treads trying to dislodge itself, and tyranids were crawling
all over its hull. They were trying to peel away the access points to get to the meal inside, and were ignoring the futile lascannon that was desperately firing in different directions. The column of smoke was rising from a wider rip in the fissure, possibly where the command Chimera had fallen during the mad rush to escape.
Nehari could see the litters still strapped to the top of the vehicle, as well as the ripped bodies of men who were trapped and gutted when the Chimera fled. Nehari shook his head, and quietly filtered through the micro-bead’s comm channels. He finally found the one with the panicked voice screeching for help.
“Hello?” Nehari whispered.
“Thank the Aba Aba Mushira!” the voice cried back. “My vehicle is wedged. We’re trapped in here. Please, get these things off of us.”
“You’re trapped? Like the way you left those injured men to die on your roof?” Nehari said, coughing. “Rot in the warp.”
Nehari shut off the screaming pleas for forgiveness, and motioned the squad to move away. The Chimera crew was earning its just fate.
10
The jungles of Emperor were the thickest any of them had known, or ever seen. The trees seemed to merge into one another, their trunks braided and their branches intertwined. The loamy soil was thick and reeked of sodden earth. They followed Sergeant Ballasra’s instructions, keeping to the cavern walls where the vegetation was thinnest, but even this far removed from Apostle, the sound of hunting and devouring tyranids seemed ever-present. How they managed to spread so far remained a mystery. All Turk cared about was staying ahead of them and steering clear of their appetites.
The scout Mousar swept aside his kafiya for long enough to gulp a drink of water; his lower face was covered in the thick, ropy scars of a promethium burn. After returning the kafiya to his face, he consulted the data-slate Ballasra had provided as a way of pathfinding, and motioned the others to continue following.
Turk stumbled a few more steps, before something pierced his fatigued mind, something he had seen a minute before, but did not register until now. He looked again to the vox detonator in his hand, to make sure that he actually saw its blinking light, and then groaned.
Nisri and Rezail noticed Turk standing, staring up at the canopy of jungle and cavern rock, and shaking his head. They motioned for the others to stop, and approached him as a fit of laughter overcame him. This was all too perfect, Turk thought. This was the perfect conclusion to their sad and sordid expedition.
“What’s the matter?” Nisri asked.
Turk said nothing. He merely held up the vox detonator to show them the blinking light. Nisri straightened and let out a fatigued laugh. Turk shook his head and laughed even harder. Rezail simply looked confused.
“It’s a warning light,” Turk finally managed to explain. “It means that we’re too deep inside the caverns. Any further, and the signal to detonate the explosives we already planted won’t reach the bombs.”
“It means,” Nisri said, his voice soft, “that someone has to stay behind and detonate the explosives from here.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Every sun must set.”
—The Accounts of the Tallarn by Remembrancer Tremault
1
Nehari and his two escorts reached the Sentinel as the others were finishing attaching the explosives to the fuel drums. Nobody was providing them with cover, nobody had the strength left to follow military procedure or even care. Instead, they finished with the Sentinel, and walked a few dozen metres away before one by one, they collapsed to their knees or fell on their arses, hacking and coughing loudly. Nehari tried to pull one man up, but he fell down next to him, completely spent and afflicted by a deep-seated exhaustion the likes of which he’d never known. His muscles felt like hard stone, numb and heavy.
The toxins deprived them of strength, leaving them weak and wracked with nausea. No, worse than that, Nehari realised, it ate at their wills, robbed them of the mental fortitude they needed to push forward. That they had made it this far was a testament to their characters, but they were done. They had completed their task, and thoughts of survival no longer ranked among them.
They sat where they collapsed in the underbrush, under the yellow glow of the overhanging bulbs. They pulled close to one another, hacking blood and black flecks of what they silently suspected were their lungs. Their stomachs hurt, the muscles taxed beyond exhaustion and feeling torn.
“How… how pitiful are we?” Nehari said, his voice raspy, “Like old men.”
The others tried to laugh, but that only generated a new fit of coughing. They patted one another on the shoulders or grabbed each other’s hands for support.
“So,” another man finally managed to say, “this is paradise.”
Renewed laughter and renewed hacking followed. Nehari smiled and shook his head.
“No… never paradise,” he said in between coughs. “Paradise was never… meant for the… the living. It’s always been a promise for… the dead.”
The men grew quiet as Nehari spoke, comforted by the timbre of his voice and the certainty of their fate.
“Glory be… to the Emp-Emperor, and praise be to Colonel Dakar’s wisdom… but we… we suffer through life so that our paradise is eternal. Paradise is earned… never given… never taken.”
The sound of hissing surrounded them, figures moving through the underbrush. The men could no longer stir, save to aim their weapons. Nehari quietly pulled the pin on his frag grenade and felt someone’s grip tighten around his arm. A pack of runners moved into the clearing, sniffing the air and picking their kills. Cartilage lined tongues licked the air in anticipation.
“There can be no… no death in paradise,” Nehari whispered. He opened his palm and watched the handle flick off and spin as it fell.
The tyranids reacted by trying to bolt back into the cover of the jungle. They weren’t fast enough.
2
“I’ll stay,” Nisri said, reaching for the vox detonator.
“No you will not,” Rezail said. “I’ll be staying.”
Turk shook his head. “Commissar, this is a military officer’s duty, not a polit—”
“Spare me,” Rezail laughed. “This entire expedition has been anything but military in its timbre and demeanour so don’t you dare use that on me now. Trust me, I don’t wish to die here, but you said it earlier, lieutenant-colonel… if one of you dies, your men die with you. Besides,” he said, adjusting his uniform, “it took the both of you three months to finally see eye to eye and put aside your tribal feuds, and it took the bloody tyranids to do it. If you make it out of here, I expect you to beat some bloody sense into your bloody tribes so that this bloody disgrace never happens again. Is that bloody understood, Prince Iban Salid and Prince Dakar?”
“Yes, commissar,” both men replied, trying to hide the hint of their smiles.
“Fine,” he said, taking the vox detonator from Turk.
Turk also fished out one of the explosives from his satchel. “I suggest you find a nice place for this, commissar. I’ll plant the other one at the escape tunnel.”
Rezail took the explosive and handed it to Tyrell without a second thought.
“Of course, I will be coming with you,” Tyrell said.
“Bloody well better,” Rezail said. “I’ll need an adjutant where I’m going.”
Tyrell smiled and left it at that.
Turk and Nisri returned to the group, which was watching the exchange with morbid interest. This time, it was Nisri who spoke, his command instinct slowly returning.
“I need five volunteers,” he said, “to help protect the commissar and Sergeant Habass until it’s time to detonate the explosives.”
There was a pause as the men exchanged glances, uncertain if they wanted to die so close to escaping.
“I’ll stay,” Duf adar Sarish said, stepping forward. Two more Guardsmen stepped forward alongside him.
“I guess I’ll stay as well,” Sabaak said. “The only thing I’m protecting is this
banner.” He stepped forward, and for a moment, Turk saw the same look in Sabaak’s eyes as he’d seen in Kortan’s. That resolute stare and grim hardness ready to face what came next. Sabaak fidgeted with his Y-Strap and pulled the rolled-up banner from it. He presented it to Turk, who nodded his thanks and handed it to another Guardsman for safekeeping.
When a fifth volunteer did not step forward, Turk whispered to Nisri. “I think that’s enough, don’t you?”
Nisri nodded. “Sarish fights like a devil with those two pistols; we’ll count him twice.”
The Guardsmen paused long enough to bid one another goodbye. They were silent farewells, nothing to be said save for shaking one another’s hands and squeezing each other’s shoulders.
As Turk moved away from the men, Kamala drifted close to him. “I would have stayed had you stayed,” she whispered.
“I know,” he replied. He watched Rezail and his five protectors turn back the way they had come, searching for some place to hide their explosives. He turned, shielding them from the others for long enough to squeeze her uninjured hand. With that, Mousar continued forward, guiding the remaining survivors to their anticipated rendezvous with Sergeant Ballasra’s squad.
3
Sergeant Ballasra and his four men were shocked by the sight that greeted them at the mouth of the jungle-rich Golden Throne.
“Is this it?” the young tracker, Chalfous, asked. “Are you the only survivors?”
“Quiet, boy,” Ballasra said. “You can see it in their eyes.”
Neither Nisri nor Turk had the strength left for words, they merely leaned their backs against the cool rock of the narrow fissure connecting Caverns Emperor and Golden Throne.
[Imperial Guard 04] - Desert raiders Page 21
